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Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Give Me Books Presents: Carnage by Ker Dukey; #ReleaseBlitz, #NowAvailable, #OutNow, #TBR, #Live


Title: Carnage
Series: Royal Bastards MC: Little Rock, AR #3
Author: Ker Dukey
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: November 26, 2021
#Carnage #KerDukey #RoyalBastardsMC 
#newbooks #mcromance #kindlebooks 
#givemebookspr #RoyalBastardsMCLittleRockAR


BLURB:

Ezekiel “Carnage Creator” Ford.
Brother of the Royal Bastards MC.
Brutality incarnate.
A lone wolf.
The one they call in from the dark when they need shit done—and there’s no one better for the job than me.
I have a tainted soul, oil black, and hungry for bloodshed.
The world is a cesspit. I give zero fucks about it, and it gives zero fucks about me, so when some mafia prick with a vendetta toward our club tries to torture me for sport, the last person I expect to come to my rescue is a small female with a sassy attitude and a death wish.
She’s a complication, burrowing her claws deep into the layers of my fucked-up psyche.
Part of me wants to keep her there, drench her in the very essence of who I am until she’s nothing but a weeping mess, craving the relief only I can give her.
She’s bringing my walls down, showing me maybe there’s some good in the world after all. Until my brothers find us and it’s not me they’ve come for—it’s her.
She’s not who she’s been pretending to be.
She’s the devil dressed in the tight-ass skin of a bitch I’ve become addicted to.
I don’t care who has to bleed for me to keep feeding the habit:
My brother.
Our enemies.
Her.
If she’s not in my bed and on the back of my bike, she’s not going to be on anyone’s.


PURCHASE LINKS:

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited



EXCERPT:

Another bar. Another drink. Another job.
Shifting my gaze around this hovel, a grim line tugs at my lips. The floors are sticky. The mirror behind the bar is cracked and missing pieces. There’s a fucking dog that looks like a rat licking out of a man’s beer glass on the bar top. Cigarette smoke fogs the air, and the reek of piss invades my nostrils. I got a text to meet a brother here. My gut instinct tells me I’ve got the wrong place. This shit hole is in the middle of bum fuck nowhere and looks like it’s run from the cast of The Hills Have Eyes. Lights flicker toward the back where a pool table is situated, making it impossible for anyone to fucking use it. I’ve been in some hell holes, but this one takes the cake.
Finding a table, I begrudgingly sit my ass in the torn-up booth. The green leather seat looks like Freddie Kruger got into a fight with it, half the insides pushing through tears.
A couple guys in the booth next to me share a pitcher of beer while hashing it out in a heated conversation. A barman who looks ready for the grave hobbles up and down, clearing shit away. A man propped up by the bar is either passed out or dead.
I’m about to text the bastard and check if this is the right place when a woman walks in from the back, making me pause. It’s like someone dropped a diamond into a pile of dog shit. A pretty little piece so out of place immediately sends up red flags. Her dark blonde hair spills down her back, ending at a perky ass crammed into a pair of jean shorts. Her face is innocent all for the pouty red lips that scream, “Insert cock here.” Her tits bounce with her movements as she slips behind the bar.
Our eyes clash across the room, her brow puckering as she nods to the barman. He gives her something, and she saunters toward me. Dumping her ass in the seat opposite me, she places a shot in the center of the table between us.
Her pouty lips part, concern drawing down her brows. “You’re a bastard,” she breathes. I half expected her to be toothless—something that would make her fit in here—but she has a full set of pearly whites.
“A little too soon to be determining that. That’s usually reserved for after sex.” I smirk, but she doesn’t even twitch.
Tough crowd.
“A royal bastard,” she clarifies in a hushed whisper. Reaching forward, I take the glass and knock it back as she reaches for my arm to stop me. “You shouldn’t have come,” she says, slightly shaking her head and shifting her eyes to the men in the booth next to us.
Was this a setup? My thoughts melt like plastic over a flame, the room expanding then shrinking in quick succession.
“What the fuck did you give me?” I slur. Fuck. She drugged me. I knew she was a huge red fucking flag.



ALSO AVAILABLE:


FREE for TODAY only!

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Always free in Kindle Unlimited


99c for TODAY only!

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited



AUTHOR BIO:


Ker Dukey is an international bestselling author.

Genres include: Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mafia Romance, MC Romance and more.

Ker, has over Forty titles published, held multiple #1 bestseller banners and chart-topping titles with the rights sold to numerous countries, translated in multiple languages, and have been adapted into audiobooks.

In addition to being an author, Ker is an annoying wife and a mother of three children + one dog (who thinks he's human.) She has a passion for reading and binge-watching crime documentaries.

Find her on social media, where she loves interacting with her readers.

AUTHOR LINKS:



Hosted By:

#ReleaseBlitz: Child Of Mine by Karen Grey; #NowAvailable, #OutNow, #TBR, #Live

CHILD OF MINE
a nostalgic romantic comedy
Book 4 in the interconnected standalone 
Boston Classics series
by Karen Grey


A romcom set in BOSTON in the 80s?? Yes please!”

NYT bestselling author Erin Nicholas

 

Blurb:


The bigger the secret, the harder it is to hide.

 

Single mom Isabella York was a celebrity before she had her first kiss, her first date, or her first sip of alcohol. Playing the bad girl—both on and off the set—made up for lost time, but the consequences were life-changing. Back home in Boston, with her “checkered past” behind her, all she wants is to raise her little girl far from the spotlight. After all, revealing her secrets could mean losing everything.

 

For her, and her daughter.

 

It’s not that Henry Smith hates kids—they don’t like him. Meanwhile, he’s stuck producing children’s TV, so he’s doing the best he can to be less of a grouch. Not everyone gets a second chance to chase his dream, and if he plays his cards right at this new gig, he can move on to making television that will change the world, not just entertain a bunch of brats.

 

Even better, he just might be able to talk the woman he never thought he’d see again into greenlighting a do-over.

 

In this sexy, heartwarming, Secret Baby, 80’s throwback romcom, a Sunshine-Grumpy pair has to face the past before they can find their future… together.


Buy Links:


AMAZON:  https://bit.ly/COMamz

UNIVERSAL: https://books2read.com/COMKGrey

APPLE: https://bit.ly/COMGrey_Apple

NOOK: https://bit.ly/COMGrey_Nook

KOBO: https://bit.ly/COMKoboebook

GOODREADS:  https://bit.ly/GreyKCOMGR

BOOKBUB: https://bit.ly/COM_Bookbub

KAREN GREY WEBSITE: https://bit.ly/COM_HCB



Teaser Quotes:

“Kids aren’t scared of me,” I protest weakly. I don’t mind them, but kids sure hate me.

“Henry. You’re like the anti-Bozo.”

I roll my eyes. “Just because I made that girl cry one time.”

He grins. “It was a whole gaggle of girls. And at least five times. That I know about.”

“She stole
Cowboy Cam’s hat!”

“They’re only four years old, man.”

“I didn’t send her to juvie. I just made sure she understood that you don’t touch station property.”



Briefly, an image of her father flashes in my mind. What if he hadn’t disappeared without a goodbye? Would he be walking down this street at my side, helping me watch out for our little girl, his palm on my hip a promise of things we might do later?

As lovely as all that sounds, that’s not my reality, so I pack it away. If I’ve learned one thing in this life so far, it’s that there’s only one person I can truly rely on, and that’s me.

Besides, what Lilah doesn’t know can’t hurt her.



Series review quotes:

 

This author is truly a master at creating likeable, three-dimensional characters.” Laurie Reads Romance

 

I love these retro romance reads!” Bookbub review

 

I’m all about this semi historical genre. The music, the radio, the phones with cords. Every bit of it.” Goodreads review

 

I'm always happy to read Karen's books that transport me back to the 80s and 90s. I love her snippets of music, TV, current events of that time period sprinkled throughout the book for that hit of nostalgia.” Pixiedust Reads

 

I am loving this series; each book is entertaining and contains plenty of laugh out loud moments and heartfelt ones.” Bookbub review

 

Karen Grey has a lovely, deft touch with her characters, the plot, and with the world she's created.” Bookbub review

 

I need more! This series is amazing!” Bookbub review


Excerpt:

New York, 1982


HENRY

 

Hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I nod and let this gorgeous wisp of a woman grab my hand—hers small in mine but surprisingly strong—and tug me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before.

“Where are you taking me?”

Her eyebrows waggle, making her more Goldie Hawn than Cheryl Tiegs for a moment. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She presses a finger to my lips, setting off an electric buzz that zings directly south.

You’d think six months as a page giving tours of this iconic New York building would mean that I knew all her secrets, but Izzy—I still can’t believe that it’s her, the girl that literally gave me my first wet dream—leads me through hallways I didn’t know existed. Sparingly lit with bare bulbs, our shadows are long on the stained concrete. “How did you know about this back route?”

She slips me a secret smile. “I’ve worked here a long time.”

“Right out of school, huh?” If she’s my age, a long time can only be a couple years.

“Pretty much.” Her eyes shutter briefly, but she grips my hand more firmly. “Almost there.”

A metal door leads us to a loading bay, which opens into the scene shop. Now I know where we are. She picks up the pace as we cross the enormous space. When we reach the other side, she bites her lip and tries a door that I know leads to the costume shop. “Damn. I thought maybe we could cut through. We’ll have to go another way.”

“If you tell me where we’re headed, maybe I can help. I used to be a page.”

“You were?” She narrows her eyes at me. “I never saw you.”

“Where do you work, anyway?”

“Never mind.” Tugging on my hand again, she pulls me toward the door that leads back into the public realm. In the small reception area outside the shops, we run into a security guard. He flicks a questioning gaze at me. “Everything all right, Miss?”

The smile she flashes the older man is respectful but familiar. “All good, Charlie. I’m just picking up a couple things.”

He purses his lips as he gives me another assessing look. “You take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“Always.”

He doesn’t say a word as she marches through the doorway to the dressing rooms—forbidden territory for tours. There’s a dummy dressing room that we’d show off, but I’ve never seen the real ones. Stars need their privacy.

“Are you on a show here?” I’m in the news division, and I rarely watch the other daytime or primetime fare the station churns out.

Her step falters, but she responds with a “Pfft. Just because I was on Boom for a season? Nah, I’m a—hang on.” She opens the door to an office, and reaches under the cushion of a chair. “People are creatures of habit. This is where Nancy always hides her… ah, got ’em.” She holds up a ring heavy with keys. “For a script supervisor who’s supposed to be on top of all the details, she’s super lax.”

“Are we breaking and entering?”

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the key, is it?”

Moments later, she’s unlocking a dressing room door that, unlike the others we passed, isn’t labelled with an actor’s name. She flicks on a lamp instead of the overhead lights, tosses the keys on the counter, pulls me all the way inside, reaches around me to lock the deadbolt, and then crowds me up against the door until there’s nothing between us but fabric.

“You are something,” I say with what little air is left in my lungs, her touch amplifying the feeling that anything is possible.

“Shhh.” When she presses her index finger to my lips, I can only lean in to her touch. “I happen to know that this actress is leaving,” she whispers with a conspiratorial grin. “She’s all packed up and out of here, so let’s take advantage of that. As much advantage as humanly possible.”

This day just keeps getting better.


#BlogTour: Festive Reads; #NowAvailable, #OutNow, #TBR, #Live, #Giveaway



Ring in the Holidays with Excerpts from Festive Reads by Bestselling Authors Rainbow Rowell, Suzanne Redfearn, J. Courtney Sullivan, and Chandler Baker

This winter, rejoice in a festival of entertaining new tales from Amazon Original Stories. Unwrap unique short reads by bestselling authors to keep your holiday season merry and bright. Visit www.amazon.com/holidaystories to browse a curated selection of stories—free for Prime Members and Kindle Unlimited Subscribers—and read on for excerpts from the titles by Rainbow Rowell, Suzanne Redfearn, J. Courtney Sullivan, and Chandler Baker.

***


After a long, lonely year, two people stumble toward each other in If the Fates Allow is a holiday short story by Rainbow Rowell the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Eleanor & Park and Fangirl.

Reagan crept to the side to get a closer look. It looked like the deer had managed to snag its foot between two crossbars and a small tree that was growing right next to the fence.

Mason was still inching toward it, with his hands out. 


“What are you doing?” Reagan asked again.


“I’m going to help it get free.”


“It’ll get itself free.”

“I don’t think it will. It’s wedged pretty good.”


The deer broke into frantic movement, struggling against the fence. “It’s going to injure itself,” Mason said.


“It’s going to injure you.”


This wasn’t a fawn or a hungry little doe; the deer was as long as Reagan was tall—it must have weighed two hundred pounds.

“Shhhh,” Mason was saying. Maybe to the deer, maybe to Reagan. He was crouching behind it, which seemed like the dumbest decision in the world.

“Mason,” Reagan whispered.

“It’s all right,” he said, reaching for the trapped hoof. “Her other legs are on the other side of the fence.”

“I think that’s a buck.”


“She’s not a buck, look at her head.”


The deer struggled again. Mason froze. Reagan took another anxious step toward them.


When the deer stilled, Mason shot forward. He bent the tree back and grabbed the trapped hoof, lifting it free.


The deer pulled the leg forward—and in the same motion, kicked its other hind leg through the fence, catching Mason in the chest.

“Oof,” he said, falling backward.


The deer ran away, and Reagan ran to Mason. “Jesus Christ!” she shouted. “I told you!”


Mason was lying on his back in the snow. Reagan went down on her knees beside him. “Are you okay?” she asked, touching his arm.

His eyes were wide. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just surprised. Is she okay?” 


“The deer?”


He nodded.


“She’s fine,” Reagan said. “She’ll live to spread ticks and disease, and destroy crops. Where’d she get you?”


He pointed to his shoulder.


“Can you move it?”


He rotated his shoulder. He was broader than he looked from a distance. Broad even under his coat. His neck was thick, and one of his ears was partly inverted, probably from an old injury. He had snow in his ears and his hair. His hair was much darker than Reagan’s, almost black.

“Did you hit your head?” she asked.


“No. I think I’m okay.”


“That was so stupid, Mason—that could have been your face.”


“I think I’m okay,” he repeated. He lifted his head up out of the snow and pushed up onto his elbows.


Reagan moved away from him.


He stood up, so she stood up, too. 


“That could have been your neck,” she said. “That was so stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”


Reagan’s heart was still pounding. Mason looked worried. There was snow on his glasses, and his mask had fallen below his nose. He was holding her arm. “I’m sorry, okay? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Reagan said. “I’m just . . .”

Mason was holding her arm. He was standing right next to her. 

Reagan made a fist in the suede collar of his coat and pulled herself closer to him.

His head dipped forward, more fiercely than she was expecting, to kiss her.


Read More About If the Fates Allow Here >>


***


From Suzanne Redfearn, the bestselling author of In an Instant, comes a heartfelt short story about one couple’s journey to discover if there really is a secret ingredient to happily ever after before their upcoming holiday wedding in The Marriage Test.

The server appears. “Something to drink with dinner?”


“Do you have a white burgundy?” I ask, feeling like something bright to match my mood.


The server points to the French section of the wine list. 


“Oh,” I say, as the list is limited and pricey. “I only want a glass. I’ll just take a—”


“A bottle of the finest white burgundy you have,” Justin interrupts. 


“Justin—”

He waves me off.


The server leaves, and I lean in to kiss him. “I love you.” 


“For ordering a bottle of wine?”


“For ordering a bottle of wine to make me happy.”


I sit back again, and he returns his hand to my knee. “Good evening.”


I look up, and my breath catches. Standing a foot from our table is Annabelle Winters, my chef idol since college. She’s five feet tall with narrow shoulders and wide hips. Curls of wild black hair escape her white cap, flour dusts her black chef coat, and in her hands is a cutting board with a round loaf of bread.

“I understand tonight is a special occasion,” she says, a Mediterranean accent rounding the words. I tilt my head as Justin nods. “In my home country, we have a tradition: remarkable moments are celebrated by the breaking of bread. So, I made this loaf specially for you.” She sets the board on the table, wisps of steam spiraling from the golden, flaky crust. “This is pogača, the bread of my childhood and a symbol of love.”

With a small bow, she pivots away.

“That . . .that was . . .I can’t believe it . . .that was Annabelle Winters.”

Justin smiles wide, a proud grin that crinkles his cheeks. “You told her it was a special occasion?”


“It is,” he says. “We are together.”


I look at the loaf. “Wow. Pogača. My grandmother told me about this bread. It doesn’t use eggs or milk, and it’s cooked on a hearth over an open fire.”

“It’s still warm,” he says. “It must have just come out of the oven.”

I lift it to my face and inhale deeply, warm yeast and flour filling my nose. “Mmmm.” I hold it toward him.

He takes a breath, then leans back and nods. “Well, go on . . . break bread.”

Grinning like a kid at Christmas, I grip the edges and start to twist.

“Wait!” Justin yelps, stopping me, the loaf suspended.

He falls from his chair to the deck, my leg flopping from his lap along with his napkin.

I giggle. “What are you doing?”

“Okay,” he says, now kneeling on one knee. “Keep going.”


The people at the table behind us have stopped what they were doing and are now looking at us, and I notice Annabelle Winters beside the entrance watching as well. I look at the bread, then at Justin, then back again, and blood rushes to my face as I realize what is happening.

“Really?” I say.


He nods toward the bread.


Cheeks spread wide, I tear it in two, sending gold crumbs raining onto the tablecloth.

Poking from the steaming center is the corner of a stainless-steel cylinder.


I dig my fingers in to pry it loose and set it on the palm of my hand. An inch and a half tall and two inches in diameter, it’s engraved on top with two doves surrounded by a ring of leaves.

The woman behind us shifts for a better view.

Heart pounding, I prize off the lid. Sitting on a bed of white satin is a stunning sapphire ring, the center stone blue as the deepest ocean, a single diamond baguette on either side.

“Ava Nicole Barnes,” Justin says, his voice elevated for the audience, “keeper of my heart, guardian of my soul, and woman of my dreams, will you make me the happiest man on this earth and do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Read More About The Marriage Test Here >>


***


Not happy? No problem. Fake it. From New York Times bestselling author J. Courtney Sullivan comes the sharp witted short story, Model Home, about the reality of reality TV.

On the ninth take, things get heated between the husband, Todd, and his wife, Noreen.

He complains that this house only has three bedrooms, leaving no possibility for the man cave he was promised he’d get if they gave up their downtown Milwaukee loft for the suburbs. She seems flabbergasted that he can’t see the advantage of sacrificing that space for what is by far the biggest backyard of the three houses they’ve looked at.

Todd says in a tone that manages to sound both jokey and hostile, “If we buy this house, you can’t complain when I play my electric guitar in the living room. Have you thought of that?”

Noreen replies, “I’m only ever thinking of Colby and Mason.”

If you ask me, they both deserve an Oscar. The tension is palpable, even though everyone present knows they already bought this house seven months ago.

House Number One belongs to Todd’s cousin. It isn’t for sale. House Number Two is soon to be listed. The owner was happy to provide access, since being featured on our show, even as a reject, will sell the place in a minute.

I, the wise referee/realtor/designer, smile and say for what feels like the one trillionth time in my life, “Sounds like you two have a lot to discuss. Babe, let’s leave them to it.”

I wonder briefly if I’ll ever get to say these words again on camera, but I have to put the thought from my head.

I never call Damian babe in real life. Especially not now, but even back when I could stand him.


He doesn’t meet my eye. He’s staring into space, going out of his way to look disinterested. No one notices but me. Lately I think of my husband as a disappointment turducken: a lack of ambition wrapped in a beer gut wrapped in a statement tee designed for a much fitter man.

Read More About Model Home Here >>


***


Everyone is home for the holidays, clamoring for all the Christmas cheer only their mother can whip up. They can already smell the chestnuts roasting—or is that Mom’s hair on fire? From New York Times bestselling author Chandler Baker comes the laugh-out-loud short story, Oh. What. Fun.

During normal times, Mom loves to spend most of her day on the phone with one of us or the other. As soon as she hangs up with Channing, she’ll call Sammy; as soon as she’s done with Sammy, Tyler will call; and then she starts the whole process again. Not that we’d ever say this out loud, but we’re in the thick of our lives, so we’re busy with dating and kids and friends getting married and pregnant and such, and, well, Mom’s stories are kind of dull. Though obviously, in retrospect, this is an instance when we should have paid better attention.

Unlike Mom, Channing never complains about anything and so she didn’t make a big deal of it when Mom, again, forty-five minutes after the agreed-upon time, took over the kids, leading them on a special explorer hunt to find Canelo the Elf.

Mom is wild about that Elf on the Shelf. Canelo joined us three Christmases ago. The twins are in a Spanish- immersion program, hence the name, and Channing and Doug explained to us that if Canelo started the month of December at their house, he’d need to travel for the time spent at Grandpa and Grandma’s. It only made sense. So the trick is there are actually two Canelos. Mom bought a body double so Channing could leave hers safely at home. Canelo’s antics are one of those things we all tease her about: Somebody has too much time on her hands. But the truth is, we do kind of get a kick out of him.

Mom keeps the Elf ’s next move top secret from everyone, even Dad. Last year, Canelo relaxed in a Crockpot Jacuzzi filled with marshmallows; then he stole all of our toilet paper to build snowmen and rode a zip line down the stairs. This year was off to an impressive start as the twins took binoculars and donned safari hats to track down Canelo, who was wearing camouflage in one of the old oak trees. But we guess we’ll never know what else Canelo had in store, because Canelo hasn’t moved in two days. His painted, unblinking eyes stare at us from his perch, and none of us have been able to work out yet how it is we should explain this to the twins.

We think at some point during the Canelo expedition Sammy pulled up and plopped down on the couch, probably with his shoes still on, and started messing around on his phone. Every group of siblings has a “one,” and Sammy, for us, is the Boring One, mainly because he’s twenty-five and always on his phone. Also he just broke up with his girlfriend (see: always on phone), and yet when we tasked him with one very simple to-do—break into Mom’s phone—well all the sudden he apparently “didn’t know anything about phones.”

Sammy didn’t see anything or hear anything or smell anything unusual, but as we’ve already pointed out, this can’t be taken as gospel since he was preoccupied texting back and forth with his ex.


Sammy
do you know what kind of laundry detergent you used to use on our clothes? Bc mine smell all weird now.

Mae-Bell

It’s the fabric softener. Downy infusions. Scent: Romantic.


Later, we passed around the conversation to weigh in by committee on whether she meant anything by it. We even consulted the Downy website while Mom handed out homemade eggnog because none of us care for the store bought, and there we learned that the Romantic scent carries “sensual aromas of delicate floral, white tea, and peony,” and at least half of us found it difficult to overlook a smoking gun like “sensual” right there as the subtext.

After dinner, Mom asked Channing if she’d mind watching the twins for a few minutes while she cleaned the kitchen, and we all took bets on whether Sammy and Mae-Bell would be back together by spring. The holidays can be hard on people, you know. Everyone except for Mom anyway, who just loves an excuse to corral us all together under one roof. Nothing makes her more upset than a year when she has to share Channing and the twins with Doug’s family. This year, Doug’s family was indisposed because they were up in Vermont visiting Doug’s aunt, but they probably could have been in the ICU and Mom would have been just as happy as long as the result was having Channing and the girls all to herself. Not to be alarmist, but of all the years to up and vanish, you just wouldn’t expect it to be one where Channing was set to be home the whole time.

Read More About Oh. What. Fun. Here >>


***


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