Renegades

Title: Renegades
Series: Badlands, Next Generation
Author: Natalie Bennett
Genre: Erotic Dark Romance
Release Date: April 18, 2019
Cover Design: Darqi Bernardo

 

𝘖𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭’𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴.
I want power.
Cam wants penance.
I’ve got a black cult religion backing my decisions.
He’s got demons hungry for carnage.
Everything was going smoothly.
And then she found us.
Now we’ve got an angel locked in a cage.
She’s the forbidden fruit we’re supposed to beware of, but something carnal is growing between us, and the snake was always the best part of that story.
Now war is brewing on the horizon, and we’re preparing for the hellfire that will rain down around us.
Fresh blood will spill across the Badlands, secrets will be taken to early graves, and we’ll be the ones paving the way for the next generation.
𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

 

  

Natalie Bennett is the creator of erotic stories that always come with a warning label. She writes about depraved alpha a**holes and women that love to hate them. Her books don’t follow any specific tropes, have no set word counts, and tend to deviate from traditional HEA’s.
 
When she isn’t in front of her computer she’s spending time with her husband and their three little boys.
 
Natalie is an avid fan of caramel frappes, horror movies, Shameless, and of course, reading.
 
You can find Natalie on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
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Blood and Lies

Title: Blood and Lies (Twisted Duet #1)
Author: Bella J.
Genre: Dark Mafia Romance
Release Date: April 2, 2019
Publisher: Crave Publishing

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. All it took was one bullet and I went from Capo to Boss within the blink of an eye. 

 

What once was my twin brother’s birthright, has now become my curse. While I watch them lower him into the ground I can feel my need for revenge consume me.
The hate, it’s toxic. Addictive. Deadly.
I will avenge my brother’s death if it’s the last thing I do. I will retaliate, and exact due payment.
The cost? Her life.
Tatum Linscott is the cause of my family’s grief. She ruined everything, and now my only goal is to break her, mend her, then break her again.
This war started with her…and it will end with her blood on my hands.

 

 
All the way from Cape Town, South Africa, Bella J lives for the days when she’s able to retreat to her writer’s cave where she can get lost in her little pretend world of romance, love, and insanely hot bad boys.
 
Bella J is a Hybrid Author with both Self-Published and Traditional Published work. Even though her novels range from drama, to comedy, to suspense, it’s the dark, twisted side of romance she loves the most.

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Mr. Huntley’s Wife

Title: Mr. Huntley’s Wife
Author: M.C. Cerny
Genre: Dark Romance/Suspense
Editor: Amy Jackson
Cover Designer: Anna Crosswell from Book Cover Couture
Photographer: Lindee Robinson
Publication Date: March 27th, 2019
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:
Scars. Tattoos. Distractions.
Adam Huntley is not who he seems.
Scorned. Forgotten. Vengeance.
Elizabeth Huntley is finally learning what it takes to survive.
A web of lies and sex tie them together until the fragile threads begin to fray and unravel.
The man Elizabeth thought she knew returns asking for her forgiveness. But little does he know, she has plans to be rid of him for good.
Sometimes, happily ever after is in the eye of the beholder.
Buy Links:
Amazon | iBooks | Nook | Kobo
 
M.C. Cerny is a USA Today Bestselling author. She fell in love with books after experiencing her first real ugly cry reading, Where The Red Fern Grows. Her debut romantic suspense novel, Flashpoint was written in a series of post-it-note ramblings that would likely make her idol Tom Clancy and her mother blush. She is a post graduate of NYU, and calls rural NJ home with her menagerie of human and feline fur-babies. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, singing Disney show tunes, and searching out the perfect shade of pink nail polish.

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“I’m going outside to the pool.” Tying the strings of my black bikini in front of the mirror I adjusted my top carefully covering each breast. The small scraps of fabric are indecent, but I didn’t pick this bathing suit out so there’s not much I can do.
“Wait.” My hands freeze about to loop and knot the string behind my neck when Adam comes out of the bathroom. He’s wearing black swim shorts. Not speedos so you can’t see his monster cock pressed against spandex indecently and not the long cargo shorts most guys would wear. These were designer and some mix of the two accentuating the fact that his abs were sculpted from marble and his body a force of nature to be reckoned with.
“I want to read my book.” I pouted looking for my kindle and my hat searching through the suite. Adam disorientated me on a good day trying to accomplish one task to the next let alone trapped on an island. I needed the next hour to plot my safety plan because this sure as hell hadn’t felt like a vacation from the moment we stepped off the plane.
“Just wait my impatient little wife.” Scowling I rolled my eyes. He always had some ulterior motive.
“Adam.”
“Take your top off.” He stood behind me rubbing his body against me taunting me with his thick monster.
“No.”
“Don’t be a brat.”
“I’m not taking it off.” If he thought this was some kinky make up shit for the night before I’m not into it. My body may be buzzing but I’m ready to rake my nails down his face and attack him if he pushes me. I already know his consequences are shit anyway.
“I won’t ask again.” Short of stomping my foot and pissing him off, compliance seemed the lesser of two evils. His arms snake around me squeezing tight. Barefoot I’m rooted to the spot. There’s no place he won’t catch me inside the suite. Slowly, watching me in the mirror his hand reached up and fingers clasped around my throat pulling my body and my head flush against him.
“O-okay.” Shaking hands reached up tugging on the knot pulling the string praying it wouldn’t catch setting off his mercurial temper. I forced the tangled fabric to unlock from its hold. Once the string released I looked up and Adam’s eyes firmly locked on mine, his chin resting on my shoulder and focused on my face. His impatience was clear in the reflection and the knot in his brow.
I felt my small breasts sink and bob down when the top fell off sliding on to the tiled floor. Pink nipples pebbled at attention hungry and sharp. My stomach hollowed out as my core clenched tight. I was battening down the hatches, the only problem was how turned on that single motion made me. Fucking hopeless, that’s what I was.
“Not so bad now was it.” Keeping his eyes locked on me, one of Adam’s palms skimmed my stomach lightly and reached up to cup me. Easily, I filled his large hand and his finger grazed over the distended tip of my nipple. I bit my lip to keep the moan hidden and down low where my shame wouldn’t surface letting this man repeatedly get under my skin. Skin was superficial, it was my heart craving love and grasping at scraps I had to protect.
“Let me go, please.” I’d beg him if I had to, but his brow furrowed deeper when he reached for a tube of sunscreen on the table. One hand, nearly a paw rested over my belly and my hands gripped the table’s gilded edge for support.
“I can’t have you getting burned while I’m in my meeting.” His breath felt like hot puffs of air in the chilled room. Adam squeezed more sunblock than necessary into his palm and placed the cool glop on my belly. My breasts felt like spikes exposed while my chest heaved with forced air from the air conditioning of the room. Adam smeared the stuff over my body coating me in a thick cream the both looked and felt obscene in the mirror.
“You will always belong to me.” His fingers scraped my skin carving letters in the sticky sunblock.
MINE.
Adam wasn’t exactly subtle.

 

Training Tracey

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Training Tracey
by L.M. Mountford
 
AMAZON | SMASHWORDS | ITUNES | NOOK | KOBO
 
Genre: Erotic / Menage / Dark Romance
 
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Tracey has known the Burtons practically all her life. They’re her best friend’s parents. When she was a little girl they took her on days out to the beach. But she’s a woman now, and they have some very important lessons to teach her …
‘This is the hottest Swinging/Pologmy/Menage a trois since Selena Kitt’s Babysiting the Baumgartners’
** Training Tracey is a wicked and uber-hot coming-of-age menage, filled with MF, FF & MFF scenes from the Lord of Lust’s Dark and Dirty alter ego. There is NO cheating, NO cliffhanger anda guaranteed HEA with plenty of steam. **
Warning 18+: This book is erotic and contains material that may be considered offensive to some readers, which includes graphic language, explicit sex, and adult situations.
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FACEBOOK | TWITTER | BOOKBUB | AMAZON | NEWSLETTER | GOODREADS | WEBSITE
 
About the Author
 
A self-confessed Tiger fanatic, L.M. Mountford was born and raised in England, first in the town of Bridgewater, Somerset, before later moving to the city of Gloucester where he currently resides. A fully qualified and experienced Scuba Diver, he has traveled across Europe and Africa diving wrecks and seeing the wonders of the world.
 
He started writing when he was 14. Under the pseudonym Dark Inferno, he has written more than thirty Fanfiction stories.
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Depraved

 
 
Presents : New Release
 
Depraved
by Eva Charles
 
AMAZON
US | UK | CA | AU
 
Genre: Dark Romance / Romantic Suspense
Series: The Devil’s Duet; Book 1
 
GOODREADS
 
 
I’m J.D. Wilder, and it takes a lot to shame me, but we’re about to see where you draw the line.
 
Gabrielle Duval once belonged to me. And like it or not, she’ll be mine again. In a world where money, power and corruption rule, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.
 
Although nothing with that woman is ever easy.
 
But believe me when I tell you, I’ll enjoy every minute of the fight.
 
 
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Zack Salaun
 



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About the Author
 
A confirmed city-girl, Eva moved to rural Western Massachusetts in 2014. She found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkey, deer, and coyote roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she had been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into steamy love stories.
 
A romantic at heart, Eva looks forward to date night all week. The perfect evening includes well-crafted cocktails, a fabulous perfume, Cherry Garcia ice cream, and her husband, of course. If you add good friends, live jazz, and impossible shoes, she will follow you anywhere.
 
Eva holds a BA from Boston College, and a JD from a Washington College of Law. She spent a career working in domestic violence, child abuse and neglect, and civil rights. Aspects of this work often find their way into her books.
 
When she’s not writing sexy stories, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons, or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
 
 
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If I Fall

Title: If I Fall
Author: Amber Thielman
Genre: Dark, Edgy Mature YA
Cover Designer: Anna Bloom
Publication Date: February 14th, 2019
Blurb: 
How do you survive when your best friend takes his own life?
Khloe has no idea how she’ll live without her best friend by her side. Carter was not the suicidal type, and Khloe can’t understand his leaving her so abruptly. When she finds Carter’s journal, it’s a secret portal holding all his deepest secrets. As Khloe unravels the hidden darkness of her best friend’s life–hoping to find what drove him to suicide–she struggles without him as she stumbles back into the treacherous world she’d left behind. Prescription drugs, sex, and the tip of a needle to feel her pain for her.
Her friend Ava tries to reason with her, but the more Khloe discovers Carter’s life, the less she understands. When Khloe almost goes over the edge, a handsome paramedic, Ty, saves her life and seems intent on saving her heart along with it. But the shadows that chased Carter are hot on her heels, and unless she can find the peace that eluded him, she might follow Carter past the last page.

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Amber Thielman is an avid reader and writer of dark, edgy Young Adult and New Adult books that push the boundaries and challenge your comfort zone.
Despite her growing love for HEA’s, Amber reads too much Stephen King and grew up devouring every Fear Street novel R. L. Stine ever wrote. When she’s not writing, Amber enjoys traveling, practicing the art of staying on her horse, binge-watching Netflix, and spending time with her husband and their adorable tiny human Aidyn in Southeast Idaho. She also has an undying love for pumpkin-flavored anything and boozy concoctions.
  
Author Links:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/matchbox_girl
“Khloe, your phone. It’s ringing.”
            My eyes flickered open. I didn’t move, and instead, let my gaze flash around the room. I laid there for another moment under the comforter, motionless and silent, still half-asleep. The air in the room was stale and smelled sour with stifling heat and B.O. My head was swimming with dizziness much like it had before I fell asleep and my stomach was churning from the after-effects of booze and weed.
            “Khloe,” the voice said again. I closed my eyes. Maybe if I ignored it, it would stop talking.
            The tiny silver cell phone sitting on the dresser next to my bed was nothing short of deceiving. The catchy tune I had momentarily listened to on repeat, now made my eardrums want to explode. How could something so loud and annoying come from something so small and fragile?
            “Khloe, answer the fucking phone!”
            The male specimen lying next to me sat up, reached across, and plucked the phone from the dresser before tossing it near my head. It was still going off, shrill and violating. Christ. Why hadn’t the person hung up yet? Still groggy, I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen before flipping it open and putting it to my ear.
            “Carter?” My throat was raw and scratchy. Attractive. It tasted like bile. I cleared it and winced. “What are you doing? It’s four in the morning.”
            For a moment, there was silence. An eerie and unnatural silence that made my heart thump against my insides like steel drums. My throat tightened.
            “Carter?”
            “Hey, Khloe.”
            My best friend’s voice was different—quiet; almost poignant. I rubbed my face and kicked the covers off, sliding my feet into a pair of slippers. I padded down the hallway to the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake up the guy who was asleep again and probably drooling into my pillow. I made a mental note to wash it tomorrow if I wasn’t too hung over to function.
            “What’s up?” I asked, shutting the bathroom door behind me. “Is everything okay?”
            Another long silence cocooned me. I could barely hear him breathe.
            “Are you with anyone?”
            “Just some guy I met at work tonight. But I’m in another room. It’s alright.” I ran a hand through my tangled brown hair, trying to recall the last time I’d taken a shower and washed it. At this rate, dreadlocks would be my next fashion statement.
            “What did I tell you about sleeping with losers you meet at the club?”
            “Oh, relax.” I leaned over the sink to survey the mascara stains under my eyelids. I looked like a harlot. “He’ll be gone by morning. You’re going to worry yourself to death. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with scoring free drinks all night.”
            “You’re only eighteen,” Carter said. “You’re supposed to be a server. You’ll get fired if you keep it up.” He sighed, and silence led again. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
            “Carter?”
            “I’m here.” He sounded sleepy, groggy, in and out of some dream world. My fingers tightened around the cell phone in my hand until my knuckles ached. “Besides, Ava needs to stop sneaking you booze. She’s a bad influence.”
            “That’s beside the point.”
            Another long silence greeted me, but I didn’t push it, just waited for him to talk. Sometimes that’s all you could do.
            “I care about you, you know,” Carter said after a full forty-five seconds. “And you have a habit of doing reckless… things.”
            “Only to push your buttons.” I took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and crossed my legs, scanning the mysterious bumps and bruises up and down my skin. Blackout nights and perplexing injuries were not new to me, but they were puzzling, nonetheless.
            “It’s not funny.” His voice tightened. I paused, startled by the sudden anger in his tone. Carter rarely snapped like that, especially not at me. The last time he’d raised his voice in my direction, I’d twisted his arm behind his back until he apologized just to escape the agony.
            “Don’t you use that tone with—”
            “I worry about you.” He cut me off. His voice was softer now, his anger diminishing. He sounded off somehow… buzzed, maybe, or high. But Carter didn’t drink. I’d never seen him cradling so much as a Dr. Pepper at parties. “I really do. I worry about you.”
            “You don’t have to,” I retorted. “There’re a lot of things I wouldn’t have been able to get through without you. But the rest is up to me to decide for myself.”
            “If this guy in your bed is gone before tomorrow morning, I won’t have to kick his ass.” For a moment Carter sounded like his old self, and some of my concerns faded.
            “Oh, best friend, what would I do without you?” I stood and turned on the cold water in the sink, then leaned down and filled my mouth, swishing the stale taste of beer and cigarettes out the best I could. I didn’t have the energy to brush my teeth, so this would have to do.
            “Carter?” I said, drying my mouth with a towel. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s usually me calling you at four in the morning, not the other way around.”
            “Jusqu’ a la procaine fois.” It was our secret phrase, meaning, ‘until next time’ in French.
            “That didn’t answer my question,” I said with a smile. From my bedroom, I could hear the guy snoring in my bed. I didn’t know his name, barely knew his face, and I didn’t care to.
            “Take care of yourself, ami.”
            “Will you stop speaking French and talk to me?” I sat back down on the edge of the bathtub. The beer from earlier sloshed around in my stomach. “I know something is wrong, Carter. You’re my best friend. Talk to me. Why do you sound so weird?”
            The beep in my ear was so distinct I almost flinched. I held the phone away from me and stared at it, dumbfounded. Even during our worst fights, sometimes even the ones that had escalated to a screaming match, neither of us had ever hung up on the other one. It was an unwritten rule.
            “You ass,” I said aloud, dialing his number and pressing the green button. We were going to get to the bottom of this, upset or not. After the fifth ring, I snapped the phone shut, opened it, and then dialed again. I figured he’d have to forfeit, eventually.
            “Carter,” I said to his voicemail. “If you don’t answer this phone, the next time I call, I’ll come over there and pound your fucking door down.” I snapped the phone shut for the fifth time and sat fuming on the edge of the bathtub, giving him time to listen to my voicemail. He never could bear to hear me upset, so I didn’t doubt the phone would be ringing any time now.
            Anytime.
            I dialed again, a small lump of panic rising in my throat as the phone rang and rang. Flipping it shut I shoved it into the pocket of my jeans, grateful—though not for the first time—that I’d passed out in my clothes. In my bed, the male was still snoring even louder now. I kicked off my slippers, yanked on some shoes, and sneaked out the door, careful not to wake the stranger. I could only hope he’d be gone by the time I got back.
            The chill of a Washington morning in early spring hit me as I fumbled in the dark for my car keys and slid into the driver’s side of the piece of shit Grand Prix that almost didn’t qualify as a car anymore. It started on the fourth try, sputtering and wheezing like it was having an asthma attack. I slammed it into drive and headed towards Carter’s place, unwilling to admit my high school car, Missus Betty, was probably nearing the end of her eventful life. We’d all known it for a while, but the reality of the situation was still harsh—especially when she was still chugging along after two-hundred-and-fifty thousand miles.
            “We’re almost there,” I said to the wheezing car. “I know it’s cold outside, but just a little further—” Missus Betty wheezed up the hill in the direction of Carter’s off-campus apartment. The lights were off when we finally arrived, and I put the car in park and turned off the engine, patting the dashboard with a thank you. I slid out of the car and trudged across the lawn to the front door. I tried the handle. Locked, per usual. What a girl.
            “Carter Drake, open the damn door!” I shouted. In the house next to his complex, a dog began to bark, shattering the stillness of the early morning. I spun around to face the general direction of the barks. “Shut the hell up!” I didn’t care if I woke the neighbors. They were uptight assholes, anyway. The window to Carter’s bedroom was obscured and I couldn’t see a light on. I wondered if he was asleep or in the bathroom.
            “I’ll break your window!” I threatened. As I stood on the front porch in the dark, the dog’s barking grew louder, and I became colder. Too annoyed to stand there until the sun rose, I picked up a small stone from the garden, pulled back my arm, and heaved it at the second-story window. It made a sharp splitting sound against the glass before bouncing off and hitting me in the face. I cursed, holding my nose, suddenly remembering the spare key hidden under the rock in the garden.
            “Damn you, Carter,” I mumbled. I fell to my hands and knees to grope around in the dark for the flat stone that hadn’t moved for two years. My fingers brushed the smooth surface, and, using my cell phone for light, I grabbed the key and brushed the dirt from my pants before sticking it in the lock and pushing the door open.
            The entire apartment was dark—silent. Aside from the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen, there was no sound. I pocketed the key and felt against the wall for the light switch, flipping it on and shutting the door quietly behind me. The living room lit up, blinding me momentarily. I looked around, seeking for some sign of Carter, but the house was still. Just as expected, the place was spotless. Over the suede chaise sofa laid a hand-woven quilt, the quilt I’d made him during my long-ass, torture-filled summer at camp without him. The coffee table in front of the couch was tidy, only flaunting a few stacked magazines and an Aloe Vera plant. The apartment was clean—cleaner than my place had ever been, which was typical for the two of us.
            “I’m coming up,” I hollered at the stairs. “I hope you’re decent.” I waited for some reaction; some grumbled reply or sleepy bitch-out. Instead, there was silence—a silence that chilled my core. “I know you’re here. I saw your car by the curb.” Trying to ward off the dizzying effects of my hangover, I climbed the stairs one at a time, giving Carter enough time to fully wake before I reamed his ass for hanging up on me. “It’s your fault I’m not sleeping right now,” I said. My head was starting to pound, vision fuzzy as exhaustion overcame me. I stopped in front of his door and let my hand rest on the handle, pushing it open. “I may very well kick you out of bed and—”
            There was silence, an eerie, terrifying silence that seemed to freeze time. In that silence, someone started to scream. For a fleeting second, I wanted to cover my ears and yell at them to shut up: grow up, be quiet, get the fuck out. Shut the fuck up.
            Then I realized it was me.
            I spotted the bottle of pills first, a neon orange prescription bottle lying open on the floor. The lid was off, and it was empty. Next to the empty bottle of pills, he was there.
            With a sob, I dropped to my knees in front of him. I could hear my breath coming in quick, short gasps of panic as I reached out and allowed my trembling hand to feel for any sign of life. His lips were tinged blue, his eyes partially open and staring at the ceiling above us. His skin, at one time running so much warmer than everybody else’s, was cooling down. Chilled and waxy.
            “No,” I screamed the word until it hurt my throat. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand what’s happening. Carter? Carter. Tell me—tell me what’s happening. Carter!” I collapsed onto him, letting my head rest on his chest. “I need to call 911,” I murmured. Jumbled thoughts raced through my mind, none of them making a bit of sense. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed the emergency line. My hand was shaking so severely that twice I dropped the phone.
            “It’s okay,” I said to Carter. “They’ll be able to help you.”
            “911, where’s your emergency?” asked the operator on the other end of the line. I touched my face, only just noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks.
            “My friend,” I said. I reached down and squeezed Carter’s hand. “He’s-he needs help. I need an ambulance. We’re in the Kirkwood Meadows apartments, number sixty-one.”
            “I’m sending Paramedics now,” the dispatcher said. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”
            “No. I don’t know. I just-I need someone to come and help him. I need someone to come and save his life and I—” The cell phone dropped from my fingers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard it clatter to the floor, bouncing against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. I reached for him again, resting my hand on his, our temperatures clashing. I could feel my face and fingers start to tingle and numb, threatening a panic attack.
            “It’s going to be okay,” I said, lacing my fingers together over his chest. I began compressions, holding my breath, as the seconds ticked by in slow motion. I paused for a moment and checked for a pulse. There was nothing. “I love you, Carter,” I whispered, pumping his chest again. “I’m so sorry, just stay with me. They–they’ll help you.” Then, in the silence of the house, amongst the midst of death, I lost it.

Bad Deal

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Bad Deal (Belikov Crime Family 1)

Author: Ember-Raine Winters & Faith Ryan

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Always Inked

Genre/s: Dark Erotic Romance, Mafia/MC

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 40 000 words

It’s the first in a series but stands alone

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Blurb

He’s a Russian devil and he owns me.

JR Richards

What’s worse than wanting the one person you can never have? How about finally getting them. Don’t get me wrong the sex was great, but everything that came after? Yeah, it’s like they say, be careful what you wish for.

Ruslan Belikov

My brother made a deal that didn’t go as planned. Now I have to get back what’s ours and pretty boy Jacoby is the tool to make that happen. I’ll torture and use him until I get what I want, then I’ll toss him aside like the rest.

A motorcycle club and a Mafia family shouldn’t make deals. Someone’s bound to lose. Family, friends and hearts, nothing’s safe in a world fueled by drugs, money and sex.

WARNING: Ruslan Belikov and Jacoby Richards may not be for everyone. They are two dominant men thrown into an impossible situation. Some readers may find their story makes them uncomfortable. If you don’t like dark and dirty mafia bosses who use torture and sex to get their way turn back now. You have been warned.

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Excerpt

I follow behind them quietly as Demitri shoves him toward the bathroom. I notice Jacoby wince as Demitri squeezes his shoulder. I file that information away for later when the fun really begins. As I enter the bathroom, I remove my suit jacket folding it over the counter and rolling my sleeves up to my elbows.

I see Jacoby shiver as Demitri blasts the cold water on him not bothering to let him remove his underwear. “Leave us.” I bark. Demitri jumps as if I’ve startled him, but does as told and scurries from the bathroom shutting the door firmly behind him. Jacoby’s eyes watch me as I move closer. I’m not sure if it’s fear or something else in his eyes as he glares at me. There was no heat behind it. “You like this, don’t you?” I wave a hand over my body. Jacoby nods. Good, no point in lying to me when I could see it written all over his face. My cock is painfully hard and I decide it’s time for some relief. “On your knees.” My thick accent becomes even thicker the more aroused I become. When he does nothing but drop to his knees and await my instructions, my hands go to my belt unbuckling it and pulling the leather slowly from my slacks. His breath catches in his throat when I pull myself out stroking once, twice before stepping forward and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Open,” I growl shoving myself down his throat. He gags and his eyes water as I start my punishing pace. Both my hands are in his hair pulling it roughly as I piston my hips. It only takes him a second to acclimate and stop gagging. I push harder and move faster. The feel of absolute control feels like heaven and has me coming like a river down his throat. This kid is the perfect submissive. Too bad I can’t keep him. As soon as I find my drugs, I’ll have to get rid of him. The thought has me pausing momentarily. No matter, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

Once my cock is sated, I close up my pants and walk out of the bathroom without a word. Demitri gives me an odd look as I exit the room and make my way down the hall. “Hang him up by the hook for the night, Demitri.” I never turn as I give the order. I hear Demitri’s grunt of understanding and continue to my apartment above the club.

About the Authors

Ember-Raine Winters

Ember-Raine Winters lives in sunny California with her two beautiful kids and a wolf. Also known as Apache her pure white Siberian Husky. She loves writing romance and reading just about anything she can get her hands on. And, football! She loves watching football and going to games. It’s one of her favorite ways to unwind. She dislikes the super-hot temperatures in her city and exercise. She hates to exercise but somehow her sister still gets her to do it every day. She also thinks it’s completely awkward talking about herself in third person. Ember loves connecting with readers so don’t be afraid to stalk her and drop her a line on social media.

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Faith Ryan

Faith Ryan is wife to a handsome bearded man and mother to three, yes three, teenage girls. She lives in a small town in Ohio and is an avid reader of romance and frequently finishes several books in one day. A coworker once told her that people who read romance are considered smarter than others, Faith totally agrees and thinks this doubly applies to romance authors. Everyone needs a little bit (or a lot) of romance in their life!

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