We’re having a blog tour for RACE THE DARKNESS by Abbie Roads. We are so excited to share this fantastic new paranormal romance with you! Check it out and grab your copy today!!
About Race the Darkness:Cursed with a terrible gift...
Criminal investigator Xander Stone doesn't have to question you-he can hear your thoughts. Scarred by lightning, burdened with a power that gives him no peace, Xander struggles to maintain his sanity against the voice that haunts him day and night-the voice of a woman begging him to save her.
A gift that threatens to engulf them
Isleen Walker has long since given up hope of escape from the nightmare of captivity and torture that is draining her life, her mind, and her soul. Except...there is the man in her feverish dreams, the strangely beautiful man who beckons her to freedom and wholeness. And when he comes, if he comes, it will take all their combined fury and faith to overcome a madman bent on fulfilling a deadly prophecy.
Xander paced the length of his
porch, his bare feet padding across the wood, the sound pleasantly mixing with
the chorus of nighttime noises rocking out on the hillside. But still turmoil
roiled inside him. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was worried
about Isleen. Worried about her health, her sanity, and—after finding that
cross on her forehead—her safety. The thing that worried him the most was the
simple fact that he cared at all. She shouldn’t dominate his mind. Was Matt
right? Did the women in her family possess some strange power to bespell the
men in his?
A rhythmic sound invaded. He paused in his pacing, trying to place
the origin. It was the crunch of gravel under feet. Someone was jogging up the
driveway toward his place. He leaped off the porch, oblivious to his bare feet,
and raced toward the sound.
His eyes weren’t as sharp as his ears, but he knew—fucking knew—the
figure that emerged from the curve was Isleen. She sucked and wheezed rapid
breaths. Her heart beat with a frantic duh-dum, duh-dum
tempo. Her gait was all wrong—sloppy and disjointed, arms flailing almost as if
she were swimming instead of running. With the way she’d acted earlier toward
him, something had to be terribly wrong for her to seek him out.
Adrenaline bucked through his system, charging his muscles, readying
him for a fight. He scanned the lane behind her, expecting to see someone
pursuing her. Nothing. He listened for the sounds of a chase. Nothing.
He sprinted toward her. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t look at him, just continued on, ignoring
him as effectively as if he were invisible. For only a fraction of a second,
pissed-off-ness nearly got the best of him. Then he realized she was all
lights-on-but-nobody-home. Again. “Shit.” He chased after her, nabbing her by
the arm. Her body swung around to face him, her forehead thunking against his
sternum. The sound—an unnatural wonk of bone hitting bone
separated by thick skin—reverberated through his chest. His arms trapped her
close to him. “Goddamn it.” The last thing she needed was a head injury caused
by him. “I didn’t mean to…”
He lost what he was going to say in the sensation of holding her.
She was so petite, barely tall enough to reach his pecs, and yet she fit every
angle and curve of him as if they were two pieces finally fit back together to
make one. He held her until her heart shifted out of warp drive, then stepped
back from her.
Moonlight silvered her skin, giving her a luminescent glow, but her
face was completely devoid of expression. Her gaze fixed forward, locked on an
intangible spot in the air between them. He’d seen this look at the hospital
right before she spouted off about a murder she could not have known about. And
yet, did know all about.
“Isleen. Snap out of it.” His voice went deeper, carrying a strength
beyond what it normally possessed. He shook her hard, one rough jerk that slung
her head around her shoulders. “Wake up. Now.” Wake up? Where’d that come from?
Did he honestly think she was sleeping? One moment she was lost, and the next,
clarity and lucidity slammed into her features.
“Xander,” she cried and flung
herself against him, clawing at the back of his shirt with her hands and
pressing herself so tightly against him that it felt like she was trying to
hide inside his skin.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Seven Things about Abbie Roads:
She loves Snicker Parfaits. Gotta start with what’s most important, right?
She writes dark emotional books featuring damaged characters, but always gives her hero and heroine a happy ending… after torturing them for three hundred pages.
By day she’s a mental health counselor known for her blunt, honest style of therapy. At night she burns up the keyboard. Well… Burn might be too strong a word. She at least sits with her hands poised over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike. And when it does—the keyboard might get a little warm.
She can’t stand it when people drive slowly in the passing lane. Just saying. That’s major annoying. Right?
She loves taking pictures of things she thinks are pretty.
I sell drugs. Heroin to be specific. And I'm fucking good at my job. Enough to fight my way to the top position, controlling all of Austin's supply.
So what if I had to kill the previous boss to do it. I do what has to be done. Never cared about consequences because I never had anything to lose.
Until I met Miri. My doll. She's my weakness and somehow, my enemies found out about her.
If they hurt her, they will regret the day they ever heard my name. Boss. They call me Boss for a reason. What I say goes, including the price on the heads of anyone who dares to fuck with what belongs to me.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the 'dark' side of fame. The part that the public doesn't get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
My favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
The Fourth
Piece (Order's Last Play #1) byE.
Ardell
Genre: YA Sci-fi/Fantasy Release Date: July 8th 2016 48fourteen
Admitting what you are will end everything you
know. Embracing who you are will start a war...
Life is great when you’re good-looking and popular…so long as no one knows
you’re a vulatto. Being half-alien gets you labeled “loser” quicker than being
a full vader. So it’s a good thing Devon, Lyle, and Lawrence can easily pass
for human—until the night of the party. Nothing kills a good time faster than
three brothers sharing a psychic vision of a fourth brother who’s off-world and
going to die unless they do something. But when your brother’s emergency
happens off-planet, calling 9-1-1 really isn’t an option.
In their attempt to save a brother they barely remember, Devon, Lyle and
Lawrence expose themselves to mortal danger and inherit a destiny that killed
the last four guys cursed with it. In 2022, there are humans and aliens, heroes
and monsters, choices and prophecies—and four brothers with the power to choose
what’s left when the gods decide they’re through playing games.
What a rush! This was a spectacular debut novel that sucked
me in from the very first word. I loved how Ardell introduced me to each of the
main characters through the same experience but from different POVs in separate
chapters. Not only did it allow me to get a feel for who these guys were, but
it created a high level of intrigue around the incident that started it all.
Who was the boy that each of the Ladreth boys saw? How and why were they all privy
to the boy’s fate, when only one of them seemed to possess powers? And what
journey was this vision going to take them on?
I doubt any of them would have imagined they’d be faced with
such a heavy burden and one that would tear their lives apart. It was an
adrenalin fueled ride that threw plenty of curveballs, testing love and
loyalty. The hurdles they had to conquer throughout this book brought them
together and broke down barriers, but it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The dynamic
between each of the brothers was very interesting and really brought the story
to life. There was obviously some animosity between Lyle and Devon, and Lawrie
was a force unto himself. I am still quite astounded by how Ardell was able to seamlessly
step into the shoes of not one but four teenage guys, and to write them to
perfection.
Ardell also did a great job of intricately weaving a story
that is relatable, even though it reads as fiction. Remove the alien element
and this could very well be a contemporary story about the struggle for
acceptance, as well as self-acceptance, in a world that is so full of hate.
I cannot wait for the next instalment to see where this
adventure will lead these amazing characters.
About the Author
E. Ardell spent her childhood in Houston, Texas, obsessed with
anything science fiction, fantastic, paranormal or just plain weird. She loves
to write stories that feature young people with extraordinary talents thrown
into strange and dangerous situations. She took her obsession to the next
level, earning a Master of Fine Arts from the University of Southern Maine
where she specialized in young adult genre fiction. She’s a big kid at heart
and loves her job as a teen librarian at Monterey Public Library in Monterey,
California, where she voluntarily shuts herself in rooms with hungry hordes of
teenagers and runs crazy after-school programs for them. When she’s not
working, she’s reading, writing, running writers critique groups, trying to
keep up with a blog, and even writing fan fiction as her guilty pleasure.
I'm a heroin addict. A junkie. A whore. I'll do anything to get my next fix.
Anything.
Including walking right onto the property of Austin's most ruthless and feared drug lord to beg for some H. I don't know his name, only that people call him Boss. Oh, and that he won't think twice to put a bullet in my head.
But like I said, I'll do anything to get my next fix. Even if it costs me my life.
Or changes it forever.
Excerpt #1
Boss gives Miri a hit
Despite Miri’s disgusting appearance, her nasty addiction to heroin, and the fact that her maybe-boyfriend had been stealing from me to feed her habit, I felt responsible for her. It was my shit she got hooked on, and she just seemed… frail and in need of someone to take care of her. It was almost as if she were sent here as penance for my past failures to take care of my mom and sister.
Besides, Miri intruded on my property. She knew where I lived. I couldn’t just toss her out. It was highly unlikely, but she could call the cops and get them down here with a warrant in the blink of an eye.
Better to get her dosed up and calmed down before trying to talk.
“Jase,” I barked.
One of my men immediately appeared at my side. “Yes, Boss.”
“Bring me the kit.”
With a sharp nod, he left the room and reappeared in less than two minutes to hand me a small zippered pouch. “Here you go, Boss.”
“All of you leave,” I ordered as I began prepping the kit. One by one, I lined the items up on the table, in the order I would need them. Everyone obeyed my command but one.
“Boss, come on…”
“Milo, don’t push me any further tonight.” I turned to give my lieutenant a dark stare that said don’t fuck with me. He better not press his thoughts in front of a stranger.
Milo’s lips pressed tight as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and follow my orders. Nothing new from the big, strong-willed man. He was very opinionated at times. Tense and agitated, Milo gave in and agreed. “Fine. I’m going home then, Boss.”
“See you in the morning.” I dismissed Milo and returned my attentions to the sweaty, gross, trembling girl in my kitchen.
Using an alcohol pad, I wiped my hands to kill any germs. Then I picked up a tiny packet of white powder, careful not to spill any, and poured it into a spoon designed to lie on a flat surface without tilting. The rubber tourniquet was long compared to Miri’s razor-thin arm. I knotted it around the tiny limb, holding back a pained grimace at touching her filthy skin. When I glanced up to check on her, I found Miri watching intently. I blinked and tore my gaze away from those wide green eyes to search for a vein. There wasn’t a single usable one on her scar-riddled arm.
“Shit,” I muttered when an inspection of her other arm turned up the same.
“I-I use my feet.” Miri’s voice was so soft I nearly missed her response.
Caught in the sliver of emerald in those captivating eyes, it took me a minute to reply.
“All right.” I removed the tourniquet, put it around a slender ankle, and placed her left foot on the floor to get better blood flow to the extremity. A single bluish vein stood out, surrounded by a half-dozen faded and fresh track marks. “There it is.” I grabbed another alcohol pad and swabbed the area. Syringe in hand, I uncapped a vial of sterile water and drew up a small amount, adding it to the powered opiate in the spoon. Using a lighter, I cooked the drugs until the mixture was reduced to a clear, bubbling liquid. As I waited for the chemicals to cool, Miri became frantic.
“I-It’s okay. I c-can take it hot. Really. I-I don’t mind. Please…”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not safe. You could blow a vein or worse.”
“I don’t care! Give it to me.” She started to struggle in the chair, in danger of tipping it over again.
Fed the fuck up with today’s events and bullshit in general, I caught her chin between my thumb and forefingers and pinched hard enough to hold her still.
“Stop this immediately or you’ll get nothing. Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say it once. I’m never, ever hospitable to intruders, so you should consider yourself lucky to still be breathing right now and not being driven to a remote location where no one will ever find your body.”
Those dull eyes widened with fear and her lip trembled. “Okay, okay. I’m g-good. I’ll be good. I’m s-sorry.”
I ripped open another alcohol swab and wiped off my fingers. Filthy junkie. Once the mixture was cool, I drew it up into the syringe using a filtered needle and made sure the air was out.
“Ready?” I’m not sure why I bothered—I knew the answer before the question was asked.
“Yes, please, please, please.” Miri vibrated with anticipation.
Despite the fact I grew up around drugs, despised drug use, watched my family implode from drug addiction and never once allowed anyone to get high in my house or permitted drug use among my employees, I went against everything I believed personally and stuck the needle into the vein on Miri’s foot. I pulled back to watch as dark red blood entered the syringe. With visual confirmation I hit a vein, I removed the tourniquet and slowly injected the opiate into her system until the syringe was empty. Working efficiently, I cleaned up the kit, put the used items in a container for the staff to dispose of, and washed my hands at the sink.
Then I sat down and waited.
Excerpt #2
Boss forces Miri in the shower to get clean
Fighting the intense, gut-clenching fear, I tightened my grip, using his strong muscles to keep me upright as he washed my feet. The cloth skimmed up my legs one at a time, his hands scrubbing over and over as the foam rinsed away days of dirt and grime. The boss skipped my clothed midsection, straightened to his full height, and repeated the process with my arms, spending extra time on my dirt-caked hands and nails, and the track marks on my arms, only moving on when my skin glowed pink.
Next, he lifted my long red hair off my neck and slid the cloth across the top of my back and shoulders, then around the front to wash the exposed part of my chest where my tank top dipped low. I glanced down as his enormous, bruised and scabbed hands worked over my skin, only then realizing my white tank was completely transparent and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Instinctively, my hands flew up to cover my breasts. He chuckled, a smooth, deep sound so seductive it could easily charm a roomful of people and melt every pair of panties in a five-mile radius.
“A little too late for that, doll. Seein’ as I’ve already got a good look at everything.”
Something about his cocky drawl, the crooked smirk on his face, and that single raised eyebrow felt like a challenge. My courage, boosted by the decadent lull of my best friend, heroin, had me meeting his gaze head-on. Determined to show the boss I wasn’t a cowering scaredy-cat, I fingered the hem, tugged the wet tank over my head, and tossed it to the floor with a loud splat. The man’s eyes widened, which only fueled my desire to make him eat his stupid words. Still staring directly into those sapphire eyes, I stuck my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and shoved them down, stepped out, and kicked them aside. Completely naked, I stood my ground and raised my own brow in return, hands on my hips.
Our eyes were locked a few more seconds before he threw his head back and burst out laughing. The action made him look years younger than I originally believed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that, doll?”
Instead of answering, I snatched the soapy washcloth from his hand and quickly finished washing my newly exposed skin.
“Here.”
Jerk.
The boss scrambled to catch the cloth I whipped at his chest before turning to storm out of the shower. I yelped when he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me toward him. The blazing heat of his chest was pressed against the bare skin of my back and I trembled from head to toe. The boss held tight and lowered his mouth to my ear.
“First, don’t ever fucking throw shit at me again.” Chills broke out across my skin at his angry threat. “You will not disrespect me in my own house, especially after I fucking took you in instead of killing you the second you set foot on my property. Got it?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my upper arms until I whimpered.
“Y-yes. I get it.” I struggled to keep from screaming out of pure terror. What was I thinking? Mouthing off to a drug lord while naked in his shower and a house full of his goons one floor below. I couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable.
After digging his fingers in for another long moment to prove he was in charge, the boss released me and spun me around as he picked up another bottle. “Your hair is fucking disgusting. It needs to be washed.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and once more, shame flooded me with heat. This man had a way of making me feel as though I was less than human. He held out the bottle, shaking it in my face. “Either you do it, or I do, doll. But you’re not getting out of here until you’ve cleaned the junkie stench off.”
The backs of my eyes stung and my face caught fire. I couldn’t look at him as I took the bottle and poured some shampoo into a shaky hand. He washed himself quickly then stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest as I lathered my hair and rinsed off under the spray.
“Again,” he demanded. I bit my lip to keep from telling him to fuck off and did as I was told.
When the last suds swirled down the drain, the boss was silent as he reached around me and cut off the water. He carefully folded the washcloth, laid it on the edge of the sink, and stepped out of the shower enclosure. He handed me a towel, and picked one up for himself. I tried not to watch as he rubbed the fluffy white cloth over all of those tan muscles, but it was futile. Staring, I was mesmerized by the sight as the boss wrapped the towel around his waist and shucked his wet briefs from underneath. I gulped, knowing he was now naked beneath the soft terrycloth, a mere foot away.
When the silence became uncomfortable, I clutched my own towel to my chest, dug up what little courage I had left, and turned to face him with a huff. “We showered together and I don’t even know your name.”
He quirked that damn eyebrow again and smiled, white teeth gleaming in the middle of his dark designer stubble. If I didn’t know he was a widely feared drug lord and a pushy, high-handed, scary motherfucker, I’d find his expression almost charming.
“Boss.”
“I know you’re The Boss, I want to know your name.”
“My name is Boss,” he repeated. “Or Boss Man. Either one works.” As if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if forcing unwilling women into a shower were an everyday occurrence, he shrugged and brushed a hand through his wet hair.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” This guy was so damn frustrating. He shot me up with H, dumped me in the shower, humiliated me, washed me, but wouldn’t tell me his name. Whatever. I turned my back to him.
Big mistake.
Two large hands wrapped around my shoulders, and I was jerked back against his body once more. Both of us were currently clad only in towels, his slung low around his waist and mine tucked under my armpits. There wasn’t as much skin-on-skin contact as in the shower, but this felt much more intimate. Slowly, Boss spun me around to face him, and I had to muffle a frightened cry. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. The transformation from playful to furious was immediate and absolutely terrifying. For the first time since I’d showed up on his lawn, I was truly, without a doubt, scared shitless.
This man, the one in front of me—so different from the man who laughed in the shower—is what I expected from the drug lord I heard rumors about. Horrible rumors of unspeakable acts of violence. A ruthless man to be respected and feared.
Boss pressed the length of his half-naked body against me, and growled, teeth glinting behind curled lips. “That’s the second time you turned your back on me after mouthing off. I’m only going to say this once more, Miri, so listen carefully.” He lowered his head and his breath ghosted across my neck. I shuddered and a whimper escaped my throat, the result of a horrifying combination of lust and fear. “You are my guest. You snuck onto my property and you’re goddamn lucky I didn’t let Milo shoot you on sight. No, I saved you, took your ass in, gave you your fucking heroin, and washed a couple weeks’ worth of filth and scum off of you using my very expensive body wash that, incidentally, I never share with anyone. I expect you to be grateful for my hospitality and treat me with some goddamn motherfucking respect, got it?” His hands tightened around my arms incrementally as he spoke. His message was quite clear as his touch became more and more painful. I knew his thick fingers would leave bruises on my pale, fragile skin.
Legs shaking, I nearly pissed myself when faced with the lethal side of this man.
“I want to hear you say you understand, Miri.” Boss let go and stepped back until his eyes bored holes into me from beneath heavy brows.
Filled with terror, my heart pounded and my breath caught in my lungs, rendering me speechless. His eyes narrowed, not happy with my silence. Somehow, I managed to choke out two words.
Heather C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to write about the 'dark' side of fame. The part that the public doesn't get to see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
My favorite authors are Dan Wells, Ken Follett, and Stephen King.
