Release Day Blitz: Mercy By: Debra Anastasia

It's Release Day!!!!

I can't wait for ya'll to get your hands on this book. It is so so good. And such an intense crazy book.

If you like the dark and brooding types, than this one is definitely for you

Blurb

He taught me to kill. Murder is in my blood now. It runs through my veins and though I hide the monster I see in the mirror with ink, it doesn’t keep him from coming out.

My street name is Mercy, but I never show any. Except for her. I watch Becca, though she doesn’t know. She saved me a long time ago; the day my father killed my mother. Her bravery turned her into a target.

My father holds a grudge and knife with the same proficiency, and Becca is the focus of his hatred. And I’m the only monster who can save her.

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Author Bio

Debra Anastasia likes to write from her heart, her soul or her butt. The genres she dabbles in are examples of that. There are two paranormal romances in the Seraphim Series and now four contemporary romances in the Poughkeepsie Brotherhood Series and a stand alone in the same genre, Mercy. Fire Down Below and Fire in the Hole, Booty Camp Dating Service and Beast complete her comedy repertoire. The Revenger, a dark paranormal romance, is finally in the light, and the last, a novella called Late Night with Andres, is special because 100% of the proceeds go to breast cancer research. 

Debra lives in Maryland with her two kids, husband of twenty years and two dogs. The king of the house is clearly the tuxedo cat that is the size of a small donkey. Find about her latest adventures on DebraAnastasia.com

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Release Blitz/ Excerpt Reveal: Deadly Silence By: Rebecca Zanetti

Hey ya'll!*Waves

I'm so excited to get to help share the release of this awesome book with you today.

DEADLY SILENCE was such a good read, and I can't tell you enough to go grab a copy of it today.

It will keep you on the edge of your seat the whole time!

Be on the look out for my review tomorrow or Friday ;)

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The first book in a breathtaking new romantic suspense series that will appeal to fans of New York Times bestsellers Maya Banks, Lisa Gardner, and Lisa Jackson.

Under siege. That's how Ryker Jones feels. The Lost Bastards Investigative Agency he opened up with his blood brothers has lost a client in a brutal way. The past he can't outrun is resurfacing, threatening to drag him down in the undertow. And the beautiful woman he's been trying to keep at arm's length is in danger...and he'll destroy anything and anyone to keep her safe.

Paralegal Zara Remington is in over her head. She's making risky moves at work by day and indulging in an affair with a darkly dangerous PI by night. There's a lot Ryker isn't telling her and the more she uncovers, the less she wants to know. But when all hell breaks loose, Ryker may be the only one to save her. If his past doesn't catch up to them first...

Full of twists and turns you won't see coming, DEADLY SILENCE is New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti at her suspenseful best.

**THE PRINT EDITION CONTAINS EXTRA BONUS SCENES NOT AVAILABLE ANYWHERE ELSE!**

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THE SERIES

DEADLY SILENCE, #1

LETHAL LIES, #2

Excerpt

Heat from his body washed over her, but she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “We don’t have a relationship.”

He smiled then, and the curve of his lips held more determination than amusement. “I’m not letting you run, and I’m certainly not letting you hide, baby. Although neither of us has been in this for the long haul, I’m staying in Wyoming for the moment. The first thing that’s going to happen is I’m going to figure out who dared put a hand on you and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

For the first time, she saw a side of him that gave her true pause. In the long haul, he’d be unbearably possessive. Why did that give her an intriguing sense of safety? “Knock it off,” she snapped in his face. “Get out of my business.”

That quickly, she found her back against the door and her front pinned by hard male. His hands planted on either side of her neck, his thumbs at her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Something you need to understand and pretty damn quick is that your business is my business right now.” His thumb swept up and over the offensive bruise on her face.

“Step back.” Her voice trembled.

He ignored the very calm order. “No. You don’t want to tell me who did this? Fine. I’ll find out on my own, and I’ll have the name by the time I pick you up for supper. What you don’t want to do is deal with him or his case until I have that name. Kicking him in the balls might’ve just pissed him off more, and now you’ve let a bully stew on it for a while, which might be dangerous for you. Got it?”

“You have no right to interfere,” she whispered.

“Baby, I’ve been fuckin’ you for months. That gives me every right.” Anger glowed dark in his eyes.

“We’re done. Get out.”

His eyes softened. “You shouldn’t make statements you can’t back up.”

She shoved against his ripped abs.

He didn’t move a millimeter.

And then he did.

His head dipped, and his mouth found her neck and wandered up to her ear. His teeth scraped, and then his tongue licked the slight wound.

Of its own volition, her body did a full tremble.

He leaned back. “That.”

Her mind fuzzed.

His mouth slammed down on hers. She knew his kiss—often dreamed about it. Not soft and sweet . . . not even lustful. It was dangerous. From day one, she’d tasted danger on his tongue, and it burned her hotter than she’d ever been.

Never had she dated a bad boy, but after living her desired routine-driven life for years, she’d craved adventure, and he filled that need. He drew out a wildness she hadn’t realized she possessed.

He held her flush against the door, kissing her hard, sending a craving along her nerves that almost hurt. His tongue went to work, his left hand keeping her jaw open for him. His right hand found her hip and dragged her against the obvious bulge in his jeans. By the time he released her, she’d stopped thinking completely.

“What time are you finished today?” he asked, his breath heating her face.

“Fi-five,” she stuttered.

He leaned back and gently put her to the side. “Stay in the office until I come for you at five, Zara.” He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “Cross me on this, baby, and I ain’t gonna be gentle.” He had already shut the door behind himself before she could take a whole breath.

She blinked several times, her fingers going to her still-tingling mouth. What had just happened?

Series Page on Goodreads

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Zanetti is the author of over twenty-five romantic suspense, dark paranormal, and contemporary romances, and her books have appeared multiple times on the New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestseller lists. She has received a Publisher's Weekly Starred Review for Wicked Edge, Romantic Times Reviewer Choice Nominations for Forgotten Sins and Sweet Revenge, and RT Top Picks for several of her novels.  She lives in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest with her own alpha hero, two kids, a couple of dogs, a crazy cat...and a huge extended family.  She believes strongly in luck, karma, and working her butt off...and she thinks one of the best things about being an author, unlike the lawyer she used to be, is that she can let the crazy out.

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Chapter Reveal: He Will Be My Ruin By: K.A. Tucker

 

We are absolutely thrilled to be able to bring you the Prologue and Chapter 1 Reveal for K.A. Tucker’s HE WILL BE MY RUIN! HE WILL BE MY RUIN is a Romantic Suspense novel, published by Atria books, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster, and is set to be released February 2, 2016!

 

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  K.A. Tucker’s HE WILL BE MY RUIN – Prologue and Chapter One:

Prologue

Maggie

December 23, 2015

My wrists burn. Hours of trying to break free of the rope that binds my hands behind my back have left them raw, the rough cord scrubbing away my skin and cutting into my flesh. I’m sure I’ll have unsightly scars. Not that it will matter when I’m dead. I resigned myself to that reality around the time that I finally let go of my bladder. Now I simply lie here, in a pool of urine and vomit, my teeth numb from knocking with each bump in the road, my body frozen by the cold. Trying to ignore the darkness as I fight against the panic that consumes me. I could suffocate from the anxiety alone. He knows that. Now he’s exploiting it. That must be what he does—he uncovers your secrets, your fears, your flaws—and he uses them against you. He did it to Celine. And now he’s doing it to me. That’s why I’m in a cramped trunk, my lungs working overtime against a limited supply of oxygen while my imagination runs wild with what may be waiting for me at the end of this ride. My racing heart ready to explode. The car hits an especially deep pothole, rattling my bones. I’ve been trapped in here for so long. Hours. Days. I have no idea. Long enough to run through every mistake that I made. How I trusted him, how I fell for his charm, how I believed his lies. How I made it so easy for him to do this to me. How Celine made it so easy for him, by letting him get close. Before he killed her. Just like he’s going to kill me.  

Chapter 1

Maggie

November 30, 2015

The afternoon sun beams through the narrow window, casting a warm glow over Celine’s floral comforter. It would be inviting, only her body was found in this very bed just thirteen days ago. “Maggie?” “Yeah,” I respond without actually turning around, my gaze taking in the cramped bedroom before me. I’ve never been a fan of New York City and all its overpriced boroughs. Too big, too busy, too pretentious. Take this Lower East Side apartment, for example, on the third floor of a drafty building built in the 1800s, with a ladder of shaky fire escapes facing the side alley and a kitschy gelato café downstairs. It costs more per month than the average American hands the bank in mortgage payments. And Celine adored it. “I’m in 410 if you just . . . want to come and find me.” I finally turn and acknowledge the building super—a chestnut-haired English guy around thirty by my guess, with a layer of scruff over his jawline and faded blue jeans—edging toward the door. Given the apartment is 475 square feet, it doesn’t take him long to reach it. I think he gave me his name but I wasn’t listening. I’ve barely said two words since I met him in front of Celine’s apartment, armed with a stack of cardboard flats and trash bags. An orchestra of clocks that softly tick away claim that that was nearly half an hour ago. I’ve simply stood here since then, feeling the brick-exposed walls—lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and filled with the impressive collection of treasures that Celine had amassed over her twenty-eight years—closing in on me. But now I feel the need to speak. “You were the one who let the police in?” Celine never missed work, never arrived late. That’s why, after not showing up for two days and not answering her phone or her door, her coworker finally called the cops. The super nods. “You saw her?” His eyes flicker to the thin wall that divides the bedroom from the rest of the apartment—its only purpose is to allow the building’s owner to charge rent for a “one-bedroom” instead of a studio. There’s not even enough room for a door. Yes, he saw her body. “She seemed really nice,” he offers, his throat turning scratchy, shifting on his feet. He’d rather be unplugging a shit-filled toilet than be here right now. I don’t blame him. “Uh . . . So you can just slide the key through the mail slot in my door when you’re finished, if you want? I’ll be home later tonight to grab it.” Under different circumstances, I’d find his accent charming. “I’ll be staying here for a while.” He frowns. “You can’t—” “Yeah, I can,” I snap, cutting his objection off. “We’re on the hook with the lease until the end of January, right? So don’t even think of telling me that I can’t.” I’m in no rush to empty this place out so some jackass landlord can rent it next month and pocket my money. Plus . . . My gaze drifts over the living room again. I just need to be in Celine’s presence for a while, even if she’s not here anymore. “Of course. I’m just . . .” He bites his bottom lip as if to stall a snippy response. When he speaks again, his tone is back to soft. “The mattress, the bedding, it’ll all need to be replaced. I would have already pitched it for you, but I figured that it wasn’t my call to make. I pulled the blanket up to cover the mess and tried to air the place out, but . . .” I sigh shakily, the tension making my body as taut as a wire. I’m the only jackass around here. “Right. I’m sorry.” I inhale deeply. The linen air freshener can’t completely mask the smell. Her body lay in that bed for two days. Dead. Decomposing. “I’ll be fine with the couch until I can get a new mattress delivered.” It’ll be more than fine, seeing as I’ve been sleeping on a thin bedroll on a dirt floor in Ethiopia for the past three months. At least there’s running water here, and I’m not sharing the room with two other people. Or rats, hopefully. “I can probably get a bloke in here to help me carry it out if you want,” he offers, sliding hands into his pockets as he slowly shifts backward. “Thank you.” I couple my contrite voice with a smile and watch the young super exit, pulling the door shut behind him. My gaze drifts back to the countless shelves. I haven’t been to visit Celine in New York in over two years; we always met in California, the state where we grew up. “My, you’ve been busy,” I whisper. Celine always did have a love for the old and discarded, and she had a real eye for it. She’d probably seen every last episode of Antiques Roadshow three times over. She was supposed to start school this past September to get her MA in art business, with plans to become an appraiser. She delayed enrollment, for some reason. But she never told me that. I found out through her mother just last week. Her apartment looks more like a bursting vintage shop than a place someone would live. It’s well organized at least—all her trinkets grouped effectively. Entire shelves are dedicated to elaborate teacups, others to silver tea sets, genuine hand-cut crystal glassware, ornate clocks and watches, hand-painted tiles, and so on. Little side tables hold stained-glass lamps and more clocks and her seemingly endless collection of art history books. On the few walls not lined with shelves, an eclectic mix of artwork fills the space. Very few things in here aren’t antique or vintage. The bottles of Ketel One, Maker’s Mark, and Jägermeister lined up on a polished brass bar cart. Her computer and a stack of hardcover books, sitting on a worn wooden desk that I’d expect to find in an old elementary schoolhouse. Even the two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree has well-aged ornaments dangling from its branches. I wander aimlessly, my hands beginning to touch and test. A slight pull of the desk drawer finds it locked, with no key anywhere, from what I can see. I run a finger along the spine of a leather-bound edition of The Taming of the Shrew on a shelf. Not a speck of dust. Celine couldn’t stand disorder. Every single nutcracker faces out, equidistant from the next, shortest in front, tallest in back, as if she measured them with a ruler and placed them just so. Being enclosed in this organized chaos makes me antsy. Or maybe that’s my own ultra-minimalist preferences coming out. I sigh and drop my purse onto the couch. My phone goes next, but not before I send a text to my personal assistant, Taryn, to ask that she arrange for a firm double mattress to be delivered to Celine’s address. Then I power the phone off before she can respond with unnecessary questions. I’ve had it on silent since my plane landed in San Diego five days ago for the funeral. Even with two proficient assistants handling my organization’s affairs while I’m dealing with my best friend’s death, the stupid thing hasn’t stopped vibrating. They can all wait for me, while I figure out where to begin here. I know I have a lot of paperwork to get to the lawyer. All estate proceeds will eventually go to Celine’s mother, Rosa, but she doesn’t want a dime. She’s already demanded that I sell off anything I don’t want to keep for myself and use the money for one of my humanitarian efforts in her daughter’s name. I could tell Rosa was still in shock, because she has always been a collector by nature—that’s where Celine got it from—and it surprised me that she wouldn’t want to keep at least some of her daughter’s treasures for herself. But she was adamant and I was not going to argue. I’ll just quietly pack a few things that I think would mean a lot to her and have them shipped to San Diego. Seeing Celine’s apartment now, though, I realize that selling is going to take forever. I’m half-tempted to dump everything into boxes for charity, guesstimate the value, and write a check. But that would belittle all the evenings and weekends that Celine devoted to hunting antique shops, garage sales, and ignorant sellers for her next perfect treasure. My attention lands on the raw wood plank shelf that floats over a mauve suede couch, banked by silky curtains and covered with an eclectic mix of gilded frames filled with pictures from Celine’s childhood. Most of them are of her and her mom. Some are of just her. Four include me. I smile as I ease one down, of Celine and me at the San Diego Zoo. I was twelve, she was eleven. Even then she was striking, her olive skin tanned from a summer by the pool. Next to her, my pale Welsh skin always looked sickly. I first met Celine when I was five. My mom had hired her mother, Rosa Gonzalez, as a housekeeper and nanny, offering room and board for both her and her four-year-old daughter. We had had a string of nannies come and go, my mother never satisfied with their work ethic. But Rosa came highly recommended. It’s so hard to find good help, I remember overhearing my mother say to her friends once. They applauded her generosity with Rosa, that she was not only taking in a recent immigrant from Mexico, but her child as well. The day Celine stepped into my parents’ palatial house in La Jolla, she did so with wide brown eyes, her long hair the color of cola in braided pigtails and adorned in giant blue bows, her frilly blue-and-white dress and matching socks like something out of The Wizard of Oz. Celine would divulge to me later on that it was the only dress she owned, purchased from a thrift shop, just for this special occasion. Rosa and Celine lived with us for ten years, and my daily routines quickly became Celine’s daily routines. The chauffeur would drop Celine off at the curb in front of the local public school on our way to my private school campus. Though her school was far above average as public schools go, I begged and pleaded for my parents to pay for Celine to attend with me. I didn’t quite understand the concept of money back then, but I knew we had a lot, and we could more than afford it. They told me that’s just not how the world works. Besides, as much as Rosa wanted the best for her child, she was too proud to ever accept that kind of generosity. Even giving Celine my hand-me-down clothes was a constant battle. No matter where we spent the day, though, from the time we came home to the time we fell asleep, Celine and I were inseparable. I would return from piano lessons and teach Celine how to read music notes. She’d use the other side of my art easel to paint pictures with me of the ocean view from my bedroom window. She’d rate my dives and time my laps around our pool, and I’d do the same for her. We’d lounge beneath the palm trees on hot summer days, dreaming up plans for our future. In my eyes, it was a given that Celine would always be part of my life. We were an odd match. From our looks to our social status to our polar-opposite personalities, we couldn’t have been more different. I was captain of the debate squad and Celine played the romantic female lead in her school plays. I spearheaded a holiday charity campaign at the age of thirteen, while Celine sang in choirs for the local senior citizens. I read the Wall Street Journal and the Los Angeles Times religiously, while Celine would fall asleep with a Jane Austen novel resting across her chest. And then one Saturday morning in July when I was fifteen, my parents announced that they had filed for divorce. I still remember the day well. They walked side-by-side toward where I lounged beside the pool, my dad dressed for a round of golf, my mom carrying a plate of Rosa’s breakfast enchiladas. They’d technically separated months earlier, and I had no idea because seeing them together had always been rare to begin with. The house in La Jolla was going up for sale. Dad was buying a condo close to the airport, to make traveling for work easier, while Mom would be moving to Chicago, where our family’s company, Sparkes Energy, had their corporate headquarters. I’d stay wherever I wanted, when I wasn’t at the prestigious boarding school in Massachusetts that they decided I should attend for my last three years of high school. The worst of it was that Rosa and Celine would be going their own way. Rosa, who was more a parent to me than either of my real parents had ever been. Celine . . . my best friend, my sister. Both of them, gone from my daily life with two weeks’ notice. They’re just a phone call away, my mom reasoned. That’s all I had, and so I took advantage. For years, I would call Celine and Rosa daily. I had a long-distance plan, but had I not, I still would have happily driven up my mom’s phone bill, bitter with her for abandoning me for the company. I spent Christmases and Thanksgivings with Rosa and Celine instead of choosing to spend them with Melody or William Sparkes. To be honest, it never was much of a choice. Through boyfriends, college, jobs, and fronting a successful nonprofit organization that has had me living all over Africa and Asia for the last six years, Celine and Rosa have remained permanent fixtures in my life. Until thirteen days ago, when Rosa’s sobs filled my ear in a village near Nekemte, Ethiopia, where I’ve been leading a water well project and building homes. After a long, arduous day in the hot sun, my hands covered with cuts from corrugated iron and my muscles sore from carrying burned bricks, it was jarring to hear Rosa’s voice. California felt worlds away. At first I thought that I hadn’t kept myself hydrated enough and I was hallucinating. But by the third time I heard her say, “Celine killed herself,” it finally registered. It just didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t. Hollowness kept me company all the way back—first on buses, then a chartered flight, followed by several commercial airline connections—and into Rosa’s modest home in the suburbs of San Diego. The hollowness held me together through the emotional visitation and funeral, Rosa’s tightly knit Mexican community rocked by the news. It numbed me enough to face Rosa’s eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, as she insisted that I come to New York to handle the material remains of her only child. The case is all but officially closed. The police are simply waiting for the final autopsy report to confirm that a lethal dose of Xanax— the pill bottle sitting open on her nightstand was from a prescription she filled only two days prior—combined with an unhealthy amount of vodka was what killed her. They see it as a quick open-and-shut suicide case, aided by a note in her handwriting that read I’m sorry for everything, found lying next to her. The picture frame cracks within my tightening grasp as tears burn my cheeks, and I have the overwhelming urge to smash the entire shelf of happy memories. This just doesn’t seem possible. How could she do this to her mother? I shift my focus to the picture of Rosa—a petite brunette with a fierce heart, who gives hugs to strangers who look like they’re having a bad day and spouts a string of passionate Spanish when anyone tries to leave the dinner table before every last bite is finished. Before this past week, I hadn’t seen Rosa since last Christmas. She still looks frail eleven months after the doctors told her that the double mastectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation had worked and she was considered in remission. It’ll be a year in January since the day Celine phoned me to give me the good news: that Rosa had fought breast cancer hard. And had won. So why the hell would Celine make her suffer so horribly now? I roam aimlessly through the rest of the apartment, in a state of extreme exhaustion after days of travel and jet lag and tears, taking in everything that remains of my childhood friend. But there are things here that surprise me, too—a closet full of designer-label dresses that Celine couldn’t possibly have afforded on an administrative assistant’s salary, a bathroom counter overflowing with bold red lipsticks and daringly dark eye shadows that I never saw touch her naturally beautiful face, not even in recent photos. Knowing Celine, she bought those dresses at secondhand stores. And the makeup, well . . . She would have looked beautiful with red lipstick. I smile, sweeping the bronzer brush across my palm to leave a dusting of sparkle against my skin. I’m supposed to be this girl—the one with the extravagant clothes and makeup, who puts time and stock into looks and money. As the fourth generation of one of the biggest energy companies in the world, I will one day inherit 51 percent of the corporation’s shares. Though my parents don’t need to work, they each run a division—my industrialist father managing the ugly face of coal burning while my mother distracts the world with a pretty mask of wind and solar energy farms, hiding the fact that we’re slowly helping to destroy the world. I grew up aware of the protests. I’ve read enough articles about the greed and the harm to the planet that comes with this industry. By the time I turned twenty-one, still young and idealistic and embroiled by the latest disgrace involving our company and an oil tanker spill off the coast of China, I wanted nothing to do with the enormous trust fund that my grandmother left me. In fact, I was one signature away from handing it all over to a charity foundation. My biggest mistake—and saving grace—was that I tried to do it through my lawyer, a loyal Sparkes Energy legal consultant. He, of course, informed my parents, who fought me on it. I wouldn’t listen to them. But I did listen to Celine. She was the one who persuaded me not to do it in the end, sending me link after link of scandal after scandal involving charity organizations. How so little of the money ever actually reaches those in need, how so much of the money lines the pockets of individuals. She used the worst-case scenarios to steer me away from my plan because she knew it would work. Then she suggested that I use the trust fund to lead my own humanitarian ventures. I could do bigger, better things if I controlled it. That’s when I began Villages United. And Celine was right. VU may only be six years old, but it has already become an internationally recognized nonprofit, focused on high-impact lending projects throughout the world geared toward building self-sustainable villages. We teach children to read and give them roofs to sleep under and clean water to drink and clothes to wear and books to read. Between my own money and the money that VU has raised, we have now left a lasting mark on thirty-six communities in countries around the world. And I’m not just writing checks from my house in California. I’m right there in the trenches, witnessing the changes firsthand. Something my parents simply don’t understand, though they’ve tried turning it into a Sparkes Energy PR venture on more than one occasion. I’ve refused every single time. Because, for the first time in a long time, I’m truly proud to be Maggie Sparkes. I haven’t even warned them about my newest endeavor—providing significant financial backing to companies that are developing viable and economical green energy solutions. VU was preparing to announce it to the media in the coming weeks. As much as I can’t think about any of that right now, I’ll have to soon. Too many people rely on me. But for now . . . all I can focus on is Celine. I wander into her bedroom, my back to another wall of collectibles as I stand at the foot of the ornate wrought-iron bed, the delicate bedding stretched out neatly, as if Celine made it this morning. As if she’ll be back later to share a glass of wine and a laugh. I yank the duvet back, just long enough to see the ugly proof beneath. To remind me that that’s never going to happen. Edging along the side of her bed—I actually have to turn and shimmy to fit—I move toward a stack of vintage wooden food crates that serve as a nightstand. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as my finger traces the heavy latches and handmade, chunky gunmetal-gray body of the antique box sitting next to the lamp. The day that I spied it in an antique store while shopping for Celine’s sixteenth birthday, it made me think of a medieval castle. The old man who sold it to me said it was actually an eighteenth-century lockbox. Whatever it was, I knew Celine would love it. I carry it over to the living room, where I can sit and open it up. Inside are sentimental scraps of Celine’s life. Concert stubs and random papers, a dried rose, her grandmother’s rosary that Rosa gave to her. Rosa is supremely religious, and Celine, the ever-devoted daughter, kept up appearances for her mother, though she admitted to me that she didn’t find value in it. I pull each item out, laying them on the trunk coffee table until I’m left with nothing but the smooth velvet floor of the box. I fumble with a small detail on the outside that acts as a lever—remembering my surprise when the man revealed the box’s secret—until a click sounds, allowing me to pry open the false bottom. Celine’s shy, secretive eyes lit up when I first showed her the sizeable compartment. It was perfect for hiding treasures, like notes from boys, and the silver bracelet that her senior-year boyfriend bought her for Valentine’s Day and she was afraid to wear in front of Rosa. While I love Rosa dearly, she could be suffocating sometimes. My fingers wrap around the wad of money filling the small space as a deep frown creases my forehead. Mostly hundreds but plenty of fifties, too. I quickly count it. There’s almost ten thousand dollars here. Why wouldn’t Celine deposit this into her bank account? I pick up the ornate bronze key and a creased sheet of paper that also sits within. I’m guessing the key is for the desk. I’ll test that out in a minute. I gingerly unfold the paper that’s obviously been handled many times, judging by the crinkles in it. My eyes widen. A naked man fills one side. He’s entrancingly handsome, with long lashes and golden-blond tousled hair and a shadow of peach scruff covering his hard jawline. He’s lying on his back, one muscular arm disappearing into the pillow beneath his head, a white sheet tangled around his legs, not quite covering the goods, which from what I can see, are fairly impressive. I can’t tell what color his eyes are because he’s fast asleep. “Well then . . .” I frown, taken aback. I’m not surprised that Celine could attract the attention of a guy like this. She was a gorgeous young woman—her Mexican roots earning her lush locks, full lips, and voluptuous curves tied to the kind of tiny waist that all men seem to admire. Nor am I surprised that he’s blond. It has always been a running joke between us, her penchant for blonds. She’s never dated anything but. But I am surprised that she’d have the nerve to take—and print out to keep by her bed—a scandalous picture like this in the first place. I wonder if she ever mentioned him to me. She always told me about her dates, utter failures or otherwise. Though it’s been years since she was seeing anyone seriously, and she was definitely seeing this guy seriously if she was sleeping with him. Celine usually waited months before she gave that up to a guy. She didn’t even lose her virginity until she was twenty-two, to a guy she had been dating for six months and hoped that she would one day marry. Who broke up with her shortly afterward. So who the hell is this guy and why didn’t I ever hear about him? And where is he now? When were they together last? Does he know that she’s dead? Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth—it’s a bad habit of mine—I slowly fold the paper back up. Celine’s cursive scrawl decorates the back side in purple ink. Words I hadn’t noticed before. Words that make my heart stop now. This man was once my salvation. Now he will be my ruin.

About HE WILL BE MY RUIN:

The USA TODAY bestselling author of the Ten Tiny Breaths and Burying Water series makes her suspense debut with this sexy, heartpounding story of a young woman determined to find justice after her best friend’s death, a story pulsing with the “intense, hot, emotional” (Colleen Hoover) writing that exhilarates her legions of fans. A woman who almost had it all . . . On the surface, Celine Gonzalez had everything a twenty-eight-year-old woman could want: a one-bedroom apartment on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, a job that (mostly) paid the bills, and an acceptance letter to the prestigious Hollingsworth Institute of Art, where she would finally live out her dream of becoming an antiques appraiser for a major auction house. All she had worked so hard to achieve was finally within her reach. So why would she kill herself? A man who was supposed to be her salvation . . . Maggie Sparkes arrives in New York City to pack up what’s left of her best friend’s belongings after a suicide that has left everyone stunned. The police have deemed the evidence conclusive: Celine got into bed, downed a lethal cocktail of pills and vodka, and never woke up. But when Maggie discovers a scandalous photograph in a lock box hidden in Celine’s apartment, she begins asking questions. Questions about the man Celine fell in love with. The man she never told anyone about, not even Maggie. The man Celine believed would change her life. Until he became her ruin. On the hunt for evidence that will force the police to reopen the case, Maggie uncovers more than she bargained for about Celine’s private life—and inadvertently puts herself on the radar of a killer. A killer who will stop at nothing to keep his crimes undiscovered.   

 

About K.A. Tucker:
Born in small-town Ontario, K.A. Tucker published her first book at the age of six with the help of her elementary school librarian and a box of crayons. She currently resides in a quaint town outside of Toronto with her husband, two beautiful girls, and an exhausting brood of four-legged creatures.               

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Crush (The Tainted Love Duet #2) By: Kim Karr

I want to send a huge thank you out to Kim Karr for sending out these ARC's and writing such an amazing book. Logan and Elle are now two of my favorite fictional people and I can't tell you enough how much it means to be able to read and review this book and the series in general. I've has a blast reading them and have had a lot of fun with the few tweets back and forth of me professing my love for them hehe

Congrats on your newest release Kim.
And I hope I can convince all you wonderful readers to go grab your copy of Crush today :)

Logan McPherson and Elle Sterling continue to thrill in this powerful conclusion to the tantalizing, provocative, and unexpected sizzling romance that began in BLOW.

The danger isn’t over.

It’s only just begun.

Circumstances brought them together and their undeniable connection won’t let them part. But when the past and the present collide, emotions run high—things are said, lines are crossed, and rules are broken. Both focused on crushing the enemy, the retribution is almost too much to bear. Still, there’s no undoing what has already been done, and every action has a consequence.

He loves her and she loves him, but love isn’t a shield.

Sometimes your only choice is the one you’d rather not make. Pushed to the limit, the tainted love of Logan and Elle is in jeopardy. With outside forces driving a wedge between them, they have to dig deep within their souls to release the ghosts of their pasts, and fight even harder for what neither knew they needed—each other.

Can love really conquer all?

I LOVED THIS BOOK!!!!!!!

I mean seriously, this book was so so good. I wasn't sure Kim Karr could outdo herself after the amazingness that was Blow, and yet... This book did that.

I have been going through a heck of a week, I mean everything that could go wrong lately has (My computer died on me, I have been battling a killer case of insomnia, and Thursday while I was driving on the interstate through construction my car died leaving me stranded on the side of I-75 in GA waiting for a tow truck to come. That was the worst and most scary probably) . And it really has taken a toll on me these past few days. But through all that I did happen to have one very good constant. I had Logan and Elle, and when I say they were a good distraction from my crazy reality I'm not lying.
See not sleeping leaves one with a lot of  time for things. Like setting up a new computer 4 times because the one you bought either doesn't charge, or crashes every time you restart it. It also leaves you with a ton of time to contemplate every bad decision you've ever made in your life from the age 13 on. There are a lot of song lyrics involved in that one for some reason hehe.
But the best thing not sleeping left me with was... a whole lot of reading time. (And review time apparently, because its already 2:30 AM and I'm only just now beginning to start yawning while I type.)

So pretty much long story short. I had a lot of free time to read and I filled it with a couple good books. I've had a bit of a lull between the November and December ARC's I've had to get read, and got some free book time (First time in a while that's happened). So after finishing Kristen Callihan newest Game On series book The Game Plan, I jumped right into my copy of Crush. which just s happen to break me into a new round of ARC's.
I mean I have been dying to get my hands all over this book in general, so you can bet it was a top priority to get started.

I fell in love with Kim's characters Logan and Elle, and was waiting very impatiently I might add, to find out what was going to happen to them.

This book, much like Blow was a whole crazy train of suspense and intrigue. Some new players were added to the insane world Kim created, and aided to thicken the plot to banana pudding proportions. It seriously left me guessing the whole time, and let me tell you... Once I make a guess about a book, I'm not typically far off. I joke about it being my "book mojo" and this is one of only 3 or so books that's proved my bookish super power wrong. (Usually the only person who's been able to do this is the author I'm best friends with and PA for. And most of the time I get it wrong because I tell her my theories and she purposely changes things to screw with me. We really have a way of showing the love huh? lol)
But I will say I like books that can leave me like this. I really do try not to guess because I think it can take away from the experience of the book, but I had fun attempting to figure this book out. Even if I wound up being wrong in the end. (Oh and just so you know... I felt good about my guess. I mean it was something no one would have expected and would have blown everyone's minds. Although now that I think about it, those sound like good reasons to show why I was probably wrong hehe. What can I say I like thinking out of the box. (And in this case, so far out of the box I couldn't see the box apparently haha)

And something I was all too excited to see in this book were some familiar faces. And this is actually kinda funny, because if you remember my review to Blow you know that it took me a while to realize that this series is a spin off of Kim's book Toxic. I had this sort of mind blowing epiphany moment when I realized it, and was pulling open a copy of Toxic to start comparing things all over again.
So knowing full well what I was getting into now I was waiting to see who all I might spot. And I spotted all right. But I'm mean so I wont say whole I spotted and just let you figure that all out when you go read the book for yourself.

So lets get down to the good stuff shall we?
There were a lot of reasons why I liked this book so much. Firstly it is just written extremely well. Kim has this way of creating stories and characters that really pull you in from the start. And this book did just that. Although really after the way Blow ended you would have had to take drastic measures to keep me from this one.
Something else that I really enjoyed about this book was the suspense. Like I sort of talked about earlier, this book left me guessing the whole time. Kim did such a good job at keeping the readers in the dark and detracting us with smaller things throughout the book. There were so many different things going on at once and it spun this beautifully elaborate story. As soon as one problem would be resolved another would occur.

There's another that I really liked about this book but I'm going to save it for a few and talk about characters first. (Because they are a big part of why I fell for this book the way I did)
I'm sure you know if you followed my Blow review, I fell in love with Logan. He is an amazing character and the chemistry between him and Elle was like a firework going off. But something that I found I liked the most about these two was that they both kind of broken when they found each other. Elle had some serious issues to work out from her childhood and Logan was dealing with some nasty demons from his youth as well. (Ya ya ya I know you're looking at me like I'm crazy for liking that about them. But let me explain myself better.)
Sometimes when two broken people come together they can sort of make a whole with the broken pieces and it works. They find what they need in the other and are happy. But in this case, while that does happen. Logan and Elle also help each other to heal those broken pieces on top of blending them together. They both understand the others hang ups and worries and work to mend them and make each other stronger. I love characters that can do that for each other.Where you just know that they are meant to be in every way possible. No matter what has happened to them or will happen to them as they go through their lives.

So let me break down these two now for you.
I'll start with Elle.
So I tend to have a bad habit of not really liking most female characters I read. (I don't know why I just get overly judgy with them most of the time)
But I really did like Elle in this series. She's been through a lot in her life, and has been on her own for quite a while.
So when she settles in Boston to help find her missing sister and take care of her baby niece, it gives her purpose, and someone to finally form a link to keep her there.
I really liked how compassionate Elle was for her niece Clementine. Like I said, she drops everything to come help her brother in law with her and as a person who's extremely close to my niece and two nephews I guess it was a way for me to connect to Elle.
But something that really stuck with me is how vulnerable she is. She hides behind her  rules when it comes to being close with men, and Elle is great at fending for herself. But when she really lets her true self out there, you see the girl that has been on her own for so long and is scared to let anyone close to her. And I like the balance that all of that makes. It lets you see Elle in a deeper dimension, and I am all about my multi dimensional characters.
It makes her more real. 
Something else that I really liked (I can already see the eye rolls coming people) is how strong Elle is too. I mean this girl goes through a ton after moving to Boston. People after her sister, threats against her niece,threats against her, threats against Logan... Other things I can't say without getting spoilery.
And yes, I know you just rolled your eyes because, Kayla... How can a character be vulnerable yatta yatta and be strong? Well, they can because they are both in different ways. Elle struggles when it comes to intimacy or being cared for, but she is also very concrete, someone who will do what she needs to to survive and protect the people around her.
And to be pretty honest Elle is pretty much a bad@$$. Like I previously stated. I can't give you much detail because I really don't want to ruin the book for you. But some events happen that shows how determined and head strong our girl is,and I was quite empresses by her.

So now lets move to my honey Logan.
As far as book boyfriends go, he makes my top 100 list (And there are 100's so that's a pretty high ranking)
He is this incredibly sweet guy that went through a lot growing up. His family is a bit eccentric???
But Logan is a very closed off guy too. And he has his reasons. If you read Blow you know what I'm talking about. So seeing him finally open up to someone like Elle brought out the warm and fuzzies.
I think something Kim did well with him in this book was push his character.Logan finally has the think that can bring him pure happiness, but he has to almost prove to himself that he deserves her.
He also has to be Elle's protector. Not because she can't defend herself, but because protecting her gives him a purpose, and allows him to make up for his past.
Something else about Logan I liked seeing in this book was his compassion. Logan is extremely close to his ex-mob boss grandfather Killian and I have to say I pretty much adored their relationship. Killian is the one who taught Logan some of the most important things in his life, and I really enjoyed his visits with the old guy. You could just tell that every time he talked about or to Killian it made him happy and also gave him the smarts to do what he needed to protect Elle and bring him closer to possibly taking down the whole Irish Mob and more importantly the player in town The Priest. Another way I think Logan showed this compassionate side was how sweet he was to Elle. She confesses something pretty big to him in this book that she thinks will completely wreck any future they have together, and he listens to what she has to say and then makes a decision I'm not sure many would choose.
And even after all of that, Logan becomes this rock to everyone around him. He's the driving force behind the group of misfits that's been put together to search for all these threats and hopefully take down the bad guys.
While he does sort of lose his $hit in a few places because of events that take place he manages to pull himself out of it with the help of Elle and his now friends.
He's just one of those characters that I admire for a lot of reasons and that I think is so well written you can just picture him and his story really happening. 
When we originally met him in Toxic he was this sort of mystery. The quite one who split his time between NYC and Boston and wouldn't give his friends much info on what was going on. And by the End of Crush we see him actually opening up to people. Making decisions for himself and for what he wants, rather than just following down a path that was set out in front of him by someone else.
Logan's greatest accomplishment through the whole series is finding his own voice. Deciding to do what he wants and not was either of his grandparents, the crazy son to the Irish mob boss, or his own demons want him to do.
I think showing that growth in him is an important part to the story. And really defines him in the end.

And speaking of endings. This was that other thing I said I would come back too.
The ending of this book was absolutely perfect. I mean it was so perfect in fact that my eyes even glassed over a bit after reading it.
It just made me so happy and so fulfilled reading an ending like the one Kim wrote for this book.
Maybe it's the sap in me or just the fact that I'm still waiting for my prince charming to find me, but seeing things turn out the way they did in this one just left me with this incredibly warm feeling. One that makes you stop after the last word is read, and just take a deep breath and process it all.
If I really let myself I'm sure I would have had a major book hangover after reading this one, but I had to jump right into another book so that didn't happen.
But be warned this book can do that to you. It will leave you with all these emotions and feelings when you finish and you will just have to sit back and let it all sink in. Then you close your Ereader and smile because you just finished this incredible book that takes you on a whirlwind journey and you need time to appreciate all it had to give.

Crush is without a doubt on my Kim Karr favorites list. I adore all her books, but this series just really sucked me in and I think it may be my favorite so far that she has written. No telling if that will be true as she writes more amazing books, but I look forward to what she has planned, and sincerely hope you check out The Tainted Love Duet Series and any/all of Kim's other books. You won't be disappointed :D

I give Crush: *****5 Stars*****