General Auryn Tyrus is tired of serving an emperor who turns political dissidents into expensive steak and claims to have swallowed Ankari’s sun. He is fed up with pretending not to know Emperor Haken is buying biological weapons and collecting taxes for a war that doesn’t exist. Auryn’s role in the entire mirage leads him to drastic choices, but unexpected news halts his plans. Seven-year-old Keita Kaneko, the son of a former lover, is captured by the emperor’s special forces. Auryn secretly intervenes and spares Keita from execution.
Keita changes everything. Instead of feeling helpless and oppressed by a self-proclaimed living god, Auryn works to expose the emperor as a fraud. But he knows exactly what will happen if he’s discovered, and the extent of Emperor Haken’s lies is worse than anticipated. If Auryn expects anyone to believe the truth, he’s going to need proof. And a lot of help.
Get books 1 & 2 for only 99¢ each for a limited time!
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MY REVIEW:
5-stars! A fantastic read!
Let me just say that it isn’t often a book can make me cry. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know Kai and Gia, but there was a particular point in the book when I admittedly cried so hard I gave myself a headache. It was a touching story, one that kept me flipping the pages. Once I started, I couldn’t put it down. Ms. Butler did a fantastic job and I can’t wait to read the other books in the series.
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EXCERPT:
Kai held her leg still at his knee or how relaxed they were reclining against the wicker loungers on his balcony, watching the rain crash against the city around them. Damn that spark. It was back and seemed to have no intention of leaving. It was black everywhere now, the electricity shutting off an hour before. Now there was only Kai’s company and the crashing of thunder and the sound of the rain against the metal balcony roof to break apart the quiet of the night.
“When did you have oke?” he asked, pulling her attention from the darkness around her.
“God. I must have been…twenty-three? Couldn’t have been any older than that. I went to O’ahu with my friend Claire. It was her present to herself for passing the bar.”
Kai rubbed her bare leg as she spoke, a lazy, absent-minded gesture Gia wasn’t sure he knew he did. She felt serene, calm even if she wore loose boxers rolled up and knotted at the waist and one of his black Steamers tees that fell off her shoulder every time she moved her hand.
“And what did you do in O’ahu?”
She smiled not sure how honest she should be. But there had been nothing between them save some mild flirtation. Besides, Gia had a past before him. She was sure to have one after he’d stepped out of her life.
“A fire dancer from Waipahu.”
The stroking on her leg stopped, then the lounger next to her shook and Gia looked at Kai, joining in his laughter. “And did the fire dancer do us proud?”
“Most definitely.”
Kai shook his head, and the rubbing continued. “There are always people who like to give the tourists the whole Hawaiian experience.”
“Did you ever offer anyone the whole Hawaiian experience?”
“Never a tourist.” He looked at Gia then, pressing his lips together. “But I’m keeping my options open.”
She wasn’t drunk enough for this. Not for the glint in his eyes and what it told her. Not for the smooth, slow stroke of his finger against her thigh and how it made her feel. Not for the slowness of Kai’s movements when he set her leg on the lounger, making sure that her ankle was out of the way before he came on his side to face her.
“Gia,” he said, taking the glass out of her hand. There was nothing he needed to say to her. No convincing that would make her change her mind about anything happening between them.
None of it was needed.
“My God,” she started, her tone sounding awed even to her own ears, “how you look at me.” She wanted the words back inside her mouth seconds after they left.
It was too late.
Kai was already moving.
His palm to her face, fingertips moving her chin up and Kai held his mouth inches from Gia’s, ready, waiting, breath warming her lips. “This is a profoundly bad idea,” she said, just as she smoothed her fingers over his wide arm and up his shoulders, running them along his neck to rest against his cheek.
“Then tell me to stop.”
She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.
“Can’t,” Gia said, meeting Kai’s kiss when it came for her.
Then Gia knew what every look Kai had given her meant. He was fierce with every sweeping brush of his lips against hers, with the flat of his tongue inside her mouth, tasting, touching like he couldn’t get enough of her. Every touch meant something, and Gia felt each one with how deeply he kissed her, with how he moved over her, shifting their bodies against the cushions at their backs.
This was nothing like she remembered of him. There was no absinthe or bourbon to dull her senses. There was only the rain and darkness and Kai pressed against her, showing her with the shape of his mouth and the weight of his body how much he wanted her.
“Kai…” She said the name like a wish, trying it out in a breathy whisper that was half moan, half hopeful need and Gia wasn’t sure which she meant more. She only knew that if he stopped touching her, stopped the trail of his lips against her neck, his teeth against her skin and the steely hold of his fingers in her hair, she might just die.
“Kai…” she said again, surprised when he looked up at her, kissing her mouth, adjusting them so that his hips moved against hers and she felt the full size and shape of what he had for her.
“What do you need, nani?” He moved against her and she dropped her head back, fighting the ache that rose up between her legs. “Tell me what you need me to give you and it’s yours.”
“I want…”
Did she know? Gia wasn’t sure. In the dark, the answers came easily. There was nothing here but sensation and movement. There was quiet and the secrets only they could keep. But the morning always came. There would be no stopping it. That was the hardest truth Gia ever had to learn. You can never hide from the sun. It will always rise to meet you.
“Tell me,” he said, pulling on her leg to move them closer still together, groaning when she instinctively reacted with the brush of her hips against him.
When Kai moved his hand under the tee she wore, when he leaned back over her to move in for the kiss, Gia almost let him touch her. She almost relinquished all her control and let that lineman take whatever he wanted from her.
“Kai…I don’t…”
“Gia… please…” He grunted, pulling his hand from her bare skin but didn’t move away from her completely. She could make out the frustration in the hard lines of his features and the hard set of his mouth. When she touched his lips, smoothing her fingers over that soft skin, some of the tension left him. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m…sorry. I’m just…” She didn’t know how to explain herself. She couldn’t when she didn’t understand it herself. Gia only knew the path Kai wanted her on led to heartache and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. She wanted him, but not enough to risk what remained of the thing she’d once called a heart again.
Kai opened his mouth, making to speak against her fingers, but stopped, glancing into his apartment when the lights flickered on and a knock sounded at the front door.
“The super,” Gia supplied, moving her hand from his face.
“The super,” he agreed, slipping from the lounger before he pulled Gia to her unsteady feet. “I’ll help you to your apartment.”
“No,” she said, finding her ankle felt less tender and she could manage with a bit more weight on it than she’d been able to bear a few hours before. “I’ve got it.”
She was halfway to the door when Kai stopped her, calling her name over the sound of a second knock.
“If you…figure things out…”
She nodded, managing a smile. “I know where you live, junior.”
“Good. Then you won’t get lost on your way back here.”
Author Bio:
Eden Butler is a writer of contemporary, fantasy and romantic suspense novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, reads, and spends too much time in her garden perfecting her green thumb while waiting for the next New Orleans Saints Superbowl win.
She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana.
Finish What You Started Alexandra Evans
Publication date: October 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Sports
Tyler Johansen, catcher for the Memphis Blues, always promised himself he would complete his bachelor’s degree. But his online professor is a real pain in the ass.
When Professor Harper Manning is forced to bend the rules for one of her students just because he’s a professional athlete, she’s pissed. Entitled jerk.
Unfortunately he’s the sexiest entitled jerk she’s ever come across, and Ty has made it clear he’s hot for teacher. She could lose her job if they’re caught messing around.
“But I have a special deal with the dean.” Ty scooted up on the chair and leaned his elbows on the faded oak of her desk. “See, I play ball, and since I’m having to take this class during the season, I can’t always get my assignments in on time. Sometimes I’m on the road—”
“They don’t have Wi-Fi in your hotels?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You have your laptop or access to a computer when you’re on the road?”
“Most of the time, but—”
“So you had the same opportunity to get this turned in on time that all my other students did, especially since you aren’t carrying a full load on top of working as some students in my classes do.”
He sat back in his chair and scowled. “Well, I do work. Baseball is a full-time job. It’s more than a full-time job, to be perfectly honest, when you factor in workouts, practices, games, interviews, team meetings, and all the other crap that goes along with it.”
“With one class. That’s doable for all the rest of my students, Mr. Johansen, so I expect it to be doable for you as well, special arrangements or not. I think the dean would agree with me on that.”
Harper pushed the essay back toward him and rolled her chair up closer to her desk. She should have done a little jig of victory, but instead she felt a little tinge of…guilt? No, not that. He’d been late on his assignment, and playing ball was no excuse. It was never an excuse for shirking responsibilities. If you wanted something enough, you went all out for it. If her father had taught her nothing else in his miserable life, what little of it he’d actually spent with her, he’d taught her that.
Author Bio:
Alexandra enjoys writing contemporary romances with hot heroes and strong heroines, centered on her favorite sport: baseball.
A former research scientist, Alexandra spends her free time taking care of her husband, teenage daughter, and two doge, a Papillon named Percy, and a St. Bernard mix named Bongo.
Halloween nightmares & flying broomsticks… It’s All Hallows Eve and you can’t stop the party for long!
Cat Out of Hell by Isabella Jordan — Joey makes Katrina feel things she’s never felt before. But will either of them escape this Halloween nightmare alive?
Headless Horseman by Marteeka Karland — One too many Flying Broomsticks and a phobia about Halloween aren’t the only things chasing Isabelle Crane into the darkness…
Voodoo Queen by Lia Connor — When Paul comes to check Marie out will he wind up in her bed? It’s Halloween in New Orleans, and you can’t stop the party for long!
Raven by Willa Okati — On All Hallows’ Eve Leonard comes to Andrew for their yearly tryst. Trouble is, one of them’s a ghost, and can’t stay longer than midnight…
Good Weds Evil by Kate Hill — Trapped between heaven and hell, Evangeline and Urbane have only each other. Forever.
Witch of Alloway by Marie Treanor — When notorious rock star Tam returns to his home village for a special Hallowe’en gig, it’s more than the dead Annie raises!
All Dressed Up by Ashlynn Monroe — Will Isaac be willing to share his wife with two demons?
Kuro by Ana Raine — When Preston saves a black cat everything he knows about life and demons is going to be questioned.
Like The Stars by Jonathan Wright — A vampire will seduce you with detached casualness, but a Lycan will fight to the death to keep you.
“If you like your erotica galloping fast, then Marteeka Karland’s Jack-O-Lantern: The Headless Horseman is just what you need. It’s light and humorous in all the right places. A fitting read for the season.”
— TMC Reviews
Praise for Raven
“Willa Okati delivers another… stunner with volcanic m/m intimacy which sears the pages.”
5 Hearts! — Annie, The Romance Studio
Praise for Good Weds Evil
“Incendiary passion burns up this Jack-O-Lantern and makes it a heavenly treat for Halloween.”
Joey grinned from his seat at the bar as he looked around the smoke-filled room. The biker at the bar he’d visited in the last town had given him some good advice. This place really was something different. A wild party where a guy had a good chance of getting laid. Just what he was looking for.
It wasn’t yet midnight and the party was in full swing. Beer and whiskey flowed, the crowd was a nightmarish sea of masked and painted faces. After doing a double take, Joey realized he was the only one who wasn’t dressed up for Halloween.
And I’m in a town called Hell. How was that for his first Halloween as a free man?
Two people were already fucking in a booth near the back, a guy dressed like a Roman soldier and a woman dressed like a naughty nurse. There was another couple next to him, dressed as a devil and his beautiful angel, and from the look on the guy’s red painted face, they appeared to be ready to get it on. Until the devil noticed Joey sitting there.
Following the line of his gaze, the angel turned in her seat to gaze at Joey.
Damn, she was beautiful. Unlike many of the bar’s costumed patrons, she wasn’t wearing a wig or a hat. Just a wire and tinsel halo hovering over long, blonde hair so pale it looked silver. Her skin was creamy white, and a lot of it was visible in the filmy white costume she wore. The tops of her full breasts were revealed by what there was of a bodice and it had his cock throbbing beneath the small table where he sat.
Beautiful, clear blue eyes met his. She liked what she saw too, but the raw lust he felt wasn’t mirrored in her eyes. No, there was something else…
Joey never noticed the devil ease over to his table as he stared at her.
“Do you like angel food cake, my friend?” The man’s voice was a harsh whisper in his ear.
So he was her pimp?
Regardless, Joey loved the thought of fucking her. The physical cravings that had been chemically induced by the men who’d created him, half man and half leopard, and kept him a prisoner for so many years, had lessened to an extent. It was tolerable now. Things had been so easy when he was still with Alex. Sharing the lovely reporter they’d initially kidnapped, without any sort of commitment, just to appease the nagging ache in his loins, had been ideal. It had been Alex who’d fallen for the beautiful blonde.
Something about this little angel reminded Joey of her, of Casey. The thought of having the beauty in front of him in bed made his mouth water.
“Maybe,” Joey finally answered.
“Our little angel will spread her wings for you,” the man’s voice droned on close to his ear. “For the right price.”
Her gaze shifted to the devil at his ear and back.
Rivals to friends to lovers and more — there’s much ado about you, you, you.
Open Cover Before Striking: Davis Carmichael doesn’t do love. He’d rather strip naked and crawl through a field of broken glass than give anyone that much control over him. The only thing he cares about is his journalism career. That is, until he meets Cristian Baranov, a die-hard Romeo with an uncanny knack for making connections and taming cranky wordsmiths. A man who breaks down Davis’s resistance with a sweep of his hand for just one night. Neither expected they’d ever meet again, but fate has other plans…
Best Laid Plans: Jefferson’s a serious-natured soccer star, and Teddy was born to party till the wheels come off. But they have more fun fighting with each other than they would kissing anyone else. Maybe — maybe — they’re falling in love. But when everything turns topsy-turvy, is their new alliance strong enough to save the day?
Teddy retraced his path backward, down the three shallow porch steps and onto the sidewalk in front of 1514 Saltman Street. Dandelions and crabgrass grew through cracks in the pavement, and someone named BIG JOE had signed the concrete before it dried back in — Teddy squinted — 1983.
Teddy pressed the fingertips of both hands to his mouth as he craned his neck for a good look up at 1514. Two blocks away from the University of West Ioannes campus. Near enough to walk; far enough for independence. Red brick — the kind of red that made him think of sunsets and abattoirs — battered and chipped at the corners. Faded black shutters at every window. The wooden porch boards had been painted a dull slate gray and had gaps between them big enough to lose a quarter down. Straight-up house on the bottom floor, divided into two doll-sized apartments on the second floor. Climbing vines draped lushly over the walls. And it had balconies.
Yes and yes again. Teddy’s grin grew behind the lattice of his fingertips. He jigged in place, three steps of a Cossack kick that made his mop of coppery hair bounce over his forehead. It’s perfect.
He shaded his eyes to squint up at the balconies. Those were what had really sold him on the deal — well, he would have signed up no matter what to get out of the dorms, but anyway. When he’d been offered a chance at a different arrangement, he’d jumped at it. He’d imagined it would be nice, but this was the cherry on top. His own private balcony, where he could cozy up in a blanket in winter and leave his flip-flops wherever he pleased during the summer months. He’d bet it got great natural light. He’d been born to bask, and his full-body dusting of freckles proved it.
Did the balcony already have a chair, or would he need to scout one out at the Army Surplus? Teddy stood on his tiptoes, but he couldn’t be sure. The sturdy vines growing up the sides of the house made it difficult to see past them in places, so thick and verdant green that they had their own personality.
Hmm. I wonder…
Teddy kicked off his shoes and wiggled his bare toes on the pavement, right over BIG JOE’s signature. The vines looked strong enough to climb, and he was a small guy. They ought to hold five-four and a buck-twenty-five. He tugged at a trailing green tendril to check and made a pleased noise in the back of his throat when they didn’t give way. They barely budged except to rustle at him in annoyance.
“Let’s see what we can see,” he said, reaching for a double grip on the vines over his head. “Up, up, and away!”
He almost made it halfway to the second story — not bad, personal record — before his left foot skidded off. Oops. He’d forgotten to account for natural skin oils on his soles and slipperiness from the warmth of sneakers in summertime. If it hadn’t been for that, he thought, he would have made it all the way.
“Yipe!”
“Whoa!”
The body-to-body collision jarred the fillings in Teddy’s molars, and the pair of sinewy arms that wrapped around his chest made his ribs squeak in protest. He flailed and kicked his legs backward and got his ass dropped on the sidewalk for his pains. Right on JOE. Oh, the humanity. “What the hell?” he yelped, looking up again at six feet of indignation framed in chestnut hair and bright-blue eyes.
“Jefferson?” Hastily, Teddy flipped his leather kilt down to hide the goods. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass. Don’t bother to thank me.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Teddy said. He rolled to his knees and got up, dusting himself off. Jefferson! Of all the people. To say they didn’t get along — and never had — was like daring to suggest water might be slightly wet or that fire had the potential to burn. And they couldn’t ever seem to avoid each other. He was besties with the boyfriend of Teddy’s bestie, Noelani, which was just all kinds of swell. Everywhere he went, Jefferson poked his giant soccer head up, with his jock buddies in tow and his utter, absolute lack of a sense of humor and his stupid cologne-ad face.
Jerk. Teddy picked a stubborn dandelion fluff off his elbow. “What are you doing here? It’s summer session. You’re at soccer camp.”
Jefferson arched an eyebrow. He leaned his hip against the porch, his Ioannes tank clinging tightly to his pecs. Unlike Teddy, he tanned instead of burned. Freckles had never dared show their faces on his skin, no matter how much time he spent kicking little white balls around, broiling on a practice field. “Am I really? Look again. Unless you think I’m a figment of your imagination.”
“My imagination can do better than that,” Teddy said. Okay, maybe not much better. He could admit to an aesthetic appreciation for the benefits of good nutrition and plentiful exercise, and maybe some good genetics, but that was it. There, he drew the line. He lifted his chin. “Are you playing hooky or what?”
Jefferson ignored the question. He reached out to take one of Teddy’s hands, the move so surprising that Teddy actually let him do it — until Jefferson flipped it from back to front and wrinkled his nose. “Nice manicure. You and Noelani go to the same place to get your nails done?”
Teddy bristled up. He might be small, but he was a redhead, by God, and he had the temper to match. And it was a nice manicure. He jerked his hand back and flashed the nails, neatly shaped and trimmed and painted a sparkly blue, at the… the… oaf, finishing with the middle ones up. “I can get you a discount if you want. Nail Me Spa on Maple. I don’t know if they can do much for athlete’s foot.”
Jefferson chuffed a short breath through his nose and glowered at Teddy. “I was just saying. Jeez. Why do you always have to get all fired up?”
Teddy ignored his question with what he hoped was grand aplomb. Ooh, Jefferson always got him wound so tight. “What are you doing here?” he asked again, planting his feet on the sidewalk.
“What do you think?” Jefferson turned to pick up a duffel that’d been hidden in his shadow and hitched the strap over one shoulder. “I’m moving in.”
Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.
Everyone give a warm welcome to author Marteeka Karland!
Marteeka is joining us today for a quick interview and to tell us about her latest Changeling Press release — Bohannon! But before we move on to the delicious MC Romance she has for us, let’s find out a little more about the author.
Has writing always been part of your life or did you just fall into it?
I started writing when I was in the 3rd grade. A Halloween story we were told to write as a fun project in our Reading class. My teacher loved it and while everyone else wrote like a paragraph, I wrote a while page front and back. I never stopped. It just took another thirty years for me to finish my first book. I’ve been published now for exactly sixteen years.
If you could do it all over again, would you change anything?
Definitely. More things than I can say. I think writing is like anything else in life. It’s a lesson in successes and failures, most of which can’t be predicted. I’ve had my share of both. The only thing I can say with certain is I’ve managed to surround myself with incredible writers along the journey. Some of which are so very willing to help in everything from proofreading to plot grid construction help, to marketing, to just being a shoulder to cry one when things go horribly wrong and that new release sells 10 copies. 🙂
What different genres have you written over the years and do you have a favorite?
That’s a tough one. Probably Science Fiction Romance. I love the idea of aliens in general. It’s even better if they’re the hard-bodied sexy kind who appreciate their women. 🙂 With science fiction, there are always rules to follow (the science part) but there are limitless possibles with what you can do with it. I’m hoping to make it back to science fiction and paranormal one day.
What’s your favorite type of hero to write?
I like the strong Alpha type. But I also like him to fall hard for his woman. He must be super protective and helpless in the face of her displeasure or, God forbid, her tears. I especially like it when he fights his attraction to her. At least for a while. I mean, it just makes his surrender that much sweeter.
Is there a common theme or trope that tends to carry through your various books? Or is there one you enjoy writing more than others?
p style=”text-align: justify;”>Soldiers. I LOVE soldiers. Military. There is nothing hotter than a take-charge guy in uniform. (In books. Those real-life types tend to be major assholes.) Fortunately, I’m a woman. I make them Alpha without being complete assholes to their women. Everyone else is on their own. 🙂 I like to write heroines who need some kind of rescue but are still fighting to make a place for themselves. I like for her to need her man’s help, but to prove to him she can survive without it. Oxymoron?? maybe. But it’s MY imagination! lol
As to other things in my writing, you may notice that the main characters in my books all drive some kind of Ford vehicle. That’s by design. 😀
Can you tell us about your current series? Do you have a set number of them planned?
Bones MC is the series. I’ve currently got three books complete (Cain, Bohannon, and Sword) with a fourth in the works (Viper.) As to how many I have planned, I suppose that depends on how well they are received. As long as readers are enjoying them, I’ll keep writing them. 🙂
Thank you, Marteeka, for joining us today! And now… I’d like to introduce you to her latest book — Bohannon!
Luna: Never in a million years did I think I’d meet up with my childhood hero like this. Beaten down and scared out of my mind, my heart dropped when I realized who had me. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life, but Gage Bohannon the man was even harder to resist than the ridiculous fantasy I’d held in my mind.
Bohannon: I’ve never kept a woman who don’t want to be kept. But I’ve made more than one good girl turn rogue. If I had any decency in me at all, I’d have locked her in my room and left her alone. Instead, I’ll take whatever she wants to give me and coax a few things she doesn’t.
Gage Bohannon swept the area for more of the unwelcomed club in Bones territory. The local club had gotten hit first, but Bones had finished all of them. By his reckoning, any club selling drugs in their territory deserved whatever they got. Bones was many things, but they weren’t drug dealers, pimps, or a distributor of firearms. They weren’t law-abiding citizens — as evidenced by the slaughter tonight — but they weren’t scum of the earth either.
“One alive in the truck,” Deadeye’s voice came through the earpiece connected to his radio. “Female. Her hands are still on the steering wheel, which is why I left her alive. There is a gun in the vehicle with her. Along with the hand holding it. Orders?”
“Hold. If she moves her hands or in any way attempts to get that gun, shoot her.”
“Copy.” He hated giving Deadeye an order to kill a woman, but he wasn’t compromising anyone’s safety. They’d started this. They’d finish it.
“Keep your hands on that fucking steering wheel,” he bit out. “Don’t fucking test me or the sniper on you will kill you before I ever give the order.” The girl whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut but otherwise didn’t move. “Are you armed?”
She took a deep breath, but didn’t let go of the wheel or open her eyes. “There’s a gun on the floor around my feet somewhere, but that’s it. And it wasn’t mine. I think the owner left his hand with the gun.”
“Good,” he said. “You told the truth about that weapon. Are there any others? Knives? Anything?”
“No, sir.” Her voice wavered in her fear. Again, that was good. She understood the danger she was in.
“What club do you represent? You don’t have colors of any kind. Are you a member? A chaser? An ole lady?” Bohannon had a funny feeling at the nape of his neck. A prickly sensation he knew never to ignore. He didn’t think there was danger or his brothers would have known it. It was the girl. Something about her…
“My brother owes Scars and Bars money for drugs. I’m here in his stead. My service for his life.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not with them in any way, nor do I want to be. I just want to get out of this alive so I can tell my brother to go to hell.” Fear was making her brave. It surprised Bohannon how much he liked that. It made him want to smile when the circumstances didn’t exactly call for it.
“Keep your hands on the wheel until I open the door. I want you to step out. Keep your hands up and open. Keep it slow. Do you understand?”
“I’m scared, not stupid,” she snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry.”
Bohannon opened the door to the truck, his gun firmly aimed at her head. If she so much as twitched, he’d kill her himself, saving Deadeye the grief. The girl moved carefully, as he’d instructed. Deliberately. She knew she was in danger. Knew not to fuck with them. That knowledge would make life easier on all of them. The overhead light on the old Ford was long out so there wasn’t much of her features he could see.
She uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel slowly, keeping her hands open and at the same level. One leg slid out to place her foot on the ground. Then the other. All the while she never once looked at him. Fear was etched in every move she made. Sweat ran down her arms in streams as if she’d just stepped from a shower.
Once outside, she stood still, hands still in front of her, fingers splayed wide. Bohannon shut the door with a sharp shove of his hand.
“Turn around. Hands on the truck.”
She did as told, not hesitating in the least. Her willingness to comply with orders surprised Bohannon. Most mules were just as stubborn as their namesakes. This one seemed more resigned than anything else. She acted as if she had nothing to hide. Maybe she didn’t. Or, more likely, she hoped to use her wiles to get herself out of a jam.
As he carefully patted her down for weapons, Bohannon couldn’t help but notice her as a woman. She was slight in stature; barely over five feet and svelte of frame. He tried to be as non-personal as possible, but it was difficult when the swell of her breast was just above his palm as he checked her belly for weapons against her skin. His hands were big, and she was so tiny his palm nearly spanned her from side to side yet the curve of her ass was fleshy and rounded, made to tempt a man.
But he was Gage Bohannon. His club name had been Slayer before his brothers sought to mellow him after that stupid TV show became popular, calling him by his last name because the lead character’s name was the same. He might enjoy women, might be tempted to do wicked things with the forbidden female from time to time, but he was always in complete control of himself. Now was no exception. She was tempting, true enough. But he had a job to do.
Except his cock had other ideas. Bohannon swore to himself, easily envisioning grinding his hardening erection against that savory ass. He could tell she was affected by his nearness. Either she wasn’t adept at staying in control or, more likely, she thought to tempt him with sex. If she did, he’d oblige her. Then take her to his president anyway.
“What are you going to do with me?” Her voice shook, her fear obvious, yet she stayed put, not turning or looking over her shoulder.
“Take you back to our president. We’ll discuss the events of the evening then decide what to do next.” Not that he needed to give her an explanation.
“Will you kill me?”
“Only if Cain orders it.”
She whimpered, her body trembling beneath his touch. She was truly scared, not trying to garner his attention. She hadn’t offered herself. Hadn’t made an overt move of aggression or seduction. So what was her game?
“What can I do to stay alive?”
Bohannon thought about that. What could she do? “Depends on what Cain decides. If you’re looking to convince someone of your innocence, it will be him. I warn you, though, he never goes easy on clubs doing business in our territory without permission. Anything he does to you will be to send a message to Scars and Bars.”
“I don’t mean anything to them. If he wants leverage on Scars and Bars he won’t get it with me. I’m only here to protect my brother.”
“Your fate is in Cain’s hands,” he said. “Accept it. And whatever you do, tell the truth. If you lie, he’ll know. You won’t get a second chance.”
She turned to look at him then. Just a movement of her head, her long midnight hair falling over the other shoulder. When those intensely dark eyes met his, glittering like onyx in the moonlight, Bohannon nearly doubled over as a punch of lust hit him low and mean. He couldn’t see her clearly, but there was something disturbing and familiar about her.
“You have to understand, I have nothing to do with the club. My brother owes them drug money. They used me to pay his debt by hauling their… product here.”
Bohannon fought off his instinct, which was to comfort and protect her. If ever a female needed protection it was this one. Such a small woman in the middle of a biker war? She was doomed from the beginning. Ruthlessly, he took her wrists and zip-tied them behind her back. “Answer any question Cain asks you truthfully and completely. That’s the best advice I can give you.”
“And if he doesn’t ask me anything? If he’s already decided?” Her eyes swam with unshed tears. Her skin glistened with sweat.
“Then he already has the answers he needs. I’ll tell him you cooperated in every way with us, assuming you continue to do so. If he decides you need to die, I can promise you’ll never know it’s coming, and it will be a clean, quick death.”
A little sob escaped before she could press her lips together tightly. She ducked her head, breaking her entrancing stare, but not before she got under Bohannon’s skin. Why did he feel like he knew her? Lord knew he’d never forget a woman like her, so he couldn’t have met her.
Everyone called him Bohannon, but his jacket proclaimed him Slayer because, of all his biker brothers, he had the most kills. He was the enforcer of the club. If something needed doing, he was the one who did it. That way, if the police caught him, they could trace nothing back to anyone else in the club. He’d take full responsibility and shift blame away from his brothers. The name had fit him more than any other, so he thought. This girl, however tested his belief in his job. Could he kill her if Cain ordered it?
“Promise me that if Cain orders you to kill me, you’ll at least look into helping my brother.”
“Can’t do that.”
“His name is Markus Newton. He’s not a bad man, just… self-absorbed.”
Bohannon lost his breath. Before he could stop himself, he snatched a penlight from his utility belt and shone it in the girl’s face. Markus Newton! A name from his past. Now here was a woman from his past. It had to be. But Markus was more than ten years this girl’s senior! Her older brother! That son of a bitch should be protecting her, not the other way around.
“Luna?” Her head snapped up, eyes squinting at the bright light. “Son of a bitch.” She tried to see past the light but, of course, she couldn’t. “Luna Martin?”
Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.
Samba (n): danced to a quick, fast-paced beat, with rapid steps and a rocking, sexy swaying motion; typically has a dramatic climax
Whether Sophie Fuentes wants to admit it or not, her life has irrevocably changed ever since undercover DEA agent Max Romano blew into it. And now that she knows the truth about who he really is, everything has changed all over again. Nothing is as she thought it was. There is no one left she can trust. All she knows for sure is that she wants nothing at all to do with Max and his lies.
Max knows he screwed up majorly with Sophie. But he’s not about to let her shut him out, not when her very life is in danger. She can yell at him, she can hate him, but she can’t deny the way her body responds to him. It might be wrong, but he’s going to use the passion that burns so brightly between them to his advantage. He’ll push her to the brink of her desire until she has no choice but to forgive him.
Their fire burns hotter than ever.
The stakes have never been higher.
The danger has never been deadlier.
But what scares Max the most is that he has no idea what’s coming for them next.
**This is a SHORT story series. Each volume is a short story serial and is an average of 30,000 words. This is NOT a full-length novel series.**
My head rears back at his lethal tone. “It was just a dance. So that I could ask my questions.”
He hums in the back of his throat. “And I’m sure he was all-too-willing to answer every single one of them. Especially with the way this dress clings to your ass. Are you even wearing underwear?”
I lift my chin, pleased to know he likes what he sees. “Yes, I am. I would expect some gratitude or at least a thank you for helping with your investigation. After all, that seems to be all you care about.”
Someone bumps into Max, shoving him against me. When the movement knocks me back, his hand instinctively goes to my waist to steady me. Our bodies are pressed close together, so it’s difficult to not notice the hard bulge between his legs. A bulge that he thrusts against me with one quick drive of his hips.
My eyes practically roll back in my head at the contact.
“I think you know that’s not all I care about, Sophie,” he breathes against my parted lips. “I care that you danced with another man. That another man had his hands on you. That he thought you were his, even just for a song.” His other hand clasps onto my hip, yanking me to him. “I care a hell of a lot that he wanted what’s mine.”
With both hands clamped around my waist, he sways his hips. Not driving his pelvis into me this time, but moving our bodies together to the rhythm of the sultry samba number the live band just started playing. Our connected bodies instantly sync to the beat, reminding me so much of our first dance the night we met. I go with it and allow him to lead me because I can’t not. This music—this dancing—is in my blood. I can’t waste an opportunity to feel it like this.
“You still think I’m yours?” I manage.
He groans when I roll my hips against him. “Baby, you’ve been mine since the first time we kissed. You really think I’m going to give you up? I don’t care how mad I make you, I won’t stop trying to earn you. Because I want to deserve you.”
His honesty takes me by surprise. And it only serves to make me hotter.
The dance floor is so packed there isn’t a lot of room for extra spins or grand twirls. Not that I want any more space between us. I’m enjoying the feel of Max’s hard muscles grinding against me way too much. The adrenaline from before I saw him still flows through my blood and spikes at his sincere words. I don’t want to go back to being Sophie Fuentes, witness for the DEA.
I want to be Sophie Fuentes, the woman who can bring a man like Max Romano to his knees.
I want to feel alive.
I want to feel la vida—life—emanate from my soul.
Our bodies stay interlocked, pulsating together, as we writhe in our confined space. I love this private world of dance we share. No other man in the world can make me feel like Max does, on and off the dance floor.
Ever perceptive, he picks up on my train of thought. “You didn’t enjoy dancing with him, did you? He didn’t make you feel like this, did he? You missed me, didn’t you?”
I nod frantically, too breathless to speak. Our passion has always had that effect on me. I lose all conscious thought, all control, all inhibitions. I surrendered to my desires with his first hip thrust, and now I’m close to begging for mercy, for a release.
I don’t even realize I’ve whimpered until he responds to it by sucking on my neck. “Christ. You need me. Don’t you, Sophie?”
Author Bio:
Traveler. Reader. Beach-goer. St. Louis Cardinals fan. Pasta-obsessed. North Carolina resident. Sarcastic. Bit of a nerd.
Author of the Cruz Brothers, Possession and Politics, and Timid Souls series, Melanie loves all things romance, comedies and suspense in particular because it’s boring to only stick to one sub-genre! From light-hearted comedies to sexy thrillers, she likes to mix it up, but loves her some strong alpha males and sassy heroines.
Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!
Jordan knows everyone wants to use him for his family name and wealth.
Natalie is forced to take on the heavy responsibility of a troublesome sibling.
Can Natalie prove to Jordan that the only thing she wants from him is his love and dominance? Or will a misunderstanding cause Jordan to lose the submissive of his dreams?
Lynn Burke is a full-time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
As a voracious reader herself, Lynn appreciates all of her readers, and hopes she can take them on a journey with her writing.
Alexander is doing his best to settle into life in Tournai’s royal palace after years living outside the country due to his father’s diplomatic work. The sense of belonging and home he feels is overwhelming, but none of his plans are going as he imagined. Many see him as only a lovely, charming adornment of the royal court and underestimate both his intelligence and abilities. His attraction to Marcus, a mysterious older man who does work for the prince, Alexander’s cousin, is unexpected but not unwelcome…if Marcus could possibly see who Alexander really is.
Lord Marcus is the second son of a minor noble family, a widower raising two children…and the prince’s spymaster. He knows his work is necessary for the security of the kingdom and its royal family, but he also knows it can be distasteful and dangerous to him and those around him. Marcus has vowed never to fall in love again, never to put anyone else at risk—a promise threatened for the first time by the vibrant, flirtatious Alexander. The attraction is unwelcome and entirely undeniable. He can’t believe someone like Alexander would want someone like him, but he also can’t stay away.
As they become ever more entangled, Marcus is investigating rumors of spies at work in Tournai’s university. As he gets closer to uncovering their plot, Alexander is drawn deeper into danger. Can their love survive when Alexander is put in peril by the very spies Marcus is hunting for?
Marcus sat in one of the chairs across from the pair of desks in the princes’ private office and contemplated Prince Philip. The crown prince had the look of his father and something of his manner, a commanding presence he had probably cultivated since birth. He had the dark hair and classically handsome features of the men in the royal family and the bred-in-the-bone care for this country. Which Marcus had a feeling he might have thrown over in a heartbeat for the man beside him. Prince Consort Amory was shorter and fair with large dark eyes and curling auburn hair. He hadn’t been born into royalty or even nobility, but he’d adapted to his role far better than most of Tournai’s nobility had anticipated. Marcus knew quite well what each noble family thought of the marriage, just past its third anniversary, although the princes had never asked him for the information.
“First, Your Highnesses, the prisoner taken into custody at the border hasn’t answered any questions posed to him. I was asked to try.”
The army had brought the man in from the border several days ago. Tournai was protected from magical attack by a barrier created by a web of spells. Almost no one knew of the spells in Tournai, but someone outside had apparently discovered their protection and was determined to find its weaknesses. The man had been testing the barrier, and somehow the spells had caught and held him until the army could get there. Marcus had to speak with Savarin about how he’d been caught and what weaknesses they should guard against.
Philip frowned. “We need answers from him. I can’t believe the threat has disappeared because we’ve apprehended one man at the border.”
“With all respect, Your Highness, we don’t know what the threat is yet.” Marcus glanced between the princes but returned his attention to Philip. “I’ll do everything I can to find out and quickly, but there is more than one possibility.”
“I think the possibility at the top of our minds is this man was sent by Ardunn,” Amory said in his quiet tone. “I doubt anyone will rest easy until we can rule that out. If we can.”
“It is a possibility, Your Highness, and a strong one.” The Ardunn empire was located far to their east, separated from Tournai by an impassable mountain range and the kingdom of Elleri, but Ardunn’s emperor was obsessed with conquest and seemingly interested in using Tournai as a foothold for gaining control of this half of the continent. The geographical barriers were too great to march an army in, and Ardunn had no naval power to speak of. But they routinely sent their agents into Tournai searching for weaknesses. “However, with the bandit attacks along the border over the last several months, it isn’t the only one. He might have been with the bandits. Or he could’ve been sent from Ardunn or hired by them to test the barriers. The attacks could’ve been orchestrated by Ardunn as well. Or they might be completely unrelated. For all we know, the prisoner was working on his own, unrelated to either the bandits or Ardunn.”
Marcus didn’t much care for that option, as it meant they probably had another enemy lurking, but he also didn’t think it was the most likely either.
Philip’s frown deepened, not even lightening when Amory laid a hand on his arm. “You’re not giving me much helpful information, Lord Marcus.”
“I apologize, Your Highness. All I can do at this point is present you with theories.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. He wished he had more for the princes—he took the lack as a personal failure despite the short time he’d had this problem on his desk. “I will do everything I can to get information from our prisoner, and I have people searching for the bandits he was likely traveling with as well.”
“The army has been chasing them for months.” Amory’s remark was said without judgment for either Marcus’s people or the army.
“I’m aware, Your Highness, but my people can go unnoticed in a way the army can’t.”
Amory nodded, thoughtful, but Philip spoke. “Coordinate with Captain Loriot if you need further information, though I can’t imagine you ever lacking information.”
Marcus smiled slightly at Philip’s dry statement. “Far be it from me to ever claim I know everything, Your Highness. That would be the heights of arrogance.”
“If you say so.”
Philip didn’t explain why Marcus should see Loriot if he needed information about a situation the army was overseeing. Loriot’s power ended at the city gates when he wasn’t traveling with the princes. But Marcus could surmise.
“Is there anything else we need to know? Not only about our prisoner, of course.” Philip always phrased the question that way when he asked. Marcus didn’t blame him—there were certain things the princes didn’t need to know, which was why they had Marcus.
“Not at this time, Your Highness.” There were a dozen things Marcus could have told them, but none needed their immediate attention. If any of the rumors his people were chasing down at the university became more substantial, then he’d bring them to the princes.
Philip sat back. “All right, Lord Marcus. Keep us informed about the questioning.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Dismissed from the royal presence, Marcus let himself into the corridor and turned his steps to the right, following the most direct route out of the wing holding the royal apartments. The princes had formal offices in the palace proper, but Marcus was more often summoned to their private study, the place they did their work, so by now, he knew the way back to the more public areas. He needed to return to the city and his work for the day, of which their prisoner was only one part. There was a meeting later with two of his agents about the whispers they’d picked up at the university, and it might be time for Marcus to find a few moments to return to work on a new truth potion.
If he could get the potion right, it might be useful with their prisoner.
In the middle of the day, these corridors were empty but for the royal guards stationed periodically along them. Marcus doubted they were ever crowded. This part of the palace saw no one except the resident members of the royal family, their guests, and those who served them. Marcus had only ever been allowed in to meet with the princes at their request. His family was lower-ranked nobility, but neither they nor he was in the princes’ inner circle.
He let part of his mind go over the changes he wanted to make to the potion, running through ingredients and proportions while the rest of his focus noted what there was to see in the hallway. The guards were alert and also unobtrusive, which was to be expected. Palace security was Loriot’s purview, and he took his job seriously. His guards were well trained, highly efficient, and well vetted before they even got that far, their trustworthiness in keeping royal matters private ensured further by magic.
Despite the palace being Loriot’s domain, Marcus had a couple of his people placed there to keep an eye on the royal family as well. Those family members who lived in the palace were closest to the princes. While Marcus didn’t expect them to pose a threat, there had been treachery of various kinds over the past few years, and he was wary of anyone trying to get too close. He’d had his people keeping their eyes on the twins—Philip’s cousins through the youngest of his father’s sisters—since they’d arrived unexpectedly back in the autumn with the intention of staying. Marcus had seen no indication they meant any harm, but knowledge was useful, and caution never misplaced.
A laugh shattered the quiet and brought Marcus’s attention fully back to his surroundings. As he approached an intersecting corridor, the two young men he’d been thinking of came around the corner. They were nearly identical in appearance with the same shade of dark hair that glowed red in the light, the same ivory skin and peridot eyes, the same delicate features, an intriguing mix of pretty and sensual. Their differences were slight, but perfectly apparent with a moment’s study. Alexander was slightly taller, and Faelen’s hair fell in loose curls while Alexander’s was a tumble of waves.
He’d made a point of finding out which of them was which. And not because of the way Alexander had looked at him the one previous time he’d been in their presence.
The way Alexander looked at him now. Curious with a spark of something more.
Alexander had been the one laughing, a joyful, delighted sound that made Marcus want to smile. He forced himself not to, forced his face to remain bland and pleasant and unremarkable. Forced himself to ignore the little lurch, the punch of attraction when he looked into Alexander’s eyes.
He had to.
Those eyes sparkled. “Good morning, Lord Marcus.”
Faelen noticed him then. A smile still flirted with his finely wrought lips, but his eyes held none of the same interest as his twin’s. Which Marcus wouldn’t have expected for many reasons—he couldn’t understand why Alexander regarded him the way he did—but mostly because Faelen had apparently taken a serious lover, which he’d subtly announced at court through his presence at Faelen’s side at the princes’ anniversary ball not long ago.
“Good morning, Lord Marcus,” Faelen echoed. “I hope you’re well today.”
Marcus bowed. “Good morning, my lords. I am, thank you, and you?”
“Very well. Thank you,” Faelen replied.
“What brings you to the palace today, Lord Marcus?” Alexander’s tone and words were as smooth as Faelen’s. The two might not have spent most of their lives at Tournai’s court, but perhaps they’d had to become even more skilled because of their years away. A foreign court wasn’t an easy place to live, even a nominally friendly one.
“A meeting with Their Highnesses.” He wouldn’t discuss the subject with anyone without the princes’ permission, and certainly not in a hallway where anyone might hear. He knew better than most the walls often had ears.
Alexander and Faelen didn’t ask, possibly because they knew the necessity of discretion too, as they should as members of Tournai’s ruling family however far removed from the throne. They did exchange a glance, so quick anyone not watching closely would’ve missed it. Some sort of information passed between them in the fleeting look, but what they shared was a mystery to Marcus.
“I’m sure you’re busy, Lord Marcus,” Faelen said. “We won’t impose upon any more of your time.”
“It’s hardly an imposition, but I’m sure you have engagements to attend.” Marcus bowed slightly again. “I’ll bid you good day.”
They returned his farewell as Faelen looped his arm through Alexander’s. Marcus refused to allow himself to turn and watch them walk away. To do so would reveal too much, to all of them. He did, however, catch a glimpse of their slender forms in a large, silver-framed mirror hanging on the wall. He didn’t allow himself more than the glimpse before continuing on his way at a brisk pace, not stopping again as he wound through the corridors and finally out into the winter chill. He had far too much to do to let himself be distracted, especially by a young royal cousin he had no business observing outside a professional capacity. And no reason to study him so closely in even that way any longer. It shouldn’t have disappointed him.
Antonia Aquilante has been making up stories for as long as she can remember, and at the age of twelve, decided she would be a writer when she grew up. After many years and a few career detours, she has returned to that original plan. Her stories have changed over the years, but one thing has remained consistent—they all end in happily ever after.
She has a fondness for travel (and a long list of places she wants to visit and revisit), taking photos, family history, fabulous shoes, baking treats (which she shares with friends and family), and of course, reading. She usually has at least two books started at once and never goes anywhere without her Kindle. Though she is a convert to e-books, she still loves paper books the best, and there are a couple thousand of them residing in her home with her.
Born and raised in New Jersey, Antonia is living there again after years in Washington, DC and North Carolina for school and work. She enjoys being back in the Garden State but admits to being tempted every so often to run away from home and live in Italy.
Award-winning reporter for the Adana Observer Holly Barberossa finds herself once again in her natural environment: hot water.
Antagonizing the Dollavera “brothers,” a family of clones who run the Amalgamated Spaceport Guild of Scavengers, with a series of damaging exposés was bound to drop her into a cauldron of trouble but when a dismembered body, an abused robot and a scared alien entity are thrown into the mix then Holly is really in the soup.
Then there’s Maxim Dollavera who, she hopes, is not like his “brothers.” A man with his smoldering good looks just can’t be a bad guy, can he? Trying for a surprise interview Holly walks in on him and his male lover, Felis Panthera, a randy Leonine with equally attractive attributes. Forget the story, she hopes there’s room for one more in Maxim’s erotic world.
But she can’t forget a story, that’s her problem, and her greatest strength. Will Maxim’s brothers allow Holly to walk all over them in the media without retribution? Will Maxim welcome her into his world when she is trying to destroy his brothers? And just who are the bad guys, really?
These and other questions boil over in Spaceport: Trash & Treasure, a Holly Barberossa erotic adventure.
“I loved the futuristic and paranormal backdrop to this tale, which added to the fascination of the plot. I look forward to reading the other stories from a variety of different authors of the Spaceport series.”
4 Stars! — Tallyn Porter, JERR
“The addition of a good mystery and intrigue to the plot make Spaceport: Trash & Treasure a fine addition to the Spaceport series.”
With an emphatic click, Holly Barberossa snapped off her smartcam while K. Dollavera was still flapping his jaws, the bombastic Guild executive ever eager to have the last word. Asshole!
It had been a helluva day. She’d lost her cool and she knew it. Vinnie would gripe about it in the morning, give her the old lecture about getting more with sugar than… hell, she couldn’t remember how that homily ended even though she’d heard it a thousand times.
I need a beer.
The Haze was only ten minutes away. She could almost taste the amber fluid, not to mention the plate of ribs she’d have to go along with it. The image of her favorite meal, dripping with that mouth watering Altaran sauce the cook at the Haze used, filled her mind and worked its magic on her salivary glands. Her empty stomach gave a sustained and hopeful cheer.
She hadn’t stopped for lunch, running from one end of Adana to the other; interviewing idiots and assholes, fending off the groping hands of hopeful pedestrians trying to cop a feel, being kidnapped and fucking led around blindfolded by amateurs on the run (as if they really thought I couldn’t figure out where they took me, geeze! ), gassed by a flatulent Fedoran, given the cold shoulder by the fucking head of ‘Port Security (I’ll put her on a fucking spit and roast her slow), and to top it off that fucking asshole Dollavera trying to wheedle out of not spilling the beans about the gang war brewing right under his and his goddamn brothers’ fucking noses (brothers, there’s a misnomer for you, fucking brothers my ass, fucking clones).
Clones. She took a deep and sustained breath. Good looking clones, sexy clones who boiled her juices every time she was within ten meters of their athletic bulk. Bastards.
She ordered her thoughts and skipped through the interview with Riz Gitto, the retired head of ‘Port Security and CEO of Adana’s newest private security firm. She could tell he wanted her badly, his pale gray eyes undressing her six times during the five minutes she talked to him. He wasn’t bad looking for an old guy and would be a useful contact, so she’d fluttered her dark lashes back at him and deflected his request for a date with the usual stop kidding around, I’m working line and jumped into the interview with that asshole K. Dollavera. At least Riz hadn’t made a grab for her tits.
Exactly why she let Dollavera get under her skin she couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t just that he was a slimy asshole. No doubt it had something to do with the fact that she’d dated (a couple of times) his “brother” Zweep, the Sentient Resources Controller of the family monopoly, the Amalgamated Spaceport Guild of Scavengers. She’d dumped Zweep at the first inkling of his suspicious business dealings. No way could she compromise her journalistic standards by seeing the man at the center of what could be the biggest scandal in Adana history. The fact that she let him go not ten minutes after she met their “brother” Maxim might, she conceded, have had something more to do with it other than being a breathtaking coincidence.
Maxim, the New Year’s Eve hero who had risked his life to save others from a terrible disaster, was something special. There was a guy who knew how to boil the juices, and what made him yummier was that he didn’t even know he did it.
The thought of Maxim being caught up in a shady family business was giving her sleepless nights. He’d been away, supposedly scavenging, for the last month, more likely avoiding the hundreds of fans attracted to his celebrity, so she hadn’t been able to talk to him about it. Not that they were on speaking terms yet; he probably didn’t know she even existed.
I’ll have to change that little detail.
If nothing else, her publicly nailing his two brothers would bring her into his orbit soon enough. What worried her was that Maxim seemed smarter than his “brothers,” and even in the brief moments she saw them interact, they seemed to defer to him. Her worst fear was that he was actually in charge of the operation while posing as a loner, supposedly scavenging the asteroid belt for junk. It would be the perfect cover, playing the dirt smeared grunt collecting trash while secretly pulling the strings behind the ‘Port Authority.
There was a tug at her trouser leg. A grubby face with enormous eyes and a mess of yellow hair looked up and gave her a gap toothed smile.
“Hello, sweetie,” Holly said. “Got something for me?”
The little angel, one of Adana’s many corridor kids, nodded and cupped a tiny hand near her mouth. Holly knelt down beside her and turned her head, brushing aside her raven hair so the little girl could whisper in her ear.
Holly’s heart jumped at the message. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “How much?”
The girl put up three fingers, indicating there were two others involved in the chain of observers that had brought her this longed-for news. Holly dropped four credits into her small palm and was rewarded with openmouthed astonishment. She always paid more than the going rate. It guaranteed preferment in the Adana rumor mill.
So, Maxim Dollavera had returned. He was in customs at this very moment and if she hurried she’d catch him.
And then what? She bit her bottom lip and snapped shut her oversized equipment bag. I have no idea, but I’ll think of something. I always do.
Aussie Mikala Ash lives a hectic double life, mild-mannered training & development consultant by day… wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. “For me, burning the candle at both ends is not such a terrible problem; I’m having too much fun!”
