Sunday, June 4, 2023
May Book of the Month: Dealer of Secrets by Davidson King
The Elite #6
If you have a secret you don’t want anyone to know, Zaire Vicario can find it. And if it’s worth something? Well, that’s currency to him. When things get desperate, the shadiest people call him in, and he makes their troubles go away with all the knowledge he’s acquired. He’s confident, powerful, and ready for anything. At least, he thinks he is. All it takes is one evening at The Anonymous and a man cloaked in lies to change Zaire’s whole world.
Carter Merrill enjoys his life healing people. As a traveling nurse, he brings light to a dark and gritty town. Until one phone call changes all he knows and all he is in the blink of an eye. Carter has never used his hands to harm, but when his twin brother is brutally murdered, he makes the decision to uncover who did it and seek revenge. The only problem is, he has no idea how to do that. When a stunning man approaches and offers to help, Carter has no other option but to walk into the lion’s den.
Deep dark lies, unrelenting lust, and dangerous liaisons thrust Zaire and Carter into treacherous territory and unfamiliar circumstances. They find their lives connecting, as well as their bodies, when one secret reveals layers of atrocities neither of them ever expected. Can they survive the savage storm ahead or are they doomed to the same fate as Carter’s brother?
Dealer of Secrets is a part of the multi-author series The Elite. Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order. What links these books together is The Anonymous, a club beneath the gritty city where only the elite are welcome.
All authors have one genre they excel at, no matter how great their writing is across the board, there is one category that speaks to them on a little higher level. For Davidson King, that genre is mafia-level mayhem. Seriously, she writes danger and mayhem so fluently I can't help but wonder if she isn't living a created life in witness protection due to flipping on her mob boss to keep her family safe. How can one create so consistently without having lived in that world at some point in her past?😉😉
For reals though, time to talk Dealer of Secrets.
I don't want to say too much about the intricacies of the plot, I won't squash any adrenaline that comes with self discovery. If you've read Davidson King before you know she's all about the HEA but the getting there is high octane, dangerous, thrilling, dramatic, mystery and that is where the meat and potatoes of this reading meal fills you up. There isn't a single thing that is simply page filler, every character, every morsel of info plays a part.
As for Carter and Zaire. They definitely fit the opposites attract moniker and yet they mesh instantly, attraction is palpable with potential for so much more. Carter's heartache over his brother's death breaks your heart and the warring within to follow his brother's instructions versus finding the truth made me want to crush him in a huge Mama Bear hug. I wanted to give him a strong whack to the backside when he wanted to find answers because you know he's not capable(I don't like the word "capable" here but a better word isn't coming to me right now) of doing so and yet you also know when he cashes in his brother's invitation to The Anonymous, intending to or not, he will find someone who is in the know and being in his position I'd want answers too so I can't make that backside whack too hard😉.
Zaire. What can I say about Zaire? I know that I picture a collector of intel as someone who hates crowds and loves to hide behind a computer screen, an introvert, but I think at the core he is quite the opposite actually. Don't get me wrong, as a collector of secrets he probably spends plenty of his time being Alice navigating many rabbit holes but he also craves flesh. Okay, that makes him sound like a vampire or cannibal😉, but what I mean is he craves personal connections, face to face interactions. I appear to be making Zaire sound kind of pervy but he's not, he is absolutely the kind of man I would want in my corner if I was Carter, personally and revenge-wise.
Together they work. Coincidence, happenstance, fate, call it what you will but meet they did, perhaps it was a way to give Carter some goodness to come out of the heartache of losing his twin. Not saying Zaire is a consolation prize but sometimes the powers-that-be know exactly what they're doing.
I can't forget about Audrey. Audrey might be where Dealer of Secrets has a bit of a Jetsons' element, is it possible for something like Audrey to exist? Sure. Does something like Audrey exist already? To some degree. She's very much like one of those homes-of-the-future shorts & cartoons Hollywood would show before the movie started back in the 1940s(and no I'm not old enough to recall those shorts actually in theaters but I watch a lot of TCM and they run lots of them to fill in time throughout the day's programming). What I do know is I would very much love to have an Audrey.
I have not read any of the other entries in the multi-author series, The Elite, but I certainly intend to. This is a series of standalones where the only connection is the club The Anonymous so there is no set reading order, the series order is only by release date not any need-to-be-read-by order.
Dealer of Secrets by Davidson King is an amazing piece of storytelling that even though we may not deal with the violence and mayhem, I do think most of us would feel the way Carter does and can understand his need for answers. With Dealer and the characters, especially Carter, King has created a world that is both highly fictional and yet very relatable. A delicious gem not to be missed.
On a personal note I just want to thank Davidson King for doing it again. A couple of years ago she released a book in May that I read right after Star Wars Day which allowed me to live out the Poe/Finn ship that should-have-been-but-never-was as their faces became the characters of that story in my head. With the release of Dealer of Secrets in May and having received an ARC earlier in the month, she allowed me to give life to that ship and though Carter and Zaire don't appear anything like Poe and/or Finn on paper, in my minds' eye they did. So thank you, Davidson King for letting me live out that fantasy once again.
CHAPTER ONE
Zaire
I was good at what I did— some might say the best. My choice of poison wasn’t guns, knives, or drugs; I didn’t threaten an enemy with a Glock, repeat some cheesy one-liner, then shoot them between the eyes. No, that wasn’t my style. I was the Dealer of Secrets. Knowledge was my weapon, and secrets were the bullets.
The man in front of me thought he had the upper hand, but my client had hired me to delve into this guy’s life, grab on to the dirtiest of skeletons, and use it to get what he wanted. The information I obtained in the process was mine and mine alone. I never shared with my clients any tidbits I found, and while that could be seen as dangerous, putting my life on the line, I had a plan ensuring that killing me would be the fastest way to release their secrets out into the world.
“Mr. Tolland, the land you are refusing to sell isn’t truly yours; you and I both know that.”
The large man scoffed, sat back in his chair, and attempted to stare me down. “Is that the best you got? Land’s mine. Tell Grainer to fuck off.”
Smirking, I removed my phone from my pocket. “See, yesterday I paid a visit to a gentleman by the name of Ferdinand Harper.”
Tolland’s eyes widened, and I realized I had him.
“Who?”
“This isn’t kindergarten, Tolland. Let’s not play games. You wanted that land for whatever failed business you’re attempting to conduct. However, you couldn’t pay for it. When you threatened the owner of the land, they laughed at you, and what happened then?” I raised a brow, glaring at the man as sweat began to drip along his temple.
“I’ll tell you. You killed him. You killed Harrold C. Tolland. Funny… isn’t that your name?”
“Fuck you and—”
“Ferdinand was the man you paid for Mr. Holland’s identity.” I tapped the screen of my phone. “And he told me all about it. He also revealed who you really are. Vito Nucci. A known snitch. The Esposito family would pay good money to know your whereabouts.”
Vito narrowed his eyes and his round cheeks trembled with anger, but he was powerless. He knew if he didn’t hand over the deed to the land to me for my client, he was a dead man.
“You’re a piece of shit, Zaire Vicario.”
I smirked again and slipped my phone back into my pocket. “You could have actually earned money off this land, but you went and made it ugly.” I lifted a shoulder before shooting him a grin. “Don’t worry, Vito. Give me that deed, and I promise”— I placed my elbows on the table and stared him right in the eyes—“ your secrets are safe with me.”
An hour later, I was handing my client the deed to the Tolland land and smiling as the large transaction showed up in my account. It was a good day.
That night, dressed in my black Tom Ford cooper hopsack suit with a black turtleneck underneath and my leather oxfords, I made my way to The Menagerie Hotel for an evening at The Anonymous. Since receiving my invite from there a year ago, I’d indulged several times.
The Anonymous was a club for the unsavory.… I supposed that would be the appropriate word. It was secure in that it didn’t allow weapons or violence. To break the rules was to forfeit your life, something I was sure had been carried out at some point.
My Ferrari 296 GTB was my baby. Deep silver with sleek designs, it never failed to turn heads. I loved the wide-eyed smiles valets got as soon as I handed them the keys to park it.
“Take care of her,” I warned the driver as I watched him drive away with her.
Ahh, The Menagerie, the most elegant and glamorous hotel in Old Defiance. Even the air surrounding the establishment was rich.
Built in the 1800s, it was ten floors of pure luxury— twelve, if you counted the two below the lobby that The Anonymous occupied.
The doors were held open for me and I entered the hotel, immediately grinning at the opulent foyer. I’d traveled the world, and no place I’d ever stayed was as stunning as The Menagerie.
I was an educated man, but when it came to architecture and design, I wasn’t fluent in description. My favorite part was the stained-glass windows in the ceiling. They mesmerized me with their subtle colors and grand composition.
“Good evening, sir.”
I snapped my head straight ahead and came face-to-face with the concierge. In the times I’d been here, I’d been greeted by this man twice. He likely knew who I was but wasn’t taking any chances.
“Evening.”
“How may I help you this evening?”
“Code seven-two-two-four.”
With a nod, he led me toward the private elevator which would take me down to the club.
As soon as the doors opened and I stepped out, I felt more relaxed. This place was a godsend.
I wanted a drink, but I was thinking of going to see what live performer there was and imbibe there. As I walked across the floor, I saw Dio Capelli lounging in a booth, his men surrounding him.
I’d never been hired by the man but was very aware of who he was, and judging by his curt nod in my direction, he was familiar with me as well.
The club was busy, but because it was so large and had two floors, it wasn’t obnoxious. I was glad no one stopped to talk to me. It wasn’t that I had no desire to speak to people— I was eager for a drink, a table, and some delicious music.
Upon leaving the bar area, I turned right and headed toward the entertainment room. The space was intimate: a small bar, a crescent-shaped stage, and several tables were scattered around the floor.
The woman on stage had a velvety soft voice and was brilliant as she sang the cover for Etta James’s “I’d Rather Go Blind.”
Once seated, a server came over. “Good evening, sir. Can I get you a drink?”
I smiled at the slight man. He was adorable with a button nose, curly blond hair, and a delectable, lithe frame. Jimmy was his name; I remembered spending a debauched night with him a few weeks ago.
“Peat Monster, please.”
His professionalism was commendable. Aside from the modest blush over his creamy white cheeks, he didn’t leer or flirt. It had been a one-night thing— an amazing night where I’d explored every inch of his skin, loving how his pale flesh had entwined with my russet tone.… Damn. I was getting hard. Maybe a repeat sometime, but long-term wasn’t my way. Relationships weren’t something I could afford in my line of work, so I scratched my itch whenever I could.
The singer took a break after three songs, and I was on my second drink. I enjoyed its smoky flavor and how I was finally feeling the stresses of the day wash away, when someone caught my eye.
They stood off to the side, stiff, eyes darting this way and that. His hands were at his sides, but the pointer on his right hand was tapping against his pants. In everyday life, seeing someone so nervous wouldn’t warrant my attention, but at The Anonymous it made no sense.
This was a place where those who spent a good portion of their lives looking over their shoulder could breathe, be themselves, and decompress. Whoever this was didn’t belong at all. A man with secrets. I smiled at the thought. My specialty.
The Elite is multi-author series.
Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order.
What links these books together is The Anonymous,
a club beneath the gritty city where only the elite are welcome.
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.
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Dealer of Secrets #6
The Elite Series
🌈Sunday's Short Stack🌈: Us Again by Nell iris
When Alex gets a call in the middle of the night telling him his ex-boyfriend is in the hospital, he only hesitates for a second before rushing to Sammy’s side. But the Sammy in the hospital bed is fragile and not the same man who told Alex to leave seven months ago.
Alex wants to help Sammy get better and is desperate to find out what went wrong between them. Maybe he’ll even get a second chance with the man he hasn’t been able to get over.
But will Sammy let Alex back into his life?
Talk about an emotional dramatic yet non-angsty sweet little gem. Those late night phone calls are never good news but maybe this one will lead to something positive for Alex and Sammy. Us Again is beautifully done with interesting characters that tug at your heart instantly. Could it have been even better with more backstory and follow to the future? Sure. Sometimes the pull-on-the-heartstrings isn't about the whole journey, about the getting there, about the where they end up but about the moment that it all comes together. Us Again is one of those stories that watches the characters discover "the moment", the point of no return, the do or die, the give it their all or go home. I know these are all cliches but they are cliches for a reason and Us Again may be the moment Alex and Sammy need to get it right but that doesn't make the story cliche. Oh no, this story will make you smile from ear to ear and entertain with every dimple that smile makes.
RATING:
Author Bio:
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.
RATING:
Except for the dim light of a wall-mounted lamp next to the only occupied bed, the room is dark. Sammy is a shapeless silhouette from here and I take a step closer. Another. And another until I’m right by his side.
My knees buckle when I finally see him. His golden hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks hollow, his full lips dry and cracked. Long lashes fan out over black shadows under the eyes. His hand rests on his pillow and is so thin and bony, tears well up in my eyes.
A steadily beeping monitor surveils his vital signs. An IV bag hangs on a metal pole, and the line snakes its way down into his hand.
My hand flies to my mouth and my shoulders shake. To avoid ending up in a sobbing pile on the floor, I sink down in the chair next to his bed.
Sammy was always slender. Like a willow with long limbs, narrow hips, and a concave stomach. But now ... he looks emaciated. Hardly there. Easily breakable and so fucking small I wouldn’t be surprised if a stiff breeze could snap him in two.
I reach out but hesitate to touch him. Instead, I lay my hand next to his on the pillow. My olive complexion seems dirty next to his pallor.
“Oh, Sammy.” I don’t even try to wipe the moisture from my face; I just let the tears flow. I want to crawl into bed with him, scoop him up in my arms, and use my big body to shield him from the world. But all I do is move my hand closer, until my fingertips ghost against his pinkie. A jolt of electricity races through my body and a sigh slips out.
“Now will you tell me what happened?” I hiss to David who’s sat down on a chair on the other side of Sammy’s bed sometime during the last minute.
“His boss called me this evening. Apparently, he fainted.”
I gasp and can’t keep my hands off him any longer. Carefully, I lay my palm on top of his hand and something snaps into place in my chest when I finally touch him. He’s cold. I’d give him all my warmth if he would just open his eyes and smile at me and call me Care Bear again.
“Doesn’t he fucking eat?” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“He said he does. He said he was fine.”
“Clearly, he lied.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand at the IV pole.
“He was severely dehydrated so they’re giving him fluids.” He rattles on about vital signs and nutrition and how Sammy will need to see a therapist and a dietitian to straighten out his eating and I only listen with one ear. Even though I asked, I can’t absorb all that information.
“Don’t you fucking check on your own brother?” I interrupt. I’ve always had a foul mouth, and frazzled nerves make it worse, but I don’t give a shit if David is offended.
“I should have. I knew he was ... sad. I talked to him on the phone almost every day and he said he was fine.” David’s voice trembles, saturated with guilt and remorse, but it just makes me angrier.
“Are you telling me you haven’t taken the time to visit him for seven fucking months?”
“No! That’s not true!”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Who are you to talk? You left him!”
His words sting. He might as well have thrown acid on my face. I tighten my muscles, so I won’t jerk under his accusations. “He told me to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again. I did not leave willingly.” I shoot him an angry glare but quickly look away. I want to take out my fear and worry on him. Plant my fist in his face and roar out the pain that took up residence in my chest when I laid eyes on Sammy a few minutes ago.
Dear, sweet Sammy.
“I don’t even know what happened. I thought he loved me,” I whisper. My head is heavy, and I let it sink down until it rests on his bed.
My knees buckle when I finally see him. His golden hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks hollow, his full lips dry and cracked. Long lashes fan out over black shadows under the eyes. His hand rests on his pillow and is so thin and bony, tears well up in my eyes.
A steadily beeping monitor surveils his vital signs. An IV bag hangs on a metal pole, and the line snakes its way down into his hand.
My hand flies to my mouth and my shoulders shake. To avoid ending up in a sobbing pile on the floor, I sink down in the chair next to his bed.
Sammy was always slender. Like a willow with long limbs, narrow hips, and a concave stomach. But now ... he looks emaciated. Hardly there. Easily breakable and so fucking small I wouldn’t be surprised if a stiff breeze could snap him in two.
I reach out but hesitate to touch him. Instead, I lay my hand next to his on the pillow. My olive complexion seems dirty next to his pallor.
“Oh, Sammy.” I don’t even try to wipe the moisture from my face; I just let the tears flow. I want to crawl into bed with him, scoop him up in my arms, and use my big body to shield him from the world. But all I do is move my hand closer, until my fingertips ghost against his pinkie. A jolt of electricity races through my body and a sigh slips out.
“Now will you tell me what happened?” I hiss to David who’s sat down on a chair on the other side of Sammy’s bed sometime during the last minute.
“His boss called me this evening. Apparently, he fainted.”
I gasp and can’t keep my hands off him any longer. Carefully, I lay my palm on top of his hand and something snaps into place in my chest when I finally touch him. He’s cold. I’d give him all my warmth if he would just open his eyes and smile at me and call me Care Bear again.
“He said he does. He said he was fine.”
“Clearly, he lied.”
“Clearly.”
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand at the IV pole.
“He was severely dehydrated so they’re giving him fluids.” He rattles on about vital signs and nutrition and how Sammy will need to see a therapist and a dietitian to straighten out his eating and I only listen with one ear. Even though I asked, I can’t absorb all that information.
“Don’t you fucking check on your own brother?” I interrupt. I’ve always had a foul mouth, and frazzled nerves make it worse, but I don’t give a shit if David is offended.
“I should have. I knew he was ... sad. I talked to him on the phone almost every day and he said he was fine.” David’s voice trembles, saturated with guilt and remorse, but it just makes me angrier.
“Are you telling me you haven’t taken the time to visit him for seven fucking months?”
“No! That’s not true!”
“It seems that way to me.”
“Who are you to talk? You left him!”
His words sting. He might as well have thrown acid on my face. I tighten my muscles, so I won’t jerk under his accusations. “He told me to leave. He said he never wanted to see me again. I did not leave willingly.” I shoot him an angry glare but quickly look away. I want to take out my fear and worry on him. Plant my fist in his face and roar out the pain that took up residence in my chest when I laid eyes on Sammy a few minutes ago.
Dear, sweet Sammy.
“I don’t even know what happened. I thought he loved me,” I whisper. My head is heavy, and I let it sink down until it rests on his bed.
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.
FB FRIEND / GOOGLE PLAY / B&N
EMAIL: contact@nelliris.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)