Cover Reveal: One to Chase by Tia Louise

An ALL-NEW Stand-Alone novel from Bestselling Author Tia Louise!

ONE TO CHASE (One to Hold, #7)

By Tia Louise

Everywhere June 25!!!

Amy Knight, meet Marcus Merritt.

Patrick’s ambitious, over-achieving little sister has just landed an interview with one of the top law firms in Chicago.

The only problem is the sexy, high-powered attorney interviewing her is the same green-eyed player she hooked up with after a certain wedding in Wilmington. He’s also Elaine’s older brother. Is this even legal?!

Complications everywhere, and the more they run, the less it’s clear who’s chasing whom.


A STAND-ALONE, ONE TO HOLD NOVEL. Adult Contemporary Romance: Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18. #SexyLawyer

Pre-order NOW on iTunes

– more links coming soon!

* * *

Exclusive Excerpt

ONE TO CHASE By Tia Louise

© TLM Productions, 2015

*unedited draft; subject to change*

Amy

Everything freezes, including my breath.

I’m pretty sure the shiny brass desk clock on his stupidly large desk even stops ticking.

“What the fuck?” The man, who is most definitely not Edward Merritt, hisses softly.

Years of practice keep me from completely losing it in that moment. I cross my legs and channel all the Gwyneth Paltrow-cool hammered into me from finishing school.

“It’s… You’re…” The Man from Wilmington extends his phone toward me, but he must not’ve had a good grip. It slips like a bar of soap from his hand and arcs through the air straight into my lap.

Thank God for small mercies. I’m snort a laugh, which cuts the tension at once.

“You’re welcome.” With a teasing smile I lift the small black device and place it on the desktop in front of me.

Going forward, I will never forget his response. It’s splendid in its precision. I can’t help but admire his control. Marcus Merritt sits in his leather-studded chair, and his face transforms into a mask of professionalism.

The slightest smile curves the side of his mouth, and a tingle moves across my stomach. “Good catch,” he says.

“It’s not every day I have expensive technology lobbed at me.”

“Sorry. Strenuous call.”

“Opposing counsel?”

“Dry cleaners. They keep breaking my buttons.”

My lips tighten against another laugh, and I fight every urge humming under my skin. Damn him for being as witty as he is attractive.

“You are not Edward Merritt.” It’s a nice, orienting statement.

“Edward is my father.” His brows knit over green-hazel eyes as he looks down at his desk. “Who the fuck is Amalie Knight?”

“My mother was going through a French phase.” I give him a teasing wink, and his eyes flick away from mine fast. If he weren’t so composed, I might take that to mean something.

“So Amy is short for Amalie?”

“Patrick couldn’t say Amalie when he was a little boy.”

His eyebrows rise and he leans back nodding. “Right. Patrick… and Stuart’s little sister.”

His playfulness shuts down, and I refuse to let disappointment rise in my chest. So we have a nice, teasing banter to go with our blazing-hot hook-up sex. I will not be hopping out of any frying pans into any fires. My moment with this “Man in Wilmington” will remain precisely that. A moment. In Wilmington.

Lightening my tone, I force a bright smile and lay it all out there. “My mother and your sister think you can introduce me to all the right people in Chicago.”

“I doubt you need my help with that.” His eyes don’t meet mine. In fact it seems he’s avoiding my eyes now.

“I don’t, but it means a lot to them.”

That makes him look up, but only to my neck. “You’re looking for something in marketing?”

“Yes.” I swipe the screen on my phone. “Give me your number, and I’ll send you my resume. I have a finance degree from Cornell, but I minored in marketing. One of my graduate projects was a rollout for a software design company located in Ithaca. My team won an ADDY for it.”

He leans forward and reaches across the desk. “It’s probably easier if I enter my number.”

His white cuff ends just above his large hand. Neatly trimmed nails… My lip involuntarily catches in my teeth at the memory of those fingers clutching my bare ass, those large hands pulling me against his rock-hard cock, driving deep between my thighs. My back slammed against the wall, his groan in my ear as he came. Shit.

“Sure.” I blink fast, dismissing that red-hot memory as I pass my brushed-gold phone to him. “I’ve opened Messenger. Just enter your number, and I’ll send it to you.”

“We don’t have a full-time PR function in our office.” His voice is apologetic.

“Most smaller firms don’t. It’s a contract service.”

He passes the device back, watching our hands. Our fingers brush lightly, and I swear to god it sparks. Get it together, Amy.

Looking down, I see the digits and debate whether to save them. It’s a recipe for trouble, but I do it. Then I attach my resume and hit send.

“You’ve got it now.” I lift my chin, and… eye contact.

Shit on a stick. He was right in avoiding it. Looking into his smoky hazel gaze, I see all my naughty thoughts reflected right back at me.

“It’s probably best we don’t work together anyway.” Why did I say that?

An eyebrow arches, and that damn sexy grin is back. “Really? How come.” He thinks he’s got me.

“Nepotism.” He can’t honestly think I would grow up in the house of alphas I did and be weak.

“I think we’d have to be related to be accused of nepotism.”

“We practically are. I mean, with Elaine and Patrick and all.”

“My sister, your brother. There’s no relation between us.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing.” Damn my mouth. Standing, I decide it’s time for me to get out of here before I say anything else. “I know you’re busy. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me.”

“I’ll give you a call if I hear anything.” He stands just as fast. “And maybe I’ll see you around.”

My eyes sweep his too-large office as I think. “It seems likely our paths will cross.”

* * *

Meet Marcus & Amy for FREE Today!

RUNAWAY

A One to Chase short prequel.

Just in from Paris…

Just in from Chicago…

Neither Marcus Merritt nor Amy Knight are up for a wedding, especially when it drags one of them back home to old memories and the other to a life left far behind.

A random hook-up seems like a good distraction—it is a wedding after all. Isn’t everyone supposed to hook up?

The latest Merritt-Knight pairing starts off with a bang, but neither party knows where this random is going to lead.

Due to strong language and sexual content, “Runaway” is intended for readers 18 and older only.

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About the Author

Tia Louise is the Amazon and International Bestselling author of the ONE TO HOLD series.

From “Readers’ Choice” nominations, to picking up USA Today “Happily Ever After” nods, to winning a 2014 “Lady Boner Award” (LOL!), nothing makes her happier than communicating with fans and weaving new tales into the Alexander-Knight world of stories.

A former journalist, Louise lives in the center of the USA with her lovely family and one grumpy cat. There, she dreams up stories she hopes are engaging, hot, and sexy, and that cause readers rethink common public locations...

SIGNED COPIES: http://smarturl.it/SignedPBs

Connect with Tia

Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Website | Twitter | Pinterest | Instagram: @AuthorTLouise | Tsu.com

Get a FREE Bonus Scene from One to Love, and never miss a New Release! Sign up for Tia's Book News: http://eepurl.com/Lcmv1

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Books by Tia Louise

One to Hold (Derek & Melissa), 2013 - FREE as an eBook!

Amazon | B&N

One to Keep (Patrick & Elaine), 2014

Amazon | B&N

One to Protect (Derek & Melissa), 2014

Amazon | B&N

One to Love (Kenny & Slayde), 2014

Amazon | B&N

One to Leave (Stuart & Mariska), Dec. 29, 2014

Amazon | B&N

One to Save (Derek & Melissa), March 26, 2015

Amazon | B&N

One to Chase (Amy & Marcus), 

coming June 2015!

The One to Hold series is…

“Believable, sassy, sexy, and smart.” –Wicked Women Book Blog

“Great plot and good twists… An overall fantastic series, highly recommend!” –Midwest Book Lover’s Blog

"All kinds of wonderful!" --USA Today Review

Blog Tour Promo Post: Tryst by Arie Lane

Title: Tryst

Author: Arie Lane

Released: January 6th 2015

Goodreads

***WARNING*** This book is intended for 18+ due to strong language, violent scenarios, and sexual content.

Bentley Celeste is a witty, foul mouthed, reclusive, dark romance writer. She lives her life in solitude, hiding from her painful past and the one person hell bent on estroying her future. She doesn't have time for relationships and has no interest in 
allowing anyone but her best friend into her private little sanctuary. Tristan Reece is sultry, sexy, and jaded. He also happens to be the cover model for Bentley's long time acquaintance, Electra. He believes everyone who he loves is going to betray him, and then walk away. Though he carries the reputation of a ladies man, Tristan prefers to keep his heart and his bed empty. A chance meeting blind sides Bentley as she's nearly trampled by the giant wall of muscle that is Tristan. Tempers aren't the only thing to fly. Bentley may not have any interest in Tristan, but after getting his ass handed to him through a verbal assault, he can't forget the tiny Spitfire that sparks more than just his fury. Both are stubborn, with the will to fight against each other until the very end. Will Tristan's determination be enough to fight the demons lingering in Bentley's shadow? Or is Bentley's fear strong enough to tear them apart.

Buy Links

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK

Excerpt

I’m pacing the living room when I hear a car engine cut. Throwing the door open, I don’t even

bother putting on a shirt or shoes. I open her car door before she even has a chance to unbuckle her seat belt.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Dante is going fucking nuts. Did it even occur to you that someone might actually be worried about your ass?  Answer your fucking phone once in a while.”

She gets out of the car, shuts the door, and turns to me to speak. Before she can hand me some half assed explanation, I have her up against the car, crushing her lips against mine. I had planned to be sweet about it but that shit went out the door with my impulse. I need to feel her, to taste her. I want to leave her breathless and unable to stand.

I slide my tongue between her lips, invading her mouth, and the taste of cinnamon tingling my tongue as I brush it back and forth against hers. I push into her even further digging my hands into her ass, pulling her up until she wraps her legs around my hips. I am at war with her mouth, needing to possess and dominate it as she fights back for control. I suck on her tongue each time she pushes back into my mouth, biting lightly on her bottom lip, and swallowing each small moan.

When I pull back to catch my breath, I am lost in the image before me. Her lips are swollen from my assault, her breathing heavy and erratic, and her eyes half lidded.

My dick is saluting her as it pushes up against her core. Before I can claim her lips again, a very loud and pissed off Dante interrupts us. As I set her back down, brushing my lips against her neck, I whisper a warning against her skin.  “We’re not done princess. Just because your little queen interrupted, doesn’t mean I’m finished with you, not even close. And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll tie you to my fucking bed and spank that ass until you can’t walk. You understand me, Bentley, don’t pull that shit again.”  Her eyes grow wide as she processes what I had just said. Biting her lip she nods in concession.

I watch, in reckless abandonment, the train wreck that unfolds in front of me as Dante throws a hissy fit that would put a three year old to shame. I can tell by the way Bentley keeps opening and closing her fists that this isn’t going to be pretty, and I am more than happy that for once I am not her target.  I damn near choke on my own spit when the words fly from her mouth. “Look here pecker pilferer, just because you decide to be a fickle twat doesn’t mean I’m going to up and rearrange my agenda. Don’t stand here bitching at me about your panties all up in a twist while you’re douche-canoeing the seven seas. You fucked up, not me. I’m not the one who got all flustered over a fuck nut and decided to verbally vomit all of my best friend’s secrets. You had no fucking right, so do not stand here acting as if I somehow did you wrong. You can go suck on a big fat donkey dong if you think I’m about to apologize to you. Keep that shit up and I’ll bitch slap the glitter right out of your fairy princess ass.”

I have to wonder where the fuck she comes up with this shit. I can’t say I’ve ever heard half the shit she’s just called him, although even that last bit has me laughing. Only because Dante is the least fairy looking dude I’ve ever seen. The notion of him as a fairy princess ranks up there with seeing The Rock in a tutu… it just isn’t right.

I vaguely catch on to the sad attempt for an apology he feeds Bentley, and I busy myself by snatching her keys and grabbing her bag out of the car.  It’s a shitty move leaving Dante to dig himself out of the hole he’s digging even deeper, but I have plans that I’d rather not waste trivial time getting to.

Book Trailer

About the Author

Arie Lane is an avid reader and stay at home mom to two beautiful little boys. When not writing or chasing them around she is usually catching up with other Indie authors and constantly keeping up with new blogs.

She loves to connect with people and is proud that she finally had the courage to put some of her crazy thoughts into written words. From the time she started reading her nose was always stuck in a book and she's couldn't be happier that now she's encouraging others to get their noses stuck also. Even if her readers are of the +18 variety.

Goodreads ~ Amazon author Page  ~ Facebook page

Release Day Blitz: Between Everything and Us by Rebecca Paula

Title: Between Everything And Us

Author: Rebecca Paula

Genre: New Adult

Release Date: January 20, 2015

Cover Design: Maggie Hall

Matisse Evans is determined to make her sophomore year of college successful after failing out of a prestigious art school and spending a horribly boring gap year at home. Despite her focus, time isn't on her side as she struggles to hold down three jobs so she can afford her first apartment while juggling course work. In the chaos of it all, Beau Grady moves in and shakes up her world. A college dropout and tattooed bad boy, the rumors about Beau mean one thing for Matisse—trouble. Paralyzed by the fear that she's missing out on life, Matisse discovers plans may unravel, but what rises in their wake can be worth the uncertainty.

After spending the summer couch surfing, Beau Grady moves into an empty room at his ex-girlfriend’s Portland bungalow, skipping his senior year of college to spend his days working at a Vietnamese food cart instead. Once a star hockey player and gifted student, he’s put his life on hold after receiving a life-altering diagnosis, complacent to live in the moment. Hiding behind false rumors and bad habits, Beau falls for Matisse, letting her believe the worst until their relationship blooms into something they both can’t ignore. Falling for her means having to face a future he’d rather forget, but loving her just might be worth it.

Buy The Book

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Excerpt

“I didn’t mean what I said the other night.” Mati spins around and tosses my T-shirt at my face. “And I guess I’m sorry for that.”

She glances over my shoulder, biting her bottom lip as I snap the folded T-shirt against my shoulder. I laugh in spite myself. I’m a fucking wreck, but something about me intimidates her. I can’t figure her out.

I stretch, pain radiating throughout my body as I do. I slip the shirt over my head and pull my shit together.

“It’s whatever,” I say with a shrug. I try to play it off, grabbing the ratchet from her hand. Truth is, she was right, even if I didn’t want to hear it.

Mati pads over to the tool bench I built with Noah. She pushes herself up to sit on it and places the giant sombrero from our party last weekend on her head. It swallows her up. It’s not that Mati is small—she’s tall and willowy—it’s just that I’ve always liked everything opposite before now. And I hate that it takes her wearing a stupid costume prop for me to figure that out.

“I feel like I need a margarita with this on.” Mati straightens it, adjusting the strings underneath her chin. “Maybe a piñata, too.”

“Straight tequila would be preferable.”

She swings her legs back and forth, humming along to the Black Keys. It’s a good thing she’s a painter; singing isn’t a strength of hers. But it’s cute and I hate myself for thinking so.

“How are classes?” I don’t really care about the answer. I just want to hear her talk.

“Oh, they’re fine, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

She stops swinging her feet. “Why do you care?”

“Making conversation, Mati.” I walk around to the bench. “Since we’re talking to each other again.”

A smile spreads across her lips, those red lips that I want to kiss.

“Why are you upset?” she asks quietly.

I swat my hand out and tip the sombrero over her eyes. “I’m fine.” It’s easier to lie when I don’t have to look her in the face.

She straightens the hat. “Classes so far are a lot like my classes freshman year two years ago.”

I skip the obvious question. Too many details and this impossible distance I’m trying to keep between us is going to be obliterated. “How’s that?”

“Do you remember? It’s been so long since you went to class.”

Her teasing washes away the panic seizing me again. “I wasn’t always a dropout. I remember fine.”

“Then you remember they’re pointless.” Her voice grows sad. “What was your major, Beau?”

I help her remove the massive sombrero instead of answering. I need exactly eight credits before I can graduate and start my masters for the accelerated program. I know my major—had a plan, even, had a purpose—but it’s not something I want to get into right now. It’s a far stretch ever imagining I could be a counselor responsible for guiding troubled teens on a hike when I can’t hold a damn wrench.

She taps her index finger over the tip of my nose. “Always Mr. Mysterious.”

I wonder if Mati has been drinking tequila because this isn’t like her. Usually her contempt toward me is blatant, not that I mind this Mati. This is who I was hoping the real Mati would be like if she ever paused for a minute from bowling over everything in her path. And that freaks me the fuck out—that today she’s quiet.

“Forestry sciences. I wanted to be a wilderness education counselor.” I move the hat off to the side and help her down, my hand curling over her hip. “What’s your major again? Being a pain in my ass?”

She rests her hand against my shoulder, not stepping away. “Charming as ever, too,” she whispers.

I tell my hand to let go, but I only hold on tighter because she sways closer and bumps against me, lost studying my face. I want to stay here, feel this, watch her watching me forever. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Her eyes widen and shift focus to my mouth. They trace my lips until I have to fight back a groan. Mati gives the perfect fuck-me eyes.

“It doesn’t matter—” She pauses, her fingers pressing hard into my shoulder. “—because we both know you won’t.”

I slide my hand to the small of her back. My palm fits against the gentle curve there. “Mati?”

“I don’t have time for this.” Her words tumble out in an awkward rush. “I don’t want complications.”

My other hand slips up to rest against her stomach, cinching the fabric of her shirt in my fist. She slams her eyes shut at my touch, her breath escaping in staccato beats, mirroring my own.

The garage smells like damp earth and oil, but I swear we’re standing out in the dark, lost in the woods under the endless cover of stars.

Even though she’s right, even though I am a complication, I can’t shake the feeling in my gut that we’d be a good one. “You’re wrong,” I whisper. Her eyes pop open. “You’re exactly the type of girl who wants complications.” I rest my forehead against hers, her sweet coffee breath washing over my mouth. “And you have no clue what I want.”

About The Author

Rebecca writes smart and gritty New Adult romances, as well as historical romances, featuring flawed characters struggling to find their place in the world. She's a lover of rainy days, an unabashed anglophile, and a devote Earl Gray tea drinker. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and their very spoiled cat, Bella. A wanderlust connoisseur, Rebecca can be caught daydreaming about her next travel adventure when not writing.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Blog Tour Promo Post: The Debt Collector (Season Two) by Susan Kaye Quinn

The Debt Collector

Season 2

by Susan Kaye Quinn

What’s your life worth on the open market?

In this gritty urban fantasy, debt collectors take your life energy and give it to someone more “worthy”… all while paying the price with black marks on their souls.

“Wraith is amazing and just as compelling as Lirium—once again I'm hooked!!” 

“I loved being back in this world! Wraith has captivated me.” 

Wraith is a shadow in the night, haunting the bedrooms of the rich "high potentials" who have stolen life energy from the desperate and dying. The justice and the sweet mercy hit that follow keep her from falling into her own personal abyss. Her secret nighttime work also keeps her on level for her real mission: carrying on her father's legacy of attempting to bring an end to debt collection as a whole. But when a mysterious debt collector interrupts her in the act and discovers her secret, everything Wraith loves may be destroyed by the one thing she can never fix-- the original sin of being a debt collector herself.

Contains mature content and themes.

OPTIONED FOR VIRTUAL REALITY BY IMMERSIVE ENTERTAINMENT 

2014 Semi-Finalist in Science Fiction in the Kindle Book Awards

The nine episodes of Season Two of the Debt Collector serial are collectively 125k words or about 500 pages. 

It is recommended that you start with the first season, but each season is a complete story for that debt collector and can serve as an entry point to the series. There are five planned seasons in the Debt Collector series, the first four each from the perspective of a different debt collector with the fifth season bringing all four together. 

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Excerpt Debt Collector Season Two, first episode – Wraith

“Adrien Odel,” I say with my best judge-and-jury voice. This part is important. I want him to know why I’m here. I’m not a debt collector for the mob or some rogue collector out for juice on the side. I’m not the government’s grim reaper, cashing out the destitute to feed a corrupt life energy supply system. I’m something he’s never heard of: a debt collector who will make him pay for his sins. A vengeful angel brought to his bedroom by his own foul actions. At least, that’s what I want him to think. The suit usually helps, along with the wild-flowing curly black hair.

“I… what…” He’s still breathless. But he’s smart, too, and quickly figures it out. His legs are trapped under the blanket, but his arms are free, so he lunges for me—the typical response. If he tried to twist away, making me lose contact with his bare skin, I might actually get into trouble. But my targets almost always go for my throat, especially the men. And most of them are men. I’m not biased—I’ll hunt down anyone who trafficks in life energy—but while the occasional socialite, movie star, or female corporate executive might make my list, it’s usually the men who think they can make deals with the mob and get away with it. And when they see a woman in a skin-tight suit perched on their chest in bed, they automatically assume they have the advantage.

I pull another hit from him.

Odel’s back arches again, but the pleasure is all mine.

I let it go longer this time, closing my eyes and drinking it in. I’m careful not to pull too fast—I’ve still got a few scars from those early trial-and-error lessons in how to collect, and I don’t need any more angry red marks across my palms. Plus I’m not ready to do the full collection yet. Odel still needs to learn his lesson. But I take a drink and let the energy seep out to every living cell in my body.

Damn, I’ve missed this.

Not sure why I thought I could resist in the first place. And my targets do deserve everything they get. Any “high potential” who steals the life energy of someone “less deserving” needs a taste of what that kind of dying feels like. But I’m fooling myself if I think it’s only about the justice. I’m an addict, through and through. Really no better than the government’s debt collectors who do it for a paycheck and their ten percent cut of the hit.

Might as well get used to that, too.

I breathe out a deep sigh and stop the pull. I’m almost dizzy with the high. Too much. Need to be more careful. By the time I lazily open my eyes, Odel’s body is slack against the bed, his arms lying where they fell once I started the transfer. His chest is heaving, and the gray pallor is starting to show in his face. It’s hard to tell with all the creepy red glow-light in his room, but he’s definitely looking more like death than when I came in.

“What do you want?” His words are wheezy.

I lick my lips, already dry from the take. “You took something that doesn’t belong to you,” I say. “I’m here to take it back.”

“I can… I can pay you,” he says, already reaching the desperate, bargaining stage. That was fast. “Anything you want.”

“I don’t want your money, Odel,” I say, chastising him lightly. The high is making me want to play with him, and that’s not a good sign. It’s been too long. I should have known it would be hard to come back. “I want your life.”

“Please.” God, he’s starting to tear up now. These pampered high potentials can be so soft once you get them out of the boardroom. “Please don’t kill me. I’ve… I’ve got a family.” He doesn’t try to escape my hold on his forehead this time, like he’s finally figured out my palm is a gun barrel pressed against his skin. But he flails his arm to the side, reaching for something.

I shove down against his forehead, and his head sinks into the pillow. His hands go up in surrender.

“Is there something you need?” I ask.

“I just… I have… a picture…” He’s trying to look with just his eyes for whatever he was reaching for. Sometimes I forget how smart these high potentials are. I should know, I’m one of them. And a smart animal trapped in a corner becomes even smarter as the panic brings out every instinct for survival they have, including using all their brain cells at once. And sometimes they figure out my one weakness really fast.

I lean back and look, even though I know better.

He blindly reaches for the slick black photo cube. It’s the kind you tap and a holographic projection pops up whatever you’ve programmed: slide shows, video snippets, the slice-of-life stuff everyone has. It reaches in and stabs me in several different ways: because he has a smiling mother and a cute younger brother and a shiny-coated dog who adores him; because all the people whose life-energy he stole lost all of that and more; and because I have a cube just like it at home. Only the people on it are dead, and my empty apartment will only ever house me, my debt collector suit, and a haunting memory of a life that could have been but wasn’t. Because I do this instead.

I hold my free hand out to him. “Give it to me.”

He hands it over, a slight tremble in his fingers.

My palm is still plastered to his forehead, but I ease up on the pressure a little. It’s starting to sweat, making the contact slick. I need to move this along.

I hold up the cube. It’s still playing, so I freeze it. “Alicia Kentworth had a family, too. Only hers wasn’t rich. Trina Smith had two daughters she left behind. Matt Worthy was only twenty-five when they came for him, but he already had a beautiful baby girl. One who will never know her daddy.”

“I… I swear, I don’t know those people.” The desperation in his voice is inching up to hope, like he thinks he can talk his way out of this.

“No, of course you don’t.” I toss the cube aside, and it tumbles across the carpet. “You don’t think to ask about them when you’re getting your precious life energy hits, do you? You never say, Hey, Mr. Mob Boss, who had to die so I can be a little more peppy for that upcoming board meeting? Because then you’d have to think about it. And that might make it a little harder to sleep in this incredibly peacocky bed you have here.”

Odel has gone very still with my words, and I can see it on his face: he’s gotten to the stage where he realizes he’s not getting out of this. That anything he says will probably only make it worse. What he doesn’t know is that’s what I was waiting for: the look that says he understands what’s happening. And he knows he’s going to pay.

About the Author

Susan Kaye Quinn is the author of the bestselling Mindjack Trilogy and the Debt Collector serial, as well as other speculative fiction novels and short stories. Her work has appeared in the Synchronic anthology and has been optioned for Virtual Reality by Immersive Entertainment. Her business card says "Author and Rocket Scientist" but she mostly sits around in her PJs in awe that she gets to write full time.

You can find her at 

         

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