Monthly Archives: December 2014

Fractured-Lucian and Lia Book 2



Lucian and Lia attempt to deal with the aftermath of the violent attack on her by her stepfather. As events unfold in their lives, Lia finds that she can no longer be patient with the man that she loves, because his secrets are tearing them apart.
Lucian cannot deny the fact that he’s fallen in love with the brave and beautiful woman who has lived a life of horror. He wants nothing more than to protect her, but soon realizes that he may be the person who will hurt her the most.
To be together, they’ll have to fight demons from their pasts that threaten to tear them apart.
This book is meant for mature readers who are 18+. It contains explicit language, and graphic sexual content.
**Book 2 of the Lucian & Lia Trilogy.**





Other Books in the Series
Pierced – FREE!!!
“Oh, Lia, you never challenge a man like me. I promise you; you’ll do everything I want you to do and beg for more.”My name is Lucian Quinn and I own one of the most successful software companies in the world. I’m twenty-nine, rich and single. Impressive right? I’m also a favorite target for every hungry socialite looking to land theuncatchable catch. Maybe it sounds vain, but the fact that I’m a God between the sheets doesn’t hurt my stock any. What these women don’t know though is that I’m completely screwed up and damaged beyond repair by my past. The only part of me I’ll ever willingly give them is the hour it takes to make them scream…several times.Then I saw her…I’m Lia Adams and I’m in my last year at St. Claire’s University in North Carolina. I grew up with an abusive mother, and a twisted stepfather who was worse…so much worse. I’m so close to escaping from my past and making my dreams come true. I’ll do anything necessary to survive, even work as an escort to help pay for my college expenses. The men that I accompany to various events as an escort for Date Night are mostly harmless and just want an attractive woman on their arm for an evening. It has never gone further than that…until him…

“I want you to call into work tomorrow and quit your job. I don’t think you need to bother with notice; it’s not likely you will ever use them for a future job reference.”
I nod my head in agreement, fighting the sleep threatening to claim me when his words finally hit me. What the h***? “Wh—What did you say?” Had I imagined the whole thing?
Without looking at me, he repeats his demand. I shake my head, completely confused. “What are you talking about? Why would I quit my job? Oh, no,” I gasp in horror, “are you trying to get me fired because of tonight? It was just cold medicine!”
His eyes are glittering in the darkness. “Baby, if I wanted to have you fired, I would. I want to f*** you, but not when you’re being paid to be my date.”

Circumstances bring two people that should have never crossed paths together and in the days and weeks ahead, they grow close quickly, each seeing a kindred soul in the other. As ghosts from their past rise to haunt them, they cling to each other as their lives start to spiral out of control. Soon, they realize that they’re both damaged possibly beyond repair. Will their love be what saves or destroys them?

This book is meant for mature readers who are 18+. It contains explicit language, and graphic sexual content.

**Book 1 of the Lucian & Lia Trilogy.**

Perspective Shift by Amanda Kay


Perspective Shift

Book 1: Shifting Reality Series (The Hunter Jackson Tales Spin-off)

Luke and Katrina

Book Trailer

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Perspective is everything…
Tensions running high…
But love…
Well, it speaks volumes.

Before Hunter met Amelia there was Luke and Katrina.
It only took one look and Luke Kirkland was sunk.
Katrina is perfect.

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As tensions are growing between the werewolf army and the shape shifters Luke and Katrina find themselves falling in love. A love that can’t get out to Luke’s commander.
Luke is a werewolf. Katrina is a shape shifter. Their worlds aren’t supposed to mix, but maybe together they can accomplish a perspective shift.

Will be available on Amazon, Free with Kindle Unlimited

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Author Links:

(Amanda is always available to chat with her readers)






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One Dom to Love by Shayla Black





Raine Kendall has been in love with her boss, Macen Hammerman, for years. Determined to make the man notice that she’s a grown woman with desires and needs, she pours out her heart and offers her body to him—only to be crushingly rejected. But when his friend, very single, very sexy Liam O’Neill watches the other Dom refuse to act on his obvious feelings for Raine, he resolves to step in and do whatever it takes to help Hammer find happiness again, even rousing his friend’s possessive instincts by making the girl a proposition too tempting to refuse. But he never imagines that he’ll end up falling for her himself.

Hammer has buried his lust for Raine for years. After rescuing the budding runaway from an alley behind his exclusive BDSM Dungeon, he has come to covet the pretty submissive. But tragedy has taught him that he can never be what she needs. So he watches over her while struggling to keep his distance. Liam’s crafty plan blindsides Hammer, especially when he sees how determined his friend is to possess Raine for his own. Hammer isn’t ready to give the lovely submissive over to any other Dom, but can he heal from his past and fight for her? Or will he lose Raine if she truly gives herself—heart, body, and soul—to Liam?





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About Author


You know what they say about curiosity and the cat…but if you still want to know, read below.

Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 40 sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances produced via traditional, small press, independent, and audio publishing. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

Shayla’s books have been translated in about a dozen languages. She has also received or been nominated for The Passionate Plume, The Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards. RT Bookclub has twice nominated her for Best Erotic Romance of the year, as well as awarded her several Top Picks, and a KISS Hero Award.

A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every new book.


Bestselling Author Jenna Jacob’s erotic romance comes from the heart of submission. With over twenty years experience in the dynamics of the BDSM lifestyle, Jenna strives to portray Dominance and submission with a passionate and comprehensive voice. Her stories will make you laugh, cry, and may leave you with a better understanding of the fulfillment found in the BDSM power exchange.

A married mom of four grown children, Jenna and her husband lives in Kansas. Her passions include her family, reading, camping, cooking, music, and riding Harleys. She loves to make people laugh with her outgoing and warped sense of humor. If you’re looking for hot romance with a kinky twist, pick up one of Jenna’s books


My name is Isabella and I am a new Author of Erotic Fiction. I have recently published two short stories, one a stand-alone “Connexions” and the other is the first book in a series called The Quickening and is entitled “Scandalous.” The next two in the series, will be coming out in 2013 and are called “Momentum” and “Geminus” respectively.

December 4th 2012 was a WOW day of biblical proportions for me personally. My first novel was published, entitled “One Dom to Love” co-written by Best Selling New York Times Author, Shayla Black and by Author Jenna Jacob. I can’t even begin to express how privileged and thrilled I was to work with both these wonderful, incredible women, and how proud I am to call them friends. “One Dom to Love” is the first book in The Doms of her Life series and for those chomping at the bit already after finishing this book, you’ll be delighted to know that Book 2 is currently being written.

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Addict by Rachael Orman

Title: Addict (Cravings Series #1)
Author: Rachael Orman
Genre: Erotic Romance/BDSM
Publication Date: December 22, 2014
My name is Alix and I am addicted to sex.
Had been for years. I thought I learned how to live a normal life, but that’s the thing about addiction, it creeps back up when you least expect it. There is no one there for me, no one I can turn to for help. Until I’m given a chance to explore a side of myself I’d always kept locked away. I was lost…until him. I can’t tell you who he is, or why he does the things he’s done. All I can say is I hope one day I behave well enough to take off the blindfold and see the man who controls my addiction. My Master.
My name is John and I am addicted to control.
I tried to deny the dominate side of my personality. I didn’t want to admit how much I enjoyed the power, how much I enjoyed causing pain. That is until the woman I’d been secretly been stalking waltzed into a BDSM club right in front of me. All bets are off. She will be mine.

Together our addictions feed off each other, fueling the fire that burns within. Until suddenly the fire is too hot to handle, burning everything in its path. The pain and scars we’d both come into our fragile relationship with are split wide open, exposing more than either of us can handle, possibly leaving nothing behind to salvage from the ashes.

**Warning: Intended for audiences 18+ due to explicit sex & vulgar language, mention of rape/abuse**



Meet John in the FREE Novella Lost Desires!!


Available December 22!



I picked up this book and did not put it down until I was finished. Alix is a sex addict and John is a sex therapist addicted to control. They desire each other from afar. The story takes a turn when Alix accompanies a co-worker to a BDSM club and John sees her there. He decides to approach her and invites her back. To say this book is hot is an understatement. The meetings at the BDSM club between John and Alix are hot and erotic. Two addicts find what they need in each other;submission and domination. The end leaves us wanting more and there will be more. I can’t wait to continue Alix & John’s journey.

I was provided with an Advanced Reading Copy in exchange for an honest review.



Mother by day. Writer by night. I spend a majority of my day with my children and reading while my nights are filled with the sound of the keyboard as I work on my next work. 

I have written in F/F, F/F/M, F/F/F and then of course F/M genres…. So, beware, I do not always have the most ‘traditional’ scenes. And one day I will venture into M/M, just have to find the time. 

I love to try new things and learn from every piece of work I write. I’ll write just about anything once to learn from it. I’ve even ventured out of my normal erotica genre into Monster Erotica. Doubt you’ll find me writing anything not erotic as you can barely get me to even read something out of that category, but then again, you never know what I might try next. 

Never stop learning. Try everything at least once. 


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Raze by Tillie Cole


Title: Raze
Author: Tillie Cole
Age group: Mature new adult
Genre: Dark contemporary romance
Release date: 30th December 2014



To take back life, one must first face death…

One man stripped of his freedom, his morals… his life.

Conditioned in captivity to maim, to kill and to slaughter, prisoner 818 becomes an unremorseful, unrivaled and unstoppable fighter in the ring. Violence is all he knows. Death and brutality are the masters of his fate.

After years of incarceration in an underground hell, only one thought occupies his mind: revenge… bloody, slow and violent revenge.

Revenge on the man who lied.

Revenge on the man who wronged him.

Revenge on the man who condemned him and turned him into… this: a rage-fueled killing machine. A monster void of humanity; a monster filled with hate.

And no one will stand in the way of getting what he wants.

One woman stripped of her freedom, her morals… her life.

Kisa Volkova is the only daughter of Kirill ‘The Silencer’ Volkov, head of the infamous ‘Triad’ bosses of New York’s Russian Bratva. Her life is protected. In reality, it’s a virtual prison. Her father’s savage treatment of his rivals and his lucrative and coveted underground gambling ring—The Dungeon—ensures too many enemies lurk at their door.

She dreams to be set free.

Kisa has known only cruelty and loss in her short life. As manager of her father’s death match enterprise, only grief and pain fill her days. Her mafiya boss father, in her world, rules absolute. And her fiancé, Alik Durov, is no better: The Dungeon’s five-time champion, a stone-cold killer, the treasured son of her father’s best friend, and her very own—and much resented—personal guard. Unrivaled in both strength and social standing, Alik controls every facet of Kisa’s life, dominates her every move; keeps her subdued and dead inside… then one night changes everything.

While working for her church—the only reprieve in her constant surveillance—Kisa stumbles across a tattooed, scarred, but stunningly beautiful homeless man on the streets. Something about him stirs feelings deep within her; familiar yet impossibly forbidden desires. He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t communicate with anyone. He’s a man beyond saving, and a man she must quickly forget… for both their sakes.

But when weeks later, out of the blue and to her complete surprise, he’s announced as the replacement fighter in The Dungeon, Kisa knows she’s in a whole lot of trouble. He’s built, ripped and lethally unforgiving to his opponents, leaving fear in his wake and the look of death in his eyes.

Kisa becomes obsessed with him. Yearns for him. Craves his touch. Needs to possess this mysterious man…this man they call Raze.



TTillie Cole Author Picillie Cole is a Northern girl through and through. She originates from a place called Teesside on that little but awesomely sunny (okay I exaggerate) Isle called Great Britain. She was brought up surrounded by her English rose mother — a farmer’s daughter, her crazy Scottish father, a savagely sarcastic sister and a multitude of rescue animals and horses.


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The Life of Anna, Part 3: Embraced

Title: The Life of Anna, Part 3: Embraced
Author: Marissa Honeycutt
Genre: Very Dark Paranormal Erotica
Publication Date: December 28, 2014
Devin has achieved his goal of becoming Chairman and all seems peaceful…until Devin performs an act of cruelty that pushes Anna to fight back for the first time in her life. Meanwhile, Alex is working hard to give her something that Devin can never take away.
As her Masters work around her, Anna must navigate a life she never wanted.



Marissa’s story of Anna began with a dream about being kidnapped with Adam Savage from Mythbusters (Yes, really). Over the next year and a half, it morphed into the story that is now known as “The Life of Anna.” She has several other stories in progress, one of which is based on her kidnapped dream.

When she’s not writing or editing, Marissa is taking care of two young boys, training to be an astronaut, running her household, wrestling with gorillas, playing around on Facebook, promoting whirled peas, and busting her tush for her accounting degree. She enjoys chocolate, air conditioning in the desert’s summer heat, really good strawberry margaritas, sleeping, and shopping.


The Angel of Death by Blair Babylon

The Angel of Death
(Police Snipers and Hostage Negotiators #1)
An Angel Day Novel
To protect and to serve, or to save her own brother?
Angel Day, the lead sniper for the Phoenix Police Department, got her nickname “The Angel of Death” the old-fashioned way: she earned it for her ruthless efficiency at stopping crimes with one well-placed bullet. When a massive call-out down by the Mexican Border reveals a terrorist cell and 
turns into a standoff, Angel’s youngest brother, the lost soul of her family, texts her that he is inside that barricaded house, and her orders are to shoot anything that moves.
See The Angel of Death at:

Angel Day focused the black tunnel of her gun sight and crosshairs on the man holding the shotgun, ready to shoot him.
In the magnified circle of the telescopic sight, under the thin black cross, spring sunlight poured as if from a hot bucket down on the suspect’s head, shining in a white circle on the top of his black hair, which hung loose and past his shoulders. His hair obscured the small sweet-spot where his skull met the rolls of fat on his neck, but she knew right where it was.
Angel pressed the stock of her sniper rifle against her shoulder, raising the crosshairs to touch the suspect’s neck. She was coiled around her gun and ready for the shot, dead calm.
A bullet to the brainstem, where the spinal cord connects to the brain, will drop a man without a twitch or a whimper, which was imperative because that blubbery walrus of a suspect had wrapped a bulbous wad of duct tape around his hand and the stock and trigger of the shotgun, and he had duct-taped the barrel of the gun to the back of a small woman’s neck.
Angel had wedged herself into an improvised sniper hide under a jacked-up pick-up truck. Her thick muscles cushioned her bones from the hot, pebbled asphalt. She felt like a hunting snake down there, perfectly still and ready to stab and kill the suspect.
The suspect yelled something to the police negotiators, who were taking cover behind their cars and trying to negotiate through bullhorns.
Angel could hear the hostage crying and begging, the slow beat of her own heart, and the grating growl of the police vehicles’ diesel engines in the street ringing the target, waiting for the suspect’s next move.
Her field of fire was across three large suburban lawns and a neighborhood street, over two hundred yards. She was lying prone behind a monster-truck tire, aiming around the hot rubber. Her body—her arms, her chest, her shoulder—interlocked around the rifle. The desert sun beat all around her, reflecting off the cement to bake even the undersides of her arms that held the gun. Her helmet was getting hot, and her sweaty hair stuck to her scalp. At least there was shade under the truck, even though the smell of dirty oil stung her nose.
If this were a long shot, like a mile or more, the sun warming the ammunition might make a difference in how fast the propellant in the rounds burned, and she would have to adjust her point of aim accordingly.
Angel waited, just as methodically she had waited during the last four hours of this stand-off. She had been aiming at the affluent house for most of that time, rotating her gun sight over the closed windows and doors until eight minutes ago,when this suspect had exited the McMansion with his hostage. She was always ready to squeeze the trigger and was always relaxed as she didn’t.
Even though the suspect was 209 yards away, through her scope, Angel saw the target as close as if the end of her rifle was resting on his fat neck.
The suspect yanked his shotgun and wheeled his hostage around in front of him like a spaniel on a choke chain. Angel followed him with her gun. The woman’s hands were duct-taped behind her, so she couldn’t catch herself when she tumbled to the sidewalk. Her knees bled through her ripped, pink pants.
Angel inhaled smoothly, then held her breath, and then exhaled smoothly, and held it again, always ready to take the shot. Her finger was taut on the trigger, but not jittery. Her body was trained to not squirt hot adrenaline into her blood.
This standoff was at a stash house, a domicile where human traffickers change the rules of the game. Most illegal immigrants cross the Mexican border into the US with the help of traffickers, called coyotes, who know the better routes. A few, like this woman, end up in the hands of truly evil men, who kidnap them and hold them for ransom, often sending small body parts to their families in Mexico or raping the women and children while their parents listen on the phone to hurry payment.
The evacuated neighbors had been shocked to discover such a travesty in their own neighborhood in North Scottsdale. Sure, this type of atrocity occurred in the Alhambra district, but North Scottsdale was a nice part of town.
Angel hadn’t been surprised. The best neighborhoods harbored the worst crime. There was more money to be made, and the police had to be more circumspect about busts and careful about bystanders. Criminals love that.
The gunman roared something to the encircling police cars and crouching officers. The wind corrupted his voice over the two hundred yards of lawns and asphalt, and Angel could only hear a harsh bellow as his whole body bowed back like he was belting out a high note. The woman cowered, bending forward as far as the shotgun attached to her neck would let her.
Above Angel, flags snapped on another house’s flagpole. The wind had freshened, so she turned the calibration wheel on the turret of her sniper scope. At two hundred yards, a ten mile per hour wind will cause a bullet to drift six and a half inches.
The sniper rifle’s stock was hot against her cheek. “Bravo One to command post,” Angel muttered into her microphone. “I have a bead on the suspect. I can take the shot, cold zero.”
“Hold your fire. Repeat, hold your fire.” Tony’s voice was calm on the radio in her ear. Tony was her cousin and the Phoenix Police Chief. “The rules of engagement are still at compromised authority. The risk is too great for the hostage outside and the hostages still in the house. Let the negotiators do their job.”
Compromised authority rules mean that, if an authority team member is compromised, which means injured, grabbed, or shot at, then everyone—the snipers, the entry team, and the inner perimeter officers—has the authority to take any immediately necessary action to protect the team member, including sniping the bastard.
Angel had to wait until the gunman down there killed the hostage or shot at a police officer.
The hostage negotiators had been doing their job for four hours. When the suspect had been inside the house, he had been allowed to talk to his girlfriend on the negotiator’s phone, and he had told her that he was going to kill a hostage out front where the television cameras would record the splatter. A conservative radio station had interviewed him via another hostage’s cell phone because authorities cannot use cell phone jammers in any situation. Federal laws protect the nationally controlled airwaves. The hostage-taker had told the radio station that he was going to kill a hostage in plain sight and to keep the cameras rolling, evidently not understanding the video limitations of radio.
Since then, the television cameras had arrived and, despite the police’s best efforts, had set up their cameras at the end of the block where their telephoto lenses could capture every shot.
Now, that bastard was going to do it.
Angel’s calloused finger tightened on the trigger to two pounds of pull. At four pounds, the sniper rifle would fire. Angel had fired a thousand rounds a week through her rifle for six years, over three hundred thousand rounds. She knew the feel of her Remington .308 Police DM rifle far better than most people know the feel of their car’s accelerator.
She whispered into her mic, “I can make this shot.”
Through her earpiece, her boss Tony said, “Hold your fire. Rules of engagement are not, repeat not, at shot of opportunity.”
Shot of opportunity rules of engagement are a license to kill the suspect at the first chance, any chance.
“Come on, Tony. I can make this shot with a handgun,” she muttered into her mic.
“Hold your fire.”
The hot wind blew the target’s voice to Angel’s hide under the truck. His voice was tinny and too high. Through her scope, Angel watched the target roar, “Ten!”
Over the radio in her ear, Angel heard police near the scene confirm that the suspect was counting, beginning at ten.
The suspect was counting down. At one, the gunman would fire that shotgun and tear that terrified woman’s head off her neck. He was not negotiating his way out of a bad situation; he was a psychopath performing terror theater.
Angel said, “This is not a hostage situation. This suspect is an active shooter. He will kill her.”
Tony whispered into her ear, “Keep your position. Rules of engagement remain at compromised authority. Hold your fire.”
Angel settled herself and watched the target through her scope.
She breathed in, held it, and out, and held it. Her finger was tensed and strong on the trigger, ready to move it a fraction of an inch more and release the shot.
People think that sniping is sanitary, that the sniper doesn’t feel like a murderer because they’re hundreds of yards away.
Through the scope, Angel could see black hairs waving over the suspect’s neck, as close as if she were sitting on his shoulder with a revolver plugged into his ear, so close that he should be able to feel her breath whispering down his neck like the robe of the Angel of Death was blowing around him.
The gunman grinned, enjoying the spectacle he was making. All those cops were scampering around at his nutcase bidding.
Her own lack of authority to stop this evil act disgusted her. They should shoot him now and end this crime. She could do it. She wanted to.
The target threw back his head and hollered, “Nine!”
From her other radio channel, Jack Jordan’s deep bass voice whispered, “Bravo Three has an unobstructed shot with a stucco wall backstop behind the target. Do we have authorization to take the shot?” Jordan was her side two sniper, meaning he was the third-ranking sniper on her team. As the primary sniper, Angel covered the front of the building. Her number two sniper, Luke Johnson, covered the back.
“Negative,” Angel whispered to Jordan over the radio. “We do not have authorization. Rules of engagement remain at compromised authority. Maintain position.” Jack Jordan was a good sniper who probably wanted to tag this asshole as much as Angel did.
To Tony on her other channel, Angel said, “Bravo three has an unobstructed shot with a stucco wall backstop. If I shoot and have a through-and-through wound, the round will strike the house’s front wall. Other hostages are not in danger. We can take a sync’d shot that will stop him.”
Snipers don’t shoot to kill. Snipers shoot to stop, an important distinction. Police snipers aren’t killers, just highly effective at stopping a crime in progress.
“Negative,” Tony said. “No authorization. Remain at compromised authority.”
Down at street level, the police negotiators squatted behind their cars and held their bullhorns, talking, demanding, and pleading in English and Spanish for the suspect to respond. The long cable of a throw-phone snaked from their van to where the suspect had kicked it away from him.
“Eight!” the target yelled. He jerked the shotgun, and the hostage stumbled aside.
This was the kind of situation Angel had trained for: to save an innocent life by stopping the crime in progress. She thought of herself as a guardian angel for hostages.
She coiled tighter around her rifle, ready to strike. “Bravo One to command post. Bravo Three and One will drop him flat.”
“We can’t risk it,” Tony said.
“Request to elevate the level of engagement to shot of opportunity.” Her sight was dialed in so tight that she squeezed her stock to raise and lower her aim in rhythm with the suspect’s breathing.
“Negative,” Tony said.
Across the clean, green yards, the gunman yelled, “Seven!”
Through her scope, Angel could see the target sweating greasy streaks in the heat. His meaty hands were probably slippery, but the duct-taped one couldn’t slip off the shotgun. No chance of him dropping it.
“Let me put him down, Cuz,” she said to Tony.
Tony whispered through their radio, “There are more people behind him, watching from inside the house. The round might ricochet and hit one of them.”
Angel knew that. She knew it better than her cousin Tony because she was far better trained, but she didn’t wave that red flag in his face.
She also knew she could kill this target and save that woman.
Through her earpiece, another of her snipers, Hunter, said, “This is Bravo Eight, I have an unobstructed line of fire. I can take the shot.”
“Negative,” Angel said. “We are at compromised authority.”
“Goddamn,” Hunter said, and Angel wanted to agree with him but held her aim.
Through the radio, she heard, “Bravo Two, no clear line of fire.” Luke Johnson didn’t have a clear shot from the back of the house.
Angel and Jack could pick this guy off. Four snipers surrounded the house, but only one needed a clear line to stop this guy. They had three with clear lines. That was an heir and two spares.
In the heat of battle, her body didn’t respond with hyped-up adrenaline. She watched the suspect sweat. She might have been meditating, but for her steady stare down the telescopic sight on the rifle.
“Five!” the gunman screamed.
She whispered into the microphone, “Bravo Three has a bead with a stucco wall behind the target. I can make a brainstem shot from here. He won’t twitch. Give us the reins.”
Tony said, “Let the negotiators do their jobs. If you shoot him and that shotgun goes off and she dies, we’re liable.”
“The negotiators aren’t doing shit.”
The suspect screamed, “Four!”
They had been at the siege for over four hours. Angel’s head ached from the sun glaring on the cement and asphalt around her, and her eyes throbbed from peering through the scope. She whispered into her mic, “When are we going to shoot him?”
“We’re not,” Tony said. “Unless he fires at authority personnel, we can’t shoot.”
The bedlam of the negotiators’ voices hollering at the criminal from all sides escalated. Angel kept the crosshairs on the gunman’s neck and steady pressure on the trigger because, after he shot that poor woman, he would doubtlessly open fire on the police officers and then, finally, she could shoot him.
Light glinted off the sidewalk from the overhead sun. “Two!”
The woman hostage wrenched her head to the side, black hair flying in the wind.
The duct tape around her neck tore.
The shotgun blasted, spraying lead shot at the police cars, shattering glass and slamming on steel.
Angel squeezed her trigger the last fraction of an inch, sending the bullet through the rifle and into the gunman’s brainstem.
He dropped straight down as if through a trapdoor and lay in a glutinous heap on the sidewalk in front of the Desert Victorian house.
The woman hostage’s scream wailed high and tinny off the stucco houses and ascended into the clear, blue sky as she ran away. Her hair was a mess of blood, but Angel could see that the shotgun blast had only lightly scalped her. She would be fine.
Other captives, around fifty women and children, ran out of the house and grabbed the woman, crying over her. A small boy clung to her neck and sobbed.
Angel worked the action on the rifle to chamber another round and kept her sights on the gunman, in case the mound of blood and blubber moved.
Angel murmured into her radio, “That counted as firing at authorities, right?”
See The Angel of Death at:
Praise for Blair C. Babylon’s other books:
“This is why [Blair C. Babylon] is an author to watch!” ~ Booklist (starred review)
“I stumbled upon this series a few months ago while searching through e-books for the kindle. Out of all of the books I’ve read, this is by far the best. I have never been the type to read things in installments, but this is the first time I’ve faithfully awaited each new episode release. The story … is great, the characters are believable, and I can never really guess what is going to happen next. What more could you want in a series?” ~Amazon Review
“This series just takes my breath away. Breathless!!!! That’s how this book made me feel from beginning to end. It was one of those books I just couldn’t put down until some of my questions were answered. I was constantly on the edge of my seat anxiously hoping it would turn out the way I hoped. I had this same sense of anxious excitement from the very first book of this series and it has not left me yet. This is not your typical cliched novel, where you can tell practically from the first page what is going to happen. Oh no! This book has you waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. I cannot wait for the next book. Ms. Babylon is a genius, who proves every skeptic who says all novels are alike, wrong!” ~Amazon Review
USA Today Bestselling Author Blair C. Babylon is the nom de plume of an award-winning author who used to publish literary fiction under another name. Because professional reviews of her literary fiction usually included the caveat that there was too much plot, too many interesting twists, and too much sex, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write intense thrillers and naughty romantic suspense.

Defined by Others by MCV Egan


TITLE: Defined by Others


GENRE: Women’s Contemporary Fiction

PUBLICATION DATE: December 11, 2014

COVER DESIGN: Babble Graphics front cover ~ Nethed Back cover

LENGTH: 50,000 words

CONTENT WARNING: Adult Content – Drug Use/Drinking

Defined_by_others Cover v15 NEW 12-2-2014


A word, a single word defines a moment for Anne. She needs to find a new one when her spouse leaves her at the age of 47, coming out of the closet literally in a closet. She finds herself back in her hometown amongst her high school friends which she left behind in her past.

An inheritance from a friend leaves her with the means to meddle and spy on the lives of some of their mutual acquaintances. In an attempt to run from her reality Anne gets engrossed in a game of “fun” and “flirtation” with her friend and fellow sufferer Connie at her side. Anne however did not read all the files and what to her is fun games turns into a deadly reality. It is no longer a game.

Life, death and not even a defining word can stop the reality of manipulation.


I sat in Pete’s office after the video ended staring at the screen with her frozen image. She looked gaunt and ravaged by the illness that had eventually taken her life. When they lowered her coffin into the grave the day before I felt that my youth and much of what makes life feel like an adventure was being lowered into the ground with her.
As I stared at the image my mouth felt dry, my hands had a slight tremor and even in my thoughts I could not quite find the right word to define the moment, to define my feelings. I burst out crying in loud wracking sobs and I heard the door open, through my heavy tears the contact lenses swam and moved in my eyes and everything seemed a blur. I felt the hand on my shoulder and as he handed me the tissues he said,
“Can I get you something? Anything? Water? Coffee?”
I blew my nose and composed myself as best I could.
“Water, ice cold water would be nice.”
As he walked towards a bar in the back of his office I heard him say,
“It’s a little early but I can offer you something stronger if you prefer.”
“No thanks, water with ice will be fine.”
The musical clink of the ice cubes against the glass was the familiar tone made only by fine crystal. I recognized the Baccarat pattern, it was the same as the crystal in my parents’ home. He hesitated and cleared his throat before he spoke again.
“I know speaking ill of the dead is in very poor taste but Amanda was not a nice person. I am bound as her attorney to follow her instructions to the letter, you can watch; what is obviously a pretty nasty recording as many times as you wish, but when you are done I need to destroy it, in front of you. Then I am to hand you a box and again you are to open it in absolute privacy, so preferably not in this office. Can I suggest I destroy it right here and now? I have pliers and I can smash the flash drive into nothing.”
“It really is not at all what you imagine. She was even nice and apologized in it. She could be an absolute bitch, but my tears and sadness are not for her.”
“Oh, I see. How’s your dad doing?”
“We were all surprised to see you at the funeral, I actually expected to fly down to Florida and hand all this to you there. She left a nice expense account for that. How long have you been in town?”
“Just a few days, Mom assumed they’d be flying up for Thanksgiving. They are so afraid Obama will get re-elected after the Romney tape that they wanted to vote in person.”
“He might win you know. Although you would not know it in this town by the Romney signs everywhere.”
“Signs can’t vote.”
“Spoken like a true Democrat.”
“Yeah, yet another choice where I absolutely failed my parents.”
“Don’t knock yourself, I do not think any of us live up to parental expectations.”
I drank the ice cold water and nodded my head at the screen, no words were needed he closed the file Amanda’s face disappeared from the screen. He pulled out the flash drive and reached into a drawer, as he crunched and cracked the flash drive that was when I knew, he too had fallen prey to one or more of Amanda’s nasty games.
“I think it is pretty done. If you are not sure why don’t you shoot it?”
“That is not a bad idea.”
That was when we both started to laugh, I did not recognize it then but that was precisely when we bonded, laughing over the nasty remains of a common enemy. I gathered my things including the package Amanda had bequeathed me and Pete walked me to the car.
“It would only be a conflict of interest to offer help in anything regarding Amanda, but if you need any help with your parents’ home, don’t hesitate to call me. Do you have the card I gave you yesterday at the funeral?”
“It is such a small town Pete, even if I lose the card, now that everyone knows I’m here it will be hard to avoid me.”
I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. Everyone in town knew I was there, so there was no sense in driving into the city to get what I needed. I had already put a nice dent in mom’s pantry and dad’s bar. I had been there well over a week, trying to understand what I had missed, how I had not known about Frank. Then Amanda died and curiosity got the better of me. What did Alison say?
“Enemies always attend each other’s funerals. I guess it is a way of knowing they won…”
Well, we weren’t always enemies, and sometimes it is the good and healthy memories that make someone go to a funeral. Amanda was the first of us to die. At 47 it seemed too young to bury a contemporary. Once she was diagnosed it was only a matter of time, it was pretty amazing she lasted as long as she did, but if nothing else money can buy you time and in 2012 time can mean science and technology might just come up with some medication or medical treatment that changes everything.
It had not worked for Amanda, but so far it had worked for my dad. This last stroke seemed to be the first time he had an untimely health issue, with no easy fix in site.
Amanda fought hard for a good two years and then lost, the image of her greenish skin color and emaciated body made that perfectly clear. Her beautiful heart shaped face was gaunt and her eyes sunken in the video, the voice was the strangest and most unrecognizable trait. Was it Karma to go so slowly and with so much suffering? Our shopping Carts collided and I was as startled by that as by the tone of her voice.
“Hi Anne.”
“Connie? I just assumed you were not in town. I did not see you at Amanda’s funeral yesterday.”
“I don’t like funerals. I sent flowers. I saw the comments on Social Media. I was surprised you were there.”
“Social Media? I have avoided social media, the only use would be spying on my kids.”
“Most people use it. In a very public way.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Cyberspace helping small town gossip. I was so detached from the experiences of my youth and my past. I could not imagine there was anything I had missed that mattered in the here and now.
“You know, my dad is really ill, I am just here getting the house in order and figuring out the best way to help them get settled in Florida full-time.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring a nice dinner, we really need to talk. It’s about Frank.”
This time I could easily put a word to define the situation; Dumbfounded. It is a small town but mom assured me that no-one knew.
“Believe me it is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you, but we really need to talk. Better said it is about Frank and Mike.”
I learned at a very young age that the moments that define us in life are sometimes as concrete as a ton of bricks falling loudly and painfully on top of us. This was one of those moments, not at all like the subtle hidden one when Pete and I laughed together.
“What time?”
“Is seven OK? I can bring dinner.”
“You really think we can eat?”
“I’ll bring wine.”
I nodded. I started to pile food like a robot in the shopping cart, as the salesclerk rang it up I wondered why I had chosen all of Frank’s favorites.


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M.C. has one other book that earned her many 5 star reviews. The Bridge of Deaths is a true life mystery novel with a love that spans time.








M.C.V. Egan is the pen name chosen by Maria Catalina Vergara Egan the author of The Bridge of Deaths in two versions as well as the soon to be released Defined by Others.

Catalina was born in Mexico City, Mexico in 1959, the sixth of eight children, in a traditional Catholic family. Communication in such a large family fueled her desire and need to find a voice and write.

She only spent her childhood in Mexico. Her father became an employee of The World Bank in Washington D.C. From the early 1970s at the age of 12 she moved with her entire family to the United States.

Catalina was already fluent in Southern English as she had spent one school year in the town of Pineville, Louisiana with her grandparents. There she won the English award; ironically being the only one who had English as a second language in her class. In the D.C. suburbs she attended various private Catholic schools and graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland in 1977.

She attended Montgomery Community College, where she changed majors every semester. She also studied in Lyons, France at the Catholic University for two years. In 1981, due to an impulsive young marriage to a Viking (The Swedish kind, not the football player kind) Catalina moved to Sweden where she resided for five years and taught at a language school for Swedish, Danish, and Finnish business people. She returned to the USA in the late 1980s where she has been living ever since. She is fluent in Spanish, English, French and Swedish.

Maria Catalina Vergara Egan is married and has one son, who together with their five pound Chihuahua make her feel like a fulltime mother. Although she would not call herself an Astrologer she has taken many classes and taught a few beginner classes in Astrology. This is one of her many past times when she is not writing or researching.


MC is very active around the net. Besides creating sites about her books, she runs around the social sites, making friends along the way. Click on any of these links and see what MC is up to today.






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Sail by M. Mabie

magic size


Book Two in The Wake Series

by M. Mabie

Releasing Early 2015


This isn’t just a two-year long one-night stand. It’s my life.

This is my life. Our life. It isn’t just some careless affair.

I’ve made the worst decisions a woman could, but I’ll earn my second chance.

She can try keeping all the guilt for herself, but I’m just as much to blame.

Loving Casey wasn’t my biggest mistake. Fighting it for so long was.

I’ll show her how fearless our love makes me. I’ll protect her torn heart.

He still has magic in his eyes. He’s the man who makes me happy.

Her voice still brings me to my knees. She says my name like it’s sacred.

I live for the day when I’m his. To take care of him. To love him the way he deserves.

I can’t wait to be all she needs. I can give her a happy life, security and so much love.

Sometimes two ships never meet in the night, but ours did.

Sometimes the water is rough. It beats you all to hell until you have no choice but get stronger.

Our love story reads more like a tragedy, but to me it’s clean and pure.

Let them point their fingers. Without a love like ours, they haven’t really lived. I pity them.

I’m a cheating wife and a villain. I am his honeybee.

I’m a snake in the grass and I sleep best when I’m lying next to his wife.

I want to be his everything.

I’m nothing without her anyway.

This isn’t even close to over.

It’ll never be over.

Sail is the second book in the continuing Wake Series. For more information on the first book in the series see the link for Bait below.

Sail Links: Goodreads | Casey’s Playlist | Blake’s Playlist

Connect with M. Mabie: Website | Amazon | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | tsū

Other Books by M. Mabie: Fade In (Standalone Contemporary Romance) | Bait: Book One in the Wake Series