Fun with #BookTrailers!

I was busy making some book trailers this weekend, have you seen them?

Book Reviews:



Lucky Series Trailer:



Tiva Boon Series Trailer:



I love making these things!!

Special Guest Terri Talley Venters and New Release!

Luke’s Lithium by Terri Talley Venters

What if someone cloned you? And then abducted you twenty-five years later?

In Luke’s Lithium, handsome Luke Allen, a witty, yet shy trust brat, volunteers at the FDNY with his firefighting comrades. Luke has it all, except for love. Abducted by Create Life Technologies, along with 5000 others, Luke learns the shocking truth behind their cloning research and their evil intentions. But the loss of his freedom comes with a silver lining, he falls for beautiful Gretchen, another abducted Create Life Clone. Luke’s Lithium is full of surprises, new romances, rescues and a switcheroo. But will Luke and Gretchen ever be free of Create Life?

Luke’s Lithium is the much anticipated companion book/spin off of the Carbon Copy Trilogy, written from Luke Allen’s point of view. Luke is the twin brother of Lilly Allen, the heroine in the Carbon Copy Trilogy. Luke’s story covers the time frame of all three books in the trilogy, Carbon Copy, Tin Roof, and Silver Lining.

An Elements of Mystery Book

All Romance eBooks: allromanceebooks.com/product-luke039slithium-2083352-149.html
Amazon: amazon.com/Lithium-Elements-Mystery-Talley-Venters-ebook/dp/B01J4FK7RM
Barnes & Noble: barnesandnoble.com/w/lukes-lithium-terri-talley-venters/1124183963
iTunes: itunes.apple.com/us/book/lukes-lithium/id1135700210?mt=11
Kobo: store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/luke-s-lithium
OmniLit: omnilit.com/product-luke039slithium-2083352-149.html

Wild Child Publishing: wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=73&products_id=476

Teaser Tuesday Wild & Wicked Anthology (Romantic Suspense)

My first reading love was mystery and suspense books. I seem to be writing more SciFi these days, but they usually involve some type of mystery which always brings the suspense along with it! The first story in this anthology came to me in a dream! Honest! It turned into a bigger story once I started writing it. Go figure.

Blurbs and Excerpt below! Enjoy!!

Wild & Wicked

Veronica Chance’s sister has gone missing. In order to find Valerie, “Roni Starr” takes a waitressing job at Foxxes Gentlemen’s Club, the last place her sister worked, to search for clues. First day on the job, the club owner makes her give a lap dance to his VIP guest, former detective,Mason Storm.

Chance of a Storm (Book 2)

Mason Storm waited three months to hear from Veronica Chance after she walked out of his life. Instead her sister calls, begging him to come to California. After learning Veronica was kidnapped and her mother’s still missing, Mason joins the investigation while trying to figure out where he stands in Veronica’s eyes.

Trust Me, Tell Me (Book 3)

Mason Storm is set to marry Veronica Chance in seven days. When he receives a mysterious text message he immediately packs and leaves without saying a word to anyone. Veronica, however, is determined to help despite his claims of being the only one to make things right. As the situation intensifies, Mason is captured and Veronica holds the key to his release. Will she make it there in time to save him and their wedding or will everything fall apart?

Excerpt:

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to get busted…you don’t have to do this," Mason said.

“He’s probably going to watch,” Starr replied, eyes roving to the spots Karl had surveillance. Now why would a waitress know where the cameras were? “And it’s my first day.” She stepped close, drawing his attention. Long shapely legs, covered to the knees in leather, straddled his thigh. Her hips and waist were within reach, and her full bust directly eye level.

She swayed back and forth, stunningly hypnotic.

When she moistened her lips and spun around giving him a rear view, the blood rushed from Mason’s brain. Starr bent down and pressed her ass against his thighs, his entire body flashed with heat. She grinded in a circular motion, awakening and enlarging his cock surprisingly fast. Spinning again, she dropped to his lap, put her hands on his shoulders, and stared down at him.

With her face clear, he tried to remember where he’d seen her.

She gyrated, eyes seductively peering down. He fought the strain in his jeans with each movement, though she made it impossible. She was hotter than hell during a heat wave. Starr lifted one leg, straddled a single thigh and shook her hips again. The woman bit her bottom lip. So naughty. So his type, he loved it.

Then an image of her with red hair flashed in his mind. She’d been in the club, disguised, sitting alone at the bar, drinking here yesterday. He glanced up at her, knew he was right.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RYCTE5Y

Behind the Scenes Monday - Lucky's Charm #RomanticSuspense

How about a little Behind the Scenes blogging?

Let's start with Lucky's Charm!

In my 20s and early 30s, I was obsessed with Serial Killers. No, I didn't think they were cool or anything weird like that, it was the psychology of a killer that fascinated me. I read dozens of fiction and nonfiction books, saw every episode of Criminals Minds (twice) and honestly thought about writing a book from an SK point of view but could never really get there. Instead, Lucky was born. I had been reading Barry Eisler's Rain series while trying to come up with the next idea after writing Tiva. My first "reading love" was mysteries and suspense so I wanted to write something in that vein.

Long chats with my BFF at the time helped Lucky form into a real character with motivations, goals, and a really crappy past that screamed to be told. I originally wanted to write 7 books. Lucky 7! Get it? I had one or two line summary plots for each of them.

As you may know, I'm a pantser, and what that means is that I don't have a detailed plot or an outline to follow. Basically, it was "Lucky's trying to find her mother's killer and her family is her back up"!

For Lucky's Charm, I didn't even have a clear ending in mind when I started writing. Everything was going according to plan until Kenji showed up. I vividly remember writing the scene in the Au Bon Pain, a real place I used to eat lunch at in New York City. I remember when Lucky turned her head and saw the big man with the sunglasses. I stopped after that scene and said: "Who the hell are you?" 

I had intended on Lucky finding a love interest...in like book three! No lie. But sometimes characters really do show up out of the blue. I took a day or two after Kenji showed up to figure out who he was, but I didn't want to know too much. I never do. When I picked his assassin tag, Shoukan, which means redemption, I had no idea how well it would fit into Lucky's world or how it would mold the character of Kenji going forward. It was just a cool Japanese word I wanted to use.

Somewhere, in the back of my writer brain, that word redemption became the backbone of the entire series, whereas I had always thought it would be about revenge.

After writing these books, I can honestly say my obsession with Serial Killers has faded some. I'm all about the superheroes now. 

So what did you think of Lucky? Who was your favorite character? Anything you'd like to know?

Here's my favorite quote from Book 1

Your can pick up your copy here: www.amazon.com/dp/B008RG8V4Q

Mini Q&A with Jenn Nixon - Hey, that's ME!

I asked a good friend (and writer) to give me some questions to answer for a blog since I've been blogging for so long I'm not sure what people actually want to read about anymore. I've answered her questions below but I would love to do this more often. Do you have any questions related to writing, being an author or blogger, social media, TV, fandom, or well, basically anything? I'm happy to try to answer them all. So post a question in the comments if you have one!!

With so many stories in your head, how do you choose which to write?

This is a great question. The short answer is, no clue. The long answer is, it depends on which story has the best opening chapter in my head. That's usually the one I will write next. Since I am currently working on the third book of a series, the opening of this book was practically done before I finished book 2 because I knew exactly where the story was heading. :-)

If the opening hooks me, I'll keep going. When I get to chapter three or four, I usually set it aside and think about it, a lot. For at least a week. I like to see the characters and scenes in my head. I want to make sure the characters are believable and the world building is solid. At this point, I usually start taking notes if I haven't yet. Yes, even pantsers need notes (sometimes outlines too!). 

Right now, I have four or five ideas rolling around in my brain. I have no idea which one I want to do next. It's possible I can combine those five ideas into three, so that helps, somewhat. I have several projects that I've started and stopped writing because they weren't working for me. I still go back to some of them and reread them to see if they're worth finishing, but I will be honest, that rarely happens. 

What's the weirdest thing that ever inspired a story?

The Wild & Wicked story started out as a dream. Yes, I had a dream I was in a strip club watching some hot chick give an even hotter guy a lap dance. I think I was a bartender or waitress because it wasn't me giving the dance. :-( When I woke up from the dream, most of it had faded but that one moment stayed in my head. I wondered why she was there. Aside from looking like Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who was he? (Hey, it was a dream!) I had to know, so I wrote the opening and BOOM the entire story came to me while writing that first chapter. It took me by surprise, but I kept writing and eventually that first story because a much bigger story than I had originally planned.

People have inspired me as well. Sometimes it's a character on TV or a person walking down the street. A specific quality or feature will often find it's way into a book. I've even used direct quotes from people and put them in my novels. 

I tend to people watch when I'm out among the crowds so I never have a problem creating characters, I'm surrounded by them. :-)

How awesome does writing feels and why you do it?

This one is a trick question, right? Finishing a book feels amazing. Writing it doesn't always feel that way. At times, I can be fighting a backache from sitting too long...Kidding!! Well, not really, writers do spend lots of time sitting and typing, so it is important to make sure you get up and move. Lucky for me I have dogs that need to go for walks three times a day, so regardless of what I'm doing if they need to go outside, we're going outside. 

Often, that little break is good for me. I'll be thinking about what I've just written, where I'd like it to go, and many times other ideas for plot points further along in the story come to me. My brain works in very weird ways. 

I've been writing seriously, with the purpose getting published, for over 15 years now. However, I've been a writer all my life. I've dabbled in poetry, fan fiction, novels, novellas, short stories, content writing, and even screenplays. At this point in my life, I think it's just part of who I am now. I started writing as a means of escaping reality and coping with teenage life, like many kids do. Writing just stayed with me through the years changing from diaries and blogs, but it never left me and probably never will.

How about you? Do you have a hobby that became a part-time job or life long goal? I'd love to hear your story!

Teaser Tuesday: Lucky's Charm

Teaser Tuesday continues with Chapter 1 of Lucky's Charm. I enjoyed writing this series so much. While it's not the traditional romance, Lucky and Kenji's love story is amazing and brutal and so very fun to watch evolve...when he eventually shows up. :-)

I hope you enjoy!!

          August 14

           Nevada 

Through a small gap in the grimy motel curtains, Lucky watched Conrad Andersen pull a hooker over his lap and playfully spank her ass. The woman shook her bleached head and kicked her legs in false protest, shaking the entire bed. She slithered against his portly belly and gave him an exaggerated kiss before vanishing from the scope.

            Andersen wiped his mouth, and traces of bright red lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up and moved out of view.

            Two hundred yards away, Lucky shifted on the rooftop, using the free time to ease the tension built up after an hour-long stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands and then rotating both ankles brought the circulation back.

Wonder if military snipers do this shit when stalking a target. Doubt any of them ever had to endure an Olympic, Viagra-induced sexcapade.

            Lucky eased back into position just in time to see Andersen appear in the rifle’s scope again. Even with the obstructed view into the room, she saw him dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt. A decent-looking older man but knowing everything he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.

            The woman reappeared and gathered her belongings off the ratty nightstand. The lights dimmed; Lucky took deep breaths to maintain a slow, steady heart rate.

            Lucky directed the scope three feet to the right and targeted ten inches below the top of the motel room’s door frame: the perfect height to hit the man. Once she had a clear shot, the window of opportunity would last five seconds. She already calculated the wind factor, distance, and bullet drop. The door opened. Lucky let out one last breath and then counted in her head.

            One. The hooker emerged laughing.

            Andersen appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulders. Two.

            She glanced up at him. Three. Lucky eased the crosshairs of the scope on his head.

            Four. He leaned down and kissed his escort.

            The mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.

            In the fifth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. His eyes popped upon exit. Pink bits of his brain spattered on the door behind him. Andersen’s body slumped against the door frame.

            The hooker’s scream filled the air. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog even barked in the distance.

            The remnants of his face stared back into the scope, confirming the kill.

            Burn in hell, bastard.

            The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone-shaped case in record time.

            She rolled up the blanket and surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence before slipping down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors might be home any moment, and she had to move.

Lucky pulled the worn French beatnik beret down her forehead before weaving through the backyard. She hopped over the fence of the adjoining property, emerging on Margo Drive. She walked the length of the street, listening for any sign of the police behind her.

Though her heart pumped as if she just rode a roller coaster, she felt completely at ease. Yet another sign she’d been doing this job too long. Less than a mile from the scene and she didn’t have a stitch of worry about the cops catching her.

She was getting that good at killing.

Rounding the corner, Lucky noticed a young girl crying in front of a makeshift lemonade stand that her father was tearing down. The dollar sign, forgotten on the parched grass, had drops of tears streaking through the lettering. She slowed, feeling her stomach tighten as the sobs grew louder.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, honey,” the father said, ruffling the girl’s blonde head.

“But I dinnit sell anything, Daddy,” she squeaked.

Lucky had thirty seconds, maybe less, before someone called about Andersen. Response time in Vegas, at dusk, was never routine. Even if LVPD arrived within the next two minutes, she’d be long gone. She had to walk past them. Can’t let the poor girl go to bed sad and disappointed. Lucky knew how that felt. Fishing out two dollars from her jeans, she approached the stand.

“I need something to drink,” she said, clutching the trombone case tightly, her attention on the child “Think I can have one before you close?”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged wide like little swimming pools.

“Get a cup, Daisy,” the father suggested and glanced up from his work on the wooden stand. The kid filled the cup all the way to the rim and decorated the lip with two cut lemons.

“I made it myself,” she announced proudly.

Lucky took the cup, guzzled half, and smiled. “Ahh, that’s very good lemonade.” She placed the two dollars in the girl’s hand. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the father and daughter said simultaneously. That fatherly tone warmed her for a moment, but she didn’t make eye contact.

“Welcome. Gotta go,” she said, swinging the trombone case. “Gonna be late. Bye.”

“Bye! Come back tomorrow.” Daisy waved.

A minute after finishing her lemonade, Lucky found her rental car on Pacyna Street. The smell of Vegas, sex, booze, and money lingered in the air. Streetlights sparkled, waiting for the last of the sunlight to vanish from the horizon.

            Lucky opened the trunk, secured the case, and slipped into the car. She sighed. Her boss wanted her to get rid of the sniper rifle despite pleas to keep the weapon for sentimental value. She knew he was right; she used the execution method several times. Still, it was a great gun—one she had for years—and she hated to melt it down.

Sirens screamed in the distance, breaking into her head. Not wanting to push her luck any further by sticking around, she took off, traveled south to E. Tropicana Avenue, and picked up her cell phone when she turned onto the main drag.

            “It’s done,” she said while checking the rearview mirror. “Our boy had a thing for working girls, apparently.”

            “Leave the package where I told you, he’ll take care of it for us. I’ll see you when you land, okay?” the man on the other end replied.

“Sure, Phen. Tell Bet she owes me dinner.”

            “She does? Why?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me you two are wagering over your jobs.”

            “No, she owes me because I told her you’d make me get rid of Heckle today.”

“Don’t be sore, you still have the other rifle.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to ya.” Lucky clicked off the phone. Annoyed and physically high from the adrenaline rush, she went to drop off her weapon at the butcher’s lock box, hoping to find a way to work through the pending madness that followed her jobs.

* * * *

            Two days later, Lucky Fascino sat at the back of the plane, flipping through the complimentary magazine. She smiled up at the male flight attendant when he stopped the beverage cart.

“Drinks?” he asked.

“Gin and tonic, thanks,” she said.

“Make it two,” her neighbor added.

Her row mate, a pink-skinned, gray-haired man, had curiosity etched on his face. Next to Lucky, any Caucasian looked pale so she understood their interest. Being naturally bronzed, due in part to an unknown, mixed heredity, gave her an all-year color most women would kill to have. As part of her normally disguised travels, she hid her curly, honey-brown hair and slight almond-shaped, amber eyes—now considered exotic instead of strange—behind a jet-black wig and brown contacts.

Talking to a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. Getting far away from the job was the only thing on her mind. She’d been in Vegas for nine days, watching the target, learning his habits, hangouts, and daily rituals. During the last five, she’d seen him with three women in two different motels.

Gotta love Vegas.

Afterward, she had worked off the adrenaline high from the job in the hotel gym, while waiting for news of the target’s death. It came in the form of a small article in the local newspaper. The city had well over a hundred murders so far this year. One more, under seedy circumstances, didn’t get much attention.

            The man beside her tried to make conversation while she nursed her drink. Mundane chitchat mostly. I really don’t care where you live. It was natural for normal people to want some type of contact to ease the boring flight. Thanks to her second cocktail, she felt more social. Besides, she didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t shut up.

            “So, what do you do for a living?” Frank asked after the exchange of names and destinations.

Kill people like you. Well, she didn’t really kill people like him, unless he had some sordid history of crime. Unlike Andersen, who used his corporate success to embezzle, commit fraud, and murder, Frank seemed like just another guy.

“I’m the Comptroller for an international furniture company.” Lucky watched the man’s eyes glaze over when she described what she did for “work.” Accountant types never impressed anyone. During long jobs, she made up a personal history and itinerary to go along with whichever fake ID she used for cases like this. Today she played Lucille Summers from Baltimore, Maryland. It was one part of the job she still enjoyed.

            “Sounds lucrative.” He rubbed the side of his gin-reddened face and covertly tried to ogle her legs. “In Vegas for business or pleasure?” The way he enunciated the latter made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were the last man on the planet able to donate sperm to keep the species alive.

“Business meetings, you know how it goes, have to get those fiscal reports in order for the CFO,” she said, smiling, mostly to suppress the gag reflex.

            He laughed, continually eyeballing her and gabbing about his trip. The trite, one-sided conversation continued until the plane began its descent.

* * * *

            The plane taxied off the runway toward the terminal as Lucky leisurely collected her things. Frank, already out of his seat, searched for his carry-on.

            “Take care, Lucille.” After finding his luggage, he offered her a card. “If you ever need a contractor, give me a call.”

            She put the card in her jacket pocket, cleaned the area with a Handi Wipe until it smelled like lemon, and waited until the crowd thinned out before deplaning. Having no checked luggage, Lucky walked right by and smirked. She spotted Elizabeth standing with the chauffeurs near the exit.

            “What the hell are you doing here, you nut?” Lucky handed over the garment bag. “Here, make yourself useful.”

            “How was the trip?” Bet took the bag and grinned.

            “Ya know, same shit, different method, location, and target.” Bet never heard the details of her hits so she dodged the question.

Her sparkling green eyes rolled in response, short, bleached hair tossing backward. Lucky towered over her by half a foot, but no one commanded attention like Bet. The product of a white father and black mother, Bet was a kindred spirit who didn’t fit the norm. Lucky always considered her a curvy, punk-rock version of Halle Berry right down to the soft brown complexion. Shrugging off the eye-roll, Lucky secured the canvas bag against her hip. “Did your dad send you as a way of apologizing?”

            “Well, he told me I owed you dinner so I figured we can grab something in town before we go home.” Bet shrugged.

            “I should eat. Want to go to South Street?”

            “If you get rid of that stupid wig.”

* * * *

            Lucky and Bet strolled through the former garment district of the Center City section of Philadelphia. The bohemian atmosphere had slowly vanished since the looting in 2001. Now it was an overly crowded, tourist-shopping trap. Dining on fish and chips at the Blarney South thankfully staved off Bet’s need to buy a new outfit or shoes or some other girly knick-knack.

By the time they got back to West Chester, the jet lag had set in. Lucky needed to meet with Phen before she called it a night.

Bet unlocked the ominous cast iron gate guarding the house—they still called it the compound—and pulled up the drive. Lucky gathered her belongings and went to the den. The smell of burning wood and cinnamon tickled the air in the foyer. She peeked in; Phen put his paper down.

            “Welcome home, Felicia.” He peered over his thick-rimmed glasses and smiled at her.

            Lucky smirked. “Thanks, Uncle Phen.”

            He crossed the room and pulled her into a quick hug. She’d known Stephen Chambers, her adoptive father’s childhood friend, most of her life. He was the reason she and Bet were best friends and “cousins.” The reason she had the career she did, more or less.

            Phen motioned to the couch near the fireplace, which roared with warmth she desperately needed. She hated the change in temperature while traveling, and coming home when Pennsylvania was unseasonably cold sucked. Lucky tossed Frank’s card into the fire and then sat nearby, letting her body absorb the heat.

Phen poured two drinks and carried them to the sitting area. She arched a brow, studying him. Something’s up. He never gave her a drink after a job.

            He sat down, took a sip, and placed his glasses on the coffee table. Her uncle scrubbed his sharp, pale face with both hands. He sighed. At fifty-eight, he still looked like a man in his forties despite his thinning, white hair. His weary hazel eyes opened, and the lines on his face crinkled as he faked a smile in her direction.

            “Aren’t you ever going to call me Lucky? It was my nickname first, and it’s been five years since Luciano used it,” she said, trying to break the silent tension in the room.

            “You’ll always be Felicia to me, sweetie,” he said and then downed the contents of his glass in one gulp.

            “Phen, what’s wrong?” Lucky put her drink down.

            “It’s time for me to retire.” He held up a hand, stopping her attempt to interrupt. “You know I’ve been doing this a long time, but what you don’t know is that I’ve been training my replacement this past year.”

            “You have? But what about—”

            “Felicia, let me finish,” he interjected, rising to pour another drink.

Lucky watched him, spotting a few new bottles on his antique liquor cabinet. The colonial décor of the den normally soothed her. Now it agitated her with memories of the past hanging all over the room. Reminders of why she killed for a living.

In the portrait above the fireplace, Lucky was eight, Bet nine, and both of their parents were alive and well. Luciano and Molly Fascino stood beside Stephen and Kiya Chambers, smiling proudly into the room. All of them were a mixed group of misfits. Bet had a tooth missing, and Lucky’s smile was anything but genuine. She remembered posing for the picture. For some reason, it had been a bad day.

This was turning into one now. Without Phen helping her track down leads, she had no way of fulfilling her promise. All those years killing and living in her father’s shadow would mean nothing if she didn’t finish what he started.

“I’m not about to abandon you or the search. I’ll always be here for support and back up. It’s time to focus on finding leads; we’ve had nothing for three years. If we want to get anywhere, I need to devote more of my attention to it.”

            Lucky frowned and finished her drink. He was still on board, but she had a bad feeling about what came next. Phen approached; she lifted the glass for more cognac.

            “Don’t be sore, sweetie. I’m doing this for the both of us. It’s just as important to me as it is to you.” Phen put the bottle back and then took his seat across from her. “I’ll keep tabs on your jobs for a few more months while I help Elizabeth acclimate to the network. After she’s comfortable with Ruddy, I’ll step into the background.”

            “Wait…what?”

            “She’s taking over for me,” he said, picked up his glasses, and put them back on. “You didn’t think I’d leave you with a complete stranger, did you?”

            “Well, uh, no, I guess. But…Bet? Phen, do you really want to expose her to this? I mean, I know she knows what we do for the network, but I’ve never told her the details of my jobs.”

            “You’ll never have to, unless that’s what you want.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. The harsh details of her jobs or what she went through out in the field stayed locked inside her head. Phen didn’t know her struggles. She deliberately kept him in the dark, knowing it was unfair to put more stress on the man. She chose to live this way. Although Phen understood, to an extent, explaining those reasons to Bet wouldn’t go over well. She didn’t know the person Lucky became like Phen did. “Believe me, I’ve thought about this for a while. I wouldn’t expose Elizabeth to this unless I knew she could handle it. In this business, everyone needs to be on top of his game. My head’s not in it like it used to be. The last thing I want is to put you in danger.”

            “Are you sick?” She rose from the chair. He shook his head, and Lucky moved to the front window to hide her concern. “Then what is it?”

            “I’m just getting older, Felicia. I’m almost sixty. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy to keep up with everything regarding the network and SEC anymore.”

            Lucky nodded and walked the length of the Oriental rug. Taking care of SEC Inc., the business front for her contract hits, wasn’t an easy endeavor. Phen had to keep the company legit on the books. She and a few of her aliases were on the payroll as consultants. The real work Phen subcontracted out for security installation, training, and Bet’s salary completed the company’s purpose. They had no products or overhead, but like any business, they had bills and taxes to pay. It took a lot of work to keep everything running.

She paced in front of the bookshelves lining the length of the room. Phen and Luciano’s collection held everything from Chaucer to the US Army’s Survival Guide. Each one read by both her and Bet practically by force. Lucky should have seen it coming. Recent changes were starting to make sense. Bet had picked her up after jobs, made flight arrangements, and did other tasks for Phen regarding her network hits. Bet wasn’t just dealing with the legitimate side of SEC Inc. anymore; she’d been making her move into the network life.

When Lucky decided to step into her father’s network shoes, one stipulation had been telling Bet. Although she wasn’t pleased to learn Lucky killed people for a living, Bet eventually accepted the truth.

During the last year, Bet integrated herself into network conversations and privately mentioned suspecting her father had been into something shady for a while. She’d been right. However, the more she learned about what Lucky did, the more she’d want to know. Always a cousin first, Bet was big on family and didn’t mind shoving her nose in everyone’s business. The reasons were simple: a family had to stick together. Most families handed down a farm or at least a tax preparation business, but contract killing was way out in left field.

Family first. That was their expression, had been for years. Bet said it more than once: family doesn’t turn their backs on each other. Even though Lucky never told her the real reasons that she did what she did, Bet had always been there to help.

            “There’s not going to be any trouble is there? I mean, do people quit from this business and live to talk about it?” Lucky glanced over at him. It was rare a contract killer made it to “retirement.” The cops found you because you got sloppy, someone else killed you, or like her father, it wore you down and diseased your body. Handlers had a certain amount of anonymity and better survival rates, but they were still at risk.

            “The network likes to keep tabs on those who opt out, just for safety reasons, but there’s no reason to fear retribution from Ruddy and his partners or other contractors. He knows I’ve been thinking about it; the few I know won’t be surprised either. Some think we’ve gone soft because of the earlier jobs I’ve turned down for you.” He pressed his lips together in a tight smile.

            “Hey, don’t give me shit; you know how I feel about those scrap board jobs.” She ran her finger along the edge of the shelf and turned back to the fire. “I’ve kept us in the network so we can keep digging for leads, and I’ve made us a lot of money.”

            “Luke was the same way. He wouldn’t take a job unless he felt justified.” He patted the spot beside him, and when she sat down, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You have enough money saved to call it quits too.”

            The thought had crossed her mind many times over the last five years. What would it be like to feel normal again? Stop killing and start living. Lucky had no idea. She was in so far, so deep, she didn’t know if there was a way out for her. Even if she did get “out,” what would she do? Contract killing didn’t exactly give you real-world skills to work in an office building or retail store.

It didn’t matter; getting out was a long way down the road. She still had an obligation to fulfill to the people who adopted, raised, and loved her. Questions needed answers. She and Phen hadn’t come close to those answers in all the years they’d been searching, but maybe his renewed focus would change things. Her life would stay on hold until she fulfilled her promise and gave her parents a bit of peace.

“You know I can’t quit,” Lucky said, resting her head on his shoulder. She allowed herself a moment of comfort from Phen; he was still her uncle, despite knowing what she had to do to keep that promise. “When you get me some solid leads and I find out who killed her, I’ll stop. Until then, Lucky lives.” 

amazon.com/Luckys-Charm-Jenn-Nixon-ebook/dp/B008RG8V4Q 

New Release from Author R.A. McCandless!!

Today's guest post is from R.A. McCandless! Enjoy and Comment!

Angels should be a human’s worst nightmare. Del didn’t think there was anything worse than angels, or their fallen kin, demons. She and her partner Marrin helped to keep the world safe from the horrors of escaped demons for generations. But when Del’s daughter is kidnapped by a shadowy group, Del will find that the world is even more dangerous than she suspected.

There are worse things than angels and demons.

Excerpt

The doors slid back exactly as they were supposed to, and Del pointed both her SIGs through the opening. She knew it was wrong. Two hands on one gun with a straight-thumbs hold was the correct way to give proper support to aim and shoot quickly and consistently. Hollywood liked to show action heroes shooting from the hip, or blasting away without aiming and taking down a room full of bad guys, whose best response was to fire impotently at the ceiling or comically into other bad guys. It was all so much useless eye candy. A gun in each hand gave support to neither and made it impossible to sight. She’d need independent use of each of her eyes, like a chameleon, to train the guns on different targets at the same time.

Del knew it was wrong, but it looked damned impressive from the receiving end.

“Hold your fire!” a voice commanded from outside the elevator. “Hold your fire!”

Del wasn’t certain if the order was for her, the two ranks of Ljosalfar soldiers in their body armor who surrounded the elevator, or both. Either way, holes weren’t being punched into her favorite skin and that was a good thing. She might still die, riddled with bullets and spitting blood, but not yet. Not yet.

She unwrapped and wrapped her fingers on her SIGs, and smiled.

“Hello boys,” Del said. “Who wants some?”

“Hold your fire!” Alfred Waru said again.

“Alfred, you cunning bastard,” Del purred. “Come on in and give me a hug. I’ve solved almost all your problems. There’s only one left.”

“I’d rather you put down your weapons,” Alfred replied. Del homed in on his voice from behind the second rank of soldiers, but couldn’t make him out through all the helmets. “We’ve locked the elevator. The doors won’t close, and the car won’t move. Let’s talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Del said and laughed. “How you lied to your people?  How you betrayed and murdered your own?  How you’ve doomed them through your schemes and plots?”

R.A. McCandless was born under a wandering star that led to a degree in Communication and English with a focus on creative writing.  He’s the author of the urban fantasy “Tears of Heaven” winner of the 2014 Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Preditors & Editors Reader’s Poll and a 2015 EPIC eBook finalist.  His shorts have appeared in “In Shambles” (with Kevin J. Anderson) “Gears, Gadgets and Steam” and “Nine Heroes”.  His next book, “Hell Becomes Her” will release in 2015.  He continues to research and write historical and genre fiction, battle sprinklers, and play with his three boys.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Hell-Becomes-Flames-Perdition-Book-ebook/dp/B017IFFPT0/

Publisher: http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/

Website: http://robroymccandless.wix.com/ramccandless

Blog: http://www.highlandrogue.blogspot.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RobroyMccandless

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RobRoyMcCandles

New Release from Leslie Talley!

New Release from Leslie Talley! 

Innkeepers Clarice and Otis Campion, along with Miss Letty, former star of the Silent Screen, have a penchant for stumbling over bodies, from fresh to skeletal. At their historic B & B, Belgrath House in Daytona, Florida, Otis discovers a skeleton in the dumbwaiter [Make Old Bones]. When they act as exchange innkeepers at Castle Keep in St. Augustine, they find the body of a homeless man in a dragon sculpture and a skeleton in an icehouse [Bred in the Bone]. So it isn’t any wonder that their sojourn in Flanagan’s Guest House, Bray, County Wicklow, Ireland, could be more of the same.

From the first they find themselves between two feuding families, the Quinns and the Donovans. Assorted disparate winter boarders add fuel of their own. Seamus Quinn is found stabbed and bleeding out on Flanagan’s doorstep, but the trail of blood comes from the Donovans’. Had Seamus Quinn tried to blackmail someone? Why do people keep disappearing and reappearing at Flanagan’s? And when Fergus Flanagan returns abruptly from his exchange at Belgrath, who put foxglove in his tea?

Inspector Swaney thinks he knows: those obnoxious American exchange innkeepers. Clarice and Miss Letty have better ideas. Their search for answers has them crisscrossing Ireland.

But the murderer has plans for Clarice. Clarice’s escape and the resulting revelations rock Ireland to its core.

Excerpt:

The wail grew closer, sounding more dirge-like. I felt the rumble of the ground under my feet, reminding me of a Shuttle launch. Would I ever see the Space Coast again? Would I ever see the contrail, hear the cheers and applause as another rocket roared into the Florida sky?

I was brought back to earth by an arm around my neck almost lifting me off my feet. One toe dragged in the dirt as she inched me forward. I needed to get her off balance. I remembered the classic moves I had heard from a police officer on TV one night. How to escape from someone who grabbed you from behind. Instep! Elbow to stomach! Two fingers aimed at the eyes! And while your assailant doubled up from the stomach blow, turn and lift that knee and lift it high.

Probably didn’t hurt a woman as much as a man, but effective, nonetheless. I executed Steps One, Two, Three, and Four as if I’d taken karate all my life instead of just Tai Chi. I ground my heel into her left instep, slammed an elbow into her ribs, rammed two fingers blindly backwards and felt a satisfying squish. I whirled around. She doubled over, clutching at her eyes. I raised my knee to her groin and sprinted out of her way. I raced towards the house, panting so hard I couldn’t scream. My feet actually kicked my butt as I churned up dirt. I risked a glance over my shoulder for my pursuer, but no one followed. No one stood on the embankment.

When I heard that dreadful screech of brakes on rail, I knew why.

Wild Child: http://bit.ly/CloserTheBone

All Romance eBooks: http://bit.ly/CloserTheBoneARe

Amazon: http://bit.ly/CloserTheBoneAM

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/CloserTheBoneBN

iTunes: http://bit.ly/CloserTheBoneiTunes

Author website: 

Author contact email: leslietalley@hotmail.com

Author Bio:

I am the product of basically three states, Kentucky, Missouri, and Florida. I grew up in Ashland, Kentucky. I graduated from a diploma nursing school in St. Louis, my parents' birthplace. I transferred my credits to the University of Kentucky (Go Wildcats) and received a B.S. in Nursing. After working briefly for the St. Louis County Health Department, I married Luke, an engineer with McDonnell-Douglas and fellow Wildcat. We have lived in Titusville, Florida ever since. 

When I turned forty, I returned to school, the University of Central Florida in Orlando, where I changed majors and received a B.A in English (Literature) and an M.A (Creative Writing). I taught Business Writing, Technical Writing, and Creative Writing there as an adjunct for ten years. 

My husband and I, both retired, have two grown children: daughter Terri, a CPA and Wild Child Publishing author of Carbon Copy; and son Damon, a former Education Specialist with Kennedy Space Center and now employed by Harris Corporation. They have given us four grandchildren. I enjoy water aerobics, oil painting and drawing, writing and reading mysteries, and messing around on Google Earth.

Special Guest & New Release from Author Kat Stiles!

Today's Special Guest is Author Kat Stiles!

High school is hard enough, Em knows. Her freshman year introduced her to all the cliques, annoying teachers, and tough homework assignments. But discovering you have super powers and not knowing how to control them is a whole new level of complicated.

Thankfully, Em isn’t alone. Her best friend Roz starts having unusual dreams that come true, and Tommy, Em’s secret crush, can hear the softest whispers in class.

A romance blossoms with Tommy. But just as things are looking up, people start dropping like flies. A telepathic serial killer is on the loose and only Em and her friends have a hope of stopping him.

Or do they? If they don’t figure out the killer’s identity soon, one of them could be next.

Excerpt:

Somehow I thought I would know when my life was in mortal danger. I’m not talking spidey sense or anything, just some kind of clue something bad is about to happen. I guess I got the idea from the movies. Real life, I found, is very different.

Here’s the thing: my hometown of Cannondale is as far from interesting as it comes. The picture of central Texas suburbia, it’s a quiet little city, where nothing happens, apart from an occasional trampling at the outlet mall when the Coach store has a clearance sale. The kind of place that feels safe to walk around at night, especially in the cookie cutter middle-class subdivision that was my neighborhood. My walk went undisturbed until I heard the sound of a thump, thump, thump, followed by a long buzz… It took me a second to figure out the noise was rap music, trying to escape out a car window. Another joyride, I thought.

Then the tires screeched. I whipped my head around out of instinct, but all I could see were two headlights headed straight for me. Frozen to the spot, my eyes snapped shut. As if that would in some way stop it. And in the three seconds before the car rammed into me, my only thought was whether or not it would hit me hard enough to get me out of school tomorrow.

A sick, crunching noise sounded when my feet left the ground, and I caught some air before falling back down with a thud. The strange thing was the absence of any pain. What did register was the pounding of my heart, more from surprise than the impact of the car. As I lay on the ground, motionless, I heard a car door slam, followed by footsteps.

“I think you killed her. Dude, you are so screwed…”

I couldn’t get my eyes to open. God, am I really hurt?

“She’s fine, she’s not even bleeding,” a different voice said, right when the other guy heaved. The smell of beer mixed with half-digested food filled my nose.

A barely discernible whisper repeated over and over, “Oh God, what am I going to do?”

“Who is she?”

The voices grew closer.

With all my might, I tried to lift my arm. Nothing. Why can’t I feel anything? My heart began to race.

“I don’t know her.” A shaking hand pushed the hair away from my face, but still my eyes refused to open.

“I thought you knew all the girls at school.”

“Wasn’t she a freshman last year? Amy…Em…uh, Emily.”

“Good. Now you know who you killed.”

“Don’t be stupid. She can’t be dead.” The voice was louder now—one of them had come closer. “Look, her chest, I saw it. She’s breathing.”

“Are you delusional? She’s not moving.”

It was then the pain set in. My thighs burned, a fire consuming my legs. I tried to scream, but my lips wouldn’t budge. Am I paralyzed?

“Wait a minute… Something’s wrong.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You killed a pedestrian.”

“No, I mean with me. I…I can’t feel―”

“You’re right, she is breathing.” One of them shook my shoulders. “Hello? You okay?”

And then it got really weird.

A wave of heat flashed through me like a current, awakening every little nerve ending. My body convulsed while it passed through, but it didn’t hurt—it was sorta like the prickly feeling of a foot falling asleep, before the tingling turns to pain. Then a glimmer of the richest purple I’d ever seen appeared, spiraling beneath my closed eyelids.

“If she’s breathing, she’s fine. Someone’ll find her.”

“We can’t leave her… What if she’s paralyzed? Or brain dead?” Footsteps paced back and forth in front of me.

The tingling concentrated in my legs, amplifying the warmth. What’s happening to me? Am I…dying?

“Uh…uh, 911. Let’s call 911.”

“And tell them what? You know we’re both screwed if the cops catch us. I’m not going to juvie for you. I’m outta here.”

What do I do now? I still couldn’t move or speak. My legs grew hotter while at the same time the pain started to subside. Is this what it feels like to die? No, it can’t be… I’m not ready. A lump formed in my throat as I waited for that ominous white light all those near-death survivors talk about. But it never came.

A car door opened, just as a dog barked in the distance. Then the engine fired to life: a throaty, guttural outburst. The dog barked even louder, as if to answer it.

“Someone’s coming. Dude, get in!”

The heat surged through my body a final time, and my temperature returned to normal. At first, only a couple of fingers moved, and then my control returned back all at once. My eyes slowly flickered open.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the boy who I assumed was the driver. It was all so hazy, his face was nothing but two black holes against a white mask.

Even after rubbing my eyes, everything still appeared blurry. Was that a red car? Definitely something sporty from the sound of the engine.

They peeled out, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and a horrible screeching sound ringing in my ears again. My eyes finally adjusted, and I saw an older woman approaching. Her beagle trotted up and licked my hand.

“Sweetie, are you all right? Did you fall down?”

“I’m fine,” I answered without thinking. But when I made it to my feet and brushed myself off, I discovered it wasn’t a lie.

The pain was completely gone.

Kat Stiles is a super hero geek at heart. She grew up watching Spiderman, X-men and Superfriends cartoons, and she loved the idea of having super powers. The superhero

movies that came out delighted her; even the bad ones were still so much fun. And she remembers wishing the series, “Heroes” would go on forever. With Connected, she tried to keep the abilities as organic as possible – something just a little beyond what a normal human can do. She’s met some pretty incredible people in her life, and her experiences greatly influenced the writing of Connected. 

Author website: katstiles.com

Author blog: katstiles.com
Author contact email: kat@katstiles.com

Purchase links: 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00X4YEC9Y

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/connected/id991976828?ls=1&mt=11

Wild Child: http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=72&products_id=463

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25447326-connected