Read the first chapter in my upcoming NEW release – TAKEN (KOH #2)

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We are days away from the release of Taken – the second book in my MC biker romance series. I’m sure all of you are desperate to know how the end of Sinful turned out, I’m evil leaving y’all on a cliffhanger. Mwahahaha!

I’m really sorry, but Zeke made me (he really did!) 😉

But the wait is almost over.

TAKEN is already avilalbe for pre-order on Amazon here:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

On September 1st it will also be available in Kindle Unlimited.

Keep reading below for the 1st chapter…

Copy of Her temper flared and the words tumbled out. “Am I just too much of a good girl, Zeke_ Too good that you can’t even get it up…” “Shut the fuck up, Grace,” he growled seconds before his lips were on hers. Fo

Blurb:

“If I lost you, I’d be broken. I’d be brutal and cold and I’d tear the world apart. Losing you would destroy me. I’d burn the whole world to get you back.”

Second installment of the smouldering, contemporary biker romance series.

Zeke Knight is unlike any man Grace Burton has ever met. The gorgeous MC President came into her life and turned it upside down. Her heart and body belong to him, but being in love with the leader of a motorcycle gang isn’t easy, and she is still trying to navigate her way through Zeke’s world.

Zeke never wanted to fall for the beautiful, feisty Grace. The hellion broke down his defences and worked her way into his heart. Life is perfect until someone decides to take what Zeke loves the most.

And he has to take the Knights of Hell to war her back…

Grace and Zeke’s story continues in:
Possession (book 3) – release date Nov 2020

Prologue

Zeke Knight didn’t have an impulse control problem. He’d never had issues with holding the rage inside. His Pops had been the opposite. A hair trigger. Someone looked at him funny and the old man beat on them.

Growing up, Zeke saw the mayhem this caused. Although he’d inherited the old man’s temper, he controlled it better.

As his crew dragged Lachlan, the piece of shit that laid his hands on his woman, from the back of the van and walked him into a dense thatch of woodland, Zeke felt his control slip.

Deep, dark rage clouded his vision. The fucker put his hands on Grace. On his woman. He always had a problem with men that beat on women, but this asshole had touched Grace. Had backhanded her and made her bleed.

That couldn’t stand.

Lachlan stumbled as Tiny pushed him forward. “You’re all just a bunch of pussies! Can’t be men and take me on, one on one.” He spat at Tiny’s foot. “Pussies.”

“Says the man who slapped around two defenceless woman,” Jay sneered.

Zeke fingers twitched. Lachlan might be a weak ass piece of shit, but something deep inside, something primal and untamed, called for his blood. “Pussies, huh?”

He stripped off his cut, handing it to Jay before cracking his neck.

“Oh, so you are gonna fight me?” Lachlan raged, eyes bulging and spittle flying from his lips. He really was a psycho motherfucker. “Big, bad Mister President of your pathetic motorcycle gang.”

Lachlan laughed. “Don’t tell me Grace’s pussy is really worth it? No bitch’s pussy is. Especially not hers. Dumb cunt had me put away. She’s an uptight bitch. Bet her cunt is dry as the Sahara—“

The dam burst and Zeke’s rage erupted. His fist connected with Lachlan’s jaw. An audible crack filled the silence, followed by a spurt of blood from Lachlan’s broken nose. Darkness consumed him and he continued punching. His knuckles ached as the skin split, but he didn’t feel the pain. Didn’t feel anything except the rage and untamed desire to make the fucker pay for what he’d done to Grace.

He didn’t stop until the beast was quiet and Lachlan was dead.

Chapter One

With Rafe snoring softly on the couch and Kadence still out from her ordeal at Lachlan’s hands, Grace tweaked Zeke’s blinds for the millionth time. She heard the bikes before she saw them and her pulse spiked.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d spied on her sexy next door neighbor. When all that mattered was getting a look at the hot guy across the road, and blood and vengeance were things she read about in books. She strode out onto the porch, pulling the door gently closed behind her as she waited for the president of the Knights of Hell.

Acid burned in her stomach. It rose to her throat along with a storm of questions whirring in her mind.

Was Gabe okay? Had they killed Lachlan? Could she live with herself knowing they’d killed for her?

Zeke took off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebars before throwing one leg over the metal frame and walking towards her. Dark intensity burned in his eyes, scorching her. He mounted the stairs, stopping two from the top so they stood eye-to-eye.

He cupped her face and said, “Lachlan won’t be bothering you, either of you, ever again.”

The storm of emotions she’d kept at bay broke. Grace collapsed into Zeke’s arms and unleashed a torrent of grief, pain, anger and guilt she’d stored up since she’d seen that animal attacking her sister.

Zeke stroked her hair as she sobbed. She fisted her hands in his patch and inhaled, letting the scent of him—leather, smoke, and masculine heat—calm her thundering heartbeat. She couldn’t stop crying.

“Watch Kadence. Any issues, come get me,” he said to Tiny.

 He swept Grace up, strode into the house and mounted the stairs.  

She didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his neck. She’d always been the strong one. The sensible, rational one. The one people turn to in a crisis. It felt good to have some of the weight taken from her shoulders. To be able to give in to her emotions.

Zeke shouldered the responsibility, allowing her to break down.

He kicked his bedroom door closed and lay her down on the bed, covering her with the comforter.

She bolted upright, her pulse pounding in her throat. “Gabe?”

Zeke gently pushed her back down. “Is fine. He has a concussion. They are keeping him there overnight. Before you ask, they did a CAT scan. No bleeding. The overnight stay is just precaution.”

“Thank god.” She watched Zeke kick of his boots and strip off his patch. The aftershocks of her meltdown continued to rack her body. Despite the comforter, she shivered. Not even Zeke stripping could warm her. “Zeke, we need to talk.”

“Not now. Not tonight.” He got on the bed, climbed over her and settled himself against her back. He wrapped one arm across her stomach, gently pulling her closer until he spooned her, cocooning her with his warmth.

She relaxed into him. For the first time since she found Lachlan in her bathroom with his hands around her sister’s throat, she felt safe.

Tears fell in a silent stream as Zeke rubbed tender circles on her belly. “Ssshh, Grace,” he whispered, kissing her temple every few seconds. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I’m here.”

She wouldn’t let Kadence see her like this—weak and broken. She needed to be strong for the emotional fallout.

But here and now, in the privacy of Zeke’s arms, she allowed herself to break and knew he’d be there to catch her.

#writerwednesday – When it all starts to go wrong

writer-wednesday

It’s July. We are more than halfway through this strange and crazy year. And it’s #campnanowrimo. I didn’t take part in April because I was laid up with COVID-19. I’m still struggling with the after-effects, but have been writing for a few months. I’ve spent those months (since I received my rejection from Mills & Boon at the end of April) working on getting my MC romance trilogy ready for release over the coming months. I’m so pleased that after a number of YEARS working on it, it’s finally done. Sinful came out on July 1st, and will be followed by Taken (September 1st) and Possession (November 1st).

This meant I was free to start a new project for #campnanowrimo. Last November I set a goal of 1000 words per day and managed to stick to it despite having lupus and going to my day job. For July I set a goal of 750 words per day. I’m still recovering from COVID, my Mom is gravelly ill, and the world has gone to hell in a hand-basket, so 750 words a day seemed like a nice, manageable number.

For the first 9 days I smashed my target, often writing 1400 words in two 20 minute sprints. I had it. I could do it. I was amazing. I was riding high and the writing was flowing despite everything else. Then I hit a wall. My chronic fatigue flared up so badly I could barely move off the sofa, let alone think about opening my laptop.

The mind was willing – I had so many thoughts and ideas, so many ‘things’ I needed to be doing as a writer: promote new books, promote back-list, get a cover made for a upcoming Christmas release, write new words. On top of that, I have a number of things going on with my Mom’s personal home care to sort out from a distance, and dealing with my own recovery. Yet I still continued to push myself – I needed to keep up my morning routine (yoga, journal, meditate) because I believe it made me more productive and that’s what successful authors do – have a morning routine. I baked, I gardened, I wrote, I promoted, I cleaned like a whirlwind.

And I burnt out. Again. If I could smack myself on the forehead without causing myself more pain, I would. I have this cycle. Doing, doing, doing, bust. Burnout. I ignore the signs of my body telling me to rest because I put all these expectations on myself. Especially as an indie author trying to build my community and producing consistent releases. If I take one day off from the schedule I’ve set myself, regardless of what is happening in other areas of my life, I berate myself – I’m not good enough, I’ll never make it, I’ll never be good enough to write full time and make a career out of it, I’m just lazy.

Because of that nagging voice, I set myself gruelling schedules – for all areas of my life. And then I get burnt out and the cycle starts all over again. It’s classic boom and bust, which then leads to me not doing anything writing wise for months.

The last few days I’ve taken a complete rest, mainly because for a few days I could barely move. It’s made me re-assess. Again. Cut things from my schedule. Focus on what I really want to do. What my body and mind can handle. I don’t have to do ALL THE THINGS. Just a little every week. I need to be more mindful of recognising the signs. Of not fighting my body. It’s not failure to take some time for rest or self-care. I need to realise this more.

goals

This week sees the beginning of a new schedule. A gentler, slower schedule. I enjoy meditating and journaling, so I’ll keep that in my morning routine, but I also like to read. So I’m taking out yoga and putting in reading. I’m going to write 3 times a week in longer chunks, immersing myself in the story instead of stopping at a designated word count. The other four days I’m dedicating to resting and self-care activities – gardening, baking, knitting, yoga on 2 days and a walk on most. Movement helps me mentally and gives my inspiration, so it’s something I’d like to keep up – body dependant.

My new schedule is more about flow and doing what I feel like doing rather than what I SHOULD do. It’s probably going to be trial and error again, but I’m not going to give up.

I wanted to write about this for #writerwednesday because I want this blog to be real. In the past I’ve wrote about how my new daily writing schedule was amazing, and productive, and totally working for me. And it was. Until it wasn’t. As writers it’s okay to let go of what doesn’t work for you anymore. There are so many videos and articles talking about the hustle – the need to go, go, go to be successful. Sometimes you go through periods like that, but it’s not sustainable for different seasons of your life. It’s okay to change your writing habits. It’s okay to let go and try something new. You are not a failure if you want to try a gentler, slower flow.

So I may not meet my #campnanowrimo goal this month, but I’m going to keep doing what I love – writing, creating – and I’m going to listen to my body, listen to my mental health. Being a writer is about being in it for the long haul (for me anyway).

My mantra for the rest of the year: it’s a freaking marathon, not a sprint.

Here is to a slower, gentler, more focused and creative month.