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Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Book Release Tour and REVIEW: Chaos by Jamie Shaw Book #3 in Mayhem Series



Chaos
Mayhem #3   
By: Jamie Shaw
Releasing July 21, 2015 
Avon Impulse

Blurb

From the moment she saw Shawn Scarlett perform at a school talent show, Kit Larson has loved two things: the guitar, and the gorgeous, green-eyed boy who inspired her to play. But one careless night in high school shatters her hope of ever being more than a notch on his bedpost.

Six years, two bands, and one mostly-mended heart later, Kit’s about to make her rock star dreams a reality as the new guitarist for Shawn’s band, The Last Ones to Know. He may not remember their reckless night together, but Kit has never forgotten… and she’s determined to make him eat his heart out.

The release of their new album means a month cooped up on a tour bus, sleeping inches away from the ridiculously sexy musician she’s never quite gotten over. And as Kit gets to know the real Shawn—not Shawn Scarlett, the rock god, the player—their attraction becomes too hot to resist. But the past is paved with secrets, and when they finally surface, Kit could lose everything: the band, the music, her dreams… and Shawn.



Buy Links:





Each day you follow the tour you will get to read a different blurb from the book and fill out additional entries to win the giveaway!!!!  Check out the tour page and see what you have missed and what is to come!!




Goodreads Link:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23149165-chaos?ac=1

Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/136893-mayhem

 #3 (7/28 – 7/30)

It takes me an hour to drive to Mayfield. An hour of drumming my fingers against my Jeep’s steering wheel and blasting the music so loud that I can’t hear myself think. My GPS interrupts the eardrum massacre to give me directions to a club called Mayhem, and I park in the side parking lot of a massive square of a building.

With my Jeep in a spot and my ignition turned off, I drum on my steering wheel a few more times before smacking the heel of my palm against my glove compartment. It pops open, a hairbrush spills out, and I use it to tame my wind-tangled locks.

Earlier this week, the name of Shawn’s band—The Last Ones to Know—popped up on one of my favorite bands’ websites. I blinked once, twice, and then pushed my nose toward the screen to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
They were looking for a new rhythm guitarist. After doing a little digging, I found out that their old one, Cody, got kicked out of the band. The website didn’t say why, and I didn’t care. There was an opening, and everything in me told me to send an email to the email address listed at the bottom of the on-line flyer.

I typed the email in a daze—as if my guitar-loving fingers wanted to be in the band even more than my spaced-out brain did. I wrote that I had been in a band in college but that we broke up to go our separate ways, I sent a YouTube link to one of our songs, I asked for an audition, and I signed my name.

Less than half an hour later, I received a reply overflowing with exclamation points and an audition time, and I wasn’t sure if I should smile or cry. It was a chance to make all my dreams come true. But in order to do that, I’d have to face the dream that had already been crushed.

These past six years, I’ve tried not to think about it. I’ve tried to erase his face from my mind. But that day, with that email in front of me, it all came back in a rush.
Green eyes. Messy black hair. An intoxicating scent that seemed to linger on my skin for days, weeks.

I give my head a little shake to clear Shawn from my mind. Then I finish brushing my hair and take one last glance in my rear-view mirror. Satisfied I don’t look nearly as messy as I feel, I hop onto the asphalt and haul my guitar case from the back seat.

Now or never.

After a deep breath of city air, I begin making my way around the concrete fortress casting shadow over the parking lot. Unforgiving rays of afternoon sunshine wrap themselves around my neck and send beads of sweat trickling between my shoulder blades. My combat boots hit the side-walk step by heavy step, and I force them to keep lifting and falling, lifting and falling. It isn’t until I’m at a massive set of double doors that I finally stop long enough to let myself think.

I raise my hand. I lower it. I raise it again. I flex my fingers.

I take a deep breath.

I knock.

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Author Info


Born and raised in South Central Pennsylvania, Jamie Shaw earned her M.S. in Professional Writing before realizing that the creative side of writing was her calling. An incurable night-owl, she spends late hours crafting novels with relatable heroines and swoon-worthy leading men. She's a loyal drinker of white mochas, a fierce defender of emo music, and a passionate enthusiast of all things romance. She loves interacting with readers and always aims to add new names to their book boyfriend lists.

Author Links:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads







Rafflecopter Giveaway

 (Digital Download Set of MAYHEM and RIOT)









Review: Chaos by Jamie Shaw Book 3 in the Mayhem Series



I happily discovered Jamie Shaw as a brand new writer in "Mayhem" the first book in her rockstar series. I wrote a really positive review mentioning that although she was a very new writer she would hone her craft in books to come. I went on to read "Riot" the second book in the "Mayhem" series. I loved seeing the improvement and growth of her writing and how her characters got richer and more dimensional. I was so connected with the characters I anxiously waited for "Chaos" book 3 to emerge. I was wonderfully surprised when I was given a copy of Chaos pre-release from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. I admit I started the book and finished it in one evening. The characters just reached off the page and dragged me into their lives. I was totally engaged and could not put it down. 


I happily discovered Jamie Shaw as a brand new writer in "Mayhem" the first book in her rock-star series. I wrote a really positive review mentioning that although she was a very new writer she would hone her craft in books to come. I went on to read "Riot" the second book in the "Mayhem" series. I loved seeing the improvement and growth of her writing and how her characters got richer and more dimensional. I was so connected with the characters I anxiously waited for "Chaos" book 3 to emerge. I was wonderfully surprised when I was given a copy of Chaos pre-release from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. I admit I started the book and finished it in one evening. The characters just reached off the page and dragged me into their lives. I was totally engaged and could not put it down. 

We meet Shawn, our hero originally in book one as Adam's best friend and sometime smart-ass. In this novel he was still a bit of a manwhore enjoying his time being a young man with new fame. I thought he was a hoot and I was looking forward to learning more about him. Then in Book 2 we again saw him and got just a glimpse of our heroine Kit. This novel is Kit and Shawn's story. It starts back in high school and stalls. JS does a great job of letting us get into Kit's 15 year old head-space so we understand the angst she lived. I have to admit living that angst for 6 years was a bit much. I know at 15 you feel things deeply but by the time you are 21 and have had college and numerous boyfriends/hookups since, you would think it would have been a fond/or not so fond memory. I think holding to angst so tight and not letting it go even a bit is what caused me to rate this book 4 instead of 5 stars.

Shawn..oh my poor Shawn, he just isn't quite sure what is happening. I absolutely loved sharing his feelings and connecting with him so much deeper in this novel. I do have to admit that Kit is the star of this book. She is one of the coolest main characters I have read in this genre. She is a true rock chick and I adored her. Her brothers were fantastic and so confrontational I could see the interactions clearly in my mind. Kale, Kit's twin is a wonderful sub story in this novel and watching him come into his own sexuality was like watching a bud finally bloom. It really touched me. 

The writing was sharp, the plot line engaging and clear but the characters is what makes this book stand tall among it's peers. I admit I not only want to read Mike's story *desperately* but also I would love a spin-off series of Kit's brothers. They are all unique individuals on their own but a real belly laugh when they all are together. I have to admit I have a real soft spot for Ryan and would love to read his story. 

As you can see I have nothing but really great things to say about this novel. I'm delighted to watch this author grow with each new book and I know we readers will be enjoying her "voice" for many books to come. I give Chaos a shiny 4 star rating and a t'irla recommendation to make this one of your top summer reads. This is part of a series but can be enjoyed as a stand alone novel as well. You really need to meet this group of rock-stars and their rock chicks!

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Release Tour and REVIEW: Out of Time by Beth Flynn Book 2 Nine Minutes Series







OUT OF TIME is the HIGHLY ANTICIPATED sequel to NINE MINUTES

 where Grizz, Kit & Grunt's gritty tale continues! 
You aren’t going to want to miss this!

NOW AVAILABLE



Blurb
RECOMMENDED FOR READERS 18 AND OLDER DUE TO
STRONG LANGUAGE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS AND VIOLENCE

Out of Time is book two in a series. It is not a standalone novel. I highly recommend that you read my first novel, Nine Minutes, to be able to understand the background stories of the main characters. There are many twists and turns in both stories that can best be connected if read consecutively.

Although I do answer all of the outstanding questions from Nine Minutes, there is more to this story, and some readers may consider it a cliffhanger. If you do not like cliffhangers, you may want to wait until the third novel is released in 2016.



They thought with his execution it would all be over.

They were wrong.

The leader of one of South Florida’s most notorious and brutal motorcycle gangs has been put to death by lethal injection. Days later, his family and friends should have been picking up the pieces, moving on. Instead, they’ve been catapulted into a world so twisted and dangerous even the most ruthless among them would be stunned to discover the tangled web of deception, not only on the dangerous streets of South Florida but all the way to the top.

In this gripping follow-up novel to Nine Minutes, Out of Time takes readers from the sun-drenched flatlands of 1950s Central Florida to the vivid tropical heat of Fort Lauderdale to the halls of Florida’s Death Row as we finally learn the gritty backstory of Jason “Grizz” Talbot and the secret he spent his life trying to conceal.

Not even Grizz’s inner circle knows his full story—the tragedy that enveloped his early life, the surprise discovery that made him the government’s most wanted and most feared, and the depths of his love for Ginny, the tenderhearted innocent he’d once abducted and later made his wife.

Once Grizz’s obsession and now the mother of his child, Ginny has spent years grieving the man she’d first resisted and then came to love. Now remarried to Tommy, a former member of the gang, the pair have spent more than a decade trying desperately to live a normal existence far from the violent, crime-ridden world they’d once carved out on the edge of the Florida Everglades. For
Tommy, especially, the stakes are high. Desperately in love with Ginny for years, he’s finally living his dream: married to the woman he never thought he could have. But even with the façade of normalcy—thriving careers, two beautiful children, and a genuinely happy and loving marriage—they can’t seem to put the past behind them. Every time they turn around, another secret is revealed, unraveling the very bonds that hold them together.

And with Grizz finally put to death, now Ginny has learned secrets so dark, so evil she’s not even sure she can go on.

Will these secrets tear their love to pieces? And how far will Grizz go to protect what he still considers his, even from beyond the grave?


Haven’t read this series yet,

 check out Nine Minutes for 

ONLY $1.99! 

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1KXRtHk






About the Author:


Beth Flynn is a fiction writer who lives and works in Sapphire, North Carolina, deep within the southern Blue Ridge Mountains. Raised in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Beth and her husband, Jim, have spent the last 17 years in Sapphire, where they own a construction company. They have been married 31 years and have two daughters and two dogs. In her spare time, Beth enjoys writing, reading, gardening, church and motorcycles, especially taking rides on the back of her husband’s Harley. She is a five-year breast cancer survivor.


STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

Review: Out of Time by Beth Flynn Book 2 of the Nine Minute Series




I'm in a daze, I'm feeling overwhelmed and I think I'm experiencing my first book hangover. What a read!!! The fact that I have had to take a few days break before I wrote this review is telling. What a ride yes my head is spinning. This is no simple book but a complex creation of twists, turns, and down right head trauma no no I'm not exaggerating. Beth Flynn uses every trick in a writer's tool belt to wring every emotion possible out of the reader. Using both flashes to the past and current day points of view as vehicles to reveal different aspects of the characters and also ways to move the plot in a intrictly choreographed plot where every detail counts. This is not a story you can skim.

This is not a stand a lone novel you need to read Nine Minutes as the cliffhanger from that novel is the beginning of this one. The story is dark in many ways full of secrets both revealed and held, hope, love, lies, betrayal, death and mostly family. Moving through the story we go from the present into the past to reveal motives and answer those outstanding questions from book 1. We also pose many more questions where we are left hanging for the final book in the trilogy.

A second book in a trilogy is difficult as it is more a vehicle to move the story forward and reveal more about the characters as we learn more and they become fully dimensional. This makes most book 2s a bit tedious but that did not happen in this novel I found myself completely wrapped up in the drama and I was done before I even knew it. Yes, there is a bit of a cliffy on this one too...after all all three novels are one continuous story.

Kit, Grizz and Grunt are all the same but more in this novel. We learn a lot more about Grunt/Tommy and his motivation behind some of his action. Ginny I thought was a bit more of a whiner but it was a confusing time for her. I know I personally can't wait to find out what happens, who will be with who and how BF is going to write a satisfying ending.

41/2 strong stars riding a motorcycle for this second instalment of the Nine minutes series. I can't wait for book 3. I also can't wait to see where Beth Flynn directs her talent next. This is a must read for those who like MC novels or novels with a bit of darkness and grit.

I would like to thank the author and publisher for providing me with a copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Blog Tour/Release/Excerpts! Bleeding Love by Harper Sloan Book 2 in the Hope Town Series







Meet Liam & Megan in the newest stand alone 

in the 

Hope Town Series 

by Harper Sloan! 

NOW AVAILABLE




Blurb
( Standalone)

I've loved once. I gave everything that I had to that love. Blindly believing that nothing could ever take that feeling away from me. Away from us. And when my little world of happiness was ripped from my fingers, I felt a loss that still haunts me to this day. 

Now I use that lingering grief as a shield to keep my heart from loving again. It's that fear that keeps me from letting anyone, except my daughter, get close enough to make it hurt. To make my heart bleed when I inevitably lose again. 

Until the day I met Liam Beckett and everything I thought I had protected myself from was shoved back in my face. 
He's on a mission to prove to me that a love worth having is a love worth fighting for.
 


Excerpt #1 (New to Tour)

His mouth leaves mine and with his hand still on my leg, he demands, “Dig your heels in deep, baby.”

I give him what he wants, but not because he told me to.  I give him what he wants because when his hand leaves my leg and pushes into the mattress, bringing his body up he goes even deeper into my body and those heels push hard.

Just as he demanded earlier, my hands go to his shoulders on my own accord and as he takes my body hard, my nails dig in with my heels still pushing hard against the small of his back.

Our eyes never leave each other’s probing gaze.  Never once do I take my eyes away from his, so full of lust that I know there isn’t an ounce of control left in his body.
He drops his head and I lift up to meet him in a kiss so sweet it doesn’t match the powerful way that he’s taking my body.  A kiss that gives me more than words ever could at this moment.  His hips slow and as his tongue rolls against mine, his hips start to take me in slow, deep rolls.  He doesn’t pull back, just rocks his hips against mine.

I push up and cry out when he slips even deeper.
His lips come from mine and his hooded eyes open a sliver.  “Feels like heaven,” he says softly.  “Everything, darlin’.  Feels like everything.”




Prologue

Prologue - Megan


Holy shit.

What am I doing?

“Oh, God!  Right there… I’m coming… Don’t stop!”

Is that me screaming like that?

Holy shit.

I didn’t even know that noises like that could come out of my mouth!

“You like that?” he asks with his lips pressed against my neck – the vibrations shooting straight to my core.

I focus, my now alcohol free vision, on the man thrusting above me.  His dark hair is blending in with the shadows that are dancing around the room.  His face is a mask of ecstasy as he thrusts into my waiting body.  It’s a look of pure desire that I will never forget.

What the hell am I doing?

“You feel so good.  Your body so greedy for my cock.  You want it harder, darlin’?”

I moan shamelessly and feel my body get even wetter with his huskily whispered words.

Screw it – this feels way too good to stop now.

I reach down, dig my fingers in the firm globes of his ass, tip my head back and beg.  Beg with incoherent cries for him to take me harder.  To take everything he can.


**Two Hours Earlier**

“You look beauuuutiful,” I sing as Dani Reid – No, Dani Cage – walks over to sit next to me at one of the tables scattered around the backyard wedding.

She looks at me, her stunning green eyes bright with love and happiness.

“And you sound a little drunk, my friend,” she laughs.

I just smile at her, running my fingers through the lace on her wedding gown.

“This is soft.”

She just laughs and leans back and looks across the yard to where her new husband, Cohen, is standing by the dock talking to some of his friends.  This is another one of those moments when I’m reminded that this group doesn’t have a single unattractive person in it.  I take a second to look at all the well-built, good-looking men standing around him.  When my eyes meet Liam Beckett’s, I look away quickly.  For months now Liam has made no secret that he would love nothing more than my undivided attention.

“They’re all so unfairly hot.  No men should be that attractive,” I whisper in awe, gaining me another chuckle from Dani.

 I blush when I realize that my thoughts aren’t staying in my head, where they belong.  When I look back over to where the group of men are standing, my eyes hit the familiar pair of deep brown ones again, eyes that always seem to know each and every time I’m looking their way.  I quickly look away, feeling that blush get even brighter.  I’m not ready to deal with him right now.  At least not when I’m this tipsy.

Picking up my wine glass, I take another healthy swallow as I do a quick scan, taking in all that is the Reid Family property.  They’ve done a beautiful job transforming the backyard of Dani’s family home for Cohen and Dani’s wedding.  I still can’t believe that Dani managed to pull off a surprise wedding without Cohen even catching the smallest hint of her plans.

“Are you sure you’re okay with Molly spending the night with my parents, Megs?  I know it’s hard for you to leave her overnight, but they just love your daughter to pieces.

  And I know Owen loves having her around.”  Dani reaches out and takes the hand I had resting against the table while she speaks.

“Yup,” I smack and nod my head.

“You’re drunk,” she says, repeating her earlier observation.

“I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy.  There’s a huge difference there.  If I was drunk I wouldn’t be able to walk.  Watch!”
I jump up from my chair with a little more power than I mean and quickly stumble when the narrow heel of my five-inch shoes sinks into the soft grass beneath me.

“Whoa, there darlin’.”

I feel it, those words, every single syllable deep down in my gut.  Each rumbled word vibrating through my body creating a slow burn until they end with a sharp pulse between my legs. His arms locked at my elbows and my back solidly against his front – where my graceless stumble caused me to end up. I jerk my body tight and feel his laughter reverberate through my body once again.

I attempt to pull my arms from his loose but strong hold, only to give up when it becomes clear that he isn’t going to let go.  Shifting until my face is turned, he lets one arm go and helps me spin until I’m facing him, and moves his hands from my elbows to my hips.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, the dimple in his cheek popping out.

“Liam,” I sigh and then curse myself for not being able to hide my reaction to him.

His smile turns knowing and his eyes darken before dropping to my lips.

I gulp.

“You should be more careful, Megs.”

“It’s Megan,” I snap.

“I know, babe, you don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“Then why can’t you seem to actually remember it?” I squeak and try to pull my body away from his grip – and fail, again.

“Someone doesn’t sound drunk anymore.”

I hear Dani speak but I don’t take my gaze off Liam.  “She does look it though.” She muses on a laugh, which finally gets my eyes to snap to hers.

“I’m fine!  I just had a few glasses of wine and I haven’t eaten much.  But, I most definitely am not drunk.  I think I would know if I was drunk.”

Okay, so that’s a lie.  I might not be drunk, but I am definitely slightly past tipsy.  Dealing with Liam – or rather my attraction to Liam – is hard enough for me on a good day, when I’m completely sober.  But with this amount of wine flowing through my body, I just can’t trust myself.
It’s taken everything I have to keep him, and his obvious interest, at bay for the last couple months.  When he’s around he goes out of his way to get me alone and lay it out.  He wants me.

“You look stunning when those shadows aren’t rolling around your shoulders,” Liam whispers, his lips press close enough to my ear that I can feel his words one by one against my skin.

I shiver, his words hitting me close to home, but the tone causing me to forget I should be pushing him away.  Especially when he’s talking about things that he has no business speaking about.

“I’m fine,” I stammer.

“Yeah, darlin’, I know you are.”

His eyes keep their hypnotizing hold on my own.  I hear Dani excuse herself.  I don’t turn to watch her disappear in the lingering crowd of party-goers that are still left milling around.  The music is still floating in the air around us.  As I look into his eyes everything around me feels like it’s…alive.  It’s a feeling that I’ve been missing for the last few years.  A feeling that only comes to visit when I’m with my daughter, or until recently, when Liam Beckett is in the same room.  It’s a feeling that, even though I shouldn’t, I feel guilty for allowing myself to enjoy.

Whether it’s the wine, the fact that Molly left a few hours ago with Dani’s parents, or the man standing in front of me, all I know is if I don’t hold on to this feeling for as long as I can right now, I’ll regret it for years to come.

“Megs,” he says on a sigh, his fingertips digging in and his eyes swirling with a rich hopefulness that turns those golden flecks you can normally see swimming in his brown eyes into a burning fire lighting his gaze.

Hungry eyes.

I don’t think.  If I had given myself just a second to process my next move, I’m sure I would have backed out of his hold and run as fast as I could to my car.  But, I didn’t think, so my next move was pure, one-hundred-percent Megan.  But not the Megan I’ve been for the last couple years since my husband died.  No, this Megan feels like I’ve finally dug myself out of those ashes I’ve been living in since my life burned up around me.   The cloak of depression that normally lingers loosely around my shoulders, dropping to my feet with the feel of Liam pressed tight.  I know this feeling won’t last, but I suddenly want to hold on to every second I can of this experience, until it leaves me.

I reach out and curl my fingers around his forearms.  My eyes growing wide when his brow lifts.  With a quick push I rock up and close the distance that is left between our mouths.  When my lips touch his, that feeling of being alive burns so bright every nerve in my body feels it, each inch of skin boiling and cooling so quickly it’s as if I can’t make up my mind if I want to be hot or cold.  My hairs stand on end, my skin pebbles – going cold before rushing heat fills my veins, and the very thump of my heart seems to skip a beat the second our lips touch.

One thing I know for sure.  I want this.  I want this and Liam’s going to give it to me.

He doesn’t pause.  His groan vibrating against my chest only lights the feeling that is firing through my skin.  My hands move from his forearms and I run my hands up his chest until both hands curl around his neck and I use the hold to pull my body even closer to his.

His hands move from my hips and he curls them around my bottom, pulling me tightly against his body.  When I feel the very obvious sign of his attraction, I moan deeply, and shiver when he answers with one of his own.

I can’t tell you how long this kiss lasts.  When his tongue moves to swipe against my lips, I open without reservation.  We continue, our tongues dancing together while each of our moans are swallowed by the other, until I have to pull away to gulp a breath of air before I pass out – however, the way I feel right now, passing out might very well be a possibility

“This is finally happening,” he snarls in a tone that should scare me, but all it does is act as kerosene to our already uncontrollable fire of lust

“It is,” I agree without question.

"Now,” he says.

“Okay,” I agree on a sigh and sway toward his hard body.
With the encouragement he needs, his hands finally leave my body.  He turns me, wraps one thick arm around my shoulder, and turns to walk toward the front of the house.

“We’re leaving?” I question lamely.

“Darlin’ I didn’t stutter.  This is happening,” he says, pausing when he reaches the side of the house and the shadows that will give us the privacy we need.  His body turns, moving me to stand before him once again.
  “I need to know you’re with me, Megan.  I’ve wanted this since the day I met you, but I knew you weren’t ready for me.  I’ve been trying to keep my distance, just waiting for those clouds to leave your eyes.  If you don’t want me to take you back to my house, strip you naked and fuck you until you can’t walk for weeks, then say so now, because the second I have you I won’t be letting go.”

“Oh, boy,” I whisper.

“I prefer oh God, but I’ll make that the first item on my to-do list.”

“You’ll make what?”

“My to-do list, Megs.  The list of things I’ve wanted to do to you for months now.  Making you scream oh God will be number one, followed by my name, of course.”

“Oh, God,” I repeat, my mind swilling with the promise his words inflict.

“Yeah, you’re getting it.”

His mouth crashes down on mine for a hard but quick kiss before pulling back and giving me another one of those knee-melting smirks.

“Last chance, Megan,” he whispers while his hands are framing my heated face.

Whatever he sees in my eyes is enough, he gives me a light kiss, takes his hands from my face and curls one around my left hand and pulls me toward his truck.



Excerpt #2

“Last chance,” he tells me with a wicked grin. 

“And this time I mean last one, darlin’.  We take this step and make no doubt about it, you will be mine.  You give me this and I fucking promise you that I will never make you regret taking that step.  You ready to jump from that chapter you’ve been skimming through and skip into mine?”

I give him a smile, one that is full of confidence and not the least bit unsure as the words that he had told me weeks before come back between us.

“I’m ready.”

“Fuck,” he groans.  “Buckle up, baby.”

My smile doesn’t slip for a second.  Not when I pull my belt across my chest.  Not when he slams the door and races to his own.  It grows wider when he slams the truck in drive and fishtails back onto the path that will take us back toward town.  It isn’t until his big hand reaches out and takes my leg in his strong hold that my smile slips slightly, but it only slips because my head falls back and I whimper and try to rub my legs together to ease the ache between them.  I lose the smile completely when my mouth drops open and that whimper turns into a loud whine as his long fingers dance up my legs until he slips beneath the hem on my shorts and pushes my panties to the side, pressing against my clit in sure movements that have me panting in seconds.

“Fucking drenched,” he grounds out through his tightly clamped teeth.

I roll my head against the headrest and look across the cab at his face.  His finger dips from my swollen clit and as he drops his hand lower, his wrist twists slightly so that when he gets there his finger slides deep inside me.
My legs spread instantly when his thick finger fills me and I hear his rumbled groan fill the space around us as he slides his finger as deep as his position allows before pulling it back, then repeating his movements until I can feel myself soaking his hand.  If he keeps this up, I won’t last.  He adds a second finger and my hand digs into the door and I reach out, wrapping my other around his forearm and choke on shattered breaths when he thrusts his fingers so deep, I feel like I’ve been electrocuted as he hits that spot that has me panting, whimpering and begging incoherently.

“Please, Lee, please,” I pant.  How I formed those words, I’ll never know.

“Fuck,” he snarls, the sound making my arousal spike even higher.  “You’ll call me that when I’m so deep inside you my balls will be soaked with this sweetness.”

His fingers curl and I pant, my hand cramping around the force of my grip.

“Please, oh God.  Not without you, please.”

I pray he understands my plea and when he curses, I know he gets me.  His hand leaves my pants and I cry out, causing him to spit out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.  His leg slams down and I feel the truck pick up speed as I watch him take his fingers to his mouth and lick every drop of my wetness from his skin.

“Holy shit,” I exhale.

“You’re getting my mouth first, darlin’.  That wasn’t enough of a taste and fuck me, I’m starved.”

I say nothing, just continue to feel like my heart is about to slam from my chest as I continue to shift my legs back and forth in attempt to ease the burn he’s lit between my legs.

About the Author:



Harper lives in small town Georgia just a short drive from her home town of Peachtree City. She (and her 3 daughters) enjoy ruling the house they dubbed 'Estrogen Ocean', much to her husband’s chagrin. Harper has a borderline unhealthy obsession with books; you can almost ALWAYS find her with her eReader attached. She enjoys bad reality TV and cheesy romantic flicks. Her favourite kind of hero--the super alpha kind!

Harper started using writing as a way to unwind when the house went to sleep at night; and with a house full of crazy it was the perfect way to just relax. It didn't take long before a head full of very demanding alphas would stop at nothing to have their story told.

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Monday, July 13, 2015

Excerpt Reveal: Out of Time by Beth Flynn Book 3 in Nine Minutes Series



Prologue
1950s, Central Florida

The slap was hard and almost knocked him to his knees. They wobbled for a split second, but he managed to regain his stance and glared hard at his father.

“Your mother said you missed the bus and had to hitch-hike home.”

He tasted blood in his mouth where the slap had caused him to bite the inside of his cheek. He knew his next comment would bring another blow. He braced himself.

“Ida is not my mother.”

Another hard one, this time to the side of his head, which caused a ringing in his ear. This was nothing. He’d endured worse. He didn’t know why it bothered his father so much when he said this. Ida herself was the first to remind him that she wasn’t his mother.

“Don’t fuck with me, boy. Where were you?”

“It’s the last day of school. Some of us had to stay after to help the teachers clean out their classrooms.”

This was a lie. He’d gotten in a fight that day. He’d snapped when a snooty rich kid made fun of him.

The kid was new and had only been enrolled for the last two weeks before school let out for the summer. He was too new to have been warned. The new kid had asked him in the boy’s room if he picked his clothes out of the garbage can that morning. He’d left the idiot dazed and bloody on the bathroom floor, then calmly washed his hands and went back to his classroom. He’d looked at the big clock over the blackboard. Less than fifteen minutes until summer started. Hopefully, his dad wouldn’t work him to death and he’d be able to keep an eye out for her.

 For Ruthie.

He’d been on the loaded school bus, ready to pull away, when the driver reached over and opened the door. The substitute principal stood at the front of the bus and quietly perused the group of kids. When he saw who he was looking for, he pointed and indicated with his finger.

Follow.

Damn. He’d almost made it out of there.

They never discussed the alleged crime as they made their way back into the school and to the principal’s office. He simply bent over the desk and endured the paddling. It wasn’t so bad and didn’t even compare to the beatings he’d received from his father. Beatings that had left permanent scars on his back and other parts of his body. He may have been young, but he knew this fucker, a temporary replacement for the school’s regular principal who was out recovering from surgery, was enjoying this way too much. Would probably lock his office door and jerk off after sending him to find his own way home.

 Fucking pervert. The world was foul.

So, he’d hitchhiked and ended up walking the last seven miles to get home and now stood there, facing the wrath of his father. His stepmother stood off to the side leaning back against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed and a smug look on her face. A hot, stale breeze floated in from the window above the kitchen sink.

His stepmother. Ida. He’d hated her for as long as he could remember. He had no memory of his real mother. He was told she’d died in this house giving birth to him. It wasn’t really a house so much as a shack in the middle of nowhere. A two-bedroom hovel situated on several acres surrounded by orange groves as far as the eye could see. His father was a skilled carpenter by trade, but for reasons that made no sense to his son, he preferred this destitute existence. He could have made a decent living, could’ve lived in a home not so far from the modern world—as modern as you could get in the fifties. He chose instead to live in a dilapidated old house that had been passed down for generations. He never once used his carpentry skills to make it into a real home. He’d slap some tar on the roof if it leaked or replace a busted pipe, but other than some hodgepodge repairs, he never lifted a finger. It was crumbling around them.

Maybe it was because his father considered himself the king of his castle and he could hold reign over his unworthy subjects. Maybe the brutality he unleashed here made him feel an iota of power that he didn’t feel in the real world. Maybe knowing that he could provide a nice and safe environment, but purposely chose not to, was part of the psychotic seed that had been implanted in his personality. He wasn’t just a bad man. He was worse than that. He prided himself too much on withholding any good he could do for his family.

That made him pure evil in his son’s eyes.

Before she’d married, Ida had worked as a maid for a wealthy family in West Palm Beach. His father had met up with a couple of other laborers to make the long drive down to a mansion situated on the beach to spend a few days doing carpentry work and repairs. He returned with his three comrades and a glowing Ida, who had finally, finally snagged herself a man. She had become tired of being someone’s maid, and when a hardworking, widowed family man came along and showed a hint of interest, she jumped. Unfortunately for her, she jumped too quickly and without hesitation. She hadn’t realized then that she was jumping from the frying pan right into a fire that was even worse. Overnight, she went from being a lonely, overworked maid to a lonely, overworked, and abused housewife.

No, he had no good memories of Ida. Maybe she’d started out trying to do her best. To make their shack a home, to be a mother to her new husband’s young son. But if she had started out that way, he had no recollection of it. Maybe she wasn’t always the horrible person he knew. Maybe his father made her that way. It didn’t matter. He hated her no matter what. He hated her because he knew what she was doing to her own daughter. His half-sister, Ruthie.

Ruthie was a sweet and trusting child who’d captured his heart since the day she was born. She was a happy little girl who was always smiling in spite of the mistreatment her mother inflicted. He spent every second that he wasn’t at school or working caring for his little sister. He adored her and did everything he could to protect her from his parents, especially Ida. He made sure she ate when she was sent to bed without supper. He made sure she was bathed. He couldn’t do it every day, but he did it as often as he could manage. He erased evidence of her bathroom accidents, making sure to wash out her clothes in the creek and let them dry before returning them to her dresser. He wiped away her tears and kissed her boo-boos.

Unfortunately, there were too many even for him to kiss away.

Every night she’d say, “Brother, tell me a story. Tell me a happy story where things don’t hurt and everybody is nice.”

He would pull her close in the bed they’d shared ever since she was a baby and, ignoring the stench of their unwashed bodies, he would make up happy stories to tell her. Anything to make her forget, just for a little while. They would watch the stars from their bedroom window and sometimes he‘d even use them in his stories.

“See the brightest star, Ruthie?” he’d tell her as they gazed out their window. “That’s you. You’re the brightest, most beautiful star in the sky.”

“Where are you, Brother? Are you there, too?” she asked him once.

“I’ll always be the one that’s closest to you.”

He didn’t know if the stories he made up were happy ones. He didn’t know what happiness was himself, so how could he tell a four-year old? But he tried.

Once in a while, after he was certain his father and Ida were asleep, he’d go to the back screen door and let Razor in to sleep with them, too. Razor was a big black Rottweiler that had wandered up to their house one day and never left. His father refused to let the dog stay and insisted he didn’t need another mouth to feed, that he’d shoot the dog if it didn’t leave on its own. The dog was smart. Sensing the father’s animosity, it would come around only at night and wait for the handout left for him on the far side of the barn. His father finally relented; he decided maybe the dog wasn’t so bad after all when his barking woke them up one night to warn them that a wild animal was trying to get into the chicken coop. The hen’s squawking never reached their sleeping ears, but the stray dog’s barking and pawing at their back door did. His father let Razor stay, but he had to be kept outside.

Now, the beating done for the day, his father stared at him for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “Get your fucking chores started. Don’t come back in until they’re all finished. You don’t get done before supper and you don’t eat.”

The boy didn’t need to glance at his stepmother to know she would purposely serve a very early supper that day. He headed out the back screen door and let it slam behind him.

“C’mon, Razor,” he said as he headed for the ramshackle barn.

It was dark outside when he finally finished his chores. He found some food he’d stashed in the barn and silently ate, sharing half with his dog. After washing up in the rain barrel, he headed into the house and crawled into bed with Ruthie, pulling her close. She moaned.

“Brother is here, Ruthie. Do you want a story?” He was exhausted, but couldn’t fall asleep thinking he would let her down without a story.

“My stomach hurts,” she whispered.

“Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?” he whispered back.

“No. It’s not that kind of hurt.”

“What kind of hurt is it? Are you hungry?

“Mommy stepped on it.”

He stiffened, then squeezed his eyes shut. He was glad she didn’t want a happy story tonight because the only one he could think of was one where he strangled Ida with his bare hands.

The next day, he was walking back from the groves carrying the three squirrels he’d killed with his slingshot. Ida could make a decent stew out of these. He’d watched Ruthie that morning at the table as she slowly ate her breakfast. She seemed okay, and he’d left to hunt before she finished. He shouldered the squirrels and imagined the look on Ruthie’s face when she saw what he’d caught.

That’s when he heard it. A shotgun blast coming from the direction of the house.

He’d heard the shotgun before, when his father caught rare sight of a deer or other animal that was either a predator or something that would end up on their dinner table. But his gut told him this was different.

He broke into a full run, then came upon a scene that brought him up short. He tensed as his mind started to grasp what had happened.

There, right beside the clothesline. His father holding the shotgun. Ida cradling a bleeding arm. Razor on his side and lying in a puddle of blood.

And Ruthie, on the ground and flat on her back, her arms at her sides. Ruthie.

He broke into another run.

“Your fucking dog was attacking your sister, and when Ida tried to stop him, he went after her, too,” his father said coldly, a finger still resting on the trigger. “I had to kill him.”

Razor attacked Ruthie and then Ida for trying to stop him? Impossible. Razor would never hurt Ruthie.

Ida held her arm up for him to see. She didn’t have to. He had already seen it and there was no doubt it was a bite from Razor. More like a mauling. Like he’d grabbed on and was wrestling with her.

He dropped his dead squirrels and knelt at Ruthie’s side. And then he knew for certain the concocted story wasn’t true. His sister was lying on her back, her eyes closed. Soft blonde curls framed her face. She looked more peaceful and beautiful than he had ever seen her. A tiny smile curved her sweet, innocent mouth.

Of course she was smiling. She had just escaped from hell.

He knew she was dead. He also saw nothing on her body that indicated Razor had attacked her.

They were lying. But he’d already known that.

He couldn’t stop himself. The words were out of his mouth before he could think.

“Doesn’t look like Razor attacked Ruthie. No bites or anything. Just Ida’s bruises.”

The blow was hard, but not unexpected.

“Get the shovel,” his father ordered. “Pick a place way out past the house and bury your sister. Don’t care what you do with your dog. You can drag its lousy ass out to the groves if you want and give the vultures some supper.” Scooping up the three squirrels that had been dropped, he grabbed his wife by the uninjured arm.

 “You ain’t hurt so bad you can’t make supper.”

As he headed back to the house with Ida and the dead squirrels, he yelled over his shoulder, “And when you’re done you get your sorry ass back here and put out the rat poison like you were supposed to do yesterday.”

He stared after them as they made their way back to the house and tried to imagine a world without Ruthie.
A world without light.


Two weeks later, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a strange man’s car. The man had introduced himself when he picked up the young hitchhiker, and he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that the boy just stared at him and refused to say anything. The boy now turned to gaze out the car window as he reflected on what he’d done.

He’d buried his sister like his father had told him to, taken his shirt off and covered her body with it before retrieving a shovel and heading way out on their property where he dug one large grave.

Leaving the shovel at the gravesite, he’d headed back to the house. He went into the barn and retrieved the rat poison, shoved it down into his pants.

He’d gone into the house, noticed that Ida had cleaned up and was working on their squirrel stew. He could tell by her movements she was in a lot of pain. Razor had done a decent job of tearing up her arm. She probably needed to go to the hospital, but his father would never take her, nor would he allow her the use of their one vehicle. It wasn’t at the house anyway. He must’ve gone somewhere.

It was obvious what had happened. Ida had been giving Ruthie another beating and Razor had stopped her. Unfortunately, Razor hadn’t stopped her in time.
The boy had no way of knowing that Ruthie had been slowly dying of internal injuries sustained from her mother’s brutal beatings, culminating in the final stomp to her tiny stomach the day before. He was certain Ida had always inflicted her brutality on Ruthie inside the house, where Razor wasn’t allowed. That day must’ve been different. She was probably dragging a crying Ruthie out to the yard to help her with some chore and started whaling on her when the little girl wouldn’t, or most likely couldn’t, do as she was told. There was no doubt Razor had been trying to defend Ruthie by grabbing Ida by the right arm. Ida was right-handed.

Leaning back from her spot at the stove, Ida looked out the back window and spied the little girl’s body in the yard. She gave her stepson a level look.

 “You’re not finished. What are you doing in here?”

Her voice was steady and without emotion. She could’ve been asking him if he’d fed the chickens or painted the fence. It revolted him to think that this was how she thought of her daughter’s burial: a chore. She was more of a monster than his own father. She had given birth to Ruthie. She had shared the same body with her only child for nine months. He didn’t know anything about mothering, but even he could see how there could be, should be, a special bond between a mother and her child.

Without looking at her he answered.

 “Hole’s dug. Came back in for something to wrap her in. Was gonna take my bed sheet.”

They’d always shared a bed and it had only ever known one sheet. He would use it to wrap Ruthie’s tiny body.

He didn’t know what caused Ida to say the next thing. She countered with an offer that surprised him but also provided him with an opportunity.

“I have something you can use. Got it as a going away gift from where I used to work.”

She took the big spoon she had been stirring with, tapped the side of the pot and laid it down. Cradling her sore arm against her chest, she headed back toward the bedroom she shared with her husband. He knew her arm was hurting, knew it would take a few minutes to dig out whatever it was that she was going to get. He could hear her clumsily rustling around for something.

He seized the chance to retrieve the poison from his pants and dump the entire contents of the container in the stew. He hastily stirred it, grateful that it seemed to quickly dissolve, and returned the spoon back to its place. He was standing by the back door when she returned with a blue piece of fabric draped over her good arm. He realized that it was a bathrobe of some type. It was thin and he didn’t need to be educated to know that it was high-quality and expensive. Going away gift my ass, he frowned. She stole this. She held it out to him while avoiding his penetrating green eyes. They’d always unnerved her, at least that’s what he’d heard her tell his father, and for a split second she seemed to hesitate, to waver.

She must have regained her bravado and, without waiting for him to take the robe, snapped, “Wrap her in this.” She tossed it at him and headed back over to the stove to stir her stew.

At the freshly dug grave, he gently cloaked Ruthie’s little body in his own shirt. “Brother is always with you, Ruthie,” he said quietly. He then wrapped Razor in Ida’s expensive bathrobe and snorted to himself as it occurred to him that even his dog was too good for Ida’s supposed going away gift. He gently laid his little sister in the very deep hole and placed Razor next to her.

“You were a good boy, Razor. You did the right thing trying to protect her. Now you can always protect her.”
He knew he wasn’t going to mark her grave for anyone to know where she was. Only him. He knew nobody would be looking anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to be missed. Like him, she hadn’t been born in a hospital. He doubted she even had a birth certificate. He wasn’t sure if he had one himself, though he guessed there was one somewhere, since he’d been enrolled in school. Do you need a birth certificate to go to school, he wondered? He didn’t know.

He stood over his sister’s grave and stared at the freshly compacted earth. It was missing something. He wandered off and soon came back with an oversized rock. The stone was heavy, massive really, and he had exerted an enormous amount of energy to carry it to her gravesite. He dropped it with a thud. He had chosen it because of its size and unique shape. He would remember it.

Falling to his knees, he began to weep. He never remembered crying even once in his life. Not even as a child, enduring horrific abuse that was tantamount to torture. He couldn’t comment on why his father hated him. He couldn’t figure why his stepmother hated Ruthie. He didn’t want to think about them, anyway. After he was finished, he’d never think of them again.

A low wail that didn’t sound human began to build, a cry that came straight from the pit of his empty stomach and found its way up his chest, through his throat and out his mouth, taking his soul and any semblance of light with it.

 The light that had been Ruthie.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d knelt sobbing at Ruthie and Razor’s grave. His eyes stung and he had a combination of dry and wet snot all over his bare arms as he tried to swipe away the grief. His sore back eventually brought him out of his mourning, the pulse of the sun reminding him of the lashes his father had inflicted a few nights earlier. He was physically and mentally exhausted, but his job wasn’t finished yet.

He was worn out, but somehow he gathered the strength he needed and headed out further to an even more remote location.

He had one more grave to dig.

He would bury them together, not for the same reason that he buried Ruthie and Razor together: to offer protection and comfort to one another. No, he dug one mass grave because they deserved to be dumped like garbage.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.


“Kid? Kid, you need anything or have to use the bathroom?”

He’d fallen asleep and jumped when he was touched. It took him a split second to remember where he was. A car, now parked. The man who’d picked him up was looking at him, waiting.

The man nodded out the window. “I’m getting gas. You need to use the john or something?”

“Where are we?”

“Fort Lauderdale. Getting some gas and heading to Miami.”

He nodded his head, starting to sit up. He was sore. The last few days had taken a toll on him physically and he was feeling it.

“Yeah, I gotta go.”

He went around the side of the little gas station and let himself into the restroom. It smelled like crap but was surprisingly clean. His mind wandered as he relieved himself, memories rolling over him.

He’d returned to the house that night to find his father and Ida sitting at the dinner table eating stew. He reached up on the shelf and took down an old jelly jar, using the kitchen tap to fill it up. Leaning back against the counter, he drank his water as he watched them eat their dinner. Nobody bothered to offer him any. That was okay. He would’ve refused it anyway.

“Tastes like shit! How the fuck can you mess up squirrel stew?” When Ida didn’t answer, his father backhanded her across the face.

Taking his glass of water, he’d gone to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He laid down on the bed that he’d shared with Ruthie, hugged the only pillow close to his chest, and fell immediately into a dead sleep.

He was awakened that night to the sound of violent vomiting and retching. The next couple of days were a blur as he tried to pretend to help his extremely sick parents. Keeping buckets by their bedside, bringing them liquids to drink. Liquids he had continued lacing with more poison from the barn.

He remembered the instant his father realized what was happening. He was trying to get out of his bed, insisting that his young son take him and his wife to the hospital. The boy wasn’t old enough to have a license, but he knew how to drive. He’d let his son drive their beat-up old station wagon to haul things around the property.

“You’re gonna drive us to the hospital, boy,” he said, voice laced with pain.

“No, I’m not.” He just looked at them, a small smile on his lips. “I’m going to watch you both die a slow and painful death. I’m kind of glad you never bought us a TV. This will definitely be much more entertaining.”

Bloodshot and pain-filled brown eyes met hard green ones as realization dawned. His father glanced around his bedroom and noticed his shotgun was not in the corner. It was gone. Even if it had been there, he wouldn’t have had the strength to get up and get it.

His father fell back onto the bed and turned to look at his wife. She was curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. She had heard the conversation and opened her eyes long enough to say to her husband, “We both deserve this.”

His father rolled onto his back and looked at his son, who stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, green eyes cold and staring.

“Shoulda known you were the devil’s seed.” Without waiting for the boy to comment, he added, “I loved your momma and thought I did the right thing by marrying her when she was pregnant by another man. Shoulda known you were evil when you killed your own mother, you no good piece of shit.”

Finally, an answer. Although it didn’t matter now. The man who’d raised him wasn’t his father. The man who’d raised him resented him for taking his mother’s life in childbirth. Another man’s bastard had killed the woman he loved and he was going to make that child pay. Had been making that child pay ever since.

 In a way, he could kind of understand that. He almost allowed a stab of conscience in, telling him he should take them to the hospital. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
But then he remembered Ruthie. There was no excuse for what had happened to Ruthie. No excuse at all.
He stared coldly at the man he’d thought was his father.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t do this before you let her kill Ruthie.”

Then he went to the kitchen and made himself something to eat.

After they were dead, he loaded them both in the back of the family car and drove them out to the second grave. He dumped their bodies with as much care as he’d show a pile of old chicken bones and flung the dirt back in. He hurled the shovel in the back of the station wagon and drove back to the house.

He wanted to draw as little attention to the shack as possible. He would not burn it down, but he would give careful thought as to what it should look like if a family just up and left, taking only things they could load in their one car. He went to work, packing up what few pictures they had, their personal papers and clothes. He sneered when he saw a picture of his father as a boy. He looked like a miserable piece of shit even back then. He tossed it in with the other things. He never came across a single picture of himself or his mother.

He carelessly threw everything he could into the old car, barely leaving room for himself to fit into the driver’s seat. He went into his bedroom and retrieved the brown bag that held the few things he’d set aside to take with him. It contained some clothes, along with thirty dollars and twenty-six cents that he’d scavenged from his father’s wallet and Ida’s money cup, which he’d found hidden behind some dishes in the kitchen. He reached into his pocket, retrieving something he hadn’t known existed until he’d started cleaning out their personal items. It was a picture of Ruthie and Razor. It had obviously been taken at their house, but he didn’t know when or by whom. He never found existence of a camera when he was going through their belongings. He had no way of knowing where the picture came from and he didn’t have time to ponder it.

He looked at it again. Ruthie was sitting down in the grass and looking up and smiling. She was leaning against Razor, who had himself wrapped around her like a cocoon. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she had her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her blonde curls were shorter then. The two of them looked happy. Like they had been romping in the tall grass and had taken a break to pose. He knew neither Ida nor his father had taken the picture. If that had been the case, he was certain his baby sister wouldn’t have been smiling. He carefully returned it to his back pocket and continued his cleanup.

Hours later he stood in the middle of the little house, surveying it. He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty confident he’d loaded up the important stuff. It was the fourth of the month. The electric and water bills wouldn’t need to get paid again until the thirtieth. School was out, so he wouldn’t be missed until September. And even then, he was doubtful anybody would care. His father wasn’t regularly employed, so he wouldn’t be missed, either.

They had no phone to worry about.

Yes, it looked like the family that lived here decided to move with their most personal possessions. The small amount of mail they got could stack up for months in their little slot at the post office. Nobody would notice. And by the time they did, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be long gone.
He headed out to the chicken coop to set them free when he noticed laundry on the clothesline. He would grab those clothes and toss them in the car before leaving. After retrieving his brown bag and canteen, he carefully drove the family’s car to the nearest, deepest canal he knew. It was off the beaten path and he didn’t have to pass any houses or civilization to get there. It would be a long, hot walk to hitch a ride somewhere, but he only had a brown bag to carry and his canteen, which he’d filled with water.

Now, in the gas station restroom, he splashed cold water on his face and dried off. He reached into his back pocket before leaving the restroom and took out the picture of Ruthie and Razor. He would never hold her again. He would never hear her voice asking for a story. He would never wrap his arms around Razor’s neck and nuzzle his short fur. He swiped away the tears that had started forming in his eyes and returned the picture to his back pocket.

He’d taken a vow that day at Ruthie’s grave. No more crying. Ever.

He was starting to get hungry and decided to go back to the car to get some money. He would see what the gas station had in the way of food. Hopefully, they had some candy bars and soda pop. He’d tasted soda only once and was looking forward to the sugary drink.

He made his way around the side of the gas station and stopped dead in his tracks. The car he had been riding in was gone. He blinked to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. They weren’t. That son-of-a-bitch drove off with his brown bag that contained his few items of clothing and all of his money. He had left his canteen on the front seat.

Even that was gone.

The world was rotten and so was everybody in it.



           

OUT OF TIME is the HIGHLY ANTICIPATED sequel to NINE MINUTES where Grizz, Kit and Grunt's gritty tale continues on July 23rd!

Add this gritty MC romance to your TBR HERE: http://bit.ly/1fxKd80




Blurb
RECOMMENDED FOR READERS 18 AND OLDER DUE TO
STRONG LANGUAGE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS AND VIOLENCE

Out of Time is book two in a series. It is not a standalone novel. I highly recommend that you read my first novel, Nine Minutes, to be able to understand the background stories of the main characters. There are many twists and turns in both stories that can best be connected if read consecutively.

 Although I do answer all of the outstanding questions from Nine Minutes, there is more to this story, and some readers may consider it a cliffhanger. If you do not like cliffhangers, you may want to wait until the third novel is released in 2016.




They thought with his execution it would all be over.
They were wrong.

The leader of one of South Florida’s most notorious and brutal motorcycle gangs has been put to death by lethal injection. Days later, his family and friends should have been picking up the pieces, moving on. Instead, they’ve been catapulted into a world so twisted and dangerous even the most ruthless among them would be stunned to discover the tangled web of deception, not only on the dangerous streets of South Florida but all the way to the top.

In this gripping follow-up novel to Nine Minutes, Out of Time takes readers from the sun-drenched flatlands of 1950s Central Florida to the vivid tropical heat of Fort Lauderdale to the halls of Florida’s Death Row as we finally learn the gritty backstory of Jason “Grizz” Talbot and the secret he spent his life trying to conceal.

Not even Grizz’s inner circle knows his full story—the tragedy that enveloped his early life, the surprise discovery that made him the government’s most wanted and most feared, and the depths of his love for Ginny, the tenderhearted innocent he’d once abducted and later made his wife.

Once Grizz’s obsession and now the mother of his child, Ginny has spent years grieving the man she’d first resisted and then came to love. Now remarried to Tommy, a former member of the gang, the pair have spent more than a decade trying desperately to live a normal existence far from the violent, crime-ridden world they’d once carved out on the edge of the Florida Everglades. For Tommy, especially, the stakes are high. Desperately in love with Ginny for years, he’s finally living his dream: married to the woman he never thought he could have. But even with the façade of normalcy—thriving careers, two beautiful children, and a genuinely happy and loving marriage—they can’t seem to put the past behind them. Every time they turn around, another secret is revealed, unraveling the very bonds that hold them together.

And with Grizz finally put to death, now Ginny has learned secrets so dark, so evil she’s not even sure she can go on.

Will these secrets tear their love to pieces? And how far will Grizz go to protect what he still considers his, even from beyond the grave?





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About the Author:


Beth Flynn is a fiction writer who lives and works in Sapphire, North Carolina, deep within the southern Blue Ridge Mountains. Raised in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Beth and her husband, Jim, have spent the last 17 years in Sapphire, where they own a construction company. They have been married 31 years and have two daughters and two dogs. In her spare time, Beth enjoys writing, reading, gardening, church and motorcycles, especially taking rides on the back of her husband’s Harley. She is a five-year breast cancer survivor.


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