terça-feira, 7 de julho de 2015

♡ Book Tour ♡ Ruin & Rule (Pure Corruption MC #1) by Pepper Winters @PepperWinters @RSofRomance




Meet Killian in Pepper Winter's new MC Romance!

NOW AVAILABLE



Ruin & Rule
Pure Corruption MC #1
by
Pepper Winters





✾ Synopsis ✾


"We met in a nightmare. The in-between world where time had no power over reason. We fell in love. We fell hard. But then we woke up. And it was over..."

RUIN & RULE

She is a woman divided. Her past, present, and future are as twisted as the lies she's lived for the past eight years. Desperate to get the truth, she must turn to the one man who may also be her greatest enemy...

He is the president of Pure Corruption MC. A heartless biker and retribution-deliverer. He accepts no rules, obeys no one, and lives only to reap revenge on those who wronged him. And now he has stolen her, body and soul.

Can a woman plagued by mystery fall in love with the man who refuses to face the truth? And can a man drenched in darkness forgo his quest for vengeance-and finally find redemption?

"Ruin & Rule is a full-length book at 436 pages and ends on a cliffhanger. Cleo and Kill's story continues in SIN & SUFFER."












❀ Buy Links ❀

Amazon USAmazon UK
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✿ Excerpt ✿


Prologue

We met in a nightmare.

The in-between world where time had no power over rhyme, reason, or connection. We met. We stared. We knew.

There was no distortion from the outside world. No right or wrong. No confusion or battles from hearts and minds.

Just us. In our silent dreamworld.

That nightmare became our home. Planting ghosts, raising fantasies. Entwined together in our happily skewed reality.

We fell in love. We fell hard.

In those fleeting seconds of our nightmare, we lived an eternity.

But then we woke up.

And it was over.






Chapter One

I always believed life would grant rewards to those most worthy. I was fucking naïve. Life doesn't reward — it ruins. It ruins those most deserving and takes everything. It takes everything all while watching any remaining goodness rot to hate.
— Kill


Darkness.

That was my world now. Literally and physically.

The back of my skull hurt from being knocked unconscious. My wrists and shoulders ached from lying on my back with my hands tied behind me.

Nothing was broken — at least it didn't feel that way — but everything was bruised. The fuzziness receded wisp by wisp, parting the clouds of sleep, trying to shed light on what'd happened. But there was no light. My eyes blinked at the endless darkness from the mask tied around my head. Anxiety twisted my stomach at having such a fundamental gift taken away.

I didn't move, but mentally catalogued my body from the tips of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head. My jaw and tongue ached from the foul rag stuffed in my mouth and my nose permitted a shallow stream of oxygen to enter — just enough to keep me alive.

Fear tried to claw its way through my mind, but I shoved it away. I deliberately suppressed panic in order to assess my predicament rather than lose myself to terror.

Fear never helps, only hinders.

My senses came back, creeping tentatively, as if afraid whoever had stolen me would notice their return.

Sound: the squeak of brakes, the creak of a vehicle settling from motion to stopping.

Touch: the skin on my right forearm stung, throbbing with a mixture of soreness and sharpness. A burn perhaps?

Smell: dank rotting vegetables and the astringent, pungent scent of fear — but it wasn't mine. It was theirs.

It wasn't just me being kidnapped.

My heart flurried, drinking in their terror. It made my breath quicken and legs itch to run. Forcing myself to ignore the outside world, I focused inward. Clutching my inner strength where calmness was a need rather than a luxury.

I refused to lose myself in a fog of tears. Desperation was a curse and I wouldn't succumb, because I had every intention of being prepared for what might happen next.

I hated the sniffles and stifled sobs of others around me. Their bleak sadness tugged at my heartstrings, making me fight with my own preservation, replacing it with concern for theirs.

Get through this, then worry about them.

I didn't think this was a simple opportunistic snatch. Whoever had stolen me planned it. The hunch grew stronger as I searched inside for any liquor remnants or the smell of cigarettes.

Had I been at a party? Nightclub?

Nothing.

I hadn't been stupid or reckless. I think...

No hint or clue as to where I'd been or what I'd been doing when they'd come for me.

I wriggled, trying to move away from the stench. My bound wrists protested, stinging as the rope around them gnawed into my flesh like twine-beasts. My ribs bellowed, along with my head. There was no give in my restraints. I stopped trying to move, preserving my energy.

I tried to swallow.

No saliva.

I tried to speak.

No voice.

I tried to remember what happened.

I tried to remember...

Panic.

Nothing.

I can't remember.

"Get up, bitch," a man said. Something jabbed me in the ribs. "Won't tell you again. Get."

I froze as my mind hurtled me from present to past.

"I'll miss you so much," she wailed, hugging me tighter.

"I'm not dying, you know." I tried to untangle myself, looking over my shoulder at the final call flashing for my flight. I hated being late for anything. Let alone my one chance at escaping and finding out the truth once and for all.

"Call me the moment you get there."

"Promise." I drew a cross over my heart—

The memory shattered as my horizontal body suddenly went vertical in one swoop.

Who was that girl? Why did I have no memory of it ever happening?

"I said get up, bitch." The man breathed hard in my ear, sending a waft of reeking breath over me. The blindfold stole my sight, but it left my nose woefully unprotected.

Unfortunately.

My captor shoved me forward. The ground was steady beneath my feet. The sickness plaiting with my confusion faded, leaving me cold.

My legs stumbled in the direction he wanted me to go. I hated shuffling in the darkness, not knowing where I came from or where I was being herded. There were no sounds of comfort or smothered snickers. This wasn't a masquerade.

This was real.

This is real.

My heart thudded harder, fear slipping through my defenses. But full-blown terror remained elusive. Slippery like a silver fish, darting on the outskirts of my mind. It was there but fleeting, keeping me clear-headed and strong.

I was grateful for that. Grateful that I maintained what dignity I had left — remaining strong even in the face of the unknown terrors lurking on the other side of my blindfold.

Moans and whimpers of other women grew in decibels as men ordered them to follow the same path I walked. Either death row or salvation, I had no choice but to inch my way forward, leaving my forgotten past behind.

I willed snippets to come back. I begged the puzzlement of my past to slot into place, so I could make sense of this horrible world I'd awoken in.

But my mind was locked to me. A fortress withholding everything I wished to know.

The pushing stopped. So did I.

Big mistake.

"Move." A cuff to the back of my head sent me wheeling forward. I didn’t stop again. My bare feet traversed... wood?

Bare feet?

Where are my shoes?

The missing knowledge twisted my stomach.

Where did I come from?

How did I end up here?

What's my name?

It wasn't the terror of the unknown future that stole my false calmness. It was the fear of losing my very self. They'd stolen everything. My triumphs, my trespasses, my accomplishments and failures.

How could I deal with this new world if I didn't know what skills I had to stay alive? How could I hope to defeat my enemy when my mind revolted and locked me out?

Who am I?

To have who I was deleted... It was unthinkable.

"Faster, bitch." Something cold wedged against my spine, pushing me onward. With my hands behind my back, I shuffled faster, negotiating the ground as best I could for dips or trips.

"Step down." The man grabbed my bound wrists, giving me something to lean against as my toes navigated the small steps before me.

"Again."

I obeyed.

"Last one."

I managed the small staircase without falling flat on my face.

My face.

What do I look like?

A loud scraping noise sounded before me. I shied back, bumping against a feminine form. The woman behind me cried out — the first verbal sound of another.

"Move." The pressure on my lower back came again, and I obeyed. Inching forward until the stuffy air of old vegetables and must was replaced by... copper and metallic... blood?

Why... why is that so familiar?

I gasped as my mind free-fell into another memory.

"I don't think I can do this." I darted away, throwing up in the rubbish bin in the classroom. The unique stench of blood curdled my stomach.

"Don't overthink it. It's not what you're doing to the animal to make it bleed. It's what you're doing to make it live." My professor shook his head, waiting for me to swill out my mouth and return white-faced and queasy to the operation in progress.

My heart splintered like a broken piece of glass, reflecting the compassion and responsibility I felt for such an innocent creature. This little puppy that'd been dumped in a plastic bag to die after being shot with BB gun pellets. He'd survive only if I mastered the skills to stem his internal bleeding and embrace the vocation I was called to do.

Inhaling the scent of blood, I let it invade my nostrils, scald my throat, and impregnate my soul. I drank its coppery essence. I drenched myself in the smell of the creature's life force until it no longer affected me.

Picking up a scalpel, I said, "I'm ready—"

"Holy fuck!" The man guiding me forward suddenly whacked the base of my spine. The hard pain shoved me forward and I tripped.

"Wire — get me fucking reinforcements. He's started a motherfucking war!"

Wind and body motion swarmed me as men charged from behind. The darkness I lived in suddenly came alive with sound.

Bullets flew, impaling themselves into the metal sides of the vehicle I'd just stepped from. Pings and ricochets echoed in my ear. Curses bellowed; moans of pain threaded like a breeze.

Someone grabbed my arm, swinging me to the side. "Get down!" The inertia of his throw knocked me off balance. With my wrists bound together, I had nothing to grab with, no way to protect myself from falling.

I fell.

My stomach swooped as tumbled off a small platform and smashed against the ground.

Dirt, damp grass, and moldy leaves replaced the stench of blood, cutting through the cloying sharpness of spilled metallic. My mouth opened, gasping in pain. Blades of grass tickled my lips as my cheek stuck to wet mud.

My shoulder screamed with agony, but I ignored the new injury. My mind clung to the unlocked memory. The fleeting recollection of my profession.

I'm a vet.

The sense of homecoming and security that one little snippet brought was priceless. My soul snarled for more, suddenly ravenous for missing information.

I skipped straight from fumbling uncertainty into starvation for more.

Tell me! Show me. Who am I?

I searched inside for more clues. But it was like trying to grab on to an elusive dream, fading faster and faster the harder I chased.

I couldn't remember anything about medicine or how to heal. All I knew was I'd been trained to embrace the scent of blood. I wasn't afraid of it. I didn't faint or suffer sickness at the sight of it pouring from an open wound.

That tiniest knowledge was enough to settle my prickling nerves and focus on the outside world again.

Battle cries. Men screaming. Men growling. The dense thuds of fists on flesh and the horrible deflection of gunshots.

I couldn't understand. Had I fallen through time and entered an alternate dimension?

Another body landed on top of mine.

I cried out, winded from a sharp poke of an elbow to my ribs.

The figure rolled away, crying softly. Feminine.

Why aren't I crying?

I once again searched for fear. It wasn't natural not to be afraid. I'd woken up alone, stolen, and thrown into the middle of a war, yet I wasn't hyperventilating or panicked.

My calmness was like a drug, oozing over me, muting the sharp starkness of my situation. It was bearable if I embraced courage and the knowledge that I was strong.

My hands balled, grateful for the thought. I didn't know who I was, but it didn't matter, because the person who I was in this moment mattered the most.

I had to remain segmented, so I could get through whatever was about to happen. All I had was gut instinct, quiet strength, and rationality. Everything else had been taken.

"Stop fighting, you fucking idiots!"

The loud growl rumbled like an earthquake, hushing the battle in one fell swoop. Whoever had spoken had power.

Immense power. Colossal power.

A shiver darted over my skin.

"What the fuck happened? Have you lost your goddamn lovin' mind?" a man yelled.

A sound of a short scuffle, then the fresh whiff of tilled dirt graced my nose.

"It's done. Throw down your weapons and bend a fucking knee." The same earthquake rumbled. The weight of his command pushed me harder against the damp ground.

"I'm not bending nothing, you asshole. You aren't my Prez!"

"I am. Have been for the past four years."

"You're not. You're his bitch. Don't think his power is yours."

Another fight — muffled fists and kicks. It ended swiftly with a painful groan.

The earthquake voice came again. "Open your eyes and follow the red fucking river. Your chosen — the one you hand-picked to slaughter me and take over the Club — he's dead. Did you ever stop to think Wallstreet made me Prez for a fucking reason?"

Another moan.

"I'm the chosen one. I'm the one who knows the family secrets, absorbed the legacy, and earned his way into power. You don't know shit. Nobody does. So bend a fucking knee and respect."

Another tremor ran down my back.

Silence for a time, apart from the squelch of boots and heavy breathing. Then a barely muttered curse. "You'll die. One way or another, we won't put up with a Dagger as a Prez. We're the Corrupts, goddammit. Having a traitor rule us is a fucking joke."

"I'm the traitor? The man who obeys your leader? Who guides in his stead? I'm the traitor when you try and rally my brothers in a war?" A heavy thud of a fist connected with flesh. "No... I'm not. You are."

My mind raced, sucking up noises and forming wild conclusions of what happened before me. Was this World War Three? Was this the apocalypse of the life I couldn't remember? No matter how I pieced it together, I couldn't make sense of anything.

The air was thick with anticipation. I didn't know how many men stood before me. I didn't know how many corpses littered the ground, or how such violence could be permitted in the world I used to know. But I did know the cease-fire was fragile and any moment it would explode.

A single threat slithered through the grass like a snake. "I'll kill you, motherfucker. Mark my words. The true Corrupts are just waiting to take you out."

The gentle foot-thuds of someone large vibrated through the ground. "The Corrupts haven't existed for four fucking years. The moment I took the seat, it's been Pure Corruption all the way. And you're not fucking pure enough for this Club. You're done."

I flinched as the sulfuric boom of a gun ripped through the stagnant air.

A crash as a body fell lifeless to the grass. A soft puff of a soul escaping.

Murder.

Murder was committed right before me.

The inherent need to nurture and heal — the part of me that was as steadfast as the beat of my heart — wept with regret.

Death was something I'd fought against on a daily basis, but now I was weaponless.

I hated that a life had been stolen right before me. That I hadn't been able to stop it.

I'm a witness.

And yet, I'd witnessed nothing.

I'd been privy to a battle but seen nothing. Knew no one. I would never be able to tell who shot whom, or who was right and who was wrong.

My hands shook, even though I managed to stay eerily calm. Am I in shock? And if I was, how did I cure myself?

The woman beside me curled into a ball, her knees digging into my side. My first reaction was to repel away from the touch. I didn't know who was friend or foe. But a second reaction came quickly; the urge to share my calmness — to let her know that no matter what happened, she wasn't alone. We faced the same future — no matter how grim.

Voices cascaded over us, whispers mainly, quickly spoken orders. Every sound was heightened. Being robbed of sight made my body seek other ways in which to find clues.

"Get rid of the bodies before daybreak."

"We'll go back and make sure we're still covered."

"Send out the word. It's over. The Prez won — no anarchy today."

Each voice was distinct but my ears twitched only for one: the earthquake rumble that set my skin quivering like quicksand.

He hadn't spoken since he'd condemned someone to death and pulled the trigger. Every second of not hearing him made my heart trip faster. I wasn't afraid. I should be. I should be immobile with fear. But he invoked something in me — something primal. Just like I knew I was female and a vet, I knew his voice meant something. Every inch of me tensed, waiting for him to speak. It was wrong to crave the voice of a killer, but it was the only thing I wanted.

Needed.

I need to know who he is.

Wet mud sucked loudly against boots as they came closer.

The woman whimpered, but I angled my chin toward the sound, wishing my eyes were uncovered.

I wanted to see. I wanted to witness the carnage before me. Because it was carnage. The stench of death confirmed it. It was morbid to want to see such destruction, but without my sight all of this seemed like a terrible nightmare. Nothing was grounded — completely nonsensical and far too strange.

I needed proof that this was real.

I needed concrete evidence that I wasn't mad. That my body was intact, even if my mind was not.

I sucked in a breath as warm fingers touched my cheek, angling my face upward and out of the mud. Strong hands caressed the back of my skull, fumbling with my blindfold.

The anticipation of finally getting my wish to see made me stay still and cooperative in his hold.

I didn't say a word or move. I just waited. And breathed. And listened.

The man's breath was heavy and low, interspersed with a quick catch of pain. His fingers were swift and sure, but unable to hide the small fumble of agony.

He's hurt.

The pressure of the blindfold suddenly released, trading opaque darkness for a new kind of gloom.

Night sky. Moonshine. Stars above.

Anchors of a world I knew, but no recognition of the dark-shrouded industrial estate where blood gleamed silver-black and corpses dotted the field.

I'm alive.

I can see.

The joy at having my eyes freed came and went as blazing as a comet.

Then my life ended as our gazes connected.

Green to green.

I have green eyes.

Down and down I spiraled, deeper and deeper into his clutches.

My life — past, present, and future — lost all purpose the second I stared into his soul.

The fear I'd been missing slammed into my heart.

I quivered. I quaked.

Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.

Every part of me arched toward him, then shied away in terror.

Him.

A nightmare come to life.

A nightmare I wanted to live.

If life was a tapestry, already threaded and steadfast, then he was the scissors that cut me free. He tore me out, stole me away, changed the whole prophecy of who I was meant to be.

Jaw-length dark hair, tangled and sweaty, framed a square jaw, straight nose, and full lips. His five-o'clock stubble held remnants of war, streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that shot a quivering arrow into my heart, spreading his emerald anger.

He froze, his body curving toward mine. Blistering hope flickered across his features. His mouth fell open and love so achingly deep glowed in his gaze. "What—" A leg gave out, making him kneel beside me. His hands shook as he cupped my face, his fingers digging painfully into my cheekbones. "It's not—"

My heart raced. Yes.

"You know me," I breathed.

The moment my voice webbed around us, storm clouds rolled over the sunshine in his face, blackening the hope and replacing it with pure hatred.

He changed from watching me like I was his angel to glowering as if I were a despicable devil.

I shivered at the change — at the iciness and hardness. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. His lips parted, a rumbling command falling from his mouth to my ears. "Stand up. You're mine now."

When I didn't move, his hand landed on my side. His touch was blocked by clothing but I felt it everywhere. He stroked my soul, tickled my heart, and caressed every cell with fingers that despised me.

I couldn't suck in a proper breath.

With a vicious push, he rolled me over, and with a sharp blade sliced my bindings. With effortless power, so thrilling and terrifying, he hauled me to my feet.

I didn't sway. I didn't cry. Only pulled the disgusting gag from my mouth and stared in silence.

I stared up, up, up into his bright green eyes, understanding something I shouldn't understand.

This was him.

My nightmare.








✿ The Author ✿



Pepper Winters wears many roles. Some of them include writer, reader, sometimes wife. She loves dark, taboo stories that twist with your head. The more tortured the hero, the better, and she constantly thinks up ways to break and fix her characters. Oh, and sex... her books have sex.
She loves to travel and has an amazing, fabulous hubby who puts up with her love affair with her book boyfriends.

Her Dark Erotica books include:
Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)
Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)

Her Grey Romance books include:
Destroyed



✽ Author Links ✽

WebsiteGoodreadsFacebookTwitter
PinterestBlog





♡ Book Tour + #Giveaway ♡ Fighting Shadows (On the Ropes #2) by Aly Martinez @AlyMartinezAuth @RSofRomance




Flint's highly anticipated emotional story is FINALLY here!

NOW AVAILABLE



Fighting Shadows
On the Ropes #2
by
Aly Martinez

Release Date: July 7th 2015





✾ Synopsis ✾


I come from a family of fighters. I always thought I'd follow in their shadows, becoming unstoppable in the ring. That changed the day I saved the life of a woman I loved, but could never have.

My brother hailed me as a hero, and my reward was a wheelchair.

Paralyzed, my life became an inescapable nightmare.

Until I met her.

Ash Mabie had a heart - stopping smile and a laugh that numbed the rage and resentment brewing inside of me. She showed me that even the darkest night still had stars, and it didn't matter one bit that you had to lie in the weeds to see them.

I was a jaded asshole who fell for a girl with a knack for running away. I couldn't even walk but I would have spent a lifetime chasing her.

Now, I'm on the ropes during the toughest battles of my life.

Fighting the shadows of our past.

Fighting to reclaim my future.

Fighting for her.












❀ Buy Links ❀

Amazon USAmazon UK
iBooksNookKobo








✿ Excerpt ✿


Chapter One
Flint

I remembered it all.
I heard the gun.
I felt the bullet.
I saw her fall.
In less than a second, my life as I knew it was over.
But, unquestionably, I would do it all over again.
For her.

"Flint!" Eliza cried from underneath me.

It wasn't the way I had dreamed of at least a million times over the years. Her voice hadn't broken in ecstasy. She hadn't called my name as I'd been claiming her as my own, nor was it followed by confessions of love and declarations of forever. Instead, there was a sharp ringing in my ears and a tsunami of tears welling in her deep-blue eyes.

My heart was already pounding, but the earth-shattering pain on her face spiked my pulse even higher. I knew I had been hit, but that wasn't what scared me.

"Are you hurt?" I rushed out.

"I'm fine," she choked around a sob. As much as I hated to see her cry, the weight of my world disappeared with only two words.

"Are you sure?" I studied her, but she was focused on something else completely.

Peering over my shoulder, she lifted her hand off my back. Blood dripped from her fingertips to the floor.

"Oh God!" she exploded, scrambling from under me.

"I'm okay," I tried to reassure her, but as I attempted to push up off the floor, I knew my words were in vain. I was nowhere near fine. "I'm..." I started, but the thought was stolen from my tongue. Pain overtook me, causing me to collapse face first to the ground where Eliza had just been lying.

I desperately tried to keep myself from passing out, but it was a battle I was quickly losing.

"Flint. Stay with me. Just hang on, please," she said calmly, kneeling beside me. But as soon as she sat up, her true emotions were revealed. "Help him!" she cried. "Please, God, someone help him!"

My mind was drifting, rendering me unable to focus, but even amongst the chaos of Eliza pleading for help and security rushing into the room, I somehow homed in on the announcer's voice on the television blaring in the background.

"I really expected more from Till Page in the ring tonight," he said.

It was then that I was reminded of a pain far worse than any bullet could inflict.

Till.

Her husband.

The father of her unborn child.

My brother.

He deserved her, but damn it, so did I.

My eyes never left hers as her screams drifted into silence.

***

I awoke to a searing pain in my back, and panic immediately flooded my thoughts.

"Eliza!" I screamed as loudly as I could, but it came out as nothing more than a gurgle.

"I'm right here." She appeared at my side. "Oh God, Flint. Don't do that again. You have to stay awake." She began smoothing my hair down.

"Eliza," I repeated when further coherent thoughts failed me. I was terrified — I knew that much. But my mind fought to catch up and answer the why. "Are... are you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine," she assured me, leaning down and kissing my temple — a gesture I would have killed to be able to return.

Instead, I blindly reached out to the side, searching for her hand. "Stay with me."

Firmly grasping my palm, she vowed, "I won't leave you, Flint. I swear."

If only she'd meant those words in the way I would have liked. However, right then, as I lay facedown, bleeding on the carpet of an upscale Vegas hotel floor with a bullet in my back, I would take it.

It wasn't enough.

But it would have to be.

She isn't mine.

She never was.

As she whispered soothing words into my ear, I went willingly into the darkness.

***

I slowly roused back to consciousness. I couldn't quite figure out where I was or why my throat felt like I had swallowed a truckload full of burning embers. Even through my grogginess, I could feel an ache in my back. It wasn’t until I spoke that I realized how fucked I truly was.

"Ewliz." What the hell? "Elyz."

"Oh thank God!" Eliza cried, suddenly appearing at my side.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I tried to pry my eyes open, needing nothing more than a glimpse of her dark blues. They held no superpowers, but I still believed they could heal me with a single glance. Hell, just knowing she was there with me worked miracles.

I tried to fight, but I couldn't seem to convince my eyelids that light wasn’t the source of all evil.

"Shh. It's okay. Just relax," she whispered, reading my struggle. "Are you hurting? Do you need more pain medicine?"

"Nup. Juz you," I said drunkenly.

"What's wrong with him? Why can't he talk?" Quarry whimpered from somewhere nearby.

I'd never forget how he sounded in that moment. His voice shook like that of the frightened child he never got to be. He might have only been thirteen, but he hadn't been a boy in a long time. Just like Till and me, he'd been forced to grow up too soon. Hearing the inflection of fear in his voice cleared my groggy mind.

"Em good, Q," I slurred on a laugh, even though nothing was remotely humorous about the situation.

I was lying facedown on a hospital bed, drugged out of my fucking mind, and pining over my brother's pregnant wife. The same woman who was the closest thing to a real mother I'd ever known. The levels of fucked-up could not even be described.

On second thought, maybe laughing really was the right response.

My brother, Till, was quite possibly the best man I had ever met. He was only six years older than I was, but as far as I was concerned, he had always been a father to me. Lord knows that the man's DNA I carried was not. My mother was a work of art, but my father was in a category all of his own. Clay Page was the reason I was lying in that bed and recovering from a bullet in the back, the reason Till had almost lost his wife and unborn daughter, and the reason Quarry had almost been kidnapped.

All I had left in life were my brothers, and in turn, I had Eliza.

If I could have been half the man Till was, I would've been better than ninety-nine percent of the male population walking the planet. God, I wanted to be as selfless as he was. But I wasn't even close. Instead, over the years, I'd become increasingly jealous of his life and the way Eliza loved him. Sure, they had their fair share of problems, but they always weathered the storm together, never wavering in their devotion to each other. Only a year earlier, my older brother had suddenly lost his hearing — something that would have easily sent a lesser woman running for the hills. But not Eliza. She gave him unconditional love, and it stung so fucking much to watch her give it to him.

The older I became, the more I found myself consumed by guilt and anger. Guilt because no two people had ever deserved each other more. And anger because, despite knowing that, I wanted to shove my brother out of the picture completely. I wanted to own Eliza Reynolds Page in every possible way, but especially in the way where she never left me and loved me forever.

I wanted the comfort and security only she could offer me.

"Eliza?" I called as I went back to battle against my eyelids and was finally victorious. I was greeted by the sight of Till holding her tight, his arms folded around her swollen stomach.

"Hey, bud," he cooed, visible relief washing over his face.

But I didn't have eyes for him. Eliza stood in his arms with tears flowing in a steady stream down her cheeks.

My lips twitched in the most unlikely of smiles.

She always cries.

"You 'kay?" I mumbled.

"I am. Thanks to you." She took a step forward, joining our hands.

I laughed, using our linked knuckles to rub her belly. "How's ma baby?"

"What'd he say?" Till asked.

Eliza removed her hands from mine long enough to translate for him through sign language.

I attempted to roll over so I could have the use of my hands to communicate with him, but I was stilled by the sudden shouts.

"No!" they yelled as I tried to push up on the bed.

"You can't move... I, um, I mean you shouldn't move." Eliza squatted down in front of me.

I lifted a hand to wipe her tears away. Her eyes were red and puffy, but as she brushed my short hair off my forehead, she'd never looked more beautiful. Her fingertips trailed over my skin, soothing my aches from the outside in.

"Let's get you some more pain medicine." She grabbed a red button off the corner of my bed and pressed it repeatedly.

I wasn't in any real pain, but within seconds, my entire body relaxed even further.

She remained squatting in front of me, and her tears began to dry while she whispered soothing words I couldn't quite make out among the myriad of beeping monitors. It didn't matter what she was saying though.

She was there.

With me.

For me.

My vision was blurry, but time stood still as I stared into her eyes and slurred the words I had absolutely no business saying.

I had been harboring them for years. But no matter how I tried, no amount of time made them right.

"I love you, Eliza. Soooooo. Fuuucking. Mush."

Even drugged out of my mind, I knew that my admission was going to do more harm than good, but that didn't slow the words — or the pain.

Maybe, if I just told her how I felt, I could let it go. Move on to a day when I wasn't teased by the unattainable. It was a grand idea, but fruition was a different story.

She replied, "I love you too," but I knew she didn't understand.

In that second though, I needed her to understand. It wasn't a choice.

For her.

Or me.

"No. I loooove you." I exaggerated the word but not the truth.

"Shh," she whispered, resting her hand on my cheek. "I love you too, Flint. We all do. Just go to sleep."

We all do.

They wouldn't after I was done. I was sober enough to realize that.

"No. Lizen to me. I... love you. Like Till loves you. Like... I-want-to-have-sex-with-you love you. Really. Gud. Sex." I laughed.

"Oh fuck," Quarry groaned.

"And marry you, and..." I stopped to lick my dry lips before spewing the ultimate slap to my brother's deaf ears. "That should be my baby, not his."

"Oh fuck," Quarry repeated.

"Uhh... um..." Eliza stuttered, looking up at Till, who was standing only a few feet away.

"What? What'd he say?" Till asked, stepping forward.

"I said I'm in love with your wife!" I yelled for some unexplainable reason.

Well, maybe only unexplainable to them; I understood my frustrations completely.

Till needed the chance to hate me. He had given me everything in life and provided for me even when he'd had to sacrifice himself. I owed him the truth about the way I felt about his wife. Regardless that it proved what a dirt bag I truly was.

I lifted my one free hand in the air and began to sign out the letters, but Quarry stepped between Eliza and me and forced my hand against the bed.

"Yep. That's enough. Go to sleep, asshole."

"He needs ta know. Tell him fur me."

Quarry lifted his hands and signed to Till without words. He said he loves us all, and then he got all weepy and called Eliza mommy. I'm just trying to keep him from embarrassing himself. That's all.

"Dat's bullshit," I replied when he finished.

"We love you too, Flint. Get some rest," Till said, folding his arms across his chest, not buying into Quarry's explanation.

"No! I said, 'I love her'. Eliza." I began to point in her direction, but Quarry once again slapped my hand down.

Turning his back on Till, he leaned into my face. "Shut your goddamn mouth. I'm trying to help you here."

"I love her," I repeated for the umpteenth time.

Eliza wedged her way back to my side. "No, you don't. You're just drugged up right now, Flint."

"Bullshit," I declared adamantly.

Drugs didn't cause the way I felt any more than they could fix it. I'd have been a junkie long ago if there were something that could've quelled the burning in my chest every time I saw her with Till.

"This isn't somethin' new, Eliza. I think about you when—" I'd started to spill all of my embarrassing secrets when Quarry's hand slammed over my mouth.

"I said, 'Shut the fuck up'," he seethed.

"Stop cussing," I mumbled from behind his hand.

He looked to Eliza. "Can you press that button again? Maybe see if he'll pass out."

"What the hell is going on?" Till snapped from behind us, losing his cool with being in the dark.

Nothing. He's acting like a bitch. Just doing my job as his little brother to protect his manhood... or something like that, Quarry signed then flashed Till a tight grin.

"No, I—" I started, and his hand once again landed over my mouth.

Quarry gave Eliza an impatient glare.

"He has a few more minutes before the pain pump will give him any more meds," she answered, frazzled by my confession.

And just that small reaction to my admission hurt more than whatever the hell was happening on my back.

"Well, I'll just keep my hand right here until it's time," Quarry hissed at Eliza.

"Um, I'm gonna step out and get some water," she announced uncomfortably.

"Eliza, wait," I tried to shout, but Quarry wasn't lying about not removing his hand. "Get off me." I weakly swatted it away.

Glancing back at Till, he lifted a finger in the air to signal one second. Then he turned back to me. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. You're in love with her, fine. Now, shut up."

"Not until he knows," I replied.

"Go to sleep, Flint. If you still want to make this mistake when you wake up, I'll sign it out to him myself." He urged me with a hard stare.

I was tired. Sleep didn't exactly sound like torture. I'd been sitting on my feelings for Eliza since I was twelve. What was one more night?

"I would take her from him," I declared as my lids began to droop.

Quarry busted out laughing. "Then, when you wake up, I'll sign out your warning. Oh, look! Time's up." He grabbed the red button and gave it a push.

I moaned as the glorious burn of the medication hit my vein.

"Thank God," he breathed as I drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke some hours later, my determination to tell Till had fortunately disappeared.

Unfortunately, so had my desire for Eliza to know.

But the truth was out.

As the embarrassment set in, I tried to convince myself that maybe it was for the best that she knew how I felt.

It wasn't.

It was a hell of a lot worse.





✿ Teasers ✿

















✿ The Series ✿


Haven't read this series yet?

Meet Flint Quarry, Till & Eliza in Fighting Silence


Fighting Silence
On the Ropes #1
by
Aly Martinez

Release Date: February 23rd 2015





✾ Synopsis ✾


Sound is an abstract concept for most people. We spend our lives blocking out the static in order to focus on what we believe is important. But what if, when the clarity fades into silence, it's the obscure background noise that you would give anything to hold on to?

I've always been a fighter. With parents who barely managed to stay out of jail and two little brothers who narrowly avoided foster care, I became skilled at dodging the punches life threw at me. Growing up, I didn’t have anything I could call my own, but from the moment I met Eliza Reynolds, she was always mine. I became utterly addicted to her and the escape from reality we provided each other. Throughout the years, she had boyfriends and I had girlfriends, but there wasn't a single night that I didn’t hear her voice.

You see, meeting the love of my life at age thirteen was never part of my plan. However, neither was gradually going deaf at the age of twenty-one.

They both happened anyway.

Now, I'm on the ropes during the toughest battles of my life.
Fighting for my career.
Fighting the impending silence.
Fighting for her.

Every night, just before falling asleep, she sighs as a final conscious breath leaves her.

I think that's the sound I'll miss the most.








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✿ The Author ✿


Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add "Author" to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you're hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.



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