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.

AMAZON | APPLE BOOKS | NOOK | KOBO

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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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.

Release Blitz Tour Stop: Cold Silence by Freya Barker

Title: Cold Silence (Silencer Series, #4)

  Author: Freya Barker 

Genre: Romantic Suspense 

Release Date: May 29, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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Single motherhood to two teenage boys turns out to be far more challenging for Tessa Androtti than her brand-new job as detective for the Edwards County Sheriff’s Department. Especially, when the younger of her sons is keeping her up at night. Not only was the move from the big city supposed to give her a chance to build a new life away from lingering memories, but she had hoped it would be a positive change for her youngest, Remi.

However, just when she’s up to her eyeballs working on a recent violent murder, Remi gets himself into trouble again.

Trouble that appears to be connected to her investigation.

Lifetime resident of Silence, Clem Tanek, couldn’t be more surprised to find one of the new, pretty detective’s sons trespassing and stealing property from behind his auto repair shop. Despite his social awkwardness when interacting with the boy’s mother a few months ago, Clem can handle her kid just fine. Remi’s skills and interest in vehicles provide an opportunity to try and get the kid back onto the right track, without involving law enforcement. It also offers Clem a second chance with the new detective, hoping to make up for that disastrous first encounter.

But their path isn’t an easy one. Both have significant baggage, as one would expect from lives already half lived, and adapting to change can be a challenge. Particularly, when dealing with teenagers which, in this case, means wading into dangerous waters for both Tessa and Clem.

AMAZON | APPLE BOOKS | NOOK | KOBO

CHAPTER 1 Tessa “Mo-om! Remi’s been in there for half an hour. I’ve gotta get ready!” I swear, I’m about to start drinking and it’s not even eight in the morning. Love my kids, but they sure wear me down. “Use my bathroom, Linc,” I yell up the stairs. I’m not sure what’s gotten into my youngest boy, Remi, recently. A few months ago, it would’ve been a chore to get him to brush his teeth or, God forbid, have the occasional shower, but lately he’s been spending a lot of time in there. Must be a girl. It was the same for his older brother, Lincoln, who went from looking like Pigpen and reeking like a gym locker most of the time to clean-clothed and smelling fresh. Maybe a little heavy on the Axe, but definitely better than the scent of dirty socks. Remi wasn’t quite that bad, he’s not into sports and athletics like his brother, but I was still relieved when he voluntarily took a shower a few weeks ago without me badgering him. I made the mistake of asking him what had prompted it—forgetting the unspoken parenting rule to never point out the desired behavior—and got my head bitten off in response. Still, I’m focusing on the silver lining. For the first time since puberty hit our house years ago, I can breathe freely again. Offering up what I’ve come to treasure as my personal sanctuary for the sake of peace in the house is a small sacrifice. Maybe now I can have five quiet minutes for my coffee to take effect. Grabbing my mug, I head out the back door to the deck. It’s a little chilly, but the cool air on my skin wakes me up and sharpens my senses. I love this time of day, everything smells fresh and full of promise, and this view is nothing to sneeze at. It’s one of the things that sold me on this house. It’s a much bigger place than we had in Spokane, and for less money, which is always a bonus. This is a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town, with mostly unspoiled nature at our back. I loved the idea of my boys having all this space with direct access to the outdoors. Heck, I’d even hoped it might spark some interest in Remi, who has been struggling to find his niche, but so far he’s persisted in his displeasure to have been forced to move here. I hate to label him as such, but Remi is my worry child. He seems so rudderless compared to his older brother, who has always been so clear in his purpose. Linc is a typical jock, with a focus on athletic performance first, girls a close second, and last, but not least, his grades. Despite some of the family shit that went on in his younger years, before I divorced his father, he seems to skate his way through life. It has to be tough for Remi to grow up in the shadow of his older brother, and I’ve tried to help him find his own light to shine in, but still my baby struggles. “Ma!” I tilt my head back to see my youngest poking his head out of his bedroom window. “I need a ride.” “Why can’t you go with Linc?” Lincoln worked part-time jobs since he turned fifteen, with the sole purpose of saving money to buy his own car. He is now the proud owner of an older Jeep Wrangler, rather beaten up, but running in good order. “He’s picking up Naomi.” Aha. These past few years, my eldest is never without female companionship for long, and once school started last month, it didn’t take more than a week for me to start hearing the name Naomi pop up. Linc has picked her up for school a few times before, and I guess he told his brother to get in the back seat, so Naomi could sit in front beside him. Remi doesn’t like to be a third wheel. I can see both their points, but I don’t have the energy to try and negotiate a compromise this morning. I have a ton of work waiting for me back at the station and can’t afford to be late. Luckily, the high school is just a few blocks from the office. “You’d better hustle, because I’m leaving in—” I quickly check my watch. “Three minutes.” Once we are on our way into town, I look over at Remi, who is slumped in the passenger seat beside me, his head turned to the side window in a clear attempt to avoid any and all conversation. I’m his mom, so fat chance of that. “Bud, happy as I am you’re spending more time in the bathroom, you’ve gotta leave time for your brother to get ready.” A snort is my only answer. “Hey,” I voice a little sharper. “Don’t give me attitude when I’m doing you a favor by dropping you off at school. All I’m asking is for you to be considerate, that’s all.” “Yeah, whatever.” I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to react to his disengaged response. I swear I can feel another gray hair sprouting every damn time we have one of these interactions. Pushing him is only going to ramp up the tension in my vehicle, so I opt to let it go. Raising teenagers is like walking a minefield on a day-to-day basis. I feel a little guilty at the relieved breath escaping me a few minutes later, when he darts out the passenger side door without a word, the moment I stop in front of his school. Despite the coffee I had at home, I already feel like I need a damn nap. It’s been another restless night, constant worry about Remi keeping me awake, so the moment I walk into the station, I make a beeline for the dark sludge passing for coffee in the kitchen. It doesn’t taste great, but it sure packs the kind of punch I need this morning. Brenda, the sheriff department’s office manager, is just coming out. “Mornin’,” she returns my mumbled greeting as she cocks her thumb over her shoulder. “Fresh pot in there.” “Bless your heart.” I slip past her and inhale the fumes as I grab one of the department mugs off the shelf and fill it. I take my first sip before I turn around to find Brenda leaning against the doorway, her head tilted to one side as she scrutinizes me. “Tough morning?” Instantly my hand goes to my hair, which is already escaping the messy knot I turned it into after my shower. “Is it that obvious?” She grins. “You forget, I’ve got a couple of boys too. I recognize the look of exasperation on your face. Pretty sure I’ve worn that same expression from time to time.” That’s right, I knew she had boys. I’ve been preoccupied getting us settled in, the boys ready for school, and myself up to speed at work, I haven’t really had the time to connect with people on a more personal level. Maybe that’s what I need for a better balance in my life. “Exasperation, huh? Guess that describes my state pretty accurately this morning,” I return. “Any tips or suggestions are welcome; maybe over drinks some time?” “Friday night my husband is taking the boys to Spokane to see the new Marvel movie on the big screen. Why don’t you pop by? I’ve got a fully stocked bar,” she adds with a wink. “Sounds tempting,” I admit. “Let me check in with my hoodlums to see what they have going on that night.” “Yeah, of course. See if it works.” She starts walking away before she stops and turns. “Oh, before I forget, I sent a copy of the forensics report you were waiting for to your email. It must’ve come in late last night.” Finally. About two weeks ago, a local hunter stumbled on to what looked to be a brand-new Ford Mustang abandoned on one of the old logging roads heading up Black Mountain. The vehicle had been deliberately covered with brush—clearly intended to hide it from view. When the hunter peered inside the window and noticed the passenger seat covered in blood, he immediately contacted us. Judging from the sheer volume of blood, it looked like someone bled out in that vehicle, but we found no evidence of a body, just a few smeared prints on the inside of the door. A VIN search on the Mustang came back to a stolen vehicle from the upscale Spokane neighborhood of Rockwood. A blood test confirmed the blood to be human, but who it might have belonged to, as well as the whereabouts of the victim, has remained a mystery. Hoping the forensics report will give me some guidance on this damn case I’ve been spinning my wheels on these past weeks, I rush to my desk. Clem “Go home, Kyle. I’ll finish it up.” As glad as I am the new, young mechanic I hired on after reopening the garage does not seem averse to working longer hours, it’s already been a long-ass day and I’m fucking starving. “You sure?” the scrawny, redheaded kid asks, poking his head out from under the hood of the Infinity he’s working on. “Yep. Get out of here, it’s Friday night. I’ll see you in the morning.” Tomorrow will be a busy day, but Manuel should be back, so there will be three of us to tackle the work. Manuel had a rare few days off to visit his ailing mother. One of only a few times he asked for time off since he started working for me over ten years ago. Anyway, we’ll be at full strength tomorrow and should hopefully be able to clear out the back lot before next week. I follow Kyle to the front and lower the massive bay door behind him, locking myself in for the night. When fire leveled the old auto shop—which had been in the family for generations—I wasn’t sure I’d have the heart or drive to rebuild Main Street Mechanics from the ground up. It would’ve taken a year at least, during which time I wouldn’t have had an income, and I’d likely have lost most of my customers in the interim. Aside from that, the business had already outgrown the shop, and there wasn’t a large enough real estate footprint to build anything bigger. Repurposing the old fire hall had been at the suggestion of Hugo Alexander, Edwards County Deputy Sheriff, who is a buddy of mine. The place had sat vacant since they built the new large fire station on the outskirts of Silence. It had taken a bit of negotiating and working out a bit of creative financing, but I was able to buy it and set up shop here. Turning the lights off in the shop—I’ll come back down later to finish replacing the hoses on that Infinity—I head up the open stairway to the second level and aim straight for the spacious open kitchen and the cold beer in my fridge. Originally, the upper level had housed the living and sleeping quarters for the fire crew but, with some minor renovations, I’d turned it into a comfortable apartment for myself. The insurance check I’d received for the old place hadn’t been enough to cover the cost of the fire hall, so I ended up selling the small house I’d called home for fifteen or so years to make up the difference. I didn’t really have any emotional connection to the house anyway. The shop was my home and I spent the bulk of my time there, but it had been somewhere to lay my head at night. With the extra money I was able to make a few adjustments to this upper floor, and already it feels more like a home than the house ever did. Although I suspect the smell of motor oil that follows me up here has a little something to do with that. Along with a beer, I pull a block of cheese from the fridge, cutting off a chunk to tide me over until I can get some dinner together. I’m thinking I’ll cut up some vegetables and a couple of those spicy sausages I picked up, and toss them on a baking tray in the oven. They can cook while I drink my beer and watch the news. I’ve been trying to watch what I eat. I never took the time to cook much before, just popped a frozen dinner in the microwave or stopped in at the diner for something greasy. It showed in the gut I’d been steadily growing since I hit my forties. Then right after the fire, I went in to see the new doc for a checkup. The guy warned me that with my high cholesterol and blood pressure, I was heading for a heart attack unless I started living healthier. Seeing as my father dropped dead from a heart attack when he was just a few years older, I took the warning and made some adjustments. A lot has changed this past year, and though I’m not normally a fan of changes, I feel I’ve landed in a pretty good place. My business is steady, my health is better, I’ve got my friends, my Thursday night poker game, and a kick-ass place that feels like a home to put my feet up in at the end of the day. What else do you need? After finishing up the dishes forty-five minutes later, I briefly consider leaving the Infinity until the morning, but end up heading back downstairs anyway. The moment I flick on the bright overhead lights in the garage, I hear some noise out back. A metallic clang, like something bumping the lid of the garbage container out there. Maybe I startled something rummaging through the trash, it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not unheard of for wildlife to venture into town, looking for an easy meal at this time of year. Grabbing a large wrench from the tool bench—I’m not about to potentially face off with a hungry bear empty-handed—I head toward the regular back exit next to the large bay door. Unlocking it, I ease it open, poking my head out. At first, I don’t see anything. Nothing seems out of place in the back lot where we park vehicles still to be worked on and those waiting for owners to pick them up. In the light escaping from the glass panes at the top of the large rolling door, I spot no bears, or any other creatures for that matter, hanging out by the dumpster. But when I step outside, letting the door fall shut behind me, I can hear the sound of something scraping the gravel surface to my left. Swinging my head around, I just catch a glimpse of a red sneaker disappearing under the frame of the Jeep Patriot Tim Saunders dropped off for an oil change and fluid top-up earlier this afternoon. I slip my hand in my pocket to pull out my cell phone and turn on its flashlight as I duck down, shining it under the vehicle. “Get your ass out from under there,” I bark at the wide-eyed teenager looking back at me. “Trust me, kid, you don’t want my fucking help.” Wisely, the boy crawls out and scrambles to his feet. It takes me only a second to realize who it is. Well, shit. Then I quickly scan the Jeep, noticing a hack saw as well as a familiar part lying on the ground beside the vehicle. “Really, kid? Surely you can find better things to do than pulling catalytic converters from vehicles a stone’s throw away from the sheriff’s station.” “I wasn’t…I didn’t…” the punk stammers before snapping his mouth shut. He realizes there is no denying with the evidence basically lying at his feet. I can see his eyes dart left and right, looking for the fastest escape route. “I’m thinking your mom won’t be too pleased when I call it in.” His mother being the sheriff office’s most recent addition, Tessa Androtti. I recognize her boy from a cookout at Bess and Hugo’s place they were at, toward the end of the summer. “Please don’t,” the kid pleads, and in that moment, I see the vulnerable boy instead of the criminal teenager. Fuck. Those big puppy dog eyes are getting to me, making me feel like a goddamn monster for even considering turning him in. “How many?” I snap at him. “What do you mean?” he returns, looking confused. “Catalytic converters. How many did you drop?” He indicates a white Ford F-150 a few spots down. “That one too,” he admits. Dammit. It’ll take up valuable time to install each of those again, adding to an already full workload for tomorrow. “Do you know how much work it’s gonna be to fix those?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, I don’t actually expect an answer, but the kid gives me one anyway. “With the right tools, probably a couple of hours each.” I regard him with a lifted eyebrow. “And you would know what the right tools are?” This time he shrugs. “It’s not that hard.” There’s something about his casual arrogance that reminds me of myself, thirty years ago. I decide to call his bluff. “Well, in that case, I want your ass back here tomorrow morning at eight on the dot, and you can put your money where your mouth is.” Now he looks shocked. “You mean, I can go?” I wag a finger in his face. “But if you’re not here at eight, I will personally walk over to the sheriff’s station and file charges. Right after I have a nice long talk with your mother,” I threaten. As I watch the kid take off on his red sneakers, I realize this may not have been the wisest move on my part. But the boy doesn’t strike me as a hardcore criminal. If I’d venture a guess, he’s—at worst—a misguided kid who is heading down the wrong path. I was that kid once, before my dad put me to work in the shop. Who knows, maybe a little redirection of that energy, and some honing of what appears to be a passing interest in cars, will set the boy on the straight and narrow. I’m just not sure how his mother will respond when she finds out. I don’t think she likes me much.

 

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!

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Release Blitz Tour Stop: Running Scared by D.M. Earl

Title: Running Scared (Running Series) 

Author: D.M. Earl

Genre: Romantic Suspense/Dark MC Romance 

Release Date: May 28, 2026 

Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC

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She's a tortured soul. He's looking for redemption. Together, they're the Devil's secret weapons.

I may be a Devil's Handmaiden, Known for our fiery and feisty ways. But enduring years of torture at the hands of my kidnapper, I'll admit, I'd rather lie low and keep away from the chaos.

But the maidens seem different, Secluded and separate, Keeping me at bay. My secrets are piling up, The suspicions are growing.

I need to get away, Get out, And get my bearings back.

With my enemies multiplying, And lurking nearby, Safety seems impossible.

There's only one man I trust, One man who knows my secrets, And can shut his mouth.

But Noah Anderson is entwined in his own turmoil, Looking for redemption for his ruthless family. When he whisks me away to a safe haven, I can't decipher my feelings, Fury, worry, desire, and heartache bury me.

Trusting Noah with my safety is easy, Trusting Noah with my heart terrifies me. Can I open myself to a future with him without Running Scared?

Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem author event proudly presents The Mayhem Makers Series. These standalone novels are brought to you by several bestselling authors specializing in writing twisted chaos. You'll get all the bikers, mobsters, and dark romance your heart can handle. Follow us so you never miss a new release, as they can be added in at any time!

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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.