CHAPTER REVEAL - Hard Wood by Jenika Snow

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The Dirty Bits from Carina Press give you what you want, when you want it. Designed to be read in an hour or two, these sex-filled microromances are guaranteed to pack a punch and deliver a happily-ever-after.

A new supersexy insta-love novella from USA TODAY bestselling author Jenika Snow that has a gruff lumberjack yelling T-I-M-B-E-R for the woman he’s been waiting for.

The Ash Brothers—they know how to handle their wood.

I’m a hard man. A loner. Or so town gossip says. After having my heart sent through the chipper, I’ve kept to myself. I prefer the quiet of the woods to the ramblings of clingy women who think they can tame a wild mountain man.

Until Mia. Now she’s all I think about.

I should have stayed away. She’s too sweet for a brute like me, but I can’t stop wanting her, picturing her sated in my sheets.

Mia knows just what kind of wood I’m working with. She’s the soft to my hard, the sugar to my bitter bark.

And I love seeing her walk on the wild side.

This book is approximately 15,000 words

For those times when size does matter. The Dirty Bits from Carina Press: Quick and dirty, just the way we like it.

Noah

Being part owner of Ash Lumber made it so technically I didn’t have to do the dirty work. I had employees who worked under me to do that. But just because I co-owned the company with my two brothers didn’t mean I didn’t want to get my hands dirty. Not only did we deal with cutting down the trees for production, over the last few years we’d even dabbled in development and construction. It was just one more branch of the business that was expanding.

I was a lumberjack right down to my very marrow.

I liked chopping wood, slinging it over my shoulder and hauling it to where it needed to go. This was a family owned and run business, and it also helped keep me busy, kept my mind from wandering. And that was the main reason I worked just as hard as the men who worked for my brothers and me.

For nearly my whole life I’d lived in Rockbridge, Colorado, a picturesque lumber town. We had mountains on three sides of us, the town situated so the snowcapped peaks could always be seen. The thick forest was our backyard, and this was the only place I’d ever felt comfortable, ever felt was truly my home.

This was the only place that I ever felt I belonged.

There had been one time in my life that I’d moved away, one time where I’d been out of my element and miserable as fuck. And I’d done it all for a woman…for what I thought was love. I’d agreed to move to the city, to allow Amelia to pursue her dreams, even though skyscrapers and concrete would surround me, would be my coffin.

We only lived in the city for a few months before tragedy struck, but I’d hated every second of it. Traffic had been my alarm clock, and steel and glass had been my view. It was because of my emotions and the hope that things would be better, that I stuck it out, knowing that in order to make things work I had to sacrifice what I wanted for her to be happy.

But even though I wanted her to be happy and successful, maybe it had been my own selfish thoughts, the fact that I hated living in the city so much that I found myself despising everything about it.

And things had started to become tense between us, strained. She was working constantly, and her attitude toward me became cold. In just those few months I’d seen a change take over her, watched as she started putting her career before our relationship. We’d grown detached, and it had felt more like I was with a roommate.

But before we worked anything out, if we even could or would have, I lost Amelia to a drunk driver.

I blamed myself for not trying harder with her, for not making her see we needed to focus on each other. But in just those short months we’d grown apart to the point I don’t know what the future would have looked like for us anyway. Even after all that, though, self-hate and guilt had eaten at me.

So I moved back home, jumped back into the family-owned lumber business, and tried to move on with my life.

Ten years passed, and I hadn’t been with a woman since, had never even wanted to have one by my side or in my bed.

The years had hardened me to a point, had made me despise the kind of emotions that falling in love and being with somebody invoked. Because I knew it didn’t last. It never lasted. People drifted apart, love was lost, and loneliness was the only solid thing you could count on.

I was happy in my current situation, content with working day in and day out. I enjoyed keeping to myself. And that’s how it would stay. Because even if I did find a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, hell, to share my bed with, I feared I’d be no good for her.

Being celibate, focusing on work, on being the loner I’d become, had worked out well for me. I didn’t deny that I jerked off plenty of times, needed some kind of outlet for pent-up arousal, but that’s as far as I went. Women didn’t interest me, and another relationship sure as fuck wasn’t in my future.

Keeping to myself was best for everyone all around. At least that’s what I’d been telling myself this whole time.

Mia

I said goodbye to the life I’d known for far too long, packed up all my belongings, and headed to Rockbridge, Colorado. Although Rockbridge was only a couple hours northwest of Denver, where’d I’d been living and working for the last few years, it felt like a whole other world.

In my previous life, before I’d moved to the city for work, I’d lived in Thornton. It had been an up and coming place to live and had its quaint points. But over the years even those homegrown scenic views had been eaten up by restaurants and supermarkets, doctors’ offices and housing developments. Hell, they’d even built over a gorgeous prairie dog field that had been right behind my housing development.

Dammit, I’d loved those prairie dogs.

And now I was dropped into some postcard town, where evergreens and aspens surrounded me, and the smell of Christmas filled my head.

Mountains surrounded the town, the peaks reaching for the very heavens, and forests touching the edges of the roads. The houses were quaint, cabin-like.

I felt freer, like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders as soon as I arrived in Rockbridge.

I pulled open the sliding glass door to the house I was renting for the time being and stepped out onto the small deck. Evergreens and aspens were my backyard now. I could see the snowcapped mountains peeking over the treetops, and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I’d been so worried about moving, so stressed out about starting a new job and leaving everything else behind, that I hadn’t really been able to appreciate how good this would be for me in the long run.

I brought my mug up and blew a light brush of air over the top, the steam from my tea disappearing into the fresh, clean air. I had been here for a few weeks now, my new position that of an executive accountant for the one small real estate company in town.

Truth was, executive accountant was a term far too fancy and sophisticated for the small business I was working for. I was a glorified number pusher, but the pay was decent—not exactly what I’d made before, but good enough for me to be comfortable. And this small rental property with an acre of land that I’d found had sealed the deal about making this new jump in my life.

So, I’d put in my two weeks at my former position and never looked back.

My energy had been drained living that life. I felt the weight of working for a large corporation and coming home to the same four walls, the same postage stamp–sized yard every day. I knew if I didn’t make a change my health would suffer.

I found myself smiling, and was thankful there were no neighbors around. They’d probably think I was insane, standing here alone, my mug pressed to my lips, a huge grin spread across my face.

I might’ve only been here a few weeks, but I already felt like this was home.

Copyright Carina Press and Jenika Snow 2018

Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.

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CHAPTER REVEAL - Dirt (Evergreen Series #1) by Cassia Leo

Today we have the chapter reveal for DIRT by Cassia Leo! Check them out and pre-order your copy today!

 

Title: DIRT 

Author: Cassia Leo 

Series: Evergreen 

Series Release: January 12, 2018

 

About Dirt

A hard-hitting, emotional new series from New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo.

Jack and I had everything.
Then, in one brutal instant, the universe tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness.

Now, I have a cocky a**hole for a husband.
The only way we communicate anymore is when we’re fighting or f**king.
With nothing left to lose, I write Jack a goodbye letter and head for Portland, where I quickly meet a neighbor who helps me find a job.

My new neighbor—broody, tattooed ex-soldier Isaac Evans—is complicated.
Nevertheless, we form a fast friendship, bonding over our mutual desire to create something beautiful from the wreckage of our lives.

But despite the distance between us, Jack and I are still trying to make things work—fighting and f**king dirtier than ever. And he doesn’t appreciate my new friendship with Isaac. Not one f**king bit.

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Chapter Reveal

Chapter 1 

Laurel 

I hugged Jack Jr. tightly against my breast, and he molded his soft, warm body to mine. His eyes remained closed as his tiny fingers curled around the fabric of my blouse, his rosy lips puckering as he geared up for more food. “You sucked me dry, little fella,” I whispered, leaning in to press my nose against the downy-soft, golden hair on the top of his head. I inhaled his scent and my muscles unspooled. “But I’ll be back to feed you soon. I promise.” Why do babies smell so damn good? Before I got pregnant with Junior, my favorite smell was orange blossoms. As a teenager, I often got scolded by my mom for picking the flowers off the orange tree in our backyard in Portland. I’d rub the creamy petals between my fingers, bruise them with my fingernails, then sniff my hand for hours until the scent wore off. When I was pregnant with Junior, my favorite scent became the rich aroma of the forbidden coffee I could no longer drink. After Junior was born, and my decaf days came to a glorious end, I realized how wrong I’d been. There was absolutely no scent as sweet and soul-quieting as the smell of the top of a baby’s head. Bonus points if the baby was lying peacefully on your chest sound asleep. “Are you ever going to put him down?” I flicked my head sideways, startled by Jack’s clear, baritone voice. He stood in the doorway of Junior’s nursery, the silhouette of his six-foot-three athletic body framed by the warm light in the hallway. His head was tilted to the side. He’d probably been standing there admiring us for a while. After six years together, I knew Jack’s body language and facial expressions better than I knew my own face. I stood from the rocking chair and stole one more sniff of Junior’s head before I placed him gently on his back in the center of the crib. I adjusted the left sleeve of his pajamas, pulling it down to make sure it covered his entire chubby arm. I didn’t want to imagine him waking up cold and alone in here. Jack appeared at my side as I switched on the video baby monitor. “He’s going to be fine,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke the soft patch of hair on Junior’s head. “In fact, he’ll probably enjoy some time alone. After all, he is just like his daddy; sometimes, we need a break from the constant attention from the ladies.” I rolled my eyes and headed for the door. “Making jokes only makes leaving him slightly less scary, you know,” I said as we stepped into the hallway of our five-bedroom dream home in Hood River, Oregon. I couldn’t wait to fill up every one of these bedrooms with brothers and sisters for Jack Jr. Jack chuckled as he followed closely behind me. “Less scary is an improvement,” he replied, grabbing my hand to stop me in the middle of the corridor. “You promised Junior you’d be back soon. Can you also make me a promise?” The hallway lights made his dark hair look glaringly shiny, but I couldn’t help but notice how weary his blue eyes looked tonight. Since Junior arrived three months ago, I’d been so focused on my baby boy’s vulnerability, his scent, his beauty, I hadn’t slowed down enough to appreciate how those were the same qualities that made me fall in love with Jack. Suddenly, my worries about leaving Junior with my mother for the evening evaporated. All I wanted to do was kiss Jack, grab hold of that dark hair and make love to him for hours. I wanted to replace the weariness in his eyes with dark hunger, or maybe a glint of mischief. I squeezed his hand and smiled at the thought of possibly having sex with him in public tonight. We hadn’t done that in a while. “What kind of promise?” I asked. He shook his head. “Nope, you’re not allowed to ask. Just promise me you’ll say yes.” My stomach vaulted at the sound of those words. They were the same words Jack spoke when he asked me to marry him. I wondered what he would ask this time. The phrase “just promise me you’ll say yes” had become like an inside joke, our own private, unspoken promise to each other that we would always do whatever it took to stay together. The last time he had uttered this phrase, he asked me to stop taking my birth control pills. With Junior here, it was easy to trust that whatever Jack asked me for this time would turn out to be exactly what I needed. I tilted my head back so I could look up and into his crystal-blue eyes. “Yes, I can make you a promise.” His expression became sober. “Promise me you’ll be present tonight.” He fixed me with a piercing gaze as his large hand cupped my face. “It’s just you and me for the next three hours. Promise me.” I smiled. “I promise. Just you and me. And I’ll even put my cell phone on vibrate.” As I said the words, a sharp finger of fear prodded my subconscious, telling me it was a bad idea to risk missing a phone call tonight. The exhaustion in Jack’s eyes melted away as he smiled. “I can deal with that, but you have to promise me one more thing.” “What’s that?” His smile turned almost menacing as he looped his arm around my waist and drew me close. “Promise me you’ll lemme smash that blonde bombshell booty,” he said, landing a light swat on my ass. I shook my head as I recalled how we often had sex in public during our first year together, in our senior year at Oregon State University, Cascades. For some reason, once we graduated and moved in together, having sex in public seemed like something we couldn’t get away with so easily. We decided public sex-hibitions — or throw downs, as we more commonly referred to them — would be reserved for special occasions like anniversaries or vacations. Truthfully, Jack and I kicked off our relationship by having sex on the first date. He was always a very difficult man to resist. When he showed up at my apartment to pick me up that night, I couldn’t resist his suggestion that we should stay in and make paper masks of ourselves, then put them on and ask each other first date questions as if we were the other person. I had never laughed so much on any date. Ever. But when he asked — while pretending to be me — if I’d ever had sex with someone on the first date, I couldn’t help but respond with, “I’m Jack-fucking-Stratton. I’ve fucked a lot of girls on the first date. But none as gorgeous as you.” Jack always knew how to keep things fresh and alarmingly sexy. Six years in and my body still craved him almost every second of every day. Today was our three-year wedding anniversary. We’d only had sex twice since I gave birth to Junior three months ago, and both of those times were truly awkward. The first time was painful. My C-section incision hadn’t fully healed yet, and even trying to have sex with him behind me was uncomfortable. The second time we tried, Jack was so afraid of hurting me, he stopped midway through. There’d been a lot of oral sex happening in this house since then. Luckily, a few weeks had passed since our last attempt, and I had repeatedly assured him I was fully healed up now. I was certain that even if the sex did hurt a little, it would still be worth it. I couldn’t understand couples that didn’t consider sex an important part of a relationship. I never felt more complete, more present, more alive than when my body and mind were entwined with Jack’s. I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I think I know just the place for a proper throw down.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooh. Tell me more.” As he leaned in to kiss me, my mother’s voice interrupted us. “Are you two making out again?” she said, standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips as she gawped at us. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” Jack laughed and I shook my head as we moved toward her. “We’re just trying to keep you entertained while you’re on vacation, Beth,” Jack said. My mother cocked an eyebrow. “If I wanted to watch porn, I’d open up your laptop and have a look at your internet history.” “Mom, don’t be gross,” I protested, trying not to laugh. Jack smiled as he held out his elbow for my mom to grab hold as they descended the stairs in front of me. “I made a special collection of links for you. They’re in a folder labeled Tantric Geriatric. You’ll love it.” I rolled my eyes. Jack and my mother exchanged jabs like this all day. My mother was staying with us for a few days, so Jack and I could have some time to ourselves and get some much-needed uninterrupted sleep. She was leaving tomorrow to go back to the house where I grew up in Portland. Though she pretended as if she was desperate to get home to her Craftsman cottage in the city, and I even teased her about how she was dying to get back so she could see the handsome new neighbor she’d been going on about, I knew she was going to miss Jack’s pretend insults as much as she would miss Junior and me. My mother practically shoved me toward the front door. “I order you to go have fun,” she said, smiling as Jack opened the door and stepped outside. “And don’t come home until you’re too drunk to walk.” I shook my head. “Thanks, Mom. Please call if you need anything. And don’t answer the door for anyone. There’s a house that got broken into a few streets away.” She waved off my paranoia. “Stop worrying so much. We’ll be fine. See you later, babe.” I blew her a kiss, then I closed the door behind me.

* * *

“I have to admit, having sex on the waterfront was one of my favorite public throw downs ever,” Jack said, pulling his Tesla into the long driveway of our four-acre estate. “But do we really have to wait until our fourth anniversary to do it again?” I tugged the silky fabric of my skirt straight as I pressed my thighs together. Though my body was still raw with the evidence of the dirty deed we’d just committed, I couldn’t wait to get Jack inside and pounce on him again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sensation of him moving inside me, and how good he was at making me feel beautiful. “We can do that anytime we can snag a babysitter,” I replied as he turned the car off. He made no move to exit the Tesla. “Well, babycakes, you’d better get ready to interview a fuck-ton of babysitters.” I laughed. “Babycakes? That’s a new one.” Jack rarely used the same term of endearment twice in a row. He liked to keep me guessing. He scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, that one was kind of creepy. Now that I’ve tried it out, I think I can bury that one in the nickname graveyard.” “Try the incinerator,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “Duly noted,” he replied, exiting the vehicle. Jack and I glided unhurriedly along the flagstone walkway, which was lined with sparkling pathway lights. As we made our way toward the steps leading up to the covered porch, I stopped in the middle of the path and closed my eyes as I inhaled the sweet scent of the lavender and honeysuckle I’d planted with my mom’s help. That was when I made a wish, a corny wish, but I didn’t care. I wished that every person could find someone they loved as much as I loved Jack. I wished every child could feel as loved as Junior was. And I wished every anniversary could be as perfect as this one. “No… No, no, no!” Jack’s voice grew louder with each no. They say mother’s intuition is scientifically proven to exist. I knew by the tone of Jack’s voice, without even opening my eyes, that my world would never be the same. I knew in that instant, I would regret leaving Jack Jr. tonight for the rest of my life. Though I knew something was wrong, I wasn’t prepared for what we found. At some point, while we were lost in our blissful celebration, the front door of our home had been forced open. This discovery was what had made Jack cry out in disbelief. Father’s intuition must also be a thing, because he told me later that, even though the door was still closed, the moment he saw the gouges in the wood near the handle, he had felt that same sense of dread. That feeling that the universe had suddenly tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness. The house was ransacked. Furniture upended, paintings and flatscreen televisions torn off the walls, shards of shattered vases littered the floors. Complete and utter chaos. The master bathroom doorknob looked as if it had been shot off. We found my mother’s lifeless form huddled against the bathtub, my baby boy’s dead body clutched tightly in her arms.

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About Cassia Leo

 

New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup of coffee and a book. Find her on...

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CHAPTER REVEAL - Beauty (Hate Story, #2) by Mary Catherine Gebhard

Once upon a time, I thought love was a fairytale.

My prince was a Beast with blood on his hands and ice in his veins. My family offered to save me. The only price: leaving the tattered pieces of my heart behind.

Our love was irrational. Cruel. Unforgiving. Nothing like the storybooks said it should be—but it was perfect.

The longer we were apart, the more I lost myself. He was vicious and domineering, but I craved the submission. Together we were destructive, but I was addicted to the devastation. Still, I thought titles mattered. To my family I was princess, and to the Beast I was slave. I was too naïve to understand that even though he’d been my captor, he’d broken the shackles on my soul.

Once upon a time, I thought love meant happily ever after.

Now I know better.

Oh God. Oh no. What have I done?
My heart was in my throat as I hurriedly tried to wipe blood from my hands. The harder I tried to clean them, the more dirt and blood smeared the skin. With a shaky breath, I looked beyond the small copse of trees that shrouded me to the reason my palms were stained red, the reason I’d killed someone. Pacing back and forth, talking on a phone, his features blurred from the distance. Every few moments he paused and stared into the trees.
Anteros.
I sucked in a sharp breath—it was like he could see me even though I was cloaked in darkness. My hands stilled and I stopped trying to clean, paralyzed by his stare piercing the shadows. In the month since I’d escaped, the stubble on his jaw had grown to a beard. It made him wilder, more Beastly.
“What have I done?” I whispered, breaking the spell and putting my head in my hands. An instant later, I tore them away. The blood was like maple syrup against my cheeks. I quickly jumped up and moved as far away from the body as I could, resting against a thin tree. Anteros resumed pacing, though occasionally he looked back and I each time had me swallowing what felt like golf balls.
There was just one building around for miles and only the anemic glow of one faraway street lamp cast light on the empty lot. Windowless with one door, it looked like some kind of abandoned concrete factory, but inside all kinds of debauchery went on. It was a club owned by the Beast, but not like the one he’d taken me to, not mainstream. This was underground, a place for the dark and dirty.
A walkie-talkie blared static, angry, white noise next to the body and even knowing I should leave, knowing my minutes were numbered, I couldn’t. This was the closest I’d gotten to Anteros since I’d escaped. It had been so long since we’d been in the same vicinity that I’d nearly forgotten the carnal pull, the tug, the yearning. How I was utterly powerless, even before he spoke.
The first day I’d searched for him I went back to the penthouse and sat outside, hidden, waiting for him to come out. I did that for a week before I realized he didn’t live there anymore. I should have given up.
Instead I became obsessed.
A dark part of me hoped he couldn’t go back to the penthouse, the same way I couldn’t stop looking for him until I found him.
As I watched Anteros, I tried to ignore the throbbing between my thighs that matched the heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Leather pants curved around thick, muscular thighs. Weapons glimmered in the night and a muscle shirt dirtied with blood captivated me, glued me to the spot. It all somehow enhanced Anteros, made him sexier, more dangerous. I hadn’t thought it possible for him to be more dangerous.
I was transfixed by the way Anteros was only in a tank despite the bitter air, lingering on how his skin rolled with his muscles. Involuntarily, my tongue darted out to wet my lips. The Beast had always been lethal, but now…he was mythic.
I was so engrossed watching him I didn’t realize I was fingering the diamond rose pendant he gave me. I should have thrown it away the moment I was free. I thought about it. I thought about it every day for almost two weeks, but could never do it. Now the diamond was getting bloody as I rubbed it.
Bloody because I killed someone.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. But then, I’d never really considered how it would happen. I’d just listened to the need tugging at my gut, the one that threatened to rip me apart if I didn’t follow. And when I’d finally found Anteros, someone had found me first. It was instinct. One minute there, the next gone.
Big O.
I killed Big O.
It all happened so fast. I’d been in the trees, staring at the lone door, and then out of nowhere hands were around my neck. Before he could yell for help, my knife was in his side and blood ran down my palm, my wrist. It was so bright, but dark too. Like summer cherries. I could have left Big O. I could have run and he would have been alive and I wouldn’t have been a killer. I hadn’t even planned on using my knife; the only reason I kept it was because Anteros’s dried blood was still on the blade.
I could have left.
But a rush of adrenaline, like fire in my chest and buzzing, crackling electricity in my veins, had filled me when the blade broke his skin. So I slid the knife into Big O again. And again.
What does that say about me?
The weight of the memory was too much so I fell to the ground, hand scratching against the bark of the tree as I descended. I wasn’t about to throw Big O a funeral, but I was a good girl. I returned my library books. I was a good girl.
Anteros stopped talking on his phone and stared into the trees again, one hand clasped behind his neck pensively, bicep bulging. Even yards away, his gaze stripped me of my clothes. Just when I was certain he could see me, he looked down and pulled his cell back out. Long, tan fingers slid across the glass surface.
That thing happened—that uniquely Anteros thing—where my body got viciously warm and even in the winter I thought I would boil alive. His fingers had been one of the first things I noticed about him. Elegant. Rough. Dichotomous—like him. I couldn’t help but remember how they had curled inside me. A slight breeze tickled what little skin I had showing on the cold night and I rubbed my neck. When I brought my hand back, blood streaked the palm. My eyes flashed to Big O and I swallowed a rock.
I’m so fucking fucked up.
Snapping twigs echoed around me and I quickly got to my feet, eyes going to the patio—empty, only yellow light to make the cement glow. Hair flew into my face as the breeze kicked up and I quickly wiped it away as my hand went to my blade.
Another sound.
There.
By the trees, where the street lamp couldn’t reach and the moon’s light was suffocated. At first, it was nothing more than a shadow, but my heartbeat stuttered and my breathing ratcheted. I wondered if he could sense me all the way by the door the way I felt him now. The air vibrated when we were in the same vicinity, like being too close to speakers at a concert.
I should have run away, but I was prisoner to my needs and only he held the key to set me free.
“Come out,” I said, voice shaking. I’d just killed someone but simply the phantom of the man had me trembling.
Anteros emerged, form made monstrous by the night, and I sucked in a breath that got lost in my lungs. His eyes gleamed, the same bluegreen that had haunted my dreams, except here it was real. Our eyes locked and for a brief moment, I felt him—felt everything. It was like quitting a drug and jumping back in at the full dosage; heady, unstable, dangerous. I had the urge to get on my knees. To beg for forgiveness for leaving him.
For punishment.
His gaze flicked to the dead, exsanguinated body of Big O. Surprise flashed in his bluegreen depths and vanished just as quickly to be replaced with something else: satisfaction. I wanted to tell him he had it all wrong—I didn’t plan this—but his red lips curved in a cruelly sensual way and when his eyes flashed back to mine, they were hard and merciless, making my core ache and weep.
I remembered reading about the prediction of a great earthquake that was going to shake California. It hadn’t happened yet, but everyone kept waiting for it. That was what I saw in his eyes: a cocksureness at my return, smug even as the earth shook beneath us.
Anteros walked over the stained red concrete, mouth twisting up in a deadly grin as he reached me. My heart thumped so fast, so heavy, I wondered if it would bruise my ribcage. The smell of pine in the air was suddenly too thick. The night too dark. The ground too wet. I couldn’t breathe. If I touched him, I was fucked. But as our stares collided, I realized I would never escape him, could never escape him, because my heart beat inside his chest.
I closed the distance, reaching for him.
Still with a wicked grin, Anteros reached for the pendant and lifted it from my neck. His touch was cataclysmic, the heat of his fingers at my collarbone tearing through me. My breath was sporadic, staccato, leaving my parted lips in short gasps.
“You’ve made me wait,” he said, gripping the silver chain of the necklace. “You’ll pay for that.”

Mary Catherine Gebhard bites off more than she can chew. She's lived in Salt Lake City, Utah her entire life but occasionally goes on vacation from reality. Don't worry, she sends postcards.

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CHAPTER REVEAL - Scarred (Ruthless Rebels MC #3) by Chelsea Camaron & Ryan Michele

Title: Scarred

Series: Ruthless Rebels MC #3

Author: Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: May 19, 2017

Scarred

(Ruthless Rebels MC Book 3)

Co-written by:

Chelsea Camaron

And 

Ryan Michele

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele 2017

All Rights Reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission from Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

1st edition published: May 2017

Cover Design by: M.L. Pahl of IndieVention Designs

Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli

Proofreading: Silla Webb

This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, violence, domestic abuse, and explicit language offends you.

This is not meant to be an exact depiction of life in a motorcycle club, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.

Scarred

Whitton ‘Skinny’ Thorne – scarred skin only covers a beautiful soul.

Bitter with a capital B.

Life has been hell from the beginning when Whitton was burned as an infant, yet as much as he pushes me away I’m always coming back for more.

When I finally let go, he wants to let me in, how do I survive when we’ve both been scarred?

Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele have teamed up to bring you an explosive new MC romance that will have you panting for more of the Ruthless Rebels. Hold on tight, it's going to be a wild ride full of action and suspense that these two authors are known for. Throw in two people who finally get their second chance, and things are about to get smoking hot. 

Chapter One

Roe

Fairytales, nursery rhymes, and childhood memories, none of them are really all that great!

Holding my hand in the air with three fingers up, I sing the song about Sally the camel and her humps. Simple.

I don’t have or need complications in my life. Sally has humps that come and go, she has issues, me – I’m good.

The twenty-two smiling children sing along with me with utter enthusiasm. They love this song. Most days we sing it once sometimes twice before we do the weather and calendar first thing in the morning. Our routine, the structure the kids need to thrive, and I need to feel like things are in order.

I look up when the door to my classroom opens. 

It’s preschool. The director of the school comes in and out throughout the day so at first I don’t think much of it. When my assistant teacher Ms. Jennifer stands up to take over, it’s then I make my way to the door. As the lead teacher if the director comes in it’s Jennifer who takes over for me and I meet with the director. Any changes necessary from the director, I will make them. Jennifer and I have worked together for three years now so our system is solid.

Beside the director, Ms. Marie, is the cutest little girl. Obviously, this visit is to bring us a new student. Her blue eyes are a bit too big for her face making those rounded little cheeks stand out too. There isn’t fear in her blue depths, but there is a lot going on in that brain of hers. Finishing the song to the delight of the children on the ABC carpet, I let Jennifer continue with the next song. I focus my attention and greet our newest student, warm smile in place.

I bend down to her level looking her in the eyes. “Hello, I’m Ms. Roe and what’s your name?”

“Marlayna,” the little girl in pigtails says softly. 

My heart breaks when I see the scar on her neck that her hair isn’t covering. I know those marks too well. I fight back the emotion that sits just under the surface. 

Burns.

This little girl has suffered a tragedy and I hate that for her. 

“Would you like to join us in circle time?” I offer as I fight back the past. He is not the only person to be burned in their lives and survive. So many things twist inside me and I have to push it down. The emotions that keep beating down the well-structured walls I’ve built around them over the years always try to spill over, but I won’t allow it. I’ve had no other choice but to keep a handle on it all. 

My job is about teaching and nurturing Marlayna, today is not about him or his scars. 

She nods her head and the day commences with story time, rhyme time, nap time, and all the normal activities of my day. Marlayna adjusted very well in the class for it being her first day. She went with the flow no trepidation and without much of a reaction to anything.

It pains me. I don’t like when the kids cry, but when they come in almost numb like little Marlayna it hurts more to wonder what has hardened them to life already. Children should be free to be kids not caught up in some adult situation or punished unnecessarily.

The afternoon passes with little Marlayna quickly falling into the routine and making friends. After each of the children are gone and I get my room cleaned up, I head out.

Arriving home, I sit on the sun room of my two-bedroom house and enjoy the Georgia afternoon. When I moved out, this was my one requirement, sun room. I love the outdoors and not feeling closed up. 

Blakely, Georgia, population five thousand. Small town lifestyle near the Alabama – Georgia state lines.

April is my favorite month of the year. The weather is sunshine, the birds sing, and the humidity isn’t unbearable so boob sweat is a non-issue for the time being. No woman ever wants boob sweat. August, in the deep south is hotter than hell so I’ll enjoy my outside time while I can.

In fact, tomorrow I think I’ll take my class to have a picnic and maybe do sidewalk chalk and hopscotch on the playground. They love the outside and it helps to get as much of their energy out as possible.

My mind goes to little Marlayna. She is in the system. Foster care, with the Brown family, who are regulars in the community when it comes to taking in children. They will be good to her.

I once knew a boy who lived with the Brown’s. My mind, my heart, they always go back to him. I wish it wouldn’t but we have too much shared between us. His scars were similar to hers only they covered his face and half his body.

Whitton Thorne, the boy down the road with a tortured past. His mom had things so twisted in her head when it came to her twin boys. She believed Whitton was evil and Waylon was the son of Jesus or something crazy. I wasn’t privy to all the details. I just know every time the state let the boys go back to her, Whitton was returned to his social worker more damaged than before. I know once they tried to send Waylon back and leave Whitton with the Brown’s only for Waylon to run away to be with his twin. The two of them were close. In their situation, I would imagine one would have to be. They were also complete opposites.

God, I loved Whitton. 

From the beginning when he was the boy I bumped into in grade school to the man who grew into there isn’t a moment in time since I met Whitton Thorne that he didn’t have my attention. He intrigued me. His strength captivated me. And the more time I had with Whitton Thorne in my life the harder I fell in love with him.

Even now, years have passed and I can’t help but hope he’s okay. Hope that somewhere he found his slice of happy.

Night comes and I slide into my t-shirt blend sheets. I don’t make much with my job, but this is my splurge, soft bed sheets. After all, one can’t be at their best with twenty children without a good nights sleep. I close my eyes and the fatigue of the day quickly consumes me.

“Whitton Thorne, one day you’re gonna be the President.” I smile proudly at my friend.

“The President of the rejects club, maybe,” he replies in his normal tone.

I sigh. The boy is nothing short of amazing. He’s smart, athletic, and cute. He just doesn’t see it. Him and his twin brother look nothing alike. All the girls crush on Waylon. He has this mystery to him. Whitton, though, Whitton is the kind of boy you can talk to, really talk to. There is depth to him. The intrigue of him keeps me on edge to know more, see more, and have more time with him. From the time we met in elementary school at eight years old until now he has captured my attention. We’re young, he’s seventeen and I’m sixteen, but I can’t get enough of him.

“What do you see in me, Roelyn Duprey?”

I feel the blush cover my cheeks. “All good, I see all the good in you Whitton.”

He smirks. “You got the wrong Thorne, Roe. Maybe you think I’m Waylon.”

I prop my hand on my hip. “I know what I see in you Whitton and I see potential!”

“You have all the potential, Roe. The future is in front of you and there’s not a single thing to hole you back.” He tells me like he does all the time. “You need to have bigger and better than what Blakely, Georgia and a misfit like me can offer.”

“Oh, Whitton, you will have bigger and better in your life. I know it.”

He laughs me off like he does every single time I tell him I think he’ll be someone someday. Only thing is, I know down to my soul he has so much more to give in this world. My heart bleeds that he doesn’t see it.

My alarms blares drawing me out of the dream. The memory of a lost time when things weren’t complicated and the boy I knew and believed in may not have believed in himself, but back then he believed in me. Something I desperately needed. 

Whitton Joseph Thorne, my best friend since we ran into each other playing at recess when we were only eight years old. Twenty years later, I still consider him the best friend I’ve ever had … only everything between us has changed.

No longer is he the boy I thought could give the world goodness. He’s a grown man who left everything in Georgia behind ten years ago when we crossed a line.

Would I cross the line again? If I knew the outcome would be this, I’m not so sure. At the time, it felt right. Hell, I thought it was going to change everything into something we could build a future on.

Except, Waylon took off and Whitton was right behind him. Where one brother went, the other was sure to follow. They had a rough start in life. Bonded as twins, bonded as brothers, and bonded by the times life kicked them while they were down those two would always stick together.

Part of me blames Waylon. The other part of me, knows the truth. Whitton ran. Yes, he woke up after the best night of our lives and couldn’t handle the emotion. He found out Waylon took off and he followed. It was an escape and an all too easy excuse.

I’m not sure he realized that no matter the distance he put between us, he still had me with him. I haven’t figured out a way to get that piece of me back from Whitton yet. Even after all these years, I belong to him in a way that keeps me from moving on.

Looking at little Marlayna yesterday and waking up today, it’s time I let go of Whitton. Everything I thought we could one day be is a far fetched dream. Marlayna has her life ahead of her. No matter the past, she has a future.

The same can be said for Whitton Thorne and it’s a future that he decided would be without me.

**

Sitting down to a late dinner, I pull out my phone and scroll social media. I don’t know why because it only tells me things I don’t care to know. Even with a bowl of vegetable soup in front of me, my stomach growls at seeing the yummy chocolate desserts. I have a sweet tooth. My ass and hips thank me for it. 

Sipping my soup, it warms me. My thumb moves on my phone screen, skipping past people I went to high school with that I never talk to. Why I’m even friends with them, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s time to declutter my life. Most of the time people friend you just to see what you’re doing and then delete you. Personally, I like it when people take out their own trash. 

My private message pops up and internally I groan seeing it’s from Lance. Hi. See you’re on. Want to talk to you. He types. I need to figure out how to block people from seeing when I’m on and when I’m not. Or maybe I just need to block him. I’m thinking the latter.

Going out with Lance was up there with many mistakes I made in my life. Two dates, then I called it off. Only he didn’t seem to get the point. Even telling him flat out I wasn’t interested, he still messages me, texts me and calls me. Not wanting to appear rude, I’ve answered all of them. But this, I just don’t want to engage with him. I’m tired of it. I repeat myself all day everyday with my students. My personal life, I don’t want that. 

I move the little bubble that shows a picture of a golf club, Lance, and toss it down below to get rid of it off my screen. 

The phone begins to ring and I jump. First thought is, Lance is calling me. Then when I look at the screen, I see Elizabeth Calling. A smile crosses my face as I except the call. 

“Hey woman!” I greet my best friend. We met in college, which seems like a lifetime ago, but really wasn’t.

“Hey back at ya! What are you doing? I want to meet for drinks.” 

I look to the clock noting it’s only five-thirty, but I do have to work tomorrow. Drinking and then rowdy children in the morning is not a good combination. 

“Is something up?” I take the last bite of my soup and push it to the side. 

“Yes, but I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Meet me in twenty at Carlyle’s?”

Looking down at my clothes, the puppy dog pajama bottoms won’t cut it going out. “Give me thirty. I need to change.” 

“Epp.” She makes the sound then, “Okay, see you then.” And disconnects. Whatever she has in store must be exciting. 

At least one of us has something good going on.

Chapter Two

Skinny

Flames extinguish, scars fade, but the burn can’t be felt forever!

I strike the match and watch it burn.

The blends of reds and yellows into oranges is mesmerizing. The flickers of colors all move as if they’re dancing together. The heat gets closer and closer to my fingertips as the flame grows intently.

I feel no pain. I feel nothing.

Void. Empty.

My life is not one of colors and blends.

Poof. I blow the match out. The flame is extinguished. All that’s left is black smoke. It’s like my soul. Dark, unforgiving.

I sit in the dim lit room I call home. Ruthless Rebels MC – my family and the clubhouse where I calm myself at the end of every day. 

The ten feet by ten feet space has my bed, one nightstand, and a dresser. The closet is small but I keep a three tiered bookshelf in there, full of different books and photo albums. It’s not much, but it’s mine. Beside that door is the door to the bathroom.

Feeling the acid burn in my gut, I get up and make my way in front of the porcelain. Dropping to my knees I wretch.

I don’t remember the last time I woke up and didn’t throw up within an hour. It happens, every damn day. I finish, stand, wash up, and brush my teeth. There’s no use in looking in the mirror, I already know the mess I’ll see.

I hate fucking mirrors. Only one time in my life did I ever look in a mirror and not see the hideous beast I am … and that will never happen again. Roelyn Duprey, she made the man in the mirror not a monster but a lover. She is everything beautiful I should never touch. It’s a memory I’ll hold onto.

She believed in me, believed in having something not understanding the monster I am. From the beginning the devil gripped my heart and never let go. The bitch known as my mother told me I was spawned in evil. She scarred me, marked me, and made sure the world could see me for what I am. A horrible, vile, demonized man.

Roelyn Duprey had rose colored glasses on. I let her keep them on because I needed her lifeline. The spark between us, I fed. Continuing to fuel, provide the heat, like a flame, I watched us grow, flicker, and rather than watch us fade, I snuffed it out quickly leaving nothing behind but black smoke.

My brother needed me and Roe needed me to go away even if she didn’t know it. I took off, never looked back, and haven’t looked in a mirror since the night I watched me fuck her in one. 

Spitting in the sink, I rinse my mouth and walk away never checking my reflection. I know what I’d see. The flames of hell flicker in my eyes and burn in my soul, no need to remind myself.

Throwing on a clean pair of jeans, I don’t bother with boxers, briefs, or anything to cover my junk. The raw denim rub will remind I’m alive. Somehow, in the hell that is my life, I keep surviving and I’m not sure why. Sliding on my shirt, I grab my cut as I drop my feet into my boots before I head out, not bothering to tie the laces till I get to my bike.

Today I have packing duty. I don’t mind. I’ll head to the warehouse, pack the guns to ready for shipment, and then meet up with Waylon. 

My twin, Triple Threat, as he’s known in the club is everything I’m not. He’s good looking, level-headed, and not held back by a damn thing.

Me, I’m a scarred mess, hot-head, and haunted by the one thing I gave up so long ago.

Yeah, tonight calls for the strip club. I’ll pay to have a stranger grind on me till I get hard, then head back to the clubhouse and fuck a trick until I can’t remember my name, my past, and the woman I left behind.

**

“It’s a boy!” Shamus rushes into the clubhouse announcing. “DJ has a healthy, happy, eight pound, nine ounce, twenty-two inch baby boy. Kenderly is doing good.”

There are smiles and happiness that fill the space. Shamus comes over to me, slapping me on the back. “You wanna go with us to set up the house, brother.”

I nod. There isn’t a single thing with any of my brothers I would miss because they are all I have. And for once in my life, I belong.  

After DJ’s whore mother dropped her problems on Kenderly’s doorstep, DJ claimed his woman and in turn the Rebels handled their shit. Kenderly and her mother had an uphill battle to climb with everything they had already lost, but DJ’s mother cost them their home.

It took some time, but DJ won over Kenderly’s heart. They have a good life, building themselves a solid future. And now their new addition. Everything is looking good for my Rebels’ brother.

Not too long ago, DJ bought them a big ass house and furnished it to Kenderly’s liking. Now, it’s time for the Rebels to ride in and make sure our newest member is set.

“Your woman handle buying the goods?” I ask Shamus knowing he and Andrea have decided not to have kids because of the health risks for her. 

“Shit, brother. She loves shopping for all this baby crap. Kitten has a soft spot for being the auntie apparently. She even bought Kenderly a video baby monitor instead of the basic one they had on the registry.”

I laugh. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t think so but apparently DJ and Kenderly had talked. DJ didn’t want to be fuckin’ his woman and look to the nightstand and see their baby awake.”

“I never thought a damn thing would give DJ stage fright.” We both laugh before heading out to go set up a nursery Rebels style.

“Guess a baby changes things. I’m good with how my life is so no change needed here.” Shamus adds with a smirk. Things are good in the club, they are good for DJ and Shamus. It’s even better to feel like I’m a real part of something. 

Andrea is already inside when Shamus, Lurch, Triple Threat, and I pull up. She rushes outside and over to the car parked in front of the house.

“Mom brought me over, got lots to unload.” She says more to Shamus than anyone with a smile that is relaxed and easy going.

Given the path Andrea went through to finally be okay again and with Shamus, I smile with her. Like me, her life is full of scars.

Only in all the turmoil, Andrea has found a way to not allow her scars to define her.

She lived a different life. Following her dreams into investigative reporting landed her half dead in a hospital oceans away from her home. She survived her traumatic brain injury like I survived my burns. With no place to go to pick up the pieces she came home. It took a bit, but Shamus and Andrea worked their shit out. Their past isn’t holding them back from a future.

Waylon and I won’t have this. Our past defines our future and it’s not one that looks so bright. 

For a moment, I had hope that somehow I could have a second chance to have something real in my life outside of the club. With DJ and Shamus both getting their second chances, I thought maybe there would be a sliver of time where Waylon and I could have more than what we have managed to secure. Then I dreamt I caught a look in the mirror and quickly remembered what my life has been destined to be from the moment I was born.

I am my brother’s keeper. My place on Earth is to protect him even from himself. I don’t have the time or emotion for anything else.

Our mother is a psycho bitch who thinks my brother is the second coming of her God or some shit. Apparently during an ultrasound, it appeared that I, baby b, was kicking or hitting, baby a – being Waylon. From that moment on I was destined to the damned.

She even tried to have me aborted but the doctors said she was too far along and it was risk to my brother. Then we were born.

She tried to leave me at the hospital. The nurses told her it wasn’t good for infant twins to be separated this early. According to the medical records we later dug up, they felt she was suffering from post partum depression and would eventually want me. Having two babies at once via c-section meant she couldn’t hold us right away so she didn’t bond properly the doctor noted.

Bond.

What a joke. The woman tried to kill me more than once. 

I’ve never had a mother’s love. Neither has my brother.

She may have wanted me marked, condemned, banished, and branded, but she wanted my brother to be some savior to the world.

We just wanted to be boys. We grew into men who just wanted to live life. To this day I still can’t understand her mindset. I gave up a long time ago trying. Waylon – that’s another story.

I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for my brother. I’ll protect him from her or God himself if I have to.

“Snap out of it, these diapers won’t unload themselves!” Waylon says throwing a box of the shit holders at me.

“How many boxes do they think Kenderly needs?” I ask looking at the van full.

“Daisy, XXX (Lurch’s woman forgot her name), Andrea, her mom, Kenderly’s mom and aunt, and every other woman around swear they will go through these and more.” Shamus says walking inside with a bag of clothes.

“Wonder what it was like for mom to have twins?” Waylon says out loud and my chest stings in the pain I know he feels.

Yeah, we have no future like what DJ or Shamus have found. I need to stop disillusioning myself into ever thinking I could. Walk the line, it’s what I have to do.

If I fuck up, I’m not the only one who suffers, Waylon will too. I won’t do that to him or me. Yes, I’m better off alone.

Whitton ‘Skinny’ Thorne– scarred skin only covers a beautiful soul.

Bitter with a capital B.

Life has been hell from the beginning when Whitton was burned as an infant, yet as much as he pushes me away I’m always coming back for more.

When I finally let go, he wants to let me in, how do I survive when we’ve both been scarred?

***Each book in the Ruthless Rebels MC is a new couple, but are best read in order. This is a biker book so please expect violence, foul language, and sexual situations. Do not buy if any of this offends you.***

USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

Ryan Michele found her passion in making fictional characters come to life. She loves being in an imaginative world where anything is possible and has a knack for special twists readers don’t see coming.

She writes MC, Contemporary, Erotic, Paranormal, New Adult, Inspirational, and many more romances. And whether it’s bikers, wolf shifters, mafia, or beyond, Ryan spends her time making sure her heroes are strong and her heroines match them at every turn.

When she isn’t writing, Ryan is a mom and wife living in rural Illinois and reading by her pond in the warm sun.

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