Titles: Seeking Solace: Angelina's Resortation AND Reclaiming Me: Fallyn's Revenge
Series: Love in the Dark Series
Author: Chelsea Camaron
Genre: Dark Romance
Seeking Solace Release Date: July 26, 2018 Reclaiming Me Release Date: September 26, 2018
Cover Model: Lindsay Michelle
Cover Photographer: FuriousFotog
Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs
  
The fork in the road in front of me screamed go right.
Giano gave me life.
I gave him death.
The path to peace inside of me was paved in his blood. Can I ever believe in love again?
Instead of going right, I veered left into the depths of a world unknown.
   
My name was tainted at birth.
Giano was my second chance.
Freedom from my destiny had its allure.
Except revenge was a temptation I couldn't resist.
My father's world was mine to claim. I would do whatever was necessary to be me again - love and life be damned.
  Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
         
 
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Duet Title: Almanza Duet
Titles: Cartel Bitch ~ Cartel Queen
Cartel Bitch Release: March 15, 2018
Cartel Queen Release: April 19, 2018
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Cover Model: Mike LaCombe
Cover Photographer: Golden Czermak/Furious Fotog
Cover Designer: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
Unforgiving.
Relentless.
I’m to be feared.
When your family is as much a friend as an enemy, there is no one to trust.
I am Javier Almanza.
Cartel kingpin.
No one can touch me.
No one can hurt me.
Except her.
Mari Belle Dominguez.
Hardened.
Persistent.
I refuse to break at the hands of a man.
My situation makes me his.
He’ll never really have me.
I’ll never let him hurt me.
Until he claims more than my house, my body, and my life.
When Javier Almanza claims my heart, I’m no longer his cartel bitch.
No, I am the queen.
 
Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
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Title: Bottom Line
Series: Devil's Due MC #6
Author: Chelsea Camaron
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: November 30, 2017
 Cover Design: Cover Me Darling
Beaten at the hands of his peers, he knows judgment. The domino effect of one person's crime going unpunished never heals.
He's no saint.
Mitchell "Trapper" Gates fears nothing. He begs for death and relishes life on the edge.
He's also not afraid to call himself a sinner.
Trapper knows what it is to be violated and what it feels like to deliver a death blow. He knows love and he knows pain.
However, one person knows his every secret.
When Avery has waited long enough, can Trapper see beyond their past and into their future? Or is he too late?
Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes and the devil demands his due.
 
Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
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Title: Day of Reckoning
Series: Devil's Due MC #4
Author: Chelsea Camaron
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: August 24, 2017 Cover Designer: Cover Me Darling
Time served for a crime he didn't commit only provided many lessons learned. The domino effect of one person's crime going unpunished cuts deeply and leaves a mark that can never be covered.
He's no saint.
Jackson 'Rowdy' Presley did a dime, and he served his time silently. He could have brought down the real criminals, but instead he took the term and paid the price. Never have loyalty before the Devil's Due MC, he finally has the new beginning he desperately needs.
She's not afraid to call herself a sinner.
Peony Michele Forbes lives her life wherever the wind takes her. She walked away from her past to give herself a future with no restrictions. As much as she wants to forget who she it, others don't want to let her disappear so easily.
However, danger follows her everywhere she goes.
Will Jackson see beyond his jaded connection to Peony and find there is more to life than revenge? When backed to the wall, will Peony let herself trust Jackson to be the one to save her?
Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes, and the devil demands his due.
Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
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Title: Close the Tab
Series: Devil's Due MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: May 30, 2017 Cover: Cover Me Darling
SYNOPSIS
The system created to serve and protect failed him. The domino effect of one person's crime going unpunished has no boundaries. He's no saint. Bladen 'Judge' Jones rides to escape the firm hand of his past. When home is a nightmare, the unknown suddenly isn't so frightening. Riding with his brothers, the Devil's Due MC, is more support than he has ever had in his lifetime. She's not afraid to call herself a sinner. Tamalyn Andrews is a master mixer, hiding out in a small town hick bar on the outskirts of a town for nobodies. Looking over her shoulder is something she can't stop herself from doing. Old habits die hard. However, danger bellies up to her bar. Will Bladen face his own past to uncover Tamalyn's secrets? When everything crashes around her, will Tamalyn open up to Bladen in time to save her life? Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes, and the devil demands his due.
PREORDER
   
  
PROLOGUE REVEALED
Close the Tab
Devil’s Due MC 3
Written By
USA Today Bestselling Author
Chelsea Camaron
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
1st edition published: May 30, 2017
Editing by: C&D Editing and Asli Fratarcangeli
Cover Design by: Cover Me Darling
Formatting by: M.L. Pahl of IndieVention Designs
ISBN-13: 978- 1542764612
ISBN-10: 1542764610
Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.
This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
***Warning: This book contains graphic situations that may be a trigger for some readers. Please understand this is a work of fiction and not meant to offend or misrepresent any situations. There is quite a bit of violence so if that’s not what you’re looking for then please don’t read.***
Blurb:
The system created to serve and protect failed him. The domino effect of one person's crime going unpunished has no boundaries.
He's no saint.
Bladen 'Judge' Jones rides to escape the firm hand of his past. When home is a nightmare, the unknown suddenly isn't so frightening. Riding with his brothers, the Devil's Due MC, is more support than he has ever had in his lifetime.
She's not afraid to call herself a sinner.
Tamalyn Andrews is a master mixer, hiding out in a small town hick bar on the outskirts of a town for nobodies. Looking over her shoulder is something she can't stop herself from doing. Old habits die hard.
However, danger bellies up to her bar.
Will Bladen face his own past to uncover Tamalyn's secrets? When everything crashes around her, will Tamalyn open up to Bladen in time to save her life?
Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes, and the devil demands his due.
Prologue
Bladen
“Tamalyn,” I plead. “Tell me, tell me what happened to your face!”
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“Let me get you some ice,” I start to move off my bed when she reaches out and grips me holding me in place.
“No, don’t leave me.”
“Okay,” I soothe. Laying back on my bed, I press her head to my chest as she relaxes I stroke her hair. Seconds tick by into minutes. We say nothing.
“Tell me,” I whisper. “Tell me who did it and I swear I’ll make them pay.”
She sobs into my chest refusing to answer. Minutes tick by as she finally falls asleep. The hours pass and I silently pray my parents don’t come home anytime soon.
They won’t help her. If they find her here, it will only get worse.
I already know marked her. I just can’t do anything if she won’t confirm it.
Tamalyn Andrews is my best friend. I have watched her grow from a girl into a woman. We have gone from playing in ditches together as kids to stealing kisses as teens.
There isn’t a time in my life where I don’t remember her being in it.
She’s also the only person in my whole world, who knows the truth.
We’re not safe here. We’re just too young to escape yet. Eighteen is two months away and I will do everything I can to get us free as soon as the day comes. Until then, sleep against me Tamalyn, find a moment of peace because when she goes home, she’s facing hell.
Find out if Judge gives the devil his due for Tamalyn’s pain in Close the Tab (Devil’s Due MC 3) releasing May 30th through all major e-book retailers! Preorder available now!
IN THE SERIES
MEET THE AUTHOR
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
     
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Title: Scarred
Series: Ruthless Rebels MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: May 19, 2017
Scarred
(Ruthless Rebels MC Book 3)
Co-written by:
Chelsea Camaron
And
Ryan Michele
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele 2017
All Rights Reserved. This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission from Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
1st edition published: May 2017
Cover Design by: M.L. Pahl of IndieVention Designs
Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli
Proofreading: Silla Webb
This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy if strong sexual situations, violence, domestic abuse, and explicit language offends you.
This is not meant to be an exact depiction of life in a motorcycle club, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
Scarred
Whitton ‘Skinny’ Thorne – scarred skin only covers a beautiful soul.
Bitter with a capital B.
Life has been hell from the beginning when Whitton was burned as an infant, yet as much as he pushes me away I’m always coming back for more.
When I finally let go, he wants to let me in, how do I survive when we’ve both been scarred?
Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele have teamed up to bring you an explosive new MC romance that will have you panting for more of the Ruthless Rebels. Hold on tight, it's going to be a wild ride full of action and suspense that these two authors are known for. Throw in two people who finally get their second chance, and things are about to get smoking hot.
Chapter One
Roe
Fairytales, nursery rhymes, and childhood memories, none of them are really all that great!
Holding my hand in the air with three fingers up, I sing the song about Sally the camel and her humps. Simple.
I don’t have or need complications in my life. Sally has humps that come and go, she has issues, me – I’m good.
The twenty-two smiling children sing along with me with utter enthusiasm. They love this song. Most days we sing it once sometimes twice before we do the weather and calendar first thing in the morning. Our routine, the structure the kids need to thrive, and I need to feel like things are in order.
I look up when the door to my classroom opens.
It’s preschool. The director of the school comes in and out throughout the day so at first I don’t think much of it. When my assistant teacher Ms. Jennifer stands up to take over, it’s then I make my way to the door. As the lead teacher if the director comes in it’s Jennifer who takes over for me and I meet with the director. Any changes necessary from the director, I will make them. Jennifer and I have worked together for three years now so our system is solid.
Beside the director, Ms. Marie, is the cutest little girl. Obviously, this visit is to bring us a new student. Her blue eyes are a bit too big for her face making those rounded little cheeks stand out too. There isn’t fear in her blue depths, but there is a lot going on in that brain of hers. Finishing the song to the delight of the children on the ABC carpet, I let Jennifer continue with the next song. I focus my attention and greet our newest student, warm smile in place.
I bend down to her level looking her in the eyes. “Hello, I’m Ms. Roe and what’s your name?”
“Marlayna,” the little girl in pigtails says softly.
My heart breaks when I see the scar on her neck that her hair isn’t covering. I know those marks too well. I fight back the emotion that sits just under the surface.
Burns.
This little girl has suffered a tragedy and I hate that for her.
“Would you like to join us in circle time?” I offer as I fight back the past. He is not the only person to be burned in their lives and survive. So many things twist inside me and I have to push it down. The emotions that keep beating down the well-structured walls I’ve built around them over the years always try to spill over, but I won’t allow it. I’ve had no other choice but to keep a handle on it all.
My job is about teaching and nurturing Marlayna, today is not about him or his scars.
She nods her head and the day commences with story time, rhyme time, nap time, and all the normal activities of my day. Marlayna adjusted very well in the class for it being her first day. She went with the flow no trepidation and without much of a reaction to anything.
It pains me. I don’t like when the kids cry, but when they come in almost numb like little Marlayna it hurts more to wonder what has hardened them to life already. Children should be free to be kids not caught up in some adult situation or punished unnecessarily.
The afternoon passes with little Marlayna quickly falling into the routine and making friends. After each of the children are gone and I get my room cleaned up, I head out.
Arriving home, I sit on the sun room of my two-bedroom house and enjoy the Georgia afternoon. When I moved out, this was my one requirement, sun room. I love the outdoors and not feeling closed up.
Blakely, Georgia, population five thousand. Small town lifestyle near the Alabama – Georgia state lines.
April is my favorite month of the year. The weather is sunshine, the birds sing, and the humidity isn’t unbearable so boob sweat is a non-issue for the time being. No woman ever wants boob sweat. August, in the deep south is hotter than hell so I’ll enjoy my outside time while I can.
In fact, tomorrow I think I’ll take my class to have a picnic and maybe do sidewalk chalk and hopscotch on the playground. They love the outside and it helps to get as much of their energy out as possible.
My mind goes to little Marlayna. She is in the system. Foster care, with the Brown family, who are regulars in the community when it comes to taking in children. They will be good to her.
I once knew a boy who lived with the Brown’s. My mind, my heart, they always go back to him. I wish it wouldn’t but we have too much shared between us. His scars were similar to hers only they covered his face and half his body.
Whitton Thorne, the boy down the road with a tortured past. His mom had things so twisted in her head when it came to her twin boys. She believed Whitton was evil and Waylon was the son of Jesus or something crazy. I wasn’t privy to all the details. I just know every time the state let the boys go back to her, Whitton was returned to his social worker more damaged than before. I know once they tried to send Waylon back and leave Whitton with the Brown’s only for Waylon to run away to be with his twin. The two of them were close. In their situation, I would imagine one would have to be. They were also complete opposites.
God, I loved Whitton.
From the beginning when he was the boy I bumped into in grade school to the man who grew into there isn’t a moment in time since I met Whitton Thorne that he didn’t have my attention. He intrigued me. His strength captivated me. And the more time I had with Whitton Thorne in my life the harder I fell in love with him.
Even now, years have passed and I can’t help but hope he’s okay. Hope that somewhere he found his slice of happy.
Night comes and I slide into my t-shirt blend sheets. I don’t make much with my job, but this is my splurge, soft bed sheets. After all, one can’t be at their best with twenty children without a good nights sleep. I close my eyes and the fatigue of the day quickly consumes me.
“Whitton Thorne, one day you’re gonna be the President.” I smile proudly at my friend.
“The President of the rejects club, maybe,” he replies in his normal tone.
I sigh. The boy is nothing short of amazing. He’s smart, athletic, and cute. He just doesn’t see it. Him and his twin brother look nothing alike. All the girls crush on Waylon. He has this mystery to him. Whitton, though, Whitton is the kind of boy you can talk to, really talk to. There is depth to him. The intrigue of him keeps me on edge to know more, see more, and have more time with him. From the time we met in elementary school at eight years old until now he has captured my attention. We’re young, he’s seventeen and I’m sixteen, but I can’t get enough of him.
“What do you see in me, Roelyn Duprey?”
I feel the blush cover my cheeks. “All good, I see all the good in you Whitton.”
He smirks. “You got the wrong Thorne, Roe. Maybe you think I’m Waylon.”
I prop my hand on my hip. “I know what I see in you Whitton and I see potential!”
“You have all the potential, Roe. The future is in front of you and there’s not a single thing to hole you back.” He tells me like he does all the time. “You need to have bigger and better than what Blakely, Georgia and a misfit like me can offer.”
“Oh, Whitton, you will have bigger and better in your life. I know it.”
He laughs me off like he does every single time I tell him I think he’ll be someone someday. Only thing is, I know down to my soul he has so much more to give in this world. My heart bleeds that he doesn’t see it.
My alarms blares drawing me out of the dream. The memory of a lost time when things weren’t complicated and the boy I knew and believed in may not have believed in himself, but back then he believed in me. Something I desperately needed.
Whitton Joseph Thorne, my best friend since we ran into each other playing at recess when we were only eight years old. Twenty years later, I still consider him the best friend I’ve ever had … only everything between us has changed.
No longer is he the boy I thought could give the world goodness. He’s a grown man who left everything in Georgia behind ten years ago when we crossed a line.
Would I cross the line again? If I knew the outcome would be this, I’m not so sure. At the time, it felt right. Hell, I thought it was going to change everything into something we could build a future on.
Except, Waylon took off and Whitton was right behind him. Where one brother went, the other was sure to follow. They had a rough start in life. Bonded as twins, bonded as brothers, and bonded by the times life kicked them while they were down those two would always stick together.
Part of me blames Waylon. The other part of me, knows the truth. Whitton ran. Yes, he woke up after the best night of our lives and couldn’t handle the emotion. He found out Waylon took off and he followed. It was an escape and an all too easy excuse.
I’m not sure he realized that no matter the distance he put between us, he still had me with him. I haven’t figured out a way to get that piece of me back from Whitton yet. Even after all these years, I belong to him in a way that keeps me from moving on.
Looking at little Marlayna yesterday and waking up today, it’s time I let go of Whitton. Everything I thought we could one day be is a far fetched dream. Marlayna has her life ahead of her. No matter the past, she has a future.
The same can be said for Whitton Thorne and it’s a future that he decided would be without me.
**
Sitting down to a late dinner, I pull out my phone and scroll social media. I don’t know why because it only tells me things I don’t care to know. Even with a bowl of vegetable soup in front of me, my stomach growls at seeing the yummy chocolate desserts. I have a sweet tooth. My ass and hips thank me for it.
Sipping my soup, it warms me. My thumb moves on my phone screen, skipping past people I went to high school with that I never talk to. Why I’m even friends with them, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s time to declutter my life. Most of the time people friend you just to see what you’re doing and then delete you. Personally, I like it when people take out their own trash.
My private message pops up and internally I groan seeing it’s from Lance. Hi. See you’re on. Want to talk to you. He types. I need to figure out how to block people from seeing when I’m on and when I’m not. Or maybe I just need to block him. I’m thinking the latter.
Going out with Lance was up there with many mistakes I made in my life. Two dates, then I called it off. Only he didn’t seem to get the point. Even telling him flat out I wasn’t interested, he still messages me, texts me and calls me. Not wanting to appear rude, I’ve answered all of them. But this, I just don’t want to engage with him. I’m tired of it. I repeat myself all day everyday with my students. My personal life, I don’t want that.
I move the little bubble that shows a picture of a golf club, Lance, and toss it down below to get rid of it off my screen.
The phone begins to ring and I jump. First thought is, Lance is calling me. Then when I look at the screen, I see Elizabeth Calling. A smile crosses my face as I except the call.
“Hey woman!” I greet my best friend. We met in college, which seems like a lifetime ago, but really wasn’t.
“Hey back at ya! What are you doing? I want to meet for drinks.”
I look to the clock noting it’s only five-thirty, but I do have to work tomorrow. Drinking and then rowdy children in the morning is not a good combination.
“Is something up?” I take the last bite of my soup and push it to the side.
“Yes, but I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Meet me in twenty at Carlyle’s?”
Looking down at my clothes, the puppy dog pajama bottoms won’t cut it going out. “Give me thirty. I need to change.”
“Epp.” She makes the sound then, “Okay, see you then.” And disconnects. Whatever she has in store must be exciting.
At least one of us has something good going on.
Chapter Two
Skinny
Flames extinguish, scars fade, but the burn can’t be felt forever!
I strike the match and watch it burn.
The blends of reds and yellows into oranges is mesmerizing. The flickers of colors all move as if they’re dancing together. The heat gets closer and closer to my fingertips as the flame grows intently.
I feel no pain. I feel nothing.
Void. Empty.
My life is not one of colors and blends.
Poof. I blow the match out. The flame is extinguished. All that’s left is black smoke. It’s like my soul. Dark, unforgiving.
I sit in the dim lit room I call home. Ruthless Rebels MC – my family and the clubhouse where I calm myself at the end of every day.
The ten feet by ten feet space has my bed, one nightstand, and a dresser. The closet is small but I keep a three tiered bookshelf in there, full of different books and photo albums. It’s not much, but it’s mine. Beside that door is the door to the bathroom.
Feeling the acid burn in my gut, I get up and make my way in front of the porcelain. Dropping to my knees I wretch.
I don’t remember the last time I woke up and didn’t throw up within an hour. It happens, every damn day. I finish, stand, wash up, and brush my teeth. There’s no use in looking in the mirror, I already know the mess I’ll see.
I hate fucking mirrors. Only one time in my life did I ever look in a mirror and not see the hideous beast I am … and that will never happen again. Roelyn Duprey, she made the man in the mirror not a monster but a lover. She is everything beautiful I should never touch. It’s a memory I’ll hold onto.
She believed in me, believed in having something not understanding the monster I am. From the beginning the devil gripped my heart and never let go. The bitch known as my mother told me I was spawned in evil. She scarred me, marked me, and made sure the world could see me for what I am. A horrible, vile, demonized man.
Roelyn Duprey had rose colored glasses on. I let her keep them on because I needed her lifeline. The spark between us, I fed. Continuing to fuel, provide the heat, like a flame, I watched us grow, flicker, and rather than watch us fade, I snuffed it out quickly leaving nothing behind but black smoke.
My brother needed me and Roe needed me to go away even if she didn’t know it. I took off, never looked back, and haven’t looked in a mirror since the night I watched me fuck her in one.
Spitting in the sink, I rinse my mouth and walk away never checking my reflection. I know what I’d see. The flames of hell flicker in my eyes and burn in my soul, no need to remind myself.
Throwing on a clean pair of jeans, I don’t bother with boxers, briefs, or anything to cover my junk. The raw denim rub will remind I’m alive. Somehow, in the hell that is my life, I keep surviving and I’m not sure why. Sliding on my shirt, I grab my cut as I drop my feet into my boots before I head out, not bothering to tie the laces till I get to my bike.
Today I have packing duty. I don’t mind. I’ll head to the warehouse, pack the guns to ready for shipment, and then meet up with Waylon.
My twin, Triple Threat, as he’s known in the club is everything I’m not. He’s good looking, level-headed, and not held back by a damn thing.
Me, I’m a scarred mess, hot-head, and haunted by the one thing I gave up so long ago.
Yeah, tonight calls for the strip club. I’ll pay to have a stranger grind on me till I get hard, then head back to the clubhouse and fuck a trick until I can’t remember my name, my past, and the woman I left behind.
**
“It’s a boy!” Shamus rushes into the clubhouse announcing. “DJ has a healthy, happy, eight pound, nine ounce, twenty-two inch baby boy. Kenderly is doing good.”
There are smiles and happiness that fill the space. Shamus comes over to me, slapping me on the back. “You wanna go with us to set up the house, brother.”
I nod. There isn’t a single thing with any of my brothers I would miss because they are all I have. And for once in my life, I belong.
After DJ’s whore mother dropped her problems on Kenderly’s doorstep, DJ claimed his woman and in turn the Rebels handled their shit. Kenderly and her mother had an uphill battle to climb with everything they had already lost, but DJ’s mother cost them their home.
It took some time, but DJ won over Kenderly’s heart. They have a good life, building themselves a solid future. And now their new addition. Everything is looking good for my Rebels’ brother.
Not too long ago, DJ bought them a big ass house and furnished it to Kenderly’s liking. Now, it’s time for the Rebels to ride in and make sure our newest member is set.
“Your woman handle buying the goods?” I ask Shamus knowing he and Andrea have decided not to have kids because of the health risks for her.
“Shit, brother. She loves shopping for all this baby crap. Kitten has a soft spot for being the auntie apparently. She even bought Kenderly a video baby monitor instead of the basic one they had on the registry.”
I laugh. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t think so but apparently DJ and Kenderly had talked. DJ didn’t want to be fuckin’ his woman and look to the nightstand and see their baby awake.”
“I never thought a damn thing would give DJ stage fright.” We both laugh before heading out to go set up a nursery Rebels style.
“Guess a baby changes things. I’m good with how my life is so no change needed here.” Shamus adds with a smirk. Things are good in the club, they are good for DJ and Shamus. It’s even better to feel like I’m a real part of something.
Andrea is already inside when Shamus, Lurch, Triple Threat, and I pull up. She rushes outside and over to the car parked in front of the house.
“Mom brought me over, got lots to unload.” She says more to Shamus than anyone with a smile that is relaxed and easy going.
Given the path Andrea went through to finally be okay again and with Shamus, I smile with her. Like me, her life is full of scars.
Only in all the turmoil, Andrea has found a way to not allow her scars to define her.
She lived a different life. Following her dreams into investigative reporting landed her half dead in a hospital oceans away from her home. She survived her traumatic brain injury like I survived my burns. With no place to go to pick up the pieces she came home. It took a bit, but Shamus and Andrea worked their shit out. Their past isn’t holding them back from a future.
Waylon and I won’t have this. Our past defines our future and it’s not one that looks so bright.
For a moment, I had hope that somehow I could have a second chance to have something real in my life outside of the club. With DJ and Shamus both getting their second chances, I thought maybe there would be a sliver of time where Waylon and I could have more than what we have managed to secure. Then I dreamt I caught a look in the mirror and quickly remembered what my life has been destined to be from the moment I was born.
I am my brother’s keeper. My place on Earth is to protect him even from himself. I don’t have the time or emotion for anything else.
Our mother is a psycho bitch who thinks my brother is the second coming of her God or some shit. Apparently during an ultrasound, it appeared that I, baby b, was kicking or hitting, baby a – being Waylon. From that moment on I was destined to the damned.
She even tried to have me aborted but the doctors said she was too far along and it was risk to my brother. Then we were born.
She tried to leave me at the hospital. The nurses told her it wasn’t good for infant twins to be separated this early. According to the medical records we later dug up, they felt she was suffering from post partum depression and would eventually want me. Having two babies at once via c-section meant she couldn’t hold us right away so she didn’t bond properly the doctor noted.
Bond.
What a joke. The woman tried to kill me more than once.
I’ve never had a mother’s love. Neither has my brother.
She may have wanted me marked, condemned, banished, and branded, but she wanted my brother to be some savior to the world.
We just wanted to be boys. We grew into men who just wanted to live life. To this day I still can’t understand her mindset. I gave up a long time ago trying. Waylon – that’s another story.
I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for my brother. I’ll protect him from her or God himself if I have to.
“Snap out of it, these diapers won’t unload themselves!” Waylon says throwing a box of the shit holders at me.
“How many boxes do they think Kenderly needs?” I ask looking at the van full.
“Daisy, XXX (Lurch’s woman forgot her name), Andrea, her mom, Kenderly’s mom and aunt, and every other woman around swear they will go through these and more.” Shamus says walking inside with a bag of clothes.
“Wonder what it was like for mom to have twins?” Waylon says out loud and my chest stings in the pain I know he feels.
Yeah, we have no future like what DJ or Shamus have found. I need to stop disillusioning myself into ever thinking I could. Walk the line, it’s what I have to do.
If I fuck up, I’m not the only one who suffers, Waylon will too. I won’t do that to him or me. Yes, I’m better off alone.
 Whitton ‘Skinny’ Thorne– scarred skin only covers a beautiful soul.
Bitter with a capital B.
Life has been hell from the beginning when Whitton was burned as an infant, yet as much as he pushes me away I’m always coming back for more.
When I finally let go, he wants to let me in, how do I survive when we’ve both been scarred?
***Each book in the Ruthless Rebels MC is a new couple, but are best read in order. This is a biker book so please expect violence, foul language, and sexual situations. Do not buy if any of this offends you.***
  
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
 Ryan Michele found her passion in making fictional characters come to life. She loves being in an imaginative world where anything is possible and has a knack for special twists readers don’t see coming.
She writes MC, Contemporary, Erotic, Paranormal, New Adult, Inspirational, and many more romances. And whether it’s bikers, wolf shifters, mafia, or beyond, Ryan spends her time making sure her heroes are strong and her heroines match them at every turn.
When she isn’t writing, Ryan is a mom and wife living in rural Illinois and reading by her pond in the warm sun.
HOSTED BY:
COVER REVEAL
COMING APRIL 18th 2017
PREORDER NOW➢➢➢ http://a.co/i0xU0Yg
Publisher ➢ Limitless Publishing
Designer ➢ MG Book Covers and Designs
Photographer ➢ Shauna Kruse
Model ➢ Matthew Hosea
14 AUTHORS with 14 WTF moments after a night of drinking....
ALL PROCEEDS will be donated to ST. JUDE
The List by Alyson Santos
Not With You by D.Nichole King
Toasted by Shantel Tessier
Ten Too Many by A. m Hargrove
Oh Tequila by C.A. Harms
Shenanigans by Chelsea Camaron
Beauty and the Brown Noser by Evan Grace
Test Me by Molly Mclain
Sex, Alcohol and My Neighbor by Terri E. Laine
Oh Shit by Lacey Black
Strike Out by Jennifer Miller
Tattooed Redemption Alicia Rae
Have you ever had too much to drink?
The Guy in 3C by Cheryl McIntyre
Vikings by Sunniva Dee
Have you ever had too much to drink?
Everyone knows hooking up with someone while under the influence is a bad idea. But…sh*t happens.
What did I do?
Who did I do?
Where are my keys…and my underwear?
Welcome to nights of not-so-innocent drinking gone awry. Find out where it all went wrong…so terribly wrong…
From sexy neighbors to embarrassing advances—and that person who you know for a fact wouldn’t be there in the first place had it not been for the alcohol. Remember or forget? It doesn’t matter—because either way, those nights can still follow you forever.
Truth be told, when the night is over and the beer goggles are off, some things can never be unseen.
PREORDER NOW➢➢➢ http://a.co/i0xU0Yg
Title: Use Me
Series: Caldwell Brothers
Author: MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron
Genre: Sports Romance
Release Date: March 21, 2017
Use Me
Caldwell Brothers 4
Written By
MJ Fields
And
Chelsea Camaron
Copyright © MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron 2017
This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.
New York Times Bestselling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard-hitting nonfiction to romance.
But first, she must find a muse.
Angelo has no desire to form relationships, when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six-foot-five, long-haired, tattooed, dangerous-looking man on his ass.
Will he be able to resist the temptation? Or will he allow her to use him?
*** This is a full-length, standalone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, though it is recommended. ***
Chapter One
Legacy Gym
Present day
I look around the gym. The walls are black and mirrored, the floor is black cement covered in red mats. The back wall, where all our daily equipment is stored, is covered floor to ceiling in black lockers. Hand wraps, gloves, medicine balls, headgear, nut cups, first-aid equipment, and clothing that have our logo on them.
Our logo. I am a part of something. There was a time in the not so distant past when I wasn’t sure I would ever be anything. There are still days I couldn’t give a shit less if I do.
To the left are sparring mats and a few pieces of cardio equipment. To the right are free weights, a few high-end weight training machines, five heavy bags, seven speed bags, and five timing bags. In the middle is where I prefer to spend my time and energy. The cage.
I look at the large clock hanging above the doorway to our office. Nine-thirty at night. That means I have been here for thirteen and a half hours.
Eight hours would send a normal man my age running home to his family, to a hot meal, or to a bar where he could have a drink and relax with his friends. I am not a normal man.
Normal men don’t have blood on their hands, and if they do, they have it with remorse in their hearts, or the blood came from fighting a greater cause. The blood on my hands came from an anger that took control, from the rage within me, a rage that still controls me.
“Put one foot in front of the other. Stand tall and proud. Make the decision that you are both of those things and never let them think any differently. You are a good man, a good kid. Your past doesn’t define you; your present and future do.”
Shaw, my father’s oldest and closest friend, words ring inside my head as I look at the picture of him, Jagger, and I hanging on the wall, illuminated by bright white up-lighting.
If only putting one foot in front of the other wasn’t so hard. The weight of the world is heavy on my neck, making holding my head high almost impossible.
Shaw believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Now Shaw is gone.
After killing the lights and locking the doors, I let out a breath and walk toward the door in the back left-hand corner of the gym that leads to my apartment upstairs.
I stand in the apartment above Legacy, a gym that Jagger Caldwell and I inherited. A gym that trains people like me. It was willed to us when Shaw’s fight with cancer ended.
I suppose he did it to make sure his promise to his best friend, my father, was kept. He made sure I had something, an income, a place to live—a piece of something tangible while I served out my parole sentence for a crime I committed eight years ago.
Honestly, it feels more like a curse, a cage, a confined space, than a new beginning.
My body aches. It’s bruised and sore, all feelings I not only accept, but embrace. The harder I push myself, the more men I get in the cage with to train, the more hits I take, the closer I get to controlling the fury that simmers just beneath a boiling point inside my soul.
I walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the distressed mirror above the small sink that is rust-stained from the constant drip of a faucet that I keep telling myself I will fix, but I have no intention or desire to do so.
I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and turn toward the shower to start the water. It takes a good five minutes for it to heat enough for my liking, and while I wait, I brush my teeth and open the cabinet.
I stare at the last bottle of pain meds prescribed to Shaw. I pocketed them after he died when the rage became worse. It is a battle of wills to tame the beast inside me. Waking up and looking in the mirror, knowing what I did and why I did it.
I twist off the childproof cap and count as I dump the pills out into my hand. Twelve. I have twelve nights left to sleep, and then the nightmares will ensue. I make a mental note to space the pills out to every third day. I can do without sleep for that long, no more.
I let them fall one by one back into the bottle, except one, as I feel my exhausted body become tense again. Anxiety is starting to creep in, so I take the last pill in my hand, toss it in my mouth, and swallow it down.
Before the pill’s effects kick in, I get in the small shower and bend so the water falls over my head instead of hitting the middle of my shoulders. When the water starts to run cold and I feel a bit drowsy, I step out, towel my hair lightly, and then drop it to the floor, allowing my body to air dry. Then I look up at my reflection and see a man who looks much older than his twenty-five years.
My eyes, once bright green and alive, are now dead and unreflective of feeling. My hair, once cut close to my scalp by my father’s own hand, is now well past my shoulders and a mess of brown waves. It’s only down after a shower or bedtime; otherwise, it is always tied up in a knot on the back of my head. I don’t have any damn desire to go to the barber. That would mean I would have to talk to someone. I’m functioning just fine here without making those types of connections, and there is no appeal in changing that up.
I run my hand over my beard. It’s been three days since I last groomed. I shave every fourth or fifth day, but never down to the skin.
I am six-foot, five-inches of intimidation. I weigh in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds of muscle, and my skin is covered in black prison ink. I have no desire for anyone to look at me and become confused as to who I am. No desire to have someone look at me and want to know more about me, or who I was. I have no desire for anything but the occasional release I can get anywhere. All I have to do is force a smile and say a word or two in order to get that need met.
My appearance is intimidating. It keeps people away. I’m not trying to give off the illusion that I’m unapproachable. Illusion would imply it wasn’t real.
It is real.
I am Michelangelo Mazzini. I was once called a saint by my peers, my teachers, and anyone who knew me.
Not anymore.
Now I am known as Kid.
I lay on the king-sized mattress that sits in the middle of the floor and stare at the ceiling, waiting, waiting, waiting for sleep to take me. The numbness that is my life isn’t holding me back. Rather, it’s my mind that won’t turn off, waiting for the next move.
I try not to close my eyes on my own. I wait for exhaustion and the drugs to do the work for me. Otherwise, I will be fighting a losing battle.
Chapter Two
Tatum
“Tatum, this is not what’s selling anymore. We need something …” Melanie pauses as she sighs.
Melanie and I have been friends since I sat next to her in a Shakespearian literature class we both enrolled in as an elective while attending Columbia for our Masters’ programs. Hers was in the classics; mine was in religion and journalism.
She loved fiction,a story you could get lost in, and I loved nonfiction, a story that didn’t allow you to run from your boring life, but showed you a life that you could get lost in and know it was real. Fairy tales were never meant to be believed in. They are stories written to scare children into behaving or else, so why waste time on them? Show them how to cope, what to avoid, and maybe a story that inspires them to do the right thing of their own accord.
She is the yin to my yang, the spring to my fall, the day to my night. The point is, she’s the lost-in-her-head kind of daydreaming chick, whereas I am the one who wants to get lost in reality to avoid getting lost in my head, and worse yet, believing that shit is even possible.
I am sure she has no other writers like me on staff. I am sure of this because one night, over drinks at Hotel Empire, she told me so. She told me in the sweetest way she could that I was my own worst enemy. That I had talent in abundance and was just too stubborn for my own good, and that if I were anyone other than “the Tatum” that played her Romeo a couple years ago, gaining us both an A in that godforsaken class, she would have walked away a long time ago.
We are opposites in our views on life, but who we are on the inside isn’t much different from the other. Both of us left our hometowns, knowing we were destined for greater things. And unlike most, we are willing to work our asses off to become. It landed us both in New York City, a city where we knew no one and no one knew us. A city that I swear wants to eat up young girls’ dreams and spit them back in your face.
Nothing about here is easy. What it is, though, is real. It’s gritty, it’s hard, and it’s all-consuming. If you can live here, you can live anywhere. Mark my words.
I know she could walk away at any moment, but Melanie would never. Even if she should run and not look back, that’s not who she is. It’s not who we are together.
We are forever friends, through thick and thin. The type of friends who you could talk to once every six months and pick up right where you left off. Though, in reality, we may go weeks without speaking due to work, but we have never gone more than a month at the most. She is my soul sister, and I am hers.
A few years ago, Melanie took an internship at a mid-sized literary agency, and I took off to write a story that would rock the world. I gave her, A View from Home, a novel about the foster care system in our country, and she went over the head of the man she worked for who said, “It wasn’t good enough” and emailed it to a company contact at Random House Publishing, where they not only bought the book, but hired her that day.
She became a junior editor at Random House, and I became a novelist. She became a senior editor when my first book put me on the New York Times Bestseller list. The subsequent three novels hit the list as well. Acclaimed awards, Wall Street Journal, and we were both riding a high of dreams coming true.
I can hear as she taps her long fingernails on her glass top desk, and then I hear the bell go off inside her head.
“Raw.”
“I’m giving you raw. I’m giving you real. I am giving you what people go through every day,” I tell her, trying to keep my annoyance at bay. After all, she is trying to help me.
“The market has shifted, Tatum. What’s selling is not this.”
I hear a thud and am certain it’s the manuscript I sent her. She prefers e-mail; I don’t.
“Then I’ll self-publish,” I threaten, and she audibly hisses into the phone, saying nothing.
This is new territory for us both. I love Melanie. I love working with her. Unlike the horror stories I hear about publishers washing out an author’s voice in edits, she doesn’t do that to my work.
“You still there?” I ask.
“I am,” she says firmly then pauses. I hear a door shut, then her heels click across the floor before she sighs out, “Please, Tatum. Please give me something that will blow the roof off this place. I know you have it in you. I know you do. Just let it happen.”
“Do you need this, Melanie?” I ask, wondering why she suddenly wants to mold my work into a completely different realm than I have ever written.
“Yes. Yes, I do. We both do.”
I sigh, feeling the weight of her world and my own landing firmly on my shoulders. “Okay, give me two months.”
“One,” she says, her edge returning.
“You have to push, don’t you?” I half-laugh.
“You taught me how,” she returns with a smile in her voice.
“Talk later.” I start to end the call.
“Wait! It has to be hot, Tatum. I need your voice, but bring the damn heat.”
“Melanie …”
“You’re gonna need to put yourself out there.”
“Meaning?” I have no idea why I ask when I know damn well what she is getting at.
“When’s the last time you actually got your peach plucked?”
“That’s none of your business,” I say with no intention of answering her, especially when she uses words like “peach plucked.” That’s up there with “moist” in words I would rather not use or hear reference to in sexual situations.
“You need to go find yourself a sexy, suit-wearing mogul,” she suggests.
“I’m in Detroit, Mel.” I sigh. “Remember, I was going to show the times in Motor City. A whole look back and look forward.”
I hear her nails tapping her keyboard. I know damn well she’s googling where to find the perfect place for inspiration.
“Get your ass to Texas.”
“I’m here for a month.” I stand with my phone in my hand, looking out the hotel window at what I know from pictures was once a beautiful city.
The river is mucky, the boats decrepit, and the cracked sidewalks once were beautiful. Detroit was something a long time ago.
“Right,” she sighs. “You can’t change your plans for the eye candy and your best friend?”
I laugh. “Melanie, this is all set up. Money spent, timelines sorted. I’m willing to think outside the box and shift my focus, but I can’t uproot my plans and still feel like I’m not insane.”
“Okay, okay,” she concedes.
“Goodnight, Melanie.”
“Goodnight, Tatum,” she says with a softness in her tone that is without a doubt caused by the stress I just alleviated.
Hers is gone, and mine has returned. Yin and yang. Night and day. We are never on the same page, but the balance is and always has been there.
I sit down on the chair next to the small table by the window, grab the glass of sweet red wine I had just poured, and take a drink. It’s sweet, crisp and, God willing, it will help me sleep tonight.
I drink the entire glass, and then pour another before reaching across the table to grab the manila folder and drag it closer to me. I look through the pictures from the 1950s: the new buildings, the finely-dressed people on the streets, the cars. The streets were full of them, all shiny and new. Detroit used to be spectacular. I know it was; the proof is in the pictures. But it is not anymore.
All that glitters does not always remain gold.
All that once was beautiful doesn’t remain so.
All that was lost will not necessarily be found.
Time does not stand still.
I stand up and stretch my neck as I walk over and grab my laptop, carrying it back to the table and opening it up. Then I click on the new document and title it:Mommy Porn.
“To new beginnings,” I toast the air then take a sip.
There is a saying in the writing industry: “write drunk and edit sober.” I guess I will give it a try tonight.
Sweet Jesus, am I really going to do this?
For Melanie, I will.
 New York Times best selling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard hitting nonfiction to romance writing.
But first she must find a muse.
Angelo has no desire to form relationships with anyone around him. But when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six foot five, long haired, tattooed, dangerous looking man, on his ass.
Will he be able to resist the temptation, or will be allow her to use him.
***This is a full length stand alone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, but it is recommended.***
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
 USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields write books that scorch pages and melt hearts.
Title: Coal
Series: Regulators MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 28, 2017
Cover Model is Jacob Wilson
Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog
Cover Design by Mina Carter
 Coal (Regulators MC 3)
Chapter Excerpt
Written by:
Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane 2017
This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.
This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
Please Note: The following excerpt is subject to change in final edits.
~Coal~
She is the everyday girl next-door.
He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.
Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.
Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.
Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.
In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.
Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?
Prologue
The pounding in my head continues to assault my ears. Chad’s party last night was epic, and my head is making sure to remind me of the good time I had.
Bang.
Bang.
Thump.
Thump. Bang. Thump. Bang.
The rhythm is now unsteady.
“Trevor wake your ass us right the fuck now!” My dad yells in his Army Ranger voice that has me immediately up and at attention by my bed.
Shit, why is my dad yelling? This tone is reserved for the major fuck ups.
Making my way to the door, I don’t bother to put on clothes and exit in my boxers. Immediately, I’m met with the brick wall that is my dad. We’re about the same height and of similar build. Only my dad has seen war, has scars and quite honestly scares the shit out of me.
“Turn around and put some clothes on. Then you get downstairs and face the shit storm you’ve caused. Two minutes, or I drag you down and let them see you in your naked glory, I don’t give a damn.”
He gives me a slight shove back into my room while my vision blurs and the chalky taste in my mouth only makes me wish I had time to grab a glass of water. His instructions were clear and precise. I won’t press my luck with the Ranger. Quickly tossing on my sweats and a t-shirt I rush downstairs only to stop midway. There is no way I’m going to be any longer than necessary, not with the mood he is in this morning. No sir.
The sight in front of me is like a punch to my hungover already ready to puke gut.
My girlfriend, Amber, stands at the bottom of the stair case with tears in her eyes with her parents flanking her on either side. The girl I have spent every spare moment with for the last few months doesn’t look like the lively, beautiful young woman I’m used to seeing. No, she looks a mess, hurt, broken, and could it possibly be she’s ashamed. Her mother’s eyes are swollen from crying and her father …
His face is murderous. What the hell is going on?
I shake my head trying to sort out why they’re here. Why my girlfriend looks like the world has crumbled at her feet. More so, why she’s brought this to my doorstep.
“Trevor,” my father barks harshly making me jump while I complete my descent and hit the bottom step. “Ass – couch - now.” He commands me before looking to the other family. “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, Amber, please head into the living room so we can address this matter.”
Matter? What could be wrong? I haven’t seen Amber in three days. She said she had the flu. We’ve been dating six months. Three weeks ago, she finally gave it up at a party at her best friend, Kiki’s house. Nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. We haven’t had much time together. I know I was drunk, she was drunk, so it wasn’t some romantic thing. In fact, once I got inside her tight pussy, I had to fight not to blow my load with the first thrust. I didn’t last long, but I told her next time would be better. I tried to make it good. I even held her afterward knowing it was her first time.
I sit while my mind races.
“Trevor,” my mom says my name gently while I look up into her dark eyes and see pain. “Amber’s family tell us that something occurred a couple of weeks ago,” she starts only to be interrupted.
“You fucking piece of shit got my daughter drunk and raped her!” Mr. Bridges roars lunging at me only to be held back by my dad who easily towers a good six inches over the man.
My mother rushes to my side, her long black hair hitting me in the arm. She’s Native American and I get my dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin from her. My height of six feet seven inches comes from my beast of a father.
“We need to discuss this,” my mother says to the Bridges.
“Nothing to discuss,” Mrs. Bridges replies. “Graduation is in two weeks, we want to see Trevor gone. Amber will have enough of a reminder for the next nine months of what’s happened to her. After the kids graduate, Trevor gets out of town for school or the military, or we go to the police and press charges.”
“Press charges?” I scream and run my hands through my hair as sharp pains assault my head. “For what?”
“Rape!” Mr. Bridges yells back.
Tears hit me. I’m seventeen years old. One night at a party where I swear she said yes leaves me in this kind of mess.
“I didn’t,” I gasp and try to get out the words, only I make the mistake of looking into Amber’s eyes. The fear, the pain, the sadness, and the desolation are all writing in her features as she shakes her head at me. “I didn’t do that.” I can’t even say the word.
My mother grips my arm in support. “Let’s sit down and talk this through.”
We back up and sit on the couch where my father releases Mr. Bridges and paces behind us. The Bridges’ take their seats on the loveseat and chair. Amber refuses to make eye contact any further with me.
“Were you at a party two weekends ago with Amber?” Mr. Bridges starts his interrogation.
I nod.
“Were you drinking?”
I nod.
“Do you understand that the legal drinking age in the United States is twenty-one?” He continues to fire questions at me. “Do you understand that an underage girl being intoxicated is not of the right mind to give consent to sexual activities? Do you understand the pain you’ve caused our daughter? Do you understand the ramifications of your actions?”
“Sir,” I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I fight back emotions. “I understand the legal drinking age. I understand that while yes, I was intoxicated, your daughter was an equal participant. So no, sir, I do not understand the ramifications of my actions.” I fight back the urge to puke.
My father’s hand comes to the back of my head. “Since your mother and I failed to make a man out of you. The Army will.” He clips out. “Trevor will be signing enlistment papers today and be gone within thirty days time.”
Mr. Bridges rises to extend his hand to my father to shake. “We appreciate your attention to the matter and easing the burden for Amber. We’ll be in touch about the future.”
Amber stands with her mother never once looking at me as she exits, while I can’t help but fear what my future holds and my mind tries to grasp what they’re saying.
I didn’t do it. I didn’t take advantage of her.
**
Two years later, I finish selection to become a Green Beret. The badass of the badasses. One of the elite. I remember in the selection process, while trying to mentally survive one obstacle to the next, someone said, “Hell is a fictional place. When you’re done here it’ll seem like a fucking sanctuary.”
He was both right and wrong. Finishing selection was the most grueling thing I’ve ever done, but I had already seen hell.
Hell was your girlfriend saying you raped her when she turned up pregnant. Hell was getting a letter she lost the baby before summer was over. Hell was knowing her life went on while I couldn’t figure out if my memories of that night were teenage fantasies or reality.
Hell was living day in and day out haunted by an event you aren’t sure really happened.
Chapter One
Coal
“Ropa Vieja,” I order my shredded beef while Ice looks over his menu beside me. Without having to watch him I know what Ice is doing – scanning the restaurant. Taking in the colorfully painted booths and wood stained stables while checking to make sure there is no threat in here to us. To men like us, it’s second nature to make sure your area is free of danger.
“Arroz con pollo,” he gives the waitress his chicken order.
With a nod, she takes off to the back, weaving in and out of the tables, leaving me with one of the few people who I consider family sitting in front of me.
“It’s been three years, brother.” Ice meets my stare and doesn’t back down. “Madyson is good. She’s working through it.”
I pause and give it to him honest, “you really think someone works through something like that?”
“Watching her, I know they do.”
His statement does nothing to ease my fears.
“You got a thing for my wife’s sister, Coal?” He asks the question everyone seems to wonder. “Look me in the eye and tell me. If you do, I’m not gonna judge. Not sayin’ I’ll be happy either, but you need to buck up, Coal.”
“Fuck no, I’m old enough to be her damn dad.” I am angry he can even think this. “You know me better than that.”
“Then why since the day we got her back, you’ve made it your mission to make sure she moves beyond this. Hell, Coal, you’ve paid for her college like she’s your fucking kid.”
I glare at him. “No one is supposed to know that. As far as she goes, Morgan goes, or the damn Pope goes, you pay her way through school. Drop the subject.”
“Easier said then done, brother.” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Got ghosts,” I reply as the waitress drops our plates in front of us.
It’s all I’m going to give him. My personal life, my hell, is not his business. I have the means now to find Amber. I don’t. I made a vow to my father the day I signed my enlistment papers to let the Army make a man out of me. I promised I would let Amber go and live her life free of me. Since the moment I took my oath, I haven’t looked into her. I won’t. The baby is gone. There is nothing for me to talk to her about without bringing up what is one bad fucking memory.
When Madyson was found, I promised her I would be by her side to make sure she could move on in life. I made a vow to leave Amber alone, good or bad. I had to keep my word. I wouldn’t let Madyson be alone, though, no I gave her my word to be her support.
And I have.
Ice raises his hands in surrender knowing I’m done talking about Madyson. “For now, I don’t have to kick your ass.”
“Forever,” I clip back meaning it. I do care about the well being of Madyson, but not in the way he thinks.
Three years ago Madyson was kidnapped, drugged and raped by men who were operating a sex slavery ring out of the Miami area. The Regulators had already taken notice of the number of women who were going missing, but it became personal when Ice’s daughter, Brooke’s best friend, Madyson, became one of those missing women.
Our club went in undercover, starting a business relationship with the man we thought was running the ring. I had to do some despicable shit to prove the Regulators were genuinely interested, such as fuck two of their drugged-up whores, but in the end it had been worth it because we got Madyson back.
Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to help other people. I have no problem doing that. I also have no problem with the black strokes each offense leaves on my soul after doing them. I am coming to realize there isn’t much of a soul left in me anyways. The way I prove to myself that I actually am some sort of decent human being is by doing things such as putting Madyson through school. Giving one girl the chance that I had inadvertently taken from another so many years ago.
It’s one of those things I don’t need to explain to a single soul. It’s between me and whatever higher power I choose to believe in today.
With our meals in front of us, we eat and spend the rest of our time in companionable silence. Brett ‘Ice’ Grady is one of my long time friends. He’s also not one to press me for words. Even if he did, he wouldn’t get them. My past is my own and it’s not something anyone needs to know.
I left Trevor Blake behind the day I enlisted in the United States Army. My black heart is dark as coal they say and earned me my name in the Green Beret’s where I met, Ice, Shooter, and Hammer. I kill without question. I sleep without dreams. And even all these years later, I still wonder if no was yes or somehow yes was no. It eats at me. It’s my penance to pay. I won’t bother her, I won’t dredge up the history for Amber. I let it be the gray area in life and determined that my future would be black and white forever. I no longer leave anything to chance or a misunderstanding.
Our phones ping at the same time, the text is from Screech, our tech man, and it’s a simple one-word statement.
Mission.
We have orders, time to finish up here and meet everyone at the club to see exactly what Uncle Sam has in store for our undercover group next.
Regulators Motorcycle Club, a brotherhood of military men with a job that is a special skillset. One that walks a line between right and wrong. We’re always one second away from going too far.
I have nothing to lose. I’m more than okay with it all.
Some of the other men in our club, such as Ice and Hammer, have everything to lose. Ol’ ladies, families. That’s not me. I have nothing to tie me down and not one fucking thing to lose.
My father died ten years ago from a heart attack. Now my mom lives alone. I help her out when it comes to making sure her bills are paid, but I can’t make myself face her in person. I’m afraid all I’ll see is shame in her eyes from the things in my past.
As I walk out of the restaurant behind Ice I see a familiar face. She goes by the street name Precious and is one of the whores I use when I need to get off. I don’t do many repeats, but Precious is one of the few that I have gone to more than once because she’s always clean, pretty, and I know she has a kid she’s trying to support on her own.
Sauntering over to me she purrs, “Hey baby. Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to go get a room?”
I shake my head. “Got somewhere to be Precious. You hittin’ on me because you want my dick or because you need to pay a bill?”
Her eyes flash in humiliation and I know it’s the latter. Pulling out my wallet I take out a hundred dollar bill and put it in her hand. “Take this and I’ll see you when I can.”
I walk away, not wanting to hear her thanks. I’m not the sort of man anyone should thank for anything. Seeing her desperate like that makes me wonder about my mom. It makes me worry if she needs more money from me or not. She’s stubborn and doesn’t like to take the ‘handouts’ I give her. Instead she would rather earn it at the little garden shop she works at. I’ll have to have Screech hack into her bank account and check things out for me.
My parents might have believed that I was a disappointment of a son because of what happened. Since the day I left to join the Army I still remember all the lessons my father taught me. Taking care of your family was one of those lessons. Whether my mom likes it or not, I’m going to check in on her soon to make sure she’s got everything she needs. If that means paying her bills for her behind her back, then that’s what I’ll do.
Throwing my leg over my bike, I start her up and rev the engine. Ice is already moving so I head out after him. I have no idea what the mission is yet, but I’m ready for it.
I feel that familiar need to fight, get my hands bloody. Release some of the rage I hold inside of my body twenty-four hours a day. I’m just hoping this mission gives me the chance to make someone the mangled mess I am inside.
Paisley
“Girl, you’re on fire!” I tell the air around me as I dance around my loft apartment getting ready for my day. Self-talk, it’s working wonders. “Dance, Paisley, dance, no one is here to see.” I shake my bootie and swirl around the kitchen making my morning smoothie. The space is open and airy, so I can twirl and shimmy my ass anywhere I please to go from the living room to the kitchen. For now, I stay in the kitchen as I start to drink my smoothie and bounce my hips from side to side.
In the last few years, I’ve changed my routine to start my day with as much pep as I can conjure. When everything is taken from you in a blink, it’s hard to rebalance.
Within thirty minutes, I’m at the gym for yoga. Walking through the front doors, I have my earbuds in and my music up, jamming in my mind. Looking down, I am stopped abruptly when I feel two firm hands grip my shoulders stopping me just inches from his chest.
Scotty.
While the man has muscles on top of muscles he’s an ego-maniac. I’m sure most women do swoon over him, but ‘man grunts’ and flexing don’t do it for me.
“Paisley, baby, gotta be careful.”
“Sorry,” I mutter knowing I need to pay attention.
“Make it up to me, take me to dinner tonight.” He sort of commands in the way Scotty does.
I reach up and pat his pectoral muscle to which he makes it jump in what I assume to be a way to impress me. “Scotty, at least twice a week you tell me to take you to dinner.” I sigh. “It’s getting old, buddy. Women want to be whisked away, swept off their feet, ya know,” I look up into his green eyes, “romance, buddy, romance.”
He cups my chin with his first finger and thumb, “Paisley, this ain’t no fairytale. You can have a night or two with a man like me, gotta take the leap, baby.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, “you really think that works?”
“You have no idea,” he smirks and I’ve had enough. Jerking my head back, I step to the side and around the behemoth.
“Not happening, Scotty, go have another protein shake.” I say without looking back at him.
I make my way front the front entrance of the gym, passing a few isolated exercise rooms to the door that leads into the women’s locker room. Desirae, who is one of my closest friends is already putting her stuff in a metal locker when I walk in.
We met when she came to Miami after the death of her sister. She still visits North Carolina regularly but for the most part her life is in South Beach with her man, Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. They’re cute together in that ‘get a room’ kind of face sucking way.
Des is easy-going and doesn’t judge a soul. It’s why we get along so well.
She takes one look at my face before automatically speaking, “Scotty, again?”
“Yup. Des, is it really bad to think romance is dead?”
She laughs. “Honey, I live with a biker. Depends on your definition of romance.”
I sit on the bench rather than tuck my stuff away. “I want to be knocked on my butt. When cupid nails me with his arrow, I’m gonna be swept away. It’s not something I’ll find on a date, it’s something that’s going to spark and then go BOOM.” I raise my hands dramatically.
“You do realize it doesn’t necessarily work that way, right?”
“You and your logic. Okay so for most people it may not, but for me that’s how it’ll be. The stars will align and something will happen sending me barreling into the man of my dreams life and instantly there will be fireworks. I know it.”
She closes her locker before picking up my phone and towel to toss them in the locker beside hers.
“Fireworks, those can happen for a lot of reasons, Paisley.” She smiles and takes me by the hand to pull me from my perch on the bench. “I love you to death, but you are the craziest woman I know. Maybe a little meat in you would take the edge off?” She jokes to which I just sigh loudly.
“Meat in me, huh? That’s gonna solve all my problems.” We both laugh and make our way to class. Exiting through the other side of the women’s locker room, we walk through the heart of the gym filled with various exercise machines until we reach the yoga classroom in the back.
An hour session later, love, fireworks, romance, and all thoughts of my morning are gone. No, the meditation, the focus, the calm is all back in place. I’m balanced. Rejuvenated.
My shift at the grocery store begins on a register. Beep, beep, slide the cans with a smile, its my job. I count items or sing songs in my head to entertain myself as I ring up my customer.
“Paisley,” the produce manager calls my name getting my attention.
“Yes, sir.”
“Flip your light. Finish that one then you gotta work organic today, Paul called in.”
I nod my head and do as I’m told.
Bin by bin, I go through the vegetables and fruits making sure to discard any that are going bad and refill low stock.
“Can you believe they want over a dollar more for this organic crap?” A lady says to her friend.
“Half of it still has dirt on it,” her friend chimes in. I should probably mind my own business, but they are missing out on some good foods by their assumptions.
“While I can understand one’s aversion to the dirt, please understand that once rinsed in tap water the metal and mineral components in all water speed the process therefore the food rots at a faster rate. Organic does cost some more because the rate in which a store loses the produce is higher since they aren’t packed full of preservatives which settle in your gut and make for a slow moving digestive system. And the dirt you visibly see is simple the covering provided in nature to slow oxidation and keep the air off the fruit or vegetable.” Immediately, I regret speaking. I switched majors in college and finished with a degree in Horticulture. Plant life, studying it, exploring it, well it’s the only thing I could make sense of after facing loss of real people’s lives.
“Thanks for the science lesson,” the woman cuts me off and I draw back at her tone. My intention wasn’t to offend but to explain.
Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to work deciding not to press my luck.
I made a decision five years ago to live a simplified life as much as I can and be conscious of my decisions for both my body and my environment. I lost everything by being careless and I won’t do that again. The regrets kept me up at night for far too long. I try to remain focused and centered in my every thought, word, and action.
I even considered going off the grid living, but soon realized my fear of bugs and my height leave me at a strong disadvantage to making a go at it. Plus, living in South Beach there isn’t really a whole lot of possibilities for that lifestyle.
Instead, I live in a one room loft style apartment, drive a Prius, and eat a mostly natural diet. Like the women beside me, the life isn’t for everyone. Modern day conveniences come at a price to our bodies and environment, but it’s my choice and I can’t push it on everyone.
They push their carts on by without buying anything organic and I go about straightening up.
My shift ends and I find my mood to be lacking. Sadness, an emotion I was once all too familiar with encompasses me.
Depression.
I remind myself I won’t go there again. I’ve cleaned up my life. No demons haunt me anymore. Today was not the best day, but it wasn’t the worst.
I have dealt with the worst. Now I have my crystals, my diet, and my lifestyle to keep my energies refocused to the positive and not into the darkness. I lost a lot, yes, but I haven’t lost it all.
Not everyone can understand me. I don’t take it personally. The choices I make are for me and me alone.
It’s hard to keep it in perspective. Living a clean life allows me to not lose sight of the blessings I have. For me, keeping my diet away from processed foods isn’t about being skinny, it’s about not clogging my heart, my pores, or my mind with junk. Yoga, balances both the mind and the body. It wasn’t until I immersed myself in this lifestyle that I found peace.
I gather my things from the break room and make my way to my car. Distractedly, I pull out into traffic trying to forget my past and stay in my current.
The alarm on my phone goes off reminding me it’s time for a snack. Reaching over to my passage seat cooler, I take out an apple. We eat for sustenance not for hunger. By maintaining a healthy glucose, I don’t feel the hunger pains and keep my body and my mind on a regimented schedule. My mind can’t become distracted and my emotions won’t run in a panic if I continually eat in small portions. Again, it’s about control for me.
The light ahead turns red and I take my foot off the gas and decompress the brake. Lifting the green fruit to my mouth, I bite, feeling the bitter of the granny smith apple hit my taste buds I close my eyes briefly in appreciation.
That’s when the bump happens.
Throwing the apple over my shoulder, I look up to see a huge man on a motorcycle look over his shoulder at me as my bumper has clearly pushed into his rear tire.
Oh heavens, what have I done?
He pushes the kick stand down as I throw the car in park, slap on my hazard lights and open my door.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” I say rushing to him.
Before me stands a stunningly tall bald man whose aura screams sex. He has one of those seriously killer beards that you sort of want to pet because it’s so fabulous. It accentuates his strong face and tan skin. His long legs are covered in jeans that hug his tree trunk thighs, and his feet clad in some serious looking ass kicking boots. A black shirt covers his chest underneath his leather vest with patches all over it and the whole visual strikes me as an intimidating figure. His dark eyes stare right through me as I look at him. ‘Coal’ sits on the left side of his vest, over his heart. ‘Vice President’ lays opposite the name on his right side. The rest of his vest has a bunch of different patches with different cities and sayings. Is this a biker in the same club as Desirae’s man?
He shakes his head. “You okay?”
“Yes, I am, but are you?”
He nods. “I’m fine. Get in your car, pay attention and go home,” he dismisses me. “Don’t just stand there looking stupefied. Get in the car go home, it’s done.”
“I need to make this right,” I stammer as my mind spins and I feel like things are suddenly out of control.
“Nothing wrong so nothing to make right.” He studies me as cars rush past us. “Get in your car, can’t leave till I know you got back in the vehicle.”
“Don’t you need my information. I have insurance.”
“It was a bump.” He doesn’t hide his frustration. “Not a patient man, Pixie, so get in your pedal car and go on.”
Pixie? I want to ask, but I don’t. The man is clearly not wanting to do anything about our incident. So doing the only thing I can think of, I get back in my Prius, turning off the hazards and putting it in gear, I try to shake off my emotions. Anxiety, guilt, frustration, and sadness all toy with my carefully balanced core. I feel myself tipping, falling, and stumbling down into the darkness.
Next, I do what every respectable, twenty-six-year-old woman does when she is faced with a scarier than a horror movie biker, I follow him.
She is the everyday girl next-door.
He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.
Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.
Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.
Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.
In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.
Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
 Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.
She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.
 
 
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Title: Coal
Series: Regulators MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 28, 2017
Cover Model is Jacob Wilson
Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog
Cover Design by Mina Carter
USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.
She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.
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