Category: book tour

After the Sky Spirits of the Earth Book 1 by Milo James Fowler Genre: Post-Apocalyptic SciFi Fantasy

The world isn’t how they left it. When the bunker airlocks release them after twenty years in hibernation, the survivors find a silent, barren world outside. But they are not alone. There is a presence here, alive in the dust—spirits of the earth, benevolent and malicious as they interact with the human remnant. Milton is haunted by a violent past he’s unable to escape, despite the superhuman speed the spirits give him. Not interested in bearing the next generation, Daiyna is determined to destroy the flesh-eating mutants lurking in the dark, pierced by her night-vision. Luther is a man of conviction who believes the Creator has offered humankind a second chance, yet he’s uncertain they deserve it—and he’s perplexed by the talons that flex out of his fingers. Willard is a brilliant engineer-turned-soldier who refuses to leave his bunker, afraid of becoming infected and willing to destroy any obstacle in his way. As their lives collide, the mysteries of this strange new world start unraveling, culminating in the ultimate life-or-death decision one survivor will make for them all. Don’t miss this Post Apocalyptic Adventure with a Paranormal Fantasy twist! It’s perfect for fans of Stephen King, T.W. Piperbrook, and The Walking Dead.** Only .99 cents!!**Goodreads * Amazon

Tomorrow’s Children Spirits of the Earth Book 2

The future is in their hands. The post-apocalyptic world is bigger than the remnant imagined. Across the ocean, the domed cities of Eurasia have survived the nuclear holocaust that ravaged the rest of the planet. But only the survivors from the North American Wastes can give the sterile Eurasians what they need most in order to continue existing as a society: children. Sergeant James Bishop, United World Marine, leads his team across the desert wasteland in order to make first contact with survivors in Eden, who are rumored to have a lab full of viable embryos. Meanwhile Cain, a coastal warlord dedicated to repopulating the planet, follows the will of Gaia, a malicious spirit of the earth with no love for humankind. Margo, telepathic geneticist responsible for designing the next generation, struggles to balance the will of a selfish dictator with what’s best for humanity. Tucker, an invisible man on a mission, carries precious cargo across the Wastes in an effort to rally a group of survivors into action against Eden. As their lives intersect, agendas collide and tensions reach a breaking point. Twenty unborn children in incubation chambers hang in the balance—along with the fate of the world. Grab the thrilling sequel to After the Sky! It’s perfect for fans of Stephen King, Tom Abrahams, and The Walking Dead.Goodreads * Amazon

City of Glass Spirits of the Earth Book 3

The children of the remnant are adults living in the 10 Domes of Eurasia, self-sustaining biospheres along the Mediterranean Sea. Aerocars fly, clones work as security officers, and every citizen’s words and actions are monitored via their neural implants. Peace reigns over all—until a group of terrorists targets government buildings, and Chancellor Persephone Hawthorne is kidnapped. Sera Chen, Dome 1 law enforcer, is drawn into the conflict after chasing a curfew violator capable of leaping from one skyscraper to another. When her augments go offline due to a localized EMP burst, she starts hearing voices. The band of survivors in North America is fractured. Daiyna roams the Wastes with a bounty on her head, refusing to confront her demons. Samson and Shechara target UW raiders who are pillaging ruins for resources the remnant needs to survive. James Bishop struggles against unexpected obstacles to be reunited with his family. And Luther is determined to find a way into Eurasia to meet the twenty children taken from Eden. As their lives converge, unlikely alliances will form to combat an emergent enemy with plans to undermine the course of humanity’s future. The Spirits of the Earth Trilogy concludes with this epic final installment. You won’t want to miss this!Goodreads * Amazon

Milo is a teacher by day and a speculative fictioneer by night. When he’s not grading papers, he’s imagining what the world might be like in a dozen alternate realities. www.milojamesfowler.com Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

“You’ll be sorry!”
Jackson spits blood and drags his beard across the sleeve of his blue jumpsuit, leaving a
trail of crimson. He stands over me with big fists clenched, knuckles spattered.
“You knew it could be any one of us, Milton.”
I pull myself away from him, my battered body sliding across the slick concrete of the
storeroom floor. My mouth works to speak, slurring.
“Why?”
“It’s a random draw, Milton. Always is.”
I wish it was. It should have been.
“Why her?” I manage, shaking my head to clear the flashing pinpoints of light.
“It was her turn.” Jackson shrugs like it’s just that simple.
I sob like a child, impotent rage dissolving into whimpers. The coppery tang of my own
blood oozes thick from both nostrils, mixing with the sand and ash—
I jerk upright with a start, spitting to clear my mouth. For a moment, I don’t know where I
am. I look for Jackson, for Julia—they were right there with me in the bunker.
Not anymore.
I’m the only one here now. Outside. Free.
I’ll never get used to the silence.
Dawn’s golden fire breaks across the eastern horizon and crawls along a massive ridge of
mountains in the distance. They look like sleeping giants, lying on their backs. Dark, with only
their profiles aflame, they wait with craggy jaws and protruding bellies for the full light of day to
awaken them from their slumber. Part of me wishes they’d rise up and greet me with a yawn. I
speak to them sometimes, but I know they won’t respond.
I’m not crazy. Not yet.

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Maris The Brotherhood Files Book 1 by Isaiyan Morrison Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy

She gave me her blood, and my life changed forever. Anastasia. My sire. The only influential figure in my already-fragile life. She did this to me. She caused all the pain and suffering. There was a time I believed I owed her everything. After all, she gave me immortality and the never-ending thirst for the psychic energy contained in the blood of my victims. But now vampires hunt me and the humans want to use me as their personal weapon. They believe I’m some apotropaic figurine that can damn all Deamhan and force us back into hell where we belong. Me? I just want to live. I just want to be Maris. That way, the only one I can damn is myself. Goodreads * Amazon

Remy The Brotherhood Files Book 2

For Deamhan, revenge is the best dish of all. In 1840s Paris, vampires aren’t just at the throats of humans. Split into two warring factions, Dorvo vampires wage war against the Deamhan, their paranormal cousins created by dark magic and who feed on the psychic energy of their human victims. In this strange new world, Remy, a bourgeoisie, is sired as a Deamhan by Julian. But the intoxicating rush of becoming a powerful psychic vampire is soon eclipsed by the presence of Ruby, a beautiful yet elusive Dorvo vampire. Betrayed by his own, Ruby feeds his undesirable urge to have his revenge against Julian and the rest of the Deamhan. But he doesn’t know if he can trust Ruby. She may have given him his freedom, but she’s still the enemy who has vowed to vanquish the Deamhan, the very same Deamhan that betrayed him. Now it’s up to Remy to decide who to trust — and who to destroy. In Remy, The Brotherhood Files, author Isaiyan Morrison presents a paranormal urban fantasy about fractured relationships, mistrust, and forgiveness. Here in the City of Love, it’s anything but, as Remy’s caught between two warring sides who both want him gone. Will his desire for revenge cloud his judgment? Or will he figure out who he can trust once and for all? In this wild journey from the graveyard and through the dark alleys and cobblestoned streets of Paris, Remy is both hunter…and prey. Goodreads * Amazon

A veteran of the Armed Forces, Isaiyan Morrison was born and raised in Minneapolis. Her passions include writing, reading, and researching historical events. She also spends her time gardening, playing video games, and hanging out with her three cats and beloved pit bull. She’s the author of The Deamhan Chronicles and the novel, Old Farmer’s Road. Be sure to sign up for her Newsletter to be notified of Isaiyan’s newest releases! https://BookHip.com/LNKFHFWebsite * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Newsletter

The bond I had with Jesse grew stronger, reminding me of my own bond with Finley. At night,
we became an unstoppable force and whatever differences we had dematerialized in the wind. He
loved picking out who he considered to be the perfect humans in the crowd. Sometimes he would
coo up to these women and the men, offering them free alcohol.
One hot summer night Jesse bought a white chiffon deco styled flapper dress with rhinestone
studs complete with white Cuban heels, convinced that this was the new fashion among human
women and I had to look my best. Fully dressed, I gazed in the mirror, mesmerized about how
human I now looked. I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He handed me a small compact mirror
and some makeup and I dabbed away my facial scar. I always wore my mother’s amulet but this time
he begged me to leave it at home.
Again, we had our own private booth near the back and we watched these humans dance,
spinning each other around to the music. I enjoyed the sounds of horns blasting my ears along with
the smell of blood in the air. We paid close attention to the human actions. When they clapped, we
clapped. When they cheered, we cheered.
“That dress looks beautiful on you,” Jesse said to me.
I smiled at him. “Not in a million years did I think I would find myself enjoying this environment
and wearing the latest fashions.”
“Neither did I but here we are,” he said to me, smiling back. “I’m curious. What did you see
yourself doing?”

“I couldn’t see myself living past the new century,” I replied. “I thought I’d die from tuberculosis
in London.”
His smile withered. “Why would you think that?”
I faced him. “My mother was a prostitute and I followed in her footsteps. Women have short life
spans in that type of lifestyle.”
“So is that how you got that?” Slowly he raised his hand and he placed it against the left side of
my face.
I looked away. I never mentioned my scar to him and he never asked me, until now. “Vampires.”
He dropped his hand. “Vampires?”
“It’s not important.” I didn’t have enough fingers on both hands to count how many people had
hurt me in both my human and Deamhan life. I didn’t want him to know about the vampires and
why I was important to them. I quickly changed the subject. “I’ve never asked you this but why did
you start boxing?” I realized that I didn’t know anything about Jesse’s human life, his parents, his
siblings if any. Again, I never bothered to ask. “You don’t seem like the type who would participate
in something like that.”
“My father was—” He stopped himself. “My father is an English teacher and my mother stays at
home, drinking afternoon tea with other bored and sad married women.”
“Your father is a smart man, then?” My eyes lit up.
“Yes, he is. On the other hand my mother, well, she just likes to gossip and buy expensive
things.”
“Did you not enjoy your family life?” I asked.
“I was bored,” he replied. “I wanted to do more with my life.” His eyes left my view for a
moment. “My family is very wealthy, Maris. My mother inherited her parents’ fortune. I was raised
around servants in a home big enough to fit 100 people. It was lonely. I was lonely.”
I wanted to feel sorry for him but I didn’t experience the life he had before being a Deamhan.
“So hitting other men with your fists sounded more exciting?”
“That was my only escape.”
“You could’ve just purchased your way out of Chicago.”
“Yes, but what good would that have done?” A solemn expression appeared on his face. “Money
doesn’t always make you happy, Maris.”
“It made Finley and me happy,” I replied.
“Yes, that’s true, but it won’t last forever and you and I know that we have forever.”
“So, what makes you happy?” It was the same question Ruby asked me a long time ago.
“You.” He grabbed my hand. “You make me happy.”
I stared into his eyes. “Blood doesn’t make you happy?”
“Blood fills my hunger but no, it doesn’t make me happy. I can feed and not be happy.” He
laughed. “What makes you happy?”
I wanted to tell him that he and Finley filled that desire. Swiftly, he planted his lips over mine and
I felt a hot flash tingle in my throat. In quick speed I pushed him away.
“What are you doing?”
With his elbows supporting his upper body, he looked up at me and smiled. “What do you mean?
I was kissing you.”
“I know but… why?”
“Kissing you would make me happy.” He quickly grabbed the edge of my dress and pulled us
further down into our booth. This time I didn’t push him away as he kissed me again. With his teeth
exposed he nicked my neck and I responded by placing my hand around his throat, tilting his head
to the side, and biting into his neck. I questioned my actions but I didn’t want to stop. We couldn’t
feed from each other but the idea of doing so proved enough to make me want to try. I wanted his

blood in me as he wanted my blood in him. He bit into my neck and I felt a sharp quick pain. His
thoughts twirled inside my head. I love you, Maris.

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Never Kiss a Stranger by Logan Chance Genre: Romantic Comedy

Kiki Ellis Atwood is the devil. Ok, maybe that’s too harsh. Ellis Atwood is ruining my life. First, he demolishes a perfectly good wedding trellis. Second, he destroys a gorgeous doggie wedding that I spent ages planning. (I kid you not.) Third, he makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and that is not ok. I prefer the cold and harsh way my fiancé makes me feel so much better. (wait, that didn’t come out right.) Fourth, and there is a fourth, he gets me all wound up and flustered. And last, when he unexpectedly kissed me it made me forget my own name, or the fact that I’m getting married…in a month. Please someone help me out. I’m a mess. Worst part is, Ellis isn’t the bad guy I first thought he was. And being forced to spend time with him is making me realize that he needs my help more than anything. So what’s a girl like me to do? Ellis I’m only in town long enough to figure out a plan with my brother on how to save our brewery from the awfulness that is my father. Oh and be in a wedding. Where I may or may not be crushing a little too hard on the bride-to-be. (spoiler alert, I’m crushing hard.) She’s really cute. Like seriously. And she has the cutest job, she’s a dog wedding planner. (I kid you not.) I can see why Henry loves her. I can see why everyone loves her. I can see why I’m falling for her. I’m usually not a relationship-type guy. Call it picky or whatnot, but usually I get bored easily. So, my plan is simple. Spend as much time with Kiki (soon to be Faniki, I know) and hopefully get bored with her adorkable smile and sexy legs that go on for miles. Then, I can save the brewery, be the best man of the wedding, and get my butt back to Chicago and away from the happy couple. Goodreads * AmazonBook Trailerhttps://youtu.be/mwPl- CH_9FQ

Logan Chance is a USA Today and Top 20 Amazon Bestselling Author with a quick wit and penchant for the simple things in life: Star Wars, music, and smart girls who love to read. He was nominated best debut author for the Goodreads Choice Awards in 2016. His works can be classified as Dramedies (Drama+Comedies), featuring a ton of laughs and many swoon worthy, heartfelt moments. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Newsletter

Chapter One
Kiki

Have you ever had a goat walk all over your butt? I’m serious here. And somehow, I’m
supposed to stay in a zen state as a baby goat tramples his little hooves all over my body?
My best friend, Lola, has had some nutty ideas in her life. ‘It’s all in the sake of a healthier
lifestyle,’ she says.
Once, she had us paddleboarding. Which yes, nothing out of the ordinary. But, instead of
starting in a lake, or in the intracoastal, she had us start on the beach.
It took us about thirty minutes just to paddle past each breaking wave. We had a little section
of people on the beach cheering us on. I’m sure they just liked watching us wipeout.
Talk about a workout. I was so exhausted from fighting the waves I couldn’t go on any
further.
Another time she thought it would be fun to head down to Miami and walk from South Beach
to downtown. Which we did, but I wished I’d known ahead of time that was the plan. I thought
we were heading south to party, because that is usually what one does in Miami. But, I
wouldn’t have worn my favorite black heels.
Sure there’s wanting to be adventurous, but there’s a fine line between adventure and just
plain silly.
And maybe this is it.
I’m not actually complaining because I’ve never been part of a routine where it has not
benefited me greatly, but I just don’t quite understand bending yourself into the shape of a
pretzel and then thinking, you know what this also needs? GOATS. Lots of little goats
jumping all over us.
Yoga with Goats. Goga? Goga on. Super creative title. I know. You’re welcome.
Point is, Lola thinks it’s fun to try new things, and well Poppi and I should probably have our
heads examined because we go along with whatever hairbrained plan she has.
I like to say we’ve gotten smarter, but this …this right now…is insane.
“I’m pretty sure this goat just got to third base,” I whisper to Lola, trying to keep my yoga
pose in check.
This is supposed to be a serene space. It’s got all the elements to make a person relax. Soft
music. Beige walls. Hardwood flooring with blue yoga mats spaced equally around the place.
Even the yoga teacher is the epitome of tranquility. Her name is Flower, I kid you not, and
she has her hair piled into a wicked knot on the top of her head. Other yogis would be
jealous.
“Close your eyes and work through the movements,” Flower purrs at the front of the class.
“Now move into downward dog pose. Remember to make sure you don’t lose your goat.”
Flower gives a sideways glance at Poppi. Her goat took off long ago and is now across the
room eating a potted plant.
I stare at my goat, his big brown eyes stare back. “Please stay with me little guy,” I whisper
as I move my body into downward facing dog while the goat balances perfectly on my ass.
You could say my goat and I have gotten pretty close.
“Now move into crab pose. Keep your goat steady.”
Sweat trickles down from my forehead as I glance at the teacher who glides into the pose
with ease, her goat looking like he’s riding out the perfect wave. “Are you going to get your
goat?” I ask Poppi.
Her mouth drops open as she scans the room, locating her goat. “Nah, he seems pretty
happy over there.” She waves a hand, and then focuses her attention back on me. “Also, I
still can’t believe you’re engaged, Kiki.”
I bite my lip, trying my best to keep my inner yogi at peace. “It’s not too soon is it?”
Poppi’s elbows hit the mat as she stops posing. “No, it’s like a dream come true. Henry’s
perfect.”
I smile. “He is perfect, right?” I still can’t believe I’m getting married. Me. Kiki Kingsley is
engaged.

And Henry really is just soooooo perfect.
Even the way he proposed was perfection. We’d only been dating a month, and he took me
out to La Pearl. It’s the type of place where you have to call months and months in advance
to get into. I’d always wanted to go. I was ecstatic that he asked me, and I remember
spending hours finding the perfect dress. It was a hot little red number with matching shoes.
And then it happened.
It was a little cliche, but still so romantic.
He ordered champagne to the table, and there was an engagement ring in the glass. Shock
doesn’t even cover the expression I wore on my face.
When I glanced over to him, he was on one knee, asking me to be Mrs. Henry Faniki. I never
even knew his last name, and I was saying yes over and over before I had the chance to put
the two together. Kiki Faniki. Yes, my name will rhyme.
“Just the name,” I breathe out, keeping my pose and goat stable.
“Kiki Faniki, the first woman on Mars. See it sounds more prestigious when you put it doing
something important,” Lola says.
“Breathe,” Flower huffs, staring in our direction, obviously not very happy with us. “And no
talking.”
“But, I’ll never go to Mars,” I whisper back.
“You never know that.”
“I think that’s one thing I can say for certain. Ugh, I can’t have a rhyming name.”
“Don’t take his last name,” Poppi offers.
I shake my head. “No, I’ve always dreamed of taking the last name of my husband.” I close
my eyes, trying to find my center of gravity as the baby goat I’ve named Peter tries his best
to stay on. He’s kind of cute. All black fur with big brown eyes. He almost…no, I can’t say
that. I can’t even think it. But as the little goat stares back at me with his little triangular beard
and big brown eyes, I can’t help thinking he looks a lot like Henry.
“Oh my god, my goat looks just like Henry,” I say to my friends.
Poppi laughs. “It’s just because you’re so in love. You’re seeing him everywhere you look.”
“So romantic,” Lola coos.
“It’s romantic that my fiance looks like a goat?”
“Girls, please,” Flower scoffs while moving into another pose, her body as bendy as Gumby.
We mimic her movements, trying not to laugh. I glance at my ring, the rock Henry proposed
with. It shines and sparkles in all the right ways. I still can’t believe this is my life.
He told me he’d never met anyone like me before, and that he knew it was sudden, but he
couldn’t stand living another day without me being his wife.
I about died of swoon fever (it’s a real condition, look it up) when he put the two-carat
princess cut ring on my finger. I smile to myself, remembering back to the way his brown
eyes centered on mine when he told me his five-year plan.
He said, “Marriage. Bang. Kids. Bang. Everything will fall into place with the perfect woman
by my side. Then, I’ll make partner. Bang.’’
Me. The perfect woman.
We went home that night and made passionate love. Well, we would have, but Henry had had
a bit too much champagne celebrating and passed out before the actual event of it all. But, it
was still a perfect night.
“And just think, now you get to plan your own wedding,” Poppi says, getting back into the
pose like Twisty-Curvy upfront who watches us with her evil eye.
Every girl has fantasized about their dream wedding since they were a little girl. And I am no
exception to this rule. I want it to be right on the beach. I even know the spot, by the turtle
sanctuary on Juno Beach where there’s a tunnel that leads from the parking lot, to the sand.
You can’t be from Florida and not want a beach wedding. And yes, I want to walk out of the
tunnel like walking down an aisle. I can almost see it. I close my eyes with a smile on my face
as I try to picture it all with Henry.
“This goat is infatuated with my left boob,” Lola says, bringing me back to reality.
I pop open my eyes and try not to laugh as Lola tries to keep a crab pose steady as her own
baby goat gnaws at her tank top.
“He thinks you’re his mother,” Poppi says as Flower gives her a nasty look. Poppi just glares
right back at her.

“Well, I’m not.” Lola glances at the front of the class, trying to get the instructor’s attention,
hoping she’ll stop class once she sees Lola’s goat sexually assaulting her.
And then it’s like everything takes a turn for the worse. As if the whole world explodes into
slow motion. Poppi’s wandering goat tries to mount the Flower, and I try my best to stifle my
laughter as she loses control and comes crashing down to her mat. “Will you please come
get your goat,” she yells at Poppi.
Poppi stands and heads to the front of the class as quickly as she can.
I stop posing and hold Peter close to me.
But Lola has completely lost control of her animal, and he kicks his heels together and jumps
off her. He’s been spooked and rushes to the front of the class, knocking over Flower and
her goat.
It’s seriously like goats gone wild in here.
A few of the other goats trample around, trying to knock everyone and everything over in
their path.
Peter bucks against my arms, and I can no longer hold him back.
And then the unimaginable happens. As if goats going crazy in a yoga studio isn’t bad
enough, my engagement ring knocks loose, and Peter swallows it as I let out a howl.
“Noooooo. My goat ate my ring.” My squeals halt all the activity and everyone stands still,
watching Peter with his little innocent face.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“Wow, goat yoga is intense,” Poppi says under her breath as the Flower looks like she could
breathe out fire at any moment.
I think it goes without saying we all get kicked out. But, not until I’ve been assured by the
farmer of the goats that we just have to wait a few days before I can get my ring back. Yes,
you guessed it. I have to wait for a goat to poop out my engagement ring. I hope this isn’t an
omen as to how my marriage will go.

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(Im)perfectly Happy by Sharina Harris Genre: Women’s Fiction

When four college friends formed the Brown Sugarettes Mastermind Group, they had very different goals—but matched each other in ambition. Yet ten years later they can’t help wondering what happened to the hopeful, confident, driven women they used to be—and how to get them back . . . Radio personality Raina, known as “the black Delilah,” hates the wholesome persona that’s made her a success. Doling out syrupy versions of her grandma’s wisdom feels worlds away from the sarcastic, tell-it-like-it-is woman Raina really is. Kara Jones was sure she’d be a master sommelier by thirty. Life and loss interfered with that plan. Now she has one more chance—but it’s taking a toll on her self-esteem and her marriage. Nikki Grayson hardly recognizes the stay-at-home mom she’s become. When her band signed a record deal, she swapped the limelight for a minivan and a sensible ’do. Now she’s wishing she had followed her heart. Instead, she’s drowning her regret in alcohol. Public defender Sienna Njeri willingly put her city council aspirations aside to support her fiancé’s bid for office—and now she’s wondering if her loyalty is misplaced. Longing for the support, advice, and tough love they once shared, all four resolve to start meeting up again. After all, their dreams may still be within reach. But are they worth the price they’ll pay to achieve them? Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N * Google * Kobo

Sharina Harris earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Georgia State University. After college, she pursued a career in digital marketing and public relations. Although her profession required writing, she decided to pursue a career in writing in 2012. Sharina’s contemporary romance series under the pen name, Rina Gray, was named Book Riot’s 100 Must-Read Romantic Comedies. When Sharina’s not writing, she can be found with her head stuck in a book, rooting for her favorite NBA teams, and spending time with friends and family. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

“All right, party people, it’s time to dance!” the DJ announced. The diva that is Diana Ross’s
sultry voice floated over the speakers, singing, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” I could see Diana’s
smile, see her shimmy with all the confidence in the world, telling me to “Go get him, girl!” I didn’t
shimmy but instead squared my shoulders and stood.
“Where are you going, sweet cheeks?”
“To go get him.” I stormed away before Keith had the chance to dissuade me or tell me not to
embarrass him. The place was huge. Three hundred people jam-packed, and Chris had effortlessly
dodged me. “Dammit. Where is he?” I stretched my neck, even stood on my tiptoes. After ten minutes
of fruitlessly circling the room, I wanted to give up. Plus, Diana was no longer cheering me on.
Discouraged, I made my way back to my seat when I got a whiff of smoke. Smoke! Chris loves to
smoke! Terrible habit, but the man was a chain smoker. He was most likely puffing his poor lungs away
outside. Turning on my heels, I rushed to the entrance of the renovated warehouse and turned a sharp
right.
My heart revved again when I found him leaning against the brick wall near a silver cigarette bin.
Gotcha!
“Christopher,” I said on a sigh. I tried to calm my heavy breathing, still out of breath from speed
walking. Grabbing my arms, I attempted to rub away the cold. My strapless black dress was not
appropriate for winter weather, even in Georgia.
“Sienna.” He dragged in a long puff of smoke and then exhaled. A thick white cloud billowed
between us. Waving my hands, I stepped back and coughed. Probably just as he wanted, to create a

divide between us. I still didn’t understand what his damn problem was with me. My recently manicured
nails dug into my palms.
“Why have you been avoiding me, Christopher?” My voice was sharp and imperious, like a
teacher berating a student.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
I stepped closer, so close if he breathed deeply his chest would touch mine. It wasn’t
appropriate to get in a man’s personal space, but I had to know. “Why don’t you like me?
He snapped his head back, narrowed his blue-gold eyes. The flash of blue in his eyes showed his
surprise. Perhaps he was surprised by my audacity. But if he really knew me, he’d know I could be bold
when needed.
The blues in his eyes gave way to gold, reflecting twin pools of anger. “I don’t dislike you. I feel
sorry for you.” He took a step back and smoked away from me.
Sorry for me? Embarrassment and pain seeped down to the hard concrete lot. Why feel sorry for
me? I had a damn good life, thank you very much. A fulfilling career, a wonderful family, a great guy, and
the best friends in the entire effing world. A flame ignited in my stomach. Each puff he carelessly
smoked stoked the fire in my belly. “Why?” I bit off, crossing my arms so tightly it pushed up my breasts.
His eyes dipped to my chest. He swallowed. “You’re the living and breathing example of Little
Miss Sunshine. You’re so determined to block out the bad, you don’t see what’s going on around you.”
He stubbed his cigarette and tossed it in the bin. “You think everything is perfect and wonderful and
lovely.” He mimicked my voice, making me sound like a silly cartoon character.
“I don’t think everything is perfect and wonderful and . . . and whatever the hell else you said.” I
waved at him.

“Lovely,” he sarcastically supplied.
“I don’t. I’m a second-generation immigrant. My parents both came from humble beginnings,
yet they were able to provide for me and my seven siblings. We were rich in love but not much else. If I
wanted something that wasn’t a necessity, I worked my ass off,” I growled. “Sienna—”
“No. Be quiet and listen.” I jammed my finger just above his rib cage, and my finger nearly broke
against his granite chest. “Now, where was I?”
“You worked your ass off.” This time the sarcasm was gone, and his already deep voice had
gone deeper. The disdain had left his eyes, replaced by something else I was too worked up to analyze.
Whatever it was had siphoned away the red-hot anger.
“Yes, I did. I graduated number one in my law school class. And you know what I d-do now?” My
teeth were chattering. I needed to wrap this up pronto before I became a Popsicle.
He shrugged out of his black tuxedo jacket and flapped it around my shoulders like a cape.
“You’re a public defender for the city of Atlanta.” He stepped closer to me, or had I stepped closer? “D-
damn right. Which means I don’t get to ch-choose my clients. Some are guilty, some are innocent, but all
deserve a fair trial. Someone to look them in the eyes and let them know that they aren’t the sum of
their mistakes. That they are worth something. Sometimes I’m their last hope, and yes, I’m their Little
Miss Sunshine. I do it for them.” I jerked my thumb back, pointing to no one in particular, and then
pointed to my chest. “I also do it for me. Because if I let the dark bleed through, I won’t be any good to
my clients or to the community. I’ll be just another shitty lawyer shuffling through cases, treating my
clients like a number. Just another shitty person who doesn’t care about the welfare of my fellow man.”
This time, he stepped closer. I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. “You want world peace, Miss
America. It’s admirable, but I’m not the man for the job.” Despite his asshole response, I laughed. “I

don’t need you to teach me world peace, Chris. I want you to teach me how to win. I want to help Keith
when—”
“I’m not convinced Keith is the right man for you.” His voice was gruff and as bitter as the cold
weather. He took a deep breath. “I mean . . . I don’t think Keith is going to be the man to make major
changes for the community. He did okay in his first term, but he hasn’t kept most of the promises he
made.”

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El Jefe The Michael Taylor Series Book 3 by Tiffany Christina Lewis Genre: Crime Fiction

In this third installment of the series, Detective Michael Taylor of the Oakland PD has a decision to make: Should he begin an investigation against his corrupt lieutenant? After being given a file of evidence against him, Michael is expected to act. He knows that after multiple attempts on his own life, opening this investigation would put himself, all of his loved ones and his partner Det. Alex Jamison in danger. As Michael contemplates the case, he and Jamison get a late-night call to the residence of Mia McDowell, who is found assaulted and murdered. Although it initially looks like a breaking and entering, Michael can sense something isn’t right. Just as his momentum rises, Lt. Bruce Vega, the corrupt supervisor in question, arrives on the scene. As the two come head to head, Michael removes himself from the situation only to find that he has fueled Lt. Vega’s fire, and he is now under a month’s suspension. Now Michael has to make some choices: will he investigate Lt. Vega and risk everything or will he do nothing and risk losing himself? Goodreads * Amazon

Stitches The Michael Taylor Series Book 2

Oakland Police Detective Michael Taylor is faced with another gruesome case: a dead man with no eyes and lips sewn shut. After catching a grisly Bay Area serial killer, Michael is hit on all sides by change. He starts his investigation with a rookie detective for a partner, his love life is in turmoil, and the pressure at the PD is mounting as the newly minted partners receive a second case that is being pressed as a priority. Michael, the consummate loner, has to manage all of his new relationships, keep his wits and juggle the demands of the PD as he tries to get justice for his victim. Just as the tag team start to hit a stride, the murder attempts start to pile up and Michael is in the crosshairs. The duo must work fast to defend their victim and save Michael’s life. Goodreads * Amazon

Inside Out The Michael Taylor Series Book 1

Detective Michael Taylor, of the Oakland PD, is the lead on a horrific serial killer case. For six weeks, he has been cleaning up mounds of the killer’s mess. Bodies of men have been found chopped up and left, skin down, for display. Michael, mysterious to many in his department, is desperate to solve this case. Michael’s only form of stress relief, Candy, a stripper employed at a San Francisco club, begins to show genuine interest in him and they form a relationship a midst all the chaos that is Michael’s life. Between interviews and police reports, Michael makes time for her. Candy, more commonly known as Vanessa, gets tangled in Michael’s case as things unfold. A killer’s desire for retribution leaves her a victim of crime. Vanessa has to use her wit and charm to keep a killer at bay as she leaves bread crumbs for Michael to follow. The lovers must survive a serial killers plot for vengeance while practicing trust and loyalty throughout. Goodreads * Amazon

The San Francisco Bay Area has created a dynamic writer with a great love for her home town and a passion for crime fiction, and her name is Tiffany Christina Lewis. Tiffany has been writing since her adolescence and was honored to have work published for the first time in 2011. Since then her work has been featured in many books and online publications. From fiction to nonfiction, murder to relationships, Tiffany’s range as a writer is expansive. Crazy about killing, Tiffany’s favorite genre to write is Crime Fiction. Tiffany writes for readers. “It is my job to satisfy readers. Everything they say about my work is invaluable. I use it to make myself and my writing better.” “My style is a little Patterson and a little King. I love short chapters and grossing people out but the Detectives win at the end of the day. There is lots of gore when I can and I try my damndest to give those vivid details that make you grimace!” Tiffany has received four degrees in Early Education, Business and Communications. Tiffany’s hobbies include reading, gaming with her family, and watching hours of ID Channel shows. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

El Jefe
Chapter One
The 20-something year old sat straight up. It should have been a hard task, considering
he had just been pummeled in the face repeatedly. He was bleeding from his broken nose and
practically drowning in the waterfall of blood rushing into his panting mouth. What is the first
aid protocol for a bloody nose? Head up? No, head down—to prevent choking on your own
blood.
He was doing great keeping his head down. It was easy because every time he lifted his
head, he was punched. His head bobbed back on his neck and then his chin came back to rest
on his chest. He was still sitting up straight, however. As bad as he wanted to slump over and
roll into a ball, he couldn’t. He was attached to his high-backed chair with rope all the way up to
his shoulders, wrists bound to the arms.
He also couldn’t escape his torture chamber. Lit by nothing more than three hanging
lights, the room he was in was the size of a classroom with a dirt floor and no windows. He had
been brought there blind folded and he couldn’t see a way out of the room to his safety.
This young man of a proud upbringing had been in and out of trouble as he grew up, but
at that moment he felt like he was in the worst trouble of his life. He felt like he was shaming
his mother, again, and maybe for the last time. He felt all of her hard work trying to raise him,

spending all her money to send him to a private, Catholic school, and all her tears meant
nothing now. He had failed her again.
The man beating him was 30 years his senior. Lean and strong, the attacker stood with
no shirt on. His slacks were pressed with a crisp crease, and his dress shoes were clean. His
muscles rippled as he cranked his arm back and slugged his victim again. He shook his hand
after bringing it back from the collision. He was conditioned to take the pain of recoil from his
punch. Nevertheless, he dunked his hand in a large glass bowl full of ice water sitting on a long
banquet table. He left it there for an uncomfortably long time, the blood rinsing from his fist
and slowly turning the water pink. He watched the young man flicker in and out of
consciousness. When their eyes met, the abuser spoke in Spanish.
“When I was your age, I was in America. I was humble, hard-working, and smart.” He
continued to linger near the table, hand in the bowl. The glass was covered in condensation and
the 20-something could imagine how cool and refreshing the water could be, if his blood
weren’t in it.
The water was North Pole cold, but the elder didn’t mind. He looked down the table and
smiled. “I was working my way up in power, thinking on my toes and making connections.” He
removed his hand.
“Why?” the captive croaked.
“Why what?” the elder roared, irritated by the interruption. He clinched his fists to bring
his anger down. “Be specific.”
The young man didn’t respond. The attacker rushed forward and clenched his victims
bruised and swollen face between his cold, wet hands.
“Why what, Carlito?” he asked in a placid tone.
Carlos was terrified as the abuser pulled his head forward. When their foreheads
touched, he grimaced in pain.
“I know what you want to know,” he comforted, “but you will never understand why.”
He stood, releasing his young victims face. He clenched his fists and struck him in the nose
again.
“Because you.”
Punch.
“Are too.”
Punch.
“Stupid to…”
When he noticed his victim was losing consciousness, he stopped and began observing
him.
“I’m in control of your destiny now. Don’t try to die on me.” The elder turned back to
the table and iced his hand. “I have a meeting to get to, so I guess we should finish up.”
He waited for his fist to become numb. Carlos moaned awake and coughed up blood.
“Before I moved to America, I studied boxing. I was born in Mexico City. My mom took
me and my siblings to live in Tepito after my father abandoned us. That fucking coward. When I
was twelve, I met Carlos Zarate. You know, the famous boxer.” He smiled staring off at the
memory, then became stoic. “Well, I won’t lie. I didn’t meet him. He passed us in the streets
during a parade in his honor. I knew I could be a better fighter than him, so I started practicing,

watching bouts on TV in the local cafes and beating the shit out of the neighborhood kids.” He
laughed a little. “I was the best boxer in Tepito at that time.”
He pulled his hand from the water and curled his fingers into a fist.
His victim shuddered.
The elder put his hand back in the water. Still speaking in Spanish, he continued. “I
never went pro. Never had a chance to beat the shit out of Zarate. With his record, though,” he
laughed, “I would have been destroyed. He was the greatest.” He pulled his hand from the ice
bath again and shook off the lingering water. He walked down the table and looked over his
tools.
Gold, silver, platinum, and titanium were just a few of the metals represented. Each
shiny item had the standard four holes needed for the fingers to slide inside. Brass knuckles
were a standard bad guy item, but these were extravagant. From knife to gun attachments and
everything in between, the collection was grim to those who had to face it. His favorite was the
corkscrew model. The silver piece had a single four-loop corkscrew on the plate, and it was
angled perfectly for plunging into soft areas of the face and body. Although it was his favorite,
he had never used it. The ones he used most were those with the gold-plated spikes. He had
them in small, medium, and large and that day, he felt medium would be the best.
He slid on the weapon and turned to his victim. The young man saw his fate. He closed
his eyes and as the spikes entered his face, he prayed for a swift death.
After an uncountable number of punches, he was dead. His face and head were mulch
on the dirt floor and his neck had been shredded. The elder slipped off the knuckles and
dropped them in the bowl. He was covered in blood. He rinsed both of his hands and dried
them on a pristine, white towel from the table. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started
a call.
“Yes, I’m done.” He hung up the phone and a team of four men came into the dank
room. He wiped the blood from his chest and arms as best he could and slipped on his shirt as
the men cleaned the mess, packed the weapons, and removed the dead body as fast and
efficient as a NASCAR team.
“Did you get anything?” one of them stopped to ask him.
The killer slipped on his sports jacket. “Of course not. That kid had no sense and
apparently, no power in the organization.” He headed for the door. “But he was an excellent
warm up.”

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