My life was mapped out and planned to perfection. I knew exactly what I wanted and where I was going, until I was thrust into his world and ripped from mine. In the blink of an eye everything shattered, proving to be nothing more than a cheap illusion. Now I’m living in this twisted form of hell, where enemies and friends are one and the same. I thought I wanted perfection. Now I don’t know what I want - perhaps not even my own freedom.
Jude
I'm the definition of wrong. I'm violent, I'm greedy, and I stop at nothing to win. I'm a notorious bookie and in my game paying with your life is not just a figure of speech. You lose, I collect. I take whatever you have. She’s collateral for a debt, and if that debt's not paid someone will die. This should be just business, so why can’t I kill her?
Everything is not always as it seems.
Lust. Blood. Lies.
Nothing this wrong should feel so right.
LP LOVELL
Lauren Lovell is an indie author from England. She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards.
She's a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.
LP Lovell's She Who Dares series are all international best sellers.
STEVIE J. COLE
I love writing (obvious since I'm on here, right?) I don't have a specific genre - I just write whatever story manifests itself inside my brain.
Writing is like therapy. There is nothing else that I can lose myself in the way I can a story. It amazes me that words can take you away from reality and leave you in a dazed state once you've finished.
Aside from writing, I love sloths and mythology. I kind of have a thing for vampires, because let's face it, something about the fact that they fight the urge to bite your neck and drain the life from you is rather sexy. I have an irrational fear of the zombie apocalypse. I honestly cannot imagine a more horrifying way to go than by being ripped to shreds by a mass of mumbling, decaying, and oozing corpses with clicking teeth. Ugh! I just shuddered typing it.
Now the boring basics: I'm married with two wonderful children. I grew up in the south listening to a ton of grunge rock. Me and my sister have an obsession with going to concerts and getting front and center. We often fight over who can get the most swag from the band. I have an unhealthy obsession with Russell Brand's mind, and the smell of crayons is the most soothing smell there is.
I hope if you read my work that you will enjoy it. After all, writing is the most amazing magic trick of all... it puts the reader in the mind of the writer (kind of creepy if you think about it). It's scary inside my brain, watch out!
Some people stay with you. Sometimes love won’t let go. Some marks on the heart cannot be erased.
When Owen walked away from Ally he thought he was doing what was best for her. That’s what he told himself. It was a decision that he regretted instantly. Now, he has to figure out how too change his ways and win her back. This will be the hardest fight of his life. But she is worth it. She is everything.
Ally isn’t the same girl that Owen left six months ago. She shut down. It was survival. She can’t go back. She can’t let him back in. Losing him was too hard to go through the first time. But he keeps showing up, saying all the right words, doing all the right things. Will she be able to resist him? Can a person really change? Is he worth the risk to find out?
On graduation night, Ally Montgomery walked away from her best friend, Owen. One night changed them forever. One night, one decision to cross the line of friendship, one decision to walk away.
She never forgot him.
Ten years later, Owen finds her.
And this time, they're not letting anything go unfinished.
Growing up an only child, Shae Scott fell in love with words at an early age, learning the best friends in the world can be found among the pages of a book.
Born in Oklahoma, she fell in love on vacation in San Francisco and ended up with a happily ever after in Missouri.
Her first book, Unfinished, was released in 2014. She currently lives outside Kansas City with a bearded man, a Pomeranian and a cat formally known as Tinkerbell Waffles. She loves rainy days, the month of February and the Kansas City Royals.
Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills
Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!
A beautiful violinist who lives next door…The obsessed rock star who watches her... And the one night she bares it all.
Description:
Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood.Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.
But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.
After being cheated on by his ex-lover, his only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. So, spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.
Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.
He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.
When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS. This book is a standalone even though it's part of a series. Everything you need to know is in this book. Genre: 18+ Hot New Adult Romance.
Prologue
Violet
“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
Boom!
I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.
At the very least, comet residue.
I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.
Which was now.
Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.
I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the NewYork Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.
Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.
Then the first explosion had gone off.
Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.
Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.
Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.
Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?
The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.
My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.
Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.
I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.
Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.
Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.
The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.
Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.
My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.
Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.
Exhausted.
Done.
My body twitched. I grew disoriented.
I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.
Oblivion.
Darkness.
No bright lights, no tunnel.
No heaven, no mother, no father.
No comets.
No fairy dust.
Chapter 1
Sebastian
Two years later
“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate
I tapped my foot.
What was taking her so long?
From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.
This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?
She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.
Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.
What was she doing?
Could she see me?
As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.
Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.
Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—
Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.
I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.
She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.
The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.
I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.
Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.
And then …
Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.
My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.
She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.
My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.
Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.
It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.
She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.
New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.
She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.
When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
I’m cold and alone and I’m dead. There’s no air in my lungs. My chest is as cold and hollow as a cave on a snowcapped mountain side. My heart no longer beats there. Frigid winds whistle through my ribs and the sadness inside me weeps like my favorite tree. Days ago, I met with death face to face. The mirror, our meeting place. My two darkened green eyes stared deeply into hers. I tilted my head to the side. She did too. “It’s time,” I whispered. “It’s time,” she whispered. And with that I turned away from her, the woman in the mirror who knew all of my secrets and all of my pain. I walked away from her and yet we’d never been closer than we were in that moment. The inner struggle was over. No more arguing with the woman in the mirror. No more arguing with myself. The choice was made. She was the victor. Or was I?
That was the day Riah Winter died.
Kathryn lives in her small East Texas hometown with her family. She's a music infused writer and self-proclaimed book junkie. When she isn't listening to music, writing or reading you'll probably find her watching her favorite sport, UFC.
Kathryn is also an anti-bullying advocate and avid supporter of mental-illness and suicide awareness.
Kathryn's Favorite Things:
*Watching UFC!!
*Colleen Hoover Books
*Acoustic guitar music
*Coffee, lots of coffee
*Quotable quotes
*Any Eminem or Hozier music
*Music is my therapy
*Reading books that make me cry
*Crazy or funny t-shirts
*Sleeping in and staying up late
*Anything in the color PURPLE :)
Favorite Quote at the Moment: "Don't be pushed by your problems, be led my your dreams."
Favorite Athlete: Tito Ortiz
Favorite Singer: Sam Smith & Ed Sheeran
Favorite Band: Hozier
Favorite Song: Eden by Hozier
Favorite Movie: Memoirs of a Geisha
Favorite Food: Japanese
Favorite Drink: COFFEE
Favorite Candy: Choco covered raisins
Motto in Life: Love Yourself First!
