Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Blog Tour: The King's Fear by Isaac Grisham

Title: The King's Fear
Author: Isaac Grisham
Series: The Brass Machine #2
Genre: M/M Romance, Fantasy
Release Date: May 6, 2019
Cover Design: Dissect Designs
Publisher: Cooper Blue Books, LLC

Summary:
Everything will burn

Myobu has waited all his life to find love, and just as he makes a connection, it’s taken from him in an instant. Reeling from the fatal climax of his love story with Prince Kitsune, the magical Yokai must take advantage of his second chance at life, reconciling his past and present while keeping the prince from going down a path of darkness. Together with Kitsune, Myobu is tasked with destroying an evil that threatens the brass machine—and their world.

Meanwhile, Prince Kitsune is lost in the depths of responsibility and the murkiness of grief. His role is at the head of an army, defending against the whims of his deranged father. King Oni’s aggression is mounting, and he will stop at nothing to maintain his power over Kitsunetsuki.

Overcome with the guilt of killing the man he loved, Kitsune finds direction when he discovers the legendary Sword of Inari—but when the voices within the steel speak to him, they lead him deeper down a path of deceit. In a tale of good versus evil, life and death, Kitsune and Myobu must come together alongside their allies to face unspeakable horrors.


It was the perfect morning.

Treating himself to a good long stretch, Myobu worked his way up to sitting. With his back against the wooden headboard, he looked down at the pair with whom he had spent the night. Ryn and Nikki owned one of the oldest taverns in Hawte, having belonged to Ryn’s family for generations. Myobu had met them not long after arriving in the capital nearly three sun cycles ago.

Something else had happened as their friendship grew. Late one night after helping close up the tavern, they had spent a few hours drinking by the hearth. Ryn and Nikki spoke of their first encounter and subsequent marriage, purportedly a scandalous affair.

Having lived over a century without ever engaging in sexual activity, Myobu had drunkenly bombarded them with endless questions on the subject. The pair looked at one another, a glimmer of humor and desire in their eyes, and decided to answer his queries physically rather than verbally. Taking him by the hand, they led him upstairs to bed.

Upon closing the bedroom door, the first thing the couple did was peel off their clothing. Myobu had watched in awe as the differences in their skin were revealed. Ryn was a burly man, and there were few areas on his body not covered in hair. Nikki was dark-skinned and appeared free of any blemishes or extraneous hair.

The two had begun tugging at Myobu’s own clothing, which he sluggishly gave up. He wasn’t timid or particularly self-conscious, though he had wondered if the human form he had taken was correct in the details. He possessed all the parts of a man, but he lacked the massive tufts of hair Ryn displayed. He was almost as smooth as Nikki. Concerned they would figure out he wasn’t actually human, he had contemplated adding hair to his body before his shirt could be removed.

In the end, the two hadn’t given a second thought to his nearly hairless form. They stripped him naked, looked at him appreciatively, and began running their hands over his body. The dual sensations of Ryn’s rougher palms and Nikki’s smoother fingertips elicited a gasp from Myobu. Goosebumps broke out over his flesh. It heightened his tactile awareness, dulled his sense of time, and deeply aroused him. He tentatively put a hand on each of their bodies, awkward at first, but easily got into it once he realized his touch elicited the same types of responses from them.


What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
Beyond a doubt, the single biggest influencer would be my partner, Justin. I don't mean that he continually supports and encourages my writing (which he does), but that events in my life with him have affected and made their way into my work. My first two books, The King's Sun and The King's Fear, represent vastly different stages in our history...all wrapped up in a fantasy setting! Our past aside, Justin introduced me to my first gay romance book, Something Like Summer by Jay Bell. It's a super sweet book that made me go 'Awww' in one chapter and then cry my eyes out in the next! I knew I wanted to have that same impact on others.

When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
Definitely the plotting. I love to experience the story unfolding, regardless of whether an outline exists or not. Watching the little details, the character quirks, and dialogue all fall into place, forming a larger, more comprehensive story is exhilarating. Editing can be like that, too. There's a level of satisfaction with re-crafting a sentence or paragraph into something better. Though about the third or fourth time through, like many authors, I want to pull my hair out!

When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
This was hard to answer, and a review of my Goodreads history did not help illuminate the matter! Over the past few years, I've greatly enjoyed works by Tolkien, Philip Roth, Orwell, Ken Kesey, Joe Hill, Robert Galbraith, and so many more that span a variety of genres! If I were to pick up something on a whim, it would probably be a technothriller (like Michael Crichton or Daniel Suarez) or horror (Stephen King or Joe Hill).

If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
My favorite author is the late Michael Crichton. So many of his stories were simultaneously thrilling and educational. Jurassic Park, in particular, really made me want to tell exciting stories. To work alongside Crichton, to immerse myself into that level of research and storytelling, would have been an incredible and rewarding experience.


Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"? 
Writing is something I have always enjoyed. I was in grade school when I put my first story down on paper. It was about a sick dog that had to go to the vet, and it was fully illustrated in crayon! The school librarian was so cool and encouraging, and she put the story on the shelves so it could be checked out by other students.







Author Bio:
Isaac Grisham currently lives in a blue county of Illinois with his partner and doggos. By day, he works at a local college. The King's Fear is his second completed novel and, by night, he is busy assembling the gears of the third and final piece of The Brass Machine.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
INSTAGRAM  /  KOBO  /  B&N
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS



The King's Fear #2
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR

The King's Sun #1
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR

Brought to you by:

Release Blitz: The Duke & The Dandy Highwayman Trilogy by Zakarrie C

Title: The Duke & The Dandy Highwayman Trilogy
Author: Zakarrie C
Series: Duke & Dandy #1-3
Genre: Historical, M/M Romance, Regency, Humor
Release Date: May 6, 2019

⏳πŸ’Έ⏰FREE 5/6 - 5/10⏰πŸ’Έ⏳

Summary:
‘The Most High, Noble and Potent Prince, His Grace Padraic, Duke of Waterford.’

After enduring the Ducal Grand Entrance, one might be forgiven for thinking that an evening could only improve. One would be wrong. Padraic was then duty bound to find an amiable miss to romance and dance attendance upon. In truth, the Duke was rather more partial to establishments that promised charms he would ne’er find in the arms of a Lady. Such dalliances did add a dash of decadence to his life of ducal drudgery, but time was tick-tocking and a blue-stocking bride must be wooed, and wed…

Raff of the Rookeries. The most afeared rake-hell to have haunted the highways since Darkin denied them the pleasure at the gallows...by stepping off the ladder before they could whip it from under his feet. Raff had fought his way up to rule the roost with instincts as razor-sharp as his dirk. His sword skills, fists, and wily wits had stood him in good stead, but none had proved as invaluable as the weapon he’d ne’er needed to tend. His fury. A rage every bit as lethal as arsenic—deadlier than brawn, brains, or bravado—Raphael had carried it like a toxic plague. Until, he became Raff of the Rookeries. Unleashed upon the underworld, it was the most formidable foe in London. Two men from two different worlds…a mere few miles apart. That is, until the fateful night when The Duke was halted in his tracks by a very Dandy Highwayman…


Mayhaps twenty minutes later, the air turned decidedly rank; a stench that came accompanied by random street sounds and the odd drunken shout. They were, beyond any shadow o’doubt, heading for some godforsaken part of town. A logical assumption, further embellished by the aroma of decaying cabbage and other, far less salubrious odors.

If the Devil himself intended to demoralize the poor, he could not find a means more agreeable to his plans, than the London slums.

“Nearly there, Yer Grace,” The scoundrel called over his shoulder as they slowed to a trot.

“Where is ‘there’?” Padraic dared to wonder.

“My humble abode. It’s where you’ll be staying awhile; leastways until someone coughs up for yer safe return.” The highwayman’s voice sounded harsher, colder while imparting this, as if his words were poisoned by the rancid air as they fell from his lips.

“Whereabouts are we?” Padraic asked, curious as to whether his rogue would answer.

“The Strand.”

It was as he’d expected. They were in the warren of narrow, filthy streets and alleyways in the densely populated slums. Home to one of London’s most notorious Rookeries. An utterly lawless labyrinth of squalid living, gin dens, bawdy houses, and brothels. Popular legend told of a traveller who had entered Portugal Street on his way to The Strand and never emerged. His ghost was, apparently, still searching for a way back to civilization. Padraic would just have to hope to fare rather better than he.

The Duke had e’er been horrified that people were forced to live this way, right under the refined noses of the ton. Poles apart, but virtually overlapping in proximity. Padraic had poured thousands into funding an orphanage and school for foundlings, when he came into his inheritance. He visited them oft, choosing the staff himself to ensure that no child was ill-treated, but there was only so much he could do. With all the will in the world, there wasn’t a great deal to be done, as long as those in power turned a blind eye to the suffering of others.

“Whoa…” When Demon clattered to a halt on the cobblestones, the Duke reluctantly relinquished his grip about his captor’s person. The scoundrel shifted in the saddle and with one sharp tug, the kerchief was gone, alongside a fair few strands of hair that were tangled into its knot. The Duke scarce felt the sting as his hungry gaze guzzled the sight it had been denied for the duration of the ride. ’Twas with a devilish wink that the highwayman threw a leg over the horse’s head, before lightly dismounting.

“Billy, m’lad!” He hailed a youth seated on the front steps of a large dilapidated townhouse, holding a lantern aloft. An endearing grin lit up his grimy face as he sprang to his feet.

“Yer all right, Raff?” he chirped, in very genuine cockney tones.

“Too right I am. We ’ave ourselves a guest m’friend. Yer Grace, this is Billy—he ain’t got another name—so I can’t tell yer that. Billy, this ’ere is His Grace, The Duke of Waterford, so yer better mind your p’s ’n’ q’s, like I taught yer.”

“Hello Billy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Padriac greeted him.

“Lawks! I can’t fink why, Yer…Grace?” Billy glanced at the man he’d called Raff, seeking reassurance for his form of address, and received an approving nod.

“I can’t think why ’twould not be.” Padraic smiled. Billy looked puzzled for a moment—as if trying to make sense of something he’d patently understood—then just beamed instead and reached for Demon’s halter.

“See that he’s rubbed down and well-fed, won’t you, Billy? I need to get our guest settled in.”

“Righto. C’mon Demon, let’s be ’avin yer, there’s oats awaiting and some fresh hay.”

“After you, Yer Grace…” The rascal sketched a bow, waving his hand with a flourish as he bent extravagantly low, before straightening up to push open the front door. It was painted black; blistered, peeling and desperately in need of a fresh coat. A large, dimly lit hallway lay beyond it, with a wide staircase ascending on the left.

“Raff! I’d almost given up ’ope on ya. Thought you’d gone a-whoring,” announced a stocky, bow-legged man, with close-cropped hair and forearms like lamb shanks. His broad grin revealed several missing teeth, the remaining ones having seen better days. Several decades ago.

Despite having tugged his kerchief down when they entered, Padraic was still unable to drink his fill of Raff’s face, for much of it was cast into shadow and the rest, obscured by a tangled fall of hair.

“Not tonight Bluff, I was off procuring us a guest,” he smirked.

“Crikey, you’ve nabbed a right nob. Who the ’ell is he?”

“This ’ere’s The Duke of Waterford.” Raff declared, inclining his head with divine insolence.

“Lawks! A Duke? Couldn’t yer find a Prince ’anging about then?” Bluff gaped.

“’Fraid not, we’ll just ’ave to slum it…” Raff tutted, with a fulsome sigh.

“I hope yer don’t expect me t’curtsy. I ain’t got the legs for it.”

“You ain’t got the legs for owt except sitting on ’orseback,” Raff retorted, about a breath before his tone darkened to a deadly rasp. “Bluff. See to it that no one. But no one. Lays a finger on him.” He added nary a dire threat, nor had he raised his voice. Raff had, in fact, lowered it to a lethal lash of sound that sliced the air like a whip—but it was the glint of green he levelled at Bluff that made the man swallow visibly while nodding several times.

“Will do, Raff. He’ll fetch a pretty price, won’t he?”

“Too bloody right, he will. I’ll have to keep him up top with me—Duke he might be—but he ain’t above being too ripe and ready by ’alf.”

“A dark ’orse is he? I ain’t at all surprised, now you mention it. Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Dukeness. Right, I’ll just wait for Billy an’ lock up then.”

“Thanks, Bluff. ’Night.”

“’Night Raff…’night yer Dukeness.” Bluff doffed an imaginary cap at Padraic, who inclined his head with ducal gravity, so as not to disappoint him. The amiable miscreant was chuckling away to himself as he took his leave of them, before disappearing through a door further down the hallway.

“Right then, Yer Grace, up yer go. Right to the top,” Raff instructed, gesturing towards the staircase with a regal sweep of his hand.

“Are you locking me in the attic?” Padraic asked, as he clasped the bannister.

“I am, indeed. Yer can’t get up to any mischief up there.”

The Duke thought it might be wise to hold his tongue and make his way upstairs, afore the scoundrel decided to shove him in the coal cellar instead. Padraic’s brain was abuzz with demon steeds, daft monikers, and bandy-legged blackguards. A boy with only one name and a heart of gold.


Author Bio:
After moving to London at eighteen and flitting about for far too long, Zakarrie settled, as blissy as can be, by the sea. ’Twas here that her castaway dreams resurfaced and she began to write; stories that are, in truth, better at being her than she's ever been. Her one hope now is that someone, somewhere, will enjoy the misadventures of her miscreants as much as she loves writing them.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
MLR BOOKS  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 



Trilogy
⏳πŸ’Έ⏰FREE 5/6 - 5/10⏰πŸ’Έ⏳
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  GOODREADS TBR

Series #1-3





Brought to you by:

Monday, May 6, 2019

Monday's Memorial Moment: After the Storm by Summer Devon


Summary:
Heartbroken after the death of his eccentric lover, Jenks is left to care for Mutt’s beloved pets on a lovely but isolated estate. With only the animals for company and rejected years earlier by his family when he left school to be with his lover, Jenks worries he’s fading from the world—until one misty morning when he discovers a half-drowned man on the bank of the river. And not just any man, but one who may have been the victim of an attempted murder.

James Griffin is respectable and married…and has buried his true passion his entire life. Jenks’s gentle manner and keen mind stir in him the sort of longing he wishes he had for his wife. The same frustrated wife he now wonders may have plotted his demise. His memories clouded, Griffin knows he must discover his attacker’s identity, resolve matters in his unhappy marriage…and confront the desire he feels for the shy but tenacious Jenks.

Together, they return to London to learn the truth of Griffin’s near murder. The police believe the incident nothing more than an accident, leaving Griffin and Jenks to find their way through a tangle of conflicting desires and ambitions to hunt the truth on their own.


Once again Summer Devon has showed that historicals can make for great reading.  Historicals are not for everyone and I get that but when they are written as well as After the Storm is, I highly recommend "going outside your box" to read this one.  When an author can show their obvious respect for the days gone by with the little details of the era and yet not making it come across as a school lesson then you know you found one to keep on your authors-to-watch list.

Jenks has lost his lover, friend, and companion when Mutt died but he remains on the property to care for Mutt's pets per the man's will even though the brother carries obvious disdain for Jenks.  Is it out of devotion to Mutt's wishes or is Jenks afraid to move on?  Either answer is heartbreaking and you just want to wrap him in a giant bear hug to show him its going to be okay.  Then he stumbles upon a body in the river on the grounds.  James finds himself in a stranger's home miles from his own unsure of how he got there or why he was unconscious in the river.  Yet he feels safe in the presence of this stranger.  Once again you just want to wrap James up and keep him protected when it quickly becomes obvious that he didn't just fall in and float away.

After the Storm has mystery, romance, friendship, companionship, and plenty of heart.  I won't say anymore about the plot other than I was completely unsure until about a page or two before the reveal.  This doesn't happen too often for me, not that I'm bragging on my sharp instinct of discovery but because I've been reading & watching mysteries since I was about 10 so I've pretty much seen just about every scenario put into play.  BUT, every now and then an author will give me that complete and total "huh, never saw that coming" feel and I love it!

So as I started out with, whether you are a historical lover or not, I highly recommend reading After the Storm because it is a well written romantic mystery that showcases the friendships almost more than the romance, that every generation had its battles to overcome.  For those who stay away from tales of the past because it reminds you too much of old school history classes, don't worry because Summer Devon has written an amazing story and though she has stayed true to the time period she has not written a lesson, you will be entertained from beginning to end.

RATING:

Author Bio:
Summer Devon is the pen name writer Kate Rothwell often uses. Whether the characters are male or female, human or dragon, her books are always romance.

You can visit her facebook page, where there's a sign up form for a newsletter (she'll only send out newsletters when there's a new Summer Devon or Kate Rothwell release and she will never ever sell your name to anyone).


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  FB FRIEND
WEBSITE  /  BLOG  /  GOOGLE PLAY
SMASHWORDS  /  KOBO  /  PINTEREST
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAILS: summerdevon@comcast.net
katerothwell@gmail.com 



B&N  /  KOBO  /  GOOGLE PLAY

🎧Audiobook Tour🎧: Witchbane by Morgan Brice

Title: Witchbane
Author: Morgan Brice
Series: Witchbane #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy
Narrator: Kale Williams
Audiobook Release Date: March 29, 2019
ebook Release Date: February 19, 2018
Publisher: Darkwind Press

Summary:
He’s used to risking his neck. He never intended to risk his heart.

Seth Tanner and his brother Jesse's fun evening debunking local urban legends ends with Jesse's gruesome murder. Seth vows revenge on Jesse's killer - too bad the murderer has been dead for a hundred years. Seth uncovers a cycle of ritual killings that feed the power of a dark warlock's immortal witch-disciples, and he's hell bent on stopping Jackson Malone from becoming the next victim. He's used to risking his neck. He never intended to risk his heart.





Author Bio:
Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

On the rare occasions Morgan isn’t writing, she’s either reading, cooking, or spoiling two very pampered dogs.

Other books include Witchbane, Burn, Dark Rivers, and Badlands. Watch for more in these series, plus new series coming soon!


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
iTUNES  /  AUDIBLE  /  PINTEREST  /  KOBO
BOOKBUB  /  B&N  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS 



Witchbane #1
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR

Burn #1.5
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR

Dark Rivers #2
🎧Audiobook Coming May 7, 2019🎧
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOODREADS TBR

Brought to you by:

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Week at a Glance: 4/29/19 - 5/5/19


























Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Match Grade by GB Gordon

Title: Match Grade
Author: GB Gordon
Series: Criminal Delights: Assassins
Genre: M/M Romance, Thriller, Dark
Release Date: May 3, 2019
Cover Design: Natasha Snow

Summary:
SOME MATCHES SPARK AN INFERNO

Eirik Haldurson is a hitman. Kidnapped at age five and cruelly trained by his captor, he is today one of the most sought-after contract killers alive. Emotional distance from his targets, brutally beaten into him until it became second nature, is now the only way he can function. Lately though, that distance has started to elude him.

And when a Colombian drug cartel contracts Eirik to take out ex-soldier-turned-vigilante, Matt Moreno, distance is suddenly as close as heat to fire. And all hell breaks loose.

*****

This book is part of CRIMINAL DELIGHTS. Each novel can be read as a standalone and contains a dark M/M romance.

Warning: These books are for adult readers who enjoy stories where lines between right and wrong get blurry. High heat, twisted and tantalizing, these are not for the fainthearted.


Match Grade -- high precision firearms, ammunition, or other devices suitable for a competitive match

CHAPTER ONE

If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. -Sun Tzu

Eirik had been ready to close the contract yesterday, but no one should have to die in the rain. Today the sky was a bright blue, so the last thing the target would feel would be the sun on her face. Irrelevant.

He quickly checked his wardrobe in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place. He'd picked the navy blue suit and coat. They were perfect to blend in with the hundreds of business people attending the conference. Or the thousands milling about on the plaza of the office building across the road. Ants. Point was, he would be neither well-dressed, nor shabby enough to be remembered by any one of them. Not to be remembered was the goal.

He pulled his shirt cuffs out below the hem of his jacket sleeves, then slipped his coat on and pocketed the micro syringe he'd filled earlier. The target would be walking across the plaza at 12:15. She was always on time. He liked that about her. There wasn't much else he'd learned to like in the week he'd been studying her movements. She was pissy with baristas and servers, and never had the time of day for the porter in her building.

Focus. This wasn't about likes; it was a contract, nothing personal.

Not liking her made it easier, though. Don't think about targets as people. Gunnar's cardinal rule. How was his brain always forgetting that?

He went over the plan in the elevator. Not because it was complicated or involved in any way, but simply because that was what he did. Good planning made for a smooth contract solution, and he liked smooth. Smooth kept him alive and out of prison.

As the doors opened, he assumed the slightly hunched posture that made his height less conspicuous, then melted into the crowd.

The lobby was packed with a busload of tourists hovering on small islands of luggage he maneuvered around, giving everyone as wide a berth as possible.

"Mr. Kennedy! Good morning! Mr. Kennedy?"

He was almost at the door before a tiny alarm went off in his brain and he remembered that he was Paul Kennedy this weekend, a trader from Butt-fuck, Indiana. Get with the program already, brain.
He turned back toward the reception desk with an apologetic smile and a tap against his temple. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."

"No worries." The receptionist handed him a note. "Your office called, Sir. They're asking for a call back."

"Thank you." The office meant the client. And the client was not supposed to call the hotel unless it was an emergency. Eirik crumpled up the note and dropped it in his pocket as he got his phone out. There was a corner behind a planter, away from the tourists, that promised a little more quiet, and he made his way over as he dialled the number he'd memorized.

"Where the fuck are you?" the voice with the heavy Spanish accent said without greeting. "Is it done? What's keeping you?"

"Having to call you back is keeping me," he said quietly. "What's the emergency?"

"Mierda. Call me immediately when you're done." The line went dead.

He inhaled a long breath, counted to ten, then slowly let it out. People who couldn't stick to the plan were top of his shit-list. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. Don't get riled up. You have a job to do.

He checked his watch. 12:07. Eight minutes to rendezvous. He needed to get a move on. He wanted to be in place and have ample time to identify the target. There was a sweet spot just to the left of the plaza's center where the stream of people was thickest between the planted area on the edge and the fountain in the middle. That was where he needed to be.

# # # # #

The sunshine was a welcome change from the raw, grey week that had led into October. And for once the Windy City was pleasantly calm. It meant he could choose his position without having to stay out of water spray. People would notice a man oblivious of getting soaked by a fountain. To be noticed meant to be remembered. You're walking too tall, boy. An assassin has to be like a ghost--unseen and unheard.

Well, Gunnar was a ghost now. Eirik just wished his voice had died with the man. But it was always there, still as commanding now as it had been in life. Eirik was used to it reminding him of the technicalities of his job: trajectories, method, weather... Though lately it was displaying a disturbing fixation with Eirik's frame of mind.

He kept his eyes on the entrance of the building over the rim of his phone. Standing with nothing to do would attract attention.

12:14--if she didn't show today, he would try again tomorrow. Nope, there she was, hurrying across the plaza to the little cafe where she ate her lunch. Eirik kept the phone up and started walking.

Gunnar clutching at his throat with both hands as the blood spurted through his fingers.

The memory shockingly unexpected, and vivid enough to blind him. He shook his head like a man emerging from water to get rid of it.

Five steps to target. His free hand dove into his pocket and closed around the syringe, thumb on the shortened plunger. The micro needle barely registered with most people. She wouldn't know anything was wrong until she was already sitting at her table, eating her lunch. And then it would be too late.

He walked straight into her. "Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry." Both arms out to catch her, needle into the meaty part of the arm.

The boy losing his grip on the grocery bag when the shot rang out, oranges rolling everywhere. The father dropping to his knees, a red mark like a third eye between his brows, the back of the head disintegrating in a spray of debris.

"...you're going, you dumb ox!" Her shrill insult brought him back. Shit, he couldn't deal with memory flashes now. He needed his eyes and ears in the present, not the past.

"Sorry again. That was entirely my fault."

You have to pay more attention, Rikki. Don't read and walk at the same time.

Eirik barely stopped himself from clapping his hands over his ears to keep his mother's voice out. More ghosts. But this one was more recent. And much more distracting. He didn't have to fake his confusion, or how shaken he was.

"You're darn right it was." She shrugged his hands off and took a step away. "One of these days those stupid phones are going to kill someone."

One of these days? He didn't say that, though. Stood there, contrite without commenting. Without looking back at her. Trying to will his brain into compliance.

Finally she turned away. She would remember him, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't be around to answer questions.

He watched her enter the cafe, then pocketed his phone and the tiny syringe that was perfectly invisible in his palm.

His hand was shaking.

Why the fuck was his hand shaking?

With a glance around he assured himself that no one else was watching, then strode to the other end of the plaza. And further. He couldn't remember where he'd planned to go after. All he could do was walk, walk away from the ghosts of the past, the shaking hands. Like a wounded animal, he was looking for a cave to hide out in until he was better. Because he would get better. Right?

Author Bio:
G.B.Gordon worked as a packer, landscaper, waiter, and coach before going back to school to major in linguistics and, at 35, switch to less backbreaking monetary pursuits like translating, editing, and writing.

Having lived in various parts of the world, Gordon is now happily ensconced in suburban Ontario with the best of all husbands.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS



Match Grade

Criminal Delights Series
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK
WEBSITE  /  GOODREADS TBR





Brought to you by: