Book Blitz & Giveaway: Dead Man’s Trigger by Kat Huddleston

Dead Man’s Trigger: A Max Maguire Vampire Novel
Kat Huddleston
Publication date: October 5th 2026
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

Who Knew Immortality Could Be So Short?

When high school history teacher Max Maguire begins to suspect one of his brightest students is in trouble, he ends up walking down the wrong alley. Suddenly, he’s staring down the fangs of a beautiful, powerful, and utterly merciless vampire named Jade.

As Max’s life takes a dark turn he’s forced to learn how to survive in Jade’s twisted world. But if Jade thinks her hostage is going to play nice, she really should have read his resume. This former Special Forces sniper might just have to dust off some very lethal muscle memory.

While Max plots exactly how to kill the most dangerous predator on the planet, he discovers there’s another group of vampires that have their own plans for Jade. Before he knows it, Max is caught in the crosshairs of a vampire war that neither side can afford to lose.

And there’s one thing neither side knows… Max has a secret of his own.

CONTENT WARNING: This is NOT a romance. The novel contains mature content intended for readers 18 and older. This is a gritty, fast-paced genre hybrid combining vampires with dark urban fantasy, tactical military thriller action, and sarcastic humor, with a wisecracking protagonist at its center. There is explicit sexual material, including non-consensual sex, graphic violence, torture, adult themes, and visceral horror elements. In other words, my vampires don’t sparkle.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Max Maguire just got a brutal lesson from his captor, Jade, after his arm was exposed to the sun. He’s left burned and sick. The only one who can help him is the vampire who hurt him.

Max faded in and out of consciousness for hours, as the pain from his arm and the demands from his hunger took turns pounding through him like two enormous drums vying for attention. When he felt the sun leave the sky, the hunger reared up.

He tried to sit up, but his body started to shake. He felt like he was going to die, even though he figured a vampire wouldn’t die from a little sunburn. But he didn’t have any control over his body and every time he moved or touched his arm, pain seared through him. Eventually he stopped trying to get up or move and decided to wait it out. And suddenly there she was, Jade, looking down on him like an angel… or at least an angel from hell.

“What’s wrong with me?” Max asked.

“It’s sun poisoning. You’ll feel better after a bite.”

He closed his eyes as his body began to shake again. Max knew that she could bring him one of his former students at that moment and he’d kill them. His body would take over, the desire ripping right through his heart. And just as Max was focusing every ounce of his being on hating Jade, she sat down on the bed next to him and pulled him into her arms. Tenderly, almost lovingly, she rocked him like a mother would a sick child.

“It’s going to be okay. Drink me, Max,” she said.

He looked up at her surprised. Jade laughed.

She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead and then turned her head to the side, exposing her neck for him. Max’s body took over and in an instant he wrapped his hands around her and crushed her into his body, his fangs sinking into her neck. His mind went blank as he drank her deep and hard, extreme pain mingling with intense pleasure driving his senses to places he’d never been before. Better yet, he could feel her pleasure in his act.

When his mind came back to him, Max kept waiting for her to push him away, but she didn’t. When he finally stopped, he lay back wiping the blood from his mouth. She watched him with her cobalt blue eyes, like a curious cat wondering what he might do next. She’d gone from being pink and warm to pale and cool.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

Max nodded. “Thank you.” It was a kind of twisted logic that would have him thank her for helping him considering she hurt him in the first place. Regardless he’d go with it. He had to make Jade believe she owned him body and soul, and there was no time to start like the present.

He was still in some pain, but Max felt much, much better. He rolled over to look at her, resting his head on his good arm. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

“Okay,” he said.

“When I was holding your hand, you could have twisted out of the sun. You could have screamed, begged me to stop. Any number of things. But you didn’t. You just endured the pain. Why?”

“If I had done those things, would you have stopped sooner?”

“Probably not,” Jade said.

“Maybe I was trying to impress you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think… you weren’t going to let me beat you.”

“You’ve already beaten me,” Max said as he played with her long, blonde hair rubbing a strand over his lips.

Jade laughed and shook her head. “Not yet. But I will… Do you want to continue with lessons on the Saracen Lance?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Why is more like it.”

“I don’t think learning how to handle myself in this environment will hurt me.”

“It might not help you either… You’re a very interesting former human. Not always too bright though.”

“Somehow I don’t think being bright is a requirement for this job.” Max let his eyes run down the length of her body. She was wearing the T-shirt and jeans from earlier. He really wanted to take them off.

Jade touched his chest and her power flowed through him like an electric current. “I suppose not.” Jade pushed him onto his back and Max stopped talking. He didn’t want to think any more. He just wanted to let the feeling of her power flow through him. At that moment he didn’t even have the energy to hate her.

Author Bio:

Kat Huddleston has never met a perfectly ordinary day she couldn't improve with a vampire, a monster, or an alien invasion.

The result is Dead Man’s Trigger, the first book in her Max Maguire Vampire series, about a former Special Forces sniper turned high school history teacher turned vampire. He has military training, a talent for sarcasm, and a complicated relationship with being dead. Or is it undead?

Kat likes her supernatural creatures intelligent, her heroes complex, and her humor dark. Her vampires don't sparkle.

A Chicago-based writer, teacher, and award-winning artist, Kat spent a couple of decades writing about sci-fi TV and movies for the Syfy Channel’s website and Sci Fi Magazine. She's also written short stories and screenplays, taught fused glass, and created artwork that can be found in several galleries. Occasionally, she pretends she can concentrate on one thing at a time.

When she's not writing, painting, or melting glass in the name of art, Kat lives with her two cats, Jax and Nicky. They provide moral support, quality control, and unsolicited keyboard supervision. So far, neither has offered to help with marketing.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Bookbub / Newsletter

GIVEAWAY

Dead Man’s Trigger Blitz

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Book Tour Stop: Fear and Jonathan Friend by Barry Creyton

Title: Fear and Jonathan Friend

Author: Barry Creyton

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/20/2026

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 34600

Genre: Horror/thriller, M/M romance, psychological thriller, no sex but offhand mention of M/F affair, amnesia, author, newspaper reporter, hurt/comfort, mental illness, PTSD/post-traumatic stress

Add to Goodreads

Description

Jonathan Friend, a successful novelist, is left shattered by the tragic death of his husband, Andy. He suffers a breakdown, spends months of therapy in London, and returns to the US, only to endure a catastrophic plane crash in which he is the sole survivor.

After recuperating in the hospital, he returns to his rural Connecticut home. Here, Jonathan is haunted by a paralyzing fear of the cellar where Andy died and plagued by surreal nightmares, often reliving Andy’s death by impalement on garden shears. His rationality declines further when he discovers disturbing truths about the crash.
Bernie Jensen, local newspaper editor, seeks an interview with Jonathan. Initially met with hostility, over time, a romantic bond forms. As Jonathan confides his fears and hallucinations to Bernie, he investigates Jonathan’s claims.

As shocking truths are revealed, Jonathan loses his grip on reality and attacks Bernie, wounding him. He is arrested, but escapes custody to confront his fears at his home. Here, the devastating truth about Andy’s death is finally revealed.

Excerpt

Fear and Jonathan Friend
Barry Creyton © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

A violent jolt woke him from a deep, dreamless sleep.

He pushed the sleep mask up to his forehead and tried to orientate. He was sitting up, comfortable enough, covered by a thin blanket, a pillow behind his head.

“This is the first officer again.” The disembodied voice filled the cabin.

Of course! He was on a plane. He was going home.

“Please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened.”

He raised the shade on his window and saw only gray, lit intermittently by the flicker of lightning.

“The weather hasn’t cleared as we hoped, and traffic is heavy around JFK. We’re in a holding pattern and will land you as soon as we can.”

The cabin shuddered violently, and he grabbed at his diary as it slid from the tray table. The notebook he deemed “diary” was a gift from his publisher—bound in deep green leather with his name tastefully embossed in gold.

“Those of you who have connecting flights will be given priority at customs, and airline staff will conduct you to the appropriate gates.”

The announcement was replaced by a tinny version of the old waltz, “Fascination.” Jonathan smiled to himself as he pondered the judiciousness of playing a song written in 1900, and probably played on the Titanic, on a sleek modern aircraft at present battling a storm.

The shaking subsided. He glanced across the aisle. A matronly looking woman of around sixty was staring at him. She wore a little too much makeup, and the jewels which glinted at her throat, ears, and on her manicured fingers were clearly the real thing. She clutched a hardcover book that bore the title The Persistence of Memory by Jonathan Friend.

She turned the book over and inspected the picture of Jonathan on the rear of the jacket, then turned a squint to Jonathan. “Jonathan Friend, right?”

Jonathan smiled courteously and nodded.

“Geraldine Weissman.” She opened the book at the flyleaf and held it out to Jonathan. “You mind, honey? Put ‘to Geraldine.’ Don’t put the ‘Weissman.’ I want my friends to think I’ve known you twenty years.”

Jonathan took the book from her. He slid the small gold pen from the spine of his diary and wrote:

To my old friend Geraldine

with fondest wishes,

Jonathan Friend.

He passed the book back to her.

She read the inscription and chuckled. “I’ll treasure this, honey. I’ve read all your books. I’m what you might call a fan.” She reached into the seat pocket and withdrew a purse. She rummaged around for a moment before finding a small, elaborately inscribed card which she handed to Jonathan. “You’re ever in Brooklyn Heights, look me up. I mean it.”

Jonathan nodded and slipped the card into the pages of his diary.

Geraldine sobered somewhat. “I read about your loss. As who didn’t? Tragic, honey, real tragic. You don’t mind me bringin’ it up?”

Jonathan shook his head.

“‘Life is but a day,’ you know? ‘A fragile dew-drop.’ That Keats said a mouthful.”

Jonathan registered no emotion, none he cared to display, and changed the subject. “Are you coming from London?”

“Via London. From France. I just did Paris.”

“How did you like it?”

“Too much scenery.”

The cabin lurched, and Geraldine clutched at the armrest. “Oh boy!”

The tinny, banal orchestration of “Fascination” became a little more obtrusive, and Jonathan rubbed his forehead to ease a growing headache. He leaned out of his seat to take a look at the passengers to his rear.

Behind, on the aisle, a businessman in a dark suit and thick-lensed glasses sat rigid with fear, clutching a briefcase. He stared straight ahead with a frown of concentration, as if willing the aircraft to follow a smooth trajectory. Behind him, a young couple who seemed to Jonathan to be newlyweds, though there was no overt evidence beyond the occasional shy looks they exchanged. Next to them, a middle-aged woman with a washed-out, downtrodden appearance, wearing a plain cotton print dress which underlined the impression of a housewife from a 1950s TV commercial, unused to being out of a kitchen. She seemed out of place in the privileged trappings of first class. Jonathan chastised himself mentally, briefly, for thinking like a snob. With the woman was a young girl of perhaps four who laughed happily as the plane shuddered and bounced. She held a brightly colored ball and waved at Jonathan. Jonathan waved back.

His gaze returned to Geraldine who was no less apprehensive than the other passengers. “This kinda thing scare you?” she asked.

Jonathan shrugged. “I’ve had my fair share of turbulence.”

Geraldine took the oblique reference to personal tragedy at face value and shook her head. “Scares the shit outta me. The late Mister Weissman used to say, ‘if God meant us to fly, we woulda been born with airsick bags.’ Of course, he never went farther east than Atlantic City in the whole of his—”

There was a decisive shudder. The plane dipped into a steep downward dive. Oxygen masks fell; overhead bins flew open, spewing bags, clothing, and more. A woman somewhere to the rear screamed. Jonathan strained against the sudden velocity and peered through his window as the aircraft broke free of the clouds.

A flight attendant stumbled down the aisle checking seat belts. He grabbed her arm. “Are those trees out there? Aren’t we a little close to the—?”

A shriek of tortured metal overtook the roar of the engines, then a hideous grinding, and the world turned 360 degrees.

Flames.

An explosion.

Black.

Silence—broken only by the distant droning of the waltz, “Fascination.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Barry Creyton has worked extensively in British and Australian theatre and television as actor, playwright and director. His plays are produced in more than twenty languages. Awards include the prestigious Kessell Award for his outstanding contributions to Australian theatre, the L.A. Ovation Award, and the Noel Coward International Writing Award. He resides in the United States. Learn more

 at Barry's website.

 

Book Tour Stop/Giveaway: Coincidence by Jon Ketzner

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jon Ketzner will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Talking with Jon Ketzner about Coincidence:

What is my latest book about?  My latest, “Coincidence,” is centered by the assassination of President Johnny F. Kennedy. It is a historiographic metafiction novel that weaves fictional characters in and out of the basic assassination background and actual bad day in Dallas. I like to think it’s a Valentine to those people and times, but it is laced with humor and salacious friskiness…just like those people and times.

 

How does the process from concept to publishing work for me?  As with many folks I suspect, the kernel of narrative idea drifts into my head all the time. I do miles of interstate driving and during those drives I often consider story ideas. I have written short story anthologies as well as novels. I prefer novels, but that of course requires that you have a narrative superstructure robust enough to support 60,000+ words of crisp story telling. In both of my novels, II have repurposed a couple of my previously published short stories. This provides both a prompt and a nice jumpstart for me. I generally need about eight weeks to craft a first draft of a novel, then another few weeks to edit. Then off to the publisher for their proofing and editing. I like to think I’m a pretty good self-editor and the feedback is generally minimal. Then off to the printer.

 

Which of my books would I recommend for a new reader?  I think my first novel “Bad Consequence…tales of an Amish samurai” may be best, ot either of the short story anthologies. The Kennedy book may not be everyone’s cup of tea, especially if that event still resonates deeply with a reader. My basic narrative arc is a strong female protagonist, cartoon villains and a happy…almost Hallmark Network…ending. I think many readers find that type of tale satisfying.

 

Do I have a favorite development or writing book I could recommend? Sorry, nope. Not how I roll. I have never to my recollection tackled a self- help or self-improvement book. I’m not a big reader of any non-fiction frankly.

 

Something fun or interesting about me:  well, I am a retired actuary, so the fact that I find post-retirement joy in paragraphs rather than numbers is, perhaps, curious. Left brain/ right brain thing. I delivered my daughter in the backseat of our car. I moved our family to the small rural city of Cumberland, Md from Philadelphia at age 40 to raise our small children. We’re still here, the kids now both live back in Philly. I just got back from chasing a solar eclipse around the Mediterranean.

 

What have I learned through my writing process? I learned how to better use Word. I do not outline, I generally write my stories sequentially from opening to closing. I do this by constructing the story in my brain then downloading. Once in a while, I’ll paint myself into a corner with my plotting that might require a ridiculous coincidence or unbelievable twist to escape…not wanting that, I will suck it up and re-write. That can feel humbling.

 

What inspired me to become a writer? Like for most folks, a lifetime of reading is my main inspiration. When the reading experience is satisfying, you appreciate it and recognize how you’ve been happily manipulated by the author. My brain would then go further…maybe it’s the mathiness in me…and I would take those various satisfying nuggets…the cool rescue, the funny chatter, the happy ending…and in my head synthesize those into a totally different narrative. Voila, you have your story.

 

How do I keep my ideas fresh and avoid tropes? I think imagination is something you have, or not. Artists have used chemicals…LSD, pot, whiskey…to try and jumpstart fresh ideas. I’m not quite that desperate yet. Besides, I am not as offended by well-worn narrative journeys as others might be. Trope are tropes because readers have found them satisfying over many wreaks and re-telling. I actually respect that.

 

What tropes have I not yet written but want to? I’ve published two anthologies of short stories, so I’ve covered many tropes. Both anthologies are based on story prompts from the Maryland Writers Association and were purposely intended to cover a wide range of styles and genres and set-ups. My next novel is intended to be a buddy-police procedural. We’ll see how that goes.

 

Do you have a specific writing process. I’ve referenced my approach in earlier questions. Beyond that, one thing I do is proofread whatever I wrote yesterday before writing anything today. Then once a week I proofread everything before moving on. I think this was Hemingway’s approach too.

 

My favorite author is Joseph Helker and my favorite book is probably his “Something Happen.” But all his post “Catch-22” novels were wonderful. Other favorites: Henry Fielding, E.L. Doctorow, Vonnegut, Gore Vidal, Elmore Leonard, Stephen Hunter, Robert Craig and Tim Dorsey.

 

What do I do when I’m not writing? Grandbrat duty, hiking, traveling, bs-ing, reading and voyeurism (I.e. enjoying watching other people enjoy life)

On the eve of President John F. Kennedy's final trip to Dallas, an irreverent narrator from the Ether begins to reveal the hidden chain of events that history never recorded. Spanning decades and weaving together Hollywood legends, political dynasties, secret affairs, and forgotten tragedies, Coincidence imagines how seemingly unrelated lives become entangled in the most infamous assassination of the twentieth century. From Joseph P. Kennedy and Gloria Swanson to Jackie Kennedy, Mary Pinchot Meyer, and the young Lee Harvey Oswald, every choice, passion, and betrayal sends ripples through time. Behind every headline lies another story, and every story hides a secret long buried. As the strands converge on November 22, 1963, the line between fate and accident begins to blur. Rich in historical detail and provocative speculation, Coincidence asks: was it really coincidence at all?

Read an Excerpt

Jackie rarely consulted him about her clothing. Her sense of style, if not her sense of humor, was notorious.

“The pink.”

She seemed surprised. “Why the pink?”

“Texas. All those tired cowgirls raising their brat kids to be Miss America. They adore pink in Texas.”

The First Lady eyed the pink at arm’s length. She shrugged. “Okay. The pink.”

“But the hat,” POTUS said, “could you do without the hat. I hate those things.”

Jackie shook her head.

“I’ll need the hat. Without the bubble top on, my hair would be a mess.”

The president leaned back against the pillows on his rock-hard bed, supine in his boxers and the argyles Bobby had given him which bore the presidential seal. He grinned.

“Remember the times when we would drift down the Potomac, standing by the rail, the wind blowing wildly through your hair, and there on the river in the middle of the city you would sink sexily to your knees…”

“Drop dead, Mr. President.” Words Jackie would soon want back.

The door to Suite 850 opened and George Lapp entered to help The President dress. He nodded at Jackie. He had seen her naked many times and was indifferent to the marital scenario into which he had strolled. Jackie smiled curtly and sidled toward her own room to don the pink Chanel, including its matching hat.

Before she left, the President grinned and said to his valet. “I might need the back brace today, George, had a strenuous night.”

About the Author: Jon Ketzner was born in Cumberland, Maryland in the lovely Appalachian foothills. He grew up in Baltimore then graduated from Towson University with a degree in mathematics and went on to a long career as a consulting actuary. For many years, Jon and his family lived in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania before moving back to Cumberland in 1990.

As a recovering actuary and inspired by the Maryland Writers Association’s “Notable Authors” monthly challenges, Jon decided to try his hand at writing and give his left-brain side a rest. He cites as influences: Henry Fielding, Joseph Heller, Gregory McDonald, and Tim Dorsey.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/34506564.Jon_Ketzner

Enter to win a $25 Amazon/BN gift card.

Release Blitz: Craving Silence by Freya Barker

Title: Craving Silence (Silence Series, #5) 

Author: Freya Barker 

Genre: Romantic Suspense 

Release Date: October 16, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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Nurse practitioner, Dana Kerrigan, finds her steady and comfortably predictable life suddenly turned upside down as the result of a family emergency. With no choice but to take a leave from work, she has to hustle to keep Silence’s favorite pub running and her parents looked after. When heartbreak brings with it an unexpected opportunity to realize a long-held dream, it presents a new set of problems. One that involves murder, and the man sent to investigate.

As a recent transplant to Silence, sheriff’s detective, Rick Althof, was aiming for less stress and more solitude. Instead, he finds himself frequently drawn to The Kerrigan, a popular pub in town, to enjoy a meal, a beer, and—if lucky—a friendly chat with the owner’s pretty daughter. Still bearing the invisible scars of past mistakes, he’s determined to keep things friendly, despite a growing attraction.

However, his resolve is put to the test when she lands in the middle of an elaborate development scheme involving bribery, blackmail, and even murder.

AMAZON | APPLE BOOKS | NOOK | KOBO

“What’s the deep sigh for?” he asks from his perch on the ladder, as I fold the last of the towels. “It’s a satisfied sigh,” I explain, picking up the stack of laundry to carry upstairs. “The kind that comes with being able to check a box off my list.” A faint smile appears on his lips. “You’ll have another to check off soon,” he offers. “I’m almost done here.” I’ve been so busy studying the man, I failed to notice how quickly he’s made his way around to the last remaining wall in the kitchen. “I see that. It looks amazing.” I glance around the space, mentally noting some patchwork that will need to be done, but at least the horrific wallpaper is gone and the walls will be ready for some paint soon. Maybe I can do some of that after work this week. “Let me run these upstairs real quick, and I’ll help with the clean up.” My linen closet sports organized stacks of linens and towels, everything sorted by type and size. I guess I’m a little anal, but I love when everything has a place. It makes life so much easier. Maybe that need for predictability is why my life had become such a rut before Mom’s health took a nosedive and forced me to pivot and adapt. But that process also showed me there is so much more to life if you can be open to change. That kind of flexibility takes time though, and like a muscle that has been dormant for a long time, it needs to be used and exercised. I’m working on it. Half an hour later I haul the last garbage bag stuffed with discarded wallpaper to the back porch. Leaning over the railing, I twist my head to look up at the sky which is studded with stars. I missed the sun going down, and the temperature must’ve dropped about fifteen degrees. It’s cold out, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we drop below freezing tonight. Inside, I find Rick in the kitchen with a serious expression on his face. He may have been watching me. “You have to go…” I guess. He shakes his head in response and slowly approaches. His hands slide around the sides of my neck as he tilts my chin up with his thumbs. His eyes are deep blue pools I find myself drowning in. His voice is low and his words send a delicious shiver down my spine. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” Closing my hands around his wrists, I lift up on my toes until my lips almost touch his. “Yippie,” I whisper, before taking the initiative.

USA Today bestselling author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

With forty-plus books already published, she continues to create characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy.

Recipient of the ReadFREE.ly 2019 Best Book We've Read All Year Award for "Covering Ollie, the 2015 RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for Best First Book, “Slim To None”, Finalist for the 2017 Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, and Finalist for the 2020 Kindle Book Award with “When Hope Ends”, Freya spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!

GRAB YOUR COPY AND START TODAY!

 

Be part of the buzz — join The Hype Hive today!

Book Spotlight: Cutie Pie By J.C. Halverson

Title: Cutie Pie

Author: J.C. Halverson

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/13/2026

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 30800

Genre: Contemporary, Alpha males, enemies/rivals to lovers, ex-military/Marine, interracial/intercultural, office rivalry, power imbalance, obsession

Add to Goodreads

Description

Jacob Cohen has built his life on control. As the executive producer of a top-rated cable news program, he commands a newsroom, navigates demanding talent, and keeps chaos at bay. A Marine veteran with an Ivy League polish, he’s the man nothing can break.

Then Stefan Morris walks into his world.

Charming. Magnetic. Impossible to ignore. Stefan is everything Jacob didn’t know he was missing—and everything he should have known to avoid. Their connection is electric, immediate, and utterly consuming.

But Stefan runs on a different clock. He disappears without explanation. His stories don’t add up. And the closer Jacob gets, the more the carefully constructed life he’s built begins to unravel.

When Jacob discovers he’s not the only one caught in Stefan’s orbit, he faces an impossible choice: walk away with his dignity intact, or play a game where the rules are made to be broken—and winning might cost him everything.

Set against the high-stakes world of network news, Cutie Pie is about desire, deception, and the dangerous territory between love and obsession—where the only thing more destructive than the truth is the lies we tell ourselves.

Excerpt

Cutie Pie
JC Halverson © 2026
All Rights Reserved

My ass was still raw from the verbal beating I’d just taken from Jon Jon Holiday.

And not in the good way.

The newsroom had that postshow quiet—keyboards clicking, phones chirping, producers pretending they hadn’t heard every word through the glass. Jon Jon’s corner office was supposed to be soundproof. It wasn’t. Not when he wanted to make a point.

I could see him through the glass, pacing like a caged animal. He spotted me crossing the newsroom floor and waved frantically, that theatrical gesture he used when the cameras weren’t rolling but he still needed an audience.

I took my time. Finished the conversation with the graphics coordinator. Checked my phone. Let him stew. Managing talent was like training horses; you couldn’t let them think they were in charge.

By the time I reached his office, he’d worked himself into a proper state. Perfect.

The walk to his office was fifty feet of exposed territory. Every desk I passed, every monitor I caught in my peripheral—they all knew. Jacob’s getting his ass handed to him. Again. The new kids watched with barely concealed fascination. The veterans kept their heads down, grateful it wasn’t them.

Jon Jon stood behind his desk, still in full makeup from the show. At fifty-three, he had that ageless quality that made network executives wet. Not young, not old—just television. His suit probably cost more than most people’s rent. His watch definitely did.

“Close the door,” he said as I entered.

I did. The glass frosted instantly—his favorite privacy move.

“We need to talk about tonight.” He moved behind his desk, creating distance. Power positioning. Old habit from when he thought furniture arrangement meant authority.

“What about it?” I sat without being invited. Another small reminder of the hierarchy.

“You want to tell me what that was?” He didn’t specify. He didn’t need to.

“Technical difficulties with the prompter. Lighting preset got switched. And Marcus Chen bailed.”

“Chen.” He said it like profanity. “That prick promised us an exclusive.”

“His publicist swore—”

“His publicist lied. They all lie. That’s why we verify.” He loosened his tie with sharp, angry movements. “Twenty years in this business, and I looked like an amateur out there. Reading from paper like some local market rookie.”

He wasn’t wrong. The show had been rough. When the prompter died in segment three, Jon Jon fumbled the transition. His hands shook as he held the backup scripts. For a man who could interview warlords without blinking, paper defeated him.

“The lighting made me look like I have hepatitis.” He moved to the window, Atlanta’s skyline glittering behind him. “You know what they’re saying online?”

I knew. Twitter had been brutal. Something about him looking like a corpse that got reanimated midbroadcast.

“It won’t happen again,” I said.

“You’re right. It won’t.” He turned back to me. “Because if it does, we’re both gone. You understand that? The network isn’t patient anymore. They’re looking for reasons.”

I understood. Ratings were good—we owned the 9 p.m. slot—but good wasn’t bulletproof. Not in cable news. Not with streaming eating our lunch and podcasts stealing our thunder.

“We’ll fix it,” I said.

“We.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “There is no we, Jacob. There’s me on camera and you behind it. I take the bullets. You’re supposed to make sure they miss.”

Fair enough. That was the job.

Jon Jon dropped into his chair. The anger was fading, replaced by something heavier. “You know what’s exhausting? Pretending I don’t see them waiting for me to implode again.”

Two years ago, his ex-wife went nuclear. The View, Good Morning America, every platform that would have her. She brought receipts: text messages, Grindr screenshots, a Greatest Hits of Jon Jon’s secret life. The bathhouses. The apps. The carefully maintained heterosexual facade that cost three million a year in alimony to maintain.

He’d vanished for a year. Most thought he was done. Then he resurfaced here, primetime slot, openly gay, twice as sharp. The comeback story everyone loved to hate.

“They’re not waiting for you to implode,” I said. “They’re waiting for you to get boring. Different thing.”

He studied me. Jon Jon had a way of looking at you like he was deciding whether to trust you or destroy you. Sometimes both.

“You know what I hate most about you, Jacob?”

“My youth? My title? My ability to stay calm?”

“That you’re right. Usually.” He loosened another button. “I hate that I need you to fix these things. I hate that you’re good at it. I hate that the network trusts you more than me.”

“They don’t trust me more. They just trust me differently.”

“Bullshit. When contract time came, who did they call first?”

I didn’t answer. We both knew.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

J.C. Halverson is a Marine Corps Iraq War veteran and longtime journalist now living in Hawaiʻi. A cancer survivor, J.C. brings a grounded realism to his LGBTQ fiction. Drawing on experiences from war, newsrooms, and survival, he explores desire, control, and vulnerability. J.C. lives with his husband in Honolulu.

 

Book Spotlight: Ropacabana by Isabella Jordan

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Ropacabana by Isabella Jordan

(Viva Los Regalos 2)

A Futuristic Paranormal BDSM Romance

Date Published: October 16, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Welcome to the Ropacabana, the hottest club in Los Regalos! Here you'll find the best BDSM floor show with the most exotically beautiful dancers. For the right price you can have anything in the Ropacabana -- including star of the show, Salome.

One client wants just that but he only likes to watch. He wants Salome to put on a private show for him and he's picked out just the right stud, er, guy for her to play with. Ropacabana bouncer Tony Fontaine.

Tony doesn't like the idea of having to put on a sex show as part of his job, but he loves the idea of learning all of Salome's intimate secrets.

Salome is more than pleased with Tony as her latest assignment, except for his habit of trying to look beyond her exotic dancer persona. Can Salome keep it all professional? Or will she make the biggest mistake someone in her position can make and fall in love with him?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Isabella Jordan

Salma Fuentes, known in Los Regalos as Salome, made her way offstage, tossing her crop onto one of the props tables as she went. Jerry, the stagehand, passed her a bottle of water. Ashley waited to help her into her short robe of crimson silk since all she was wearing at the moment were her nipple clips, four-inch stilettos, and diamond studded G-string. The backup dancers trotted along behind her, the applause beyond the curtains ringing out.

So went another night at the Ropacabana.

"Awesome show, Salome." Ashley smiled at her. "You looked so beautiful up there."

"Thanks." Salome nodded to the younger woman, hoping she could make it to the dressing room without being followed.

"Salome?"

Salome didn't stop, knowing Ashley wasn't likely to give up until she pled her case. "Yes?" Might as well get this over with.

"I was hoping to… um… talk to you if I could." The girl's tone revealed her anxiety. "If you have a moment, that is."

No matter how much ambition she could smell on Ashley, she just couldn't bring herself to be rude. She probably should have. Sure, her years in Los Regalos had made her cynical and jaded. Yet Salome wasn't so arrogant that she couldn't sympathize with the amount of courage it took for Ashley to approach her.

She was pretty sure she knew what the other woman wanted. It was always the same thing. Every year it seemed there was a new bright-eyed girl working backstage at the hottest club in Los Regalos wanting to be the new star.

She herself had once been one of those bright-eyed girls.

"I've just got a moment," Salome told her. "I have a meeting with Hamilton upstairs in ten minutes."

Ashley nodded, swallowing visibly in her nervousness. "Well, I was hoping you could give me some advice. I've been working backstage for the last year on all the shows I could get on with as an assistant. I guess I'm interested in doing more now. I'm hoping to become a dancer. You know, like you."

Salome smiled patiently at her, looking her up and down. As far as wereleopards went, Ashley was a fine specimen. A lovely girl with cocoa colored skin, gorgeous dark hair, and a thirty-nine inch inseam unless she missed her guess. Nice slender build but not too skinny. She had large breasts but not too large. They didn't look like they'd pull the rest of her willowy frame over with their weight.

Ashley's best features were big, dark eyes that were very trusting and open. Maybe a little too open. Ashley had always been a friendly girl, like a puppy. If Ashley had been a real bitch, Salome wouldn't worry so much.

She shook her head. Had the girl already been there for a year? In two more years Los Regalos would tear Ashley apart no matter what path her future took.

That or it would make Ashley a cynical asshole like she was.

"Why?" she had to ask the younger woman. "Why would you want to do what I do, Ashley? You're smart, right? You're educated."

Ashley nodded again, wringing her hands in front of her. "Well, I do have a degree from the real world but… there's not a lot I can do with that here."

"Sure there is." Salome sat on the edge of her dressing table for a moment, opening the bottle of water to take a long drink. "You could get an office job and work for one of the admins. You can make as much money there as you could doing this. Someone has to keep the books in this place. And trust me, you'd be a lot happier."

"Happier? Being a paper pusher? Sure, the money might be good but I'd die if I had to do that every day. Locked in an office, away from the shows? I could have done that in the real world. No, I came here to do more."

"You could still see the shows," Salome pointed out. "You could afford to come and see all the shows you wanted."

Turning to the mirror, Salome hurried to put herself together to meet with her supervisor. She didn't have time to change clothes or shower. There was really little point. He probably had a client he wanted her to fuck waiting up there right now. If she looked sweaty and disheveled, it was all for the better.

"You don't think I'd m-make a good dancer?"

Salome took a deep breath. Somehow she knew the girl wouldn't give up that easily. Turning back, she took in the girl's unease as she stood there, her little hands still busy knotting and unknotting.

"Ashley, I don't know if you can dance or not. I do see a woman who could do anything she wanted. I'm just trying to tell you to consider carefully what you choose."

The girl's eyes widened a little at that.

"How old are you?" Salome asked.

"Eighteen."

It figured. "I was your age when I started dancing up here."

"You're still so young and you're the star here."

Salome didn't miss the enthusiasm in the girl's voice. Enthusiasm was a great thing but there was something Ashley didn't quite grasp. "I'm twenty-five. I've been here for eight years and yes, I worked hard to get where I am. But where I am isn't exactly what you might think."

"What's to think about? Everyone knows who Salome is. Everyone comes here to see you dance. You look so gorgeous up there, so sexy. That's what I want. I don't mind dancing nude or suggestively. It's an art, a celebration --"

"There's a price," Salome warned.

 

About the Author

Isabella Jordan is the alter ego of an otherwise stressed out web designer, programmer, and internet junkie. When she's not trying to perfect her own personal caffeine IV drip, she enjoys spending time with her family, doing volunteer work, and writing. She loves creating new stories of all kinds and chatting with readers and friends.

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Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

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Book Tour Stop: The Building by Kevin G. Chapman & a Giveaway.

 

Mystery / Thriller

Date Published: 10-10-2026

Publisher: First Legacy Publishing

 

The community comes first – no matter what.

 

For ten years, the Utopia Tower experiment has been a resounding success. Conceived by a tech billionaire, the state-of-the-art apartment complex offers a life-changing opportunity: rent-free living for residents who adhere to the "Five Pillars of Harmony" and maintain the building's pristine reputation. It is a tight-knit community where neighbors look out for one another, ensuring that nothing endangers their sanctuary and their right to continue living there.

Antonio, a young lawyer, moves into the tower to care for his grandmother, eager to join this idyllic social experiment. But the veneer of perfection cracks when two young men—both considered bad apples and threats to the community's serenity—die in unusual circumstances within a single month. Despite warnings to leave well enough alone, Antonio suspects a connection and digs deeper. He discovers that, in a building designed for total harmony, asking the wrong questions can make you the next problem to be handled. Is there a killer hiding among the residents? Is the billionaire founder protecting his investment? Or is the truth far more terrifying?

In an environment where preservation of the collective is the prime directive, how far will the community go to protect itself?

 

Perfect for fans of Black Mirror, Blake Crouch, and high-concept tech mysteries.

Teaser Excerpt:

Chapter 1— The Project 

 

J

AMESON Z. CONRAD STOOD on a steel catwalk raised twenty feet above the production floor of his new $2 billion chip factory, wearing a white full-body bio-suit. He eschewed a face mask, although every busy worker below wore one. The polished floor reflected high-intensity overhead lights, which glinted off glass and chrome tools, creating visible spectra on the edges of the gleaming work tables. Low-slung robotic vehicles hummed above invisible sensors, carrying supplies to the production lines and whisking away finished chips to cold storage. Open barely two weeks, the state-of-the-art facility was humming. Jameson smiled like a priest gazing from the choir balcony at a newly constructed cathedral.

Standing a few millimeters above six feet, with broad shoulders that could not be fully hidden by his bulky garment, Jameson was in better shape at forty-six than he had been at twenty-five. A personal chef and two trainers made sure. A man who wanted to live forever needed to start the project early. With feet spread and arms akimbo, nobody in the expansive room could miss his presence. The workers tried to ignore him, not wanting the big boss to see them gawking, but suspecting he wanted the attention.

Jameson co-founded Botor Corporation when he and his two partners were juniors at MIT, working out of a Cambridge garage. The joke was that Botor was “robot” spelled backward by a dyslexic scientist. At the time it didn’t matter, as long as it was unique. Now, the colorful corporate logo adorned office parks and sports arenas. Botor Corp had a market capitalization of more than $2 trillion. The two other original founders took buy-outs a decade earlier and retired in their thirties, leaving Jameson to preside over his personal universe, working sixteen-hour days. That was fine with him.

“You have the update on EPBOT?” Jameson asked without turning his head from the ant-like activity on the production floor.

“Yes, Sir,” came the soft, submissive reply. Bobby Chaing, Jameson’s senior project manager, had arrived two minutes earlier and waited for his boss to notice. A skilled programmer and an expert in artificial intelligence systems, Bobby was a combination Chief of Staff and Chief Operating Officer in Jameson’s ever-expanding global empire. Officially, Bobby’s title was Senior Vice President, Special Projects. Everyone on the corporate org chart knew “special projects” meant the next cutting-edge development and the next huge product launch. In other words, the coolest of the cool stuff.

Despite being Jameson’s right hand and main scientific sounding board, Bobby knew he was expected to observe the hierarchical protocol by not using Jameson’s first name in public spaces. He was fully prepared with the report on the Experimental Prototype Building Of Tomorrow – their private nickname for Jameson’s long-time pet project. The unofficial moniker was stolen from Disney World. Jameson’s visit to EPCOT in Orlando was the spark of imagination that launched his tech career. He never forgot.

“I’m guessing it’s not good.” Jameson finally turned toward Bobby. In their clean suits, they resembled astronauts meeting on the surface of an alien world.

“It’s not bad,” Bobby quickly replied. He had driven from Botor’s Manhattan offices to the plant across the Hudson River to deliver this report in person. Jameson insisted that discussions about the project be oral, leaving no digital or paper record. The monthly update was not time-sensitive, but Jameson always wanted it immediately. Waiting for the next business day was never an option. “The data collection volume is still on the positive side of the curve.”

“But we’re reaching the saturation point, aren’t we?”

Bobby rocked his head left and right before answering. “Eventually, of course we will. But we’re not there yet.”

“What about the health of the cohort?”

“It’s good. The core is strong and cohesive.” Bobby paused, allowing Jameson an opportunity to jump in.

“But there is fraying around the edges, isn’t there?”

“The overall health of the community is down six percent from this time last year,” Bobby admitted. “But it’s still at eighty-four percent. Way above the projected minimum standard.”

“Sure.” Jameson turned back toward the shining, sterile production environment which churned out tiny bits of silicon, cobalt, platinum, and gold he would sell for fifty times their cost. With growing global tariffs squeezing out foreign chip-makers, he mentally patted himself on the back for building his plant in New Jersey. Without looking at Bobby, he gripped the steel railing supporting the catwalk and hung his head slightly. “We’re still above the curve, but it’s going to slip further. If they don’t turn it around quickly, and unless the unique data collection rate improves, we’re going to have to consider a full reboot at the end of the year.”

“It’s not that dire yet, Sir.” Bobby knew his tone was wrong. He sounded like he was pleading the cause rather than providing impartial analytics. “There’s no need to rush into drastic change. A full cohort swap might endanger the project.”

“Or it might be just what we need,” Jameson said flatly, still not making eye contact with Bobby. “The first few years were hard. You remember. But then the curve swung upward big time. We knew it would plateau eventually and we’d need to start over. I’m willing to risk another few years of a shallow curve in order to get a bigger boost later. We’ve got new products in the pipeline. If we’re not getting adequate data, then a change is required.”

“But it’s your achievement,” Bobby said, stroking the boss’s ego.

“Yes. It is. But I can’t get too attached. It’s not going to win me a Nobel Prize. I want you to start the preliminary process of recruiting a new cohort. Keep it quiet.”

“I agree,” Bobby said, “but before you make a final decision, we need to weigh the negative consequences.”

“I will. But fresh data is always a net positive. Even if there is collateral damage. Mom always said you have to break some eggs to make an omelet.”

Bobby didn’t respond. He knew the discussion was over. “I’ll get on it, Sir.” Bobby turned and walked toward the elevator that would take him down to the changing room. He hated wearing the clean suit.

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https://mybook.to/TheBuilding

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Enter the Giveaway:

https://kingsumo.com/g/1vjwgv1/win-a-signed-copy-the-building

About the Author

 

 Kevin G. Chapman is an attorney specializing in labor and employment law and an independent author. His seven -book (so far) Mike Stoneman Thriller series, includes Lethal Voyage, Winner of the 2012 Kindle Book Award, and Fatal Infraction, the #1 Police Procedural of the year (CLUE Blue Ribbon Award). Kevin's stand-alone mystery/suspense/romance, Dead Winner was the winner of the CLUE Blue Ribbon for best suspense/thriller, and Kevin's most recent stand-alone mystery, The Other Murder, was the Grand Prize Winner of the 2024 CLUE Award (best over-all mystery/suspense/thriller). Kevin has also written a serious political drama, A Legacy of One (2016). Kevin is a resident of Central New Jersey and is a graduate of Columbia College and Boston University School of Law. Readers can contact Kevin via his website at www.KevinGChapman.com.

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Twitter: @KGChapman

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Instagram: @KGChapman