Tag Archives: historical

A masterclass in tension wrapped in a historical romance package

Master-Wolf-KindleMaster Wolf by Joanna Chambers

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I’m missing the words I need to do justice to this book so I shall try tomorrow when I’m at the laptop.

***

I’m still not sure I’ve got the words to explain just how this book blew me away and took me on a rollercoaster of a journey from abject despair through complete sorrow and out into unbridled joy.

It’s been a while coming but it was so worth the wait because Joanna Chambers has taken the complex paranormal historic world she created in Gentleman Wolf and built on it to add so many more layers of beautiful writing.

My feelings were at war almost as much as Drew Nicol’s were as he continued to fight the wolf inside him, created by his former lover Lindsay Somerville in order to save his life some 30! years earlier as this book begins.

I raged at Joanna probably as much as I watched as Drew fought his feelings, the bond which was so blindingly obviously love to me as the reader, but which he couldn’t seem to recognise in his own heart until it was almost too late.

The same malevolent air hangs over the whole narrative as in book one, secret societies, captive wolves and deadly enemies drawing ever closer to the Edinburgh streets where Lindsay now lives.

I loved where Joanna took this book, even as tears welled up in my eyes and I mourned. I appreciate the bold choices she made and the decision the story took to go down this path and, while I was gutted at the outcome, for me it was a masterstroke in plot twist to reach that end.

Brilliant storytelling with an interweaving of mystery, suspense, thriller and historical fiction, all wrapped up with an unconventional love story which ultimately left me very satisfied.

#ARC kindly received from the author in return for an honest and unbiased review

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Glorious Restoration romance from Rebecca Cohen

52220709._SY475_James, Earl of Crofton by Rebecca Cohen

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Historical romance is among the most difficult of sub-genre to get right imho.

Too much detail and it becomes more of a factual experience, too little detail and you might as well read a contemporary romance.

Setting a book in the Restoration period of British history is a bold move and Rebecca Cohen’s talent ensures the reader gets a treat which is not only a delightful romance, but a top quality setting pitched perfectly.

I’ve loved all her Crofton series so far and this one was a wonderful addition to the collection.

James, great-grandson of Anthony, the first Earl, isn’t your usual feckless noble, he’s already been helping King Charles II’s court recover after the Great Plague and the Fire of London.

Adam is a fascinating character, son of a famous soldier, a supporter of Charles’ father during the English Civil War, and general man of all talents.

He’s acting as a minder to a younger son at court when their paths cross and we then get a delicious slow burn friends to lovers romance with a side order of dashing highwayman and dodgy dealings at the ancestral home.

Everything about this book just worked for me. I’d have happily read about James and Adam indefinitely 😁

#ARC kindly received from the author in return for an honest and unbiased review.

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Release Blitz: The Last Kiss by Sally Malcolm

The Last Kiss | Sally Malcolm

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Universal Link: mybook.to/TheLastKiss

Available in Kindle Unlimited

Length: 81,000 words

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Blurb

A tender and triumphant story of forbidden love in the aftermath of war

When Captain Ashleigh Dalton went to war in 1914, he never expected to fall in love. Yet, over three long years at the front, his devoted batman, Private West, became his reason for fighting—and his reason for living .

For Harry West, an ostler from London’s East End, it was love at first sight when he met complex, compassionate Captain Dalton. Harry knew their friendship wouldn’t survive in the class-bound world back home, but in the trenches there was no point in worrying about tomorrow…

Now, gravely wounded, Ash has been evacuated home to Highcliffe House, his father’s Hampshire estate. Bereft of Harry, angry and alone, Ash struggles to fit into the genteel world he left behind. Meanwhile, Harry, broken-hearted, doubts he’ll ever see his beloved captain again.

But when the guns fall silent and Harry finds himself adrift in London, a desperate hope carries him to Highcliffe House in search of work—and of the officer he can’t forget…

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About The Author

Sally Malcolm was bitten by the male/male romance bug in 2016 and hasn’t looked back. Her stories are emotional, sweetly angsty , and always have happy endings.

She also writes tie-in novels for the hit TV shows STARGATE: SG-1 and STARGATE ATLANTIS. To date, she’s penned nine STARGATE novels and novellas, and four audio dramas.

Sally lives in South West London with her American husband, two lovely children and two lazy cats.

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Release Blitz: Master Wolf by Joanna Chambers

Master Wolf | Joanna Chambers

Capital Wolves #2

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Release Date: March 26th, 2020

Cover Artist: Felix D’Eon

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Blurb

He must master the wolf within…

Edinburgh, 1820. Thirty years after leaving Scotland, Drew Nicol is forced to return when the skeleton of a monster is found. The skeleton is evidence of werewolves—evidence that Marguerite de Carcassonne, the leader of Drew’s pack, is determined to suppress.

Marguerite insists that Drew accompany her to Edinburgh. There they will try to acquire the skeleton while searching for wolf-hunters—wolf hunters who may be holding one of their pack prisoner.

But Drew has reason to be wary about returning to Edinburgh—Lindsay Somerville now lives there.

Lindsay, who taught Drew about desire and obsession.

Lindsay, who Drew has never been able to forgive for turning him.

Lindsay, who vowed to stay away from Drew twelve years ago… and who has since taken drastic steps to sever the bond between them.

Marguerite’s plan will throw Drew and Lindsay together again—and into a deadly confrontation with Lindsay’s enemy, Duncan MacCormaic. They will be tested to their limits and forced to confront both their past mistakes and their true feelings.

But it may be too late for them to repair the damage of the past. The consequences of Lindsay’s choices are catching up with him, and he’s just about out of time…

Gentleman Wolf

Capital Wolves #1

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About The Author

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Joanna Chambers primarily writes MM romance. She lives and works in Scotland and finds time to write by eschewing sleep and popular culture.

She likes wine, loves books and hates cleaning.

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Blog Tour: Silent Sin by E.J. Russell

Silent Sin | E.J. Russell

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Release Date: March 3rd, 2020

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/SilentSin

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Blurb

When tailor Marvin Gottschalk abandoned New York City for the brash boomtown of silent-film-era Hollywood, he never imagined he’d end up on screen as Martin Brentwood, one of the fledgling film industry’s most popular actors.

Five years later a cynical Martin despairs of finding anything genuine in a town where truth is defined by studio politics and publicity. Then he meets Robbie Goodman.

Robbie fled Idaho after a run-in with the law. A chance encounter leads him to the film studio where he lands a job as a chauffeur. But one look at Martin and he’s convinced he’s likely to run afoul of those same laws—laws that brand his desires indecent, deviant… sinful.

Martin and Robbie embark on a cautious relationship, cocooned in Hollywood’s clandestine gay fraternity, careful to hide from the studio boss, a rival actor, and press on the lookout for a juicy story.

But when a prominent director is murdered, Hollywood becomes the focus of a morality-based witch hunt, and the studio is willing to sacrifice even the greatest careers to avoid additional scandal.

Sin_kissed_a_boy

Excerpt

Dottie shook her head, grabbed Robbie by the elbow, and towed him, unresisting, out of the room. She didn’t say anything to him until they were settled at a table in the corner of the commissary.

Dottie unwrapped her ham sandwich. “What did you get?”

Robbie looked down at the table in front of him. “I—I’m not sure.” He lifted one corner of the wax paper. “I think it’s a pickle.” He peered into his cup. “And tomato soup?”

She set her sandwich down. “Rob, did Antoine knock you that far off your pins?”

“I just—What—How did he—” He gave up and took a bite of his pickle, and as the sourness hit the glands at the back of his tongue, he remembered that he hated pickles. He dropped it onto its wax paper.

She sighed. “I think we need to talk about a few things.”

He nodded and then took a sip of his soup. And I hate tomato soup too. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

Propping her elbows on the table, she leaned toward him. “The thing is, Rob, some men like men.”

“Of course they do. Everyone has friends.”

“I don’t mean that kind of like. Not as in friendship. As in love. As in sex.”

Robbie gaped at her for what might be forever. Dottie waited patiently until he’d gotten his head around the fact she was speaking about that. Nobody spoke about it. Even Frank had whispered things in bits and pieces, never giving Robbie the whole picture—never naming it—until they were hunkered down in that basement hallway, waiting for their turn in there.

But Dottie acted like she was talking about whether to order lemonade or iced tea with her sandwich.

“I—I know that.”

“You do? Then that makes this easier. In Hollywood, there’s regular work—” She held out one hand, palm up. “—and there’s queer work.” She held up the other hand.

“Queer. Is that what they call them? Men who… who like men? Do they make them all stay together? Where the queer work is?”

Dottie chuckled. “They don’t make them, but there are definitely certain places where producers think it’s okay for queers to work. The costume shop is one place. Set design and decoration is another.”

“Not acting?”

Her expression darkened. “Not openly, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t queer actors. See, for all the power the studio heads have, they’re working stiffs under the skin. The artistic types, the sophisticates they call ’em, have class. So the producers depend on fellows like Antoine or George Hopkins, over at Famous Players-Lasky.”

Robbie nodded jerkily. “I’ve met George.”

“Honey, everyone’s met George. He’s been here since he was seventeen and started designing for Theda Bara. But George and Antoine…. Well, the producers defer to them because they make the studio’s pictures look good.” She shrugged. “And if the pictures look good, audiences pay to see ’em. Which makes the producers happy.”

“Okay. That makes sense, I guess.”

“But the thing is, those same producers—and all the ‘regular’ folks—don’t want queers to show up anywhere else. Directors? Stuntmen?” She pointed to a table nearby where the sausage-slinging actors were eating hot dogs. “Actors? Nope. They’ve got to be he-men. Because what they do isn’t ‘queer work.’” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the corridor leading to the costume shop. “In there, it’s safe for Antoine to be who he is, because he’s where he belongs. But to be queer on the set? Behind the camera?” She shrugged. “You’ve got to have thick skin, a convincing cover story, and the courage of a whole pride of lions. You also need someone to stand by you, or you’ll get kidded by every bull-necked yahoo on the lot.” She took a huge bite of her sandwich.

“Does that happen? The… the kidding?”

She swallowed, then took a swig of her lemonade. “It can. If a director thinks an actor isn’t he-man enough for him, he’ll let a scene go on a little too long before calling ‘cut’—not long enough for any real injury, but long enough for discomfort and fear. That happened to Jack Kerrigan all the time.”

“Somebody should have stood up for him.” Robbie’s throat was tight. I didn’t stand up for Frank.

“Rob. God, your face.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hands. “It doesn’t happen all the time. Look at George. He and Bill Taylor are pretty much untouchable because they work together, so they’ve always got each other as backup. Although when Bill was in London last year, George could have had a little trouble if it weren’t for the fact that his mother has almost as such influence as he does.”

Robbie’s stomach dropped. “Bill Taylor? As in Mr. Taylor, the director?”

“Yep. William Desmond Taylor.”

Robbie tried to speak but could only manage a croak. He took a gulp of his cold soup. “You mean they’re… they’re….”

“Together. Yes. Like that.” She let go of him, although she still watched him as if she were afraid he was about to burst into flames. She’s not wrong. “Not that they make a production out of it in public. What Hollywood tolerates here in town, in our own circles, is different from what the ladies in the temperance unions or the preachers in the revival tents can handle.”

Robbie clutched his knees, his head whirling. If someone like Mr. Taylor could do that, be that, and have his… his lover by his side….

“But Mr. Taylor is such a gentleman. He makes all those speeches to the ladies’ temperance clubs and all. Even the censorship groups listen to him.”

Dottie gave him a pitying look. “Rob, just because a man likes men more than girls, it doesn’t make him a monster.”

Sin_newspaper_lies

About the Author

EjR-transparent-logo-w-tagline

Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.

E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).

E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.

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Sin_IG_no_chance

Release Blitz: A Summer of Smoke and Sin by TJ Nichols

A Summer of Smoke and Sin | TJ Nichols

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Cover Artist: Tiferet Designs

Release Date: February 28, 2020

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Buy Links:

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A Summer of Smoke and Sin_FINAL

Blurb

To stop a serial killer a detective will need to explore his own vices…

Nathanial Bayard wants nothing more than to find the nobleman creating snuff pornography. If he fails, his career in the recently formed nobility task force will be over and as the youngest son he’ll be forced to obey his father and join the church. But a life of celibacy doesn’t appeal. Nathanial has never even kissed another man, fearing for his soul and his reputation.

Jericho Fulbright has never lived a wholesome life. After behavior unbecoming he was discharged from the army and sent home in disgrace. His inventor and nouveau riche father refused to have anything to do with him, so Jericho turned to what he knew best: opium, gambling and sex.

As the owner of the Jericho Rose, a club for gentlemen who like men, he enjoys a certain notoriety. Some would say he has a golden tongue, but the truth is a succubus lives within him feeding on souls. Once he needed her help, now she is a burden that keeps him from getting close to anyone.

After the unfortunate death of a young nobleman in Jericho’s bed, Nathanial is sent to investigate. He is scandalized and intrigued by Jericho, but soon realizes that Jericho could be exactly who he needs to help break the snuff case.

Together they are drawn into a web of lies that will result in Jericho facing prison unless Nathanial can unmask the real creator of the snuff, a man with rank and privileges that reaches almost to the King.

Excerpt

“Are you out of your mind?” Jericho paced the dining room floor. He poured himself a brandy and drank it just as fast. He should’ve taken Nathanial to his study, where privacy could be assured, but after the death of Stephan and the way Eulalia had tried to take over last time Nathanial got close, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with Nathanial. “I am not going to some country party.”

He had nothing to wear for a start. His wardrobe was for evening events, not picnics. There would be picnics at some point, he was sure of it.

“It’s not a big thing, just dinner and dancing. A ball.”

That was worse. Polite conversation with puffed up men whose biggest source of pride was how much they’d inherited from their father, and women who knew how to assess a man’s funds and his character with a single glance. “I don’t dance.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jericho smiled. Few ever said that to him. Most nodded their head and believed any lie he told. “Fine, I can dance.” The man he’d once been a companion to had liked to put on his gramophone and dance when his gout allowed it. He had been most thrilled about the idea of a place where men could associate more freely; he’d loved the club in its earlier incarnation. “But I don’t want to go. My life is here. I have a business to run in case you haven’t noticed.”

Nathanial had stayed well away from the smoking room this time, to Jericho’s relief. He didn’t want Nathanial to surrender what he held onto as dearly as a maid with good marriage prospects. He might be the youngest son, but Nathanial could still marry well.

“One night. We don’t even have to spend the night.” Nathanial held up one finger to reinforce the point. “Your father and step-mother will be there.”

Jericho rocked back onto his heels. He hadn’t seen his father in many years and even then, it had only been in passing. Jericho had been in uniform before leaving for Hong Kong and his father hadn’t recognized him. At the time, it had hurt. What kind of father doesn’t know his own son?

His father wouldn’t know him now. Only once a clever gossip realized there were two Mr. Fulbright’s in the room would his father look in his direction and then there would be a kerfuffle. “That is not a feature the changes my mind to the positive.”

“The killer will probably be there, too.”

Nathanial had lulled him into a polite conversation with an update on the case, so Jericho knew all about the photography club. Half the gentlemen in it had probably taken nude photos of their mistresses for their own viewing pleasure. Not everyone would stoop to buying porno pamphlets.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“No. But wouldn’t it be grand if he was and we were able to identify him?”

While Jericho would be able to do that in a very short conversation—no one could bury that kind of darkness completely no matter how hard they tried—how did he explain that to Nathanial? And if it was another demon, what then? They both killed, but where Jericho kept it secret, that man made it public as though he reveled in it. Perhaps the demon had full control.

“And without evidence, how do you get a conviction? A scar will not matter in a court.”

“Search his house and estates. If we know who it is, we can close the net around him.”

Jericho had seen too many criminals slip away. Money bought a presumption of innocence. He ran his hand over Nathanial’s hair, then kissed his forehead. “For all that you were raised with the foxes you do not behave like them, so you fail to see them as the predators they are.”

Kiss his mouth, you fool. I can help him. Let me find the man he wants, Eulalia hissed. I can stop the murderer from killing again.

The desire to kiss Nathanial on the lips was part his own and part hers. Jericho pressed his lips together, but that didn’t stop the hunger. Eulalia was right. It would be better for the case if he passed her on, but that would mean corrupting Nathanial and he couldn’t do that. He doubted Nathanial would want a demon, and he’d want Jericho less if he knew about Eulalia and the price of keeping her fed.

About the Author

Urban Fantasy where the hero always gets his man

TJ Nichols is an avid runner and martial arts enthusiast who first started writing as a child. Many years later while working as a civil designer, TJ decided to pick up a pen and start writing again. Having grown up reading thrillers and fantasy novels, it’s no surprise that mixing danger and magic comes so easily. Writing urban fantasy allows TJ to bring magic to the everyday. TJ is the author of the Studies in Demonology series and the Mytho urban fantasy series.

With one cat acting as a supervisor, TJ has gone from designing roads to building worlds and wouldn’t have it any other way. After traveling all over the world TJ now lives in Perth, Western Australia.

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Release Blitz: Silent Sin by E.J. Russell

Silent Sin | E.J. Russell

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Release Date: 03.03.20

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/SilentSin

Silent Sin Cover

Blurb

When tailor Marvin Gottschalk abandoned New York City for the brash boomtown of silent-film-era Hollywood, he never imagined he’d end up on screen as Martin Brentwood, one of the fledgling film industry’s most popular actors. Five years later a cynical Martin despairs of finding anything genuine in a town where truth is defined by studio politics and publicity. Then he meets Robbie Goodman.

Robbie fled Idaho after a run-in with the law. A chance encounter leads him to the film studio where he lands a job as a chauffeur. But one look at Martin and he’s convinced he’s likely to run afoul of those same laws—laws that brand his desires indecent, deviant… sinful.

Martin and Robbie embark on a cautious relationship, cocooned in Hollywood’s clandestine gay fraternity, careful to hide from the studio boss, a rival actor, and press on the lookout for a juicy story.

But when a prominent director is murdered, Hollywood becomes the focus of a morality-based witch hunt, and the studio is willing to sacrifice even the greatest careers to avoid additional scandal.

Sin_disappearing_fathers

Excerpt

Something’s wrong.

The lights chasing around the marquee lit up Mr. McCorkle’s smirk, although Mr. Brentwood’s face was shadowed as he strode toward Robbie.

“Shall we go?” Mr. Brentwood was close enough now for Robbie to see him clearly in the yellow glow of the streetlamp. Jehoshaphat, there’d been more emotion in those still photographs than in his expression now.

“Go?” Robbie glanced between his shuttered face and Mr. McCorkle’s smirk. “If it’s because they don’t have a ticket for me, I don’t mind. I can come back—”

“Apparently there was a miscommunication somewhere.” Mr. Brentwood’s tone was languid, almost bored. “I find I don’t wish to see this picture tonight after all.”

But Robbie had absorbed more in Dottie’s cutting room than just the mechanics of motion pictures. She’d given him his first lessons in studio politics too. Mr. Brentwood’s stoic expression, Mr. McCorkle’s smirk, the lack of fans clamoring for their favorite stars told the story.

They didn’t expect him.

Robbie would give a lot to know whether Martin had been excluded on purpose, but studio gossip and intrigue weren’t Robbie’s business. Taking care of Mr. Brentwood, though? Robbie might only be the driver, and a new one at that, but he’d make Mr. Brentwood’s welfare his business. Somebody needed to, and the studio was sure making a hash of it.

He tightened his grip on the door handle so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch Mr. Brentwood’s sleeve. “I know you’re not exactly dressed for it, but if you don’t have any other plans, how would you like me to take you to my favorite diner? You’d definitely class up the place, and they’ve got the best doughnuts in town. My treat.”

Mr. Brentwood brushed the back of Robbie’s hand with the tips of his fingers, his smile a little sad. “That’s incredibly sweet of you, Robbie, however—”

“Of course.” Robbie dropped his gaze to stare at the reflection of the marquee in the Flyer’s window. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped. I’ll take you—”

“What I was going to say is that I’m incredibly flattered by the invitation, but”—he leaned closer and lowered his voice—“I can pay for my own doughnut.”

Robbie jerked his chin up in time to catch Mr. Brentwood’s more heartfelt smile. And was that an actual twinkle in his eye? Don’t be stupid. It’s probably just more reflections from the marquee chaser lights. “You mean it? You’ll come with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

“Hot dog! I mean, very good, sir.”

Mr. Brentwood threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, don’t start ‘sir-ing’ me now. In fact, since we’re about to share Hollywood’s finest doughnuts, I think you should call me Martin, don’t you?”

A thrill spiraled up Robbie’s spine. He’d been using Martin’s given name in his secret thoughts for weeks, but he never imagined he might be able to actually say it. “M-Martin, then. The place is near the studio. We should be able to get there—”

“Let me in, damn you!”

The shout, strident yet slurred, startled both of them. Directly under the marquee, a young man in evening dress, his tie askew and his hair flopping across his forehead, was swaying in front of Leo, poking his chest with a finger.

“Shite,” Martin murmured. “Wesley.”

“Mr. Thornhill?” Robbie looked closer. Yes, it was him, all right, but in all the stills Robbie had seen of Wesley in his college-boy adventures, he’d never looked so… debauched.

“I’m the biggest star this studio’s got,” Wesley shouted. “I wanna go see this piece of shit Fairbanks thinks is so damn wonderful. I can do the same stunts he does. I have done ’em. You show me what he’s doing in this one, and I’ll do the same thing by next Tuesday.”

“I’m afraid the doughnuts will have to wait for another time,” Martin said. “We’d better get Wesley out of here before he does any more damage.”

Robbie kept pace with Martin as he strode down the sidewalk. “You think he’ll hit Mr. McCorkle?”

“I meant damage to himself, to his reputation. He’s supposed to be a clean-cut American college boy, not somebody who’s clearly spent the last few hours in a speakeasy. Thank goodness the press has either left or gone inside.”

Martin lunged the last two steps and caught Wesley’s cocked elbow before he could throw a punch at Mr. McCorkle. “Wesley, my boy. Just the man I wanted to see. Come along with me, there’s a good chap, lest you forget yourself.”

“Leggo.” Wesley jerked his arm out of Martin’s grip. “I don’t forget me. I don’t forget you. I don’t forget nothing. You think they’ll”—he swung his arm wide and nearly smacked Robbie in the chest—“stand behind you if you don’t do what they want? They won’t. In fact….” Wesley’s grimace turned sly. “They’re doing it already, aren’t they? That’s why you’re out here instead of in there.”

“That’s enough. Robbie, if you wouldn’t mind taking Wesley’s other arm.” Martin nodded to Mr. McCorkle. “We’ll straighten him out.”

Leo snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Wait! I wanna see the picture!” Wesley struggled in their grip, but Robbie had been plowing fields and pitching hay his whole life, and Martin was apparently stronger than he looked. Wesley was no match for the two of them.

But as they marched him toward the car, a flash popped in their faces. Wesley shrieked, attempting to cover his eyes with his hands.

“Drat,” Martin muttered. “Get the door, please, Robbie.”

Robbie sprang forward to obey, and they managed to wrestle Wesley into the back seat. He tried to scramble out again, which the photographer also caught, but Martin shoved him inside and climbed in next to him.

Robbie raced around the car, fully expecting he’d have to chase Wesley down the street if he escaped out the other door. But by the time Robbie slid behind the wheel, Wesley was slumped in the corner, weeping quietly.

“Where to, Mart—Mr. Brentwood?”

Martin sighed and smoothed his own hair, which had gotten rumpled in the struggle. “We’d best take him to my place and pour a gallon or two of coffee into him. Let us fervently hope he doesn’t spew all over the automobile before we get there.”

Robbie was tempted to push the Flyer harder than usual, not because he was worried about the upchucking—he’d cleaned up worse messes back home after Pa’d slaughtered a pig—but Wesley was worrying him. By the time they left downtown Los Angeles, he had stopped crying, but he’d started a rhythmic tapping against the window, coupled with low-voiced swearing that made the hairs on Robbie’s neck stand up. He couldn’t get to Alvarado fast enough.

Sin_here_to_stay

About the Author

Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.

E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).

E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.

Newsletter: https://ejrussell.com/newsletter

Facebook group (Reality Optional): https://www.facebook.com/groups/reality.optional

Website: https://ejrussell.com

Follow E.J. on:

Bookbub: @EJ_Russell

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/ej_russell

Instagram: @ej_russell_author

Facebook author page: https://facebook.com/E.J.Russell.author

Twitter: @EJ_Russell

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