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Richard Bard’s Brainrush is Our New Thriller of the Week Sponsor!

This week, Richard Bard’s Brainrush is here to sponsor lots of great, free Mystery and Thriller titles in the Kindle store:

 

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<a href=BRAINRUSH, a Thriller (Book One)
by Richard Bard
4.8 stars – 84 Reviews
Kindle Price: 99 cents

Here’s the set-up:
When terminally ill combat pilot Jake Bronson emerges from an MRI with extraordinary cognitive powers, everyone wants a piece of his talent–including Battista, one of the world’s most dangerous terrorists.  To save his love and her autistic child, Jake is thrust into a deadly chase that leads from the canals of Venice through Monte Carlo and finally to an ancient cavern in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan–where Jake discovers that his newfound talents carry a hidden price that threatens the entire human race.An original weave of current events bound by colorful locations and cutting-edge technology, Bard’s novel is a must-read for fans of Michael Crichton, James Rollins, Clive Cussler, and Brad Thor. A dynamic mix of fast-paced action and thought provoking soul, this book challenges the reader to keep pace with every sharp turn and shocking twist. Acclaimed by fans of action, sci-fi, and political thrillers alike, Brainrush is one of the most innovative and entertaining books of the year. Brainrush is Book One of a series. Book two available December, 2011.


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Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store

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A page-turner that will keep you guessing until the end, Breach of Trust is the thrilling eighth book in the Madeline Dawkins series.When PI Madeline Delaney is summoned to Monte Verde―the serene assisted living complex where her father now resides―she’s concerned Mack’s ideal setup is...
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A posh hotel, guests with secrets to hide and a mysterious dead body.Ivy Stone is excited to begin her first day as a maid at London’s Hotel LaFontaine, but from the moment she arrives, nothing goes as planned. She insults a guest, is snubbed by the other maids, and finds a dead body, all before...
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It was time to retire Calypso and build a new ship to replace her. For sentimental reasons, Adrianne and Keith decided to call their latest ship Calypso II and of course, it was only right they introduced their twins to the cruising life by taking them on Calypso II's Maiden Voyage.It would be a...
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There are places where the rules are arbitrary—desolate, empty spaces where the lawless lurk. No witnesses. No suspects. No prying eyes.Driven by naive wanderlust, Anson Green embarks on a road trip without a plan or a destination. When he stops returning phone calls, an old friend calls Sylvia...
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Sergeant at Arms for a deadly club of drug traffickers doesn’t sound like the ideal job for a nineteen-year-old girl…But Sasha Ashby has never been typical, and she’s waited her entire life to sew a club patch on her leather jacket. Raised on violence and crime as part of Ashby Holler Trucking...
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Ashby Holler
By: Jamie Zakian
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"The Tricker-Treater is gonna stop by your house tonight. You gotta meet with him and do what he says, or else."A woman agrees to take part in a creature's sick game to save the child she loves. A girl and her mother move into a nightmare house. Two brothers embark on a high-seas treasure hunt.In...
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The Tricker-Treater and Other Stories
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The 'First Colony' series by popular sci-fi writer A J Marshall, is a futuristic, five-book series about man colonising the Moon. As our neighbour and partner in the vastness of space, the Moon’s close proximity dictates much more than just the rising and ebbing of our ocean tides. Since time...
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This novel is a financial thriller set primarily in the time period of 2006 through 2018. A brilliant and handsome law school student is highly focused on retiring to a luxurious lifestyle no later than age forty. In pursuing his objective, he benefits from being unrestrained by any type of...
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Financial Manipulation
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It's looking rough for Jeremy Duff to make a go of his new law practice in the former Bleake Funeral Home in Parsons, Kansas. His secretary is the gorgeous ghost of Amelia Bleake who was murdered in the funeral home in 1962. Only Jeremy can see and hear Amelia. Another problem is caused by angry...
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All she wanted was to be on the stage...Echoe lands a part in her favourite musical of all time. But almost as soon as she auditions things start to go wrong. Is it all just a coincidence, or is something more sinister going on?˃˃˃ Book BlurbChoices can change everything.As a Neeth Nymph in the...
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Kindle Nation Bargain Book Alert: Think “Police Procedural meets Paranormal” with 11 Straight 5-Star Reviews in Gloria Galloway’s DEAD BY MY SIDE, Just $2.99 on Kindle!

Dead By My Side

by Gloria Galloway
5.0 stars – 11 Reviews
Lending: Enabled

“Great Summer Read! Well written and researched, “Dead by My Side” has something for everyone. A hot detective with a long legged beauty of a ghost as a partner. A crime fighting duo on the trail of a serial killer. The book is a creative twist on the genre that kept me turning the pages. Fun read! ”

Triskeles
Here’s the set-up:
Sacramento, Calif. – Julia and Tony, homicide detectives for more than twelve years, make quite the pair with her long legs and his rugged good looks. They’re an unstoppable team, both fiercely loyal to friends, family and each other. But when Julia is killed in the line of duty, Tony is left alone to pick up the pieces in Gloria Galloway’s thriller, “Dead By My Side.” While Tony is getting used to work as a solo detective, Julia’s spirit appears to him. He tries to ignore this ghost-like version, but it soon becomes clear that his late partner won’t disappear until he agrees to join forces again. Now, with his spirit sidekick in tow, Tony faces one of the most difficult challenges of his career: a sadistic killer on the loose. Julia and Tony must put a stop to the rising body count and learn to lean on one another, even after death. Author and screenwriter Ron Montana calls Galloway’s debut novel: “fast paced, unique, intriguing and a great read for lovers of crime fiction. It’s my kind of story so I’m in negotiation with her to write the screen play.”
One Reviewer Notes:

“I loved this book so much that I read it in three days! I think my family got tired of hearing “Just one more page I swear!” Yes it was that good! Now I’m running around suggesting it to all of my reader friends. I had fun trying to piece together the clues to try and figure out who the killer was and why they were killing. Trust me when I tell you that it was so much better than any conclusion I came to in my head. Gave me the chills. Bravo Ms. Galloway! I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got up your sleeve!! ”

LoLo, Amazon Reviewer
“Homicide detectives Tony and Julia have been partners for over twelve years. Julia is more than just long legs in a pair of Jimmy Choo’s. Tony’s sharp-shooting skills and rugged good looks are a perfect complement to Julia’s quick mind and natural beauty. Not only do they make a great team, they are damn good at their jobs. When Julia is killed in the line of duty, Tony is left to pick up the pieces of his life. Then Julia shows up in his bathroom. As Tony bemoans Julia’s lack of paranormal powers, they team up to solve crime. They will face the most difficult challenge of their careers; a sadistic killer is on the hunt. As the body count rises, they will have to rely on each other and their combined experience to end the slaughter of young women. Dead By My Side is fast paced and gripping. You won’t want to put it down! The book is well written with dialog that reads like a script. The author has created unique characters that draw you into the story, and make you root for their success. It is clear that a lot of research went into the book. The realism of the law enforcement procedures pays fitting tribute to our heroes in blue. “
Stefanie Gyles “VivaLaBonita”
About the Author
Gloria Galloway makes her home in Northern California. She has had a life-long fascination with the spectral world. Her story came together after extensive research of police procedure, crime scene investigation and studies of the criminal mind. She collaborated with experts in the field, including a crime scene investigator and a former deputy coroner of the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department.
(This is a sponsored post.)

Kindle Nation Reader Alert: 4 Straight 5-Star Reviews for Kailin Gow’s THE FIRE WARS – If you loved Katniss Everdeen, Lisbeth Salander, and Arizona Darley, it’s time to say hello to Mackenzy Evers

Her destiny was written in the books … but can she change a course that has already begun thousands of years ago?

by Kailin Gow
5.0 stars – 4 Reviews
Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
Her destiny was written in the books…but can she change a course that has already begun thousands of years ago? Mackenzy Evers had moved with her mother from Angel Island to Aeros Island during her senior year. What can be worse than to finish her senior year at a new school? Living during the post-Erosion period on Earth where there is less land than before, Mac is happy to discover an island of rich beauty and lush landscapes, not to mention mysterious handsome boys and an ancient prophecy that is set to come true in Mac s lifetime. Chance Cutter claims she is his Queen, his goddess to his Fire King, whom he had been searching for years. Their attraction to each other is undeniable, yet why does he seem to hate her? And who is she really?
One Reviewer Notes:

“The Fire Wars by Kailin Gow is a dystopian romance with a Greek mythology twist. From the start, this book was intriguing. A dystopian set on a lush beautiful island in a period known as the Post-Erosion period is an interesting idea. The romance with Mac and Chance is hot. Whenever the two of them are together, you feel their chemistry. I enjoyed Fire Wars. I enjoyed catching a glimpse into Mac’s new world, Chance and his cousin Varun Cutter. I would love to learn more about Alice, Haven, and the other students at Aeros Academy, too, but this first book sets up the beginning of an amazing new series. ”

crystalanna
About the Author
Kailin Gow has been a published author for over 10 years. She started writing books for tween girls to help them with self-confidence and self-esteem. Her book, Gifted Girls Activities Guide to 365 Days of the Week, became a reference book used in girls organizations across the U.S. As her tween fans grew to become teens and young adults, Kailin began writing engaging and entertaining young adult book series for them. The results are book series like the Frost Series, PULSE Series, Wicked Woods Series, Stoker Sisters, Phantom Diaries, The Fire Wars, FADE, DESIRE, and more. When not busy inhaling chocolate and drinking coffee by the gallon, Kailin makes time for writing fantasy books, blogging as an expert blogger for Fast Company, volunteering as an Emergency Responder and volunteering for battered womenKailin Gow has been a published author for over 10 years. She started writing books for tween girls to help them with self-confidence and self-esteem. Her book, Gifted Girls Activities Guide to 365 Days of the Week, became a reference book used in girls organizations across the U.S. As her tween fans grew to become teens and young adults, Kailin began writing engaging and entertaining young adult book series for them. The results are book series like the Frost Series, PULSE Series, Wicked Woods Series, Stoker Sisters, Phantom Diaries, The Fire Wars, FADE, DESIRE, and more. When not busy inhaling chocolate and drinking coffee by the gallon, Kailin makes time for writing fantasy books, blogging as an expert blogger for Fast Company, volunteering as an Emergency Responder and volunteering for battered women’s shelters. Her Frost Series consisting of the Bitter Frost Series, The Wolf Fey Series, and the Fairy Rose Chronicles along with her other book series are being developed into worldwide MMORPG Games by SEE GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT, which is the world’s leading game developer known for developing the top blockbuster films into games. She welcomes readers to contact her through her website for discussions of her books! Sign up to find out the exact dates of new releases, promotions, contests, and special appearances: theEDGEbooks.com in “New Releases Sign Up.”
You can find her here: Facebook: facebook.com/KailinGowBooks Twitter: @edgebooksnews @kailingow
UK CUSTOMERS: Click on the title below to download
The Fire Wars

(This is a sponsored post.)

Here’s a Free Excerpt From Our Romance of the Week Sponsor, Marie Astor’s Lucky Charm

Marie Astor’s Lucky Charm:

by Marie Astor
4.4 stars – 25 Reviews
Here’s the set-up:
Twenty-eight-year old Annabel Green is about to tie the knot with her college love, an aspiring author Jeremy Blake, but her plans for an ideal wedding are rudely interrupted when she catches Jeremy kissing his gorgeous book agent.Shell-shocked by Jeremy’s betrayal, Annabel retreats into the quiet routine of TV dinners and solitary evenings. It is then that Annabel’s best friend, fashion designer Lilly Clayton, sets herself on a mission to draw Annabel out of her shell. In an attempt to persuade Annabel to keep an open mind on dating, Lilly takes Annabel for a stunning makeover, but after Annabel passes on a date with a dashing entrepreneur, Lilly decides that more drastic measures are needed. Lilly invites Annabel to see a palm reader who gives Annabel a lucky charm that is supposed to help her find true love.A few weeks later, during her trip to Paris, Annabel meets a handsome Parisian, and as the two embark on a whirlwind romance, she starts to believe in the power of the talisman the palm reader has given her. But what Annabel doesn’t know is that Lilly is hiding a secret that could unravel her faith in her newly found luck in love.
The author hopes you will enjoy this lengthy, free excerpt from Lucky Charm:

Chapter 1

 

As she headed for the tiny boutique shop on the corner of Lexington Avenue and Sixtieth Street, Annabel felt the palms of her hands prickle with perspiration. Her breath quickened with excitement and, could it also be, a bit of fear? Today she would be trying on her wedding dress for the first time.

 

“Annabel, you look stunning!” Lilly gushed when Annabel finally emerged from the dressing room.

 

“Wow,” Annabel whispered at her own reflection in the mirror, thinking that the person in there could not possibly be her. “It is so beautiful, Lilly! It’s the most amazing dress I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Thank you.” A quick smile of satisfaction lit up Lilly’s face. “You know, it’s the least I could do, you being my best friend and all. Now, turn around.” Lilly waved her hand imperiously. “Let’s see if we need to make any adjustments.” Lilly was tall and lanky – at five nine, she wore a size four and could have easily been a model, but instead she chose to be a designer, quipping that she preferred calling the shots instead of being a mannequin.

 

“Ouch!” Annabel felt one of Lilly’s pins poke her waist.

 

“Sorry! Did I get you?”

 

“A little.”

 

“How much weight did you lose?” demanded Lilly. “If you had told me that you were planning to go on a diet, I would have waited with the dress – now I have to take it all in.”

 

“I didn’t go on diet,” retorted Annabel. “I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

 

“It’s not like you have any weight to lose – you’re skinnier than my models,” Lilly mumbled, holding the pin between her lips as she continued to adjust the fabric. “What was that you said about not having appetite?” Lilly straitened up to survey the alterations after she had placed several more pins into the dress. “Is everything OK between you and Jeremy?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing – just stress at work.” Annabel shrugged, sensing Lilly’s inquiring stare, she added, “and all the wedding staff has been kind of nerve-wracking – I don’t mean to sound like a Bridezilla, but the planning is exhausting. Meredith has been helping me, but there is still a lot to be done.”

 

“What about Jeremy? He should be pitching in.”

 

“Tell me about it! I can’t even get him to look at the guest list. But in his defense he’s been really busy with his book – Athena and he are working round the clock.”

 

“He sure has been spending a lot of time with that hot book agent of his.” Lilly raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s nothing like that – they’re working together. According to Athena, a book deal should be coming through any day, and she’s saying that it’s going to be really big.”

 

“OK, OK. I’m sorry – you know that I have issues with trusting men.” Lilly smiled apologetically, busying herself with another round of fabric adjustments.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” That was one of the things about Lilly -she never pulled any punches.

 

“Well, it seems my work here is done,” announced Lilly. “That is unless you decide to lose any more weight in the next month, which you’d better not, since I won’t be doing this all over again.”

 

“I won’t, I promise.” Annabel smiled – at times Lilly was worse than her own mother. “You’ll be glad to know that I’m going to meet Meredith for cake tasting at Veniero’s. Do you want to come?”

 

“I wish I could, but I’m swamped here as it is – I am scrambling like mad for this Paris trip.”

 

“What Paris trip? You never told me anything about it.”

 

“Well, I didn’t want to jinx it and it’s only become official this morning,” Lilly admitted guiltily. “I’ll be going to Paris in three months to present my collection in a fashion contest for new designers – you had to apply to be considered and I’ve been holding my fingers crossed for the past six months. I could get some real orders there, Ann – this could be it!” Lilly whispered, her eyes lighting up.

 

“Lilly, this is terrific news! I’m so happy for you – I know that you’ll blow them away!”

“I hope so.” Lilly twisted her hands nervously. “I’ve been wracking my brain since this morning what to pick for the contest.”

 

“I can relate to that – all your dresses are beautiful.”

 

“Oh, stop it! You’re flattering me when I need brutal honesty!” Lilly waved her hand, blushing with pleasure. “Is that your cell phone ringing? Let me guess, is it Meredith?”

 

Annabel fumbled in her purse, groping for her cell phone. “Hi Meredith, yes, I’m on my way – I’ll see you there in five.” She hung up the phone, looking at her watch. “I’ve got to run – you know how Meredith gets about people being late. Are you sure you can’t come?” Annabel offered one last time.

 

“I wish I could, but there’s just too much to do. Have an extra pastry for me.”

 

“See you later. Thanks again for the dress – it’s a dream come true!”

 

 

As usual on a Saturday afternoon, Lexington Avenue was bustling with shoppers. Annabel checked her watch – she was supposed to meet her cousin Meredith at two o’clock and it was already one thirty. With traffic it could easily be a twenty-minute ride to the Village, which was where Veniero’s was located, but if she got a cab right away, she would just about make it.

 

I wonder if they will ever build that Second Avenue subway line, Annabel thought at she stood on the crowded sidewalk, hoping for a miracle. Out of the corner of her eye she could spot two women laden with shopping bags trying to hail a cab one block up, but maybe, just maybe, she would get lucky after all. Suddenly, a cab pulled over to the curb, and Annabel lunged toward it. Through the car window she could see the man inside paying his fare, and she strategically positioned herself by the door – it was not uncommon in Manhattan to have a cab snatched right from under your nose.

 

“Eleventh Street and First Avenue, please.” Annabel hastily shut the door. As the cabbie drove on, Annabel caught the resentful glances of the two women she had spotted earlier. Oh, well, she thought, you lose some, you gain some: this was the only good thing that had happened to her all week and as far as she was concerned, she had earned it.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

By the time the cab finally pulled in front of Veniero’s, Annabel could spot Meredith pacing the pavement in front of the bakery.

 

“Annabel! There you are!” Meredith exclaimed as soon as Annabel’s foot reached the curb.

 

“Sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrible. Have you been waiting long?”

 

“Only about five minutes – I left extra early since I wasn’t sure how long it would take to find parking. You are so lucky to live in the City – don’t ever move to the suburbs.” Meredith sighed wistfully. “I can’t believe I let Doug talk me into this move – every time I want to come out to the City, I feel like it’s a major production. I might as well live somewhere in Kansas.”

 

“But you have such a beautiful house – you’ve got a pool and everything, and I’m sure the kids must love it.” Annabel grasped for straws to cheer Meredith up. Recently Meredith and her husband, Doug, left their house in Hoboken that was within an easy reach of Manhattan and moved to a much bigger house on the outskirts of New Jersey that was over two hour’s drive from the City. The move was Doug’s idea and he justified it to Meredith by saying that he wanted to live in a family-oriented town. They had barely signed the closing papers on the new house when Doug purchased a studio apartment in the Manhattan, claiming that he needed a place to crash in when he had late meetings with clients; business must have been real good, since lately, Meredith’s husband had been staying in his City pad six nights a week.

 

“My ten-year old is having a blast, but Jamie and Sandy couldn’t care less – they miss their friends and they hate being so far away from the City. But enough about that – we are here to taste wedding cakes,” Meredith added brightly, “and I intend to try every bite!”

 

There was always a line for a table at Veniero’s, but because they had a tasting appointment, Annabel and Meredith were seated immediately. A few minutes later eight different varieties of wedding cake slices were put before them.

 

“Remember the cake at my wedding?” Meredith mused as she lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth.

 

Annabel nodded. Despite the time distance, or maybe because of it, the details of Meredith’s wedding were crystal in her mind. Back then Meredith still had her figure and she looked picture perfect next to Doug, a handsome football quarterback whom she fell in love with in her senior year at Rutgers when Doug single-handedly won the opening game for the home team.

 

Meredith’s father, Uncle Roby, owned one of the largest construction businesses in New Jersey and had spared no expense for his only daughter’s wedding: it was a splendid affair with giant flower pieces, a guest list of over four hundred people that included the state governor, and a cake that was over two feet in diameter. There was a live band, and not some measly quartet, but a proper orchestra of twelve with violins and cellos and even a harp. But most impressive of all, or at least it had seemed most impressive to Annabel, was the wedding dress that Meredith wore: an intricate creation of white silk and lace, it was the kind of dress that every girl dreams of wearing one day. Clad in her lavender babydoll dress and her Mary Janes, the then ten-year old Annabel gasped with awe when she saw Meredith walk down the isle and vowed that one day she too would be princess for a day.

 

“Could we see the menu as well?” Meredith called out to one of the passing waiters. “While we’re here, I might as well scope out the enemy camp,” Meredith whispered. “Not that I could ever compete with something like this,” she added.

 

“I take it you’re going ahead with those pastry classes?” Annabel asked.

 

“Full steam ahead. I have a good mind to apply to the Culinary Institute – they have a one-year program for pastry chefs. Who knows, one day I might open my own bakery.”

 

“Sounds like you’re really getting into it,” Annabel noted carefully. For the past five years Meredith had been changing hobbies non-stop: first it was a pottery class, then a knitting class, a sewing class, a jewelry making class, and the list went on. Each time she threw herself into the task, proclaiming that she had finally found her true calling only to lose her zeal just as quickly. Her latest passion was baking and she had been taking pastry-making classes at the local community center for the past three months – a record commitment for Meredith.

 

“I know that I haven’t exactly been a model of commitment, but I think that this is really it. I love everything about making pastries and I think I’m really good at it too. The other day we had a bake sale for the local school and my table sold out first,” Meredith added proudly. “The only thing I hate about it is my growing waist – I wish I could keep myself from indulging in my own creations. I’ve been experimenting with more complex recipes lately, as I’m sure you can tell. The other day I made a batch of hazelnut éclairs – simply to die for!”

 

Annabel could not help noticing that Meredith did look strikingly rounder – it had only been three weeks since Annabel had last seen her cousin, but Meredith looked like she had put on a good ten pounds, and Annabel wondered if Meredith’s weight gain had more to do with Doug than with the pastry class, but she knew better than to ask. “Oh, wow, this cake is really good!” Annabel hastened to steer the conversation into a more neutral zone. “I think vanilla butter cream might be the winner.”

 

“It is good,” confirmed Meredith. “The chocolate one is too sweet and I never liked Tiramisu. So, I agree, vanilla is the way to go, unless of course you’d like to try something more exotic.”

 

“Like what?” Annabel asked cautiously.

 

“Well, I’ve been working on this recipe – it’s a combination of butter cream, marzipan paste and apricot. It’s strictly top secret!” Meredith whispered, looking around suspiciously. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’d like to bake you a wedding cake – I think I could do a way better job than these guys.”

 

“I don’t know what to say,” Annabel stammered and indeed she did not. The wedding was four months away, and that left plenty of time for Meredith to abandon her passion for pastry making.

 

“You don’t have to give me your answer now. Why don’t you come out to my house sometime soon for a tasting and then you can decide.”

 

“Sounds good,” Annabel agreed, relieved to have the pressure off for now.

 

 

“So, have you finalized the guest list?” asked Meredith once they left Veniero’s.

 

“Not yet,” Annabel did her best not to sound disappointed. “Jeremy has been real busy lately. He’s away at a writer’s convention somewhere Upstate, but when he gets home tomorrow, I’m going to finally get him to sit down and make a decision.”

 

“Oh, I see.” Meredith smiled understandingly.

 

“And we still have to decide on the actual invitations.”

 

“There are a couple of stationary shops in the area – I’ve looked them up before I left. Do you want to have a look?”

 

“Meredith you are too sweet for words – what would I do without you?” Annabel could not help but be touched: sure, Meredith could be over the top at times, but she never left any details to chance.

 

“Trust me, I’ve been through this before – when Doug and I were planning our wedding, he refused to lift a finger.”

 

“How far is this place? Do you think we could walk? It’s such a nice day.”

 

“Sure, why not? I could use some exercise.” Meredith chuckled, looping her arm through Annabel’s.

 

It was a balmy day in early April – a rare gift in New York since usually the weather seemed to shift abruptly from winter to stifling summer heat. As they walked down the narrow Village streets, Annabel could not help wishing that she were with Jeremy instead of Meredith. Not that she was ungrateful for Meredith’s help, but it would have been nice if Jeremy had shown a bit more enthusiasm about the wedding.

 

“This is the place,” announced Meredith, pointing to a tiny stationary shop on the corner. “They don’t look like much from the outside, but they had really good reviews on the Net – I think the owner would be willing to give you a good price since they are relatively new and are still trying to get their foot in the door.”

 

“Good afternoon and welcome to Claire’s Cards!” A bright-eyed sales girl who looked to be barely out of high school greeted them. “I’ll be right with you. In the meantime, please take a look at our sample catalogue.” The girl slid a bulging folder across the counter and returned her attention to the couple in their early twenties she had been helping.

 

Would it have been that difficult for Jeremy to come along? Annabel wondered, glancing in the direction of the bubbly couple as they cooed over their invitation choice.

 

“Wow, look at this, Annabel – don’t you just love Precious Moments?” Meredith held up an invitation card with a drawing of two Precious Moments figurines dressed as bride and groom. “Or you could always go with something more mainstream.”

 

“No, it’s pretty.” Annabel nodded absent-mindedly, willing herself to focus her attention on the task at hand. “I think Jeremy will like it. I’ll get several different ones for him to choose from. What do you think about these two, Meredith? Meredith?”

 

Annabel looked up and saw Meredith standing frozen-still, staring at the window. When she followed the direction of her cousin’s gaze, Annabel could barely believe her own eyes: Doug was walking down the street opposite the store, but he was not alone – his arm was wrapped around a skinny blond in tight leather pants. Leather pants – really? To Annabel’s mind, it was tacky to wear leather pants unless you were a rock star. As if to prove otherwise, Doug planted a passionate kiss the blond’s full lips just as they turned the street corner.

 

“I’m sorry – what were you saying, Annabel?” Meredith smiled brightly.

 

One look at her cousin’s face made it clear that Meredith did not want to talk about what they had both just witnessed. “I think these three look really nice as well,” stammered Annabel, randomly pointing at several invitations.

 

“Yes, they look lovely – excellent choice.” Meredith nodded, her eyes watery despite the frozen smile that was still plastered on her face.

 

“All right, very sorry about the wait, how can I help you?” The chirpy salesgirl turned to Annabel and Meredith.

 

“Actually, we were just leaving,” Annabel started.

 

“Aren’t you going to get those samples, Ann?” Meredith asked brightly.

 

“Yes, of course. I’d like to buy samples of these, please.” Annabel hastily showed her choices to the sales girl.

 

“Right away.” The salesgirl must have sensed the tension because she quickly wrapped up the purchase and handed it back to Annabel. “Thank you and I hope to see again soon.”

 

 

“I’m sorry Annabel, but I don’t think I’m going to be up for any more shopping today,” said Meredith once they were standing outside the store. “Could we do this some other time?”

 

“Of course. Are you sure you’re OK to drive home?” Annabel asked, careful not to say too much. “Do you want me to drive you?”

 

“No, no, I’m fine. I just have a bit of a headache – nothing a long bath and an aspirin won’t fix. I’ll call you about that cake, OK?”

 

“Sure, we’ll talk later.” As she watched Meredith walk away, Annabel was overcome with silent indignation. How dare Doug treat her cousin that way? And why did Meredith turn a blind eye to her husband’s infidelity, preferring to stuff her face with sweets to numb the pain of her failing marriage instead of facing the truth?

 

And then there was something else that was making her uneasy – a thought that had been nagging her all day. What guarantee was there that she would not end up just like Meredith with her rosy dreams shattered, living vicariously the romances of others? But then Annabel knew that she had nothing to worry about: unlike Meredith and Doug who tied the knot right after college graduation, Annabel and Jeremy took things slow. They too met in college, and although their romance had started in the make-believe world of dormitories and idealistic dreams, it held strong through the realities of job hunting and paying rent. They’ve been living together for six years and knew each other’s quirks – not only were they lovers, they were best friends. Marriage would not alter anything between them – nothing would change, except her last name.

 

 

When Annabel got home, it was after six o’clock at night. Not having planned anything for the evening, she had walked the last twenty blocks to the rent controlled alcove studio apartment on York Avenue she and Jeremy called home. At the time, a walk seemed like a good idea, but now it felt like a foolish one as Annabel kicked off her shoes, massaging her tired feet.

 

She looked around the tiny apartment and wished Jeremy were there. It was Jeremy who had found the apartment six years ago, through a friend of his who was upgrading to more pristine digs. The walk-up building was nothing to write home about, but it was rent controlled and about the only option they could afford on Annabel’s starting salary for a job that she had taken because of Jeremy.

 

Right after graduation Annabel was offered an editorial assistant job at a major publishing house that she turned down in lieu of a better pay at the advertising agency where she still worked now, so that she could support the two of them while Jeremy wrote his novel. It had been their agreement: first she would support him, and as soon as he would publish his novel, Jeremy would return the favor. Writing advertising copy had not exactly been her life’s ambition, but it paid the bills. Over the years she had published short stories in various magazines, but her work at the agency did not leave her much time or inspiration to write anything longer than ten pages. Well, now that things were looking up for Jeremy, this was bound to change.

 

The answering machine light was on, and she pressed the play button. “Ann, it’s me – just calling to say hi. It’s pretty much your typical boring seminar, only this time I’m one of the panelists instead of the wannabes, so that makes it a nice change.” At the sound of self-contentment in Jeremy’s voice, Annabel suppressed a pang of annoyance: despite his non-stop complaining about the chores of being a panel speaker, she knew that Jeremy reveled in the attention. “Anyways, it looks like this thing is going to run late, so I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, babe.”

 

The answering machine turned off with a click, and Annabel reached for the phone to dial Jeremy. Normally, she would not have bothered to call since Jeremy did say he would be busy, but after the Doug incident, she wanted to hear her fiance’s voice. Not that she had anything to be suspicious about – she just needed to hear that she and Jeremy were all right.

 

The dial tone kept ringing and Annabel was about to hang up when she finally heard Jeremy’s voice in the receiver.

 

“Hi, Hon, is everything all right?”

 

Was she imagining things or did Jeremy sound out of breath? “Hey, everything is fine – I just wanted to hear your voice. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

 

“No, no it’s nothing like that. I was just getting ready to go downstairs. This seminar is relentless – we are having a presentation at dinner and then there’s a cocktail mixer afterwards.”

 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Annabel murmured, suddenly feeling down for no apparent reason.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong? You sound funny…”

 

“Everything is fine; I just miss you, that’s all.”

 

“I miss you too, babe. You know I’m doing this for us, right? I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon – it’ll be there before you know it.” There was a muffled noise on the other side of the line. “Look, Hon, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love ya.”

 

“Bye Jeremy, I love you too.” From the clicking sound in the receiver, Annabel realized that Jeremy had already hung up.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Annabel woke up bright and early the next morning, determined to make the most out of her Sunday. As she poured milk into her bowl of cereal, she mentally organized her day: first, she would clean the apartment, and afterwards she would catch up on some of the wedding minutia -she still had to decide on the party favors and centerpieces.

 

It had been a while since the last clean up – Jeremy was never one to volunteer and they could not very well afford a cleaning lady. Normally, she would make Jeremy pitch in, but this time she decided to cut him some slack for being stuck at the conference.

 

As Annabel began to attack the dusty corners of their cramped studio with the vacuum cleaner that her mother had given her as a housewarming present, she was struck by how much dust had accumulated in such a small space and made a mental note to be more on top of things – it was easy to get complacent and before long you ended up living in a dustbin without even realizing it.

 

Talk about being complacent, Annabel thought, suddenly catching her own reflection in the mirror: she was wearing sweats with sagging knees and her old college t-shirt. Granted, she was cleaning, but she had to admit that she had been guilty of wearing similar attire around Jeremy – something she never did when they first started dating. Were she and Jeremy in a rut without her realizing?

 

It was hard to believe that it had been six years since they graduated college together – there was no denying that their relationship had changed over the years. Jeremy was busy with his book and she was busy at work; so, inevitably, they got sucked into a routine. But then wasn’t that the natural progression of things? Besides, there was comfort in a routine, a reassuring stability. Of course there were also drawbacks. The changes felt more palpable as of late. They did not have sex as often as they used to when they first met, but then who did? Annabel frowned, trying to remember when she had last worn lingerie, but drew a blank – that was not a good sign. Perhaps it was time to shake things up a bit. She would surprise Jeremy tonight. She remembered seeing a lingerie shop a few blocks away – right after she would finish vacuuming, she would run over there and pick up something special for tonight.

 

 

Annabel had been so intent on vacuuming that she barely heard the doorbell ring and it was not until she heard loud pounding that she rushed to open the front door.

 

“Hey Lilly!” Annabel made a conscious effort not to sound disappointed – for a brief moment she had hoped that Jeremy had arrived early.

 

“Is this a bad time?” Lilly asked, walking inside without waiting for Annabel’s answer.

 

“No, no it’s fine – I was just doing some cleaning. The place is a mess.”

 

“I think I’m in love,” Lilly announced as she plopped herself on the couch, stretching dreamily.

 

“You are? Whom with?” This was surprising news, especially given the fact that for the past ten years Lilly had maintained that all men were cheating, lying scoundrels and she would never entrust her heart to any of them.

 

“A man I met last night.”

 

“Spill.” Annabel threw aside the vacuum cleaner and took a seat next to Lilly.

 

“Last night, I was at this night club event that my friend Alex was hosting – by the way, I sent you the invite, but you said you couldn’t make it,” Lilly added accusingly.

 

“I was busy.” Annabel looked away – Lilly was always sending her invites to lounge and nightclub openings, but it just was not her scene.

 

“So there I was, drinking my drink, shooting the breeze with Alex, when this hot, gorgeous guy comes up and asks me if he could buy me a drink. And when I say gorgeous, I mean gorgeous – an Oliver Martinez look-alike: dark brown eyes, jet-black hair, tan skin, six feet tall, and best of all – he is French. I mean, this guy could make ice sizzle! I have to stop here – I’m beginning to sound like a porno ad!” Lilly giggled. “So, we start dancing and talking and before long he tells me that he’s been in New York for a year on assignment for his job, but of course as my luck would have it, his term is ending, and he’ll be going back to Paris in a little over a month.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Simon, Simon Barnette – even his name sounds perfect! Too bad that he’s leaving so soon.”

 

“Well, you’ll be going to Paris in three months.”

 

“Yeah, but who knows what will happen then.” Lilly waved her hand dismissively.

 

It was just like Lilly to fall in love with someone who would be moving halfway across the world in a month- this way she could be sure to have an expiration date on her feelings. “Well, if the two of you really like each other, you could make it work. You know, long distance relationships do happen and sometimes they even turn into marriages.”

 

“No thanks – the last thing I need is to sit around worrying if he’s screwing someone else in Paris. I’d rather have my fun when I can and be done with it – no collateral damage.” The romantic Lilly had vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

 

Annabel understood the root of Lilly’s caution and decided to hold her tongue for now. Lilly Clayton’s father divorced her mother when Lilly was eighteen, shortly after making a fortune from an IPO of his online pet supplies store – the store that ex Mrs. Clayton helped him start after Mr. Clayton got laid off from his engineering job. The divorce papers became final right before high school graduation, and Lilly used to joke that they were her father’s graduation present. Presently, Mr. Clayton was married to a wife who was only two years older than Lilly – a circumstance that Lilly used continuously to substantiate her conviction that all men were cheating, lying scoundrels. With the exception of a random email, she refused to communicate with her father – a decision that did not preclude her for allowing him to pay her rent and send her a generous monthly allowance while she struggled to get her fashion business off the ground.

 

“But I did have a really good time last night,” Lilly added sheepishly.

 

“Are you going to see him again?”

 

“Tonight.” Lilly nodded excitedly. “Normally I would never do anything like that – it just reeks of neediness, but he’s leaving in a month, so who cares.”

 

Obviously you do, Annabel thought, but she knew better than to argue with Lilly, so she conceded. “Yes, who cares?”

 

“So, what are you doing for the rest of the day? Do you want to grab some lunch, or maybe go for a walk? I feel like I could use some air.”

 

“Yes, sure. I have a few errands I need to run, but I’m up for lunch,” Annabel agreed, guessing that what Lilly really wanted was to dish about her new love interest.

 

“Can I help?”

 

“I wanted to go shopping…” Annabel stalled, deliberating whether she should disclose her plans – inviting Lilly along would most definitely result in an extravagant shopping spree.

 

“Shopping for what?” Lilly prodded.

 

At times Annabel thought that if Lilly had not become a designer, she would have made an excellent detective. “Lingerie. I wanted to get something special for when Jeremy gets home tonight. You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”

 

“Count me in. I could use a few new things myself.”

 

Annabel raised an eyebrow, wondering what Lilly had in mind: she had once seen Lilly’s arsenal of lacy undergarments and it had every possible thing imaginable.

 

“Let me just get out of these sweats and then we’ll go.”

 

“Sounds good to me.” Lilly grabbed the remote control, turning on the TV. “Hey, don’t you have cable?”

 

“Sorry, we don’t – Jeremy thinks it’s too commercial.”

 

“Oh, right, I forgot – Jeremy is too artistic for HBO,” Lilly muttered.

 

 

“What are you having?” asked Lilly after they took a seat at their usual booth in the neighborhood diner. They had lunch at the same diner at least once a week; still, Lilly never failed to examine the menu thoroughly every time, as though expecting something new to appear.

 

“I think I’ll have a tuna melt with cole slaw and extra pickles.”

 

“I’ll go for Greek salad.”

 

Annabel eyed Lilly inquisitively: it was not like her to order such a light fare – the girl could eat steak every day and not gain an ounce.

 

“I know, I know.” Lilly nodded. “Pretty lame choice – I’d go for a burger, but Simon is taking me out to dinner tonight and I’m planning to wear this really tight dress, so I don’t want to get bloated. And truth be told, I’m not even that hungry.”

 

“This must be love.” Annabel watched Lilly with amusement – in all the years the two of them had been friends, she had never seen Lilly alter her diet because of a guy.

 

“God, I hope not! Because if this is what love is, I think I was better off without it. All I can think of is seeing him tonight – what am I, fifteen?”

 

“There is no age limit on falling in love,” remarked Annabel. She had to admit that it was entertaining to watch Lilly in the throes of a crush – she had never seen her friend so completely gaga over a guy, and Lilly had always had her pick of men. “That’s how I felt about Jeremy when we first met.”

 

“I guess I owe you an apology for ridiculing you all these years.”

 

Annabel sighed.

 

“What’s wrong?” Lilly frowned.

 

“Nothing, I was just thinking.”

 

“What is it? Something is wrong, isn’t it? And here I am, babbling away.”

 

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

 

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Lilly rolled her eyes. “But seriously, have I ever betrayed a secret?”

 

“OK, OK, I’m sorry. Yesterday, when I met with Meredith, I saw Doug.”

 

“And?”

 

“And he was not alone – he had his arm around this blond bimbo – she looked like she was barely eighteen.”

 

“No way, get out of town! You always talk about him sneaking around, but to catch him in the act! Did Meredith kick his pathetic ass?”

 

“That’s the thing – she was there with me, and I know that she saw the whole thing, but she acted like nothing happened.”

 

“What do you mean she acted like nothing happened? Maybe she didn’t see him?”

 

“She saw him all right; her face got all pale, but she would not say a word about it. She just said she had to go home because she had a headache. I didn’t press her because I could tell that she wanted to be alone.”

 

“Well, I hope that she gives him a good thrashing. I’ve got to say, given the fact that her father got him started in the business, Doug should be way nicer to her.”

 

“Is that why you think Doug married her, because of her father’s connections?”

 

“I don’t know and I don’t want to judge.”

 

This was a first one for Lilly.

 

“It sure does look like it, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why Meredith keeps putting up with it.”

 

“Maybe because she loves him.”

 

“Maybe, but still… Is that why you are so upset?”

 

“Yes and no. I don’t know, lately I’ve been worrying – what if Jeremy and I will end like that too? I’m sure Doug was not always cheating on Meredith, not when they first met.”

 

“Do you have any reason to think that Jeremy might be cheating?”

 

“I swear Lilly, you should seek employment with the FBI as an interrogator. No, I don’t have any reason to believe that – it’s just that lately things kind of cooled down, and I’m worried that it might be my fault. I’ve been so busy at work and then planning this wedding… I’m just afraid of getting into a rut. That’s why I wanted to buy something lacy to spruce things up a bit, you know.”

 

“Oh, that – I wouldn’t worry about that – I’m surprised it took that long for you to bring it up. I mean, the two of you have been together for what, six years?”

 

“Seven if you count college.”

 

“Exactly. I once dated a guy for only six months and we almost stopped having sex entirely, so I dumped his ass.”

 

Annabel could not help flinching – Lilly was never one to hold back about the details.

 

“And you’re right about wanting to spruce things up – it’s the only way to keep a guy interested – men love with their eyes. I know exactly what you need and just the place to get it.”

 

 

After lunch Lilly insisted that they head to Bloomingdale’s, flatly rejecting Annabel’s idea of checking out the neighborhood lingerie shop as amateurish.

 

“So, what did you have in mind?” inquired Lilly as she picked out a lacy black bra and a matching black silk thong for herself.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, something pretty, but not too crazy. I kind of like this.” Annabel picked out a pale blue slip with lace trimming.

 

“It’s pretty, to sleep in,” Lilly conceded. “But if you want to get Jeremy all hot and bothered, I would go with this.” She thrust a black garter belt with red lace trimming at Annabel. “And this.”

She handed Annabel a matching corset and thong.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much? It looks like something a stripper would wear – I don’t think I could carry off something like this.”

 

“I thought you wanted to surprise Jeremy. Try it on.” Lilly pushed Annabel into the fitting room.

 

“Are you ready to come out yet?” Lilly called out several minutes later. “And don’t even try telling me that it did not fit – I know your size.”

 

“I can’t get it to close,” Annabel panted – getting into this contraption required more work than she realized. Finally, she hooked the last clasp and cautiously parted the dressing room curtain.

 

“Let me see,” demanded Lilly, shoving the curtain open. “Wow, this getup makes me hot and bothered. Poor Jeremy – he might have a heart attack.”

 

“Do you really think it looks good?”

 

“That mousy slip you picked looked good. This little number looks hot. You should definitely buy it and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

 

“How much is this thing anyway?” Annabel fumbled with the price tag and gasped. “This is crazy – you could buy a suit for this price.”

 

“A suit won’t get you laid,” Lilly observed flatly. “Do you have a pair of black stilettos?”

 

Annabel nodded – the word ‘stiletto’ was not in her vocabulary, but she did own a pair of black pumps and thought that they should do just fine.

 

“Perfect. Wear black stilettos with this tonight and Jeremy will be all over you.”

 

Click here to download LUCKY CHARM: A CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE NOVEL by Marie Astor >>

Two of Author Gary Jonas’ Characters from MODERN SORCERY Turn the Tables on Their Creator in This Exclusive Kindle Nation Interview

JONATHAN SHADE & KELLY CHAN INTERVIEW AUTHOR GARY JONAS ABOUT MODERN SORCERY

Jonathan Shade is a private investigator who handles cases dealing with the paranormal. His protector is the gorgeous Kelly Chan, a magically engineered assassin. They recently sat down at Kelly’s dojo to air some grievances with their creator, Gary Jonas.

Jonathan: Hey, Gary. We asked you to stop by—

Kelly: So we could kill you.

Jonathan: Whoa, Kelly, let’s give the guy a chance to redeem himself first.

Gary: Redeem myself for what?

Jonathan: Going public with MODERN SORCERY, m’man. You weren’t supposed to write that down.

Gary: It was too cool not to write about.

Jonathan: Cool to you. I had to live through it. Dude, fighting an ancient sorcerer is not my idea of a good time. I hear you’re writing more of our exploits.

Gary: I have a three book contract. The next adventure, coming in May 2012, is called ACHERON HIGHWAY.

Kelly (drawing her sword): He can’t finish the book if he’s dead.

Gary: What is it with you guys? Don’t you know who I am?

Kelly: Someone who’s going to be referred to in the past tense.

Jonathan: We can resolve this peacefully. Stop writing.

Gary: Sorry, Jonathan. Doesn’t work that way. You may think you have lives of your own, but I’m your creator. You’re going to have more adventures and I’m going to write them down. Deal with it.

Jonathan: You forget, magic doesn’t work on me.

Gary: Direct magic doesn’t work on you, Jonathan. I’m a writer so I can come at you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

Jonathan: Give me a break.

Gary: Kelly placed her sword against Jonathan’s throat.

Jonathan: Whoa, Kelly, move that sword!

Kelly: I didn’t put it there. That awful … no … wonderful writer did. Hey! Stop putting words in my mouth.

Gary: Sorry, guys. That’s my job. Your job is to have cool adventures I can share with people.

Jonathan: Can they be less painful?

Gary (shakes his head): Sorry.

Jonathan: Then at least let me get laid.

Gary: I’ll see what I can do.

Jonathan: Can Kelly move the sword now?

Gary nods.

Kelly: Why is Jonathan the main hero when I’m clearly the best?

Gary: He’s the one who tells me what happened.

Kelly: I want my own story, too. You free for lunch?

Gary: Sure. But leave the sword here.

Jonathan: What about me?

Kelly: Buy your own lunch.

 

by Gary Jonas
5.0 stars – 6 Reviews
Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Magic can be deadly…

When Private Investigator Jonathan Shade’s ex-lover walks into his Denver office asking him to prove her father didn’t commit the murder that dozens of witnesses saw and security cameras captured, Shade finds himself in the thick of magical intrigue. In a world where evil warlocks refuse to die, magically engineered assassins deal merciless death and ancient myths aren’t quite so mythical, only Shade and his sexy partner, Kelly, can stop a power-hungry sorcerer from taking over the world.

Too bad Shade doesn’t have any magic.

This is the first book in the Jonathan Shade series.

(This is a sponsored post.)

Free Excerpt From Gunnar Bloom’s The Last Ride of the Ugly Bus, Our Thriller of the Week Sponsor!

Last Ride of the Ugly Bus is our Thriller of the Week sponsor, and author Gunnar Bloom is sharing a lengthy, free excerpt!

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by Gunnar Bloom
4.5 stars – 2 Reviews
Here’s the set-up:
In this provocative tale of adolescent misbehavior, a cunning high school senior masterminds a suburban heist by manipulating and terrorizing the revelers at a graduation party where eight unlucky guests deemed the “ugliest” of the night are subjected to a ritual of sadistic bullying and humiliation before being sent packing aboard the host’s notorious “Ugly Bus.”As shocking as it is riveting, THE LAST RIDE OF THE UGLY BUS is a contemplative neo noir thriller that will grip you with its no-punches-pulled exploration of cruelty, morality and forgiveness set amidst a milieu of privileged misfits on the cusp of adulthood. After experiencing the story’s relentlessly-paced darkness and devastation — think Stieg Larsson meets Bret Easton Ellis — you may never look at teenagers the same way again.
And now, the author hopes you will enjoy this free excerpt:

1

Better people would stand to applaud Lily Ward’s valedictorian speech right now, ever so generous in the way it burnished our dull pasts and oh-so inspiring in the way it extolled our mediocre futures. But hardly any of us sitting here today are good people, let alone better ones, and she will have to make do with our polite but perfunctory handclaps.

 

I swipe a flood of tears away from my eyes as Lily leaves the lectern, the dignity in her posture softened by a modesty that reveals itself in the way she tucks her hair behind her ear as she sidesteps down the stage stairs in her low heels. If this were a world where virtue – basic human goodness – was as important as minimum graduation requirements, she’d be wearing a halo this afternoon, not a mortarboard.

 

Around me, the colors of Canfield’s Founders Common blaze vibrant, almost surreal, under white-hot sunlight. God or the universe or whoever it is that controls Northern California’s climate has turned on a blinding June day for commencement. This is weather money couldn’t buy. Or, then again, maybe it is. When it comes to Canfield parents and the miracles their fortunes can make happen, nothing surprises me anymore.

 

The lush lawn we’re seated on, the glorious American Renaissance architecture framing us, the azure skies and dazzling sun: the world is beautiful, and our futures look – quite literally – bright. Immersed in a tableau of such perfection, our parents probably believe that anything is possible of us right now. So full of hopes, they are, and so likely to have them dashed, too.

 

“Dude,” whispers Chip Lyons from beside me. “Are you, like, crying? Do you want my hanky or something?”

 

“I’ll take your Ray Bans, if you’re offering,” I say in my normal speaking voice, a basso rasp that girls often like to tell me sounds “way hot” and which Bianca L’Estrange’s bony elbow in my ribs right now tells me also sounds way loud. “This sun is fucking murdering my eyes.”

 

“Sorry, man, you know mine have gone all vampire on me since the LASIK,” whispers Chip. “But at least the videos are going to look awesome, hey?”

 

Chip would know, of course. His father is a notoriously anti-auteur Hollywood film director who insists that when you lose control of a movie to meddling studio executives – when you no longer control the cast or the sets or the script, a perfect storm of creative emasculation that occurs often, apparently, or at least to him – all that’s left is lighting, lighting, lighting.

 

“If you’re going to make a big pile of shit, boys,” he told me and Chip once, when he took us sailing on San Francisco Bay during one of the monthly weekends he spends away from LA, the glamorous setting of his happy second marriage, to spend time with Chip, the only good thing to have come out of his miserable first, “at least make sure it’s good-looking shit.”

 

For a passing wisdom, Mr Lyons’s words have lingered lastingly in my mind, perhaps because they seem to echo my mother’s frequent, if more politely-expressed, reminders that, “Darling, everything always comes down to appearances.” She, of course, is the same person who regularly cautions that I should think carefully before I speak, lest people construe my words the wrong way. And though I’m not sure what would be a “right” meaning to ascribe to advice as superficial as hers, I am almost certain that “wrong” is the only way to describe how I have boiled down her counsel, viz., “If appearances are all that really count, then you don’t have to be a good person. You just have to look like one.”

 

And in order to live true to this new conviction of mine, I have decided that, from now on, I am going to be the very worst person I can be. The rest of the world just won’t know it.

 

I check the time on my phone, then look up. Despite the acute discomfort of being sun-blinded, I cannot help but smile. Because the storm cloud I’ve arranged for is going to roll in any minute now.

 

People are going to get wet.

 

*

 

As Principal Monahan begins his closing address on stage, his normally imposing stature diminished by an enormous Canfield crest on the green velvet drape behind him, Bianca L’Estrange fixes her lipstick in a compact. Her hair hangs down in lustrous, Barbie-blonde waves beneath her mortarboard. Other than the classic red Dior she’s tracing over her mouth, however, her face is bare of all else but a slather of moisturizer that makes her skin look as smooth and perfect as a bone china teacup. She’d be beautiful, if only she’d smile.

 

“A smile doesn’t cost you anything,” I told her once during junior year.

 

“Everything costs something,” she’d replied, and, after I thought her words over, I’d realized she was right. Her reign as one of the Queen Bees at Canfield has been underpinned by a campaign of unrelenting terror since we were freshman, after all. A smile would be a glimpse of humanity, and this – from her – would only serve as a revelation of weakness, not to mention an invitation for sedition. Misery, I know now, is how Bianca has survived: not only other people’s, but also her own.

 

Principal Monahan is talking up, one last time, our worthinesses to enter society, feeding shameless half-truths and exaggerations to our smug parents, when Bianca suddenly yelps. I glance sideways to see that Preston Knight (family fortune: big Silicon Valley) has snatched the lipstick off her. Beside Preston, Tad Kemp-Stiles (family fortune: even bigger Silicon Valley) leans forward and pushes the cap off the head of Milky Ho, seated in the row of white folding chairs in front of ours.

 

As Milky whips her head about in protest, Preston holds the lipstick up against her face. Onlookers choke back laughter at the sight of the ridiculous slash of scarlet it leaves across her cheek and nose.

 

“Oh my God,” Milky mewls softly, staring at the smeary patches of lipstick that blight her hand after she touches her face, as bloody red and shocking as stigmata.

 

Her dismay is so abject that it’s not even pitiful. It is simply sad, so sad that I have to look away.

 

Preston and Tad high-five each other.

 

Bianca slaps Preston’s hand away when he tries to return the lipstick to her.

 

“Keep it!” she hisses. “It probably smells like soy sauce now!”

 

More people laugh, louder this time – but I’m not one of them. I don’t know Milky well – our social circles, as they say, do not intersect – but I do know she doesn’t deserve what Tad and Preston have done to her. Maybe no one would, not on this day of days, although I think if someone drew all over Bianca’s face with lipstick right now, I’d probably laugh my ass off. Then again, if it happened to Bianca, it’d only be because I was her persecutor; I’m the only male at Canfield with enough clout to cross her. There’s probably something in this fact that I ought to be proud of. I’m just not sure I want to be.

 

I’ve never been one to torment or humiliate people myself, at least not deliberately, but neither have I ever been one to step in to stop others when they do. Maybe it’s been apathy, or maybe it’s been peer pressure, or maybe it’s simply because I’m a wretched excuse for a human being. There’s really no justification, and I doubt it would much matter if I went looking and found one anyway. Because, in the end, we have to accept that we are the very people we’ve let ourselves become. We think we can’t, and then we can; we think we won’t, and then we do. By the time I found the courage to hate the assholes, I’d discovered I had already turned into one myself.

 

*

 

We’re on our feet now, for the final stretch of this afternoon’s proceedings. I’m starting to feel a tingle of sunburn on the tip of my nose, only a fraction less insistent than the restlessness that has crept into the crowd. The pomp and ceremony wore thin a long time ago, and people are chafing to embrace the momentousness of this day’s end.

 

Graduation is important in different ways to different people, I suppose. To the average adolescent, it’s the beginning of the rest of our lives, the sweet hereafter of freedom and possibilities that, as I watch Preston and Tad take turns gulping from a leathered hip flask, I think most of us are probably going to squander. To the average parent, graduation is, doubtless, the hope that we, their darling little boys and girls, are finally going to grow up and do them proud. After last month, when a 2009 Canfield alumna made the papers for bullying her college roommate to suicide, and the month before that, when a 1997 alumnus was indicted on fraud charges for an ingenious Ponzi scheme that wasn’t quite ingenious enough, I think the average parent will have to count themselves lucky if we only disillusion them a little bit less. But for the average senior in this year’s graduating Canfield class, graduation day is the promise of one thing above all others: graduation night. And graduation night means the last ride of Espie Van Deelen’s Ugly Bus.

 

“I know I speak for the entire school board when I say that we are tremendously proud of this year’s class,” Principal Monahan intones now. “Their academic achievements, their extracurricular accomplishments, their commitments to building a kinder, better society – Class of 2011, we are proud to call you our own.” He pauses for a pregnant moment before going on, ever so solemnly, “If students would please turn their tassels from the right to the left.”

 

A murmur ripples through the crowd as we hike our tassels from one side to the other.

 

“Parents and friends, it gives me immense pleasure to present to you the 2011 class of the Canfield School!”

 

The audience around us erupts into rabid applause. We – students and survivors – hug and jump and shriek and shout. On my face, I try to mirror everyone else’s excitement, even though, inside, I feel like I am sickly-full of nothing, like a starving man who has tried to quell his pangs with glasses of water. This is supposed to be a day that will live on in sepia-hued memories and journal entries with a star or smiley face doodled in the margin beside them. But as far as I am concerned, it cannot end soon enough. Still, I remind myself that life is all about appearances, and I widen my smile and shout out loud and embrace Chip, and then Bianca, too, the latter of whom forgets to hate the former long enough for us to engage in a three-way jump-up-and-down hug, during which Chip’s Ray Bans fall off his face and a lock of Bianca’s hair somehow works its way between my teeth.

 

Afterward, we join the rest of our classmates in flinging our mortarboards up into the air. For a moment, as I watch the caps fly high, wheeling and flocking like birds, I finally feel a flicker of joy, or something like it. But the cold emptiness returns when a cheap blow up doll floats into view, rising up from behind the stage, pinky pale and obscene. A murmur ripples through the crowd, and my classmates begin to point and laugh, never lowering their fingers, even when falling caps drop like anvils onto their heads.

 

But people’s hilarities abate in an instant when the doll explodes in a puff of unholy smoke. Everyone ducks instinctively – everyone, of course, except me – and when they peer up over their brows again, they see that the official party on stage – the Canfield board, plus a handful of bureaucratic VIPs – has been showered with flappy plastic fragments and spots of white gunk. Shrill voices ring in the air, and a controlled mayhem reigns as the dignitaries check themselves, and then each other, all while swiping milky slime off their black gowns.

 

Having recovered from the fright of the blast, my classmates begin to laugh again, harder than before. Our parents, however, are less amused. Mothers have their hands up against their throats, open-mouthed, while fathers, reacting in conspicuous contrast, have clamped theirs firmly shut, lips pressed into thin, furious lines that probably wouldn’t soften even if I told them that the white gloop isn’t what they think it is, no more than a puree of cream cheese and glycerin with a splash of Clorox and fish sauce mixed in. Sam Ingrey funneled the mixture into “Tantalizing Trixybelle” beneath the stage before the ceremony. I know the recipe because I gave it to him, along with the ingredients. Afterward, Sam inflated Trixybelle to a seam-straining bloatedness with helium tapped from a gas cylinder that had “Property of Canfield School Science Department” stenciled on it. I gave that to him, too.

 

In truth, the only thing about the doll’s mucky end I can admit to being clueless to is how she was released and detonated. I left that detail to Sam. His ability to make it happen was what I fancied to see more than the demise of Trixybelle herself. Ideally, I wouldn’t have had to ruin graduation for the school; as much as I detest Canfield, I love her, too. She has been good to me, which is more than some can say. Just ask Milky Ho. But I needed an excuse to goad Sam into proving he could cause a big bang, and a commencement prank was the only scenario he was willing to be coaxed into.

 

“Express your anger,” I told him to wear down his reluctance. “Express your contempt.”

 

When you know someone’s weak point, it’s not hard to come on strong. And now that Sam has shown me how far he is willing to go for his convictions, it is my turn to show myself how far I will go for my own. Because, tonight, for your average senior, the Ugly Bus will be mere entertainment and nothing more, another mindless instance of high school cruelty that gives people an excuse to laugh at someone else’s misfortune. But I’m not your average senior. And tonight at Espie Van Deelen’s party, with Sam’s help – even if he doesn’t know he’s giving it to me – I’m going to prove it.

 

 

2

 

When I am done changing for Espie’s party, I scrutinize my appearance in my dresser mirror, scratching a speck of lint off my Hollister muscle tee and yanking at my jeans, uncomfortably tight like every pair I’ve owned since I started wearing a skinnier cut for fashion’s sake. I am nothing if not a conformist, at least as far as my dress sense is concerned. Some would consider this being a sheep, but I just call it being rational. After all, people who choose not to conform to norms simply end up conforming to non-norms, which, in the end, still means you’re a sheep – just a black one.

 

Around me is the bedroom that, soon, will no longer be mine.

Large and designer-modern, it boasts a mammoth plasma television and a glut of pricey computer equipment and electronic gizmos. They’ll all be gone shortly, too. My lacrosse and track trophies dominate an entire bookcase. These, I’ve been told, I’ll get to keep, and I’ve already made discreet inquiries about selling them. For things I’ve always treasured, I’ve been disheartened to learn that they’re practically worthless. Little wonder the bank doesn’t want them.

 

On my window sill, a pot of purple gerbera daisies grow at an angle, leaning into the late afternoon sunlight. My remedial reading group foisted the plant on me several weeks back at my farewell bash at the Burger King on 16th Street in the city, where some of us gather for a late dinner every Thursday night after we’re done at the Center.

When I was fifteen, my father began driving me to the Center in the city’s Mission District once a week to read with disadvantaged youths in an outreach program supported by the charity that my mother chairs, the Goodwill Ladies of Marin County.

 

“I want you to realize how lucky you are,” he told me.

 

Later, when I got my license, and my own car, I began driving myself there. I didn’t know why then, and I still don’t know why now. Maybe the truth is, as much as I wish I didn’t possess compassion or a conscience, the sad fact is that I may just do. You can’t choose which traits of your parents you inherit, after all, and even though my father has been dead and buried since March, his bleeding heart still beats strong in me. But at least this is easier to hide than the accent I’ve inherited from my east coast-transplant mother, a slightly la-di-da manner of Connecticut pronunciation that has somehow worked its way into my consciousness and onto my own California-born and -bred tongue.

 

Something else obvious that can’t be hidden is my resemblance to my father. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror right now, I cannot tonight, any more than I could in any parent-hating moment of my childhood, indulge the fantasy that I might not be my father’s son. There can be no doubt I am his when we share the same wavy brown hair that’s nearly black when wet or styled, and the same fine-boned features that are worshipped by everyone superficial enough to believe that comeliness is next to godliness, and, most conspicuously of all, blue eyes so light against our dark hair that the look of them verges on alien.

 

I learned a long time ago to use these – my father’s – eyes to my advantage. With them, I have unhinged pretty girls and disarmed wary parents and made myself beloved of even the most jaded teachers at Canfield. Blue simply inspires trust and abets persuasion. It’s the color of clear skies. It’s the color of calm seas. It’s the color that humans are somehow hardwired to believe in. Not for no reason is it the color of big business, I think. With blue, it doesn’t matter if people know they’re getting screwed. With blue, they’ll tell themselves they’re not, even if they really are, and they’ll tell themselves they don’t mind, even if they really do. And maybe it’s the reason why my mother loved my father for so long, and why, in spite of all he did to her, she still does and forever will. He looked her in the eye when he spoke to her the lies that fooled her, the exact same way he looked into mine and fooled me, too.

 

*

 

After a last-minute fiddle with my hair, I pocket my cellphone and car keys, then ferret around in my dresser for my set of spares to take with me also. I finally find them buried amongst the loose change that fills a bright yellow Breitling presentation box, which I turned into a coin holder after I removed the watch that came inside of it. I pawned the oversized Navitimer for $2,900 three months back. It would have been worth more, except it had been engraved with “For Titus, On your sixteenth birthday, Love Mom and Dad.”

 

“Engravings are sad, kid,” said the mustachioed man behind the security screen at the hock shop I slunk into in Berkeley, a forty-minute drive away from anyone I didn’t want to run into.

 

The cash I pocketed – a pile of spanking clean fifties and hundreds, like they’d been counted out to me by an ATM in exchange for my PIN instead of a hard-faced man in exchange for my birthday present from two years ago – didn’t last a fortnight. I blew every dollar at spring break, keeping up splendid appearances by keeping up with my spendthrift friends. My mother had thought she was doing me a favor by scrounging together the money for me to go to Cabo with them. She didn’t realize that the airfare and hotel were the least of the week’s expenses. Then again, my father was always the one I badgered for money.

 

Folded in the drawer, beside the box of change, is the acceptance letter from Princeton that I received in April. I collected acceptances from Duke, Dartmouth and Columbia, too, but I binned those long ago.

 

I open the Princeton letter and read it for the umpteenth time. I still remember the elation of learning I’d been accepted there, a giddying euphoria that I don’t think I’ve felt since some time in the nebulous, every-memory-runs-into-the-next years of my childhood, a happiness so overpowering that I’d just wanted to find the nearest person and hug the living breath out of them. Since then, however, the several short paragraphs of the letter have become little more than a tantalizing promise of something I have earned but perhaps might not claim. Yes, Princeton has one of the best financial aid programs of all the Ivys, but I don’t qualify for it; yes, my maternal grandmother has more money than she’ll be able to spend in the years she has left, but she won’t pay for me; and though my mother has never said she won’t foot the bill for college, the unspoken understanding between us is that she can’t.

 

The corner of the letter has been defaced with my clumsy handwriting, a single line in capital letters that reads “DON’T LET YOURSELF DOWN.” My father always used to lay these four words on me when he wanted me to do better in some – any – way.

 

“Because it’s not just about not disappointing me, Titus,” he’d always add afterward. “It’s also about not disappointing yourself.”

 

And, thanks to the Ugly Bus, I’m not going to. Because the Ugly Bus is how I’m going to pay for Princeton. More importantly, the Ugly Bus is how I am going to make people pay for my father’s death.

 

*

 

Espie Van Deelen says she borrowed the idea for the Ugly Bus off a famous underwear designer friend of her mother’s – he, according to hearsay, is a notorious aesthete who banishes hired party staff who aren’t good-looking enough aboard them – but if you know Espie as well as I do, it’s more likely the designer stole the idea off her. And the premise of Espie’s version of the Ugly Bus is simple enough: the eight “ugliest” guests who show their faces at one of her parties, as judged by Espie herself, must run the gauntlet onto a minivan – the so-called Ugly Bus – and leave the party in shame. And though everyone risks a seat on the Ugly Bus by turning up to witness it, we all do so anyway because the prospect of watching someone else’s humiliation is bloodsport we simply can’t deny ourselves the opportunity to see. Courtesy of the Germans, the high priests of cold-blooded pragmatism, there is even a word for this. Schadenfreude: pleasure from someone else’s pain. And, tonight, it is this blackness in the hearts of my peers that I will be depending on in order to slake the desperate need for vengeance that festers deep within my own.

 

*

 

I find my mother sitting on the low sofa in my father’s study when I go to check on her before I leave for the party. She looks out place in the middle of the room’s sterile manliness, all leather and wood and chrome.

 

She doesn’t turn around when I call out to her. Still dressed in the forest green Chanel suit and oversized pearls she wore to my graduation ceremony, she stares at the wall, nursing a glass of red wine. A whole bottle more rests on the low table in front of her. As she twists the glass between her fingers, my eyes are drawn to the white gold wedding band still on her ring finger, and I feel a violent urge to seize her hand and rip it off. But I don’t. My mother has the most beautiful hands, after all, a pair that have never toiled a hard day in their lives, so soft and pale and lovely that treating them roughly would surely be some sort of cosmic crime.

 

“Are you drinking again, mom?” I say.

 

“Just a little sip, darling,” she says, her voice a little phlegmy and groggy. “Are you off to Espie’s party?

 

I ease the wine out my mother’s grip and put it on the low table, just out of her comfortable reach. She sits up and takes my hands in hers.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Titus. I always am, but today especially.”

 

“It’s just graduation, mom. It happens to everyone.”

 

“Your father would have been so proud to see you walk today, too.”

 

I shrug. “He would’ve been prouder if I’d gotten that scholarship to Duke.”

 

“You know that’s not true, darling. Your father was a Princeton man. He wanted you to be one as well.” She releases my hands abruptly as she goes on, in a vaguer tone, almost a murmur, “For the life of me, I’ll never understand why he raided your college fund to prop up the business.”

 

“And I don’t understand why you won’t sue the insurer to get the payout on his policy,” I say, an edge in my voice.

 

“I’ve told you why, darling. I can’t. I won’t.”

 

“But dad didn’t kill himself and everyone knows it,” I say through clenched teeth.

 

“And that’s the way I’d like it to stay, Titus,” she says, frowning at me. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned, your father died of a heart attack.”

 

“Which is exactly what happened!”

 

My mother shakes her head. “You know it wasn’t as simple as that.”

 

“Which is why they’re trying to argue it was suicide!” I say, almost shouting now. “Because they know you’ll have to sue them to get the payout, and then everyone will find out the truth. But he’s dead, mom. Does it really matter if -”

 

“We’re not having this conversation again, Titus!” she says, raising her voice to match mine. “I’m not going to drag your father’s name through the mud just for a little bit of money.”

 

“But it’s not a little bit of money,” I say, quieter again, half-hearted in defeat. “It’s a lot of money. Enough to keep the house. Enough to keep the cars.” I pause. “It’s enough to pay for college.”

 

My mother ignores me and struggles up from her seat to reclaim her glass of wine. She swallows a large gulp as she slumps elegantly back onto the sofa.

 

“I’m sorry about school, Titus. You know I’d pay if I could. It’s just …”

 

Now my mother begins to cry. Her tears come with odd little gasping noises, as rhythmic as breathing. The sound is so strange, so very nearly comical, that the first time I ever heard her cry – I was five-years-old, if my childhood memories can be relied upon – I thought she was only pretending to. Tears aren’t something she succumbs to often, mind you. My mother is a woman likes to look like someone who’s in control – even though she rarely actually is – and crying is, of course, the ultimate expression of the loss of it.

 

I watch as she stems her tears as quickly as they came to her, swiping them away with her dainty, white hands. The sight of her reminds me so much of Milky Ho, so helpless and miserable, that it makes me mad, both at them and myself.

 

I used to worry about my mother – a lot. But my anxieties are smaller now, or at least I give them shorter shrift than before. Not because I don’t care, but because I’ve come to realize that I don’t need to. Countless people bumble through life and all its tribulations every day of their lives, somehow defying natural selection to not only survive but thrive. And my mother is one such fortunate. She’s a cat that falls out of a window and lands on its feet. She’s a traveler who misses her plane and watches it crash on the runway. She’s a frail flower who somehow always finds the kindness of a stranger to depend upon. My father dying on her will, in the long run, probably transpire as something in the same vein: a terrible happening to have befallen her, but one that, given enough time, she will not only have overcome without trying, but also find herself all the better off than before for it.

 

“It’s okay, mom,” I say when her last teary hiccup has faded. “Everything’s going to work out.”

 

I shift on my feet for an awkward moment, then turn about and head for the door. But I stop in my tracks when my mother calls out to me.

 

“Your father loved you, Titus. He loved both of us. Whatever he’s done to us by … doing what he did – it doesn’t change that. The least we can do for him is make sure people remember him the way he was to them, not what he was to himself.”

 

After a long pause, I say without turning around, because I just can’t look at her, and also because I suspect she might not want to look at me, “I won’t be back till late, mom. Don’t wait up.”

 

*

 

Our garage is big enough to fit five cars, and up until three months ago, it was five that filled it. But after my father died, the green Bentley, the red Ferrari, and the silver Maserati all went. The space they used to occupy looks lonely now, nothing more than spots of oil on the concrete to say that anything was ever really there. My mother’s silver BMW sedan and my black Mercedes AMG SUV have been left to huddle forlornly together in the two spaces nearest the foyer door. Come next week, even they’ll be gone – which is kind of handy, in a way, since the garage, and the house it’s attached to, is going to be lost to us about a week after that, too.

 

I unlock my truck and stow a heavy backpack I’m donkeying into the trunk, before climbing into the driver’s seat, where I am momentarily dizzied by the strong-smelling leather and light that dazzles off chrome switchgear and glossy wood accents.

 

I always knew I’d be given a car after I passed my driving test; I was certain of at least a nice Jeep or a big Ford. In bed at night, I mouthed secret prayers for something low-end European if my parents were feeling exceptionally generous. But they’d surprised me on my triumphant return from the DMV with this top-of-the-line monster that looks like the devil and goes like hell.

 

“Because we love you,” my parents said when I asked the inevitable, “Why?”

 

But I knew my parents, or at least the motivations behind their superficialities, and it wasn’t just love they were worried about. It was appearances. Because their lives always were – and always will be – ruled by shallow niceties and even shallower appearances. The Mercedes was never only about showing me that they loved me; it was also about showing everyone else just how much.

And as I back out of the garage, the neoclassical enormity of the home I grew up in looming large in my windscreen – the biggest in our street, a leafy pocket of Tiburon where nothing is even remotely small – it occurs to me that the symbolism of me losing this car could well be as significant as me having been given it: it will be the ultimate proof of just how far away my old life has receded from me.

 

 

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE LAST RIDE OF THE UGLY BUS BY GUNNAR BLOOM

Kindle Nation Bargain Book Alert: 15 Straight Rave Reviews for W.D. Gagliani’s hard-noir thriller SAVAGE NIGHTS – But Just 99 cents on Kindle, and That’s No Typo!

“The best werewolf novel since The Howling!”

— J.A. Konrath, author of Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail, Cherry Bomb

Savage Nights

by W.D. Gagliani
4.5 stars – 15 Reviews
Lending and Text-to-Speech: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
The call came in the middle of the night. Rich Brant was just sweating through another Vietnam nightmare when the phone rang.

“It’s Kit,” his brother moaned. “They’ve taken her.”

They don’t know what they’ve done…

Kidnapped from a busy mall, Brant’s beloved 19-year old niece is in a world of trouble. Hard-nosed inquiries suggest that she has been snatched for auction by the international sexual slavery ring run by the ruthless Goran, also known as The Serb. Kit’s final destination: a modern harem, a brothel, a dungeon, or one of the Serb’s kinky slavery clubs.

Or worse.

Now Brant will need his inconsistent and sometimes unreliable psychic ability more than he ever did in Vietnam and what came after… He reconnects with his Vietnam buddies, some of them ex-cops, to help him pry Kit from Goran’s clutches.

Brant becomes rescuer, avenging angel — and executioner. In his quest, there may be redemption for his own past sins. Or there may only be new sins…

If you liked the movie “Taken,” let SAVAGE NIGHTS take you much, much farther into the darkness…. It’s a pulls-no-punches hard-noir thriller that’s not for the faint of heart and intended for adult readers only for graphic sex and violent content.

Includes bonus material: excerpts from horror thrillers by W.D. Gagliani, John Everson, and Scott Nicholson, and a complete crime short story by David Benton and W.D. Gagliani (preview of the new Benton & Gagliani collection, Mysteries & Mayhem).

Some buzz:

“I was familiar with Gagliani’s horror work but I’m pleased to see he can take it to the streets, too. Tense, raw, and rich with drama and passion. Gagliani’s a keeper.”
— Scott Nicholson, author of The Skull Ring, The Red Church, and Liquid Fear

“SAVAGE NIGHTS is, in a word, intense! … The action in this book is incredible. As I got closer to the pinnacle of the plot, it was as if I could not read fast enough. My eyes flew across the words, hungry for what would happen next. I was surprised at some of the twists and turns, and when the story was over, I was exhausted. It was that intense.”
— Tiffany Harkleroad, Tiffany’s Bookshelf

“I truly enjoyed it and the pages kept turning… the suspense grew, the shocks had real jolt, and the big scenes were big and satisfying…better than (David) Morrell!”
— Brian Pinkerton, author of Rough Cut, Abducted, and Vengeance

About the Author

W.D. Gagliani is the also author of WOLF’S TRAP, WOLF’S GAMBIT, WOLF’S BLUFF, WOLF’S EDGE (2011), SHADOWPLAYS, and MYSTERIES & MAYHEM (w/ David Benton). All are available on Amazon Kindle and other e-formats. He has also published numerous short stories in various anthologies, and nonfiction in ON WRITING HORROR, THRILLERS: THE 100 MUST READS, and THE WRITER magazine, among others. Gagliani is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA), the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and the Authors Guild. Visit him at www.wdgagliani.com

(This is a sponsored post.)