Sunday, July 31, 2016

Introducing Susan Stoker's Kindle World: Gennita Low's No Protection

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~ Blurb ~
Liam McMillan, independent securities contractor, has taken a job to meet with and accompany an embedded journalist at the Iraqi-Syrian border checkpoint. Using his old SEAL connections, he catches a ride with a SEAL fire team. It's supposed to be a quick, easy job. Things get complicated when the team is hit by enemy snipers and his assignment, Fitz, turns out to be a woman.

Ella Fitzgerald is on assignment as an embedded journalist with the women Peshmerga fighters. She wants to write about the strong women who have decided to fight in place of the many men who had left their country. Ella certainly hasn't expected to be picking up a weapon to do battle herself.

Liam has left the SEALs years ago and has sworn off teaming up with anyone. Now, fighting to save his friends' lives, he's discovering there is no protection from the past, and with a woman strong enough to fight beside him, certainly none for his heart.

~ Excerpt ~


Who goes there, friend or foe?
Except one couldn’t fucking yell that out in the middle of an ear-blasting fire fight. The people firing at them were Peshmerga, Iraqi Kurds, and they were supposed to be on their fucking side. Now the two Canadian peacekeepers were dead and his SEAL friends were trapped in their vehicle, trying to get to this tin can of a bunker where he was hiding out, a few life-and-death meters away.
Steve Liam McMillan cussed and got behind the window, peering out quickly then pulling back. He was the only one in here and would be the only one alive if he didn’t think quickly.
It couldn’t be a case of friendly fire. They’d radioed in yesterday that multi-national teams would be arriving at the checkpoints. This was supposedly an easy operation—take the Canadians, walk them through the usual steps, introduce them to the different troop leaders of the Iraqi sections, and back they’d go to their respective duties. As an independent contractor, he’d curried his ex-SEAL status with his cousin, Hawk, commander of a black-ops DEVGRU SEAL cell, for help to get in and out of the area. Hawk had checked with special ops to see who was in the area and had gotten him permission to come with his pal, Wolf, and his team.
Liam cussed out more useless words as he changed position, moving to the other window. He needed a vantage point to cover his new friends as they ran toward him for safety. Thank God his helmet mic was on and they could still communicate.
“Count of three, two of you head my way. The door would be open. Over!”
A spate of grim replies came his way.
“Abe, you take point! Wolf, you go next!”
“Ten four!”
Liam aimed his weapon, waiting for the signal. All four SEALs were in that fire team out there, huddling behind the military SUV—two possibly injured—and he would not let them down. The logical move was the uninjured one would lead the other in each of the two runs. That meant Wolf was hurt and Abe would be the one getting the door.
He sighted a sniper from the roof top and without second-guessing, fired his weapon, picking the man off. Friend or foe, right now it didn’t matter. Bringing his comrades in to safety was number one priority.
The two SEALs hauled ass as he continued firing hard, keeping them covered as they made their way to him. The door flew open and both men threw themselves inside amidst another round of gunfire.
“Wolf, you okay?” Abe asked.
The taller man, Wolf, looked at his injured arm quickly and nodded. “Bloody, but I can still shoot,” he replied, his voice grim. “Let’s get our other two out of danger. They’re just sitting ducks out there.”
“I’m signaling them now,” Liam told them, keeping his gaze on the remaining two SEALS as they crawled on their bellies toward the end of the vehicle facing the small bunker. “Cookie’s going to need help. Abe, you cover us while I run out there to help Mozart pull him in here.”
“What’s the signal to let them know I’m coming out to them?”
“I’ll do it,” Wolf said. “You go ahead.”
Wolf went to one side of the window. He checked and saw one of his men had lost his helmet. He put out a hand and quickly made some signals. Then he nodded to let Liam know the two outside were ready. Liam opened the door and ran out as Abe covered him. Stray bullets rained on the sand by his feet but he kept running until he reached the other two. The injured one instantly got to his feet and with the help of the other SEAL, they dragged and pulled him along.
In moments like these, time slowed down and everything always appeared to move in slow motion. Liam had experienced it numerous times and he let his adrenaline take charge, trusting his instincts to get where he needed to go. The door flashed bigger and he could see the bullets slamming into it, whizzing right above their heads.
He realized they might not make it. If Abe or Wolf didn’t get the enemy sniper above, they’d be hit with his next shots. His two companions were thinking that too.
“Leave me,” Cookie told them. “Get in there.”
“Quit wasting your breath, asshole, and keep up!” Mozart panted out.
Liam didn’t even bother replying. As if they were going to leave any man behind to be picked off by a damn sniper. He heard the familiar squeal of tires squealing and it sounded as if a vehicle was coming in their direction. Not good. From his peripheral view, he caught sight of a covered all-terrain vehicle. Faster. They needed to go faster.
Outrunning an M-ATV while helping an injured man was impossible. Liam turned his body, raising his weapon-holding arm. Death would not get him from the back. He looked straight up and smiled defiantly as he readied to shoot. He froze.
Above the M-ATV, a figure was facing the enemy, manning and blasting at them with a 50-calibre. It was the most beautiful sight. At the same moment he had his weapon raised, their unexpected help turned, hair spraying out like liquid rubies in the wind.
“Get the fuck out of the way, dumbasses,” she yelled on top of her voice, her Southern accent instantly recognizable to all American boys, “so we could get close to the door.”
Although he couldn’t see much in the few seconds, to Liam, the voice belonged to the most beautiful woman in the world, in combat gear, coming to save their lives. He would kiss her if he could.
The M-ATV swerved right next to them, close to the front door. The driver beckoned as the woman continued shooting at the enemy, giving the cover. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Liam pushed Cookie up into the vehicle. He heard the others behind him as he and Mozart scrambled up. In seconds, all the SEALs fire squad was inside and without needing orders, they began shooting in unison, like the perfect fighting team they’d been trained to be, aiming at the parapet wall as their driver turned and drove out of firing range.
“Are they going to come after us?” Liam asked.
“Seeing what a small group we are, I’d say yes,” Wolf said.
They’d stopped shooting since it’d be just a waste of bullets. The parapet wall was too far away.
“No, they won’t,” the driver replied.
Like everyone else, Liam turned his head at the female voice. Two women. He hadn’t expected that.
“Hey, thanks for coming to our aid,” he said, studying them both with interest.
The first one, the one manning (should he say womanning?) the weapon was still standing, so all he could see was her lower body. The camouflaged pants fit her very well.
“You’re American,” he continued speaking to Legs when the sound of battle had died down and there was only the rumbling of tires as they sped off.
“Ya noticed.”
Legs had a fine voice, with that Southern drawl. Such an unexpected thing in the middle of the desert. It reminded him of the sweet iced tea he guzzled down in the pungent heat of Florida summers when he played baseball.
“We were escorting the Canadians to meet with the Peshmerga leader,” Mozart said. He wiped perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. “Now they’re dead. Care to explain?”
“Our leader is dead. They killed him this morning,” the driver told them, quietly, her voice without emotion. She spoke with an Arabic accent.
“What happened?” Cookie asked. He sounded a little strained.
“You have injured men. You’d better tell how serious it is first,” the driver said, glancing back at Cookie. “Ella?”
“Yes, I remember the first aid kit,” Legs said, the rest of her finally coming down from the hole above them. “It’s in my backpack under the seat, along with my laptop and notes. So be careful if any of you are sticking your hands under there looking for it.”
“I’m okay,” Cookie said, reassuringly. “I’m a SEAL. I can take a little flesh wound until we’ve reached somewhere safe.”
“Not if you bleed to death. I don’t care whether you’re a SEAL or not. Right now, I’m in charge here and I want to know the status of those injured,” Legs retorted.
Laptop and notes. Liam studied the woman closely.
Besides the long legs and the glorious red hair loosened from the helmet, she looked as if she’d put on her fighting gear in a hurry. Her weapons were carelessly slung over her shoulders and her shoes were partially untied. The smears of dirt on her face brought out the startling blue of her eyes in stark relief. Her small nose was slightly upturned and her skin was pale, the kind that went with a true redhead.
“SITREP of injuries,” Wolf acquiesced, in his usual quiet voice. “Be more detailed than the usual ‘just a flesh wound, sir,’ men. After that, I’d also like a SITREP from our rescuers, so we could all assess our options. I’ll go first. A bullet nicked my arm. It’s bleeding but not badly.”
Liam liked the man. He could lead without causing friction. “I think only two of us are injured,” he said.
“They got me in the back of my thigh. I can’t run very well,” Cookie reported reluctantly.
“Near his ass, actually, by the looks of it,” Mozart added, with a slight grin. “Should be fun examining that wound.”
“I’m not letting you bandage my ass,” Cookie shot back.
“Your turn,” Wolf said to the two women. “What’s going on?”
“I thought it’s pretty obvious the SITREP on what’s happening over there,” Legs said, dryly.
“I’m assuming you’re part of the Kurdish troop at check point, so your people knew we were coming,” Liam pointed out. “In contrast, we have no idea who we’re talking to and the enemy we’re dealing with.”
“I’m Ella and American,” Legs replied. “She’s Zainab. We’re both…hmm…trainees for the Kurdish Peshmerga army. We were attacked last night. One of the men who recently joined up was a spy and came in with the others to overpower us.”
“Traitor,” Zainab spat out. She started talking angrily in Kurdish.
“Hey, slow down a bit,” Wolf said. “How many survivors? What was the purpose of the attack?”
“They thought our leaders were there. Wanted to take them prisoners. They became angry when they realized they were wrong, so they decided to take some of you prisoners instead,” Zainab said, in slow English.
“They figured they could get a friendly fire situation to happen and start an incident,” Legs—Ella—continued. “They’re also sort of looking for me.”
All the SEALs gave Ella their full attention.
“Why?” Mozart asked.
Liam sat up straight. Laptop and notes.
“You’re Fitz!” He gave her a hard look.
Ella grinned back at him.
Liam rubbed his jaw. “Sean didn’t say a thing when he sent me to get you. Damn, like me, the enemy thinks you’re a man.”
Ella’s grin became wider.

~ Meet Gennita Low ~

Jenn, as everyone calls her, likes to keep things simple. That's why she runs a roofing construction business, teaches, writes and does her own business taxes eight days a week. She considers herself a multi-cultural and well-rounded person. Workers leave her alone when she starts yelling at them in Chinese and Malay. She also studies German and Russian because she can't pronounce French very well. The most boring and interesting thing she ever did was translating documents from various languages into English, giving her an opportunity to see many countries. Having traveled extensively in her twenties, she now spends her thirties quietly with six noisy dogs.

Shameless Promotion: Jenn was a RWA contest slut, having finaled in and won a bunch of them including the Marlene, the Merritt, and Indiana's Golden Opportunity. She is also a three-time finalist in the RWA Golden Heart contest before she became published. She would love to hear your comments about her books. She has been known to give away bookmarks and stuff to those who praise her.

AND, if your roof leaks, she can probably give you some advice!

~ Connect with Gennita ~

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Introducing Susan Stoker's Kindle World: Liz Crowe's Marking Mariah

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~ Blurb ~
A Susan Stoker Special Forces Kindle World Novella

When a severe concussion sustained on a mission in Egypt equals a discharge for one-time soccer super star turned Delta Force IT expert, Terrance "Trigger" O'Leary, he spends half a year drunk, and in more strange beds than even he is willing to admit.

After wandering back home to Lucasville, Kentucky he's hired by his old friend, now the principal of the local high school. Honestly believing that his new job as soccer coach and part time bartender will be all he needs to fix himself, he’s determined to leave everything about his old life behind.

But a chance encounter at a karaoke bar turns into a smoking hot hook-up with a woman whose deep mocha skin and hypnotic singing voice turns him inside out. A woman he's a little surprised to meet again the next day—Mariah Bailey, recent winner of "Singers,” a national talent competition, and the high school’s new music teacher.

When terrifying, inexplicable violence rips the sleepy community apart, Trigger must leap back into action— which forces Mariah to accept his feelings about her, and the fact that even he can't always save the day.

The screen populated with furious messages, scrolling down as they continued to fill his screen. As he stared at them, trying to muscle the food down his throat and not puke it all back up on the table, the phone buzzed in his hand, making him curse and drop it in the mess of nearly congealed gravy.
Ghost was actually calling him.
That was a first.
He picked the device up, wiped off the worst of the damage and touched the screen to answer.
“God damn it, you sorry excuse for a human being. Where in the holy hell have you been?”
“Hey, Ghost,” he said, his voice creaky from disuse.
“Fuck you, Trigger. What the hell is going on with you? You said you’d answer text messages on the way to Kentucky. It’s been…shit, it’s been three weeks since anyone’s heard anything from your sorry ass.”
“Yeah, I know.” He stuck his fork into a huge bite of meatloaf. “Sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry you dick cheese. Jesus Christ in a Jeep you have turned me into a worried mama hen and I do not, I repeat do not, like it.”
“Right, well, I’m okay now so you can shit out your eggs and get on with your day.”
The silence was louder than any shouting or cursing. He winced, but waited it out.
“I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t just say that to me, soldier.”
“I’m out, Ghost. I’m not your soldier anymore.” He dropped the fork onto the plate. Gravy splattered on the table. He glared at it, his eyes hot, his ears ringing so loud he almost didn’t hear Ghost’s next words.
“I told you before you left—you will never stop being Delta. Once an Operator, always an Operator. Cut the pity party bullshit, Trigger. I don’t like it.”
I don’t give a shit what you don’t like, Trigger thought, but would never, ever say.
“Right,” he said instead. “Aye aye.”
“Don’t use pussy sailor talk with me,” Ghost growled.
Trigger sighed and slumped into the cracked leather seat, his conversational inclinations all used up. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch, okay? I’m a big boy, remember? I can manage to get home without checking in every hour on the road.”
“How’s your head,” Ghost asked, giving him a pass on the lame, teenager-ish sarcasm.
“Fine,” he said, wincing even as a spike of now-familiar pain pierced his left eyeball, lodging in his brain and settling in for a nice long session.
“You’re not on the horse, are ya?”
“Fuck no, Ghost. I’m not going brown. I ran out of the happy pills and am on to the second, step-down level. I’ll wean myself off, don’t worry.” He suppressed a shudder when longing for a comfy bottle of booze slammed into him with the force of a thrown fist. Heroin addiction was a known “problem” for vets lately—especially those who’d been discharged in as much pain as he’d been. He’d avoided it, because he knew himself well enough to avoid it.
“You going to your Dad’s place when you get there,” Ghost asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, as he twirled the fork around in the congealing mess of fat and carbs on the plate.
“All right, well…”
Trigger gripped the phone tighter. He couldn’t wait to end the call but at the same time he dreaded the end of it. Hearing his old commander’s voice made him feel connected again, part of a team, a team he’d loved as much, if not more, than the many soccer ones he’d been on in his life.
“Fletch’s trying to keep the soccer team together. We almost beat the assholes over in two,” Ghost said.
Trigger grinned even as his heart tightened like a fist in his chest. “Yeah? Well, you tell Fletch I said to make sure he doesn’t forget to mark up, not to tackle. It’s not knucklehead football. It’s the beautiful game.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Ghost said, his voice gruff.
“Hey, Trigger,” a different voice called. “Did you hear that Ghost has a woman?”
“Shut up,” Ghost growled, slightly off the phone’s speaker. “Before I pound you into the wall.”
“Ha, I’d like to see you try,” Fletch said. “Take care of yourself Trigger. I scored a goal. But we lost to the assholes on two.”
Trigger grinned again, picturing his fellow Operators, his friends, as he’d tried to teach them how to form themselves into a real soccer team over the past few years. It’d been bumpy and challenging but they were Delta Force. Their everyday existence personified “challenging.” A few of them were even pretty damn good by the time he’d had to leave.

~ Meet Liz Crowe ~

Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.

Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Unconventional Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).

With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.

Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.

~ Connect with Liz ~

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Saturday, July 30, 2016

Cover Re-Reveal... Amo Jones' One Hundred & Thirty Six Scars


Cover Design: Kari Ayasha at Cover to Cover Designs


I was four years old when I learnt what evilness the world could bring. I fought through life with my scarred soul, wrangled through the dark empty nights where I’d pray I didn’t wake up the next morning. I would shut my eyes and mentally take myself to my happy place.
Red roses
The sound of waves crashing on the sand under my feet.
The final time the cold blade pushed up against my thigh, and I waited for my blood to trickle over the other One hundred and thirty-six scars that covered my skin— never came. Who was this man who just saved me? He had no idea how close I came to ending myself that day. I was ready to blow my brains all over the bedroom walls and I had a nine sitting under my pillow to prove it.

Some people have families, I had engineered human killing machines surrounding me my whole life. I’d been a part of this unit since I was a baby, raised in a community that was shut off from the real world. A community where we were nothing but empty vessels, until Hella (my best friend) and I escaped. Hella took us to a girl who was in foster care with him before he was summoned into The Army. After finding out yet another complication in my life, I needed space. I booked in to a run down apartment, ready to clear my head. Only my head didn’t clear, because I was haunted every night from the screams that would vibrate through my walls.

This is not a story of a perfect man coming in to save the day. This is a story of what happens when fate interferes and two completely broken souls collide.

*Potential triggers lie within this book.
** This book is gritty and contains dark content.   

AND…its 99c!


Grab book 2 in the series
Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2)
Purchase link:


About Author:
Amo is a full-time writer from New Zealand who loves long romantic walks to the wine cellar. When she's not creating magic, you can usually find her relaxing in front of the television watching the latest episode of Supernatural or Vikings. (This will be updated as she finds new television shows with hot actors.) She's the proud mother of four little critters who are the reason she breathes, but also the reason she drinks. She's the wife-to-be to the love of her life.

She says wife-to-be because she scares him a little, and he still hasn't decided whether he wants to wed her or not. Such an exciting relationship. She loves meeting new people and believes the world needs more kindness.

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