Release Day Review! Darkest Before Dawn, KGI #10 by Maya Banks

THE ALL-NEW KGI NOVEL from the “incredibly awesome" (Jaci Burton) #1 New York Times bestselling author of When Day Breaks.

The Kelly Group International (KGI): A super-elite, top secret, family-run business.

Qualifications: High intelligence, rock-hard body, military background.

Mission: Hostage/kidnap victim recovery. Intelligence gathering. Handling jobs the U.S. government can’t...

The enigmatic Hancock has been both opponent and ally to the KGI teams for as long as they've known him. Always working a deep game, Hancock's true allegiance has never been apparent, but one thing is for certain—he never lets anything get in the way of duty.

But now, his absolute belief in the primacy of his ultimate goal is challenged by a captive he's been ordered to guard, no matter how much she suffers in her prison. She's the only woman who's ever managed to penetrate the rigid walls surrounding his icy heart, but will he allow his perplexing feelings for the beautiful victim to destroy a mission he's spent years working to complete or will he be forced to sacrifice her for “the greater good.”

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Another captivating story delivered by the very talented Maya Banks.

If you’re read the previous KGI books then you’re probably familiar with Hancock’s story and his determination to find his foster mother’s murderer.

Now, he might have found the perfect way to lure him in, in the person of a young woman he’s been hired to guard.

Honor has survived the bombing of her clinic and found herself bound to a man who exudes danger from every pore. 

But there’s so much more to him than that hard exterior he always displays and they’ll have to learn to trust each other in order to survive the dangers and obstacles they face at every turn.

It was interesting to see how Hancock changes and opens his heart to the woman who he might have to sacrifice in the end so he can finally get the revenge he’s been after for so long.

Just when I thought this series couldn’t get any better, Maya managed to come up with a new book full of suspense, mystery, intrigue and just the right amount of romance to keep me glued to my chair from beginning to end.

The KGI series has been my favorite among Maya’s books and I highly recommend it. There’s a little bit of everything to make it enjoyable to everyone.

Looking forward to read the next novel.

Happy Reading!!

Maya Banks is the #1 New York Times, #1 USA Today and international bestselling author of over 50 novels. A wife and mother of three, she lives in Texas.

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In The Spotlight! The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller by J.C. Gatlin

A good vacation delivers you home alive. 

This is not a good vacation. 

When Rayanne commandeers her husband’s weekend fishing trip, she knows it’ll take work to adjust Owen’s attitude. She has no choice. Since the tragedy, they lost so much. They need to reconnect. 

Without her knowledge, Owen texts his best buddy, Daryl, to join the getaway. The three of them aren’t alone in the backwoods of Georgia, though. 

Owen took something that didn’t belong to him. Something that changed their lives. And now the owner wants it back. By any means -- including a posse led by a killer dog. 

At first, Rayanne is clueless about the item and its value. One thing becomes crystal clear: If it’s not returned, they might not make it home alive.

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Rayanne heard the kids’ voices, and she looked again at the old cars in the bottom of the ditch. The first thing that came to mind was rattlesnakes. But she knew she couldn’t think of that right now.

She got up and headed for the rusted jeep. The hood was gone and it looked like a corpse left to rot in the sun. She glanced at the other cars. There was a hatchback with no doors. A pickup was off to one side, on blocks. The wheels had been removed and the driver’s side door thrown open and left to hang. There was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle half buried in the dirt.

Brown and yellow weeds sprouted up between the wrecks, but the ground was hard and Rayanne knew she had no choice. She raced past the rusting jeep, watching where she stepped.

She moved to the shell of a Volkswagen Beetle. It had two doors. She forced the passenger side open and looked into the dank interior. The overhead lining draped down like a misty shroud. Weeds had grown through the undercarriage and overtaken the floorboards. But two front seats and a long backseat remained. It could be a hiding place, she thought, and squeezed herself into the backseat. She cowered as low as she could.

She held her breath and prayed there was nothing living inside.

She shut her eyes and listened. The teens’ voices grew louder. They sounded like they were coming down into the hollow and she could hear Scut—or was it Roddy—say something about the cars. He sounded excited.

Dru was farther away. Rayanne could hear her calling the dog. Perhaps she didn’t want to walk down into the dump. It didn’t matter. Rayanne knew Scut and Roddy already had.

Their voices echoed, slipping between the cars. One of them said something about the pile of tires and the other laughed. She could hear them moving about, throwing rocks on metal remains, until they stopped right in front of the Volkswagen.

Rayanne stopped breathing.

“She’s hide’n here somewhere,” Scut was saying. He threw another rock and it hit the bumper. The sound reverberated through the Volkswagen, and Rayanne shivered.

“Naaaah,” Roddy said. It sounded like he was walking away. “I don’t think so. She’s a woman. She ain’t gonna come down here.”

“We’re not leav’n till we search every car.” Scut sounded like he was stepping away too. She could hear him throwing rocks at other cars now.

Rude Roddy was saying something when one of them screamed. For a second Rayanne thought Dru had made her way down into the dump. She was surprised to learn it was Scut.

“There’s a rattler! There’s a rattler!” Scut’s high-pitched wail echoed through the hollow, and she heard what sounded like some kind of skirmish. Perhaps an avalanche of gravel rolled down the slopes of the hollow, like marbles beneath their feet.

“I hate snakes! I hate ’em!” Scut’s voice rapidly moved away, and it sounded as far as Dru’s now. The girl asked them what was wrong.

They had to have climbed out of the hollow, Rayanne thought. She opened her eyes. She wanted to poke her head up, but didn’t dare.

Coming from a large family with five brothers, JC Gatlin grew up in Grapevine, Texas, a small town outside of Dallas. In 1999 he moved to Tampa, Florida, where he now resides. JC’s fishing trips help him breathe authenticity into his stories, which feature the rich landscapes of Texas and Florida as backdrops.

He has written a monthly column in New Tampa Style magazine and penned several mystery-suspense stories. His first, The Designated Survivor, was published in 2013. JC invites you to visit his mystery writing blog at jcgatlin.com.

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Review & Author Interview: Cronin's Key III by N.R. Walker

History isn’t always what it seems… 

Twelve months after his change, Alec MacAidan is still getting used to his many vampire talents. While most vampires would give anything to have more than one supernatural power, Alec craves nothing more than peace and time alone with Cronin. But when Alec meets entities from outside this realm, he’s left powerless in their presence. 

Zoan are half-lycan, half-dragon creatures that have slipped through time and reality, seemingly undetected by man and vampire. Or have they? They bear an uncanny resemblance to gargoyles, leaving Alec’s view on all things weird to get a whole lot weirder. 

This new quest leads Alec, Cronin, and their band of friends to Paris, Rome, and Moscow, where they learn that gargoyles aren’t simply statues on walls. In the underground pits beneath churches all over the world, Alec discovers the Key’s true destiny. Facing the Zoan might take every talent he has. And he may need help from the dead to get them all out alive. 

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As soon as Alec’s feet hit the soft earth, he took a deep breath of fresh air and reveled in the silence. 

His life hadn’t exactly been quiet in the last twelve months. 

He felt the warmth of Cronin’s hand in his, smelled the sweet aromas of heath and moss from both the vampire beside him and the cool air of the long-abandoned battlefield, and Alec exhaled loudly. 

Cronin had somehow learned to quiet his mind a little and it gave Alec the silence he so desperately needed. In the last twelve months, Cronin had taken Alec on more time-outs than he could count. Knowing when he’d had enough and was reaching breaking point, Cronin would simply remove Alec from the situation, leaping him somewhere quiet where his mind could have some much needed solitude. But with a gentle squeeze of his hand, Cronin reassured him he was there. 

“I’m sorry,” Alec said. 

“Don’t apologize,” Cronin said adamantly. “I can’t begin to imagine your frustrations.” 

“Jodis is only trying to help. I behaved badly.” He could very well speak words directly into Jodis’ mind and tell her privately that he was sorry. But he’d prefer not invade the thoughts of others, preferring to apologize in person. 

“She understands,” Cronin said, trying to pacify him. 

Alec sighed loudly and allowed the quiet to envelope him. “I love it here,” he said eventually. 

The field at Dunadd, Scotland, had become a sanctuary for Alec. No voices in his head, no city of millions with flurrying thoughts unbidden through his mind, no politics of vampire councils, no meetings, no one hovering. 

Just Cronin. 

“It affords you a great privacy,” Cronin said. His Scottish accent and formal tone still made Alec smile. “Your talents as a vampire are a burdensome gift.” 

Alec had learned very early on to block out the voices and thoughts of those around him, but living in a city of millions made it a constant effort, and his display of anger at Jodis just minutes ago bothered him. “These talents are a pain in my ass.” 

Cronin laughed quietly. “Your control over them still astounds us all.” 

“The control you keep talking about is a talent in itself. It’s like casting a net over a thousand different fish.” Alec sighed loudly. “I’ve told you that before.” 

“I know. Though it amazes me still.” Cronin squeezed Alec’s hand again and looked out across the field of long grass to the line of trees that fronted the river. “Lie down with me.” 

Cronin simply lay flat on his back in the middle of the field and when Alec lay down next to him, Cronin snatched up Alec’s hand again. And together in the mind-clearing silence, they watched the blanket of stars glide across the sky. 

It was a clear autumn night in Scotland, cold and dark. Neither of those things impeded a vampire of course, and Alec would never tire of the simple changes he’d gone through when he became a vampire. It was the complex changes he was beginning to struggle with. The talents he’d been given made him unique: the only vampire ever to have all vampire talents, some he was still discovering a year after his change. It was these talents that made his life hectic, his obligations as the key to the vampire world that gave him a great responsibility, and as Cronin had said, it was becoming a great burden. 

Alec loved that Cronin would leap them to the very field where his human life had ended. The old battlefield in Scotland was also where they’d first made love, where they came to talk, to be by themselves. Like now. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Alec whispered, his anger and frustration from before almost gone. “I feel like I can breathe here.” 

“Is that not what husbands do?” Cronin asked with a smile. “Save the other from the myriad of madness?” 

“Husbands,” Alec said, bringing Cronin’s knuckles up to his lips and kissing them softly. “Now that is something I’ll never tire of.”

The amount of research this Lady does for her books is incredible. There’s no mystery that I’m a big N.R. Walker fan and she’s still able to surprise me. 

I fell in love with Alec and Cronin from day one and I’m a little bit sad to bid them Adieu. 

And, what better way for them to go than with another epic adventure? 

In book one, Cronin and Alec took us on a trip to Egypt, then, China followed in book two. We’ve met ancient pharaohs and the legendary clay soldiers. 

Now, they embark on a journey to Europe. London, Rome and, finally, Paris. 

And what mythical creatures can be found all over Paris? If you don’t know you’re in for one big surprise. 

I’ll tell you one thing, my life in Paris has become a lot more interesting all of a sudden. I’ll never look at Musée D’Orsay or Notre Dame the same way again. 

I’ll be too busy looking for hidden clues of ancient stories at every corner. 

Thank you for that, Mrs. Walker. 

But, let’s get back to the story. 

Alec might be a vampire now but he’s still the Key and he has one last mission to accomplish before he can settle down and enjoy eternity with his beloved husband. 

His struggle to understand and control the huge amount of power he’s been given it’s taking its toll. 

The fact that an ancient enemy has risen again doesn’t help make things easier and, this enemy, seems to have no kind of vulnerabilities. 

As the story unfolds, more and more secrets are revealed, new alliances are forged, lives are lost and destinies entwine. 

You’ll laugh, and cry, and love every minute of this wild ride. 

As usual, this novel, too was exceptionally well written, fast paced, intense and very emotional. 

When I say emotional I’m not talking about only Alec and Cronin. There’s so much going on in Cronin’s Key III. Everyone gets a moment in the spotlight for one reason or another and not all those moments are happy ones. And that’s all I’m going to say. 

Thank you, N.R. Walker for another wonderful series. I’m sure I’ll go back and re-read it many, many times just like all the other ones you’ve written so far. 

Looking forward to read you next novel. 

Our guest today is N.R. Walker, author of Cronin’s Key trilogy. Welcome on Mikky’s World Of Books and thank you for agreeing to this interview.

Thanks for having me!!

Tell us a little bit about yourself. Something that is not in the official biography.

I have red hair and am ambidextrous. J

This was your first fantasy series. How did you come up with the idea for CK? And, is their journey over or we can expect a volume 4 sometime in the future?

Well, I didn’t actually set out to do the history aspect interweaved throughout the plot, that took me by surprise too. The characters that started talking to me were vampires, and I thought “oh boy, here we go”. LOL

I don’t envisage a fourth book. There might be some outtakes—I’m sure Alec still needs to teach Eiji to drive JBut I’ll just post them as freebies on my blog when I get them written.

I’ve had quite a few people ask for Kennard and Stas’ story, but I’m not the kind of author who can write-to-order. The characters need to talk to me. I can’t force stories unfortunately. If there’s a small outtake for those two will solely depend on Kennard and Stas. But I believe they’re pretty busy right now in some Lithuanian forest… lol

Looking back at all your novels, which was the hardest & easiest to write and which character gave you most trouble?

The easiest was Red Dirt Heart Series. Hands down. I think its ease was because I grew up in the countryside of regional Australia. Those characters are all snippets of people I know and have known—down to nicknames, descriptions and the way they talked.

The hardest would probably have been Starting Point, the third book in The Turning Point series. I almost didn’t finish it. I don’t know why. Self-doubt, probably. Most writers suffer terrible and crippling insecurities in their writing and I am no different. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to do those boys justice. But I pushed through it and in the end they got the story they deserved J

Could you tell us a little bit about your current project?

I have put my current series WIP (titled the Spencer Cohen Series) on hold to finish a novella called Exchange of Hearts. I actually found 20,000 words of a story I wrote years ago. It was pretty bad LOL. I had entered it into a contest and didn’t get anywhere (for obv reasons lol) but it’s at 35,000 words now and has been tidied up. I have two more scenes to write, some more fixing, and I’ll be sending it off to my pre-readers. I’m hoping for a release date in early November. 

It’s the story of an Australian guy who is eighteen and completing his HSC in a prestigious school in Sydney. Along comes an English exchange student, and Voila! Love and music ensues.

What advice would you give to all the aspiring authors? Especially those who want to write M/M fiction?

I get asked this quite often and my answer is always the same. Just keep writing. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do it. If one publisher says no, find another one, but remember contracts should be mutually agreed to—which means it needs to suit the author as well, not just the publisher. Yes, it’s exciting to get a contract, but don’t sign it without seeking legal advice first. Seriously.

And just keep writing. Write the story that speaks to you, not what you think people want to read.

Great advice! Thank you so much for taking the time to answer our questions. 

Thanks for having me!! 

N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.

She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.

She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don't let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words. 

She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. 

She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal. 

She's been writing ever since... 

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Stalked, The Slayers #2 by H.C. Brown

Who's more dangerous – a stripper, an assassin, or a serial killer?

The Stripper Ripper is stalking the streets of New York City, preying on male strippers, and the press is making mincemeat of a helpless police force.

In desperation, the police refer the serial killer's case to the Slayers, a team of enhanced, undercover super soldiers. The commander of the Slayers puts his team on the streets to watch over the Ripper's favorite targets.

One of these targets is Micah, a twink stripper and a desirable sub. Micah's baby sitter is one of the newest members of the Slayers, Sorren, as cold-blooded an assassin as they come, and the last person you'd expect to harbor feelings for his charge.

True to form, Sorren is as surprised as anyone at his new infatuation, but Micah is hiding something. Will Micah learn to trust his protector, or is he destined to be the next victim on the Stripper Ripper's list?

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Chapter 1

Club Surrender, New York

As the commander of the Slayers, Delano Briggs had his hands full controlling a unit of nano-enhanced super soldiers in a constant state of pissed. He leaned back in his office chair, glaring at the brooding form of Sorren, and cleared his throat. The six-seven hunk of muscle-bound “don’t fuck with me nasty” stared right back, unblinking.

Although Sorren had accepted his new duties without question and his professionalism was faultless, he couldn’t put a finger on the underlying uneasiness he had for him. The stripper named Snake from the leather club, Pinkies, had been under Sorren’s surveillance for ten days and nothing had occurred. The man standing before him folded thick arms across his broad chest and glared at him with intimidating menace. He would have to come down heavy to keep this alpha with cybernetic enhancements in line. “Report.”

Sorren placed both large hands on the table and pushed a long straight nose one inch from Delano’s face.

“How long do you expect me to remain sane on butterfly duty?”

“I said report, soldier.” Delano pushed to his feet then noticed Rhys, his second in command, move into the room and take a defensive stance.

Sure, Sorren was a loose cannon, but then nobody walked away from capture by Middle Eastern extremists without repercussions. His captors had not been able to brainwash him or retrieve any information by torture. His nanos had kept his secrets safe and his body in peak condition, but Sorren was suffering from three years of pent-up crazy. The nano enhancements did that to a man left alone with only his palm for company. Delano lifted his chin and repeated the order. To his relief, Sorren straightened and narrowed his unusual blue gaze.

“Nothing to report. The butterfly does his act then goes home. Guys hang around him looking for a little action but as far as I can tell, he isn’t interested. Although, he is a nervous little shit. On stage, the club bills him as Snake but his friends call him Micah, which fits him but it’s not the name you gave me. I think he is hiding his past.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder toward Rhys. “Tell your boy to stand down unless he wants me to drag his ass downstairs to my dungeon.” He smirked. “I need a heavy scene, sending me to watch strippers every night makes me overheat – ah, sir.”

“I don’t do switch play and if I did you’re certainly not my type.” Rhys grabbed Sorren’s arm and spun him around to face him. “Why don’t you go and fuck your butterfly, then you won’t be loitering outside his apartment with a hard-on all night.”

Sorren’s wide mouth twitched at one corner then curled into a sadistic smile.

“Have you seen my five-feet-two eyes of blue?” He grasped his package. “I’d break him in half. Nah, you’ll do just fine, but just so you don’t get your panties in a twist later, you should know, I don’t do cool-down cuddles.”

“I’m bonded to Dylan and you fucking know it, but if you wanna fight, I’d be happy to grind your face into the floor anytime. Here we fight by Slayer rules, which, as you are the new kid in town, means no rules, asshole.”

Before Delano blinked, Sorren had locked one hand around Rhys’s throat.

“I like no rules just fine. Do I get to fuck you when I win?”

In a flash, Rhys cupped Sorren’s balls in his bionic hand and the color drained from the new recruit’s face.

“Wanna play?” Rhys grinned in a flash of perfect white teeth.

Delano rounded the table. Both these men could take him apart before taking their next breath and Rhys could crush an Mk.16 in one hand without taking a breath. “Stand down.” He moved closer and, standing shoulders braced and feet apart, dropped his voice to a menacing whisper, a method he employed to get his men’s full attention. “Rhys have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Nah, just teaching pretty boy here how we play in my yard.” Rhys dropped his hand and wiped it on his jeans in a repulsed gesture. “I can’t believe you trust him to guard the strippers, he’s not safe on the outside without a leash.”

“Sit down, both of you.” Delano leaned one hip on his desk and glared at them. “We run a club and the strippers who work here are good for business. These murders are bringing all strip joints under scrutiny and I’m sure you both understand why we don’t want eyes on Club Surrender. It would put the entire unit in danger. The cops have zip on the Stripper Ripper, no DNA, no witnesses, so we’ll have to find him and deal out justice, Slayer style.” He glared at Sorren. “This means surveillance and I’ve assigned a man to every local stripper that fits the victims’ profile.” He glanced at Rhys. “Small, young looking, with dark hair. From the images we were able to intercept from the local PD database it would seem the Stripper Ripper has a taste for twinks.”

Rhys grimaced. “Fuck, that covers fifty percent of the guys who work here and Jay but somehow I don’t think the fucking Stripper Ripper will be a problem for him.” He chuckled. “I guess we could throw him out as bait?”

Delano shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. Jay might be sixty percent cyborg but I’m not risking anyone until I know who we’re dealing with.” He jerked his chin toward Sorren. “The murderer is smart, very smart. It’s possible he could be a kinetic Black Ops rogue, one of Sorren’s old unit or similar. We don’t have numbers on the soldiers the government nano enhanced but we are aware of at least twenty enhanced Marines on the government’s ‘kill on sight’ hit list.”

“If they are from my unit then they’re some nasty SOBs. I can’t imagine anyone capable of catching them. I just hope they linked up and are doing much the same as you are here.” Sorren grinned. “My men are very different from your guys, although Rhys here comes close. Taking into account your unit’s compassion and adherence to the Special Ops code even though they screwed you makes me believe they added something special in the way of crazy to the nanos they shot into my guys.”

“Maybe, your blood work came back pretty fucked up. Kurt is still running tests. We all have anger management and sex-drive problems but they enhanced yours tenfold.” Delano shrugged. “It’s just as well we have Kurt as our doctor. He was on the first nano experimental team. Although, he has no idea why you carry different levels of enhancement. To date you are the only man we know of, apart from Jay, who can use mindspeak over a long distance.”

“Why didn’t Kurt ask me about mindspeak during the debriefing? Fuck! He wanted to know how many times I shit a day.” Sorren’s lips quirked into a smile. “The mindspeak distancing is a technique much the same as the one used to shield personal thoughts and easily taught. I do hope you’ve kept our mindspeak ability ‘need to know’ and the enhanced soldiers’ little weapon against Uncle Sam is still safe?” Sorren gave an exasperated sigh. “FYI, sex is used as a cooling system. Haven’t you worked that out yet?” He rolled his broad shoulders. “They didn’t enhance my anger but they did modify my brain chemistry.” His attention drifted to Rhys then back to him. “You see, I don’t have a conscience. They turned me into a psychopath – in other words when I kill I don’t give a fuck. No flashbacks, no regrets.” He rubbed his chin. “They tossed the Slayers on the trash pile because you fucking care and having feelings puts everyone in the unit in danger. The doc who treated me said it was a weakness in your nanos the government couldn’t afford.” He pointed at his face and grimaced. “The bionic eyes, well they needed soldiers who could switch from daylight to infrared without night vision goggles and with the ability to record missions.” He snorted. “I was beaming a vid straight to Black Ops the entire two fucking years I spent in prison. I had no rights because Uncle Sam didn’t classify me as human. I was one of many information-collecting drones.” He gave a cynical bark of laughter. “I’m surprised you found me, let alone got me out.”

Delano met Rhys’s incredulous stare and connected in secure mindspeak. “Fuck, just how many units are out there?” 

“Sorren has been to hell and back.” Rhys grimaced. “I’m not surprised he’s crazy, but I don’t believe for one minute he has no feelings. The way he cares for the wellbeing of the stripper he’s watching tells me there is a man inside, not a machine. But I don’t like him, he is an arrogant SOB.”

Delano cleared his throat and made a conscious effort to pull back on the interrogation. “Bret, the electronics expert, picked up your transmission and we put boots on the ground. Once we got you out of that hellhole, he took over your video link and faked your execution.” He dropped back into his chair. “Don’t look so surprised. Everything in the Slayers is ‘need to know’ until you gain full clearance.” He met Sorren’s disturbing electric blue gaze. The man’s pupils moved like the lens of a camera, constantly adjusting in a circular motion.

“Need to know?” Sorren snorted. “I’m just like you, man. I’ve been here almost a year. It’s about time you started to trust me.”

“Right now, I don’t know if you’re working undercover and although we’ve destroyed all your military tracking devices, we can’t stop you communicating by mindspeak.” Delano glared at him. “And you will refer to me as ‘sir,’ do you understand, soldier?”

“What you ‘need to know’ is I’m not doing this yes, sir, no sir, three fucking bags full shit any longer. I’m not a Marine or part of some pseudo military service under your command.”

“Yeah, well actually you agreed to join the Slayers and I didn’t force you to wear our mark.” Delano indicated to the tattoo of a dollar sign on Sorren’s wrist. “We gave you a new identity, a job, and a place to stay. Not to mention all the ass you need to keep cool.” He lifted his chin and glared at him. “Right now it looks like I made a big mistake taking you into our confidence. I admire a man’s grit but I sure as hell want to keep control of my unit. Most of us are Black Ops, Green Berets or mercenaries and prefer a degree of leadership from me. I’m not running a fucking Sunday school.” He scowled at the arrogant man. “You do know Bret has devised a program to decommission you? He can take away your special vision, slow your implants, wipe your memory, and make you almost human again. That’s the only way you leave here alive, soldier.”

Delano didn’t miss Sorren’s shudder of disgust. He stared at him, waiting for a reply, and it was like watching the cogs of an old clock grind into gear. Sure, Sorren had been alone for a long time and no doubt his art of conversation had become a little rusty but he’d had long enough to adjust. He would give him time to consider the situation because he wanted to keep this man in his unit. He’d yet to see a better specimen of nano enhancement and the doctors in the complex would learn a great deal from his advanced technology.

Sorren was magnificent and he could see why he carried the handle “The Reaper” during his call of duty. He’d selected the moody Adonis for stripper duty in an effort to calm him down. Sorren was a loner. He’d taken his edge-play domination to extremes with the house subs and sure wasn’t looking for a cozy relationship. Rhys had nicknamed him “Shadow Man” because they rarely saw him in daylight. Sorren stalked the gloom like a phantom of menace. In fact, the man might just as well hang a sign around his neck with the message, “I hate everybody” printed in bright red letters. The only time he’d seen him crack any semblance of a smile was after winning an arm wrestle with Adryck.

He rolled his shoulders. “Well?”

A crack of thunder rolled in the distance as if it had come straight from the flash of disgust on Sorren’s face.

“Your decommission threats won’t work on me. I have a failsafe reboot on my system. You’ll have to decapitate me to take me down.” Sorren straightened and his menacing look flicked over him dismissively. “I understand you integrated the Fury boys into the unit without making them jump through hoops and yet, I am one of you, military – not the fucking enemy. I agreed to do butterfly duty because I want to catch a murderer not because I plan to inform on the Slayers. If I’d wanted to betray our kind I would have contacted my commander the fucking day I arrived and neither you nor your cybernetic boy would have been able to stop me.” Sorren pushed to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late. The stripper you assigned me to protect is due to walk home alone in twenty minutes and it is twenty-two minutes to his gig.”

Delano stood and waved him toward the door. “Sure, we’ll talk again in the morning. Do you have a med kit in the car – just in case?”

Sorren gave him a curt nod and slipped out the door. He moved like a ghost, not one sound from his boots echoed on the tiled floor.

“What new intel do we have on the murders to date?” Rhys drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I know they’re bloody but there must be something the cops haven’t disclosed. What has Bret dug up?”

“Nothing, the murderer is a phantom, he drops out of nowhere, strikes and vanishes. You mentioned bloody, yeah, but how does a man rip someone apart and not leave one footprint or one drop of blood?” Delano moved around his desk and sat down.

“Maybe he’s a vampire.” Rhys gave him a speculative look. “Hey, crazy scientists made us didn’t they? How do we know they didn’t experiment on cross-species DNA as well and now some guys can change into bats and fly away?”

“Scent.” Delano placed the heel of one shit kicker on his desk and tipped back his chair. “I’ve visited all the crime scenes. I would have smelled a giant bat and picked up the pheromones of anyone remotely like us. No, I’m pretty sure the Stripper Ripper is one sick human.”

H.C. Brown is a multi-published, bestselling, award-winning author of Historical, Paranormal, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, BDSM, Time Travel, Action Adventure, Suspense, and Contemporary Romance.

In 2015, she was delighted to be named Luminosity Publishing’s Bestselling Author of 2014.

In 2015, Highlander in the Mist was placed 3rd in Historical and Rock ‘n’ Leather was placed 3rd GLBT in the Easychair Bookshop Competition.

In 2011, she was delighted to receive nominations in three categories in the 2011 CAPA Awards: Favorite Author, Best GLBT Romance, and Best Science Fiction Romance.

She was nominated for Best Historical M/M in the 2013, Goodreads Book of Year Awards.

H.C writes about strong alpha male heroes and girl next door heroines in complex settings, and all her stories have happy endings.

H.C. welcomes feedback from her readers.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Black Cradle: Origins: A Warren Bennett Johnson Novel (Warren-Bennett-Johnson/New England Book 1) by Max E Stone

From a massive yacht’s bow, the ocean’s deep waters call…

Jennifer Warren answers with a thrust of her bruised legs, one by one, over the metal bars to freedom.

The thick hand in her hair yanks her back to hell…

Despite the glowing reputation of the businessman who constantly visits the department, provides his fortune to fundraisers and charities, and displays a loving concern for the well-being of his wife and children, Newport Rhode Island Detective Stephen Bennett trusts his gut

And the word of the man’s new neighbors…

The man is a killer...

*This is the full story of the August to Life (Book 1) prelude*

Amazon 

The blast of cold water wretched the boy awake to his hands bound behind his back. Black and blue eyes stared hard at a carpeted floor, waiting for the man; the last thing—the last face—he remembered during a visit to his grandmother’s grave before everything had gone black.

How long ago?

Hours?

Days?

Weeks?

He kept trying to work it out through the fog of his mind.

No luck.

He looked up and scanned the rundown, soiled shack of a room and wished for the comforting arms of his grandmother.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Abruptly, booted footfalls bursted through the quiet.

The man was.

Tears filled the swollen slits of the boy's eyes.

"Quit crying like a pussy," the man demanded, hefting a gun from his jacket pocket and raising it to the boy's temple, and fired a single bullet. “Die like a man.”

++++

Teenaged Robert Ellis was a loner by nature.

The fifteen-year-old had a habit of cutting class and running away.

Even in the months he’d spent with Newport Police Department thus far, Detective Stephen Bennett knew it. He’d first gotten to know the kid when Robert, having hot-wired his father’s car, took a joyride with some friends. En route to the beach, the teenager hit the breaks too late and ran straight into the back of navy blue truck.

Bennett’s.

Car doors flew open and Robert’s friends hightailed it, leaving the young man to deal with the consequences—Bennett talking with his parents and arranging for him to work to pay off the damages to both cars—alone.

At least, Robert thought so until Bennett surprised him with the other half of the money needed to complete the debt. Since then, the two had been inseparable.

This morning though, a concerned call from Robert's English teacher, an older Cambridge graduate who saw more potential in Robert than he did himself, came in on Bennett’s cell.

"I’m sorry to bother you like this, Detective, but you’re on Robert’s list of contacts," the teacher, Mr. Donald Ipswich, said, panic lacing his British accent. “He may cut class, but never misses mine. Do you know where he could be?”

It took only a moment for Bennett to figure it out.

Prior to his adoption, Robert was the product of a selfish father and a self-center and dead mother. And, from what he’d found on her, the woman's excessive drug habits and spoiled lifestyle had gotten her that way.
Robert's late grandmother was the sole biological family member who had truly cared for him.

“I know where he is,” Bennett reassured before thanking the teacher for his call, hanging up, and sprinting out of the department building.

Kicking the engine to life and leaving the lot for the road, he placed a quick call to Robert.

No answer.

He glanced at his watch.
The caretaker of the gravesite was due to arrive by now.
He had to have seen him. Driving onward, Bennett called Robert again.

He still didn’t answer. That wasn’t like him.

Miles later, he turned a corner, drove a ways down the street, and parked his rig on the

graveyard’s blue gravel path.
He got out and slammed the door in search of a tombstone bearing the name Eunice…Eunice…

Try as he might, he couldn’t remember her last name. Hustled through the grass and tombstones, he found the small house on the grounds. Once there, Bennett pounded on the front door.
It groaned open. Gun ready, he eased inside; the floor creaking under his weight. 
Among the noise, a loud squish resonated.
He looked down. Blood.
Bennett followed the trail across the room.

There, he found Robert; the young man slumped over.

“Damn it,” Bennett called, placing his gun back in his holster, and running toward the body. “Bobby.”

He turned the teenaged boy to his back and spotted the blood-caked hole in his head. Unnecessarily, the detective touched two fingers to the side of the young man's neck, feeling for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find.

“Shit.”

Tears blurred his eyes. He hated this part of the job. With a heavy breath, he straightened and slid the phone from his pocket, set to call the murder in. The .45 aimed at the back of his head stopped him cold. Slowly, Bennett’s hands went up in surrender.

“Turn…around,” a deep, shaken voice commanded. “Now!”

He obeyed, turning and coming face to face with a heavy, rugged man; sweat pouring down his face and through his gray and brown beard, stress evident in the shaking hand holding the weapon.

“Easy,” Bennett ordered, composed despite the firearm now in his face. “Put the gun down.”

“I really didn’t want to do it, ya know,” the gunman choked out. “He was a good kid…but he wouldn’t…wouldn’t listen. I’m his dad. He should…he should have listened to me.”

“You’re his dad.”

“Kids should listen to their parents,” the gunman muttered in a rehearsed drone. “I told him…I told him to come with me. He wanted to go back to those people. He called them his family…I’m his family!”

Quick as a flash, the assailant bent his arm and held the gun to his own head.

“No!” Bennett cried.

But it was too late.

He watched, horrified, as Robert’s father pulled the trigger.

A writer and lover of books since the age of nine, Max first set pen to page as a hobby, constructing stories that were anything but fit for children. entertaining classmates while simultaneously concerning surrounding adults with blood-ridden tales of gory mysteries and heavy suspense that "just came to mind", max, with the help of family and the encouraging words of an inspiring fifth grade teacher, continued to develop this gift. 

Little was it known at the time, but said gift would become a lifeline. 

From horrific trauma in max's teen years, writing played an instrumental part in the difficult recovery and the Warrens, Bennetts, and Johnsons, three interconnected families all with issues, mysteries, and secrets that threaten their livelihood and lives,were born. Their stories, August to life and The bleeding, were published in 2012 and 2013 respectively. 

One minute there, the third installment, was released march 20, 2015 while the fourth is Black cradle.

Though relatively new to the publishing game, Max relishes the journey and learns something new each day.

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