Bill Blume is here to tell us about To Hell and Back, a fantasy.
There's also a great giveaway.
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To Hell and Back
Bill Blume
Publication date: January 20th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
For one pair of swordfighters, their marriage is worth going to Hell and back.
Ty and Dani are a modern-day, swordfighting husband-and-wife duo who help with exorcisms until a demon kills Dani’s mother and all of their fellow exorcists. Now, they’re on a quest for revenge through the realms of Hell, and killing the demon is just the start of the journey. To keep the demon from reviving, Dani and Ty must escape Hell within seven days and cast the demon’s head and heart into an Eternal Flame. To get back to the mortal realm in time, they rely on their small terrier Wicket to lead them past the demon’s army and thousands of other horrors.
To Hell and Back takes readers on an epic journey perfect for those who believe love can overcome any challenge and that a devoted dog makes the perfect guide no matter where you need to go.
They didn’t drive far, parking on a cobblestone street next to the café, sitting on a street corner. The entire front wall of the café was made up of tall doors that were all turned open to take advantage of the pleasant spring weather. Ty sucked down his coffee. It tasted stronger than what he preferred, but as tired as he was, he considered that a good thing.
“I imagine you have a lot of questions.” Maria sat at one of the tables closest to the sidewalk with people dressed in business suits and hospital scrubs walking by. She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, draping her arm over the back of it.
“I’m told you work for the church?” He decided against gambling on whether it was the Catholic or Episcopal Church.
“Heard that, did you?” She cracked an amused grin, as if she’d been privy to his conversation with Barry. “That’s only partially true. We’re funded by the Church of England, but we don’t answer to them.”
Taking a chug of his coffee, Ty then asked, “And who is we?”
“A fair question, and I’ll get to that soon enough.” She paused for her own sip of coffee. When she continued, she stared out at the street as cars rumbled across the cobblestones. “I’d like to talk about you a bit first. I notice you’ve started the transition.”
“The what?”
“Oh, you’re trying to find a way to make a living off that sword arm of yours that doesn’t require a nine-to-five job typing on a keyboard or some other nonsense. You’re going the usual route: giving lessons to wannabes drunk on fantasies of medieval knights or Star Wars. You know. The usual stuff.” She looked at him with a smirk that assured him she already knew the answer to her next question. “You enjoying all that?”
He cleared his throat and sniffed. His sinuses were still killing him.
“I’m paying my bills.” He shrugged, trying to mimic her nonchalance by turning his focus out onto the street and the passersby. Didn’t keep him from seeing her amused reaction to his answer, that she knew he was full of shit.
Yeah, he’d taken to giving part-time lessons at a local fencing club that included saber fighting. Most of the job seemed more about punishing clients into the realization that they weren’t going to turn into Inigo Montoya overnight and that fighting with a sword required both finesse and brutality. Being good with a sword required a killer instinct. Forcing others with limited skills to realize they didn’t have that certain something was taking a toll on him.
“Look, Mr. Faison.” She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “For some people that’s enough, and that’s fine.” The way she said “fine” left little doubt it was anything but that. “But someone like you…” She shook her head.
He tried to bluff, acting amused and disinterested, but his acting skills failed him again. “You think so?”
The way her expression hardened, that single eye narrowing on him, forced his full focus on her. “I think you’re the kind of person who’s only ever whole when he’s got a sword in his hand and a real fight in front of him.”
She leaned back in her chair again, with all the satisfaction of a wildcat dining on a fresh kill. The silence offered him a chance to respond, but she’d left him speechless. No one had ever peeled him down to his bones like this—not even his parents—not this fast or with such ease.
After giving him his chance to answer and seeing he wasn’t able to, Maria sipped her coffee and then continued. “You’re twenty-six. You used to finish in the top three at most competitions you entered but you haven’t in more than a year. It’s not that your skills or body are fading, and it’s not because you’re distracted by the side work that pays the bills. No, it’s because even the competitions are starting to bore you. Those fights aren’t real anymore, because all that’s at stake there is pride.”
“And what? You’re offering me a ‘real fight’? What is this? Some kind of underground sword fight club, where the loser dies, and the first rule is to not talk about it?”
She shook her head, grinning at his attempt at wit. “This is no game or club. Underground? Somewhat. But what you’ll be doing will make a real difference in people’s lives. I’m offering you a chance to reclaim that fire that ignited the moment you first touched a sword.
“I’m giving you a chance to find your heart.”
Author Bio:
Bill Blume discovered his love for the written word while in high school and has been writing ever since. His latest novel, West of Apocalypse, is now available from Time Killer Publishing. His short stories have been published in many fantasy anthologies and various ezines.
Like the father figure in his "Gidion Keep, Vampire Hunter" novels, Bill works as a 911 dispatcher for Henrico County Police and has done so for more than two decades. He served as the 2013 chair for James River Writers, which produces one of the nation's best annual conferences for educating and connecting writers.
He graduated from the University of South Carolina with a degree in Broadcast Journalism in 1995. In the years after, he worked as a TV news producer, first in Columbus, Georgia, and then in Richmond, Virginia, which has become home for Bill & his family.
You can learn more about Bill at his website: www.billblume.net.
Gail Koger is here to tell us about her scifi comedy Undisciplined Catalyst.
There's also a great giveaway.
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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Gail Koger will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. Guess who gets to stop them? Me! How?
My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple, right?
Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.
To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living to see eighteen aren’t good.
Read an Excerpt
“Give ‘em hell.” A wild look in his eyes, Uncle Ben tapped on the console.
The circles of light surrounded me, but this time it felt like a zillion fire ants were crawling over my body. Holy hell! Something had gone wrong! I appeared in midair and dropped like a rock. Smack! I slammed into someone, and my Glock went flying.
My eyes bugged. I was on the bridge of a futuristic warship, and the viewscreen showed one hell of a space battle going on. To make things even more fun, I was lying across the lap of a huge, muscle-bound male wearing black battle armor. Since he was sitting in the captain’s chair, I was assuming he was the boss.
A very angry-looking boss. I blinked. Holy cow was he good-looking, if you were into the whole merciless predator thing. Huh? The red chains woven into his black warrior’s braids matched the communication device on his left wrist. Who knew aliens accessorized and why did I care? I took a deep breath trying to control the panic streaking through me.
A low growl rumbled in his chest.
One look into his disturbingly hostile amber eyes and I knew I was in big trouble. I reached for my retrieval button.
His arms clamped around me painfully, and he spat a bunch of gobbledygook.
“Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” I replied mentally. Somehow, I knew he was psychic.
A harsh voice sounded in my head, “How did you get through our shields.”
“Dunno. My uncle is the scientific genius, not me. I’m just the delivery girl.”
“What do you deliver?”
Did I look stupid? The minute I told him bombs; he’d kill me. I pasted a friendly smile on my face. “Stuff. I’m Lexi and you are?”
“Battle Commander Kaelen. I serve Zarek the Coletti Overlord.”
About the Author: I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department and to keep from going totally bonkers – I mean people have no idea what a real emergency is. Take this for example: I answered, “9-1-1 emergency, what’s your emergency?” And this hysterical woman yelled, “My bird is in a tree.” Sometimes I really couldn’t help myself, so I said, “Birds have a tendency to do that, ma’am.” The woman screeched, “No! You don’t understand. My pet parakeet is in the tree. I’ve just got to get him down.” Like I said, not a clue. “I’m sorry ma’am but we don’t get birds out of trees.” The woman then cried, “But… What about my husband? He’s up there, too.” See what I had to deal with? To keep from hitting myself repeatedly in the head with my phone I took up writing.
James P. Cain is here to tell us about Reign of Secrets, historical fiction thriller.
Read on for details...
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Historical Fiction Thriller
Date Published: 12/10/2025
Publisher: Manhattan Book Group
When the Prince of Denmark is murdered in the Florida Keys, an unlikely
duo of American and Irish diplomats in Copenhagen becomes embroiled in a
deadly game of espionage, ancient conspiracies and high stakes diplomacy as
they confront one of the West's most dangerous enemies. In Reign of Secrets,
Colonel Whit Ransom and Irish attaché Aisling Kelly race across Europe
to stop the Russian President and his assassins as they chase the Danish
Crown’s most guarded treasure, a thousand-year-old secret that could
threaten the royal houses of Europe and return the Russian empire to glory.
In Reign of Secrets, diplomacy meets danger, and the past may be the deadliest
weapon of all.
Praise for Reign of Secrets
"A gripping, timely story... that masterfully blends that warrior ethos with
today's geopolitical reality, as Whit Ransom confronts Vladimir Putin's
ruthless ambition to resurrect an empire."
- Lt. Col. James Reese (Ret.), US Army Delta Force Operator
"Through this historical thriller, Reign of Secrets offers a captivating
glimpse into the essence of what it means to follow in the footsteps of
legends..."
- Morten Andersen, "The Great Dane", Member, NFL Hall of Fame
"A masterfully crafted tale that explores how the West's adversaries subtly
challenge the narratives of history - reshaping symbols, exploiting
weaknesses, reframing legacies, and testing the resilience of democratic
values and the international order."
-Lt. General Ed Cardon (Ret.), former Commander, US Army Cyber Command
About the Author
James P. Cain’s remarkable career has spanned the fields of law,
business, politics, sports and international diplomacy. From volunteering on
Ronald Reagan's first Presidential campaign, being featured on CBS's 60
Minutes at the age of 27, to becoming a partner in an international law firm,
serving as President of the NHL Carolina Hurricanes, and later as U.S.
Ambassador to Denmark, Ambassador Cain has operated at the highest levels of
leadership and public service for over five decades.
A personal encounter with Islamic terrorism in 2016 became the catalyst for
writing Reign of Secrets.
Reign of Secrets is the first in a series of Whit Ransom novels.
His first book, The American, written during the last few months of his
diplomatic service, was a Bestseller in Denmark.
Ambassador Cain and his family live in North Carolina.
Gina M. Bennett is here to tell us about If Two of Them Are Dead, historical fiction, spy thriller.
Read on for details...
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Spy Thriller / Historical Fiction
Date Published: October 9, 2025
Publisher: Manhattan Book Group
Two spies. Two centuries. One mistake that erases the United States of
America.
When Ruth, a modern-day CIA counterintelligence officer, uncovers signs of a
mole no one believes exists—a potential fourth Soviet spy left over from
the Cold War—her investigation is abruptly derailed by an impossible
event. Thrown back through time to the American Revolutionary War, Ruth finds
herself face-to-face with Agent 355, the legendary—and still
unidentified—female spy of George Washington’s Culper Ring.
Separated by 250 years yet bound by shared instincts, courage, and tradecraft,
the two women quickly recognize each other as fellow intelligence officers.
Together, they uncover a covert plot that, if left unchecked, will alter the
course of history itself—resulting in a chilling alternate reality: the
British States of America.
When Ruth returns to the present, the world she knew is gone. The United
States no longer exists. Instead, she is working for MI7, piecing together
clues that link her failed mole hunt to the catastrophic change she triggered
in 1780. To restore history—and democracy—Ruth must find a way to
repair the past without destroying the future.
If Two of Them Are Dead reimagines Agent 355 as the founding mother of
American intelligence, bringing her out of historical anonymity and into a
gripping narrative that celebrates the often-unrecognized role of women in
espionage. The novel explores how effective spycraft transcends
time—relying on deception close to truth, strategic disinformation,
vigilance, and counter-surveillance—while highlighting the unique
advantages women have historically brought to intelligence work precisely
because they were underestimated.
Blending spy thriller, historical fiction, and science fiction, this novel is
both a pulse-pounding adventure and a reflection on the enduring threats to
democracy. Ruth’s unresolved mole investigation seamlessly sets the
stage for future books in the series—without leaving readers stranded on
a cliffhanger.
Perfect for fans of espionage thrillers, time-travel fiction, Revolutionary
War history, and readers eager to uncover America’s best-kept secrets as
the nation approaches its semiquincentennial.
About the Author
Gina M. Bennett is a retired senior intelligence professional who served
34 distinguished years at the Central Intelligence Agency, where she built a
legacy as one of the most influential counterterrorism analysts in U.S.
history. She is widely recognized for producing the first official U.S.
government warnings identifying Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda as a serious and
growing threat, years before the attacks of September 11, 2001.
Bennett’s analysis and leadership played a critical role in shaping
early U.S. counterterrorism strategy and later supported the global manhunt
for bin Laden following 9/11. Throughout her career, she was known for
intellectual rigor, moral clarity, and an unwavering commitment to public
service.
Her work and expertise have been featured in major documentaries and media
outlets, including Netflix, Showtime, HBO, PBS, 60 Minutes, Newsweek, The
Atlantic, and The New York Times, as well as leading podcasts such as
Intelligence Matters, True Spies, The Burn Bag, Spy Chat, and In the Room.
Drawing on decades of real-world intelligence experience, Bennett now brings
her deep understanding of espionage, history, and human sacrifice into
fiction—crafting stories that illuminate the often-hidden individuals
whose courage helped shape nations. Her writing bridges historical
intelligence, national security, and the untold contributions of women whose
legacies deserve recognition.
Ron Elcombe is here to tell us about The Legacy of a Lie, contemporary fiction.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Contemporary Fiction
Date Published: January 15, 2026
Publisher: Windy Ridge Publishing
The Legacy of a Lie unravels a web of family secrets when the past
resurfaces, threatening everything its keepers tried to protect. At its center
is Maarit McDonough Malone, a brilliant yet flawed budding opera singer whose
scandalous choices ripple across generations.
Her daughters—Kay, a celebrated mezzo-soprano, and Anna, a self-doubting
composer—must confront the emotional fallout of their mother’s
long-buried lies. Alongside them are a young, truth-seeking journalist, a
lawyer, and a priest, all carrying the weight of secrets they are
professionally and morally bound to keep.
Set in the haunting beauty of Minnesota’s river bluffs and Lake
Superior’s North Shore, this is a story of legacy and
redemption—of truth breaking through the cracks of deception and healing
in the wake of generations of silence.
About the Author
Ron Elcombe is a professor emeritus at Winona State University (MN), where he
taught various advertising and mass communication courses for 25 years. His
eclectic career encompasses teaching instrumental music, as well as sales and
marketing roles for multiple companies. He has been published in the Lake
Country Journal and several professional academic journals and has attended
seminars on fiction writing at the Iowa Summer Writers Festival. "The Legacy
of a Lie" is the first book in a three-novel series. He resides in Rochester,
Minnesota, with his wife, Sharon, and enjoys summers on the golf course and at
the family cabin in northern Minnesota.
Emily Carrington is here to tell us about Tilthos Pack, LGBTQ, dark fantasy, shifters.
Read on for details...
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LGBTQ, Dark Fantasy, Shifters
Date Published: January 16 2026
Lovers who have stood the test of time find themselves on unsteady ground. Can
their love prevail despite the terror working its way through the pack?
Wedding a Genie: Mark and Luke are getting married… or are they?
Mark’s pride may not allow him to show how he feels to a roomful of his
nearest and dearest.
The Mating Ceremony: Ethan and Jeremy have been forced into a mating ceremony.
Can their love survive their pack traditions?
The Separation: Separated by hundreds of miles and a promise, Charlie and Luis
long for each other. Will their love survive?
A Solstice Sundering: When Ethan is ordered back to the pack, his strained
relationship with Jeremy comes to the forefront. Can they weather this storm?
Uncertain Foundations: Lovers who have stood the test of time find themselves
on unsteady ground. Can their love prevail?
Excerpt from Wedding a Genie
Mark paced. He was dressed, finally, in his coat and tie, his hair tamed. He
looked almost the same as he did every day for work, except this was a tux,
not just a suit. And it wasn’t black, like the majority of his dress
clothes. Luke had picked out a soft brown garment that complemented
Mark’s deep tan and his dark brown hair. The tie he wore was the same
blue as his eyes. The tie clip, which he hadn’t even known was a thing
until Luke produced it, was golden and in the shape of a dragon.
He looked good.
But he longed to rip off all his clothes and go for a swim in the Gulf of
Mexico.
Someone knocked on the door to the “groom’s” changing room
on the boat he and Luke had rented for their wedding. Mark quit pacing and
forced his hands not to shake. “Come in.”
His brother, Jonathan, stepped in and shut the door. “Are you all
right?”
Mark scowled. “Why?”
To his surprise, Jonathan didn’t snap right back. “Because I was
nervous as hell when I got married to Becca,” he said quietly “And
you haven’t known Luke half as long as I knew Becca before I proposed.
“Besides, Mark,” he added, “I know you. Making a change like
this is difficult at the best of times and you’ve just been promoted.
You’re trying to get your feet under you.”
Mark let out a long sigh. “You’re right, I’m nervous. I love
him, I want to be with him for the rest of my life. Why am I so
jittery?”
“Like I said, it’s a big change.” Jonathan turned for the
door.
“That’s it? You’re going to come in here, confront me about
my nerves, and then just walk out?”
“You’re calmer now,” Jonathan pointed out.
Mark huffed a laugh. “I still want to go for a swim in the gulf.”
“As long as you get back here in time to dry yourself off, I don’t
see why that’s a problem. It’s almost an hour
before…” Jonathan tilted his head and said, “Or maybe
Luke’s presence would help.”
Mark’s tension rocketed up from a five all the way to a ten.
“Luke?” he squeaked.
Jonathan left the room and Luke stood in the doorway with two tall glasses in
his hands. “I know we’re not supposed to see each other before the
wedding,” Luke said, sounding apologetic. “But do you mind if I
come in?”
Mark took two steps back and gestured his soon-to-be-husband inside. Luke used
his magic to close the door without touching it.
“Showoff,” Mark teased weakly.
“Genie prerogative,” Luke answered. He took a sip from the glass
in his left hand and offered Mark the other one.
It was a rum and Coke; Mark sensed that even before he could smell the
contents. Luke knew what relaxed him. “You could feel my agitation all
the way from the other side of the boat, huh?” he asked as he sipped.
And then took a little more because Luke just made this particular drink so
perfectly.
Luke, being a genie, Mark’s former genie, had a connection to
Mark’s emotions. Sort of like the telepathic link Mark had to Luke,
although in that case it was because of Mark’s dragon genetics. For
Luke, it had everything to do with the rules that governed his species. Or at
least that was what he and Mark had decided. Probably, if SearchLight ever
chose to study genies more thoroughly, they would find a different, or at
least more exact, answer.
Luke nodded, his golden eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown. He set his
glass on a handy table and crossed to Mark. “What’s wrong?”
Damn, but Luke looked good. Mark traced the lapel of his lover’s tux.
Brown, like Mark’s, but a lighter shade. Luke had really coordinated
everything. “You look like a sex god,” Mark murmured.
That got him a brief smile but then Luke’s serious expression returned.
“Talk to me, my Mark. What’s making you so jumpy?”
Mark didn’t know how to lay hands on the source of his nervousness and
so he simply shook his head. He, too, set his glass down and wrapped his arms
tightly around Luke, resting his cheek against his lover’s shoulder. His
whole body wanted to shake and he held it at bay. He felt so safe in
Luke’s embrace.
“Okay, so this is helping,” Luke correctly interpreted. “I
can just hold you during the whole ceremony if you want.”
Mark tensed. “I don’t want…” He stepped back.
The look on Luke’s face was that of a stricken calf.
Mark hugged him close again. “It’s not you, it’s me, and I
know that sounds like a crock of shit but…” He rubbed
Luke’s back. “Please understand… I’m sorry… I
don’t know how to explain but I’m so sorry…” He let
his words fade away as Luke placed a gentle kiss on his hair. Mark
couldn’t help thinking he shouldn’t feel this way, not when he was
the head of a whole damned department, he’d known Luke for three plus
years, and he all but worshiped the ground his genie lover walked on. Why was
he feeling so defensive?
“I’m feeling vulnerable,” he whispered as the truth made
itself known.
Luke’s voice in his ear was unfailingly soothing and warm. “If you
want, we can postpone or…” His swallow was audible in
Mark’s ear.
About the Author
Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host
of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily
has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate
quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her
website.
Marteeka Karland is here to tell us about Rancor, Kiss of Death MC, motorcycle club romance, suspense, and age gap.
Read on for details...
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(Kiss of Death MC)
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: January 16, 2026
A broken man, a wary woman, and a past that wants blood -- love has
never been more dangerous.
Cora -- Survival is my full-time job. Delivering groceries to the Kiss of
Death MC should’ve been just another stop… until Rancor stepped
out of the shadows and looked at me like he already knew my secrets. His quiet
strength is wrapped in scars and heat. He’s the kind of man who could
break the world but touches me like I’m the only soft thing he’s
got left. I should run. Instead, I keep driving through those gates, craving
the one man who makes me feel safe in ways I don’t dare say out loud.
Rancor -- I buried my heart years ago. Grief, violence, and prison killed
anything left inside me, and I was glad. It meant I didn’t have to feel
anything. Then Cora walked into the compound and cracked me open with a single
glance. She’s brave without meaning to be, a storm in a small frame, and
the first woman to make me feel anything since the night my life ended. One
touch, and I knew I’d protect her with my last breath. One kiss and I
knew I’d kill for her. I’ve already lost too much to lose her,
too. Especially not to the same family who already ruined my life.
EXCERPT
Cora
The gates of the Kiss of Death MC compound loomed ahead, iron and rust and
threat. I knew the place was called Kiss of Death because there was a big-ass
sign on the gate. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel of my beat-up
sedan. No one wanted to deliver here, and for good reason. My second delivery
here felt even worse.
The first time I could blame ignorance, on not knowing better. This time I
drove through those gates with full knowledge of what waited inside. At least,
I hoped I did. The people inside these gates had been nothing but kind to me.
Tipped well, too. I still found it hard to let my guard down in a place
literally named Kiss of Death.
The sedan’s engine coughed as I pressed the accelerator. The sound
seemed too loud, even in a place that could get noisy. The rumble of a bike
starting up had me jumping. As the guy caught sight of me, he froze and shut
down the bike. Next thing I knew he was rolling backward, pushing the bike
with his feet until he returned to the inside of the garage. I rolled forward,
past the gates.
Camo netting stretched between the buildings, creating shadows in the
afternoon light. The warehouses formed a perfect square like some kind of
military precision in architecture. If I didn’t need the money, I
definitely wouldn’t be here.
The main building rose ahead. I’d been directed there last time, so I
aimed for the same spot. I thought about the envelope from my first delivery.
Cash, all of it, with a tip that equaled half the order total. That money had
bought groceries for a week, gas for two. It had been the difference between
making rent on time and asking my landlord for another extension I
wouldn’t get.
The parking area materialized ahead. I pulled in next to a row of motorcycles,
their chrome catching the filtered light through the netting. My sedan looked
all kinds of wrong among them.
I shifted into park and killed the engine. The silence felt worse than the
noise. Now I could hear everything. Distant music from somewhere inside the
compound. Male voices, laughing. It all sounded so normal I wanted to laugh at
myself. Obviously they’d been grateful to get someone to deliver here
and had treated me well. The phone app tracked my movements, kind of like a
safeguard, so I really had little to worry about. I hoped.
My fingers fumbled with the door handle. Metal, cold against my palm. I pushed
it open and the hinges squeaked, announcing my presence to anyone within
earshot. The air outside tasted different than in my car. Heavier. It carried
scents I couldn’t identify; motor oil and something sharp underneath,
something that made my lizard brain want to run.
Movement from the clubhouse caught my eye. Hannah bounded out waving as she
hurried to me. She’d been the one to meet me last time.
She hurried toward me with an easy confidence and a bright, genuine smile I
envied. Her dark hair caught the filtered light, pulled back from her face in
a way that revealed high cheekbones and those striking hazel eyes. She wore
jeans and a simple T-shirt, and a black leather vest. I’d noticed last
time the vest was similar to her husband’s, though the back proclaimed
her as “Property of Knuckles” where his simply said “Kiss of
Death MC” and “Nashville, TN”. It sounded barbaric, but this
woman didn’t seem oppressed in any way. In fact, when I met her the last
time, her husband had dropped a kiss on top of her head as he’d passed
her and hadn’t let Hannah carry anything from the car.
I raised a hand in an awkward wave, immediately feeling stupid for the
gesture. But Hannah’s expression softened further, and she picked up her
pace. I moved to the back of my car and lifted the trunk lid, ready to help
her unload.
“You came back.” Hannah’s voice held a warm welcome that
seemed impossible in this place. She stopped a few feet from my car, close
enough to be friendly but far enough to respect boundaries. “I
wasn’t sure you would.”
“The order came through.” I tried to keep my voice steady,
professional. “Same as last time.”
“And you accepted it.” Something shifted in her expression, a
subtle approval that made me stand a little straighter. “Most drivers
reject anything with our address. The guys haven’t done anything, but
this many ex-cons in one place makes people nervous, I guess.” She
frowned. “People tend to overlook the good they do. Not every person
guilty of bad things are bad people.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I never thought about it that
way. But you’re right. I shouldn’t judge people unless they give
me reason to.” I looked away, suddenly ashamed of myself.
“I’d be in a world of hurt if people judged me by what they saw on
the surface.”
“Hey.” Hannah moved closer, reaching out to touch my shoulder
gently. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. We truly are
grateful someone is willing to give us all a chance.” She smiled,
squeezing my shoulder gently before dropping her hand.
“Um, can I ask a question?” I didn’t know why I asked her,
but once I had, I intended to follow through.
“Of course.” She looked pleasantly curious.
“I saw a guy when I first came in today. He came out of that
building,” I pointed back the way I’d come. “But he turned
off his bike and rolled back into the shadows.” I swallowed hard. If
I’d gotten too nosy I might well have crossed a line I shouldn’t
have. But it was odd! Also, I might be feeling a little paranoid. But to my
surprise, Hannah only smiled.
“The guys know this place isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. They
also know that some people are scared of the noise, to say nothing of the men
themselves. There’s not one of them who doesn’t look scary as
hell.” She grinned. “But every single one of them sat through and
energetically participated in the Christmas party they had for the women and
children in the shelter they help protect. The kids adore them all.”
Before I could respond, movement behind her drew my attention. Another figure
emerged from the clubhouse, moving with a deliberate slowness that made every
step feel intentional.
My breath caught. He was big. Tall and broad-shouldered, and big in the way
that suggested power held in careful check. His shoulders stretched a gray
T-shirt to its limits.
His head was shaved clean, and somehow, the man was more intimidating for its
starkness. But it was his face that made my fingers tighten on the grocery bag
I still held. Weathered. Lined with stress that had carved deep grooves around
his mouth and between his eyebrows. He looked like a man who’d forgotten
how to relax, if he’d ever known.
He approached with that same measured pace, each footfall deliberate. The way
he moved reminded me of documentaries I’d seen about predators. Not
rushing. Never rushing. Because predators didn’t need to hurry when they
knew their prey couldn’t escape. My heart, which had just started to
calm, kicked back into overdrive.
“Cora, this is Rancor.” Hannah gestured between us, casually as if
introducing neighbors at a barbecue. Thank God she didn’t notice my
discomfort because how embarrassing would that be? “He’s going to
help with the groceries.”
His gaze met mine, and I forced myself not to look away even though every
instinct screamed at me to drop my gaze. His eyes were dark, nearly black in
the shadow of the camo netting, and he studied me with an intensity that made
my skin prickle.
“Ma’am.” His voice was quiet and rough, as if he
didn’t use it much.
“Hi.” The syllable came out higher than I wanted. I cleared my
throat. “There are a lot of bags.” Brilliant conversational
skills, Cora. Truly impressive.
But Rancor just nodded, a single dip of his head, and moved past me to the
trunk. He smelled like soap and motor oil, the combination oddly intriguing.
I stepped back, giving him room.
He reached into the trunk and pulled out several bags at once, hoisting them
like they weighed nothing. His forearms flexed, muscles shifting under skin
decorated with what looked like a burn scar. Then he turned and walked toward
the clubhouse, that same deliberate pace.
“So.” Hannah’s voice pulled my attention back to her.
She’d moved closer, filling the space Rancor had vacated. “You
deliver every day?”
“Most days.” I watched Rancor’s back as he walked away, the
way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “Depends on the
orders.”
“That’s a lot of driving.” Hannah leaned against my car,
comfortable in a way I envied. “You like it?”
Did I like it? I liked eating. I liked having electricity. I liked not being
homeless. My job met those ends.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Flexible schedule.”
Hannah’s smile widened. Not mocking. Understanding. “Money
talks?”
“Sometimes, I guess.” No point in pretending otherwise. My car was
clean, inside and out, and I took care with my appearance. I didn’t have
anything fancy, nor did I know how to do makeup or anything, but I kept myself
clean, my clothes washed and pressed. Obviously, I didn’t have much, but
I had pride.
Rancor emerged from the clubhouse, empty-handed now, heading back toward us.
My pulse quickened at his proximity. Stupid. His presence made my pulse jump
and my body betray me. I’d seen good-looking men before, both nice guys
and dipshits. For some reason, though, this guy just did it for me when he
shouldn’t. Story of my life. Wanting things I had no business dreaming
about.
He reached the trunk and grabbed another few bags. This time when he lifted
them, his eyes cut to mine briefly. Just a flicker of contact, there and gone,
but it jolted through me like touching a live wire. I looked away first.
Examined my shoes as if they held the secrets of the universe.
“Where are you from?” Hannah asked, still making conversation like
this was normal, like we were normal people in a normal place.
“Here. Nashville.” I shifted my weight. “Well, just outside
the city.”
“You grow up here?”
“No.” The word came out clipped. I didn’t elaborate. Hannah
didn’t push. She seemed to have a way of paying attention to my body
language and feeling me out.
Hannah glanced toward Rancor, who was emerging from the clubhouse again. When
she looked back at me, something knowing glinted in her hazel eyes.
“I’m glad you came back. Hopefully I can make a friend because you
did.”
Rancor collected the last of the bags. His fingers brushed the trunk’s
edge near where mine rested. We weren’t touching, but we were close
enough that I felt the heat of his skin.
He straightened with the final bags and paused. Looked at me full-on, not just
a glance but actual eye contact that held for three long heartbeats. Then he
walked away, and I remembered how to breathe.
When I finally brought my attention back to Hannah, I found her watching me
with that same knowing expression, approval written in the curve of her mouth.
I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with danger and everything to
do with desire I had no business feeling.
Rancor must have set his load down somewhere because he now stood near the
clubhouse door, hands loose at his sides, watching us. Watching me. The weight
of his gaze pressed against my skin like humidity before a storm.
Hannah shifted closer, close enough that her voice dropped to something almost
conspiratorial. “You know,” she said, quiet enough that Rancor
probably couldn’t hear her. “You couldn’t pick a better
protector than any of the men from Kiss of Death.”
The words hit me wrong. Too direct. Too knowing. Like she’d reached
inside my head and pulled out thoughts I hadn’t fully formed yet.
“I’m just delivering groceries.” I kept my voice light,
aiming for casual and probably missing by miles. “I don’t need
protection.”
But even as I said the words, I felt the lie in them. I was one bad
day’s work away from being homeless. I lived in a really shitty part of
town because I couldn’t afford anything better.
Hannah’s smile suggested she heard everything I didn’t say.
“Of course.” I didn’t know what to do with the implication
hanging between us. That I needed protecting. That I might want protecting.
Or, more aptly, that the men here, Rancor specifically, could provide the
safety I longed for.
The idea should have offended me. I’d spent years learning to protect
myself, to need no one, to be self-sufficient in every way that mattered.
I’d always been stubborn. At least, I had been after I left my
parents’ sphere of influence.
About the Author
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
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