Spotlight: Crude by Mike Bond

The Doomsday clock is set at 90 seconds to Midnight.There’s no time to lose.Mike Bond delivers the summer’s must read thriller — our very survival depends on it.

Nuclear war is coming.

Can we stop it?

Or is it already too late?

On an October night, far out in the South China Sea, a diver sets explosive charges under a huge oil platform. On the platform above, geologist Liz Chaplin stands watching the Southern Cross sink beneath the waves.

In New York, Ross Bullock, the CEO of Rawhide Energy and the platform’s owner, states during a televised press conference that our country has made a fatal mistake in Ukraine and is headed for nuclear war.

Immediately the White House, intelligence agencies, the media and financial world attack Rawhide for raising the specter of nuclear war and thus threatening the president’s reelection.

The action expands to Mongolia, Indonesia, Washington D.C., and Ukraine. The true perpetrator of these crimes becomes known – it is impossible, unbelievable, but true. Is the White House behind it?

The president threatens nuclear war with Russia to distract voters from his fraudulent Ukraine and China deals and worsening polls. The Russians respond by increasing their nuclear readiness. But the president alone can decide to launch a nuclear war as he clings to the nuclear button.

So begins CRUDE, Mike Bond’s new super-thriller that takes us to the door of world annihilation and shows us what’s inside.

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About the Author

MIKE BOND is considered a world expert on crude supply and oil refining, he is also a specialist in Russia and Eastern Europe, former war correspondent, intelligence expert, U.S. Senate candidate, diplomat, investment banker, and international energy company CEO. He is the author of 12 best-selling novels, including Revolution, Freedom, America, and Goodbye, Paris.

Cover Reveal: A Little Getaway by Bonnie Traymore

Genre: Spicy Suspense Thriller 

A little getaway takes a deadly turn for Morgan and Kyle Murphy in this spicy suspense thriller about a marriage filled with passion, secrets, and suspicions.

Morgan Murphy has always longed for a romance for the ages. And she’s found it with husband Kyle Murphy—until their spicy marriage suddenly starts to cool off.

Is Kyle preoccupied and distant because of a problem with his development project? Or is it something worse? Could Kyle Murphy be...cheating? He’s hiding something, that’s for sure. And Morgan’s determined to find out what it is.

With the help of gal pal Carla Flores, Morgan tracks her husband’s movements, and the signs increasingly point to infidelity, the ultimate sin in Morgan’s book. When Kyle increases their life insurance and surprises her with a weekend getaway to get their mojo back, she goes on the offensive and hatches a plan to make him come clean about what’s been going on.

But before she can pull it off, Morgan’s attacked and nearly kidnapped, and Kyle vanishes from the resort without a trace. With no clue as to who took Kyle or why, she’s not sure who is the biggest threat: the shady investor he owes money to, the police, or the guys she hired to teach Kyle a lesson. With the clock ticking, she needs to find out soon.

Before they come for her, too.

For fans of Liv Constantine, Kimberly Belle, Jeneva Rose, Kaira Rouda, Freida McFadden, and Daniel Hurst.

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About the Author 

Bonnie Traymore is the award-winning, Amazon best selling author of page-turner mystery/thrillers that hit close to home. Her books feature strong but relatable female protagonists. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. 

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Spotlight: Played by Naima Simone

Publication date: September 3rd 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Sports

Synopsis:

USA Today bestselling author Naima Simone heats up the page with intensity and wit in this romance between a pro hockey player and a firefighter, both struggling to move on from the past.

Being a firefighter isn’t easy. Especially for a Black woman. Working with family helps a little. But when somebody from your company doesn’t come back from a call, it’s brutal—as in, “How’m I supposed to go on?” brutal.

And one death took me to a really dark place.

A year later, I’m at the Pirates’ hockey training facility. Just another day on the job. Until I find a charred journal. I look inside for the owner’s name, but the words on the page punch me in the gut. It’s like reading my own thoughts. Reliving my own pain.

The journal belongs to Solomon Young, left-winger for the Pirates—a father and widower. When I return it, I’m racked with guilt for the invasion of privacy. The look Solomon gives me is cold as ice.

But damn if that man isn’t hot as hell.

Now he’s stuck in my brain. And fate seems intent on making us face off.

Excerpt

Hours later, after the call to the hockey training facility, I finally sink to my bunk, the leather-bound book in my hands. I stare down at the journal, flipping it from front to back. Why am I so drawn to it? Hell, right now, I really am feeling like fucking Gollum with the One Ring.

This holds someone’s personal, most private thoughts. Yet I trace the Celtic tree of life emblem on the front, then toy with the leather string wrapped around it. The longer I hold it, touch it, the stronger the curiosity stirs inside me.

It’s wrong to pry. Wrong to even consider opening the cover and . . .

Dammit.

Even as the . . . ickiness writhes inside me like a pissed-off nest of snakes, I loosen the strap and slowly open the journal. There’s no name on the inside flap or on the first page where it’s typed This journal belongs to . . . with a line for the identification of the owner. Conversely, that makes me feel an iota better about violating this faceless and nameless person’s privacy.

Or I’m just trying to justify what I’m about to do.

What I can’t seem to stop myself from doing.

Slowly, as if I’m opening a box of precious treasure, I flip to the first page.

August 2

Dear Kendra,

Goddamn, I feel so stupid even writing that. You know I don’t do this shit. The most I’ve ever written was a grocery list the one and only time you let me go shopping by myself. And we both remember how that turned out. A $500 bill and a shit ton of beer and beef jerky. But here I am, writing in a journal of all things. The therapist your father insisted I go see gave me this as homework. And if I want to keep seeing the ice, I have to cooperate. Apparently, I have an anger problem that’s not getting any better. Your father better be glad he’s not just my in-law but the owner of my team or else I’d tell him and the therapists to go fuck themselves. Yeah, sorry. I know that’s your dad.

Well, since I have to do this and you’re the only person I want to talk to, I’m writing this shit to you. Besides, as crazy as it sounds, I swear I can hear you in my head. And I feel closer to you. Like you’re here right next to me. I said it sounded crazy, right?

I don’t have anything to say.

Except.

Except I miss you. I miss you like fucking crazy, sweetheart.

And I need you.

August 8

Dear Kendra,

Last night I dreamed about you.

It was so real. You still wore that peaches and cream body lotion. Your voice, smile, touch—they all were the same. And even though I was holding you again, talking to you again, a part of me knew that it was a dream. That I had to take advantage of this time with you while I had it. But even knowing that, I woke up reaching for you. And the pain of patting those cold, empty sheets sent pain through me all over again. As sharp as if you’ve been gone two days instead of two years. I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. Like the pain, the grief were physical weights pressing me into the mattress, smothering me.

For a moment, Kendra, I thought the unthinkable.

I wanted to follow you.

Shit, I can only admit this here, to you.

I haven’t had those thoughts since the days right after you left. Why is it so hard for me to say “died”? I can’t. Even years later, I can’t say it out loud. Because it makes you being gone so fucking final. As if death isn’t. And yet, I haven’t said it in two whole goddamn years.

Which makes no fucking sense, right? If I want to follow you there, I should have the balls to say the words. I can hear you cursing me out for even thinking about it. You were always the bravest out of the two of us. I might fuck people up on the ice for a living but you? You were the one who was fearless, rushing into life, enjoying the hell out of it. Forcing me to go along for the ride.

I can’t fucking do this without you, Kendra. I don’t want to.

But we have Khalil.

He’s my lifeline, my saving grace. I hate to put that kind of pressure on a five-year-old kid, but I swear, if it wasn’t for him, I don’t know . . .

Sometimes I believe . . . Shit, I feel ridiculous for even saying this. But sometimes I believe you somehow knew you wouldn’t be here, so you gifted me with him. I will always have a piece of you here as long as I have him.

Yeah, I’m done after that.

I’m out.

I don’t stop reading until the last entry. I close the leather cover, my heart slamming against my rib cage, pumping hurt, anger, and sadness through my veins. 

At some point, I realized the identity of the book’s owner.

Solomon Young.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audiobook | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Published since 2009, USA Today Bestselling author Naima Simone loves writing sizzling romances with heart, a touch of humor and snark. Her books have been featured in The Washington Post and Entertainment Weekly, and described as balancing “crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters caught in emotional turmoil.”

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.

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Spotlight: Soul Love by D.F. Jones

Publication date: September 3rd 2024
Genres: Adult, Romance, Time-Travel

Synopsis:

From USA Today bestselling author D.F. Jones comes Soul Love, a mesmerizing tale of past lives, time travel, and an unbreakable bond that transcends time itself.

What if a simple dinner invitation could change your life forever?

When Summer Jewel accepts a dinner invitation from her enigmatic new neighbor, her world is turned upside down. Suddenly transported to 1926 Heartsville, she uncovers shocking truths about a past life she never knew existed. This revelation ignites a journey brimming with turbulent emotions and undeniable desires, leaving her questioning everything she thought she knew.

Meanwhile, Rogan Randolph, a dedicated agent of The Order of the Invisible Effect, is tasked with subtly guiding the course of human history. His orderly world is thrown into chaos when a portal to his own past unexpectedly opens, offering him a chance to right a wrong. His mission becomes inextricably linked with Summer’s, as she is the very woman he encounters in the future.

Together, Summer and Rogan must navigate the intricate complexities of love and destiny, confronting the mysteries of their intertwined past lives. Their actions ripple through time, challenging the very fabric of reality and altering the course of their journey. True love is never lost, and some connections last forever.

Escape into Soul Love, where destiny and passion weave a captivating narrative that explores the enduring power of love and the intriguing possibilities of fate.

Prepare to be swept off your feet with this spellbinding story of love, loss, and the magic of second chances.

Excerpt

Summer ventured out the side pedestrian door, her gaze drawn to the moving activity. Three men were unloading furniture from the truck, one clearly in charge. As their eyes met, Summer felt a sudden rush of nervousness. 

She approached her mailbox, and one of the men raised his hand in greeting. She fumbled with a piece of junk mail. “Moving in?” she called out. 

He walked to the end of the driveway. “Hi, I’m Erik, the designer.” Without waiting for her response, he quickly asked, “Have you ever met the owners?” 

How odd. “Um. No. Why? Haven’t you?” 

“I hoped you might know them. We worked through an attorney who never disclosed their names.” He shrugged. “No harm in asking.”

“I love the house. Is there any chance I could peek inside?” Sure, it was forward of her, but it might be the only way to satisfy her curiosity.

Erik nodded. “This is our last load of furniture, so why not? I love showing off my work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’m posting the project online. I would appreciate it if you’d leave a glowing comment on social media.” His hands tented.

“Sure thing.” Summer hated social media but took his card anyway. 

She followed him up the painted plank steps through the open door. 

An elaborate crystal chandelier hung in the entry. In front of her, the rich mahogany staircase dazzled against a backdrop of blue-green textured walls. A baby grand piano was positioned in the living room corner to the left of a rock fireplace. The art over the mantel looked like a Renoir. She wondered if it was an original or a reproduction. 

Then something weird happened. The hair on her neck and arms rose. She had a deja vu feeling as if she had been there before. Trying to shake off the unsettling sensation, she turned in a slow circle and said, “It’s beautiful, better than I even imagined. I love it!”

Erik seemed pleased with her assessment, grinning from ear to ear. “I chose warm, rich colors. I can’t stand the fact that most designers are like sheep. The minimalists’ interior design with white is so overused and blah,” he said with an eye roll. “I updated the lighting fixtures and completely renovated the central kitchen. It’s three stories with the attic and a downstairs complete with a cookery and staff rooms.” 

A mover dropped one end of a very expensive-looking bureau. Erik shouted, “Do not scratch the floors or furniture.” Then he glanced apologetically at Summer. “I’ve got to work. I have a deadline with instructions to leave the house by seven o’clock this evening. Feel free to look around.”

Yippee—freedom’s call echoed in her heart, inviting her to explore uninhibited. Summer drifted through the library first. Its walls were lined with ancient, leather-bound books. The scent of old paper and the hushed tales of forgotten lore surrounded her, igniting a thrill only a true book lover could understand and appreciate. Each step was a dance with history as her fingers trailed over the spines, noting the weight in their textured covers. 

The library seamlessly gave way to an entertainment room, where contemporary met old-world design, asserting itself with an audacious flair. A large, ultra-high-definition television screen dominated one wall, surrounded by a state-of-the-art sound system. Soft, ambient lighting emanated from cleverly hidden sources, casting a glow that accentuated luxurious furnishings from the plush, angular sofa to the gleaming, geometric coffee table. 

The kitchen made a bold statement with its brand-new stainless-steel appliances, rustic oak cabinets, and white and gray marble counters. The walk-in pantry door was ajar, so she peeked inside to find it vast and orderly, a trove of culinary possibilities. She suspected exotic spices and gourmet delights filled the closed shelves and drawers.

Adjacent to this culinary haven, a set of narrow, almost secretive steps curled upward, their very existence a whisper of intrigue. She glanced furtively over her shoulder. Erik was absorbed in positioning the remaining pieces in the living room. 

Her pulse quickened with the thrill of undercover exploration. Memories of countless novels she had devoured over the years surged within her—a cascade of adventures, hidden rooms, and undiscovered treasures that had always seemed worlds away were now seemingly within her grasp. With each step into the unknown, her pulse quickened with anticipation, and her mind buzzed. What secrets and mysteries lay hidden in this century-old home? 

Summer hustled up the stairs, bypassed the second floor, and continued into the attic. She’d long fantasized about writing a novel in such a superb, renovated space with its black, charcoal walls and a shade darker woodwork, a cozy white sofa with black and gold accent pillows—and how she loved the black lacquer desk. The lighting included several sconces with candle-like bulbs that glimmered warmly. It was a nice touch. She murmured, “Totally jealous of the owners.”

She peered through the horizontally installed cameo windows, the view of which looked directly at her house. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a shimmering swirling blue light materialized on the other side of the room. It formed a doorway of sorts, like beams of a hidden sun trapped within its frame, defying the laws of physics and reality.

What the heck? Summer cautiously approached, each step filled with fear and fascination. She reached out tentatively toward the opening, her hand trembling slightly. Was it a gateway to worlds unseen?

But Erik’s appearance on the top step jolted her back to reality just before her fingers could graze the pulsating energy. As if responding to his intrusion, the portal vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a blank wall devoid of any clue to its mysterious existence. 

She struggled to process what she had just witnessed. Was the ethereal light a trick of nature? A figment of her imagination? The silence that enveloped the room was heavy with unspoken questions, the air charged with the residue of the inexplicable.

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About the Author

Meet D.F. Jones, the USA Today Best-Selling Author and #1 International Bestseller who weaves magic into every page, with a career that began as a broadcast consultant at Nashville's ABC Affiliate and led to founding a successful advertising agency, D.F. Jones knows how to captivate an audience.

In 2015, she downsized her agency to care for her parents, finding solace and creative freedom in writing. Writing is more than a passion for her—it's a journey to places where anything is possible, filled with dreams and limitless imagination.

D.F. Jones's books are a whirlwind of supernatural adventure and romance, from angels and demons to time travel, witches, wizards, and ghosts. Her stories are not just action-packed but emotional rollercoasters that will leave you breathless.

At home, she's happily married to her best friend and the love of her life. Together, they cherish their two wonderful sons. She's either laughing at her husband's jokes, cheering for the Tennessee Titans, or tending to her flower gardens when she's not writing.

Escape into a world where love conquers all, and the impossible becomes reality with D.F. Jones. Ready to be swept off your feet? Start your adventure today!

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Spotlight: The Fallen Fruit by Shawntelle Madison

On a rainy day in May 1964, history professor Cecily Bridge-Davis begins to search for the sixty-five acres of land she inherited from her father’s family. The quest leads her to uncover a dark secret: In every generation, one offspring from each Bridge family unit vanishes—and is mysteriously whisked back in time. Rules have been established that must be followed to prevent dire consequences:

Never interfere with past events.

Always carry your free Negro papers.

Search for the survival family packs in the orchard and surrounding forest. The ribbon on the pack designates the decade the pack was made to orient you in time.

Do not speak to strangers unless absolutely necessary.

With only a family Bible and a map marked with the locations of mysterious containers to aid her, Cecily heads to the library, hoping to discover the truth of how this curse began, and how it might be ended. As she moves through time, she encounters a circle of ancestors, including Sabrina Humbles, a free Black woman who must find the courage to seize an opportunity—or lose her heart; Luke Bridge, who traverses battlefields, slavery, and time itself to reunite with his family; Rebecca Bridge, a mother tested by an ominous threat; and Amelia Bridge, a young woman burdened with survivor's guilt who will face the challenge of a lifetime—and change Cecily's life forever. It is a race through time and against the clock to find the answers that will free her family forever.

Excerpt

Cecily Bridge-Davis 

May 1964

My family tree has poisoned roots. Secrets from generations ago sank far into the earth where truth and lies tangled in a polluted snarl. Over time, those deep roots— the ones that couldn’t stay buried forever—writhed to the surface like new saplings and contaminated the earth around them.

I discovered one of those saplings when my aunt Hilda—who’d raised me like a daughter right outside Charlottesville—died. Her will stated I had an inheritance: sixty-five acres of Bridge family land. Since I hadn’t heard a word from my father or his kin, I didn’t know what I’d find. With my luck, the apple trees would be termite infested and any haphazard shacks would be unfit for human occupancy. 

I should’ve sold the place, sight unseen, but the hunger to learn more about my father’s side of the family propelled me from the home I’d made for myself in Nashville to return to the Virginia woods. Five miles north of downtown Charlottesville, a heavy downpour left me lost in the countryside. I had no choice but to stop my car on a rutted dirt road and approach an old bungalow where an elderly Black woman sat in a rocking chair on the porch. The moment I showed up, her middle-aged son emerged with a stiff nod. 

“Stay away from that godforsaken place,” the woman said, waving away a mosquito from her cloud of white hair. “You’ll find nothing but trouble. A long time ago, one of them Bridges killed a bunch of people before he kidnapped an innocent child.” 

“Are they still around there?” I asked. 

“Who knows,” the woman replied. “They come and go.” 

“Those Bridges kept to themselves,” the man said. “Sell that land and wash your hands of it. That’s what I’d do.” 

My granddaddy told me I never knew when to back down from a challenge. 

“I still need to see it,” I said. “Please tell me the way.” 

Reluctantly, they gave me directions. From years of teaching history to college students, I knew too well how folks always wanted to share these sorts of tall tales. Vendettas among the countryfolk passed from one generation to another, sowing animosity over amity between neighbors. But all stories and legends had their roots in the truth. 

After leaving the bungalow and taking two wrong turns, I finally came upon a hidden opening to my right. Back when I was small, my grandfather sometimes stopped here on our way to church. I would sit in the idling car, playing with the hem of my Sunday dress, until he came back. Grandpa never went farther than the entrance itself. Neither did I, until the day I steered my car down the winding path, which ended at a house next to overgrown apple trees. Wildflowers and tall grass filled the pasture while a stubborn oak stump jutted out in the middle. Rotted fence posts leaned away from the single-story house, perhaps to escape from the clinging neglect. Decades ago, this long-forgotten place had been someone’s home, their sanctuary from summer’s heat and winter’s bitter chill. Now only daddy longlegs, mice, and cobwebs lived here. 

After shutting off the car, I hurried through the rain and sidestepped the missing floorboards on the porch. I pushed open the door with ease, at once slipping into the past. I pulled the collar of my blouse over my nose to dampen the odors of mildew and musk of wild animals and left the door open to bring in some fresh air. It was a damn shame no one had thought to take care of this place. 

Carefully, I walked through the empty living room with only the storm’s pitter-patter and my breath to keep my company. From the living room, I made my way to the summer kitchen, then the two bedrooms off a narrow hallway. Broken-down and dusty furniture filled both rooms. I sighed, imagining the scrubbing and hauling someone would have to do. I was better off tearing down the whole house. There was nothing for me here. Anything that might’ve been interesting or useful had long rotted away, and I resigned myself to return to my car when a glint from something on a shelf across the living room drew my eye. 

I had to at least take a peek. Tucked away on the ledge, I discovered a cerulean tin box. With trembling hands and a hope that this would be my reward for coming all this way, I picked up the tin and wiped away the dirt and grease on the lid to reveal the bouquet hidden beneath. My pulse thrummed as I unhooked the rusty latch, loosening the lid’s stiff hinge to lift the top, and revealed a spool crafted from maple and a Bible carefully protected by the lambskin wrapped around it. Turning the spool between my fingers, I could tell it was old—very old. I exchanged it for the Bible. The pages were yellowed and nearly transparent in their thinness, but the tin had preserved the Bible from worse decay. The flyleaf held a wealth of information— someone had consigned the names and birth dates of every Bridge born on his farm, beginning in the late 1760s and ending in the 1920s.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Hardcover | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Shawntelle Madison is the bestselling author of over a dozen paranormal romance, contemporary romance, and fantasy titles. She lives in Missouri.

Spotlight: She’s Got The Time by M.O. Mack

(Suite #45, #3)
Publication date: August 29th 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

Synopsis:

From author M.O. Mack comes the third, heart-stopping thriller in the Suite #45 series, SHE’S GOT THE TIME.

SENTENCED FOR A CRIME SHE ONLY WISHED SHE COMMITTED…

Emily has broken plenty of rules. Some she regrets. Others, well, not so much.

Running from her husband Ed for example? No regrets. He was a controlling predator who trafficked women while working for the FBI. But had she known she’d end up working for a group of hit men, she might’ve made different choices. Big regrets.

On the bright side, the group only kills bad guys. On the not-so-bright side, every cartel south of the border wants the group dead, and she’s number one on the cartel’s list.

Emily also regrets trusting Charge, her hit man boss. She regrets caring about him more than she should.

But when the feds arrest her for the murder of her ex, Emily knows she’s been set up, and all signs point to Charge. Why would he do this to her? The prison is filled with cartel gangs, and there’s a price on her head.  

Can she find a way out before her time is up?

The clock is ticking… 

Excerpt

“I thought you loved me,” she said, knowing now that the confession he’d made after she’d saved him all those weeks ago had just been another lie.

Charge jerked his head back, like she’d taken him off guard. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“It’s everything.” Because he’d told her that while he’d been preparing to do the hit on Ed, he’d watched her from afar and fallen for her. He’d said it was the reason he’d helped her after she’d run from Ed. “You’ve been playing me this entire time. Haven’t you? The story about you loving me was a scam to get me to keep working for you.” And it had worked. He’d probably done it because he believed she’d eventually lead him to Ed.

“I don’t have time for this right now. And I’ve proven my loyalty to you.”

“No. You said whatever you had to in order to make me trust you.” She hung her head. “I can’t believe I fell for it.” Not to mention, she’d started having feelings for Charge. She’d taken a life for him. She’d risked her own ass, too.

“I’m sorry you think that,” he said smugly, “but it doesn’t change the situation or what has to be done next.”

“And just what’s that? Am I supposed to take out the warden next? Or the head of one of the gangs here so you get paid?” She pushed back in her chair. “I’m done, Charge. Done.”

“Don’t be silly. You won’t get out of this prison alive unless you pull your head from your ass, Justine, and follow my instructions.”

This again. And why did he always call her Justine when he wanted to control her? Did he think it was some kind of psychological magic wand to garner compliance?

He went on, “You only have a day, two max, before someone realizes you have a ten-million-dollar price on your head. You don’t have much time, but it’s enough time to—”

“No, Charge. No more. I’m not buying into your crap. I mean, look at where I am.” She tried to throw her hands in the air, but they were chained to the table. “We both know I’m not getting out of here. Not after I killed that guard. At best, I’ll survive a week, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to enjoy what little time I have left.”

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Obviously, M.O. Mack is a cover. Don’t bother looking for the author’s true identity. She must remain secret due to the sensitive information written in her stories… 

Okay, most of all that is total rubbish! M.O. is a full-time author from the great state of Arizona, who loves making stuff up and hates a slow story. The faster the better! Most days, M.O. tries to avoid the news (too icky) so it doesn’t interfere with writing nail-biter stories.

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