Description:
The only thing more dangerous than the Anathema MC is the club’s president.
Trapped.
For twenty-one years, Rose Darnell’s family dedicated their lives to the Anathema MC. For twenty-one years, she’s searched for a way out.
Bound to a world of bloodied knuckles and drug money, Rose believes her musical talent will rescue her from an abusive father and overbearing brothers. A chance audition and promising gig would free Rose from the outlaw 1%, but her brothers won’t let her escape the club’s shadow.
A rival chapter threatens Rose, and only Anathema’s president, Thorne Radek, can protect her.
Betrayed.
A traitor lurks within Anathema’s brotherhood, and Thorne will burn the world to scorch the rat. When an innocent diva with baby-bunny eyes and dark secrets needs his help, Thorne offers his protection and is rewarded with the ultimate bait. He may be the only man to distract Rose from her music, but helping him find the traitor will damn more than the club.
It will tear her family apart.
GUEST POST
Dark Romance
Occasionally, I like to bounce ideas off my husband while I’m writing. He’s a good sport, and he has a lot of decent suggestions. Then…I started to write Motorcycle Club romances.
“Hey honey, how many bullets are in a clip?”
“Bub, if you get shot, do you think you could still drive a bike?”
“Sweetie, how long do you think someone could hide a Meth addiction?”
Before my husband had me committed, he finally asked, “What the hell kind of romance are you writing?”
The best kind, I suppose?
I’ve never been a romantic person. No candlelight dinners or sonnets at my window; I prefer passion and excitement—any way I can get it. And dark Romances offer that tingly, dangerous excitement.
Passion comes in all forms. Fear, rage, injustice, desire. It’s a beautiful, powerful expression, and the best dark romance will recreate that passion in all forms. From capture fantasies to thrilling romantic suspense to even the darkest erotic romances—anything that challenges a reader to explore a side of the world, their personality, or their sexuality is an amazing expression of the romance genre.
Love is the most powerful motivator and healer. Even the worst abuses, betrayals, and situations are tempered through the passion between the hero and heroine. That is why I love the genre. Call it a silver lining or the reluctant romantic in me, but the darker the romance, the greater the danger, the more powerful the book.
So, what are your favorite dark romances? What makes them so exciting?
EXCERPT
I stilled. My chest weighed heavy with silenced songs and muted fear. I stared at Thorne, but I imagined more than just the man before me.
In Thorne, I saw the rushing pavement barreling toward my head.
The trail of smoke coiling from a recoiling gun.
A prince donning leathers and denim instead of a cape, searching for the princess who left her helmet at the patch-over gala.
A monster.
A devil.
A man who made my heart pound in terror and crash against my chest with the secrets I sang only in songs.
“Sit.”
It wasn’t a request. He didn’t stand or pull the chair out. He didn’t wave a friendly hand. Didn’t smile.
My refusal tasted so good on my tongue I decided to keep it clenched between my teeth. Better to let Thorne think he intimidated me than reveal the desperation simmering in my silence.
I slid across from him. Close enough to study the worn scratches on his vest, to sense the strength resting within his stretched-taut shirt, and to savor the baritone of his voice harmonizing in my thoughts.
The quiet broke me. I didn’t have the courage to stare him down, but I had more pride than to lower my head and allow his appraisal. The breathy whisper was not the pitch I wanted, but, cast upon his altar, it was fortunate I didn’t simply scream.
“What do you expect from me?”
Thorne’s gaze shifted over my body. “What are you offering?”
I swallowed. “Nothing.”
“What a bargain.”
“You wanted me here. I’m here.”
“Your brothers were very prompt.”
I savored a particularly harsh remark and tucked it deep within my chest. “They kicked my door in, packed my bags, and dragged me here.”
The twitching of his lip was a remnant of a smile that might have once been attractive—before the prison term and the violence, the responsibilities of the club and the retaliation that consumed his every desecrated breath.
“They always were loyal.”
“Right. After today, I’m not sure I would consider them my brothers.”
“We’ll see.”
The weight binding my chest only constricted my words in a hush of panic. I ignored his gaze.
Thorne leaned away, resting his arm on the edge of his chair. His chest tensed, and the shirt stretched taut over his strength. The leather cut rode stiff over his muscles.
“I didn’t call you a whore.”
“And forcing my brothers to deliver me to you? In the middle of the night? Bringing me to your bedroom?”
“You can take your clothes off if you like. It’d make this conversation more interesting.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you stay dressed.” His eyes narrowed, a threat of chilled indifference. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
I flinched at the word, but I leapt at the sincerity in his voice.
“You aren’t?”
“Disappointed?”
********
“You’re lying if you say you want out of this life,” he said.
I wished I hadn’t stared at his lips. Or concentrated on the baritone threat of his words. Or willed the twisted beat of my heart to slam against my chest.
“I’m not part of Anathema,” I said.
“No, but it’s part of you. And all the concerts and college loans and temper tantrums won’t get you out of the club. So what is it? Why are you so desperate to leave?”
His fingers teased along the too-pink lace of my panties. My cheeks flushed with the same innocence, but I didn’t let him scare me.
“Why are you so desperate to keep me here?”
He liked that challenge. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d go running back to your big brothers.”
“We’re not talking at the moment.”
“Maybe you should be a good little girl and apologize.”
“And if I don’t?”
I stilled as his hand brushed my cheek. But Thorne wasn’t gentle. His calloused touch claimed when it should have caressed, and his forearm flexed with the rigid strength of a man barely containing the demon of lust corrupting his intentions. I gasped as his hand tangled in my wet hair and yanked.
“I don’t play nice, sweetheart.”
For the first time in my life, a raw, untainted, pure heat rushed within me. His hand gripped hard on my hair, and he pulled my head to expose the delicate hollow of my neck. To kiss. To bite. To slit. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. His hands rough, his touch unashamed, and his need completely, absolutely, unequivocally natural.
“I don’t want nice,” I whispered.
He tightened his hold. “What do you want?”
“To feel safe.”
He laughed. His hand jammed against my throat. He squeezed, just enough to frighten, just enough to threaten where I was most vulnerable, just enough to clear my mind of the lingering memories of the last time I was touched.
“Now do you feel safe?”
I’d rather fear one man than live the rest of my life afraid of the world. I shook my head as much as his grip would allow.
“You won’t hurt me.”
About the author:
Lana Grayson was born to write anything and everything to do with romance. Her favorite genres range from the dark and twisty to the lighthearted and sentimental—as long as the characters are memorable, the story is fun, and the romance is steamy. Lana lives in Pittsburgh with her husband, and, when she isn’t bundled in her writing chair, she’s most likely cheering on the Steelers or searching for the ‘Burgh’s best Italian restaurants.
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Author's GiveawayS
INTL - wherever Amazon ships
3 comments:
I LOVE the GP!!! My husband, when a checked some "special aspects" with him, asked me: “What the hell kind of book are you reading?”
:)))
So, your book is on the very very very short TBR list
Yay! Thank you so much!
This looks so rockin' amazing!!! Thank you for the amazing giveaway too
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