Ruin of the Scarred (Sting of Love #1) by Medha Nagur

 

Bidisha, a 17-year-old braveheart, has lived all her life in hiding since she is the daughter of the most wanted woman in Bishnupur. In the calm of the British Raj, Bidisha embarks on the quest to free her mother from the false accusation. But for that, she needs to challenge the royals who dare not stand against the British.
And when she enters the palace, she encounters the power-hungry Yuvaraja Trinabh and his twisted mother, the Rani Maa. Rani Maa despises her dutiful but meek step-son Yuvaraja Prabir and his hound Debesh Das, a Yodha who is his master’s protector. And so, she assigns Bidisha a job to spy.
But hearts entwine, and love meddles their path in the most unpredictable and adventurous ways.
Furthermore, things become dicey when Bidisha slits off her lover’s thumb, the Yuvaraja himself. Her dream to live free becomes a farfetched nightmare as her hiding in the jungle is not an option anymore.
When the deadly romance and the moral complexity are only a superficial part of the deep-rooted dark conspiracy, will Bidisha survive her sinking ground?
Will she emerge a warrior, save her own heart and win her love?
Or, will she succumb to the royal politics, lose her mother and lose herself too?

Book Links:
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Read an Excerpt from Ruin of the Scarred

‘Don’t be under the impression that you are an exception because you saved my life,’ Rani Durga Moni Devi continued. ‘Didn’t I tell you yesterday that you need to be at least clean if not anything else? But look at you.’

Bidisha’s forehead scrunched even as she fisted her hands part in disappointment in herself and part in anger towards the man who was responsible for her current state. Bidisha looked at the man before her in annoyance. Her anger amplified when he gave her a smug smile even as the queen continued her tirade. 

Nobody had ever spoken to her like that. Though Bidisha had encountered rude men and women, she had always taught them a lesson if they crossed the line she had drawn. Bidisha was already having a one-on-one combat with Rani Durga Moni Devi in her mind and was mincing the queen with her sword in her world. She smiled at her thoughts, hiding her face when, in their imaginary battle, Rani Maa fell carrying her huge body weight. 

Suddenly, a pair of legs appeared before her and she knew instantly that it was none other than the mysterious man. Bidisha lifted her head.  

‘Did he see me smiling? This is not good. I should have been more careful before mocking the queen.’

The man took her in from top to bottom, then stretched a hand and moved her out of his way. He then walked out of Rani Maa’s chamber as if nothing had happened. The huge man in black was not only mysterious and rude but was also indecent, she concluded. 

Bidisha felt a flash of irritation and she glared at his retreating form. Her first mission, she thought, would be to dig out all the information she could about that man, once she got into the palace. 

About the Author:

Medha Nagur is anything but a stereotypical homemaker, at home full time but with a pen all the time!
A freelance blogger by profession in her past life, she was on her maternity break when she started writing fiction. Medha considers herself a chronic creative aficionado who loves painting and writing.
Once a lecturer in Science College, where she gave lectures in Computer Science soon after her Masters, was fascinated by the blog world and realized her love for the words and took up writing full time.
She is also at her creative best when it comes to cooking innovative dishes to cater to the needs of her 11-year-old son, 4-year-old daughter, and not to mention her epicure husband. Get a glimpse of her culinary art on Instagram.
A music lover who likes to hit the floor on Zumba numbers is also a fashion enthusiast (like any woman on this planet!).
She wants to be in the womb of nature when it comes to holidays, embracing its warmth, which she believes is a gift to mankind.
All in all, she is born to collect laughs and make a relentless commitment to love so that she can enjoy life in abundance.

Medha on the Web:
Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon

Saving La Familia by Donna Del Oro

 

La Famlia, Book One

Romantic Suspense Comedy

Published: December 2021

Publisher: Extasy Books

 

A romantic suspense comedy set in Silicon Valley, San Antonio, Texas and Nuevo Laredo, Mexico-- a young Latina elementary school teacher, Dina Salazar, is asked by her Mexican-born grandmother to rescue her cousins from a dangerous Mexican drug cartel. After all, her stern grandmother tells her, she is the “smart one” in the family.The mission involves convincing the DEA that her cousin and her cousin's child will be killed by the new leader of this dangerous drug cartel if they are not rescued. Another obstacle: Dina must contact her cousin and arrange a clandestine pick-up site in a Mexican-Texas border town. To do so, she has to recruit help from her hated ex-fiance, her quirky brother-in-law and a Hispanic DEA agent. Being an amateur sleuth is no picnic, but what’s a girl to do when “la familia” calls?

 

About the Author

 Donna Del Oro is a bilingual, bicultural retired teacher who loves her Hispanic heritage. This labor of love was her way of immersing herself in a culture that has always influenced her. She lives in Northern California but regards Texas as her second home.

 

Contact Links

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Extasy Books

One Will Too Many by PJ Peterson

One Will Too Many

by PJ Peterson

March 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A wealthy banker with a long list of secrets dies.

The bizarre crime scene stumps the local police…

… but a young doctor could be the key to solving the case.

Internist Julia Fairchild encounters banker Jay moments too late - the poor man is near death in his own dining room. At first no one can figure out what killed him, but the coroner soon confirms that it was homicide: Jay died of methanol poisoning, and now a murderer is on the loose. Julia knows how to catch a killer and she can cut through the noise like a scalpel through skin. She agrees to help the understaffed police force solve the case, but each clue only complicates her investigation further.

Can Julia dissect the deadly riddle and nail the perp, or will this be the first time a monster succeeds in giving her the slip?

If you love Louise Penny, Kelly Oliver, and PC James, you need this medical mystery! Find out why fans say, “I love the character Julia Fairchild!”

Don’t wait - Click the BUY button now!

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Finngirl, LLC
Publication Date: December 2021
Number of Pages: 206
ISBN: 978-1-7335675-7-2
Series: A Julia Fairchild Mystery, #4 || Each is a stand Alone Novel
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Julia arrived at the Hotel Montpelier just as Drake drove up. She took advantage of his simultaneous presence to make a proper entrance to the celebration in the Hotel’s Grand Ballroom. It had recently been refurbished to its original grandeur from the early 1920’s. She admired the beauty of the ceilings with their Art Deco design, recently uncovered by the removal of a false ceiling from a previous “upgrade.” The beautiful wood floor with exquisite inlaid mosaics shone from a recent floor polishing. The cherry and mahogany woodwork glistened in the light from the elegant crystal chandeliers which had also been hidden until now.

Julia and Drake were greeted by some of the other members of the restoration committee. Drake was the designated master of ceremonies while Julia’s primary duty was to personally welcome as many of the potential donors as possible and say a few words in support of the project. He certainly looked the part tonight in a well-cut black velvet tuxedo. His dark hair was touched with silver—just enough to give him a classy look. He stood tall and proud as he walked through the crowd, nodding to some and saying a word or two to other attendees.

Julia searched the assembled festival attendees for familiar faces as Drake gently guided her to an older man and woman. He placed his hand at the small of her back as he addressed the wealthy couple. “Julia, I’d like to introduce Mr. And Mrs. George Oglethorpe. They have been long-time supporters of the theatre.”

Julia stepped forward a half-step and extended her hand. “I’m Julia Fairchild. I’m honored to meet you. I love our theatre, too.”

The woman’s face brightened as she recognized the name. “Of course! Dr. Fairchild. Call me Anna. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” She took Julia’s hand in both of hers. “You’re so young and pretty for a doctor.”

Julia reddened. She actually felt a little mousey most days, but conceded to herself that she did ‘clean up’ nicely for such events. “Thank you. I was blessed with good genes. How long have you and your husband lived in Parkview?”

“My goodness. Forever. Right out of college anyway. George heard about the paper mill here looking for mechanical engineers and applied right away.” She smiled proudly at him. “We love the town and were never inclined to leave once we settled in. Isn’t that right, dear?” Her husband nodded between sips of his drink. “Are you from here?”

“Not from Parkview. I grew up down the highway on a small farm. My grandma persuaded me to come home and here I am.” Julia felt her eyes well up as she recalled warm memories of time spent with her grandparents. “Thank you for your support of our lovely theatre. The restoration committee will be sharing the plans for the renovation during the program.”

Julia felt Drake’s arm around her waist as he interceded. “Thank you for coming this evening. Please excuse us. I see someone who is clamoring to talk with Dr. Fairchild before the dinner starts.”

Drake took Julia’s arm and as they turned around, they found Gregory Lantz and his wife Sandy who had been standing right behind them. “Greg! So good to see you here tonight. Thanks for coming.” They exchanged nods and handshakes. “Julia is standing in for Karen tonight. She’s also supporting the project.” Julia smiled and nodded. Aside from the perfunctory smiles, Julia sensed a tension between the men, and she moved a step away from Drake to better observe them both.

Greg stirred his gin and tonic vigorously. “I’ve talked with some of the members of the board at the bank, but I don’t have a definite commitment yet for a donation. I think we can come through for $50,000. But nothing close to the million dollars that everyone seems to think the bank can donate.”

“Greg, any amount would be great. I understand it’s been a little tough with the new bank still getting started.” Drake Ashford was the president of the older, long-established Parkview National Bank. He was aware that despite heavy advertising and promotions, the new River City Community Bank was not yet meeting expectations. He was also acutely sensitive to the loss of some of his own banking clients to the new bank, where Greg was Vice President.

Greg bristled. “Actually, we’re meeting our numbers and seeing new business every day. I would think you would have noticed already.” He smirked.

“We’ve noticed a little change, but we’re prepared to handle it.” Drake took a large swallow of his scotch. “Please excuse us. I have some other people to greet. Talk to you later, Greg.” Drake and Julia moved away.

“That man really annoys me,” Drake said under his breath. “He’s so naive. He doesn’t see how Jay is using him. He’s just a ‘yes’ man. But I guess it makes him feel important.”

“What do you mean?” Julia asked, nodding and smiling at some of the faces she recognized. She knew he referred to Jay Morrison, recently divorced and head of the new bank. She felt Drake’s hand shaking as he maneuvered her through the crowd.

“I’ll tell you later. Too many ears here.” He surveyed the guests nearby. “Let’s see…there’s Warren Pontell and his lovely wife Sarah. He’s talked about making a major contribution. His wife was a theatre actress in her younger days. And they have money to burn.” He turned to Julia and wiggled his eyebrows, à la Groucho Marx.

Drake and Julia chatted with the Pontells for a few minutes, using the time to emphasize the benefits of the smaller venue of the “little theatre.” It was designed to be an intimate stage setting with seating for about one hundred fifty people. Until recently, the area had been used for storage and was marginally functional for stage events in its current state.

Julia had found herself daydreaming but tuned back in when she heard Mr. Pontell say, “We’d like to donate $50,000 for the little theatre. Perhaps you can find a way to let us have something to say about naming it.” He grinned broadly as his wife beamed.

“Warren, that’s wonderful!” said Drake. “I’ll talk with the board of directors about naming opportunities. Let me get back to you on details for your donation. Thank you.”

Now grinning, Drake gently guided Julia toward Adam Johns, an influential man in the local union hierarchy, and his wife. He had started working at ESCO Paper Company right out of high school and had worked his way up from the labor pool to an electrician apprenticeship and then to a journeyman electrician. His constituents considered him to be fair and honest. He had an unofficial status in the union as a leader, although he didn’t have an elected or paid position as such.

Adam tugged at the neck of his dress shirt and pulled at the bottom of his dark blue waistcoat. The jacket gaped over his generous girth. He looked uncomfortable in his tuxedo. Julia was sure her mother would have said something like “putting perfume on a goat,” but most likely his wife had insisted he dress up for this occasion. He certainly looked impressive at his height of six foot three inches.

“Mr. and Mrs. Johns, good evening,” said Drake as he offered his hand. “Do you know Dr. Julia Fairchild? She’s helping to support the Theatre Restoration project as we all are.”

“We sure do,” said Adam, returning the handshake. “Dr. Fairchild, you took care of my mom several years back. She was real sick but you got her well and she’s fine now. Thanks to you. In fact, she’s going on a cruise through the Panama Canal with her church group this coming week. She’s always wanted to go on that trip.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Johns. I do remember your mom—Violette, I believe? She’s a lovely lady with a lot of spunk.” Julia shook his hand before turning to his wife. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Johns.”

Mr. Johns turned back to Drake. “Mr. Ashford, some of the guys at the mill want to know if you had talked with our union officials yet about the stock trading going on with our pension funds. And if you know anything, they hope you can tell them. And call me Adam. My wife is Linda.”

“Yes, Adam. I talked with a Scott Sowders in Portland. He’s looking into whether those trading fees can be traced back to any individuals. May I call you when I know something more?”

“Sure. You can call me at ESCO. The operator knows how to reach me. Thanks a lot, Mr. Ashford.”

“You can call me Drake, please. I’ll call you soon and we’ll go from there. Thanks again for being here tonight.”

“Hey. It’s an alright party. My wife is always trying to get me to gussy up. It’s more fun than I thought it would be.” He grinned and saluted with his cocktail.

Julia saw the auctioneer heading their way and alerted Drake. “I’ll check my lipstick while you talk with him. Where are we sitting?”

“Main table,” he said, pointing to the center of the long side of the room. He scowled. “Unfortunately, it appears we’re seated next to Jay Morrison, of all people.”

***

Excerpt from One Will Too Many by PJ Peterson. Copyright 2022 by PJ Peterson. Reproduced with permission from PJ Peterson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

PJ is a retired internist who enjoyed the diagnostic part of practicing medicine as well as creating long-lasting relationships with her patients. As a child she wanted to be a doctor so she could “help people.” She now volunteers at the local Free Medical Clinic to satisfy that need to help. She loved to read from a young age and read all the Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew books she could find. It wasn’t until she was an adult that she wrote anything longer than short stories for English classes and term papers in others. Writing mysteries only makes sense given her early exposure to that genre. Sprinkling in a little medical mystique makes it all the more fun.

Catch Up With PJ Peterson:
www.PJPetersonAuthor.com
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BookBub - @mizdrpj1
Facebook - PJ Peterson

 

 

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The Pilate Scroll by M.B. Lewis

 

The Pilate Scroll

by M.B. Lewis

March 14 - April 8, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

An artifact with untold power. An unlikely protector. Can she prevent the past from being used to destroy the future?

Kadie Jenkins lost her faith long ago. Traveling to Egypt as part of a research team battling a lethal virus, the talented scholar’s already weakened beliefs take a deadly dive when her colleague and mentor is murdered. With the man about to share a shocking finding before he met his demise, Kadie frantically gathers his papers… and barely escapes when the killer returns.

Fleeing by plane and forced into an emergency-landing in Israel, Kadie questions who in her group she can actually trust. And as the murderers close in, she’s stunned to discover they’re all hunting for an ancient relic that could change the course of history…

Will this headstrong academic lean on powers from above to keep the wicked from wreaking havoc on Earth?

The Pilate Scroll is a pulse-pounding Christian thriller. If you like complicated heroines, stunning twists, and divine light shining through the darkness, then you’ll love M.B. Lewis’s breakneck page-turner.

The Pilate Scroll Book Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Thriller / Action-Adventure
Published by: Satcom Publishing
Publication Date: April 27th 2021
Number of Pages: 346
ISBN: 1733098917 (ISBN13: 9781733098915)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Kindle Unlimited | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Port Said, Egypt
The Market District

Samuel Jacobson was a dead man. Or at least he thought so. His phone call had been erratic, anxious—almost in a panic.

“Brian, we have to go.” Kadie Jenkins stood and slid her iPhone back in the pocket of her tan 5.11 cargo pants. She grabbed her purse and rose from the table in the back of the tiny restaurant, dragging her nineteen-year-old brother out before they had a chance to order their dinner. The restaurant sat tucked between shops selling hookahs on one side and women’s clothes on the other. The aroma of fresh bread and grilled meats dissipated, replaced by the pungent scent of car exhaust and camel dung.

“It’s only a fifteen-minute walk back to the hotel,” Kadie said. “I bet we can make it in ten.”

Brian stumbled behind her as they hurried along dusty streets. They turned into the souk, or open-air market, the brick-laid section of the market that was pedestrian-only this time of night. While many of the shops had their “roll-up” metal security doors pulled down, the market bristled with life.

Vendors waved items in their faces, children tugged on their pant legs, and beggars held their palms up hoping for a handout. Her eyes studied everyone who came close, gauging their intentions in a moment’s glance. She was one of only a few women in the market not wearing a hijab.

“Kadie slow down,” Brian said. His breathing came deep and awkward, despite being a regular participant in the Special Olympics.

“Sorry, Brian. We could get a cab at the other end of the market. But by the time we find one, describe our hotel, and negotiate a price, we could walk to the hotel.” While she relished the exercise, she worried her pace was too much for him. He was fit for a young man with Down syndrome, but she moved swiftly.

Their team had been in Egypt for almost three weeks. Starting in Cairo, the small group of seven from GDI, the Global Disease Initiative, had been scouring the city for clues to an ancient cure. Their quest had led them from the United States to Cairo, then to Port Said. Their four days here had not yet proven fruitful.

The goosebumps on her skin reminded her of Samuel’s phone call. His message was brief yet concise: his life was in danger because he knew what they were really searching for. What did he mean? Their team was one of four positioned across the Middle East in search of their goal. Now, for some reason, Samuel questioned what that was.

GDI had been contracted by the United States government to locate an ancient cure for an even older virus—the hantavirus. Kadie researched the topic before they left for Egypt. Rodents generally spread it, and this strain was a particularly virulent “Old World” virus that had proven resistant to modern medicine.

The Central Intelligence Agency learned that ISIS weaponized the hantavirus in aerosol form and planned to unleash it across the West. The virus was known at the CDC to cause hemorrhagic fever with renal syndrome. Initial symptoms include fever, chills, blurred vision, back and abdominal pain, and intense headaches known to bring a grown man to his knees. Later, those exposed would experience shock, low blood pressure, kidney failure, and vascular leakage—all in all, a nasty virus to thrust upon any population. The logistics involved in treating the virus were obvious.

The unique thing about the “Old World” hantavirus, was that it had predominantly appeared in Europe and Asia. GDI discovered that the virus had been eliminated in the Middle East, which was odd, as rodents were prevalent throughout the region.

Through one of their many connections, GDI learned of a legendary cure developed in ancient Israel around 30 A.D. The virus had a different name back then, but the symptoms were the same. The cure was a simple combination of plants and minerals. The formula was stored in a vase with Aramaic writing on the side and lay hidden for millennia. That was why she was here. Kadie was fluent in Latin, Greek, and Aramaic. The executive vice president for the Science and Technology Division of GDI had contacted her personally, telling her she was “uniquely qualified” for this job. Kadie was enthralled to join the team when the offer came.

Samuel was in his early sixties, and he and Kadie had struck up a friendship at the beginning of their journey. He became her mentor and father figure, occasionally giving her advice on what to do with her career. Samuel was the team’s expert on carbon dating. His equipment was state-of-the-art, but other than testing its functionality the day after they arrived, he hadn’t used it. So, what did he discover? What did he know that was worth killing for?

Halfway to the hotel, she mumbled something she shouldn’t have as she pulled out her phone and dialed. Her eyes darted toward her brother.

“Do not c-cuss,” Brian said between heavy breaths.

Brian. Her moral compass there to steer her back on course. She squeezed her brother’s hand. Brian always kept her grounded. What would she do when he was gone? But he was here now, and she needed to make sure he would be safe, something she had done for him since the day he was born.

“Sorry, Brian. I just remembered I need to call Curt. He’s probably on his way to the restaurant to meet us.”

“He is probably s-still wor—king.” Brian’s eyes darted back and forth. His speech impediment that made his ‘r’s sometimes sound like ‘w’s wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when he was younger, and his stutter only showed up when he was nervous.

Kadie grimaced. Curt didn’t answer his phone. He was GDI’s security man and the only full-time employee on their team. Kadie left a message, telling him she was sorry, but she had to leave the restaurant. They’d talk later.

Next, she called Samuel. He didn’t answer either. She slipped her phone back in her cargo pocket and glanced at her brother. He was doing all he could to keep up with Kadie and avoid the distractions of the numerous shops in the marketplace. Gasping, his jaw jutted forward, brow furrowed, and his eyes bulged. He had been reluctant to leave the restaurant; he must be starving. She had to plead with him to get him to budge.

“We did not stay—for food. I am hungry,” Brian said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I am, too.” Her eyes darted back and forth in search of something they could eat. A few moments later she smiled. Near the end of the market, a vendor baked and sold bread. They stopped next to the giant metal oven that extended back into a yellowing mud-brick building. The bread rolled out of the front like doughnuts at Krispy Kreme, and two men placed the warm food on a rack woven out of sticks to cool. Her limited vocabulary in conversational Arabic helped her in situations like this. Kadie bought two loaves of Aish Baladi, an Egyptian flatbread made with whole wheat flour, similar to a pita. Handing the bag of bread to Brian, they continued on their way.

The dust of the market peeled away as they rounded the corner, and their hotel came into sight. Well-lit against the black sky, it sat on the edge of the water where the Suez Canal merged into the Mediterranean Sea. An outdoor restaurant sat to her left; the numerous tables had their umbrellas open, lit candles centered on each table. To her right, a small mosque lay nestled amongst other buildings. This street was far less crowded than the souk.

“What do you think about Curt?” Her chestnut-brown hair bounced as she slowed her pace so Brian could keep up. She needed a conversation to take her mind off Samuel.

“He is okay.” Brian looked away when he answered. Kadie knew what that meant. Brian’s instincts on people were spot on, and he wasn’t very fond of Curt. She wasn’t sure why; she was still trying to figure him out herself. Curt was a few years older than her. He was handsome, dashing, and brave—former Delta Force. There was something to be said for that.

They entered the newly renovated hotel, leaving the Third World atmosphere behind them. Kadie sighed as they weaved through the crowded lobby and lumbered up the stairs to their room on the second floor. She dropped Brian off in their room before she went to check on Samuel.

“Don’t leave,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.” Brian moved to the couch and pressed the big green button on the television remote.

Kadie closed the door; the hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and her heartbeat raced higher than usual. She hurried down the hall to Samuel’s room. Inside, she heard a loud crash and the sound of something hitting the wall, followed by a solid thud.

That’s not good, she thought.

Kadie tried the door handle. Locked. She pulled a small FOB out of her pocket. It was called a Gomer, a new device that opened almost any electronic lock. It had wreaked havoc on the hotel industry, but she had picked one up back in the States knowing she’d be living in hotels abroad for three months.

She was hesitant to use it. She shouldn’t just barge into his room. Then came a second thud, followed by a muffled cry.

Kadie swiped the FOB across the lock and pushed hard against the door. The door cracked open about two inches and abruptly stopped; the chain secured on the inside.

“Samuel?” She peered through the gap; a body lay on the floor. Oh my, he’s had a heart attack. Kadie lowered her shoulder and bulldozed the door. It started to give way. On the second try, the chain burst free from the wall and the door flew open.

Kadie gasped. In the center of the room, a large man stood over Samuel’s body, wearing a faded brown futa, the traditional Yemini male shirt, and black pants. A black keffiyeh covered his face, with only his eyes exposed.

The man stood over Samuel, the bloody knife in his hand dripping on the floor.

***

Excerpt from The Pilate Scroll by M.B. Lewis. Copyright 2022 by Michael Byars Lewis. Reproduced with permission from Michael Byars Lewis. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Michael Byars Lewis is an Amazon #1 International Bestselling Author, and his books have also been on the Bestseller lists on Barnes and Noble Nook and Kobo platforms. The author of the award-winning Jason Conrad Thriller series has been on numerous author panels at writer’s conferences such as Thrillerfest, The Louisiana Book Festival, The Pensacola Book and Writers Festival, and Killer Nashville. ​ A 25-year Air Force pilot, he has flown special operations combat missions in Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan in the AC-130U Spooky Gunship. Michael is currently a pilot for a major U.S. airline. ​ A proud Christian active in his community, Michael has mentored college students on leadership development and team-building and is a facilitator for an international leadership training program. He has participated as a buddy for the Tim Tebow Foundation’s “Night to Shine” and in his church’s Military Ministry program. Michael has also teamed with the Air Commando Foundation, which supports Air Commando’s and their families’ unmet needs during critical times. ​ While his adventures have led to travels all around the world, Michael lives in Florida with his wife Kim.

Catch Up With M.B. Lewis:
www.MichaelByarsLewis.com
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Instagram - @michaelbyarslewis
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Cyclops by Harley Wylde

 

Contemporary Romance, Motorcycle Club

Release Date: March 18, 2022

Leigha -- To say my dad is overprotective is too mild a description. Add in all my honorary uncles in the Dixie Reapers MC and going on dates is next to impossible. So when Lyssa invites me to visit her at the Reckless Kings in Tennessee, I jump at the chance. Maybe I can finally experience life a little. I know my family goes after bad men, the kind who hurt women and kids. I never counted on becoming a victim myself. The biker who comes to my rescue is… scary. Hot. And all alpha. He’s exactly what I need!

Cyclops -- My stint in the military left me a parting gift. Scar tissue that not only left me blind in that eye, but makes the damn thing look spooky as fuck. I’m used to people staring. Mostly. Then my brothers had to stick me with the road name Cyclops. They’re not funny, even if they think they are. Uncle Sam may no longer find me fit for duty, but it doesn’t mean I’m useless. When I hear a scream, I don’t hesitate. Thought I was saving a girl. Turns out she’s a woman -- and one I shouldn’t touch. The daughter of a Dixie Reaper, she’s her daddy’s little angel… and damn if I’m not tempted to lure her to the dark side and get her a little dirty.

WARNING: Cyclops is part of the Reckless Kings MC series. It contains an age-gap relationship of more than 10 years, violence, bad language, and adult situations. Some readers may find the subject matter difficult to read. But there’s a guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cheating, and no cliffhanger!

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2022 Harley Wylde

I’d just pulled my keys free when I felt someone behind me. The heat of their body pressed into mine and I froze. How had I not heard anyone approaching? All the training I’d received flew out the window. My hand shook as the man caged me between his arms. He leaned in closer, the smell of beer and cigarettes making me cringe.

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”

Bluff your way out of this, Leigha. I licked my lips and tried to relax my body. “What makes you think I’m alone?”

“Saw you pull up. I don’t see a man with you. Unless you prefer women?” He put his lips near my ear and bit down hard enough I yelped. “That it? Maybe you just need a good, hard fucking to change your mind. Prove to you cock is better.”

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. My heart raced and I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling. “I like men.” I took a breath and held it for a moment. “When one gets here, let me know.”

“You bitch!” He spun me around, making me drop my coffee and my keys. He pressed his forearm against my throat. “Think I’m not a man? Guess I need to prove otherwise.”

“Danny, there’s too many people,” another guy said. I glanced his way and realized he’d be no help. The look in his eyes said he didn’t care for what his friend wanted to do to me, but he was too chicken to make him stop.

“Then we’ll take her somewhere else.” He yanked me away from the car, his hand bruising my arm as he dragged me toward an alley. I struggled and fought, hoping someone would see us. If they did, they pretended otherwise. He shoved me against the brick building and started tearing at my clothes.

He ripped my shirt down the middle and started working on unfastening my jeans. “Help! Someone…”

His fist connected with my stomach before he slapped me across the face. I gasped and coughed. “Shut up. You keep fighting, it’s going to be even worse.”

“Never.” I spat in his face. “I’ll never let you touch me.”

He shoved my jeans down my hips and tried ripping my panties. I kicked at him, stomped on his feet, and clawed at his face. I did everything I could to break free. It only pissed him off more.

I refused to let this piece of filth take my virginity. Reaching up, I jammed my thumbs into his eyes and pushed as hard as I could. He screamed and backed up. I didn’t relent and clung to him like a barnacle. I wanted his eyes to pop, to make him suffer and remember this moment the next time he tried to hurt a woman. He’d gotten the drop on me, and I’d frozen like a damn deer in the headlights. But down deep, I was my father’s daughter, and while I might not wear a patch, I was part of the Dixie Reapers by blood. No way I’d let this asshole win.

“I’m not a damsel you can bully and terrify. I’ll kill you before I let you rape me.” He knocked me to the ground. Before I could stand, someone entered the alley.

I eyed him, tensing as I wondered if he was here to help, or to join my would-be rapist. Then I noticed the leather cut over his shoulders, and his attire. Biker. Relief flooded me. If he was part of a club, he’d likely be from the Reckless Kings. And if he wasn’t, my chances were still good he might help me. Even the weekend riders seemed to have a certain code they followed.

The new man went after Danny. I saw the back of his cut and smiled. Reckless Kings MC. Since he was one of Beast’s men, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He threw punches at the guy’s face and torso, not holding back. While he whaled on the asshole, I pulled up my jeans. My shirt was a lost cause. Even trying to tie it didn’t help, so I let it fall to the ground. The worrier who’d tried to tell his friend not to hurt me had fled down the alley.

Danny fell to the ground, and the biker nailed him in the ribs with the toe of his boot, then kneeled down beside him. “If I ever see you put your hands on a woman again, I will cut them off. Then I’ll remove your tongue. Your eyes. Your ears. And finally, I’ll cut off your dick and shove it down your throat. Assuming I can find something that small without a magnifying glass. Understood?”

Danny groaned and nodded. The biker stood and kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold. When he turned to face me, I scanned his cut. Cyclops. I would have asked why he had that name, but the guy wore an eye patch over his left eye. There had to be a story there, and I’d love to hear it. “Thank you,” I said.

He nodded and shrugged out of his cut. Reaching behind his neck, he pulled his shirt off and handed it to me. “Better cover up. Did I get here in time?”

“Yeah. He got close, but…” I pressed my lips together as I put on his shirt. A spicy scent made me want to lift the material to my nose and inhale, but I figured the guy might find that creepy. And weird.

My phone started chiming non-stop. The tone told me it was Logan, which meant my twin had sensed my fear. It had happened one other time when we were learning to drive. Except in reverse. Logan had taken Dad’s bike out without permission and wrecked it. I’d sensed his fear and pain the moment it happened. I’d need to text him back before he freaked out. Well, more than he already had.

He slipped his cut back over his shoulders and I tried not to stare at his broad chest, or the fact his abs were well-defined. I definitely didn’t eye the happy trail and imagine what he’d look like with his pants unzipped. Reaching up, I made sure I wasn’t drooling. On the plus side, the incident with the fucker on the ground hadn’t soured me toward men.

“Come on, kitten. I’ll walk you to your car. Make sure you get inside safely.”

I walked over to him and wrapped my fingers around his bicep. He reached up and covered my hand with his before leading me out of the alley. I pointed to my car and noticed he scanned his surroundings as we made our way over to it. I could feel the coiled tension in him and wondered if he’d gotten that way from being with the Reckless Kings, or if he’d been in the military. His behavior reminded me of all the men back home I called family, especially the ones who’d served our country.

He helped me gather my things, and I was thankful no one had stolen my purse and wallet. I didn’t even remember dropping them. I eyed the empty coffee cup forlornly and picked it up. After I tossed it into the trash, Cyclops reached out to take my hand.

“Why don’t we sit a minute? You have to be a bit shaken after that.”

I’d thought I’d been doing an admirable job of hiding it. Apparently, I hadn’t. I wondered if he knew who I was.

About the Author

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil's Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.

When Harley's writing, her motto is the hotter the better -- off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can't deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you've come to the right place. She doesn't shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.

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The Buccaneers of St.Frederick Island by Linda Maria Frank

 

Young Reader, Children's Book, Middle Grade, Mystery, Adventure

Publisher: Annie Tillery Mysteries

What can possibly happen when a crime happens under the very noses of a group of very savvy eighth graders at St. BeSillius’ Catholic School on St. Frederick’s Island? When the money they raised to buy toys for children in homeless shelters in near-by NYC is stolen, the Buccaneers, as they call themselves are outraged. Despite warnings from Father Felix and Sr. Jo, Sprocket, the leader of the Buccaneers, and her determined buddies set out to follow the clues, run down the thief, and get those toys for the homeless kids.

When their clubhouse is burned down, and a threatening letter is sent to the local newspaper, The Foghorn, owned and operated by Sprocket’s mother, the Buccaneers are even more determined to unravel the plot against them. A mysterious island once owned by the pirate, Jon Buccleigh and a labyrinthine cave serve as the setting for this skullduggery. A Native American healer, her community, and a group of the beach people conspire with the Buccaneers to get that money back.

You will be laughing at some of the Buccaneers’ antics and gasping at what those brave eighth-graders face to solve the mystery. The story is rich with colorful and engaging characters as well as the flavor of post-war America in 1947. An altogether fun and satisfying read.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

ON THE MOVE

How do those turtles do it? Pull their heads into their bodies? Here comes Sr. JoAnn. My head stubbornly remained on top of my neck.

If you think it’s easy writing a note to the kid in the seat next to you when the rattling of Sr. JoAnn’s rosary is announcing her slow walk down my aisle at this moment, you’ve never been to Catholic school. The room is silent. You can hear pen nibs scratching across the pages of our black and white composition books, leaving a trail of ink blots.

Pen nibs, you say. Ink blots? You won’t believe this about the ink and the inkwell. Will you? We all learned to master a form of writing called the Palmer method. This is just another aspect of toughening the backbone here at St. BeSillius’s. As I look at my permanently stained right middle finger, I wonder if I will be done in by something lurking in the ink and become St. Sprocket, patron saint of calligraphy.

The smell of chalk and old tempera paints barely covers the tinge of pine-scented urine coming from the old radiators. My mom went to this school and tells the story of kids leaning their wet behinds against the radiators to let their underwear dry if they had an accident. Going to the bathroom in those days was a privilege reserved for the Pope. Thank God things have changed, and St. BeSillius has hired a nurse, and given her an office where this kind of thing could be taken care of.

A floorboard squeaks. I hear the faint clink of keys as if Sr. has reached into the stygian depths of her pocket for something. I slide my ruler over the words I’ve just written and peer cautiously from the side of my vision trying to locate Sr. JoAnn. My stomach bunches. She is reading Eddie O’Malley’s entire page. Eddie’s not one of us, so there is nothing out of the ordinary to see in his notebook.

My page is full of writing, but not what I think I want Sister to see. So far, I’ve jotted a list: LOOK FOR CLUES, including the narvex, the sacristy, the side entrance, the choir loft, and the bushes around the church. I’ve signed it, Sprocket.

Sprocket? Is that a Christian name? Of course not, silly reader. We all have code names to protect the guilty. We are the Buccaneers of St. BeSillius School, a secret society dedicated to solving the mysteries and misdeeds of our little parish school and the island where it’s located.

Uh-oh. Here she comes. If I rip the page out and crumple it, she’ll just grab it. And, I’ll have to explain why there’s nothing on the page, in longhand mind you, about the characteristics that would have made George Washington a good Catholic, if only he had known better.

George was an Anglican having once been a colonial loyal to the King of England, also a George. But that’s another story.

Eddie, not the sharpest pencil in the box, is getting the Spanish Inquisition treatment about his lack of inspiration on the topic. I wonder if the nuns get a special course in interrogation techniques.

Eddie, I love him dearly, is buying me time. Could I quietly turn the page and jot a quick sentence or two? I pick up the notebook and turn the page, knocking a pen full of ink onto the floor along with the ink well. As you can imagine, this was not a silent maneuver. Sr. JoAnn, Eddie and the whole class look at me. I feel my face burn. I get up to clean the mess and knock the composition book on the floor with my note showing plainly on top. Sister reaches for it. I’M DEAD!

The fire drill siren shrieks. Sister turns to move the class to the fire exit, and I kick the composition book under the desk. It obliges me, closing with a snap.

“I’ll clean this later, Sister.” I smile.

“And I will be checking your essay.” She smiles back.

“Yes, Sister,” I say, noting that the proverbial glove his been tossed onto the floor like they did in those ancient duels. I file past her.

**********************************************************

Are you wondering why a bunch of Catholic school kids are searching for clues in what looks like a church and the yard around it?

Let me digress for a bit and fill you in on some details about why we are listing clues and what all this skullduggery (Great word, isn’t it?) is about.

Well, before I fill you in on what happened when we found those clues, let me explain who we are. We call ourselves The Secret Crime-Stoppers of Sts. Christopher and Michael, but I wanted a shorter title like Buccaneers of St. BeSillius. I thought calling on both St. Christopher and St. Michael was pushing the envelope of sponsorship. And who even knows who St. BeSillius is? So, just think of us as the Buccaneers.

For the past year, our class has been raising money for a class trip to visit seven churches on the mainland and distribute toys to the children’s day care centers in those parishes. We did bake sales, car washes, leaf-raking, snow shoveling. We cleaned attics for old ladies, cut lawns and pulled weeds. Some ill-informed parents even let us do fence-painting. Don’t worry! Those shrubs will come back in a year or two.

A whole year of those earnings went into the fund. We kept it in the vestry. That’s the room behind the altar in the church where the priest keeps his vestments. Get it? Vestry, vestments? The box with the money disappeared the day Father Felix was supposed to open a bank account for us. We never got the money back, never found out who did it, and we’re pi….. Whoops! Sorry. I’m just angry. Not mad. Sister Priscilla said that mad means crazy. Well, she hasn’t been paying attention to her students.

Anyway, even though the sisters and priests said we should offer it up to God. I’m not sure what that means, the money or the cursing we did. And, we should learn a lesson. Next time lock it up! And where were we supposed to lock it up? It was in the vestry! With Father Felix, the parish priest!

This didn’t go down too well with some of us, and one night last summer at our club house which is just a shack on the beach, we decided to form our own little PI group, that’s Private Investigator. We voted on and accepted our official title, Buccaneers of St.Besillius. Look. You can’t beat our creativity in naming the group. We even researched St. BS. She’s the patron saint of mimes.

As we gathered around the fire, we wrote up a charter including the following:

· Each member is sworn to secrecy, under pain of . . .what? Oh, I don’t know.

· All clues are to be shared by everyone.

· All communications would be done using our code names. Mine is Sprocket.

· Our meeting place would be the old fishing shack on the beach.

We made a list of our code names.

Lily code name Sprocket, all around smarty, leader, that’s me.

Ryan: code name Bletch, general genius.

Frank: code name Wingnut, mechanical genius, and a bit dippy.

Leon: code name Snap Shackle, math genius, can put two and two together.

Amalie: code name Ratchet, electronic surveillance, or just plain snoop, meaning she can use a camera.

And so, the story begins.

About the Author

Linda Maria Frank, retired from a career teaching science, including forensic science, resides on Long Island and is currently writing the Annie Tillery Mysteries, as well as The Buccaneers of St. Frederick Island. She also produces The Writer’s Dream, her local access TV show, seen on YouTube. Frank is active in LI Authors Group, LI Sisters in Crime, LI Children’s Writers and Illustrators, and Mystery Writers of America.

Linda does lectures on Topics on Forensic Science at libraries, universities, clubs and other venues. She is currently writing the next Buccaneers book.

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Zebra by Jill Wallace

 

Action Adventure/20th Century/Historical

Publisher: Tsotsi Publications

An action-packed adventure is at its core a heartwarming saga of two boys, one Zulu, one white, who become best friends during the apartheid era in South Africa as they explore the treacherous area of a remote mountain hotel.

But society eventually succeeds in tearing them apart and they're left with hearts than never heal.

A decade later they're forced to meet on opposite sides of a bloody battlefield. Can only one survive?

About the Author

Jill Wallace was born and bred (her mother would prefer ‘brought up’) in South Africa, and lived the second half of her life in America. She feels like the African baobab with roots that look like branches. Like the confused “Upside Down Tree” she no longer knows where the South African ends and the American begins. She hopes it affords her some degree of complexity. A girl can always hope :o)

In South Africa, Jill was a contemporary dancer and a PRO for a shopping center conglomerate. She flew as an “international air hostess” for South African Airways, enjoyed 6 continents and hundreds of adventures. She married her dream man, Athol, a rugby player who makes her laugh. They moved to America with the promise of a career that never happened, and Jill inherited her 2 heart-children full time in a strange, new country where together they found compromise, laughter and love.

In the U.S. Jill’s been a bad waitress and an excellent (but inconspicuous) movie extra for “Pretty Woman” director Garry Marshall, and a realtor for 28 years. As a screenplay, "War Serenade" (which was inspired by a true story) was twice optioned for a movie. As her first novel, “War Serenade” garnered multiple literary awards and a Rone and Readers Choice for the audio book version.

Her second novel "Zebra" is inspired by Athol's life. It’s a searing, soaring, heart-breaking, heart-warming coming-of-age story about an unusual friendship between a Zulu and a white boy in South Africa during apartheid.

As immigrants they’ve been humbled by poverty and blessed by kindness. Proud to be an American, her heart is strongly African and her books will always reflect Jill’s plight as a baobab tree.

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