Down on his luck former police detective turned private investigator Peter
Cunningham thought the beautiful Abigail Mitchell was just another crazy
client. Now he’s entangled in an ancient conspiracy that dates back to
the Salem Witch Trials, a far cry from the simple assault case the woman
wanted him to solve.
His budding romance with the witch Abigail will have to be put aside as he
travels the Pacific Northwest with estranged friend and former partner Kelly
Martinez to discover who these people are and their goals.
A coin, a five-year-old case, the Malleus Maleficarum, televangelist and
motivational speaker Tony O’Stein, Pope Innocent VIII, and a secret
society all tie back to a tragedy from Peter’s childhood and he will
need to figure out what it all means and a solution.
Though many witches live amongst us, they are also part of a secret society
but their clandestine organization seems to have been discovered which has
led to a new wave of persecution. Internal tensions were already high and
the attacks have only exasperated the issues. Peter must expose the members
of the conspiracy and thwart their nefarious plans before an even bigger
tragedy strikes.
About the Author
James Kirst lives in the Evergreen State in a humble little abode within
the forested city of Dupont. There, he earned his Master’s Degree at
the University of Washington. Commuting up north to Tacoma, he has worked as
a senior programmer and software development lead for almost ten
years.
With a borderline obsessive interest in the paranormal, James has conducted
an intensive study on the subject. To that end, he has visited some of the
most haunted places in the United States including Salem, the LaLaurie
Mansion of New Orleans, and his personal favorite, the Shanghai Tunnels of
Portland, Oregon.
As an avid fan of mystery both in fiction and in real life, he has done
extensive research into police procedurals, the machinations of detective
work, and life as a private investigator.
A big sports fan, James is sure to either be watching or participating in
one when not writing about or educating himself in one of the aforementioned
subjects. In fact, he has won multiple championships in bowling and
slow-pitch softball and has made several appearances as a softball All-Star
where he was given the privilege of playing in Cheney Stadium. He is still
seeking that elusive kickball title, however.
Twenty years ago, Reaper of Souls Kassidy Simmons battled Azra-El, the
Angel of Death and won—or so she thought.
Now, a number of strange and unexplained deaths are afflicting
Kassidy’s quiet New York town. She wishes she didn’t care. But
she does.
Her empathic abilities are expanding beyond her control, and the intense
emotions are tearing apart her relationships. They’re also degrading
the magical wards put in place to protect her from other Reapers and the
even deadlier Wraiths—onyx-eyed henchmen of Azra-El.
Allied with her longtime mentor and a college professor with ties to
her past, Kassidy learns that the untimely deaths are regenerating Azra-El,
and that the only way to stop him is with the Scythe of Cronus, the
legendary weapon of the God of Death.
To save her loved ones and reset the natural order, Kassidy must journey
home and confront a past she’s been running from for two decades.
She’ll face-off with enemies, old and new, and through a haze of fear
and addiction, Kassidy will learn the secrets of her heritage, and challenge
head on the one being she fears most—herself.
About the Author
Dennis Crosby grew up in Oak Park, IL and completed his undergraduate work
at the University of Illinois in Chicago. With a degree in Criminal Justice,
he spent six years working as a Private Investigator and during that time
developed an affinity for writing poetry. While working on a master’s
degree in Forensic Psychology, Dennis transitioned into social service.
Dennis has spent the last twelve years working with men and women
experiencing challenges with mental health and addiction. He currently
serves as Clinic Director for an Opioid Treatment Program.
With a lifelong passion for writing, Dennis wrote dozens of short stories,
tapping into his creative side, but did not pursue the finer points of the
craft until later in life. After leaving Chicago and moving to San Diego,
Dennis had the opportunity to get more involved in the writing community
where he strengthened his skills. To further augment his writing skills,
Dennis completed an MFA program at National University.
A self-proclaimed geek and lover of pop culture, Dennis still lives and
writes in San Diego, CA.
When Kumar finds out that his only daughter is in love, he has a tough time coming to terms with the fact that his Doll has grown up already. But his displeasure takes a different turn when he realizes who his daughter’s love interest is.
Sarika couldn’t have been happier at the news of her elder son having found the love of his life. She can't wait to see him happily married. But the revelation about the girl’s parents numbs her as much as it shocks her.
What is it in their past that Kumar and Sarika need to make peace with, so that their children can find their ‘Happily Ever After’. Will they be able to do so?
Sarika believes that she has left her traumatic past and move on in the true sense. And why not?
She is successful, recognized and rewarded. Not only as a social entrepreneur but a loving wife and a doting mother to two sons.
She had really not foreseen that on his annual vacation to India, her elder son would drop a bomb albeit a pleasant one on them. And now she couldn’t wait to prepare for the Shagun for the girl who her son has chosen as the one for himself.
Only if she knew better. However ironical it sounded, but for her son to be happy, she had to clear a test herself. Was she prepared to face the past she had thought she had left far behind in her life?
His silence has angered her then. She had endured a lonely bitterness and worked her way through life. But had she moved on in the true sense? Probably not. Was she ready to face her demons in person at this age?
The stakes are high. Her only hope is that her nemesis too understood the same. Could they finally patch up after 30 years?
About the Author:
Anupriya belongs to that generation of Idiots (the proud ones though), who did their engineering first and then decided on what they actually wanted to do. She completed her MBA in Human Resources and worked in the corporate world for 8 years, before taking a professional break. A mom by day and a reader/writer by night, Anupriya is a die-hard romantic. Yet she believes that love (in any relationship) is a part of life, not, the heart of life. And she aims to bring to the world, stories around this theme. She can be found in the dot com world at her blog www.mommytincture.com, which contains her ranting about her experiences in her various roles as a mother, daughter, wife and foremost a human being, all churned together. It is also her outlet to the world where she doles out loads of gyaan on self-improvement and relationship management.
Four years have passed since the lillipads fell and Etyom slipped into
darkness. The New Black Death has mutated again, spreading to near epidemic
proportions. What little order existed in Earth’s last city has
disintegrated into chaos.
Rippers roam the Vapid, robbing and leaving their victims butchered. The
Robusts have spilled out of their broken enclaves and hide in any dark
corner that will conceal them. Meanwhile, the elite Graciles, fallen from
their pristine towers in the sky, have all mysteriously disappeared.
Demitri is a prisoner in his own mind. His demon, Vedmak—now known as
the Vardøger—is manipulating Demitri’s body to execute a
secret plan far more disastrous than even the Gracile Leader dared.
Mila, her status among the fractured resistance elevated to that of
Paladyn—a protector of the people—leads the fight against
zealots intent on destroying what little remains of Etyom. It is a
responsibility she never wanted, a calling that prevents her from doing what
she truly desires.
Yet, Mila should be careful of what she longs. Caught between annihilation
and loyalties that refuse to die, she must reconcile a single immutable
truth: following your heart comes at a price.
Previous Book in the Series
Sci fi, dystopian, apocalyptic
Date Published: May 22 2018
Publisher: Vesuvian Books
The world you know is dead. We did this to ourselves.
The epidemic struck at the end of the Third World War. Fighting over oil,
power, and religion, governments ignored the rise of an
antibacterial-resistant plague. In just five years, the Earth was
annihilated. Only one city survived—Etyom—a frozen hellhole in
northern Siberia, engulfed in endless conflict.
The year is 2251.
Two groups emerged from the ashes of the old world. Within the walled city
of Lower Etyom dwell the Robusts—descendants of the poor who were
immune to the New Black Death. Above them, in a metropolis of pristine
platforms called lillipads, live the Graciles—the progeny of the
superrich, bio-engineered to resist the plague.
Mila Solokoff is a Robust who trades information in a world where knowing
too much can get you killed. Caught in a deal gone bad, she's forced to take
a high-risk job for a clandestine organization hell-bent on
revolution.
Demitri Stasevich is a Gracile with a dark secret—a sickness that, if
discovered, will get him Ax'd. His only relief is an illegal narcotic
produced by the Robusts, and his only means of obtaining it is a journey to
the arctic hell far below New Etyom.
Thrust together in the midst of a sinister plot that threatens all life
above and below the cloud line, Mila and Demitri must master their demons
and make a choice—one that will either salvage what's left of the
human race or doom it to extinction …
Bronze Medal Winner — 2019
Independent Publisher Book Awards — Science Fiction
The young man in the brown jacket spins, arms raised high, a blood-curdling
scream issuing from his lips. A few awkward steps and he falls, sprawling
headlong across a pile of slush and rubble. A crimson fan spreads out under
his corpse, staining the snow red. Another death, another friend of the
cause, gone.
He was seventeen.
All around the pop-whizz of gunfire followed by deafening explosions from
detonating grenades reminds us all the Kahangan stronghold of Nazal will not
fall easily. I slide farther into the frozen mud of the ditch and scrunch
into a ball.
“Mos.” Where the hell is he? “Mos, you with
me?”
“I'm here, Mila.” The barrel chested Kahangan with midnight
skin crawls up next to me, careful to keep his bulk below the rise.
“Who’s hit?”
“Mauricio.”
“Is he dead?”
“He's not moving.”
“Sniper?” Mos jerks his head in the direction of the building
before us. Politsiya in faded Cyrillic letters adorns the ruined
facade.
“Knows what they're doing too.” I pull a small mirror from the
arm pouch on my leather jacket and slowly raise it to get a better
view.
In the reflection is the form of a person, prone on the roof of the
palace—if you can call it that.
A glint of light bounces off the glass.
I snatch my hand down and pinch my eyes shut as a chunk of earth explodes
from the rim of the ditch, showering us with wet clods of cold mud. The
lingering crack of a rifle follows. He’s got a sarding scope and a
good, stable position. Guy definitely knows what he'sdoing.
“There's a way up to the roof on the back side,” Mos says.
“I can flank his position and approach from behind if you can keep his
attention.” He cocks his head. “That's probably stupid,
huh?”
“It's only stupid if it doesn't work.”
Mos, already shuffling away, motions to a few others hiding in another
ditch to follow.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Wait for my call.” Mos grins, revealing large, square, white
teeth, then creeps away and seems to vanish into thin air.
The cold seeps through my clothing, stealing the fading warmth of the sun.
My scarred Kalashnikov rifle feels like a cold, lead weight. I exchanged my
bean-bag propelling weapon for a death-dealing one some time ago. I
don’t even remember when that happened. Like everything else in this
forsaken city, it just sort of did. Yeos forgive me. I loose my canteen from
my satchel and take a shaky swallow of the nearly frozen water.
A bark, much like a wild dog.
The signal. “Now!”
I drop the canteen, roll to the left, and rise to one knee. Three more of
my fighters appear and the air ignites with the sounds of war. Dust and
stone billow around the sniper's nest. Our suppressive fire has the desired
effect: he’s blinded by debris.
“Ceasefire!” I kneel again, the Kalashnikov pressed into my
shoulder, watching as the dust clears. “Stand ready.”
We wait in silence, a bitter wind snapping at our scarf-covered
faces.
Another flash of light from the roof.
“Get down!” I flop into the muck.
This time there is no report. No exploding clump of earth. A cry of terror
fills the air, followed by the sounds of a struggle. I chance a glance. Mos
is standing tall and proud on the roof.
“Hold your fire!” I yell.
My comrades lower their weapons. Mos reaches down and plucks up a skinny
Kahangan who drops a long-barreled rifle. The little man screams, flailing
madly against my friend's superior strength.
“Traitor.” Mos bellows loud enough to be heard, even from down
here. With a single heave, the large Kahangan hurls the sniper over the
edge. The man's hollow scream is cut short as he strikes the frozen ground
some ten stories below.
I force myself to peer down at his mangled corpse, twisted like a broken
doll in the ice and mud below. The Kalashnikov drops to hang from its canvas
strap across my chest. My people follow suit, relaxing their guard, their
eyes glazed over in a mixture of relief and stress. They’re all good
soldiers. Committed to the cause—peace in Etyom, the last city. The
Kahangan civil war has been going on for too long. Kapka—who somehow
managed to survive the RPG blast on the platform four years
ago—continues his campaign against the followers of Yeos with renewed
vigor, but has so far not managed to take this Musul faction. Instead, in
this desolate place, power-hungry warlords fight over resources while the
people suffer. Here, it’s not Kapka who reigns, but Nazal.
Little is known of the origins of this despot. Some say, like all warlords,
he simply rode to power on the broken backs of the Kahangan people. That
there was nothing he wasn’t willing to do and no one he wasn’t
willing to betray to claim the power he felt was owed to him. Others seem to
whisper of his evil deeds like he’s some sort of phantom—a
terrible consequence of our own divisiveness. Whatever the case, Nazal is a
plague. He’s no Kapka, but the piles of corpses he’s left in his
wake can no longer be overlooked. The resistance will stop him because
someone must.
About Stu Jones
A veteran law enforcement officer, Stu Jones has worked as a beat cop, an
investigator, an instructor of firearms and police defensive tactics and as
a member and team leader of a multi-jurisdictional SWAT team.
About Gareth Worthington
Gareth Worthington BSc PhD EMBA is a trained marine biologist and holds a
doctorate in comparative endocrinology. Gareth works in the pharmaceutical
industry helping to educate the world's doctors on new cancer
therapies.
The long-requested sequel to Maddie James' first published novel, Roses
& Rawhide is now available!
Readers wanted to know...
What happened to Jillie and Mack's relationship at the end of Roses &
Rawhide?
Why did Jillie go back to Kentucky?
Will they get back together? What's their story?
While Kim Martin and Thad Winchester find their happily-ever-after in Roses
& Rawhide, their best friends, Jillie Abernathy and Mack Montgomery, end
their sleeping bag sharing relationship during the rugged, two-week pack
trip into the Colorado San Juan mountains.
But when Kim and Thad host their wedding at Thad's Colorado ranch a few
months later, Mack and Jillie must come face-to-face with reality--and with
each other. She's the maid of honor. He's the best man. Both are harboring
secrets that could break a potential future relationship if they both keep
avoiding telling the truth.
Can they reveal those secrets to each other? And if so, can they get past
the withheld truths to plan a future together?
Excerpt
Jillie glanced up from the pot of chili and froze. The back door softly
closed, and Mack pushed into the mudroom. She watched as he parked his hat
on the bench beside the back door and hung his coat next to hers in the
closet, then strolled into the kitchen.
This feels a little too cozy. “What the hell?” she said.
“I thought you’d gone.”
He tossed her a sarcastic grin as he approached the kitchen island.
“Nope. I’m here. At least for the night. Guess we both need to
get used to it.”
“Why?”
“Weather and other stuff.”
“Is it that bad?”
He ignored her. “Did you get a nap?”
“Yes.”
“Good. By the way, I’m still on babysitting duty,” he
added.
“Oh my God, Mack, I can manage.” Jillie bristled and narrowed
her gaze. “I don’t need a sitter.”
“I’m still here anyway.”
“Well that’s ridiculous.” She turned back to the chili.
But the smirky smile he gave her right before she did—one that half
crossed over into dangerous sexy waters—unnerved her a bit. Flustered,
Jillie dropped the ladle into the chili. The hot soup splashed onto the back
of her hand and she jerked away. “Crap. Ouch!”
She snagged Mack’s gaze as he stepped forward. His intense glare
unnerved her so much that she didn’t see him reaching for her
hand.
“You lost the spoon,” Mack said. His fingers were still
cold from working outside. He lightly touched a knuckle. “You okay?
Those knuckles look red already.”
And they stung. She pulled back sharply, but not completely out of his
grasp. “Um. Yeah. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He tugged her closer, his blue eyes
dancing. She locked into his gaze and he held her there for a few seconds,
while her heart did a little flip-flop. Leaning in, he lifted her hand to
his lips, and licked off the chili spatter off.
One. Knuckle. At. A. Time.
Mesmerized by the action, all Jillie could do was stand there and let him.
His tongue dragging over her skin sent a revolving skitter of desire through
her body and jump-started the months-buried yearning for him in her
heart—and elsewhere. Every delicate nerve ending connected to her
hands tingled with anticipation. Where else might he lick?
Her lips?
Neck?
Um…?
Stunned at the heat of his touch, Jillie attempted to stifle the shiver
racing up her spine and keep her hand from shaking. She wasn’t
successful. After what seemed a suspended moment in time, he stopped, and
his gaze drifted up to meet hers.
Those blue eyes twinkled back. She trembled a little inside while her
tongue made a quick swipe over her suddenly parched lower lip. Mack’s
gaze immediately dropped to her mouth, and she willed down the flipping
butterflies in her stomach.
She stepped back and jerked her hand away.
About the Author
Maddie James writes to silence the people in her head—if only they
wouldn’t all talk at once!
Whether writing traditional contemporary romance or building paranormal
worlds, bestselling romance author, Maddie James, pens stories that
frequently cross a variety of romantic sub-genres. Sweet or spicy, suspense
or comedy, western or time-travel, her heroes and heroines are always
chasing one thing—the happily-ever-after.
Affaire de Coeur says, “James shows a special talent for traditional
romance,” and RT Book Reviews claims, “James deftly combines
romance and suspense, so hop on for an exhilarating ride.”
Rebecca Layton returns to her beachside hometown of Sunnyville, California,
determined to explore the possibility of rekindling her past relationship
with the love of her life, Raymond Colton. She's devastated to discover that
he has moved on and is now engaged.
Raymond Colton harbors resentment towards Rebecca for abandoning him to
pursue her dreams of life in the big city. Now she's back and more beautiful
than ever. But Raymond's heart has been broken more than once and risking
more heartache with Rebecca isn't a gamble he's willing to take.
When Rebecca agrees to use her marketing expertise to help Raymond's father
salvage his failing family business--Colton's Ice Creamery--she and Raymond
are thrown together, and old flames are ignited. Can they heal the wounds
from their past and embrace the possibility of a brighter tomorrow?
TEASER
“Raymond has returned and is now standing silhouetted in the
door like some Egyptian pharaoh, his perfect physique clearly outlined
before he steps into the office with a pizza box.
“Woman, don’t you ever take a
break?”
“Not always.” I stand and massage the ache I
feel in my lower back from sitting too
long.
“My back and shoulders let
me know when it’s time to stop.”
“Here, let me help with that.” Clearing the
desk, he sets the box down. Turning me around, he massages my tense
shoulders. “I don’t want you falling apart when we’re just
getting started. I’ve got to take care of the talent.”
“Thanks, that really hits the spot.” I should stop
him, but I stay silent as his strong hands remove the tension from my
shoulders. I’ve missed his touch, but as good as it feels, I force
myself to turn around and break the contact. This is an even bigger mistake
because now we are standing close enough to kiss.”
About the Author
After years of not pursuing my writing dreams, I decided it was time to stop
sitting on the sidelines of my publishing aspirations. In 2019, I contracted
with The Wild Rose Press for a three book series, California Hearts. The
release date for my debut novel, Orange Blossoms-Love Blooms, is October 19,
2020. My novella, A Whirl With My Mocha Chocolate Swirl is part of The Wild
Rose Press’ s One Scoop or Two series and will be released in
September 9, 2020.
I write contemporary romance and women’s fiction with emotion-driven
characters and unexpected plot twists and turns. The character’s
journeys are layered with heart and soul and reflect the diversity of the
world around me. My stories center around love, familoes, friendships,
following your passion, second chances and overcoming obstacles.
When I’m not busy plotting my next novel, you will find me bike riding
along one of Southern, California’s scenic beaches with my husband or
discussing love, life and the mysteries of the universe with my daughter.
A tiny town. A broken tavern. And one woman searching for a place to
belong.
Logan Cole is used to getting her way and what she wants more than anything
is for her father to get out of jail and restore her old life in New York.
All she has to do is wait for his scandals to fade and the online rancor
against her family to subside. Low on cash and out of options, she takes a
bus north looking for anonymity and stops in the smallest town she can find:
Ramsbolt, Maine.
When she stumbles into Helen’s Tavern, she finds a place in need of a
make-over and a grandmotherly woman who could use some help. Soon, she finds
herself growing fond of the bar, Helen, and the town. She’s even found
a friend in Grey, the local plumber. The tiny town puts her at a crossroads:
keep hiding her identity to preserve her new reputation or let down her
guard and reveal her true self to the people she’s grown to love. But
the choice is ripped from her hands when tragedy strikes the bar and saving
it requires every tool at her disposal.
Can Logan find a true home among the people of Ramsbolt Maine?
The Collected Stories of Ramsbolt is a series by Jennifer M. Lane,
award-winning author Of Metal and Earth and Stick Figures from Ramsbolt.
Fresh and heart-warming, the series tells the stories of a small town
looking for belonging.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Logan Cole had never been on a bus in her life. As she stretched her legs
and stumbled onto the sidewalk at the tip of Maine, she cursed the eight
hour learning experience and swore never to do it again.
The last stop before the border was less like a terminal and more like a
dead end. No benches, no depot, no ticketing window. And no taxis. Just a
little yellow house with leaning porch surrounded by scruffy blueberry
shrubs. At least it wasn’t sweltering out.
She yanked her black Rimowa suitcase, one of the few things the FBI let her
keep, from the bottom of the bus. She gave the driver a wry smile and
thanked him for the trip. It wasn’t his fault a woman coughed and
crinkled candy wrappers the whole way, and that guy with his earbuds in
behind her never learned to sing.
“Six hundred miles better be far enough.” She mumbled to
herself as she dragged the suitcase down the sidewalk, fumbling for her
phone in her purse. It was a habit she still hadn’t broken, opening
apps to fill a void, but she’d deleted Twitter, Facebook, and the rest
of them when the threats started pouring in. Eight months, four court cases,
a thousand stories in the news, and she still hadn’t gotten used to
being without social media. Being disconnected was better than scrolling
through contempt, though.
“Battery’s almost dead. Map won’t load. Damn it.”
She walked back the way she’d come, past quaint little houses and
blueberry bushes, back to the bar she’d seen a mile or so before. It
was across from a cheap motel with moldy siding and mildewed plastic chairs.
The bar itself was windowless and brick. Definitely not the kind of place
where someone would look for one of the wealthiest people in the country. Or
someone who used to be.
She paused at an intersection and started a text to her mom, a quick note
to say she was far from the gossip and rumors, safe from tabloid headlines
squawking about a Cole Curse, and nowhere near the internet trolls who
flooded her notifications with threats, saying they knew where to find her
and what they would do to her when they did. All because of her
father.
She waited among the cigarette butts and rusted beer caps while her text
bounced its way to France.
Delivered. Three dots appeared. Her mother’s reply came slow.
Good luck. Lay low. I'll send money if I can. Try to blend in.
Logan sent back a smiley face and a greeting for her aunt and uncle.
Letting her phone fall back in her purse, she swallowed hard and tugged hem
of her T-shirt down over her jeans. Her heart pounded so loud she
wouldn’t be able to hear traffic if there’d been any. But the
intersection was dead. The only other animate object in that town was the
little orange hand blinking on the stop light, telling her not to
walk.
The light changed and a little white man blinked, urging her to cross the
street before it was too late. By the look of the town nothing was urgent.
The only signs of life were two cars in the bar’s parking lot. They
could be abandoned for all she knew.
A countdown timer marked off the seconds. Eleven. Ten.
Left to the motel. Straight to the bar. Neither option looked all that
inviting.
For the first time since she left New York, rage, hot as the surface of the
sun, boiled within her. She was supposed to be in an air conditioned office
somewhere, running a foundation. Sipping a latte that came from cart. Logan
kicked a beer cap into the street, and it skittered into a pothole.
Five. Four.
The little man on the pedestrian signal had his whole life together. He had
purpose and goals and a job. He had an identity, and everyone knew who he
was. Logan had all of that until her father screwed up, and the government
charged him with money laundering and took it all away. All she had left
were some comfy pants shoved in a suitcase and a cell phone plan she
couldn’t afford. She squeezed the handle of her suitcase so tight her
knuckles turned white.
Two. One.
The Do Not Walk signal blinked, and she crossed the street defiant.
The sidewalk rippled. Uneven slabs of concrete were mere islands, broken by
the freeze and thaw of ice, lost in a sea of weeds and road dirt. She faced
the bar.
When she opened that door, she would find herself in a whole new world.
There would be questions. What was her name? Where did she come from? Maybe
they would recognize her right away from the newspapers, the tabloids,
Twitter. She wasn’t prepared for any of it, and she never would be.
She didn’t even know how to fill out a job application. What was she
supposed to say? I’m a Yale graduate with a degree in Art History, the
daughter of a felon, and I’ve come to scrub your bathroom?
The sun would set in a few hours, and that motel did not look hospitable.
The keys to a job and a cheap apartment were somewhere in that bar.
Taking in a shaky breath of Maine air, she held it in until her lungs
soaked it up, then let out a steady stream of all she had left.
“Get in there and prove your mother wrong. You are still a Cole and
Coles do not give up. We don’t stand on the sidewalk and talk to
ourselves, either.”
Her whole future lay ahead of her. She just had to get by until her dad set
it right. Shoulders back, head up, she opened
About the Author
A Maryland native and Pennsylvanian at heart, Jennifer M. Lane holds a
bachelor's degree in philosophy from Barton College and a master's in
liberal arts with a focus on museum studies from the University of Delaware,
where she wrote her thesis on the material culture of roadside memorials.
She is the author of the award-winning novel Of Metal and Earth, of Stick
Figures from Rockport, and the series of stand-alone novels from The
Collected Stories of Ramsbolt, including Blood and Sand. Visit her website
at https: //www.jennifermlanewrites.com/
1. Use your billions and connections to help Tanner realize all of his
dreams.
2. Don’t die of a broken heart in the process of achieving #1.
Zoë Deliban is a small-town teacher with one goal.
1. Don’t mess up Tanner’s life by letting him know you still
love him.
This is an MMF love story. Open-minded adult readers only, please. If you
don’t mind a few four-letter words and steamy scenes, and you want a
book about enduring love, loyalty, and kindness, come on in and enjoy the
fun.
Free on Kindle Unlimited
About the Author
Ariella Talix is the nom de plume of a bestselling author who lives in
America's Heartland.
Her goal is to preserve the dignity of family members who would rather not
be associated publicly with a woman who writes such scandalous and
stimulating novels. She's not going to stop writing them though.
She loves her family, pets, great books, not-so-great books that still
entertain, and art.
Born and raised near the beaches of southern California, Ariella Talix
traveled the world extensively and then found her true home in the Midwest.
She has a second-degree black belt in Karate and has been a professional
artist for many years. Her work is displayed in countries all over the
world.
Itsy Bitsy Spyder (The Spyders #0.5) by Apeksha Rao
Young Adult / Espionage
15th to 17th August
About the Book:
What do you do when your mother feels that you don’t trust her?
If you’re Samira Joshi, and your mother is an elite spy who works for RAW, the first thing you do is … hide the knives.
After that, you go straight to the therapist that she has chosen.
For, when your mother knows seventeen different ways to kill a man, you don’t argue with her. Much.
Unless she’s trying to destroy your dreams.
Then, you fight dirty. Like a spy.
Samira is sweet, sassy, and almost seventeen. She dreams of becoming a badass spy like her parents.
And, why not?
That’s exactly what her parents have trained her to be.
So, why is her mother suddenly acting like a typical Indian mom and pushing her to be a doctor?
Samira can swear on her stack of covert operative manuals that it has something to with her mother’s last mission.
Her therapist disagrees. She feels the key to the mystery lies in Samira’s childhood.
Between her mother’s drama, a trouble-making grandmother, and a confused therapist, Samira’s life is spinning out of control.
What’s a good spy to do when her dreams are in danger?
The cold war between our family and Seema Kaku’s began with gunshots at her son’s thread ceremony.
I was attending the ceremony under duress, without even the comfort of a good book.
“Oh no, missy! The last time you carried a book to Sarita Maushi’s daughter’s wedding, you became the laughing stock of the whole clan,” scolded Ma.
Hmph!
You’re caught curled up with a book under a table, once, and you never hear the end of it.
I was sitting at a table with my older cousins, listening to them boasting about the boys they had kissed.
Eww, I thought.
When they glared at me, I realised that I had said that out loud.
“Why are you here, Sam? Go and play,” one of them ordered as if I were six years old, instead of twelve.
I sighed and moved to another table, at the other end of the room.
After an hour of sitting by myself, I just wanted to go home, but my mother wanted me to socialise. And, when your mother knows seventeen different ways to kill a man with her bare hands, you don’t argue with her. Much.
When I heard gunshots, I was happy about some excitement, finally. Until I realised that someone was using my Baba for target practice.
Thankfully, Baba had amazing reflexes and managed to duck under a table.
As luck would have it, for the first time ever, my parents were stuck without any weapons.
I had never ever known them to be unarmed. Baba always carried his .9mm Glock, even when he went vegetable shopping. As for Ma, she was an expert at carrying an arsenal on her person.
This was the woman who had turned up at her own wedding armed to the teeth, with knives strapped to her shins under her Banarasi silk sari, and a small country revolver holstered to her thigh.
Don’t worry. I wasn’t born then. I only know what Baba let drop on one of their wedding anniversaries. This was his idea of a toast to his awesome wife. But, from Ma’s fierce glare, I was sure his toast had put him in the doghouse.
On that fateful day, Aaji had put a complete and non-negotiable ban on weapons at the function.
She made Ma empty out her purse before we left, and when Ma’s tiny Swiss mini-gun fell out, Aaji had yelled at her.
“Calm down, Aai. It's fake. It’s just a keychain, see,” said Ma, showing her the keys attached to it.
In response, Aaji picked the gun up and pointed it at the floor near Ma’s foot, and when Ma stared at her with a blank face, she placed a finger on the trigger.
I reacted by diving under the dining table.
“For heaven’s sake, Samira!” Ma said, with total disgust.
I knew she’d been trying to bluff Aaji, but I also knew exactly how much damage that tiny gun could do. It was not a fake. So, she could growl at me all she wanted. I wasn’t taking any risks, thank you very much.
“Can we at least pretend to be a normal family? What is wrong with you people? Who carries guns to a family function? Ranjit, lift up your kurta right now,” ordered Aaji.
Baba sheepishly pulled up his kurta to reveal the Glock he’d holstered to his thigh over his churidar.
“Children, please don’t embarrass our family name. Keep all your James Bond hijinks to yourselves, and let’s just have a nice day with our extended family,” begged Aaji, with a tired sigh.
As she stared in horror at the masked assassin who was pointing a gun at her only son, I was sure Aaji was regretting her decision. If Baba had his gun, he could have dispatched the guy within seconds.
But my parents were not elite spies for nothing.
Everyone in the hall had hit the floor the minute bullets started spraying from the assassin’s Uzi.
Baba grabbed a couple of empty trays from a waiter who was hiding under the next table and using them as shields, he ducked behind tables and advanced on the assassin.
Meanwhile, Ma crept up from behind the guy, silently. His attention was on Baba, so he didn’t notice Ma crouched on the floor right behind him.
She reached up and pulled out the hairpin holding her French twist in place. It was a Trojan hairpin, with an extendable stiletto blade that Ma pulled out and stabbed into the guy’s foot. So much for Aaji’s ban on weapons.
When the assassin screamed and bent to grab his foot, Baba hit him on the head with a tray and Ma turned his own Uzi on him.
They hustled him out of the hall, and people slowly started getting up off the floor.
When my eyes landed on Seema Kaku who was helping her poor son out from under the priest - oh yeah, when she heard gunshots, Kaku totally pulled the priest over to cover her precious son - I saw her furious face, and I should have realised right then, that we would never hear the end of this.
About the Author:
Apeksha Rao is a multi genre author from Bangalore.
She is the author of Along Came A Spyder, which is the story of a seventeen year old girl who wants to be spy.
Apeksha has written many short stories based on the same series, The Spyders, which are available on this blog.
She is a voracious reader, and a foodie.
Apeksha's current works in progress: A middle grade book, a chick lit featuring a detective, and a horror novel (the writing of which is giving her sleepless nights).
