Tag: Erotic Romance

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Book blitz & Excerpt: Second Chances in Cedarwood + Giveaway

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Second Chances in Cedarwood

Megan Slayer

General Release Date: 16th February 2021

Word Count: 35,930
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 147
Genres: CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE, GAY, GLBTQI

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Who knew love could be found at a small-town hot dog shop?

Jack Walters opened his hole-in-the-wall restaurant to serve hot dogs—being a chef is all he’s ever wanted out of life. Love hasn’t worked out for him, so the last thing he expects is to find romance at his shop. But Jack’s been hurt before and he’s leery of the sexy man who keeps visiting his restaurant.

Henry Lord has been all around the world. He’s visited gourmet foodie places and tiny restaurants, but he loves the ambience at Jack’s Hot Dog Shop. He’s also in lust with the sexy owner. Henry’s shy, but he’s determined to get Jack’s attention. There are people who want to use Jack and change him.

Not Henry. It’ll take a herculean effort to prove to Jack that he’s the one for Henry. Good thing Henry believes in love, second chances and finding his home…in Cedarwood.

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of homophobia, and emotionally abusive exes.

Excerpt

“Who needs a hot dog?” Jack Walters stood behind the grill at his one-room hot dog shop and surveyed the landscape. Fifteen people had packed into the space—ten waiting on orders and five spread among the three tables. People waited outside. He could almost hear the chatter of the customers over the sizzle of the grill.

Jack lived for the blur of action. He loved his shop and serving food to the people of Cedarwood. Truth be told, he liked being needed in the community and he enjoyed the din of conversation. He’d heard so much gossip over his twenty years at the shop. Couples splitting, people cheating on lovers and spouses, people cheating in business, discussing business, politics…he’d heard it all.

Unlike some of the restaurants in Cedarwood, he kept his business rather plain. Sure, there were metal signs from other hot dog shops and old advertising signs on the wall, but he wasn’t going for upscale ambience. He wanted a quick in-and-out type of establishment. Cash only and most customers took their food to go. He’d considered opening at a bigger location, but why mess with what worked?

He spotted Henry at one of the tables. Most people didn’t bother to stop and sit. They wanted quick and convenient. Henry seemed to linger every day, coming in after one in the afternoon, then staying until closing at three.

Jack filled orders, but his mind wandered to Henry. He didn’t know much about the guy beyond that he was a writer. He’d read a few of Henry’s articles in the local paper and seen his work in magazines displayed in the bookstore.

He’d learned the most about Henry—most of which he doubted was true—through the gossip grapevine in Cedarwood. Everyone talked about everyone. Henry lived alone, wrote stories and articles, traveled and didn’t say much. Henry liked order and could be cranky when things didn’t go his way.

Most people got irritated when things didn’t work out. He knew—he’d seen it at the shop. Hot dogs without the right toppings, with the right ones but cold or too hot, or swearing they’d been overcharged. He shook his head. Every hot dog cost exactly three dollars. Condiments were free, but cheese, jalapenos and chili cost an additional fifty cents each. The sodas were two bucks and fries cost a dollar. Easy.

Jack served up another handful of hot dogs, then read through the new orders. He added a new batch to the grill and glanced over at Henry. He wondered how old he was, since no one seemed to discuss that point. He couldn’t be much older than Jack’s forty-five years. Sure, he had some gray hairs on his temples and scattered through his short sandy tresses, but lots of people went gray far before middle age. Hell, he’d started showing grays at twenty-eight. He swore the loss of color came from the stress of the shop.

Maybe it did. Maybe he needed to loosen up. He’d been told he’d relieve stress if he visited a BDSM club, but he wasn’t sure he wanted someone spanking him.

He served up the hot dogs and only a few people were left in the shop. There tended to be a lull at two in the afternoon. People couldn’t seem to remember if his shop was open until two or three, even though he’d kept the same hours since he’d opened the shop twenty years before. The lull always happened at the same time, but the action ticked back up at two-thirty. “I’ve got to rush to get an order in before you close,” they’d say. He didn’t care.

Anna, his lone employee, closed the cash register and joined him at the grill. “That’s the last one for now—Henry’s paid.” She elbowed him. “He’s only asked for one refill.”

“He ordered,” Jack murmured. “All I ask is they buy food if they’re going to linger and he eats here every day. Leave him alone.”

She picked up an onion and one of the larger knives. She chopped the vegetable into small bits. “Just makes me wonder why he hangs out here so much. Think he’s bored?”

“No.” He’d kept an eye on Henry. Every day, Henry brought his notebook with him and jotted in the pages while he ate. Jack scraped the grill down, then lowered the heat. “I’m going to stretch.” He left the spatula in the holder, then rounded the grill. He strode right up to Henry. “Can I refresh your soda for you?”

“Oh.” Henry blushed. “Sure.” He closed the notebook. “Sorry. Got lost in my writing. Am I bothering you?”

“Nope.” He ducked behind the counter long enough to refill the cola, then brought the glass back to Henry. “I’m taking a break. Mind if I sit with you a moment?”

“No. Please, do.” Henry moved his notebook out of the way and gestured to the other chair.

Now that he was right across from Henry, he could really look at him. The grays in his hair worked for him and gave him the look of seriousness without seeming severe. His blue eyes sparkled when he smiled, and Jack swore he had a dimple on the left side. Henry folded his hands on his notebook. Jack liked hands and preferred men with clean ones. Blunt working ones were fine, but he preferred pianist ones. Henry didn’t disappoint. Jack wondered what he’d look like holding a fountain pen. Probably sexy. He suppressed a snort. He barely knew Henry, but he’d already fantasized about him. At least the man was handsome—close-up and far away, too.

“You’re staring at me.” Henry’s blush increased. “Am I wearing mustard on my mouth?”

“No.” Jack averted his gaze. This time, his ears burned. “I’m sorry. I spend so much time behind the counter, and I don’t get much of a chance to talk to the customers. You’re always in here, so I wanted to chat, but I got lost in the comfort of sitting.” Jesus. How ridiculous? The comfort of sitting? He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Henry held out his hand. “I’m Henry Lord. I write travel articles for magazines and I’m a libra. I’m forty-seven and single. I like long walks at sunset and the quaintness of this shop.”

He laughed at Henry’s means to break the tension. “Thank you.” He nodded. “I’m Jack Walters. I own the Hot Dog Shop and I’m not sure which astrological sign I am. Never bothered to look. I’m forty-five and single, too. I spend too much time at the shop and not enough at home.”

“Nice to meet you.” Henry smiled. “Looks like we’re both a bit flawed.”

Jack shrugged. “There’s something to be said for flawed.”

“There is.”

The bell dinged and a group of customers entered the shop. Jack sighed. “Duty calls. Maybe next time we’ll get to chat for more than a few moments.” He winked, then left his seat and resumed his position behind the grill. Of all the times he had to work, it had to be this one, when he wanted to get to know more about Henry. A travel writer. Interesting. He’d barely ventured out of Ohio. Henry had probably traveled all over the globe. His partner had to be either very forgiving or the travel had led to their breakup.

A thought occurred to him. Henry hadn’t said he was gay, but he’d mentioned he was single. Christ, he had to get his overactive imagination under control. For all he knew, Henry wasn’t gay—just single. All the handsome ones in Cedarwood tended to be straight. Most of the gay men had paired up.

Jack focused on making food and tried to ignore the need to look over at Henry. He’d felt a spark when they’d locked gazes, but Henry seemed shy—not attracted. Jack shook his head. Knowing him, he’d overestimated the spark. Again.

He wanted to be in love. Wanted to be needed. There had to be someone out there for him. Someone who understood he had a business and was required to be there if he wanted to make money. Someone who could love him, despite his tendency to close himself off. He needed a partner. An equal.

Talk about a lot to superimpose on someone. Henry might not be interested in being all those things. Might not want to be any of them.

Jack focused on grilling hot dogs for the two-thirty rush and did his best to ignore Henry.

Why focus on what might not even be possible? Because sometimes the impossible did happen.

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About the Author

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Find out more about Megan on her website and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.

Giveaway

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Megan Slayer’s Venetian Valentine Giveaway

MEGAN SLAYER IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND YOUR FREE MEGAN SLAYER ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 2nd March 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: Howl + Giveaway

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Howl

January Bain

Word Count: 51,357
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 202
Genres:  BILLIONAIRE, CONTEMPORARY, EROTIC ROMANCE, WERESHIFTERS

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Never get between a wolf and his mate.

Billionaire. Casino owner. Tall, dark and deadly. Cristaldo Luceres is a potent force and a dangerous wolf to cross. Head of the House of Luceres, he’s used to fighting—literally—off any threat from rival houses. Wealth and women are his, but the one thing missing from his life is his mate.

Cristaldo’s on full alert when trouble comes to town in the beautiful shape of one Miss Everly Affini. The talented musician won a shot to play at the coveted Nero’s in Cristaldo’s Glittering Palace… and she could be the one, Cristaldo’s Forever Mate.

One problem is that she doesn’t think so—and isn’t shy about telling him—and another is that Rocco, an enforcer for the House of Ribelle, the Luceres’ sworn enemies, thinks she’s destined for him. Oh, and it’s the most powerful super blood wolf moon of the century, meaning chaos is unleashed.

Too bad. Once Cristaldo has the scent of his Forever Mate, he’ll fight for her…to the death if necessary. Everly doesn’t stand a chance.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and bloodshed.

Excerpt

I stared out at the night, the pull of the waxing moon yanking hard. Taking a gulp of my Dalmore 62, the finest single malt whisky ever produced, I raked a hand through my hair. The need to run free was building, growing stronger by the hour. I ached to let the clean, dry desert wind blow everything else away.

Blame it on the blood moon, an ominous portent to all my wild forbearers, scheduled to rise over Las Vegas’s towering skyline in a matter of days. All my billions couldn’t stop that trickster from wreaking havoc on my kind. Not that I would trade places with any otherworldly creature. Nothing beats being a werewolf. Nothing. Especially being a billionaire werewolf, with more money and possessions than any other wolf—and most humans—on the planet.

I savored the final gulp of the fragrant whisky with its drumroll and smooth finish. It would prove amusing to see what my rivals at the House of Ribelle had planned during the event, necessitating me showing those mongrels their low rank in the pecking order. My wolf bristled at the very idea, prepared to strike.

I dropped my glass onto the proofs of the recent interview I’d done for Business Leader Quarterly. The founding of the Royal Bank of Luceres and the recent expansion of our casino enterprises into several new countries was the stuff of legend and warranted a huge center spread in the magazine. Amusing really, humans being unable to see even that which what was right in front of their noses. My photo stared from the piece, all GQ to the public, but the slick surface hid a beast, one ready to burst forth at a moment’s notice.

And that beast, bored and weary at the sameness of the days, needed a change. Where was the excitement? The new challenge? Having gathered all the riches the world had to offer didn’t fill the deep void of longing, growing stronger by the day, of wanting something more. Only to myself would I admit that my life was lacking, that surrounded by so many, I was lonely.

Maybe it was time to choose a mate? Even if she wasn’t the famed Forever Mate so valued by the pack, at least I would have company at night. Someone to share my victories with. No. I wanted the real thing. A true mate at my side, anointed as being the chosen one of destiny. I raised my head and closed my eyes, catching a sense of change on the wind. Something was coming…

Thud.

My office door slammed wide open, causing a low growl of warning to escape my throat before I caught sight of the intruder who’d broken my concentration. Ah, Lucius. My identical twin. He’d come bearing dubious gifts, by the look of it.

Two frightened young women preceded my brother inside the penthouse offices of the Glitter Palace casino. They should be scared. Lucius might have been named for the light, but his heart was filled with darkness.

“I caught this pair skulking about, asking the dealers questions about our operation and generally making a nuisance of themselves. I intervened when they bribed one of our staff into letting them into the restricted area…bribed with the promise of a free blow job.”

“That’s not fair,” the taller of the pair objected. They were beautiful women, tall and blonde and done up in the stock-in-trade of those looking for a good time. Or to provide one. I raised a sardonic eyebrow at her as she continued her protest.

“I’m just a student of hotel management, trying to get some pointers from those working in the real world. My friend Brandi only came along for company. I’m Jill, by the way.”

Even from twenty feet away I could smell the smoking lie that scented her skin. Normally I would tell them both to strip, to prove themselves innocent. Today, I found the idea abhorrent. Lucius gave me a strange look, waiting for my reaction. I nodded at him. You want this, go ahead.

“Strip.”

They both stared at Lucius with huge doe-like eyes.

“What?” Jill asked, her gaze flitting back and forth between me and Lucius.

“You heard me. If you’re innocent, strip,” Lucius said.

“I’m not wearing a wire.”

“Prove it. I’ll let you leave if you’re clean.”

The one called Brandi shook her head. “I’m not doing this. You can’t make me.” She hugged both arms around her upper body.

“I can and I will. We’re the only authority here at the Glit.” Lucius used the shortened version of the Glitter Palace, our casino’s name. His demands had aroused the taller one—her scent saturated the air with a sweet musk. My nose twitched, ambivalent about the odor.

“What’s it to be, Jill? Strip or banishment?”

“So ban me. I don’t care,” Brandi said.

Jill looked my twin straight in the eyes, challenging him. She raised her arms in a graceful arc and undid the strings tied at the back of her neck, letting her short blue chiffon gown fall in a shimmer of fabric the length of her body to puddle on the floor. Underneath, she was naked except for a tiny pair of white lace panties. Her luscious double Ds were firm and upraised, the nipples tight and protruding out a good half inch, begging to be pinched and sucked. Apparently, Jill liked to be told what to do, like a long string of Jills before her. Bored now, my mind drifted. Even my wolf seemed to find the display less interesting than usual, just sitting back observing instead of wanting to play.

“See, no wire,” she said. She twirled in a full circle, her long blonde hair cascading around her, her breasts swaying with the graceful ballet-like movements of her body.

“How about under those panties?” Lucius asked, the challenge clear. One thing we did agree on—there was nothing on earth more beautiful than the female body. But today, I sat and contemplated having another strong drink, drumming my fingers on my desktop.

She hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband and eased the panties down her long tan legs, exposing her complete Brazilian wax job. Then, slipping the lace over her four-inch platform heels, she threw them at Lucius. He caught them and took a deep whiff of their fragrant dampness. “Nice. Now you.” He pointed at the other girl.

She shook her head. “No way.”

I suddenly realized I’d prefer to go for a run than be here. The pent-up lust from the pull of the coming wolf moon made my skin ripple with the urge. If this female was reluctant, then banning her from the premises would suffice. Neither I nor Lucius would force a woman. Why should we, when they all came of their own accord? Not that I wouldn’t mind a good chase for a change—as long as I won. And I always win.

“Fine. But be advised, a photo will be taken and shared with the staff,” Lucius said. He was dragging this out and I wanted it over and done with. I tried to catch his eye to let him know.

The female hesitated, biting her bottom lip. I could see through the sham. I had to give it to them—the Ribelle dogs were attracting better-looking spies. Not brighter, perhaps, unless they were looking to be caught? They’d have to be checked over thoroughly before they could leave the premises. I’d leave those honors to my twin.

Lucius glanced my way, lust darkening his complexion. He, perhaps more than I, enjoyed our couplings with willing women in the immediate vicinity of the other. Our more studious younger twin brothers, currently in Rome, enjoyed having the same woman, but I did not imagine that ever being the case for me and Lucius, with me being alpha.

Spy number two shimmied out of her tight minidress, exposing another spectacular set of large breasts and a lack of underwear, her reluctance an obvious game. And a lure.

“I’ll need to check you for bugs,” Lucius said.

Jill, spy number one, offered herself to my brother, raising her hands high above her head in the surrender position. He caged her wrists between one of his hands, then ran his other hand through her hair, then down her supple flesh, tweaking her nipples before slipping his fingers down to her pussy. She arched her back.

From the corner of my eye, I caught the slight shimmer of the cosmic disturbance in the air around Lucius, his eyes flashing blue before returning to brown. He wanted the change. I got it. Business had been all-consuming of late, especially concluding the arrangements on the acquisition of the new bank.

A loud knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” I called.

“Sorry to bother you, sire,” Serge said with all due respect.

My right-hand man, second in line after Lucius and similar to a mafia don’s consigliere, looked unusually agitated, though he was doing an admirable job of attempting to hide it. But my job was to miss nothing that might affect those I was in charge of. Every little nuance meant something.

“Yes?”

“Just advising you that the all-girl band, The Sirens, has arrived and is set up in Nero’s.” Serge was fully aware of my standing order to make sure I knew everything going on in my casino. The online contest we’d run for the chance to win three nights’ playing at Nero’s had drawn a lot of media attention—good for business, and good for the group that would benefit from the exposure.

I nodded. The sense of change in the wind tonight grew stronger. Time to pay close attention, it seemed to say.

The lights in the room dimmed. My twin was making preparations to fuck the women.

“Check their jewelry, Lucius. Remember the last time.” Hiding a bug in an earring had worked until I’d had the penthouse swept for electronic devices.

I made a quick decision in the moment, born of my urge to get out of the office and check on the band that had drawn so much attention.

“Let’s go,” I said to Serge.

I led the way to my private elevator across the hall and punched the lobby number. We rode in silence, my wolf somewhat annoyed about losing out on the easy tail waiting upstairs in my office, now that I had chosen to move on. But my mind went back to thoughts of my own Forever Mate and what that would mean in my life.

I shook my head with finality, pushing the idea away. The chances of that happening after all this time were slim to none. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the company of a female, under the right circumstances, to keep the urges at bay.

Moon madness is a bitch.

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About the Author

 Megan Slayer

January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create a series that features strong women who don’t take life too seriously, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope the stories of her beloved Brass Ringers will capture your imagination as much as they did hers when she wrote them.

If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously replied to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world, she is easily found on Facebook, Twitter and writes a weekly blog about her journey on Blogger. Oh, and she loves to talk books…

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!

January Bain’s Howl Giveaway

JANUARY BAIN IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND YOUR FREE JANUARY BAIN ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 2nd March 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

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Book Blit & Excerpt: Hack + Giveaway

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Hack

Deana Birch

General Release Date: 16th February 2021

Word Count: 81,815
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 313
Genres: ACTION AND ADVENTURE, CONTEMPORARY, CRIME, CRIME AND MYSTERY, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, EROTIC ROMANCE, THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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An online criminal craves real-life danger, but her flawed instincts may cost her new crew everything.

Rafael Santos didn’t get the nickname ‘Goldie Locks’ for his shimmering blond curls. His hair is as black as his criminal heart. No, it’s his Midas touch. His ability to earn—coupled with a love for theft and technology—has gained him the coveted Number Two position in the Covington Heights crew. The problem is…after a murder that sent their regular clients packing, even his numbers are down. Now, finding new sources of illegal income is his number one priority.

Marigold Pfeifer is the fairy princess of online deceit. She can slip her computer viruses into a system at the blink of an eye and steal personal information in a twinkly flash. And that’s exactly what she does when screen name ‘GoldieLocks’ slides into her instant messenger. What’d he expect? A gift card?

But when the naïve hacker rides the train uptown to check out mysterious Covington Heights, she’s approached by the leader of the crew and forced to think fast on her feet. A hate-filled rivalry sparks between her and Rafael—and with it a deviously sinful attraction.

Will real-life criminals and the danger they breed be enough to wise up the goth-pixie with zero street smarts when she must navigate dark waters—or will her flawed instincts burn all she’s worked for to the ground?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and drug use.

Excerpt

Rafa

They gym we shared on the third floor in Covington Heights was haunted by the spirit of our former crew member Leo. I was sure of it. As I circled around the blue sparring mat trying to find my next move, I could almost hear him whisper in my ear.

Where’s the weakness?

The problem was that the man opposite me didn’t have very many soft spots and his steel-blue eyes were like the tip of his sword. They pierced before anything else. As he narrowed his gaze ever so slightly, he would land his next punch. His brick fist slammed into the cheekbone just below my left eye. Pain slapped the side of my face, but I wouldn’t let it spread to my ego. It wasn’t personal, that I knew. Anton was pissed and working out his frustrations. Hell, we all were.

“Ooo…” He jogged backward. “You okay there, Goldie Locks?” His fake sympathy was followed by a proud smile but he wouldn’t get any complaints or signs of weakness from me.

“You know I like it rough.” I winked and walked over to the small fridge at the back of the gym where my boy Jackson and I had started keeping ice packs. Shit happened. Anton wasn’t as good a teacher as Leo, but practicing was the only way to get better, stronger.

Since Leo’s abrupt departure, Anton had been a miserable prick. He’d turned into the crankiest bitch I’d ever seen. And he had a serious alpha complex. His physical dominance wasn’t only a reminder that he was a better fighter. It was the exclamation point that our asses belonged to him…or else.

Leo had gotten away with too much, and those who were still around were paying the price. I shot a knowing glance to Jackson, who looked away and continued to do his bicep curls on a bench near the door.

Anton wrapped a towel around his bare shoulders and said, “Jackson, meet me in fifteen at my place. Scooter’s bringing the numbers from Bradford South.”

I dug out the frozen bag of blue gel then sat on the side of the treadmill as I pressed it into my cheek—bitter cold relief for a festering wound of the bossman’s frustration. No one could spar like Leo. Message received. No one was going to be allowed to get away with the same disrespect. Got it. But penance for other people’s sins was getting old quick. Unfortunately, all was fair in crime and crews. Did I like taking a blow from time to time? Honestly? Yeah, I did. I wanted to be better, wanted to learn. I craved more respect and was plotting ways to get it.

Anton tipped up his chin and winked at me. It was his way of checking in. That was also part of his management technique or whatever-the-fuck way he kept us down but happy. Show the power first, then a hint of giving a shit. I’d seen it before. I actually didn’t mind it. The familiarity was somehow comforting.

“Let’s make some fucking money today.” Anton looked us over one last time before leaving, his glare emphasizing that it was a command, not a request.

I walked over to Jackson, my former roommate and literal partner in crime. We’d bonded over not having fucked-up families, just fucked-up circumstances, Xbox and both refusing to become adult enough to drink coffee. Plus, we liked the idea of belonging somewhere. And the money… We liked the money.

Jackson set the weights down on the gray concrete floor. “He needs to get laid.”

More like I needed to get laid. I’d given up on banging girls from our neighborhood. There was nothing interesting about being worshiped. Besides, they only did it in hopes of making their lives better. None of them really ever bothered to get to know me, not to mention that half of them were customers. That was more trouble than it was worth.

I shook my head. Anton had no problem there. “He needs to make more money.” It was true that since we’d knocked off Mac, who had been a regular patron at our backdoor gambling racket, attendance had gone down to zero. No one liked the idea of tempting Anton’s quick fuse and ending up in the river—not that we’d thrown Mac in the river, of course.

Lucky for us, the police had written off the Bradford murders as a drug deal gone wrong and hadn’t cared to search much further. Our sources at the precinct said there had been mild rumblings of it seeming like a professional hit because of the precision, but, in the end, it was a criminal-on-criminal crime and they tended not to waste too many resources on shit like that.

Jackson stood and put his hands on his hips. “What are you up to later? I’m moving my stuff to Lisa’s and could use a hand.”

“Aww. You all lonely and shit since I moved out?”

Jackson rolled his dark brown eyes. “Nah. I’m all horny and shit since she finally let me tap that ass. Besides, I like showing Junior what a stable woman looks like.” He held my gaze for a brief second.

There was no need to explain. I’d seen Jackson’s baby-mama Bridget at our bench in the courtyard too many times in the last month. Selling drugs was a lot less fun when it was to the mother of one of your favorite kids, which brought me full circle to the money problem. We were a small operation. Sure, we had gained territory since the Bradford Towers crew had taken the hit. But with the game numbers down, I was pretty sure that the money decline was tainting Anton’s mood more than the loss of his previous sidekick. The bossman wasn’t exactly sentimental.

I pressed the cool into my cheek. It had thawed a little and was losing its original stiffness. “I’m working on something…a new business venture. Just waiting on a contact.”

Jackson rubbed his jaw. Maybe he’d taken a couple of hits I hadn’t seen. “Well, get fuckin’ crackin’.” He gave me a little salute and was gone.

I reached for a hand towel and wiped the residual sweat off my arms and chest. I hadn’t always wanted to be a law-breaking shit who sold people poison. It was just that I’d been bored—bored in school, bored in life, bored everywhere except in my own head. There, everything spun. It was like other people’s brains were funnels catching raindrops and all the information came to one eventual stream of thought. Mine? A constant downpour where I wanted to see every single bead of water and analyze it. That was what my high school computer teacher had said, anyway. He’d also said that was why I would be great in IT. Yeah, that ‘career path’ had taken an odd but predictable turn.

Breaking into people’s computers calmed me—and had earned me my first trip to juvey. When I’d gotten out and met Anton… Well, it all just seemed like destiny. But Anton was hard, from his jawline to his inability to show compassion. I didn’t have that darkness inside. Not that it mattered… I’d made my choices. A life in a suit and a picket fence with a puppy wasn’t going to happen for me.

I left the gym and went across the hall to the apartment I’d shared with Anton since Leo had moved out. The spray of his shower echoed down the hall that led to his room. I headed in the opposite direction, crashed on my bed with a thud and reached for my laptop.

I logged in to my favorite online chat for hackers and it only took a second for my idol to send me a direct message. Bingo.

Majel213: Going live in five. Glad you finally decided to show up, Goldie.

As if I would miss it. Majel213 was my Internet spirit animal. I typed my response.

GoldieLocks: Highlight of my day. You know I’ve been itching to see what you’ve been scheming.

I always tried to up my nerd and downplay my street vibe whenever she and I chatted. The tech geek in me wanted her to respect my brains, as fucking stupid as that was. Online, I could be anybody. The idea of someone liking me for my intelligence was an out-of-body experience. In the six months since I’d found Majel213 and her wicked tutorials, we’d somehow become friends. Well, maybe not friends—but more than online strangers. It was just that we’d never actually seen each other. I’d never offered a profile pic in our chats and she did all her videos without showing her face.

I was sure that if she knew I was just some street criminal who’d never really carried out an impressive hack, I would lose the connection we’d built. And I needed her. Getting my hands on her malware was a way to keep my Midas touch.

The nickname ‘Goldie Locks’ had evolved over the years from ‘Golden Boy’, neither of which had anything to do with my hair. That was pitch black. It was because I was a good earner and I’d gotten the light-eye gene from my Brazilian heritage. The fact that the name had turned into a fairy-tale character didn’t bother me. In fact, when I’d first starting using it online, I’d catfished quite a few idiots.

Five minutes later, I clicked over to the 677CrackChat and logged in. Holy hell. Majel213’s raspy voice played over my thin speaker and she was transmitting dual screens.

“Meet Nathanial E. Tomjak. He lives in North Dakota, loves to fish and hunt. He’s new to all this because, quote, ‘my daughter finally convinced me to join the social media thingy.’ No one suspects he’s not a real person because his picture, which I photoshopped to change eye color, hair color, skin tone and age, is right here for all to see.”

She clicked on the picture and enlarged it to fit the screen. If she hadn’t said it was altered, I would have never guessed. Nathanial E. Tomjak was the epitome of a Midwestern retired grandpa, complete with triple chin, racing T-shirt and warm smile.

“So, Nate—I call him Nate—Nate was a creation of a profile after I had already found”—she clicked a couple of times and brought up a picture of Caroline Claussen—”this sweet, cat-loving mama.”

The kind face of an older woman replaced the screen. “Caroline works for the sheriff of Zapata Falls and is my number one target for malware.”

There was a slight East Coast accent in Majel213’s voice. Her pronunciation of ‘number’ sounded a little like a ‘numba’ and I let myself believe that one day I might meet my nerd crush face-to-face and she would be hot, which was stupid. Finding the sexy librarian type in real life who could live up to my fantasies was proving to be difficult. Also, the whole selling drugs to pay the rent never went over well with the smart girls I liked.

But Majel213? She was my perfect blend of intelligence and criminal. By her screen name, she was in camp Star Trek over Star Wars. Her clever and deviant behavior inspired my own. We were soulmates, I was sure—me and the other four hundred sixty-three dorks watching her show us the latest and sneakiest ways to crack, hack and hide.

I propped up the pillows behind me, workout stank be damned, laid a towel on my chest under my laptop and settled in. I was ready to learn everything she had to teach me.

And listen to her. Fuck, I loved the sound of her voice. It was low and seductive, but she was also funny. At the end of all her tutorials, she would say, “And change your fucking passwords, Geeks!” That usually led me to go around the apartment and do just that. My phone, Anton’s phone, Jackson’s phone when I’d lived with him, then all sites, all applications… I could spend half my day just doing what Majel213 told me.

And more than once, my own passwords had been changed to her fucking screen name. How I’d become a lovesick dork slash criminal was beyond my comprehension.

That sultry tone went on to describe how she’d found her target and worked backward. How creating a fake person was easy. Once she had the profile pic, the rest of what ‘he’ posted was either shares from propaganda that aligned with Caroline’s beliefs or pictures that he wasn’t in. ‘Nate’ had become friends with one of Caroline’s relatives through people who were more interested in having followers and like than caring if they actually knew the person.

Then it had just been as simple as engaging on the same post by the mutual friend and boom! There was a direct line to her target. It required maintenance, but according to Majel213, that was part of the fun. The hard part, she said in the voice that had me wondering how ‘Rafael’ would sound if she whispered it all quiet and sultry next to my ear, was waiting for the day that Caroline would open her social media on her work computer. But, Majel213 wasn’t worried. Caroline had said that she hated texting on her phone and was much faster on a keyboard, so it was just a matter of finding a topic that would inspire Caroline to need to converse faster—like making Nate’s tabby cat ill.

Majel213 had a beautifully perverse brain.

She explained that once the application was opened in the office of the sheriff of Zapata Falls, because Majel213 had programmed a sneaky virus that shadowed the direct messenger, the malware would be on Caroline’s hard drive in thirty seconds. And that would translate to the entire town being held hostage by Majel213 until they paid their ransom in untraceable cryptocurrency.

And pay they would, she assured, because the counties, cities or whatever were insured…and the FBI would tell them to. Otherwise, all their systems stayed frozen and spun around in the never-ending computer circle of death.

And the real beauty? While they tried to figure out how to pay, she just kept stealing all their information. It was pretty customary malware shiftiness. She could get tax returns, social security numbers, backgrounds, criminal records and birth certificates then sell that to criminals like me. Majel213 just made it sound so much sexier than it probably was.

Internal man-dork sigh.

She also sold her out-of-date malware to us nerds who didn’t know how to code it as well as she did. The clever thief was always three steps ahead, and the improved versions of her viruses and programs were for her use only.

So it was that version—the latest and most dangerous—that I was sure I needed to make bank for the crew, not a malware program an average bad actor could use. Somehow, I was going to convince the normally selfish Majel213 to share her updated goods, and we would go from street criminals to an organized threat to society. I tingled all over just thinking about it.

Her scratchy voice rang out and woke me from my dream of living the calm, boring life of a closet criminal. “Change your fucking passwords, Geeks! Oh, and I’m taking questions for the next five minutes on message chat. Dick picks will result in a virus that sends it to your grandma, assholes.”

I shot up and clicked on our message window. Time to make a deal.

GoldieLocks: Brilliant as usual. How do I get my hands on your latest version?

Majel213: Thanks for watching. It’s always nice to have you there. The links are up.

I didn’t want those old, used-up links. I wanted the version she was hoarding for herself.

GoldieLocks: No, I mean the *real* latest version.

Majel213: Not for sale, sweetie. Sorry. You know that.

My internal ego liked the term of endearment so much that he convinced my brain it was for him. But I wasn’t giving up that easy.

GoldieLocks: Everything has a price.

It was a bold promise, considering we didn’t have a savings account with money piled up.

The ellipsis next to her name stayed for a minute like she was writing some long explanation. My heart raced and I drummed my fingers lightly over the keys without hitting hard enough to type.

Name your price, baby girl.

Oh, the money I could make for Anton. And I wouldn’t have to sit out on that fucking bench and watched addicts wither away with each sale I made. I could perch myself on the couch, post to social media then just wait to pounce. And getting the latest version of the malware would ensure it wasn’t tracible. It would be new and never have been used.

Majel213: Indeed it does. My apologies.

She added a winky face emoji and left the chat. Shit. I should have brought up cash. She was always talking about cryptocurrency, but cash was still king for criminals. I should have started with that. Next time. Next time I would lead with, “How much cash would it take?”

Fuck. Didn’t she know I needed that shit like…yesterday?

I closed my laptop and tossed it to the end of the bed. After a quick shower, I found Anton in a hovered meeting with Scooter at the island in the kitchen. The sour frown on his pale face was enough to know he didn’t like what he and Jackson had heard earlier. We needed money. I was the Golden Boy and he was relying on me to make good on my previous abilities to earn.

Working on it, boss.

“I’m headed down to the bench then I have to help with a thing. Later.”

I jogged down the stairs and out to the courtyard that connected the three buildings of Covington Heights. A small gathering of black jeans parted and Jackson stood, towering over us all. We man-hugged, the official sign that he was off duty and I was on.

His spot on the bench was still warm, and I draped my arms out, taking as much space as I could.

A new member of the crew caught my eye on the edge of the circle. He was a bit scrawny and had probably come from Bradford. More and more defectors were crossing into our territory. That particular one looked hungry as hell. Sometimes I wondered if the new recruits weren’t double agents. I reminded myself to keep my guard up at all times.

Maybe I would do a password sweep after dinner. Although, the skinny kids from the projects weren’t much of a threat to the technology that I used. Hell, they wouldn’t even know how to put a virus onto a computer.

Like Majel213… Using direct messaging to shadow…

Fucking fuck, fuck.

Mother of all fucks.

My pulse raced and I closed my eyes in horrid understanding. She’d broken into my fucking computer.

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About the Author

Deana Birch

Deana Birch was named after her father’s first love, who just so happened not to be her mother. Born and raised in the Midwest, she made stops in Los Angeles and New York before settling in Europe, where she lives with her own blue-eyed Happily Ever After. Her days are spent teaching yoga, playing tennis, ruining her children’s French homework, cleaning up dog vomit, writing her next book or reading someone else’s.

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