Tag Archive | Crime

Crashers

Title: Crashers
Author: Lindy S. Hudis
Genre: Crime Thriller
Release Date: September 9th, 2019
#Crashers
 

 

 

Enter the world of Crashers! A riveting story of love, desperation and greed. 
Fraudulent car accidents is a multi-million dollar racket, involving unscrupulous medical providers, personal injury attorneys, and the cooperating passengers involved in the elaborate network—and who also receive a portion of the illegal proceeds. Such is the fate of newly engaged, Nathan and Shari, whose joy is tempered by the dark cloud of mounting debt. 
 
A chance encounter with a sexy, mysterious stranger, in whom Shari confides her troubles proves fortuitous: he tells her of a get-rich-quick scheme that will put her and her fiancé on easy street. Seduced by the chance to move from hard times to good times in no time, Sheri takes the carrot offered her, and finds herself acting as a “stuffed passenger”—the “victim” in a staged auto accident. The act goes according to plan and Shari gets her payday, but getting out and breaking free of the insurance fraud underworld will take nothing short of a miracle. 
 
 

 

 

 
 

 

 
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
For KXXX TV and KXXX AM Radio News, this is Katie Carlson with your mid-morning eye-in-the-sky traffic report, and it’s an easy one: It’s messed up EVERYWHERE! So far, the 405 South is backed up all the way to the 101. So, if you are going into Hollywood this morning, you are going to be late for that audition. Also, there is an injury crash on the Eastbound 10. So, if you are heading into downtown LA, you might want to bring a magazine or get some knitting done. If you are going to LAX, forget it, call mom back east and tell her you will be driving out instead. Just Kidding! Any way, this is Katie Carlson with the Los Angeles mid-morning traffic report. Enjoy your commute everybody, NOT!
* * *
As the blare of the clock radio on the night table jolted her awake, Shari Barnes rubbed her eyes, blew her long brown hair out of her face, and snuggled into Nathan Townsend’s chest. She curled her body around his middle and took a deep whiff of his salty, masculine neck.
But she couldn’t ignore the voice on the radio.
“Monday morning traffic,” she sighed.
Nathan matched the sigh and put his arms around her. “At least you don’t have to drive over the hill.”
“Yeah, I would just die if I had to drive into Beverly Hills every day to work in a beautiful office.” Shari giggled and disappeared under their thick blue comforter for a few more moments of sleepy-headed bliss. She felt Nathan stretch up, and a moment later the radio shut off. Then he slid down next to her in the single bed they shared in their Studio City apartment, a few blocks north of Ventura Boulevard. The constant drone and rumble of another L.A. morning came clearly through the open window: cars honking, rock music blaring, the frantic scurrying sounds of the film shoot a few blocks away. Shari ran her bare feet up the inside of Nathan’s thigh.
He jumped. “Shit, your feet are cold.” He pushed her legs off of him.
“What time is it?” she murmured between kisses.
“Um, seven.” He nuzzled her neck and she felt him becoming erect against her.
“No time for that!” She threw off the covers. “Gotta be at work on time for once; gotta get my asp out of bed.”
“There’s a snake in the bed?” Nathan grabbed her with both hands and gave her belly gentle nips.
“Yeah, of the one-eyed variety.” Shari leaped to the floor and padded naked into the bathroom. She turned the hot water in the shower to high and stepped in, filling the small bathroom with steam.
She had just poured a green drop of shampoo into her palm and was running her hands together when the flimsy yellow and white shower curtain flew back and Nathan grinned in at her. She smiled back, surprised by neither his arrival nor the partial hard-on that preceded him.
“Mind if we join you?” he asked.
“There’s enough shampoo for everybody,” Shari said as she rubbed her hands across her scalp.
He stepped into the stall, pulled the curtain closed and began to lather her hair for her. She put her hands on his back, feeling the taut muscles and the water streaming there, but did not reach down between them. It took him about five seconds to realize it and hold her away.
“You okay?”
“Fine….”
“Don’t lie; I can always tell when you have something on your mind.”
“You know me better than I know me,” she said.
“You know it.” He pushed her wet hair over her shoulders. “Come on, give.”
“I was thinking maybe I should get a second job.”
“You’re worrying about money again?”
“Well, I have to shoot my student thesis film this year or I won’t graduate. But where am I going to get the money I need?”
“How much do you need?”
“At least five figures.”




5 STARS!

 

“Now we are perfectly posed to raise the question this thriller centers on: When bad things happen to good people, how fragile is the line between morality and survival? Is a little unprovable insurance fraud a victimless crime, or the gate to unfathomable legions of dark decay? Against the fast paced, infamous Hollywood backdrop you won’t be able to believe what is happening all while a tiny voice is zinging nagging quesions at you about what you would do in their shoes. Add in sex, drugs, owners of houses of ill repute, the profession that has earned every filthy stereotype with less faith than you would offer the sleaziest used car saleman (attorneys at law, of course), a young cop eager to make a name with a personal vendetta, and all the innocent (and not so innocent) bystanders, plenty of surprising plot twists, this is a book you won’t be able to put down.” – Backstage Blogs

 

 

 

 

 
Lindy S. Hudis is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. She is also the author of an erotic short story series, “The S&M Club” and “The Mile High Club”. Her short film “The Lesson” was screened at the Seattle Underground Film Festival and Cine-Nights in 2000. She is also an actress, having appeared in the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”. She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.
 
Lindy S. Hudis Twitter: https://twitter.com/lindyscribe

 

 
 

 

Blonde Moxie

Title: Blonde Moxie
Author: C.R. Lemons
Genre: Noir Crime Thriller
Release Date: May 7, 2019
There is a fine line between an investigation turning obsessive, reality blurring into fantasy, and determination masked as courage…
 
Seasoned homicide detective Breck Nolan is within a week of retiring when he is called out to the horrific crime scene of missing person Camille Earhart. He quickly discovers she is a stunning blonde beauty with soul-capturing blue eyes and a singer at a local jazz lounge. The deeper he dives into his missing blonde’s life the more Detective Nolan becomes enamored with her, but he learns little about who she actually is. She is a mystery in which he is determined to solve in hopes to find her alive.
 
Through his investigation, he finds his missing blonde has left a trail of corrupt men in her wake. Each with a slightly different description of who she is and all with a motive in benefiting from her disappearance. The one that stands out the most is her married boss Sal Aiolfi, Jr., the son of mob boss, Sal, Sr., who Detective Nolan has a not-so-favorable history with.
 
When two bodies turn up along with the discovery of a handful of missing person cases all linked to the jazz club, Detective Nolan makes it a personal mission to get to the bottom, even if it means breaking in doors and kicking in knee caps to accomplish it. This causes a push back from his own department, leaving him to choose between his badge or his honor. Detective Nolan stubbornly decides there is a third option to keep both with the help of a few unlikely and interesting allies along the way.
 
In the end, will he ever find his missing blonde, or will she forever be an alluring enigma?

“I have such an active imagination and I truly enjoy transcribing it into words. As I am writing, the people, places, and things come to life before me and I completely lose myself. Writing is my meditation. I hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Thank you and happy reading.”
C. R. Lemons is a native Texan who requires a cup of coffee to function, must have background music playing for concentration, and enjoys her life full of laughter. As a child, she would sneak her mom’s romance novels and lose herself in them. Her love of writing started through poetry in her teens. C. R. Lemons always had an active imagination and dreamt of sharing it through writing. This dream finally came true with her first novel, Getting Him Off Quickly (Getting Him Off Series, Book 1), and continues with her published catalog full of romance, thrillers, and poetry. As an award-winning erotic romance / thriller author and occasional naughty poet, she enjoys writing to stimulate the reader’s mind and body one word at a time. For the latest list of books by C. R. Lemons, please visit her website at http://www.crlemons.com.

HOSTED BY:

Mamma’s Moon

Title: Mamma’s Moon
Series: The Hoodoo of Peckerwood Finch
Author: Jerome Mark Antil
Genre: Crime/Romance
Release Date: May 7, 2019

“Jerome Mark Antil’s Mamma’s Moon does for Acadiana what Truman Capote did for Tiffany’s or Tennessee Williams did for streetcars. This is a novel about a lot of things, including sex, crime, life, and death. But most of all, it’s a novel about hope and about love.

 

 
Mamma’s Moon gives the reader a dramatic and insightful glimpse into the very special world of today’s Louisiana French Acadians, whose early tragic history was immortalized by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his classic poem, Evangeline, even before the heartless bayou’s more contemporary history was buried deep and forgotten.” Tom Hyman (LA Times bestselling author: writer for LIFE magazine, The Saturday Evening Post, Argosy, Washington Post Book World and New York Magazine.)
 
This novel, Mamma’s Moon, is a sequel to the novel, One More Last Dance. It stands alone as an entirely self-contained story, but for those of you who may not have read the earlier novel, I include here a brief description of the main characters and of the events that preceded this story.
 
A bond that can only happen on a dance floor happened in a cafe off Frenchman Street among four unlikely characters: a man who was about to die; his friend, an illiterate Cajun French yardman; and two of the most successful women in New Orleans.
 
Aging Captain Gabriel Jordan, retired, was given two months to live, three months before he met “Peck”–Boudreau Clemont Finch–a groundskeeper on the back lawn of his hospice on Bayou Carencro, Louisiana. It was at the hospice that Gabe told Peck his dream of seeing the Newport Jazz Festival before he died. They became friends, and Peck offered to help grant his wish by taking him there.
 
And they began their journey.
 
It quickly became a journey with complications and setbacks. They saved each other many times, but they were in turn saved by two extraordinary women: Sasha (Michelle Lissette), a real estate agent in New Orleans’s posh Garden District, and her best friend, Lily Cup (Lily Cup Lorelei Tarleton), a criminal attorney.
 
Less than a year before the events in Mamma’s Moon, Gabe and Peck wandered into Charlie’s Blue Note, a small jazz bar in a side alley just off Frenchman Street, where the music was live and mellow and the dancing warm and sensual.
 
Here they encountered Sasha and Lily Cup, and amid the music, the dancing, the food, the flirting, and the cigar smoke, the four formed an unusual and lasting friendship that would see them each through a series of crises, disappointments, life-threatening situations, and moments of great joy and satisfaction.

 

 

Chapter 3 What a Night, My Brother 
 

 

Quelle nuit, mon frere 


  The seven fifty–five streetcar whined its hum behind them, rolling off into the night. They stepped through the gate of the Columns Hotel, brightly aglow with floodlights washing its historic columns and walls of porcelain white majesty. 

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Gabe said. 

“Tres grand,” Peck said. 

“It looks big—I’m not sure how many rooms they have for hotel guests. Not many, I suppose—but I don’t know. It was a private home in its day.” 

They climbed the steps, pausing on the landing surrounded by various size tables with linen cloths, some couples silhouetted by the moonless night chatting and holding their drinks, as in a Toulouse Lautrec print. 

“My brother, would you prefer sitting here on the patio in the night air or inside?” 

Peck didn’t answer. 

“We might talk better inside,” Gabe said. “Night folks congregate in the bar or out here. Let’s take our chances in the front room.” 

A server carrying a tray of drinks told them to find a table—she would be back to take their order. The smaller parlor room that Gabe preferred had a front window with dark-stained indoor shutters that dated back a century. Bay and framed, the window looked on St. Charles Avenue and its glass pane height rose from the floor to a twelve or fourteen–foot ceiling. Romantics like Gabe could imagine children of the 1800s who were supposed to be taking their naps sit ting on the floor in the bay, watching the parade of horses, carriages, and streetcars going by. The table was for four, but he and Peck sat on both sides of a corner V with an avenue view, their backs to the next room with its round red leather settee and an ornate, wood-carved barroom behind that. 

Peck reached out and rested his hand on Gabe’s. 

“Quel problème avez–vous, mon ami?” (“What trouble are you in, my friend?”) 

“My brother,” Gabe said, “I know as sure as I’m born when you speak with the French, you have something special on your mind. I only made out the word problem—and I’m here for you. What problem do you have—let it out, my brother.” 

“Nah, nah…not me. What trouble you in, frien’?” Peck said. 

Gabe reeled his torso, eyes wide, mouth open, caught off–guard. He pointed to the seat across from him. “Sit over there, son, so I can look into your eyes.” 

Peck got up, moved, and sat again. 

“Just what do you know about so–called trouble you speak of, my brother? What exactly have you heard?” 

“I’ve heard nothing, cher. I see plenty. You in trouble old frien’— tell Peck about it.” 

“I’ll be damned. I swear. I spend a lifetime in the army learning to be aware of things around me, and never in all those years—not one time—have I seen the likes of anyone close to having your sense of observation and awareness. My brother.” 

The waitress came to the table about to interrupt. Gabe inter rupted her first. 

“Honey, bring us two shrimp and grits; one crawfish etoufee that we’ll share. Bring a couple of spoons, if you will, and two small plates and start us with a couple of long necks and keep the beer coming. A streetcar is our driver tonight.” 

“Thank you, sir,” the waitress said. 

Gabe waited for her to step away, turned his head and looked Peck in the eye, while leaning in over the table. 

“Okay, sure,” he said. “I’ll tell you my story. But first you tell me how you found out.” 

“Lily Cup,” Peck said. 

“Hogwash,” Gabe said. “She’s a total professional. She wouldn’t say a word.” 

“Lily Cup at the house,” Peck said. 

“Not buying it. She’s been to the house before. What gave you the idea there’s trouble?” 

“Her satchel by the door,” Peck said. “If no trouble, satchel would be in her car. She took it into the house. Only could mean trouble for my frien’.” 

Gabe sat back. 

“The eyes of a fucking bald eagle,” Gabe said. 

He inhaled and exhaled, rubbing his chin and shaking his head as if he was letting it sink in. Peck’s keen observation picked up the scent of trouble just as if the boy were on a pirogue in a bayou swamp tracking gator for bounty or turtles for soup. He leaned in once again and lowered his voice. 

“I killed a lad today, I surely did. He couldn’t have been twenty, maybe twenty–two. Killed him deader than a cold mackerel. Now old Gabe is in trouble with the law, and with the Almighty. That’s the mess I’m in, son.” 

Peck reached across the table and held his hand again. 

“Tell me. When? Where?” said Peck 

“This morning, after you left for your meeting at Tulane. Thought I’d stretch my legs on Andrew Higgins Boulevard. I took a streetcar over to Lee Circle for a look at the World War II museum; thought maybe I’d sit with my coffee on the park bench and have a chat with the bronze of President Roosevelt. I stepped from the streetcar and was crossing St. Charles. There was no traffic, and I remember tak ing my time looking up at the tree branches and wires still draped with strings of beaded necklaces from Mardi Gras hanging from them. I remember thinking it must be they get caught in trees when they’re thrown from the parade floats. That’s about when he came up—the kid.” 

“Behind you?” Peck asked. 

“No—straight on from in front of me. I remember when I caught his eye he was smiling a big, cold smile. He pulled a knife from under his shirt—I’d say six, eight–inch blade. He walked toward me grinning and smiling, pointing and poking the knife at me and he kept repeating, “Wallet…give me your fucking wallet, old man… wallet…your fucking wallet…” 

“What’d you do?” 

“I lifted my stick with both hands and turned sideways—took a stance. I poked the tip at his eye. I missed his eye but I hurt him. Then I reeled and slammed the back of his upper calf with my stick like a baseball bat and took him down, but he didn’t drop the knife. He grabbed my shirttail in his hand and swiped up at me, cut my shirt—took a button off, and that’s when I did it. God judge me, I could only see red. I turned the stick around and struck his head. I remember bashing again and again—hearing and feeling it hit his skull, and I don’t remember anything after that, but that someone grabbed me and held me until I came to.” 

“He was dead, cher?” 

“I didn’t look—but he was dead.” 

“People see?” 

“That’s for damn sure. A cop cuffed me, put my cane in his trunk and drove me to the station. He was a vet, a brother. He called Lily Cup for me while he drove. She was at the station waiting when we got there.” 

“Mais vous essayiez seulement de vous defender,” Peck said. (“But you were only trying to defend yourself.”) 

“You saying self–defense? Lily Cup said the DA could build a case proving the boy was defending himself from me. It’s a pickle. Tomorrow I have to hear the second-degree murder charges against me. A big dill pickle.” 

The waitress served them. Both men paddled their forks through the tastes of the town. Family secret ambrosias of red sauce warming the shrimp and grits made things all right. 

“All right” in the Big Easy is when the tastes of the food to the palate can make you forget all else, at least for the moment. 

“Peck, can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“Ax,” Peck said. 

“I was thinking about Millie—you know, her wanting to meet your mamma. What can you tell me about your youth, son? We never talk about it. How far back do you remember?” 

Peck placed his fork in the bowl and sat back. 

“If it’s uncomfortable, we’ll drop it,” Gabe said. 

“I grow’d at Bayou Chene—there and Petit Anse Bayou, ‘tween Bayou Sorrel and Choctaw. Foster nanna is all I remember. There was gator man. Gator man belt-strapped me good if I dropped the bait shrimp buckets. I had to scoop shrimp and carry the buckets until his pirogue was full. He’d sell bait to tourists at the fishing docks.” 

“How old were you?” 

“I couldn’t swim is what I remember.” 

“Did he pay you?” 

“Nah, nah…he’d dog collar me around my neck and chain me under porch back of his house. I worked, is all.” 

Gabe sat silently. 

“My foster nanna would tell me gator man was lar’ning me and to see I mind him good. He’d tow me for gator bait. When the moon come out, I’d look up near all night pretending the moon was my mother looking down and I’d talk to her and promise her I was a good boy and no trouble, and I’d be quiet and behave if she ever come back. I talked to the moon.” 

“She heard you, son. Your mother heard every word, I’m certain of it.” 

“What do I tell Millie? Peck is scared she will run away when she knows I don’t know my own mamma.” 

“Millie may still hug her baby doll, but she’s a stronger woman than you think, son. Spoon some etoufee and let me think a minute. I need to think.” 

The lobby of the hotel and both party rooms to its left were empty. The front desk was an ornate wooden antique table—a man sitting behind, chin in hand, dozing off. Someone was at the piano in the bar among the laughter and an occasional cheer of a celebrated moment. 

“Peck, you owe it to your Millie,” Gabe said. “Tell her the truth.” 

“Hanh?” Peck grunted. 

“The problem is, this took place long ago in your life. It’s impos sible for you to remember the real truth—the whole story.” 

“What you sayin’, Gabe?” 

“I’m saying you have to go back to that Bayou Chene—or wher ever—and find out for yourself. When you know the truth, that’s when you can tell Millie the story. She’s strong. She’d never be afraid of the truth coming from you. That woman loves you so much, but it’s up to you to learn the truth—if not for her, for your children.” 

“I love her too, frien’, just as you say—so much.” 

“It’s settled. You’ll go search it out, my brother.” 

“I’ll go, I surely will—in the morning,” Peck said. 

“You’re a strong man, son. Look them straight in the eye—don’t let anybody frighten or intimidate you.” 

“I’m not scared no more.” 

“You have some weeks before night school starts,” Gabe said. “Take any time you need to get the answers.” 

“Gabe, can I ax you something?” 

“Anything, my brother.” 

“Why did that boy with a knife smile?” 

“What?” 

“You say he kept smiling at you? Why did he smile at you like that?” 

Gabe picked up his beer. 

“Where you know the boy from?” Peck said. “A body don’t smile at a stranger. He only smiles when he knows him. Where you know him from?” 

Gabe set his beer down. 

“Remember the day I went to have keys made for the house?” Gabe said. 

“I remember. You wanted to walk.” 

“I was in Walmart. At the key-making machine and next to it was another tall vending machine. The same kid was at that one next to me, working it.” Gabe described how the kid pressured him for his credit card and then threatened to kill him when he refused to provide it. 

“What’d you do?” Peck asked. 

“I’ve never been so street-scared. I’m not agile or strong like I once was. I found the manager and told him. He said he’d walk me to the streetcar. Outside he asked me if I could recognize the kid and I told him yes, if I saw him again. We stopped for a light and when I turned there he was—the kid waving a knife. He was leaning on a bicycle looking me in the eye, waving his knife. ‘That’s him,’ I told the manager. ‘That’s him.’ The manager told me to stay put and he turned and ran toward the guy, yelling and waving his arms until the kid pedaled away in a scoot. The manager walked me to the streetcar and waited until I boarded.” 

“So that’s why you started walking with a cane, cher?” 

“Learned self-defense with one in the army.” 

“You’re innocent,” Peck said. “Tell Lily Cup the story, cher. Tell her to find the manager and get the videos. They’ll have one.” 

“I’ll be damned,” Gabe said. 

“All the proof you need, frien’,” Peck said. Video—it’s how we catched that robber man in Kentucky on the motorcycle, remember?” 

“How can I forget that night?” 

“Innocent, my frien’. Tell the story to Lily Cup.” 

“When are you going back to learn the truth, my brother?” 

“To see my foster nanna?” 

“To learn the truth,” Gabe said. 

“Tomorrow, I promise. I clean offices tonight. I’ll head out tomorrow.” 

“Let’s get some pecan pie and call it an evening,” Gabe said. “What a night, my brother. A guardian angel brought you to me.” 

Gabe caught the waitress’s eye and indicated dessert and coffee for both. He looked at the ceiling and into the heavens. 

“Thank you, Butterfly—thank you, my darling.” 

“Butterfly?” Peck said. 

“Butterfly, my brother. Butterfly was my girlfriend, my lover, my wife, and the mother of my son…longer than I can ever remember. Now she’s my guardian angel—my Butterfly.”

 

 

 

JEROME MARK ANTIL writes in several genres. He has been called a “greatest generation’s Mark Twain,” a “write what you know Ernest Hemingway,” and “a sensitive Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” It’s been said his work reads like a Norman Rockwell painting. Among his writing accomplishments, several titles in his The Pompey Hollow Book Club historical fiction series about growing up in the shadows of WWII have been honored. An ‘Authors and Writers’ Book of the Year Award and ‘Writer of the Year’ at Syracuse University for The Pompey Hollow Book Club novel; Hemingway, Three Angels, and Me, won SILVER in the UK as second-best novel. 

 

Foreword’s Book of the Year Finalist for The Book of Charlie – historical fiction and The Long Stem is in the Lobby – nonfiction humor. Library Journal selected Hemingway, Three Angels and Me for best reads during Black History Month.
Before picking up the pen, Antil spent his professional career writing and marketing for the business world. In this role, he lectured at universities – Cornell, St. Edward’s, and Southern Methodist. His inspirations have been John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, and Ernest Hemingway.

 

HOSTED BY:

Polyamory on Trial

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Polyamory on Trial

Author: Jude Tresswell

Publisher: Self-published via Rowanvale Books

Cover Artist: Cerys Knighton

Release Date; August 31, 2018

Genre/s: M/M/M/M, crime and mystery

Heat Rating: 2 flames (Trigger Warning: references to rape)

Length: 63,000 words/ 236 pages

It can be read alone. A third story will be published early 2019 so it is part of a series.

Add on Goodreads

 

Blurb

A bittersweet story with two interwoven themes: a crime and mystery involving trafficking and a look at the workings of a polyamorous relationship.

A young Syrian needing treatment at Warbridge Hospital is seen by Phil Roberts, one quarter of a gay polyamorous quad living in north east England. The men in the doctor’s life are ex-cop, Mike Angells, gallery proprietor, Ross Whitmore and ceramist and artist, Raith Balan.

Phil is troubled. Is his patient in the UK legally? Who has caused his injuries? Is trafficking involved? As the foursome struggle to find out, hampered by the fact that Mike is no longer a detective, cracks begin to appear in their relationship. Can four men be equals? Is their lifestyle viable? Meanwhile, there are cracks of a different sort to deal with—and the job of doing so seems to fall exclusively on Mike’s broad shoulders.

 

 

Buy Links

Rowandale Books

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Available as paperback, ePub, Mobi and PDF from Rowanvale Books and all usual distributors.

 

Excerpt

(Mike is talking about honesty, which, together with openness, love and passion, guide the quad’s approach to life. His little ‘asides’ feature at the end of the chapters.)

You could say that there are the big honesties, and there are the little honesties as well. The little ones involve the practicalities of livin’ as a foursome. Four blokes together. Shoppin’ to get, meals to cook, washin’ to sort, the loo to clean, the garden to dig, the bills to pay… all the usual family practicalities. But in a poly, we’re equally in charge, equally responsible. Theoretically, that is. One of us seems to think that it’s beneath his dignity to use a mop and that cleanin’ the loo should be left to his minions. He cleans up after himself—I’d shove his bloody head down the toilet bowl if he didn’t—but the proper wash, the one with the detergent and the disinfectant? No way. So, sometimes, we just have to be very honest and tell him he’s a shiter, or rather, Ross and Phil tell him, and I try to look threatenin’. It’s hard, cos I often want to laugh. He comes up with such a load of bollocks for excuses! Then he sulks, or gets in a strop, because he feels we’re gettin’ at him, but we have to. It’s the thin end of the wedge otherwise. He’ll shirk everythin’ if we don’t get tough and lay down the law. That’s what I mean by the little honesties. If sumthin’s wrong, then we have to be upfront about it and say so, even if it causes bad feelin’ for a time.

But I think you probably meant the big honesties. Keepin’ secrets. That sort of thing. Obviously, by their very definition, I don’t know if the others are keepin’ secrets. And yes, I would keep sumthin’ secret if I thought that sharin’ it would place the other guys in danger. In fact, I have done that, and so has Ross. But, to me, that’s not dishonest. Personally, I would never tell the others a lie, a big lie, the kind that’d rock the boat. I might not tell the whole truth, but I would never tell an untruth, if that makes sense. I think our quad’d crumble if we weren’t honest with each other. If there isn’t trust… There has to be trust.

About the Author

I write about gay polyamorous men, but I’m a monogamous female. I’m also asexual. I have no problem imagining the lives of my four men, though, as long as there’s no me (or any other female) in the scene. The term for this dissociation is anegosexual, I think.

I have a lot of hobbies, which is just as well as I spend a lot of time with my imagination and I need to be metaphorically tied down to the real world. I dance, I sing, I play the guitar (the last two, badly), I love geology and I’m interested in languages, and, of course, I love to write.

 

Author Links

Blog/Website

 

BOOK BLAST SCHEDULE

 

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Infinity Claims

banner.jpg

Sofia Grace Alexander, the only child of Nicholas Alexander, Don of the Alexander Crime family, born with an infinity symbol birthmark on her upper arm. She was the precious shining light in Nicholas’s dark life. They had a unique bond with each other from the moment she was born. Tragedy hits and Sofia and her mother are killed, or are they? How far will one brother be willing to go to take control of the family?
And will a childhood friend be the one that also has an infinity bond to Sofia bring her back to her father and take back what is hers?

released on 12th May 2018

Buy links Amazon

Infinity Claims Book Front (1)

Author Bio

Amber Joi Scott or the Wicked Writing Wench, born and raised in the South with a snarky attitude and kiss my ass mentality. She is the best selling Author for her bound series. Also, being born in the month of August, she embraces her Leo sign. Her love for reading all kinds of stories, she became intrigued when reading the Fifty Shades of Grey series. Deciding to research more about the community for her own book, she became appreciative of the BDSM community and what it means to a Dominant or submissive. Her first published book was a mix of BDSM relationship with the Mafia Family. She loved the story and characters so much that it became a four book series.

She lives in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley with her big, burly husband and her youngest daughter. Raising her children to be polite, hardworking, young adults is and will always be her biggest accomplishment. When deciding she needed a pen name, she decided to dedicate all her writing to her children, by using parts of their names as her pen name.

She enjoyed the being part of the Deeper Facebook Group and was happy to contribute her insight into the discussions, sometimes allowing life experiences to lend a different point of view on a particular topic. She doesn’t plan to stop writing anytime soon and hopes that people fall in love with her characters as much as she has

Amazon

Facebook

Goodreads

beautiful sexy woman with dark hair and bright makeupblack and white portrait of a beautiful young girl taken outsideBrave man with dangerous weapon

Ride in Snow Storm

Attemopt 1a

Master Blogger list

website

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Instagram

Email

Staying in Vegas

Title: Staying in Vegas
Author: Sam Mariano
Genre: Mafia Romance
Cover Designer: Covers by Combs
Publication Date: April 4th, 2018
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb:
When I met Rafe Morelli, he didn’t look like the biggest mistake I’d ever make; he seemed closer to the crime family version of Prince Charming. Charismatic, beautiful, and attentive—with an intoxicating air of power—Rafe was the stuff of my darkest fantasies.
What we had should have been a simple fling, no-strings-attached. My hot weekend with the sexy, dominant Vegas boss—a harmless memory to replay once I returned to my quiet, predictable life.
One tiny hitch in that plan: a panty-melting memory isn’t all he left behind. Now the stakes have changed, and I’m faced with a potentially life-altering decision. Do I stay away and enjoy my status as the only woman in known history who has played in the Morelli flames without getting burned, or do I risk everything and step back into the fire?
BOOK 1 OF 3 IN THE VEGAS MORELLI TRILOGY.
Can be read if you have not read the original Morelli family series, but this trilogy will have spoilers for that one.
Sam Mariano loves to write edgy, twisty romantic reads with complicated characters you’re left thinking about long after you turn the last page. Her favorite thing about indie publishing is the ability to play by your own rules! If she isn’t reading one of the thousands of books on her to-read list, writing her next book, or playing with her adorable daughter… actually, that’s about all she has time for these days.

Author Links:
Instagram: @sammarianobooks
Buy Links:
Staying in Vegas: https://amzn.to/2IhPH5h
Sinning in  Vegas (Pre-Order): https://amzn.to/2jXnLJC