Release Blitz: Run and Hide by Cristin Harber

Title: Run and Hide (A Titan Protectors Novel) 

Author: Cristin Harber 

Genre: Romantic Suspense

  Release Date: June 16, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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Jules Lowry’s life is flawless on the surface—A-list actress, Hollywood royalty, and a wedding built for headlines. But behind the glamour, her engagement is nothing more than a calculated shield against an unstable stalker.

When the ceremony implodes in scandal, a fake relationship with her brooding bodyguard becomes the perfect PR fix.

Rhys Callaghan, former FBI turned elite protector, is the only man who’s ever made her feel safe...and the one she can’t risk loving. But what starts as a carefully controlled publicity stunt turns dangerously real.

And when her stalker changes the rules, the only thing more lethal than the threat closing in... is trusting the man willing to die for her.

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Run and Hide, Titan Protectors #2 by Cristin Harber Chapter OneThe wump of helicopter rotors mixed offbeat with the string quartet’s first notes of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” The bridesmaids beamed. The groom stood front and center, filling out his tuxedo as only Mason Marlow could. Row after row of couture-covered guests stood like well-trained extras on the set of Hollywood’s biggest wedding in a century. Jules Lowry prayed that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her well-orchestrated life and stepped from the white canvas tent and onto the white-rose-petal-covered aisle.I can’t do this. Except she had to.She maintained her scrupulously perfect posture and chanted the wedding-day mantras that would carry her through the day. Marriage means safety. Marriage is security. Marriage ensured the celebrity gossip machine would stop asking who she was dating, and maybe, if Lady Luck was on her side, the man who’d stalked her for years would take a hint.Maybe those weren’t the reasons most people pledged their lives to another person, but she and Mason Marlow weren’t most people. They were friends—ish. More importantly, they were business partners with an occasional semidecent sex life and an ironclad business agreement that would protect both their interests. Sort of like friends with benefits but on a far more complicated scale. Only one other person she could have asked to marry her, and he was nothing like Mason—nothing like the type who would ever agree. Jules raised her gaze to the clear blue sky. Not a paparazzi helicopter in sight. Though the no-fly zone hadn’t been large enough. Sound waves rolled over the ceremony. One of the wedding planner’s assistants was definitely screaming at an air traffic controller somewhere behind the scenes. “Jules.” Jules’s ears perked, but she didn’t break stride even as she cataloged the whisper-hissed interruption that sounded like Sloane Ellis, publicist extraordinaire. Impossible. Sloane would sooner tie herself to a railroad track than do anything to distract Jules from the money shot. The dress designer had half jokingly demanded a signed blood oath requiring squared shoulders and a head straight ahead, lest the lines of her train and veil be marred. Sloane had cosigned, probably in blood. Should her wedding have so much legal mumbo-jumbo and red tape? Well, obviously, no. Should she be thinking about the contracts as she glided toward Mason? Eh, not really. Her stomach churned. Where had her cold feet come from? She searched for her parents. Their all-business attitude could ground her, but they were too far away. Instead, she accidentally connected her gaze with an interviewer who’d ignored the merit of her most recent film and instead requested wedding-day dieting advice. Oh, the irony. Jules had not shed a single stupid pound for her wedding. She’d actually put on muscle while shooting an epic-fantasy-turned-cinematic-blockbuster, thank you very much. Jules focused on the endgame—the end of the aisle—and ignored every instinct to turn around and run for her life. Person after person smiled. Insecurity after insecurity filtered through her mind as she sashayed by the too-long guest list. Too long. Too much. This whole spectacle is too ostentatious. And if she were being honest, her PR team was too excited, and her fiancé was too grouchy. Hell, her stalker was too erratic of late, with weird messages telling her to retire while at the pinnacle of her career. The wedding hadn’t been about her in a long time. If her parents had known why she was actually marrying Mason, they would have burned Hollywood to the ground. Maybe they should have. Even for them, her secretly arranged marriage might be a step too far. After crushing miles and miles of petals underfoot, she reached her mark in front of the arch draped in white peonies and hydrangeas. The faint scent of whiskey mixed with the floral notes. Mason reached for her, and she looked into his bloodshot eyes. That was unexpected. Was he drunk? No. The man had never shown up late or unprepared on set a day in his life. She respected that about him. Though, this was real life. Guilt flickered across Mason’s handsome face, and he took her hand in the same way he did with every apology after every argument. Lately, he’d been negative and nitpicky. She probably hadn’t been a peach either. Wedding stress had messed with their mojo. Those problems would disappear just like the sound of helicopters always blended into the background. What would it feel like to marry someone she was in love with? She guessed she’d never know. Jules focused on what was happening. The officiant was nailing her lines. The photographer repositioned behind the groomsmen. Postproduction edits would handle Mason’s eyes and pale cheeks. Behind her, one of the bridesmaids whispered. That wasn’t in the script. Jules couldn’t tell who had said what. Their order was slightly off, and their pairs were no longer evenly matched to the groomsmen. One of her bridesmaids, Olivia, had called in sick. Jules’s lips upturned with an apology for the whisper. To whom, she didn’t know. Mason wouldn’t care, and whatever the mishap, it could be edited out of the wedding video. Ugh. Why was she thinking about any of this? Despite the businesslike origin story of their nuptials, they were still getting married. Even if the longer she stood next to him, the more he smelled like a whiskey bender instead of a pleasant cologne. “Jules,” her sister Abigail whispered. Years of media training allowed Jules to remain disturbingly composed even as an avalanche of questions begged her to turn around. “Jules.” The officiant faltered, half smiling with an abrupt glance toward the bridesmaids. The pause lasted a second, but her uncertainty blossomed, visible like an unruly vine clamoring and climbing for attention. Abigail bumped the bridal bouquet against Jules’s shoulder. Erm, what was happening? She couldn’t ignore her sister. But she couldn’t acknowledge her either. Mason’s eyes darted to the line of bridesmaids. A faint shimmer of sweat glistened on his forehead. He swayed, not enough for anyone to notice except her but enough to reignite the surge of anxiety churning in her stomach. Was he still drunk from the bachelor party. Impossible. Right? That had to be impossible. He’d texted her a little before midnight to say he was in for the night, that he’d see her tomorrow and he couldn’t wait. Even if he’d been shitfaced, that had been almost eighteen hours ago. Abigail coughed Jules’s name. The officiant stopped, raising her eyebrows as if asking how to proceed. How was Jules supposed to know? She couldn’t turn around. She couldn’t step off stage. A director couldn’t yell, “Cut!” This was as real as life could be. Sort of. Arranged and contrived but real enough as she stood in front of six hundred and seven people that she kinda, sorta knew. She shifted and met Abigail’s pleading eyes. In that moment, she knew that the script had irrevocably changed. Waves of gossipy murmurs spun over the rows of guests as though someone had thrown a boulder into a placid lake. “What?” she mouthed, catching sight of Sloane’s cell phone with the bright phone case semihidden in the overflowing bouquet that Abigail held for her. Jules raised her eyes over the line of furious bridesmaids to Sloane. Jules’s publicist, her friend, wordlessly pleaded for her to look at the phone. So she did and recognized the familiar branding of the gossip blogger that had made her life a living hell on a semiregular basis. Her stomach plummeted to the flower-petal-carpeted floor, and ruining the line of her veil and her skirt, Jules inched toward Abigail as Mason hissed her name. The panic in his voice was enough that Jules didn’t need to read the blog headline. But she did anyway. Mason Marlow’s Last Night Single Spent With Pregnant Side Piece Jules blinked. She read the words again, then again and checked the timestamp on the blog post. She’d stepped into the aisle at a punctual five o’clock. The headline from the ruthless yet reputable celebrity gossip site had been posted at 4:57 p.m. No one at the wedding knew. Every guest had signed a nondisclosure agreement, packed their belongings into security lockers, and provided their emergency contact information to Jules’s team in case anyone outside the wedding needed to reach a guest. Everyone except for their parents, Sloane, and the wedding planner. Jules snatched the phone, wrecking the lines of her veil and train, and turned toward her sister. “Would you like a minute?” the officiant murmured. Jules swiped open the post. There was Mason—her heart dropped—alongside her missing bridesmaid with a baby bump. Olivia was pregnant? Mason, the father? Every plan, every conversation, every negotiation and agreement with Mason disappeared as Jules stared at the photograph of his lips on her bridesmaid’s neck, his hand splayed across the tiny bulge on her stomach. She couldn’t stop herself and scrolled through the dozens of places that Mason’s mouth shouldn’t have been. Mason cleared his throat. “Can we talk about this later?” It wasn’t like they were in love. But they had very clear parameters under which they would get married. She hadn’t asked for anything other than the security that came with a partner. The safety and security from a friend—ish—who had promised they could be solid business partners in public and private. Mason had always wanted the world, to have his name next to hers, to tap into her fanbase—to make money off her. Her goals were less lofty but no less important. Love was for fools, but she craved the stability that came from a partner. More crucially, she wanted to dissuade her stalker with the barrier of holy matrimony. “Jules?” She ignored his pleading and visually sifted through his groomsmen. One after another, their guilt was displayed like a billboard of shame and embarrassment. They had all known. Of course they had. She might have been a fool, but Mason had just ruined the best business deal that he would ever come across. Abigail rested her hand on her shoulder. Jules turned to her sister, needing to escape and uncertain how to handle the unscripted crisis. Sloane had disappeared to do whatever the Sloane Ellises of the world did to handle catastrophic PR nightmares. Holding her head high and hiding the jumble of emotions she couldn’t make sense of in front of too many people, Jules walked down the aisle, followed by the parade of gorgeous, furious bridesmaids.

ABOUT CRISTIN:

New York Times bestselling author Cristin Harber packs her military romance, romantic suspense, and new adult romance novels with steam, sizzle, and action of all types. Whether you want fireworks in the bedroom or a hunky ex-military team that saves the day, her bestselling romance novels will make you swoon and smile.

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Discover Crimson in the Crescent By Amy Briggs and Heidi McLaughlin Today and Enter the Giveaway

Title: Crimson in the Crescent (Bourbon Street Shadows

  Authors: Heidi McLaughlin & Amy Briggs 

Genre: Paranormal Romance 

Release Date: June 16, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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A curse that burns. A killer who watches. A love too close to the flame.

Bastien Durand has spent two centuries belonging to no faction and beholden to no court in New Orleans' hidden world. His neutrality has kept him alive. But when vampire bodies begin appearing across the city, intact and carved with the symbols of a bloodline destroyed over a century ago, his careful balance shatters overnight.

The dead are not random. Someone is settling an old debt in blood. Worse, a curse has branded itself into Bastien's flesh, broadcasting his every movement to every power in the city. The more he investigates, the more exposed he becomes. The murders are not his to solve. They are his to witness.

Delphine LeClair, archivist and the woman Bastien has stopped pretending he can stay away from, pulls buried records into the light with a precision that reshapes the entire case. She stands closer than anyone should to a man the whole city can now find in the dark.

What is building between them has outlasted lifetimes neither of them can fully name. What is hunting them has studied Bastien long enough to know exactly how he will move, who he will protect, and what it will cost him when the trap finally closes.

A smoldering, slow-burn paranormal mystery where old blood, older magic, and a love that refuses to stay buried collide in a New Orleans that never forgets.

About Heidi McLaughlin:

Heidi McLaughlin is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of The Beaumont Series, The Boys of Summer, and The Archers.

Originally, from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband, two daughters, and their three dogs.

In 2012, Heidi turned her passion for reading into a full-fledged literary career, writing over twenty novels, including the acclaimed Forever My Girl.

Heidi's first novel, Forever My Girl, has been adapted into a motion picture with LD Entertainment and Roadside Attractions, starring Alex Roe and Jessica Rothe, and opened in theaters on January 19, 2018, and is now available on DVD & Digital.

To stay connected with Heidi visit www.facebook.com/authorheidimclaughlin or heidimclaughlin.com

About Amy Briggs:

Formerly a firefighter and EMT in New Jersey, Amy Briggs grew up next to a military base, which inspires many of her stories. Her love of fairy tales contrasted with suspense carries through each of her novels and she hopes to inspire readers to fall in love with love.

Amy lives in Texas with her family and more cats than she can handle where she both edits and writes full-time. In addition to her book life, she is also a brown belt in jiu-jitsu, and runs two MMA gyms with her brother, where she also teaches women’s self-defense seminars, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, yoga, and Sambo.

Amy loves to hear from readers and can be found on social media here: Facebook - @amybriggsauthor, Instagram @authoramybriggs. For all other information, including editing inquiries, please visit Amy's website.

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Discover Makerborn by Daymon Ashcord & Enter the Tour Wide Giveaway

Makerborn
Daymon Ashcord
(Maladies of Empire, #1)
Publication date: June 15th 2026
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy

The God War is over. An empire built on suffering, slavery, and betrayal remains…

In the fractured lands of the Salvian Empire, the Great Houses rule through blood and fear. For years, Alandra Phoenyka has hunted powerful Sonomancers in the empire’s name, paid in empty promises that her stolen daughter would be returned. Each step forward demands another compromise. Another betrayal. Another piece of herself lost.

When those promises turn to treachery, she is forced to take matters into her own hands and risk everything to reclaim her child.

In the empire’s mining camps, Bez Windstrider has endured years of torture and brutal experimentation. Broken but unyielding, he clings to one purpose: vengeance. The men who murdered his parents will pay, and their deaths will complete the ritual needed to free his parents’ souls from damnation.

But the deeper his grief cuts, the more he becomes something far more dangerous, for himself and for the empire.

As their paths draw closer, the buried truths of the God War begin to surface. What begins as two personal vendettas threatens to unravel something far greater than either of them can control.

Because empires do not fall quietly.

And the gods that shaped them are not as dead as they seem.

Makerborn is the first book in the Maladies of Empire series, a brutal epic dark fantasy of vengeance, sacrifice, and the cost of love.

For readers of dark, character-driven epic fantasy in the vein of Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence, R.F. Kuang, Evan Winter, and Steven Erikson.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Chapter 2

A Son’s Vengeance

Bez woke in darkness, deep in a pit, having failed his parents yet again. The night air was heavy and damp. The acrid stench of feces had lessened, but his nose still burned with the stink of decay. He felt like he would never wash the smell from his body. What does it matter now?

The moist earth offered scant relief from the Southern Waste’s merciless heat. Sweat slicked his body. His skin felt on fire, reminding him of how the Salvians slowly roasted meat on spits. He pinched his right nostril and blew out a thick wad of phlegm.

How long? How squalling long have they left me down here to rot?

He traced fine grooves in the earthy wall of his cage with long, dirty fingernails. Twenty-seven days he’d scratched before he’d given up counting. Then the real fun began. Weeks of wading in his own shit like a rutting hog once the pit guards had stopped retrieving his privy bucket. Weeks more of starvation when the obvious solution to avoid living in a hog pen penetrated his addled mind: no food, no feces. His only companions were self-pity, nightmares, and maggots gorging on his noxious filth.

And the moans of indentured miners, likely years past their freedom date, and Collared All-Tribe—his people—drifting down in his dirt tomb.

“Water,” cried a pit prisoner.

“Bread, just a heel of bread for Seal’s sake,” whined another.

“It was Tuftson,” someone sniveled. “He made me do it. It was him. Please, let me out.”

“Shut your gobs!” bellowed a voice.

The sounds washed over him, had become part of him, familiar as his gnawing hunger or the ever-present worms wriggling against his hot skin. Even without starlight, his people’s blessed vision allowed him to penetrate the mirk. He watched his sunken stomach rise and fall. Each rib pressed against his skin. Sour spit filled his mouth.

He wasn’t surprised that an army of worms assaulted the sides of his stomach and shoulders while he dozed. The slimy little grubs coated him with a sticky sludge, but he was past caring. Hands trembling, he brushed the vanguard away that had reached his chest. His legs were a lost cause. Scores of grubs covered them so only his toes peeked out.

Bez yawned. Heat-induced spans of intermittent sleep kept him drowsy and muddled. Sometimes his parents sat beside him in the dirt, back from the dead, singing and laughing. Other times, he was in the mountains climbing crags, or swimming in crystalline lakes so clear he could see rocks at the bottom. Moments ago, he was a boy again, running barefoot with his cousins through Uncle Darian’s fields, the tall grass whipping at his legs. Then a cry from a prisoner or the damp air clogging his nose had awakened him, shattering the vision. What was real or imagined blurred. Maybe I’m with my uncle still and the pit is only a nightmare.

Hesitantly, he stretched his hands to either side, fingertips brushing the cool, root-tangled walls. Feet firmly pressed against damp earth. Not a nightmare. He moaned like a wounded animal.

“Guardian spirits above,” he wheezed, not wiping the hot tears streaking down his cheek. “There’s no way out.”

But that was a lie. There was a way. His fingers searched for the gouge in the wall, finding the sharp-edged shard of obsidian he’d hidden there. My final escape.

He pried it free, hand shaking, and pressed the jagged edge against the soft flesh of his right wrist. A bead of blood sprang from the tip.

“I’ll do it this time,” he said to the crude face carved into the wall. A pause. “I know that’s what I said last time. By the All-Spirit, I can’t—” His throat tightened. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Enjoying your new home, demon-blood?” asked an unwelcome voice from the pit’s metal cage above.

“Dorota,” he rasped, tongue clumsy from disuse. “What a pleasure.”

He hated Yan’s henchwoman, but at that moment, his life in the balance, he clung to her words like a drowning man to driftwood.

Her chuckles echoed in the earthy tomb. “Liar. Play it friendly as you like, slit-eyes, but we both know what you are.” She crouched, damp hair plastered to her face, mouth hooked in a grin that never reached her eyes. “I saw the demon in you when we caught you on that ridge. Thought you were clever, didn’t you? Thought the aqueduct workers wouldn’t notice you and your two friends? What is the count? Your third?”

It was his fourth failed attempt to escape the Makersmetal mining camp, but he didn’t bother correcting the murdering bitch. I failed them just like my parents. Tala dead. Marcel beaten or worse. Anelia missing. And Bez… well, he would die in darkness, dooming his parents’ souls to wander the Shadowlands forever, never to reunite with their ancestors. He choked down a sob, not wanting to give her any satisfaction seeing him broken.

Author Bio:

Daymon Ashcord writes dark fantasy shaped by suffering, resilience, and the brutal edges of love pushed too far.

Born in Gdańsk, Poland, and raised in New York, he grew up on science fiction, fantasy, and the stories that linger long after the final page. After studying accounting and public policy, he left a conventional path to travel the world and create a documentary, turning storytelling into something essential.

His debut novel, Makerborn (2026), reflects years of persistence, personal setbacks, and a fascination with the darker truths people endure to survive.

He lives in North Carolina, hiking mountains by day and writing by night. He is considering adopting a dog, a cat, or both, and suspects they would judge him harshly.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Youtube / Instagram / TikTok

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Book Tour Stop: Cobalt by D.M. Earl

Title: Property of Cobalt: Kings of Anarchy MC: Indiana 

Author: D.M. Earl 

Genre: Dark Romantic Suspense & MC Romance 

Release Date: June 15, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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He's a ruthless predator. She's his prey. Together, it's about to get wild.

COBALT

President of the Kings of Anarchy MC Chapter in Tranquility, Indiana, Brett "Cobalt" Waters feels nothing close to tranquil. Taking over his father's vile and ruthless business keeps him high strung and on edge. After all, he has lives to save and lives to end if he wants to expand the business successfully and lucratively without getting picked up by the law. But when his new business venture brings him face to face with a vulnerable and battered woman, his protective instincts go into overdrive.

JULIE

Accountant Julie Drake knows fraud when she sees it. Questioning the numbers on a new account proves perilous when she pries too deep. Now, there's a bounty on her head. There's only one man who's willing to believe her and protect her. Unfortunately, Julie doesn't realize that Cobalt is the same criminal who’s been hired to eliminate her.

As Julie and Cobalt grow closer, Cobalt's loyalties are tested. How can he destroy the one thing he's been looking for his entire life?Welcome to the Kings of Anarchy MC, where the Kings rule in chaos, and the open road is our Kingdom. With 42 of your favorite authors penning their own chapters in this outlaw empire, you'll dive into a world where rules are a thing of the past. Here, nobody messes with the Kings or lays a hand on their property—because these badass bikers claim their lovers with pride. Enter a universe where loyalty is everything, legends are born, and every ride is unforgettable.

Are you ready to ride with the Kings of Anarchy MC?

AMAZON

Chapter 1 COBALT“What the fuck is taking so long to get that pain in my ass in the goddamn metal box and in the crisper? For Christ’s sake, there have been nights where we ran an assembly line with bodies, but tonight you can’t get one in there together. You two idiots have been messing with that asshole for the last twenty minutes. Move, you stupid bastards, I should’ve done it myself. If you want shit done right, do it your motherfuckin’ yourself. Get out of my way, ya two useless pieces of shit.”Listening to my enforcer, Incubus, ripping our newer prospects a new asshole almost brings a smirk to my face, though I’m gonna have to rein him in before he scares these newbies out of our Indiana chapter of the Kings of Anarchy. Son of a bitch, I think to myself as I make my way to the incinerator, I never thought, when I finally took over for my cantankerous ol’ man and became president of the Indiana chapter, I’d be working harder than when I was just a member and brother. Especially doing this pain in the ass kind of work with the patch I’m currently wearing on my kutte. Now that my head is out of my own ass and I’m head of our chapter, I know there isn’t a job within our club or out there in our world—where I walk through on both sides of the law—that if needed, I’d have to get my hands dirty no matter who the fuck I am. When I give it any thought, these scarred paws of mine haven’t been clean in so many goddamn years.The fucker is squealing like a pig off to the slaughterhouse, so I move quickly to the far table to grab some duct tape to shut this motherfucker up before my head blows. I move back to where my brothers are working and rip off a large piece. I push one of the prospects out of the damn way and put the tape over the asshole’s mouth, bringing instant quiet to the area and my ears stop ringing. My eyes catch both of the prospects looking at me like I hung the fucking moon, for Christ’s sake. Incubus is working on removing all the dude’s clothing and jewelry. Even though this bastard thinks he’s getting fried, the original request came in to remove all personal items off of him and hand them off to one of the client’s employees. For the money we are making to shake and bake one dude, I personally don’t care what they want. If they had asked for a hand or eyeball, would have given them someone’s, no questions asked. I smell it before I shift my eyes to see the guy has not only pissed but also shit himself. For a brief second I do feel bad for him. Been thinking lately that maybe I’m getting soft, or maybe it’s just my ol’ man’s voice in my head. Then it hits me that, in all good conscience, I can’t go through with this shit as both Incubus and I are in the know and the prospects ain’t. I turn and hit one of the drawers, pulling out a syringe, and walk back to where everyone is standing. Incubus just finished cutting off all the dude’s clothes and is now ripping any and all jewelry off of him. I can see the absolute terror in his eyes, watching me, though it’s Incubus who moans when he sees what’s in my hand.“Shit, Prez, really? I was looking forward to hearing this jagoff begging then howling as the heat took over right before the sizzle, as he starts to cook like bacon in a frying pan. Now I won’t hear a goddamn thing. When did our club of degenerates start going soft just like this dude’s dick right now?”I stare hard at Incubus until he starts to twitch, which says a lot for this bastard. We served and were in a prisoner of war camp for months together, and I never saw him squirm or give any indication of fear or pain, no matter what was done to him. Underneath all his gruff and posing, he’s a damn good friend and excellent member of this club. I just can’t let this go on the way he’s been playing with me lately, being vocal in front of others. Maybe he’s right and I’m getting soft and, personally, I don’t give a fuck if I am. Gotta have a little humanity some days. I look down to the dude in the box, lying in his own piss and shit, right before I rip the tape off his face, which has him screaming, crying, and begging. Gotta shut him up so I wave the syringe in front of his face, which has him instantly going quiet with just a few sniffles.“This is more than you deserve, but I’m feeling generous tonight. You had a contract with our client that you broke, and you know the rules, asshole. Then when you didn’t hold up your end they warned you numerous times, which you ignored. That’s when they came to us. Their request is that we end your miserable life and since we were well paid, that is exactly what we are gonna do. Once I put this needle in your arm, within a few minutes you’ll fall into a deep fucking sleep and, if you’re lucky, won’t feel a goddamn thing. No, don’t want to hear you beg me or lie to my face, telling me you’re not guilty. None of that is my problem. We were paid to do a job and that’s what we’re doing.” When I go to pull the cover off the needle, he softly starts to talk after clearing his throat. “Hang on one minute, please. I’m not going to fight or cause you any trouble. Just need a favor, which I have no right to ask, but I have to. You’re right, I should have held up my end of the deal, but there were extreme circumstances that prevented me from doing just that. Not going to go into it but those assholes knew, and when I begged for mercy and a bit more time they laughed and beat the fuck out of me. I paid partial payments to show good faith and when they told me those payments weren’t gonna go toward my loan because it wasn’t a full payment, knew I was screwed. When I asked for my money back they beat the fuck out of me again. So yeah, you’re right, mister, I should have held up my end but those mafia guys are total assholes, and worse, liars. I’d do it again if it gave me the time with my mom I had. She died of stage four cervical cancer a week ago and, thank Christ, you didn’t pick me up before her funeral. If I wasn’t there my sister would have had a heart attack. Thank you for your kindness, guess I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be. Oh shit, if a woman named Julie somehow starts askin’ questions, please don’t tell her anything and get her the hell outta this town. If those mafia guys find out she’s my sister, oh fuck, can’t think of what they’d do to her for their own fun and games.” My brain is flying through all of what he just said as I hear a very gruff “son of a bitch,” which comes from Incubus. Guess he’s feeling the same way I am, which is the mafia is using us to end this guy, apparently, without telling us the damn truth. Now what do I do? If we don’t finish this and our asshole contact, Anthony, finds out; it’s war with the mafia, which is something I don’t fucking need. But can we honestly end this guy’s life for falling on hard times? I mean, if what he is telling us is the truth, he tried to pay his debt off, even if it was partially. I can bet my ass the money he borrowed was for something to do with his ma’s cancer and treatment. Just that thought brings up my own mom, who also was taken by that god-awful disease. Shit, knowing we are bringing hell down on our club, I silently scream in my head when I hear Incubus telling the prospects to run to the other side of our building and find a John Doe who’s about the same size as the guy in the box. With puzzled looks on their faces, but smart enough not to ask any questions, they both turn and make their way out of the crematory, and I’m guessing they are going back to the cemetery side. “All right, Cobalt, what’s your plan? I know you can’t go through with this bullshit, and I don’t question you ever, but we better have a way for this to work for our club. Help me get him out. Asshole, what’s your name?” With wide eyes that are following every move Incubus makes, he once again clears his throat. “I go by Stash, though my name is James but most call me Jimmy.” We both reach for an arm and pull Stash up to a sitting position. Something clicks so I start firing off questions, asking what he did for a living, where he lived, did he have family besides his sister? Without hesitation he answers each and every one of my questions. A thought crosses my mind when he tells me he works in technology, mainly programming and coding. I glance at Incubus, who’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, which tells me once again we’re on the same page. Stash tells us he was living in one of those apartments you rent by the month and he thinks the Mob took all of his shit when they grabbed him the last time. Hesitantly, I bring up his sister, which he tells me is living in a B&B on the outskirts of town and has her own life. Stash continues telling us he tries to keep her away from any shit he’s involved in. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up when I realize what he just told us about his sister. I like all of his answers as we pull him outta the box, telling him to hang on, just as the prospects come back in dragging a body. I hear the pull in of breath but Stash doesn’t say a word. I noticed one prospect has some scrubs under his arm with those flip-flops you get when you are entered into prison. I watch Nickel walk toward Stash, handing him the clothes, along with a container of wipes to clean off with. Dreamer drags the corpse to where Incubus is watching and waiting. Together they lift him into the metal box, then Incubus proceeds to remove the clothes, tossing them into the incinerator behind him. The smell is nauseating but it is what it is, we all have gotten used to it. Obviously Stash can’t stand the smell as he starts to gag. Nickel kicks the garbage can his way just in time. I walk toward the door, reaching for my cell. Finding the number I want, I hit it and hear it ringing. “Yeah, Cobalt, what’s up? Did y’all finish the cookout?” Everything we talk about on our phones is generally in some kind of code, never know if someone is listening. “Psycho, meet me back at the house, will ya, brother? We need to talk.” I can hear him moving around and when he tells someone to “shut the fuck up, get dressed, and get the hell out of here” I kind of feel bad interrupting, but hey, he signed up to be my vice president. “Yeah, Prez, be there in under thirty minutes. Need me to pick anything up?” I rack my brain for a second then give him a short list of shit before hanging up. Turning, I’m just in time to see the metal box moving toward the inside of the contraption that is probably hotter than hell. Stash is looking between all of us but isn’t saying a word. This poor motherfucker has been through the wringer. Walking up to him I see his body tense but he holds his ground. Nice is my thought when I stop in front of him. “Stash, today is your lucky day. We are gonna take you back to our clubhouse and make you an offer you won’t be able to say no to. Well, that’s if you have any brain cells left in your head, motherfucker. One last question, which B&B is your sister Julie staying at? We need to bring her in also, don’t argue, you bastard. Only way she’s gonna stay breathing. Now on that offer, ya don’t have to take it, we will still help ya out but the one thing you won’t get is our protection. Choice is yours. For now, gonna have to ride bitch with one of the prospects. Not a far ride, but it’s kinda cold out. Let me grab ya one of my lined hoodies. Here, fucker, suck on this mint, you smell like vomit. Let’s ride.” I can see both Dreamer and Nickel bickering about who is going to have Stash riding bitch. I look to Incubus, who shrugs his shoulders. My eyes pin onto Dreamer, who drops his head before he looks back up and nods. All it takes most times is a look with all of our prospects. I’m known to be fair and demanding. Not a bad thing is my thought as I make my way to my bike to pull a hoodie out of one of my bags. I walk back to Stash and hand it to him and hear his soft thanks before going back to my bike, switching it on. As the prospects head back to the clubhouse, Incubus and I make our way to the B&B to pick up Stash’s sister, Julie, before the pain in my ass Mob finds her out there all by herself with no protection. I know one thing we don’t need is another babysitting job. Thinking to myself that this day can’t get any worse, then I remind myself of the club superstitions. If you say or think it then your worst thoughts might come true. The damn shit these brothers put into my head is starting to weigh me down.

D.M. Earl is a U.S.A. Today Bestselling Author who spins stories about real life situations with characters that are authentic, genuine, and sincere. Each of her stories allow the characters to come to life with each turn of the page while they try to find their HEA through much drama and angst. D.M. finds ideas for her next story from within those around her and what she experiences in daily life. Each book has a part of her left behind in it. She lives in Northwest Indiana married to her best friend who was instrumental in the start of her writing career in 2014. When not writing D.M. loves to read, play with her seven fur-babies (yeah crazy) and ride her Harley Dyna Lowrider.

“Enjoy this Ride we call Life.” Remember we only get one chance.