💖💙💛💚💜💚💛💙💖
In honor of Father's Day here in the US this coming Sunday, I wanted to showcase stories with strong, influential father figures. Some aren't necessarily a lengthy factor in the story, perhaps it's even just one chapter, or a flashback, etc. The father figure has however, left a lasting impression on the characters, the story, and the reader. For Father's Day 2022, I asked in a Facebook rec group for Fathers-from-Hell stories and although I didn't get a chance to read any of them, they all made my TBR list, this post includes 2 stories from that list as well as 3 I've read. I find bad parental figures help shape the characters, intentionally or not, make them stronger and in doing so make the story even more brilliant. If you have any recommendations for bad father figures in the LGBTQIA genre, be sure and comment below or on the social media post that may have brought you here. The purchase links below are current as of the original posting but if they don't work be sure to check the authors' websites for up-to-date information.
💖💙💛💚💜💚💛💙💖
Summary:
Jack Addison vs. A Whole World of Hot Trouble #9
“Mr. Addison… I’m so sorry to impose, but I was hoping you would sign my venator card?”
Jack thought he had it all: a powerful family ready to offer a helping hand in times of need, success and fame, and the most amazing lover in the person of Roux Chat-Bonnes. Problem is, his family would never accept a nonhuman as Jack’s life partner, so for months he was stuck trying to keep his relationship hidden. But when Roux found out Jack had given in to his father and agreed to give a speech at an anti-creature conference, Jack’s beloved chat left him.
Ashamed and heartbroken, Jack needs to choose whether he should go against what he believes in and support his Father’s cause, or follow his heart and try to win Roux back.
Deep down, Jack knows what’s right, but choosing to do the right thing is a whole other matter when it means standing against the world.
Jack thought he had it all: a powerful family ready to offer a helping hand in times of need, success and fame, and the most amazing lover in the person of Roux Chat-Bonnes. Problem is, his family would never accept a nonhuman as Jack’s life partner, so for months he was stuck trying to keep his relationship hidden. But when Roux found out Jack had given in to his father and agreed to give a speech at an anti-creature conference, Jack’s beloved chat left him.
Ashamed and heartbroken, Jack needs to choose whether he should go against what he believes in and support his Father’s cause, or follow his heart and try to win Roux back.
Deep down, Jack knows what’s right, but choosing to do the right thing is a whole other matter when it means standing against the world.
This serial, first published on the K.A. Merikan PATREON, focuses on Jack Addison, a young venator aka monster hunter, who learns about compassion, love, and the flexibility of his sexuality during exploits all over the globe.
📢POSSIBLE SPOILERS:📢
Themes: pride, dreams, self-discovery, tolerance, fame, monster hunting, interspecies relations
Genre: M/M romantic erotica, horror-comedy
Erotic content: Scorching hot, explicit scenes
💥WARNING: This story contains morally ambiguous characters and scenes of sex that might be considered taboo.💥
Original Review August 2019:
RATING:
📢POSSIBLE SPOILERS:📢
Themes: pride, dreams, self-discovery, tolerance, fame, monster hunting, interspecies relations
Genre: M/M romantic erotica, horror-comedy
Erotic content: Scorching hot, explicit scenes
💥WARNING: This story contains morally ambiguous characters and scenes of sex that might be considered taboo.💥
I am completely and 100% twisted up inside warring between "YAY!" and "BOO!". Now before you ask, I'm not conflicted between YAYs and BOOs over the quality of Jack Addison's latest adventure, oh no, I'm conflicted because Doing the Right Thing is the final Jack Addison vs A Whole World of Hot Trouble adventure. As the saying goes, "All good things must come to an end" but the beauty of books is they never truly end because you can always go back and re-read them and though Jack Addison may not make my annual re-read list I will definitely be re-visiting him, Roux, and all the heated craziness they found themselves in again.
Now as for Doing the Right Thing, this entry picks up pretty much right where Catnip Dealers ended and as the title suggests, Jack has a big decision to make, to do what's right or do what his family expects. Can he say some words to placate his father and then continue on living his life as he has all the while risking everything he's found or will he make a stand and as the title suggests "do the right thing"? What he decides is something you'll have to discover for yourself😉 but trust me if you've been reading Jack's adventures you'll want to see what path he chooses and if you're new to the series, what better time to begin than when you have them all.
I won't go so far as to say Jack has changed from the man he was in Man-Ravishing Spider(book 1) but he has certainly grown into the man he wanted to be, even if he didn't see it wayback when. Roux too has grown though for him it might be more subtle but he's not the chat he was in Spider either. There is definitely things we could learn about ourselves and our fellow man from Jack and Roux but don't think this reads as a life lesson. Jack Addison vs. is a brilliantly and uniquely written series that is pure fun from beginning to end. I stumbled onto this series by accident but I fell in love with it immediately. There's romance, friendship, heart, danger, and plenty of heat. It should be mentioned that the heat might be considered taboo or at the very least a little "out there" so this series might not be for everyone but if you're open to the "out there" heat that can come with paranormal/fantasy then I say "what are you waiting for?"
Now as for Doing the Right Thing, this entry picks up pretty much right where Catnip Dealers ended and as the title suggests, Jack has a big decision to make, to do what's right or do what his family expects. Can he say some words to placate his father and then continue on living his life as he has all the while risking everything he's found or will he make a stand and as the title suggests "do the right thing"? What he decides is something you'll have to discover for yourself😉 but trust me if you've been reading Jack's adventures you'll want to see what path he chooses and if you're new to the series, what better time to begin than when you have them all.
I won't go so far as to say Jack has changed from the man he was in Man-Ravishing Spider(book 1) but he has certainly grown into the man he wanted to be, even if he didn't see it wayback when. Roux too has grown though for him it might be more subtle but he's not the chat he was in Spider either. There is definitely things we could learn about ourselves and our fellow man from Jack and Roux but don't think this reads as a life lesson. Jack Addison vs. is a brilliantly and uniquely written series that is pure fun from beginning to end. I stumbled onto this series by accident but I fell in love with it immediately. There's romance, friendship, heart, danger, and plenty of heat. It should be mentioned that the heat might be considered taboo or at the very least a little "out there" so this series might not be for everyone but if you're open to the "out there" heat that can come with paranormal/fantasy then I say "what are you waiting for?"
Summary:
Two boys. One love. Ten summers.
Are you okay?
The first words Zed says to Caspian, and the first time someone has cared about the answer. On a hot summer’s day, the lives of two boys are changed forever. A rebel and a risk taker, Caspian doesn’t give a damn for the consequences. Studious and obedient, Zed is the good boy who is never good enough.
The two couldn’t be more different, but there’s one thing they share, a need to belong to someone who understands them, someone who cares. Their friendship goes deeper than either can possibly imagine. They’re young, in love, and planning their future when an act of betrayal tears them apart.
Fate deals its hand. Seasons pass. Zed’s words follow Caspian through pain, fear and into the darkest of places. Friendships can last a lifetime, even when the world conspires to crush them. But this is more than friendship. This is love and they’re not going to let it slip through their fingers.
Warning
The Story of Us is a tale of love and survival, and the triumph of good over evil against the odds. It's a new adult contemporary romance that deals with family and social issues. There is violence and cruelty to children but not sexual assault. The story has sexual situations, dark elements and suspense. The events and locations are a mixture of real and fictional. The characters are fictional.
Summary:
Peachtree #1
Love doesn’t always add up.
Russell Bishop is a rising star at Vantage Marketing.
Stephen Parker is the company’s CFO.
A spilled cup of coffee gives them an opportunity to act on the mutual attraction they’ve both been trying to ignore. But attraction isn’t enough with an almost twenty-year age gap and clashing expectations about their relationship.
Fiercely independent, Russ isn't sure he's ready for long-term commitment and Stephen is afraid history is repeating itself.
Their relationship reaches a crossroads when the death of Stephen’s father forces them to visit his hometown in southern Georgia. Estranged from his family, Stephen must come to terms with his past and say goodbye to the father whose expectations he could never live up to. The small, conservative town provides its own challenges as Russ must find the strength to be the man Stephen desperately needs.
Russell Bishop is a rising star at Vantage Marketing.
Stephen Parker is the company’s CFO.
A spilled cup of coffee gives them an opportunity to act on the mutual attraction they’ve both been trying to ignore. But attraction isn’t enough with an almost twenty-year age gap and clashing expectations about their relationship.
Fiercely independent, Russ isn't sure he's ready for long-term commitment and Stephen is afraid history is repeating itself.
Their relationship reaches a crossroads when the death of Stephen’s father forces them to visit his hometown in southern Georgia. Estranged from his family, Stephen must come to terms with his past and say goodbye to the father whose expectations he could never live up to. The small, conservative town provides its own challenges as Russ must find the strength to be the man Stephen desperately needs.
The things a cup of coffee can lead to and when it's an ill-timed spilled cup . . . well let's face it sometimes it's the inconveniences in life that lead to the most satisfying results.
When I was youn . . . well awhile ago the local PBS station use to run a British sitcom called May to December following the relationship between and older man and a younger woman. I loved it, it was funny, sincere, romantic but not soppy. I mention this because I rarely see the ages in fiction, long as it's well written with intriguing characters and said characters are consenting adults, age is truly just a number and the sitcom was no different, however, though I loved the show I can't say it made me "seek out" May/December romances in my reading and then Brigham Vaughn's Equals series was born. It may still not be a sub-genre of choice for me but when done well it's brilliant. Russ and Stephen are done brilliantly!
I wasn't going to do a re-read of the new edition prior to this post but I just couldn't deny myself any longer. So whether you read Russ and Stephen's journey as the Equals series a few years ago or you're reading it for the first time under Peachtree series, it's just as entertaining as the first time for me. I had equal parts rooting for them with Mama Bear Hugs waiting in the wings and whacking them upside the head moments to make them sit down and see what potential was in front of them.
A true gem that is re-readable heaven.
Original Editions Review:
Equals #1
Original Review July 2014:
We see how a seemingly insignificant clumsy annoyance can change the lives of two people. Everything happens for a reason and this time around, spilled coffee brings two men together, even if one has to get some minor injuries to do it. I love the dynamics between Russ and Stephen both as individual characters and as a couple. Even though there is a 20 year age gap between the two, they are surprisingly the same even if they are at different places in their lives. The author manages to bridge that gap with sincerity, passion, fight, and overdue communication.
Partners #2
Original Review September 2014:
I can safely say I have never read a book as far ahead of a scheduled posting as I did Partners. As soon as I received the ARC, I went right to reading it and have been chomping at the bit to tell my review. AMAZING!!! Stephen and Russ touch your heart in every way possible. To say I loved them is putting it mildly and, if I may add, stating the obvious. There were a few times where I could have reached in and throttled Stephen though, usually when he put voice to his doubts over Russ "settling" for an older man.
I can't even begin to imagine what Stephen is feeling having to return to his hometown after his father's death considering how things had been between the two men, but Miss Vaughn handles is beautifully. I'll admit that at times some of the characters were a bit on the preachy side but anything less and it wouldn't have been fitting of the story, the characters, or the author. I look forward to seeing what the future has in store for both Stephen and Russ (I hope) and Miss Vaughn.
RATING:
Summary:
Love is Love #1
I'm the pastor's son.
He's the star quarterback for a small Kentucky high school.
While the town worships him, I pray for God to take my life.
He makes my life a living hell by making me his victim.
This perverse game we play could end us both.
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?
The price if the truth is discovered is death, but I can't stop.
Neither can he.
No one can know.
Can I risk it?
Is Roman King worth dying for?
**This story is an mm bully romance including dubious consent, assault, talk of suicide, and is intended for readers 18+. Please proceed with caution.**
Secret Simon by Davidson King
Summary:Haven Hart #8
Simon
Being the nephew of one of the most infamous mob bosses in the world isn’t easy. Our family has enemies everywhere, and no one is safe without protection. Here I am at college with a fresh start, a new last name, and secrets hidden from those around me—life is going according to plan. Then one day on campus, I see him…and I want him to strip me bare…in more ways than one.
Rush
Abernathy is more than just the university I attend. It’s my destiny, my namesake. Singing and entertaining are who I am, but my father wants me to major in something more appropriate for the name I carry. I’ve resigned myself to being who my father wants, doing what he wants. Then Simon comes into my life…and turns everything upside down. Now I have a reason to fight for what I want.
Who knew our love story would lead to secrets revealed, murderous plots, and finding our forever buried under so many lies? Hopefully we’ll live long enough to see it.
(While Secret Simon is a Haven Hart Novel it is not linked to the 7 book story arc)
*Warning: Violence and mention of suicide*
How in the world has it taken me so long to listen to Secret Simon?!?!?!?! The audiobook was released last October and here it is nearly May, again HOW? Oh well, no matter how long it took for me to listen, I've listened and once again I fell even further for Haven Hart. Having recently read book 2, Head Rush, everything was fresh in my mind but that didn't lessen the depths I fell again for Simon and Rush. Truth is, there's not much more I can say to the story itself or the storytelling genius that also goes by the name of Davidson King.
What I will say is this: I never listened to a dual narration before King's audios and was leery going in but loved it instantly. I'm not sure why I had any hesitancy because I love the old radio shows of the 30s and 40s and a good audio portrayal always reminded me of the classic radio platform. Truth is John Solo and Alexander Cendese bring so much passion and strength to the characters that I can almost hear Harlow Wilcox breaking in with the ad for spark plugs he pitched on Suspense all those years ago. Not only do they bring Simon, Rush, and all the characters to life, I can hear the sound effects, I can hear the studio audience gasping with "oohs" and "ahhs" with each new revelation.
Another winning combination of author's words and narrators' voices to heighten the enjoyment of Secret Simon, the new Haven Hart-connected journey.
Original Review June Book of the Month 2021:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! OMG! The Force is with us all! We have a new Haven Hart book by Davidson King!!!!!!
Okay, I got that out of my system, lets continue.
I should start by pointing out as the author mentions at the end of the blurb, Secret Simon is not linked to the original 7 book arc, story-wise at least. We see a few of the characters and of course "Simon" is Eight all grown up(he's still Eight to Snow but I have a feeling Snow will still be calling him Eight when he's 60). So if you haven't read Davidson King's Haven Hart universe you can start here although I don't know that I would want to, you won't be lost in any way, shape, or form. To be honest, I am a series-read-in-order kinda gal and Haven Hart is one of my all time favorite series of all genres.
Secret Simon. Flat out brilliant! This story has it all(okay there's no sci-fi or apocalyptic end of the world stuff although going after Christopher Manos' family probably won't end well for anyone) romance, mystery, heat, action, friendship, danger, love, family, and it wouldn't be Haven Hart without mayhem and plenty of well . . . heart(see what I did there😉😉).
Lets talk characters. Simon has become as wonderful an adult as he was when we first met him at 8. He may be blood to Christopher but Snow has made a lasting impression on him as well, which will only enhance his future role in the Manos family. Now, in case you haven't read Haven Hart's original 7 book arc, I won't go into too much detail for the I'm-a-spoiler-free-zone kinda gal but I will say there is a very important reason the book is titled Secret Simon. Don't worry, just because I won't spoil anything, the author doesn't leave you up in the air with a hundred questions of "why? what? who? or where?", King makes sure you got a feel for what's going on. As for Rush? He has a future written for him but is it the future he wants to write for himself? Yeah, you know what's coming: you have to read for yourself to find out. Trust me you will enjoy every minute of finding out. Put the two together and the chemistry just screams out at you.
What more can I say? I could say a lot but I'm going to end here or I'm afraid the longer I go on the more chance I'll get loose lipped(or loose fingers) and reveal more than I want. So I will just say this: Secret Simon has reinforced my love of Haven Hart and proven to me that it is an author's universe that belongs on my short list of "Whether they write a 4 paragraph holiday coda or 100 full length novels I'll be first in line to gobble them up". Davidson King once again provides her readers with an unforgettable tale that entertains and captures their attention from beginning to end, further cementing her place in the world as a topnotch storyteller.
Jack Addison vs. Do the Right Thing by KA Merikan
Jack sat in his opulently decorated room with hastily made notes. How had he even gotten here in the end? He should have ditched the conference being held for an idea he despised and tried to find Roux, but if he made Father look bad by ignoring the keynote speech, their relationship might not survive. He would never spew anti-creature nonsense the way he used to before he discovered the truth, but stories about his travels could hardly do any harm. After his family supporting him for so many years, he owed Father that much
It wasn’t a big deal.
So why was his stomach in knots? Even the view of the grand Versailles gardens couldn’t lift his mood.
That was pretty clear, no matter how much his mind tried to deny facts. Ditching Roux like this and, trying to hide the truth from him made him a lousy person, and an even lousier partner. The only thing keeping his heart from collapsing was the thought that maybe his stories could shed a different light on creatures and sow the right seeds in at least some minds. Ones that weren’t completely hardened yet.
He squeezed the paper as his chest tightened again.
He didn’t want to be here, socializing with people who’d likely treat Roux like trash or with polite hostility, at best. He wanted to be at Roux’s side, stargazing and walking the narrow streets of Montmartre, cuddling into his warm, fragrant fur.
The knock on the door made him groan. Was it really his time already? He glanced to the tall window. Despite the cold weather outside, the garden beckoned him with promises of freedom.
“Come in…” he groaned without enthusiasm.
A hotel worker in a neat burgundy uniform entered, carrying a tray of food and two glasses of wine. “Good afternoon, Mr. Addison.”
Jack offered him a smile, because what was the point of unloading his frustration on anyone but himself? “What is it?”
Cute dimples appeared in the man’s cheeks when he smiled. “Mr. Addison… I’m so sorry to impose, but I wanted to treat you, and I was hoping you would sign my venator card?” He put the tray on the bed and fished a little collectible wallet out of his pocket.
Jack’s shoulders slumped, and he grabbed a pen from the nightstand before scribbling his name on the back of the card featuring a photo of him holding a whole bundle of necrorats.
He didn’t deserve the high stats he had in the Game of Venators.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you very much!” The man blew at the ink to make it dry faster, but he didn’t seem ready to leave. “About the symposium… I cannot wait to hear you speak, Mr. Addison. I’ve read so much about you.”
Jack’s lips tightened. “The reporters exaggerate all stories. I’m just a venator like many others.”
It wasn’t a big deal.
So why was his stomach in knots? Even the view of the grand Versailles gardens couldn’t lift his mood.
That was pretty clear, no matter how much his mind tried to deny facts. Ditching Roux like this and, trying to hide the truth from him made him a lousy person, and an even lousier partner. The only thing keeping his heart from collapsing was the thought that maybe his stories could shed a different light on creatures and sow the right seeds in at least some minds. Ones that weren’t completely hardened yet.
He squeezed the paper as his chest tightened again.
He didn’t want to be here, socializing with people who’d likely treat Roux like trash or with polite hostility, at best. He wanted to be at Roux’s side, stargazing and walking the narrow streets of Montmartre, cuddling into his warm, fragrant fur.
The knock on the door made him groan. Was it really his time already? He glanced to the tall window. Despite the cold weather outside, the garden beckoned him with promises of freedom.
“Come in…” he groaned without enthusiasm.
A hotel worker in a neat burgundy uniform entered, carrying a tray of food and two glasses of wine. “Good afternoon, Mr. Addison.”
Jack offered him a smile, because what was the point of unloading his frustration on anyone but himself? “What is it?”
Cute dimples appeared in the man’s cheeks when he smiled. “Mr. Addison… I’m so sorry to impose, but I wanted to treat you, and I was hoping you would sign my venator card?” He put the tray on the bed and fished a little collectible wallet out of his pocket.
Jack’s shoulders slumped, and he grabbed a pen from the nightstand before scribbling his name on the back of the card featuring a photo of him holding a whole bundle of necrorats.
He didn’t deserve the high stats he had in the Game of Venators.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you very much!” The man blew at the ink to make it dry faster, but he didn’t seem ready to leave. “About the symposium… I cannot wait to hear you speak, Mr. Addison. I’ve read so much about you.”
Jack’s lips tightened. “The reporters exaggerate all stories. I’m just a venator like many others.”
The Story of Us by Barbara Elsborg
SUMMER ONE
Chapter One
2010
Zed handed over his school report, then fidgeted as his father read it.
“Stand still, boy.”
He curled his toes inside his shoes. Would he ever be something more than boy to his father? Their family name was Zadeh—hence his nickname Zed, though his father never called him that. Nor did he use Zed’s proper name, and although it was a mouthful, Zed doubted that was the explanation for his father’s reluctance.
Does he dislike me that much?
Zed’s name was Hvarechaeshman, which meant having eyes like the sun, but who had yellow eyes? His were blue which was unusual for someone who was half Iranian. Instead of inheriting his father’s brown eyes, Zed had his mother’s blue ones, though the rim of brown around the blue was probably from his father. His mother had chosen his name and she’d used it, calling him Hari for short. No one else ever had. He’d never wanted anyone to call him Hari after she died.
“Forty-three percent in religious studies?” his father bellowed. “Did you make no effort at all?”
He’d not been well that day due to his father having beaten him the night before, but it was pointless offering any excuses.
“Hardly better in history.” His father shook the report in Zed’s face. “Needs to learn to answer the question.”
Seventy percent and he’d come fourth. One question he’d slipped up on, misunderstanding the meaning of aberration. His teacher pointed out he’d explained the word in class only a week before but hadn’t remembered Zed had been absent that day. Zed had bunked off school because of the bruises on his arms which would have been seen when he changed for football. Zed wondered if his father would make any comment about his attendance record, wondered what to say if he did. It’s your fault. Yeah, well he could imagine how that would go down.
His father picked fault with everything, ignoring all the praise and concentrating on the negatives, though Zed was hoping his music teacher’s comments would be passed over. Talented. Confidence beyond his years when performing. Hard-working. A pleasure to teach. He’d come top of the class, but this was the final year he could study music. Not just because it was haram, forbidden in Islam according to some, but also because his father considered it a waste of time.
Sometimes Zed felt his father was Muslim when it suited him, which made it difficult for Zed to gauge how to behave, to work out how much he could get away with. His father believed wine was haram but the verse in the Quran that forbade it only talked about drinks made with dates or grapes, so whisky was okay. Not all Muslims believed that, but Zed had seen his father drinking whisky in his study. The bottle was hidden in a cupboard which suggested he didn’t want anyone to know he drank it.
Once, when his father had said not to disturb him because he was praying, Zed had been passing the study window and caught a glimpse of him watching naked women on his laptop. But then his older brother Tamaz did that too. Not the whisky, Zed didn’t think, but the women.
Their mother had converted to Islam before she and his father had married, and Zed presumed they’d loved each other at some point, but once he was old enough to notice, he hadn’t seen much affection between them. Sometimes he’d thought his mother was frightened of his father. He knew the feeling.
His father had been a Sunni Muslim in Iran, a country where almost everyone was a Shi’i Muslim. The reason his father had left. Zed had been brought up as a follower of Islam, but he didn’t believe anymore. He just pretended. There was a lot he pretended to be. Happy, when he wasn’t. Obedient when he wasn’t. Straight when he wasn’t. He didn’t want to get sent abroad or maybe killed, either of which was a possibility if his father found out he was gay.
Two more years until he was sixteen and could leave home and not be forced to return. Two more years putting up with physical and mental hell. If he could survive that long.
“Doesn’t always hand his homework in on time. Why not?”
Zed bit his lip.
“I asked you a question.”
“Sometimes I fall asleep before I’ve finished my schoolwork.” Because you’ve made me do the ironing or washing or cleaning.
His father’s face fractured with anger. “Then set your alarm to wake early and do your homework in the morning.”
Zed nodded.
“Doesn’t mix well with other pupils.”
That was true.
“Why not?” his father snapped.
What was the point trying to make friends when Zed would never be allowed to go to their house or go out with them? He was never permitted to go bowling, or to parties, or the cinema, or visit a theme park.
“I work hard. They mess around.” Not a complete lie.
His father grunted. “Is reluctant to speak out in class or volunteer.”
Safer to stay under the radar of teachers and pupils. He was already bullied. He didn’t want to do anything to make that worse.
“His woodwork projects rarely resemble his designs.”
The design and technology teacher had also said that Zed tried hard, was a delight to have in his class and his ambition was admirable.
“He is easily distracted, often by nothing more than himself.”
Read on Zed wanted to shout. I’m good at English.
His father glared and threw the report on his desk. “Not good enough. I’m more than disappointed.”
Oh fuck this. Sometimes Zed had to fight back even though he knew the consequences. “It’s not a bad report. There are nice comments too. Mr Carter said I was—”
“You have let me down.” His father’s eyes hardened into glittering pebbles. “Your brother works much harder. He will get four A grades this summer. Your marks are not acceptable. How can you expect to be an accountant?”
I don’t want to be an accountant. He wanted to be a musician. He’d said that once to his father and would never say it again. Zed had locked up his hopes and dreams tight in his heart and maybe they’d have to stay there forever, but at least they were his and no one would make fun of him or deride him or condemn him for them.
His music teacher had been shocked Zed wouldn’t be taking a GCSE in music, and he’d asked Zed to try and persuade his father. The idea of persuading his father to do anything might have made Zed smile but disappointment swamped any chance of that. He picked his battles carefully and one over music was doomed to fail. Most of his battles failed. The war would only be won when he left home.
“You’re lazy.”
I am not! “I came seventh in the class.”
“To be first is better.”
Zed bristled. He took a deep breath and looked his father in the face. “I’m not lazy. That’s not fair. Seventh is good.”
“Do not dare to argue with me.”
Zed gulped when he caught the deepening anger in his father’s gaze, the set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. “I did my best.”
“Not good enough.”
His brother popped his head around the door. “Dinner’s ready. Time to get cleaned up.”
Zed waited for his father to let him go. When he nodded, Zed fled.
Since his mother had died three years ago, the three of them took it in turns to cook, though much of what they ate was from the freezer, bulk-bought from an Asian supermarket, defrosted overnight and stuck in the oven the following evening. Only if his father was working late could Zed eat what he liked. Tamaz sometimes drove to get fish and chips. Zed’s mouth watered at the thought of hot chips smothered in salt and vinegar.
But last week, Tamaz had moved out. He’d gone to live in a student house in Canterbury and had only come back today to pick up more of his things. He’d landed a summer job taking tourists for trips on the River Stour, and in September, he’d be studying biochemistry at Canterbury University. Zed was going to miss him. He had the feeling Tamaz wouldn’t come home much, which would leave Zed doing even more around the house, more cleaning, more washing and ironing, more gardening and preparing more meals, including food his father liked but he didn’t.
Tamaz had made a cucumber, pomegranate and tomato salad that Zed loved, but the other dish on the table was zaban with carrots and potatoes. Beef tongue.
“Sorry,” Tamaz whispered. “Dad wanted it tonight.”
Last time Zed had tried to eat zaban, he’d thrown up. His stomach was already churning at the smell of it. He didn’t much like meat although he wasn’t vegetarian. But he particularly didn’t like anything that looked like the original animal, nor anything with a name like tongue or cheek or heart, and he had a pathological hatred of eating anything on a bone.
Once the bowls of food were on the table and they were seated, his father’s and brother’s lips moved in silent prayer. The du’a was a way of feeling a connection to God at any time of the day and because it could be done silently, it was one of the easier things Zed could pretend to do. If he was ever challenged over anything, he claimed to be talking privately to Allah.
Though that didn’t always work.
“So…last day of school,” Tamaz said.
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do for the next six weeks?” his brother asked. “Apart from redecorating the living room and my bedroom?”
Zed looked at him in shock. “What?”
“Joking. There’d be more paint on the carpet than the walls. Hey, maybe you could move into my room. It’s bigger and—”
“He can stay where he is,” his father said. “You’ll be coming home sometimes. You should keep your room.”
Tamaz shrugged. “It was just a thought. So what are your plans for the holidays?”
Zed opened his mouth but his father spoke first. “His school report was terrible.” “
It wasn’t,” Zed whispered.
His father reached out and smacked the back of his head so hard it brought tears to Zed’s eyes. He screwed his hands into fists wondering if he’d ever dare hit him back.
Tamaz kicked him under the table, warning him to be careful. “What did you come in the class?”
That question wasn’t going to help. “They didn’t tell us, but a couple of boys worked it out. I was seventh.”
Tamaz turned to their father. “That’s good, particularly when he’s not yet doing subjects he’s chosen.”
“He was only seventh because he did well in subjects that are irrelevant and have no use.”
“Such as?” Tamaz asked.
“Music.” His father spat the word out as if it didn’t deserve to be said.
“He’s still young,” Tamaz said.
“He only came third in maths!”
Four percent had separated him from first place and Zed still thought he was right and the teacher wrong about one of the answers which would have given him extra marks and put him equal first. He helped himself to more salad because he wasn’t going to be eating any tongue if he could possibly avoid it. He just had to put up with his father’s sharp tongue instead. He started to smile, then looked at his plate and gulped. How am I going to eat this?
“I’ve ordered workbooks for you to do this summer,” his father said. “You can get ahead of the class.”
Zed chewed the inside of his cheeks. He needed a rest, not more schoolwork.
“There’s a place in Canterbury running a course over the holiday for Muslim teenagers,” Tamaz said. “I’ll look into whether they have a space.”
What? No! “I don’t want to go on a course. I’ll be too busy with the workbooks.”
His father patted Tamaz on the shoulder. “You’re a kind brother.”
Sometimes. Zed kept his mouth shut and his gaze down. The one good thing about moving to this small village four years ago had been that it was no longer possible to go to the London madrasa he and Tamaz had attended each day after school. His father still went to the mosque every Friday but Zed and Tamaz were only able to go in the school holidays. Though Tamaz had been going a lot since he’d finished his A levels. But Zed wondered if he was actually going or doing something else.
“Say thank you,” his father snapped.
“Thank you,” Zed mumbled.
His father spooned more zaban onto Zed’s plate and passed the dish to Tamaz.
Oh God, I can’t eat it. One sniff and he gagged.
“It only runs a couple of days a week.” Tamaz helped himself to the zaban. “If I can get you in, you can stay with me overnight and I’ll bring you back the next day.”
Zed slumped, then reared back when it brought him closer to his plate.
Tamaz laughed. “Don’t look as if you’re being sent to work in a sewer.”
Zed would rather have worked in a sewer and done the workbooks.
He did his best with the food, tried to bring a piece of the meat to his mouth and failed.
By the time his father and Tamaz had finished eating, it looked as though Zed hadn’t started.
“Oh Allah! Bless the food You have provided us and save us from the punishment of the hellfire. Bismillah.” His father smiled at Tamaz. “It was delicious. Thank you.”
Zed tried one more time and heaved before the zaban met his lips.
“What was that noise?” His father’s smile had vanished. “Clear your plate.”
“I can’t eat it.” Zed’s heart pounded, and he kept his gaze fixed on his lap as his father pushed to his feet.
“Eat it.” His father loomed over him like a big black crow.
Don’t bring up the starving people who’d love to be fortunate enough to be able to refuse perfectly good food.
“You ungrateful, selfish boy,” his father hissed. “There are people around the world who are starving and—”
“I can’t eat it.”
Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. If he continued to refuse, he’d be beaten. If he ate it—which would be a miracle—he’d vomit and he’d be beaten for vomiting. He thought he might as well choose not to eat.
His father smacked the side of Zed’s head again, made his ears ring and his hand fluttered to where he’d been struck.
“This is your last chance.”
“I can’t.”
His father took down the riding crop he kept on the top of the door trim. He’d never ridden a horse. It had been purchased specifically to hit his sons. One son.
“You’re not sorry at all, you antikke.”
Farsi for a piece of shit. That’s all I am to you? It was hard to have a father who seemed to hate him no matter what he did.
His brother picked up the plates and cleared the table. Tamaz knew better than to intervene, though Zed could count on the fingers of one hand how many times Tamaz had been beaten.
“You ungrateful…” His father rolled up his sleeves.
Zed didn’t have much to be grateful for since his mother’s death. A roof over his head. A bed. Clothes, though never the ones he wanted, and mostly Tamaz’s hand-me-downs so by the time they fit Zed, they were never the latest fashion. Some food he could eat. That was about it. No kind words. No hugs. No gentle touch. Ever. If he was touched, it was only to be beaten.
His father dragged him out of his seat by the scruff of his neck and hauled him into his study. Zed sometimes felt as if he were living in a different world to everyone else. His was dark and lonely, full of pain, disappointment and sadness. Whenever anyone at school complained about their parents, it was because they hadn’t bought them the latest mobile phone, or allowed them to stay out late, or up late, or because their computer time had been limited or their phone confiscated. Zed couldn’t even tell anyone what his father did to him. Shame and fear kept his lips sealed. If he was asked about his bruises, he lied.
“You know what to do.” His father’s eyes had the glassy look that scared Zed.
Zed took off his T-shirt, pulled his shorts and boxers down to his ankles and leaned against the back of the chair. The first strike was always a surprise, because for a brief moment, it didn’t hurt. Then it did. Zed buried his face in his forearms and clenched his teeth. With each blow, his skin became more tender and the burn increased until he felt as if he were being licked by flames.
His father struck his back, bottom, and the top of his legs. Zed couldn’t help crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn’t utter a sound. He’d have bitten through his arm before he did that.
“Pull up your clothes.”
Even doing that hurt. Zed clutched his T-shirt hard to hide his shaking fingers.
“I forgive you.” What his father always said, as if it made the beating excusable.
“Thank you, father. I’m sorry I disappointed you.” Zed forced out the words his father expected to hear. If he hadn’t, he’d have been hit again. He wished he was brave enough to keep quiet, to take another beating and another until he passed out, but he wasn’t.
He went straight to his room, each step on the stairs sending searing pain down his legs and up his back. He cleaned his teeth, tried to piss and failed because he was so tense, then lay face down on his bed. He heard a faint knock at the door and turned his head to see Tamaz. His brother came over and put a packet of crisps on the pillow.
Tamaz sighed. “I’m sorry he beats you. You should try harder not to aggravate him. All he wants is for you to be a good Muslim.”
That wasn’t it. Zed didn’t have the energy to speak or to open the crisps. He closed his eyes and heard Tamaz leave.
Twice in the last year, his father had beaten Zed so hard, he’d lost consciousness. This time hadn’t been too bad. No blood for a start. No tell-tale warm trickle down his skin. Part of him wished his father would go too far and he’d have to be taken to the hospital, assuming the bastard cared whether he lived or died. If his father really went too far and killed him, then it would all stop.
The glimmer of hope that one day it would stop was the only ray of light in Zed’s darkness. Maybe a little bit of him wished he was dead. He didn’t know anything other than unhappiness and it was only going to get worse. Two more years at home with no Tamaz to comfort him. He’d count down the days.
He reached for his alarm clock and set it for five thirty. Zed wanted to be out of the house before his father left because he’d insist Zed went with him. It was what always happened in the holidays. On Fridays, Zed would be expected to work in the pharmacy. All day spent moving products so he could dust shelves only to be told to do it again and again. Following that, he and his father would go to the mosque. No thank you.
The next morning, Zed sneaked out at twenty to six and silently closed the door behind him. He’d removed two slices of bread from the middle of a new loaf, resealed the packaging so no one would notice and put the folded bread in his pocket, along with a bottle of water. It was likely all he’d get to eat that day because he’d be in trouble when he returned home. It was more than likely the tongue would be served up again, because he suspected it lurked under foil on the top shelf of the fridge.
His father hadn’t bothered closing the electric gates but there was a way through the hedge at the side anyway. The village was quiet. Still early for the commute to Canterbury or London, though there was plenty of traffic on the bypass. Zed hurried across the road, heading for the grassy field on the north side of the village. He squeezed through a gap in the hedge and made his way up a long slope to a wooded ridge.
He usually ran up the hill, pretending he was escaping from aliens or big cats or an axe-wielding father. Running fast set him free, let him forget, but his body hurt too much to do that today. It had said on his report that he’d won the school cross-country race, beating runners a lot older than him, but his father had either not noticed, or probably not cared. The cup had been presented in assembly and Zed was entitled to take it home for the year, but he’d left it in the school trophy cabinet.
Once he climbed over a wire fence and moved into the wood, he was hidden and felt safer. Not that his father was likely to come after him, neither he nor Tamaz had any idea where he went when he had the chance, but he was on private land now. Whoever owned it might get pissed off even though Zed was doing no harm. He made his way to the rocky outcrop he’d come across a couple of years ago, and gingerly sat down.
Unfortunately, there was no book to retrieve today. He usually put one in a plastic bag and tucked it under the front of the rock so he had something to read when he was up here. But he’d had to take the one he’d been hiding back to school. It was about an assassin in a fantasy world and it was good, but he hadn’t had a chance to finish it.
He often spent hours there reading or composing, even when the weather was cold, but for six weeks, he’d have no access to books, and no access to music, no way to practise the instruments he loved, the piano and the cello. He could only listen to music at school. Only play an instrument there. But music was always in his head. He hummed when he was alone, kept the sound inside him when he wasn’t. He often ran to the rhythm of a song though he was too out of breath to hum at the same time.
His music teacher let him practise at lunchtimes and after school and had said as long as the room was free, Zed could continue doing that in September. There was no library in the village. No book in the house except for the Quran. It wasn’t forbidden in Islam to read novels, but the type allowed wasn’t what Zed wanted to read.
His mother had had lots of books but after she’d died, his father had given them all to charity. Even his baby ones and Zed had really wanted to keep some of them, particularly the one she used to read to him about a little bear and his mum. The bear got into all sorts of trouble, but his mum was always there to keep him safe. Zed didn’t even have a photograph of her. Photographs weren’t forbidden but couldn’t be on display. Maybe his father had some in an album but whenever Zed asked, he’d been told there were none.
Below where he sat, the land fell away down a green, treeless expanse into a wide valley patterned with fields of every shade of yellow, green and brown. It looked like a massive, neatly arranged plate of salad. Beyond that was another ridge, and in the distance, out of sight but not too far away, was the sea. He hadn’t been to the sea for years. Could he walk there and back in a day? Maybe if he set off very early.
The village in the valley below was called Lower Barton. The one he’d come from was Upper Barton. Zed had been surprised when his parents said they were moving from Lewisham, but the house in Kent was much nicer. His mother said it was a better environment for all of them. She’d been a primary school teacher and had landed a job in the village school. His father stayed as a pharmacist in Maidstone and now commuted in a different direction.
Tamaz told Zed that the house in Upper Barton had been bought with money left to their mother after her parents had died. Zed missed his English grandparents. He’d loved going to see them. He’d never met any Iranian relations. His father sent money to his parents in Iran but he’d never been back. Any questions about his father’s homeland were met with silence.
Zed sat on his rock imagining he was a successful king overlooking his domain. He hummed Morning by Grieg as he watched his world come alive. Cars pulled out of neat gravelled driveways onto the road, people crisscrossed the village on bikes and on foot, a delivery van stopped outside a shop and a removals lorry reversed to the door of a big house. He could see people walking their dogs, stopping to talk. While he watched, the express raced through the station on the way to Sandiford, the closest place to catch a fast train to London.
London. I could disappear there.
But while he was underage, if he was caught, the police would bring him home. Desperate as Zed was, he would never admit his father beat him because no good could come of that. His worst fear was that he’d be sent to Iran to live with his grandparents and he’d never escape. Even if he was put into care, not an alternative that appealed, he’d always be scared his father would find a way to destroy him. So when he went, he had to go for good, make sure he disappeared completely.
Zed ate one of the slices of bread, taking small bites and chewing each mouthful slowly to try and trick himself he’d eaten more than he had. He had two pounds in his pocket, but he didn’t want to waste it on food. He needed to save as much as he could to start his new life.
Though when would he ever have enough? The money he’d collected, hidden in a box under the bottom of his wardrobe, was made up of what he didn’t spend on school lunches, loose change Tamaz sometimes slipped him and odd coins he’d picked up that his father had left lying around in the house. He knew it was stealing but he never took much.
He pushed to his feet and headed down the field toward the wood at the bottom. He’d never bothered exploring there before but today he wanted to be as far from home as he could get.
Off-Balance by Brigham Vaughn
“Hopefully, I’m not keeping you from a hot date tonight or something.”
Stephen let out a small snort of amusement. “Russ, I can’t remember the last time I had a hot date. Frankly, it’s been months since I’ve had a date of any sort. And they were lukewarm at best. If you’re asking if I’m single, the answer is yes.”
Embarrassed, Russ cleared his throat. “I was curious.”
“Nothing wrong with curiosity.”
“I’m single too,” Russ said. He cringed internally. Jesus. He’d had game once. Okay, maybe not game because he’d never had time to really develop it, but he used to be at least slightly smooth. This … whatever this was, was truly pathetic.
But Stephen didn’t seem too put out by his awkwardness. “Haven’t met the right person or no time to date?”
“Maybe a little of both,” Russ admitted. “It can be hard to meet men when you’re working fifty, sixty hours a week.” There. He’d at least managed to work the fact that he was gay into the conversation without doing it in the most cringey way possible.
“Absolutely,” Stephen said. “Though, from what I hear, you’re doing very well at Vantage.”
Russ blinked. He had no idea Stephen had even known who he was, much less that he’d been paying attention to how he was doing. “I had no idea you’d noticed me at work.”
“Oh, I noticed.” Stephen gave him a slow smile. “You needn’t worry about proving your worth, if that’s why you’re working those kind of hours.”
“I like to be thorough,” Russ said.
“Thoroughness is good.”
Was it Russ’s imagination or was there a hint of heat in Stephen’s eyes now and a faint rasp to his voice? “I like to make sure I take my time and fully grasp a topic,” Russ countered. “Get a real grip on it.”
“Traits like that will certainly allow you to get far at whatever you choose to do.”
Including with you? Russ wondered. “I’m trying to get ahead.”
The corner of Stephen’s mouth curved up even further. “That much is clear.”
“Think I’ll succeed?”
“I suppose it depends on what you’re trying to succeed at.”
“You don’t know?”
“I try not to make any assumptions about anything until I’m sure.”
Goddamn it. They were talking in circles and getting nowhere. Maybe Russ needed to try a different approach.
“I appreciate all of your help today,” Russ said. “I seriously can’t thank you enough.”
Stephen looked away from the TV again and shook his head, glancing at Russ with a small smile. “It’s the least I could do. I feel responsible for what happened.”
Russ smiled back, Stephen’s earnestness relaxing him. “Let’s call it even then, I guess. Or we could be up all night with this.”
Stephen quirked an eyebrow up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Fuck, what a turn on. Why older men were such an attraction for him, Russ would never be sure, but he’d realized it in college. He’d had a brief fling with a professor named Jack Burns after the semester was over. It wasn’t the forbidden aspect of it—they’d both waited until after Russ was no longer his student—but he liked the age difference.
A man with a fit body, handsome face, graying hair, and a killer smile always got Russ going. Hell, his head and ankle ached and he was still thinking about what Stephen would be like in bed. And was he flirting? God, Russ hoped so. “Well, being up all night isn’t always a bad thing.”
Stephen’s lips turned up at the corners in amusement. “You don’t think so?”
Russ shrugged. “It depends on the reason, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Stephen murmured. He shifted to face Russ. “I’m afraid all of the best reasons are off the table at the moment though, aren’t they?”
“Too bad.”
Stephen let out a small snort of amusement. “Russ, I can’t remember the last time I had a hot date. Frankly, it’s been months since I’ve had a date of any sort. And they were lukewarm at best. If you’re asking if I’m single, the answer is yes.”
Embarrassed, Russ cleared his throat. “I was curious.”
“Nothing wrong with curiosity.”
“I’m single too,” Russ said. He cringed internally. Jesus. He’d had game once. Okay, maybe not game because he’d never had time to really develop it, but he used to be at least slightly smooth. This … whatever this was, was truly pathetic.
But Stephen didn’t seem too put out by his awkwardness. “Haven’t met the right person or no time to date?”
“Maybe a little of both,” Russ admitted. “It can be hard to meet men when you’re working fifty, sixty hours a week.” There. He’d at least managed to work the fact that he was gay into the conversation without doing it in the most cringey way possible.
“Absolutely,” Stephen said. “Though, from what I hear, you’re doing very well at Vantage.”
Russ blinked. He had no idea Stephen had even known who he was, much less that he’d been paying attention to how he was doing. “I had no idea you’d noticed me at work.”
“Oh, I noticed.” Stephen gave him a slow smile. “You needn’t worry about proving your worth, if that’s why you’re working those kind of hours.”
“I like to be thorough,” Russ said.
“Thoroughness is good.”
Was it Russ’s imagination or was there a hint of heat in Stephen’s eyes now and a faint rasp to his voice? “I like to make sure I take my time and fully grasp a topic,” Russ countered. “Get a real grip on it.”
“Traits like that will certainly allow you to get far at whatever you choose to do.”
Including with you? Russ wondered. “I’m trying to get ahead.”
The corner of Stephen’s mouth curved up even further. “That much is clear.”
“Think I’ll succeed?”
“I suppose it depends on what you’re trying to succeed at.”
“You don’t know?”
“I try not to make any assumptions about anything until I’m sure.”
Goddamn it. They were talking in circles and getting nowhere. Maybe Russ needed to try a different approach.
“I appreciate all of your help today,” Russ said. “I seriously can’t thank you enough.”
Stephen looked away from the TV again and shook his head, glancing at Russ with a small smile. “It’s the least I could do. I feel responsible for what happened.”
Russ smiled back, Stephen’s earnestness relaxing him. “Let’s call it even then, I guess. Or we could be up all night with this.”
Stephen quirked an eyebrow up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. Fuck, what a turn on. Why older men were such an attraction for him, Russ would never be sure, but he’d realized it in college. He’d had a brief fling with a professor named Jack Burns after the semester was over. It wasn’t the forbidden aspect of it—they’d both waited until after Russ was no longer his student—but he liked the age difference.
A man with a fit body, handsome face, graying hair, and a killer smile always got Russ going. Hell, his head and ankle ached and he was still thinking about what Stephen would be like in bed. And was he flirting? God, Russ hoped so. “Well, being up all night isn’t always a bad thing.”
Stephen’s lips turned up at the corners in amusement. “You don’t think so?”
Russ shrugged. “It depends on the reason, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Stephen murmured. He shifted to face Russ. “I’m afraid all of the best reasons are off the table at the moment though, aren’t they?”
“Too bad.”
Bully King by Andi Jaxon
“Jonah.” My name is growled.
Roman grabs my shirt when I spin around and pulls me into a classroom with no lights on. Did he not hear the sermon? We can’t be caught together. Expecting to hit the wall, I stumble into the gloomy room with Roman shutting the door behind me.
“What are you doing in here?”
He doesn’t answer me, just grips my shirt again and pushes me against the wall where we won’t be seen by anyone walking past the door and he’s pressed against me. His lips are harsh and demanding against mine. He’s pissed off, but I’m too hurt by my father’s words to be angry yet. It’ll come, but right now, my heart is heavy and broken.
Gripping his face, I kiss him back just as hard, frantic for his touch. My tongue duels with his and my teeth latch onto his lip. He growls, the rumble of it vibrating my chest. He’s pressed against me, mouth to thigh, and hard as steel. Blood pumps through my veins, filling my cock at his closeness.
He reaches for my pants, and I break our kiss.
“Roman,” I pant, my hands reaching for his wrists.
“Why do you come here?”
His question catches me off-guard. He’s still crowding me against the wall, his deep blue eyes searching my face for something, but it’s hard to think with him this close to me.
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m a son of God.”
Confusion leaves me open for his next assault. Roman’s lips crush mine, taking no prisoners. This kiss is hard, demanding, brutal. It’s exactly what I need. The pain, the desperation.
I kiss him back just as hard, biting at his lips, sucking on his tongue, ravaging his mouth. My dick aches in my pants, hard, desperate for attention. Roman’s body moves against me, his dick just as hard behind his zipper.
Reaching down, he grabs my leg and pulls it around his hip to get a better angle. His thick cock sliding against mine has my eyes rolling back into my head and he swallows my moan.
My hands grip his shirt, pushing him away from me, forcing him to let go of my lips. We stand there for a long minute, panting, not saying anything.
“We can’t do this here.” I’m finally able to get the words out.
Roman smirks that damn look that says, “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His hands cup my ass, forcing me to grind against him. My eyes close and a groan rumbles from my throat.
“Stop,” I pant. “We can’t do this here. Not in the House of God. It’s sacrosanct. It’s wrong.”
“Does it feel good, Jonah?” Roman lips brush against my ear. “My dick against yours?”
“Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth, pleasure overriding the common sense part of my brain.
“Does it feel right? Me touching you like this?” His teeth nip at the skin of my neck. “Huh? Does this feel perverted? Does this feel like something you can just stop wanting?”
Roman’s hand moves to the front of my pants once again, his palm pushing and stroking against my dick through my pants. My hips buck against him on instinct, wanting more.
His lips drop to mine again, shutting down all logical thought. My hands move to his hair, pulling on the gold locks he wears so proudly.
Secret Simon by Davidson King
Prologue
My name is Simon, but you can call me Eight—I’ll explain that later—and this is the story of how my hope for a quiet drama-free college life blew up in my face…all because I fell in love.
Yes, I know, cheesy. But here’s the thing—it really is true. It’s more complex than that, and it wouldn’t be much of a story if it was all, “Met a boy, he was cool, we fell in love, the end.”
Truth is, I chose to go to college five hours from Haven Hart, where I grew up, not because I had a bad childhood or hated my family, but because everyone knew who I was there…Hell, everyone knew who I was for miles and miles from there. If you don’t know why, let me fill you in real fast.
I’m the nephew of the most powerful mob boss in Haven Hart, Christopher Manos. He isn’t your typical mobster, though. I’ve seen the documentaries on Al Capone and Joe Bonanno, and yeah, sure, my uncle killed and isn’t clean in a lot of ways. But he’s also the best man I know. My mom died when I was a baby, and he loved me as a son and raised me as far away from his lifestyle as possible…Or at least, he tried to. No matter how hard he tried, though, there was no way to hide that kind of stuff forever.
As a child I saw a lot of things I shouldn’t have, but when I was eight everything changed. There’s that number again. See, I got bored waiting in a car while my pops’s driver—Pops is what I call my uncle—went into the ice cream shop to get me some rocky road. So, I left the car and wandered around. That wasn’t a good idea, and yet it kinda was.
A couple of guys started hassling me. One was named Roy Sokolov, and he tried to kidnap me. But from the depths of a dark, dank alley came my guardian angel. His name is Snow. He saved me that day, and we saved him too. He and my pops fell in love, and that’s how I found the second-best person in my life. Snow, he calls me Eight—the age I was when he saved me—and because when he asked me what to call me, I wouldn’t give him my name and only my age…I think you get the picture.
After that night, I saw so much more. Years later, my pops and I were actually kidnapped. There was no escaping the life he lived and so, when it came time to go to college, I decided it should be far away in the hopes that no one would know who I was.
Snow suggested I use a different last name, and while it hurt my heart to do it, I knew he was right. There were forgeries made, and abracadabra! I became Simon Mancia.
Thankfully, I got through my first year of college easily. No one knew who I was—at least no one said anything. I dated a few people. Penelope for about six months, but we didn’t click the way a boyfriend and girlfriend should…Instead, she became my best friend. Then there was Raul. He was amazing, but he cheated on me after two months, and yeah…that sucked. I hadn’t been with anyone since. That was, until I saw Him. He was singing karaoke on the green at campus when I returned my second year. It was some welcome-back thing, and he was right there and…Wow.
Penelope told me his name was Rush, and that was all she knew. I decided it would be my mission to find out more and hope beyond hope that he’d take me up on an offer for coffee.
Well, there’s something to be said for falling in love with someone; you will risk it all. I did just that and more.
So, sit back and find out how my finally calm life was turned upside down…all because I fell in love.
K.A. Merikan are a team of writers who try not to suck at adulting, with some success. Always eager to explore the murky waters of the weird and wonderful, K.A. Merikan don’t follow fixed formulas and want each of their books to be a surprise for those who choose to hop on for the ride.
K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.
K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.
Barbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, and she hopes they are as much fun to read as they are to write.
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.
From Dyslexic kid with a love of Algebra to a published author, no one is more surprised to find me here, than I am. I love to write about tortured pasts and hot sex, a happily ever after that has to be worked for. My stories tend to be a little dark but with some comic relief, typically in the form of sarcasm.
What to know more about me? Follow me on social media or subscribe to my mailing list to receive the latest information on new releases, sales, and more!
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.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. 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.
KA Merikan
PINTEREST / SMASHWORDS / B&N
EMAIL: kamerikan@gmail.com
Barbara Elsborg
EMAIL: bjelsborg@gmail.com
Brigham Vaughn
SMASHWORDS / PINTEREST / SCRIBd / B&N
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
Andi Jaxon
EMAIL: authorandijaxon@gmail.com
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Jack Addison vs. Do the Right Thing by KA Merikan
The Story of Us by Barbara Elsborg
Off-Balance by Brigham Vaughn
Bully King by Andi Jaxon
Secret Simon by Davidson King
