Thursday, August 13, 2026

⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: Kill Me Sweetly by Davidson King



Summary:

Saint Brothers #2
Sometimes reality is the nightmare you must conquer.

JJ has a good life. One where he lives with the people he loves, gets to work in Saintly Sweets with his delicious boyfriend, and takes things a day at a time. Of course, that is until he comes across a broken boy so lost in a nightmare, he vows to do everything he can to help him wake from it.

There’s nothing Shepard Saint won’t do for his JJ. Even help him figure out how to save someone that may be lost to the darkness. He knows this won’t be easy, and the deeper they go, the harder it becomes to climb out.

Shep, JJ, and the rest of the Saint brothers find themselves knee deep in the worst of humanity as they try to save a lot more than they bargained for. Saving people is something Shep and JJ are born to do, but when the enemy tries to destroy everything they love, they almost lose themselves to the evils of the world. Can the love they have for each other be enough to make it out alive or have they finally met an enemy far too powerful?

Kill Me Sweetly is book 2 in my Saint Brothers series. It can be read on its own but if you’re one for order, Slay Ride is book 1.

Original Review Book of the Month October 2024:
You'd think I would get tired of saying this but it's true and for that I never tire of mentioning it: Davidson King has done it again!!!  Not that I ever any doubts that I was going to experience an entertaining read but her continued ability to harness the ever coveted "pulls the reader in" factor is just one of the greats of this book.

When I read Slay Ride last year, the book that introduced us to the Saint Brothers and their brand of justice, I knew JJ and Shep would be amazing together. Boy was I right.  Kill Me Sweetly is definitely their story but I really love the inclusion of all the brothers as well as JJ's BFF and half of the starring couple in Slay Ride, Mason. Obviously all the Saints would be involved as they are a team but it was the inclusion of the amazing chemistry between all of the family and that's the best part, JJ and Mason are family too not just the significant other of 2 brothers.  

I know that not everyone enjoys books with dual POVs but I find them to be among my favorites because we get to see a story from both characters and for me at least that helps to connect with them.  From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs we feel and see everything which makes them more real and lets me feel I'm not just a reader on the outside looking in but right there in the room with them, a part of the story if you will not just an observer.

Now I won't go into too much detail so I don't spoil anything.  Books with couples who are established prior to page one can lack a certain will-they-won't-they-go-get-them adrenaline rush but JJ and Shep quickly find themselves with a helluva loaded plate before them that in truth you'd expect the relationship part to take a backseat.  Okay, perhaps it does but never so far back that there is ever any doubt where they stand in each other's lives and heart.  To put it simply: they are just too darn cute together that I'll take any part of them the author gives us and let's face it, it's that chemistry and cute-iblity that drives them to do what is necessary to empty that loaded plate.

As for the mystery, the case of rescue and revenge JJ brings into the house.  I'm not going to spill any deets.  Won't spoil anything!  I will say that darkness is there in droves.  Personally, I'd say Slay Ride seemed to have more "on page" darkness, Kill Me Sweetly has plenty on page as well but IMO there seems to be more "hinting at".  I'll try to briefly explain without spoiling, the darkness, the evil of the bad guys is definitely spelled out but I found my mind imagining the depth of the evil going far beyond the words.  It's this imagining that put me inside the story right alongside the Saint Brothers dishing out their special brand of justice and why as a whole Kill Me Sweetly is far darker than Slay Ride.  However you see it though just know the author gets your blood boiling and skin itching to help and that is what makes this a winning gem of storytelling masterpieces.

Personal observation that I've gotta add: if this is what ends up on paper/screen then what heights of devilish mayhem lurks in Davidson King's brain yet to be let out? I ain't saying it's a bad thing but I guess I'm thinking this is one woman you do not want to piss offπŸ˜‰.  I'll admit, I feel blessed to be friends with her but know I only give truly honest reviews so that kindred spiritship does not factor into play when I review.  I know she's an amazing woman, great wife, great mother, great daughter and great friend but when I read her stories I can't help but think that the margin of error for triggering her balance of whether her life story gets featured on ID's Deadly Women or made into a Hallmark movie is pretty darn slimπŸ˜‰.  Either way the stories she brings us never fail to entertain and warm the heart, which is a an odd thing to say considering the usual darker tone of most of her books but I guess that blending of emotional response in me expresses my love of her storytelling acumen better than any other words I can think of.  


Original Audiobook Review July 2025:
I can't believe it's only been a few short months shy of a year since I read Kill Me Sweetly.  Where does the time go?  Anyway, I'm just going to jump right in here.  I can't think of a better way to express my love of this story without giving out spoilers beyond what I originally wrote last October.  I'll just say: it's still freakin' amazing!!!  I didn't forget a single thing, a single moment of hell that certain characters face but it was nice to revisit it after seeing said characters heal and grow in the newer Saint Brothers entries I read recently.  It certainly adds even more awe I have for them. 

As for the narration?  Well, it's spot on!  Darcy Stark and Alexander Cendese do just as brilliant job bringing JJ and Shep's journey to life as they did with Gabe and Mason's in Slay Ride, which I first listened to last month.  I already feel like I'm living in the brothers' world while reading each entry but Stark & Cendedse's narration just makes me feel that even more so.

Gotta stop there as I'm beginning to picture examples in my head and I don't want them to work their way to my fingers.

RATING:




Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.  ~Dalai Lama

CHAPTER ONE
JJ (JAXON)
I adored Shepard Saint.I really, really did. It had been two and half years since he’d entered my world and the second I’d laid eyes on that man, I’d known my life would never be the same.

Granted, we’d met under serious duress. My best friend forever, Mason, had been assaulted, and the five Saint brothers: Shep, Angel, Noel, Nick, and Gabe—now his forever love—had come to his rescue. Then they’d kidnapped him.…People are weird. Anyway, turned out the Saint brothers had been righting a lot of wrongs. Some seriously high-powered people had killed their foster parents and sister, and by happenstance, we’d later found out that the fire Mason’s folks had been killed in was set by these bigwigs who’d wanted to own the whole town.

Of course, drama breeds drama—and that had ended up exposing a human trafficking ring, and again Mason had been taken and hurt so badly. My sweet friend was never the same after that, but the light was slowly returning to his eyes.

We’d rescued two amazing kids from the clutches of their parents and these disgusting assholes. Heather and Andrew Gilly were happily living with their aunt Tessa and in the two-years-plus that had passed, they’d made huge strides.

Every person responsible for the pain they’d caused…well, they were dead. Weird, right? Don’t answer that—plausible deniability!

When we left that town of nightmares and moved across the country, Mason bought a plot of land and built a big house on it so we could all live together while not being on top of each other. If you hadn’t guessed, my BFF was loaded.

We started a business to protect and help people. Angel was very passionate about it and while Gabe and Mason took part, they didn’t have too much on their plate with regard to clients. Business was slow, and that had a lot to do with the fact that we weren’t advertising. I mean, it wasn’t like we could say, “Want someone dead? We’re here for you.”

So, Shep, my hunk of a man who loves to cook, opened a bakery, which was also a front for our murder-ish business. This past year with no drama had forced Shep and me to really see who we were and if we could be something without all the gunfire and mayhem.

It was challenging, but like my dad always said, “If you can take all the parts you don’t like about someone and say the good far outweighs the bad, it’s worth fighting for.”

That was what we’d been doing, fighting for each other. A day at a time. I mean, the good did outweigh the bad. The sex was…amazing. See, Shep was a big guy in all areas: Six foot three, he was broad with mouthwatering muscles. Brown hair with hints of red adorned his beard, and his Viking hairstyle was to die for—shaved on the sides and long and thick down the middle. And those eyes, blue like the most gorgeous sea. Whenever his gaze met mine, I turned to goo. And that whiskey-rough voice…

More than that, he was a good man. He cared about me a lot. He was ridiculously observant, and all I needed to do was sigh, and he’d be like, “What’s up, babe?” He was also my first-ever boyfriend. I didn’t commit, but with life being what it was…two years had sped by, and here we were. Together. Why was I afraid of us, when at the same time I couldn’t imagine us not being together?

I’d have to figure this all out, and soon. Shep was getting antsy with my odd mood swings, and that wasn’t fair to him. He knew I wasn’t sure what the future held, and all he wanted was a future with me.

I pulled the covers off my body. It was morning, and I’d promised Shep I’d run to the store and pick up the flour and eggs he needed for a wedding cake he was making. I stared at the empty side of the bed, which was cold to the touch. He’d been up for hours, unable to sleep past six. Not me—I’d sleep all day if you’d let me.

The clock read eight thirty, so I had to shake my butt. He was getting started on the cake at ten. Fortunately, the store was only two blocks from his bakery, and the weather appeared to be perfect, so I’d be able to park and walk it.

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and combed my blond hair out of my face. I needed a haircut. I wasn’t ugly; I was good-looking, actually. But very different from Shep. I was blond with green eyes, five foot seven, and while I wasn’t lanky, I didn’t have muscles. I had defined skin…sure, we’ll go with that.

I left the bedroom and the house was quiet, which meant everyone was already out for the day, because no one in this house slept late. Did nobody appreciate sleeping in?

In the kitchen, Mason sat at the table with his laptop open.

“Morning,” I said as I went straight for the coffeepot.

“Hey, you’re up early for you.”

I rolled my eyes and poured the sweet nectar into my mug.

“I see you woke up and chose sass for the day.” I moved over to the table with my coffee and sat with him.

“Always.” He smiled and went back to whatever was pulling his attention to the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing really. Angel, Nick, and Noel left to help some client and they can’t find any decent lodging, and then the twins started fighting and Angel called me.”

I nodded into my cup. Sounded right. Noel and Nick were identical twins with similar personalities, but boy could they fight. Poor Angel for being stuck with them.

“You’re trying to find a place for them?”

“I am.”

“You’re kind.” I drained my cup and brought it to the sink to rinse out.

“I just don’t want Angel to drive the car down an embankment and kill them all. We just bought the thing.”

Chuckling, I opened the pantry and grabbed the reusable bags for shopping. “I love how your concern is for the car and not the lives.”

He shrugged. He adored the brothers, as did I. No one would ever question that.

“I’m off to go get my man some flour and eggs.”

“Have a good day.” He was distracted, so I kissed the top of his head and left.

We had several cars, which was nice. Nothing ostentatious, thankfully. I often opted for one of the SUVs, and today it was the Traverse. I’d drive to the bakery and walk to the store. While the bakery was close to where I had to shop, it was a good twenty minutes to get there, and I wasn’t one of those “Exercise is fun,” kinds of people.

As I pulled the SUV up next to his motorcycle—because my boyfriend, he was that kind of guy—I noticed the bakery was buzzing. I was thrilled it was doing so well. He’d even had to hire someone to man the register, and I knew he’d need more help soon. I loved assisting him, and I’d continue to do so until then.

I bypassed going in, knowing he’d distract me, and walked along the street toward the little mom-and-pop grocery store.

The day was really perfect, and I couldn’t help but smile as the sun shone, the birds chirped, people laughed, the boy stared at the dumpster, the… Hold on a moment.

I took a few steps back and double-checked the alley. Yep, there was someone leering at the dumpster. He couldn’t have been very old, maybe sixteen. He was filthy, no shoes or socks on his feet, rags for clothes. He was covered in dirt, and I couldn’t tell much else about him.

I looked up and down the sidewalk, and while I should have texted someone something like, “Hey, guess what? I found a dirty man who might be insane and eat my face, but I decided to take a chance. Pray for me,” I didn’t. I just took a few steps closer.

“Hey.”

Nothing. Not a twitch, nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked a little louder.

Still no movement. “My name is JJ, what’s yours?”

Okay, was he a lifelike mannequin or something? That would be so embarrassing. No, I was able to see his chest rise and fall.

“Are you hungry? I was just going to the grocery store; I can get you something.”

Shit. I was going to have to nudge him. I put my bags on the ground, slipped my hand into my pocket to grip the knife Shep demanded I carry at all times, and stepped a little closer to the man.

“Hello, can you hear me?” Maybe he was deaf. I poked his arm with my finger and he did a slow pan, stopping when he met my eyes.

“You don’t look so great. Can I help you?”

He cocked his head but still didn’t talk. His eyes were brown—that much I could tell. And vacant, like the lights were on but nobody was home.

I held out my hand to him, silently praying he didn’t attack. “Come on, I can get you some food.”

He stared at my hand for a beat then back at me. I watched as he lifted his arm and placed his—oh Lord—bloody hand into mine.

“There’s a bakery right over here, has cupcakes and muffins, whatever you want.”

I started to walk, glad that he came with me. Maybe once he sat, ate, and got cleaned up, we’d be able to figure out what was going on.

One thing I was sure of was that Shep wasn’t gonna be happy.



Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2



Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


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Kill Me Sweetly #2
AUDIBLE  /  PODIUM  /  BOOKBUB

Saint Brothers Series


Monday, August 10, 2026

Monday's Mystical Magic: Blood and Sand by Jordan L Hawk




Summary:

The Pride #3
War has come to the streets of Chicago…

Sam Cunningham didn’t set out to work for a gangster, but his job as Mickey Sullivan’s hexmaster seems safe enough…until a gang war puts a target on both of their backs.

Cheetah-shifter Alistair Gatti is desperate to keep his family’s speakeasy up and running. But with a brutal assassin killing off the city’s bootleggers, his options are growing slimmer with every passing day.

Their one chance to remain safe and keep The Pride afloat lies in the form of an ancient hex looted from an Egyptian tomb. If Sam wants to escape Sullivan’s grasp, he needs to recreate the hex and get it to work.

But in a gang war fought by magic as well as guns, the odds are in no one’s favor, and the streets of Chicago will soon run red with blood.






Absolutely delicious! I've loved Jordan L Hawk's work since I first ventured into Widdershins waybackwhen and each new book from the author's many series I've dived into, just gets better and better. The Pride's third entry, Blood and Sand is a perfect example of that.

I won't spoil anything so details will be vague, if you follow my reviews then you are well aware of my no spoiler mottoπŸ˜‰. I will say you need to read the series in order, technically you don't really have to read the author's Hexworld series that The Pride connects to but I personally would recommend doing so. It's not a case of plot points or characters crossing over so much as I felt I had a better, more deeper understanding and appreciation of the witch/familiar dynamic and the blending of magic and fact that went into the author's world building, but that's just my take on it.  

Back to Blood and Sand. We see Sam and Allister pick up pretty much where Lion's Tail, book 2, left off. Their relationship is both stronger and weaker due to Sam's employer and its interesting to see that scale trying to balance out. Don't get me wrong, love for each other is never in question. Since reading the second book, I lost my mother and can certainly understand Sam's pull towards what he wants to do(no spoilers #sorrynotsorry) even though the reason behind it is on the complete opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

It's the above eluded to point that I feel earns B&S a "dark elements" label. I've certainly read darker books but there is an ambiguous moral line Sam contemplates that puts it in the dark column, some readers might not quite see it the same but I wanted to put that out there.

There isn't a single thing in this story that is just page filler, every scene, every interaction, every hex, every drink is needed and furthers the story along fluently. I don't know if the author has anymore stories in this series planned, the ending could go either way, but if more come I will definitely read them and if not, I'll enjoy what there is for years to come in revisits.

RATING:




1
Alistair stared down at the dead bootlegger and wished he’d stayed home.

The man—Charlie O’Keefe—sprawled on his back on the deck of his yacht, which was currently tied up at a little marina not too far from Towertown. A single gunshot marked the center of his forehead. Fortunately, the back of his head was against the deck, hiding at least some of the carnage of the much larger exit wound.

Not an unfamiliar sight, Alistair having served on the front lines in France. Though in the war, few casualties were shot at such close range, at least judging from the powder burns on O’Keefe’s skin.

“Must’ve got the jump on him,” Doris observed from where she stood a few feet behind him on the deck. Philip didn’t say anything; he’d taken on snow leopard form and leapt to the bridge’s roof to better survey the area. “There’s no sign of a struggle. He still had a drink in his hand when he went down.”

Indeed, a battered flask lay in O’Keefe’s fingers, liquor pooling beneath it. His assassin had walked right up and shot him in the face. Someone he knew, then.

Whoever had done it, it was bad news for them. O’Keefe was meant to be their new source for booze, since their last bootlegger died in a fiery airplane crash.

So much for that.

“Check below,” Alistair said. “See if the cargo is still intact.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Doris saluted him; he returned it with his middle finger.

She went below in tiger shape, ready in case of an ambush. Alistair didn’t think she’d find any trouble, though; aside from the gentle slap of waves against the hull, the marina was utterly silent. Autumnal chill had set in, the wind over the lake promising winter, and the best days for pleasure sailing were behind.

He went into cheetah shape to take advantage of his nose. The world took on new dimensions around him, smelling of blood and brains, oil and fuel, salt and algae, snow leopard and tiger, and…

A human, probably a man. And…ink? Did the assassin have a leaky fountain pen?

Either way, it wasn’t going to help him figure out who had put O’Keefe on ice. A rival? A personal grudge? A gang boss who didn’t want the competition?

He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because the only gang in the area was headed by Mickey Sullivan. Who Alistair’s lover—and witch—worked for.

Sullivan wasn’t usually so aggressive when it came to small-time rumrunners. But between the death of his only child and an ongoing war with Isabella Fabiano and her gang, maybe his patience had run short.

“Booze is still here,” Doris called.

Alistair shifted form so he could talk. “Grab the hooch, then we get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

Philip sprang down to the deck and took on human shape. “Just steal it?”

“Not like he’s going to miss it.” Alistair turned his back on O’Keefe’s body, its eyes fixed lifelessly on the clouds above.

Philip shrugged. “We should check to see if it’s tainted.”

“We’ll do it back at The Pride. I don’t want to spend any more time than we have to here. The killer might have friends who are on their way to pick up the liquor right now.”

Philip swore, but it got him moving. The living space below had been converted to a cargo hold filled with crates of illicit liquor. They hauled the crates out, Doris lifting them easily by herself, Philip and Alistair panting and cursing to move them together. As soon as the truck was full, they shut the hatch behind them, leaving what remained.

As they crammed back into the truck, Philip said, “This load won’t get us through the end of the month, Alistair. With O’Keefe bumped off, we need to find a new supplier fast.”

Alistair ground his teeth in frustration. Running a speakeasy in Chicago was good business, but not exactly the most stable way to make a living. They were getting squeezed left and right, and pretty soon their only choice was going to be between serving whatever panther piss Sullivan sold them or packing it all in.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as Doris steered the truck away from the dock, its lights off so as not to attract attention. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.”

* * *

Sam took off his hat and held it tightly in his hands as he walked through the front door of The Silvervine. He’d been in some equally fancy joints since he came to Chicago, but that fact didn’t seem to be helping his nerves tonight.

The cabaret was in full swing, a constant flow of men and women in fashionable clothes coming in, and a smaller stream departing. Just inside the door, two hosts guided diners to their tables. Sam cleared his throat when his turn came. “I’m here to meet Mr. Sullivan? Sam Cunningham.”

The man didn’t bat an eye at the mention of Sullivan—but then, according to Alistair, the gangster owned the place, even though his name wasn’t on the paperwork. “Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Right this way.”

Sam followed him, trying not to gawk. He’d been in Chicago for a little over six months now, but its nightlife still had the power to dazzle him. Back in Gatesville, where he’d spent most of his life, the town would have already rolled up the sidewalks for the night. Most folk would be in bed by now, or else listening to the radio if they couldn’t sleep.

Here, the evening was just getting started.

The Silvervine was decorated in rose and gold, with red velvet covering the walls. Tables surrounded a dance floor where customers did the Charleston to the accompaniment of an eight-piece orchestra. More diners watched from a second-floor balcony. Waiters threaded their way through the tables, carrying drinks—none filled more than halfway to allow for illicit alcohol to be added—and plates of spaghetti, linguini, and steak.

After pausing at the coat check, the host led him through the dining room to an arch on the far side. A velvet curtain hung in the arch to shield the occupants in the room beyond from curious eyes.

It was another dining room, this one much smaller than the main hall, with fewer tables and only a four-piece orchestra. The dance floor was mainly unoccupied, though a pair of women drunkenly swayed together, laughing hysterically at their own lack of coordination. Sam followed the host up a set of stairs to the balcony above.

Sullivan sat at one of the three tables, his right-hand man Leonard Turner at his elbow. The other tables were occupied by men and women Sam recognized as members of Sullivan’s gang whom he’d met over the summer. Several of them called greetings when he entered, and a few leaned back in their seats to shake his hand as he passed.

Heat crept up his neck at the attention, even as he tried to smile and return all the greetings. He barely knew them, but apparently that didn’t matter. The important thing was he was Sullivan’s, just like they were.

“Glad you could make it, kid,” Sullivan said, pulling back the empty chair at his table. “Have a seat; have a seat.” To the host, he added, “Get the man a Canada Dry, would you? Fill it to the top. And another scotch and soda for Lenny here.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s palms sweated as he sat down, and he wiped them on his knees beneath the table. He wasn’t used to any of this—when he took the job as Sullivan’s hexmaster, he’d assumed he’d be spending his days working in the lab and his nights at home with Alistair or at The Pride.

And for the most part, he did. But his promotion had unexpectedly put him in the upper echelons of the gang, which meant the other members wanted to get to know him. Most of the time he was able to politely dodge invitations to dinner or drinks, but when Sullivan summoned him, he had no choice but to attend.

“How are you doing?” Sullivan asked him. “All healed up?”

The man who’d formerly held Sam’s job, Vic Nagorski, had shot him in a misguided attempt to force Sam to help him with a hex, one that could heal any wound—but only at the cost of someone else’s life. Fortunately, ordinary doctors and hexes had been able to save him, though he was only now really able to move without pain again.

They hadn’t saved his mother, though.

“Once a failure, always a failure,” whispered his father’s voice in his head.

“Good as new,” he told Sullivan. “How is Mrs. Sullivan?”

A look of sorrow flitted across Sullivan’s face, there and gone in an instant. He’d aged since his only child’s death, his hair grown out so darker roots showed, more lines around his eyes. “She’s visiting her mother in New York for a bit. I’ll pass along your greetings.”

A waiter came with their drinks, then took their orders. Sam got the steak, since he’d never mastered the knack of twirling spaghetti on a fork, and didn’t want to look like a fool in front of his employer. Once the server was gone again, Sullivan said, “How are things going at the hexworks?”

Sam wasn’t sure why he’d been invited to this dinner, when Sullivan could have summoned him to his office at any time. But being asked to talk about hexes put him on surer footing, and he sat up straighter.

“Good! We’re fully up and running now—one of the scriptoriums wasn’t working out, it was too dark, but we figured out how to amplify the hexlights without needing more magic to run them, so that’s taken care of.”

Vic had burned the old hexworks to the ground, which meant the entire operation had to move to a new location. Sullivan acquired a building that once housed a Lithuanian-language newspaper, now out of business, and Sam had been helping to convert it to a hexworks ever since.

“Excellent, excellent.” Sullivan took a sip of his drink, which looked like a gin and tonic. While working at The Pride, Sam had learned more than he ever wanted to know about cocktails. “And you’ve figured out the counter to that look-away hex, I believe.”

“We have.” Sam had to restrain himself from going into details; most folks didn’t particularly care about how hexes worked, so long as they did. “It’s ready to be copied now.”

Sullivan beamed at him. “Well done. You’ve earned a bonus.”

Turner slipped a hand inside his suit coat and came out with a thick envelope, which he passed over to Sam. Sam’s throat constricted—he wanted to protest, say it hadn’t been anything, really. He was already being paid more than he’d ever dreamed and certainly didn’t need a bonus.

But it wasn’t just him now. Luke and Glenda, his teammates in the lab, deserved acknowledgement for their hard work.

Silently pledging to split the entire sum between the two, he accepted the envelope and put it in his own coat, beside his hexmaking kit. “Thanks, Mr. Sullivan. That’s very generous of you.”

Sullivan smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I take care of my people.” His eyes went past Sam, and he sat back. “And here’s that dinner.”

Talk turned to inconsequential things while they ate. Turner regaled them with a story about an excursion to Milwaukee in which he’d encountered a pair of contortionists, and soon had Sullivan and Sam both choking on their laughter. When they’d first met, Sam had thought Turner severe—and he could be, especially when carrying out Sullivan’s orders. But he had a lighter side to him, always ready with a preposterous anecdote or amusing joke.

After dessert—chocolate ice cream with shavings of chocolate sprinkled on top—a steady stream of the other gang members came by for a quick word with their boss. Sullivan and Turner lit cigars; Sam demurred, to Turner’s amusement.

“Maybe we should call you Choirboy,” he said with a wink. “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink, you’re going steady with that cat when you could be working your way through Bughouse Square—you’ve got to have some vice.”

Sam’s face heated, but Sullivan only laughed. “A smart man keeps his vices under wraps,” he said, pointing his cigar at Turner.

“Still waters run deep, I guess.” Turner clapped Sam on the shoulder.

The teasing wasn’t mean-spirited, which was a change from Sam’s former life back in Gatesville. There, it was meant to set him apart; here, it was a signal he belonged. “Deep as a puddle,” he replied, and got a chuckle out of Turner.

Sullivan checked his watch, then rose to his feet. Turner and Sam did the same, as did another of the gang, Eddie Bellinowski. “Bring around the car, would you?” Sullivan asked Bellinowski, who nodded and hurried away down the stairs.

Assuming Sullivan’s departure meant he was free to go as well, Sam trailed along after him and Turner. At the coat check, Sullivan retrieved a fur coat that looked too hot for the fallish weather but probably had a hex on it to keep its wearer comfortable. He made quite a sight as they strolled toward the glass doors at the front of the cabaret: fur coat, diamond tie pin, tailored suit, and shining shoes.

At the door, Sullivan paused and turned toward Sam. “Always a pleasure to⁠—”

The front of the building exploded inward in a shower of fire and glass.




A group of cat-shifters run a speakeasy amidst
the magic and violence of 1920s Chicago.
The Pride takes place in the same universe as the Hexworld books.

Saturday's Series Spotlight
Hexworld
Part 1  /  Part 2

Monday's Mystical Magic

Saturday's Series Spotlight




Jordan L Hawk
Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.

If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.


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EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com



Blood & Sand #3
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Hexworld
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The 13th Hex #.5
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A Christmas Hex #2.5
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Wild Wild Hex #3.5
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The Pride
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Sunday, August 9, 2026

🎭Week at a Glance🎭: 8/3/26 - 8/9/26




















Sunday's Sport Stats: The Husband Game by Brigham Vaughn




Summary:

Relationship Goals #1
Hockey Captain Wed in Secret Vegas Ceremony – Partner’s Identity Remains a Mystery

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Or does it?

Toronto Fisher Cats ice hockey captain Dustin Fowler attended the NHL awards and came home with more than the Ted Lindsay Award.

A cryptic social media post from the hockey forward himself revealed that he was wed in a secret ceremony in Las Vegas this past weekend.

His caption stating, “Sorry, ladies, Toronto’s most eligible bachelor just went off the market. I married my kitten tonight and I’ve never been happier,” sent tongues wagging across the league.

But who is “Kitten”?

Without verification from either the team’s head office or the new groom, rumors swirl about exactly who Fowler’s partner is.

A credible source from within the organization suggests that “Kitten” is none other than retired men’s figure skating champion Charlie Monaghan.

We here at JockGossip would like to offer our warmest congratulations to the newlyweds.

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains scenes and frank discussions of eating disorders (anorexia) and past parental abuse/neglect.





CHAPTER ONE
Dustin Fowler groaned into a pillow, his brain at least three sizes too big for his skull and throbbing with the beat of his heart.

He’d definitely gotten in one last night.

After playing in the NHL for over a decade, he’d had his share of hangovers.

But this … this was among the worst.

A sleepy grumble made Dustin lift his head and squint at the person beside him, trying to get both his eyes and brain to cooperate.

Who exactly had he ended up in bed with?

Hard to tell.

They were so thoroughly burrowed under the covers that all Dustin could see was a slender arm and some messy blond curls.

Huh.

That was pretty much his type so it didn’t really tell him much.

Dustin dragged himself upright, his vision slowly clearing as he leaned against the headboard.

He studied the person next to him and a flash of memory pierced through his foggy brain.

Charlie Monaghan pinning him up against the bar, their mouths inches apart, as he sassed Dustin about something.

“Oh yeah? Wanna make a wager on that?” Dustin had teased him.

“I don’t know. What are the terms?” Charlie’d asked with a purr to his tone and a defiant tilt of his head that had made Dustin so hard.

Charlie Fucking Monaghan was in his bed.

His bed?

Dustin glanced around. Yes, this was his hotel room.

He never stayed at the hotel where the NHL awards were held. He preferred a boutique hotel a few blocks away that gave him a little more privacy to do what he felt like.

With whomever he felt like doing it with.

His sister Emily had called him Schrodinger’s queer once. Both in and out of the closet, depending on who you talked to.

He’d been annoyed by it at the time, but she wasn’t wrong.

His team had known he was bisexual and so had his family and his coaches. He simply hadn’t wanted to go the route his former goaltender, Noah Boucher, had gone.

But oh, Dustin had been itching to get Charlie in bed for months. Ever since they’d met, in fact.

Dustin could admit he’d made a little bit of an ass of himself trying to get Charlie’s attention in the past four months but, well, here they were.

Dustin grinned.

He might not have clear memories of the previous night, but based off what he did remember, he’d finally gotten Charlie’s attention.

Pretty thoroughly in fact.

Dustin dragged a hand through his hair to get it off his face as he debated what came next. Maybe he’d order room service for them both.

Something to stave off the hangover they were both undoubtedly feeling, then maybe a long shower.

Dustin had the room for a few more days and nowhere else he had to be.

Maybe Charlie would be willing to join him …

Smiling, Dustin stretched, lacing his fingers together to crack his knuckles when a flash of bright silver caught his attention.

He blinked, sure he was imagining things.

That wasn’t a ring on his left hand, was it?

A shaky feeling washed over him, like when he’d been triple shifted in the final minutes of a playoff game and his lungs were burning, his mouth coppery, body desperate for oxygen.

Oh Christ, what had he done last night?

He’d done Charlie, that much he could remember. But he was pretty sure that wasn’t all. He’d wanted Charlie’s attention yes, but this was ….

Dustin staggered out of bed, pulling another grumpy mutter from Charlie, who flung the covers over his head, disappearing completely in the nest of white sheets.

Right. So, Charlie wasn’t going to be any help at the moment.

God, if his head would stop pounding, Dustin could maybe make sense of the memories from last night that kept trying to resurface.

Still shaky, he found his underwear hanging off the TV, pulled them on, then finally located his phone buried between the couch cushions along with a pair of pale purple lace men’s underwear he contemplated for a moment, desperately wishing he could remember the way they’d looked on Charlie’s lean, lithe body.

The device was about as dead as Dustin felt so he plugged it in and went in search of painkillers.

That was step one. Nothing was going to make sense until this headache went away.

He’d learned his lesson over the years about trips to Vegas, so he’d packed several kinds of headache remedies, plus electrolyte powder. He dumped some of that in a bottle of water, shook it, then washed down the pills.

With a shake of his head to try to clear it—which he immediately regretted because that only made it throb worse—he turned his attention to step two: what they’d gotten up to last night.

He needed to figure out if any of it had gone public and if it was going to create problems for him.

Dustin was the last person who was supposed to be out boozing it up in Vegas like a lunatic, especially when he was the face of a franchise and neck-deep in negotiations for the new NHLPA code of conduct.

Fuck!

He’d been studiously avoiding thinking too hard about the ring on his finger for the past few minutes, but he suddenly had a sinking feeling this was a whole lot more than the usual tearing it up with the boys and a great hookup after.

Anxiously fiddling with the metal band, Dustin forced himself to walk over to the nearby table and pick up the manila envelope that lay there. It looked innocent enough but he went a little lightheaded at what was inside.

Well, that looked alarmingly official.

He stared at the ring on his finger again, another flash of memory piercing through the haze in his head. Charlie’s smiling lips forming the words, “I do.”

Dustin’s heart pounded as he reached for his phone.

Still almost dead but at least he had enough battery life to navigate to his social media accounts for some answers.

“What the fuck?” he whispered at the sight of his Instagram notifications.

The number was absurd, way more than he ever got on posts. And why had he been tagged by the official NHL and Toronto Fisher Cats accounts this morning?

Probably acknowledging my award last night, he assured himself, but he didn’t really believe it. He’d won numerous times before and those posts had never blown up this way.

Dustin’s pulse pounded in his ears, staring at the picture the league and the team had reposted from his account. He skimmed the caption: Congratulations on your wedding @DFowler27! We wish you and your Kitten all of the happiness in the world!

Well fuck. There was no hiding that.

Kate Foster was going to string him up by his nuts.

Dustin checked his texts and winced again. Oh yeah, there were the irate texts from the team’s VP of Communication and Public Relations demanding to know why she hadn’t been informed of his upcoming wedding.

I can’t believe we learned about your wedding from the post on the official NHL account, Dustin!!! It DOES NOT LOOK GOOD to leave your new spouse’s name off the post.

I know you like to keep your private life private but we cannot properly navigate that if you don’t let the PR department in on it! The NHL account should not have scooped me on this!!

Call me ASAP!!

Sorry Kate, he thought guiltily.

Dustin backed out of that text without replying and found another message, this one from his agent, Wade Cannon.

When I saw you flirting with Charlie last night, I didn’t know you were planning to marry him. What the FUCK, Dustin? This isn’t like you! How do you want me to handle this?? Kate is up my ass about why I didn’t warn her about the marriage!

ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE

Gah, Dustin could do without the shouty caps although it was better than irate voice messages. Though … he squinted at his phone. Yeah, he absolutely had some of those from Wade too.

Shit.

His agent was definitely going to help Kate string him up by his nuts for not informing him about the wedding ahead of time.

But how in the hell could Dustin have warned anyone about his marriage to the beautiful and sassy figure skater when clearly neither of them had planned to get married?

When Dustin’s foreplay with Charlie had consisted of flirtatious arguments where Charlie pushed him away with one hand and pulled him close with another, a wedding had been nowhere on Dustin’s radar.

A pained groan made him turn.

Charlie was still asleep but he’d rolled onto his back, flinging away some of the covers.

Dustin sighed.

He didn’t hate the sight of that. Charlie looked amazing, even in sleep.

Awake, he was full of fire and sass, but in his sleep, he looked sweet and soft.

The chiseled lines of his cheekbones and the cleft of his strong jaw were the perfect contrast to his long lashes and full, pouty lips.

Although his hair was cut shorter on the sides, it tumbled in little sun-streaked golden curls onto his forehead in a way that made Dustin want to wax nauseatingly romantic.

Charlie made another sleepy noise as he flung his hand onto his chest, a massive diamond winking on his ring finger.

Dustin let out another small sigh, his chest warming with affection at the sight.

Maybe they hadn’t planned this, but Dustin couldn’t deny how much he liked the idea of Charlie asleep in his bed wearing his wedding ring.

As Dustin glanced at the marriage certificate in his hand, he considered his options.

Sure, the league, the PR department for his team, and his agent might kill him … but on the other hand, he was pretty sure he was legally married to Charles Nicholas Monaghan III.

It could be worse.



Sunday Sport Stats
Rules of the Game

Relationship Goals
Husband  /  Head




Brigham Vaughn
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time writer. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga.  She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.

Her books range from short stories to novellas. They explore gay, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.


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EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com



The Husband Game #1

Rules of the Game Series

Relationship Goals Series