Book Blitz & Excerpt – The Yakuza Path: The Deafening Silence, by Amy Tasukada

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BOOK BLAST

Book Title:  The Yakuza Path: The Deafening Silence (Book 4)

Author: Amy Tasukada

Publisher: ‎ Macarons & Tea Publishing

Release Date: December 1, 2018

Genre: Gay thriller, NOT ROMANCE

Tropes: Bad boys, tragic hero, unrequited love

Themes: Mafia, betrayal 

Heat Rating:  3 flames

Length:  235 pages

It can read as a standalone but you get more if you follow the series.

The book ends on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  Kobo

Apple Books  |  B&N  | Google Play  |  Books2Read

 

the deafening silence

An unproven alliance. A broken promise. A mafia boss must shed blood to secure peace…

 

Blurb 

Nao Murata is on the verge of brokering peace between his syndicate and the  Mafufugumi mob. To seal the deal, he’ll need to pick up Russian prostitutes to appease his newest ally. When the exchange goes sour, both sides draw blades and Nao has no choice but to care for a blood-soaked enemy. If the man doesn’t make it through the night, Nao and his crew will pay with their lives.

Outnumbered and stranded in enemy territory, Nao is forced to fight his way out before the Mafufugumi Godfather takes the deal off the table. As his wounded enemy’s heartbeat slows, Nao must act fast or condemn his syndicate to a brutal war.

The Deafening Silence is the fourth book in a series of Japanese mafia thrillers. If you like twisty action, authentic settings, and a touch of gay romance, then you’ll love Amy Tasukada’s pulse-pounding series.

Buy The Deafening Silence to immerse yourself in a bloody mafia tale today!

 

The Yakuza Path Series

BOOK 1 – Blood Stained Tea

BOOK 2 – Better Than Suicide

BOOK 3 – One Thousand Cranes

BOOK 4 – The Deafening Silence

BOOK 5 – Flowers of Flesh and Blood

BOOK 6 – Wrapped in Screams

Releasing in November

Pre-Order here

 

 

Excerpt 

A car’s engine accelerating pulled Aki’s attention away from the phone. His eyes grew wide as a red Ferrari 458 pulled up in front of him. The sculpted body and raised headlights on the fenders sent a shiver down Aki’s spine. He was in love.

The door opened, and Shinji stepped out wearing tight black jeans and a red plaid coat with a few more zippers than necessary to give it a rocker vibe. But that car!

“You like it?” Shinji asked, gesturing to the sweetest ride Aki had been able to get close to in a long time.

“Like it?” Aki ran his hand across the warm hood. “I’m ready to propose.”

Shinji leaned over beside Aki and tapped the hood. “She does have one hell of a purr when she’s hot.”

Shinji’s red jacket rode up and revealed jeans hugging his ass like a second skin. He was showing off, but at the same time, Aki didn’t mind. If Nao could sleep with some Russian bastard, Aki could stare at the ass of an attractive guy with an even hotter car.

“You want to drive?” Shinji tossed the keys to Aki, who caught them in one hand.

“You mean it?”

“I don’t tease—at least not outside the bedroom.”

No other keys ever felt like they belonged in his hand. Aki shoved the briefcase in the back and slid into the driver’s seat. He brushed his hands over the fine leather detail. His fingers were made for the steering wheel.

“I always wanted to drive something like this.”

Shinji got beside him. “Murata doesn’t let you drive his flashy cars?”

Aki laughed. “Domestic brands aren’t known for their looks.”

“Jun told us he didn’t buy things not made by Japanese companies, but I didn’t believe him.”

“It’s true—everything from cars to suits. The only foreign thing he touches is his tea.”

“And a good hooker.”

Aki slammed on the gas, peeling out onto the street.

“Show-off.” Shinji grinned.

Aki asked, “Where’s the pawn shop?”

Shinji grabbed on to the door and let out a small laugh. “Good thing we have a deal with the cops.”

“Really? I’ve had a hard time getting ahold of Jun.”

“You have to ask the right person.”

“I see. Who’s the right person?”

“I forgot his name since I just deal with our Russia allies.”

Aki floored the accelerator, speeding through a changing light. “Father Murata is disappointed he hasn’t been released yet.”

“Don’t worry. We don’t want to raise suspicion. He’ll be released by the time we get back from the exchange with the Russians.”

More like get done holding Jun hostage. Nao was right. Something was off about the whole trip.

Aki slowed to a stop at a red light. The engine purred as if crying to be set free. Sports cars weren’t meant to be stuck idling.

Shinji pointed. “It’ll be a right at the next light.”

Shinji’s hair fell in his eyes, and he swept it back. Even with the coat, his biceps bulged. Nao kept his muscles lean, refining them in a boxing ring rather than lifting weights like Shinji must’ve done to get them so large.

Aki licked his lips. Both were appealing in their own way. Shinji probably would look hotter pinning Aki’s hands above his head and would have much more power behind each of his slamming thrusts. He could imagine the marks left on his back from being banged against the wall. Shinji could mark his body anyway he wanted. A small moan left the back of Aki’s throat, and if Shinji had heard it, he thankfully didn’t react, but Aki’s body had.

He blamed it on the car and the way it vibrated when they stopped. Not the fact that Shinji was objectively the hottest guy who’d ever hit on him before. Aki hadn’t just imagined what sex with him would be like for a full light change.

The light switched to green and Aki peeled out, hoping it would distract Shinji enough not to notice the bulge growing in Aki’s trousers.

 

About the Author 

International best-selling author Amy Tasukada writes thrilling times of crime, love, and gore. Readers who crave diverse characters, unique settings, and edge-of-your-seat action will devour her Yakuza Path series. Readers who seek less blood and more love will swoon over the Yakuza Path Romance and Would it Be Okay to Love You? Series. Amy is an atheist, queer author who enjoys drinking tea, Japanese street fashion and visual kei music.  Her calico cat, O’Hara, is never far from her side. Amy lives in North Texas, but is always planning her next trip to Japan.

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Author Links

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Book Blitz & Excerpt: The Devil’s Necromancer + Giveaway

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The Devil’s Necromancer
by Alexa Piper
(Hellbound, #1)
Published by: Changeling Press
Publication date: October 8th 2021
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Urban Fantasy

Lionel, a necromancer and consultant for the Brunswick Police Department, wants nothing to do with immortals. Specifically, he wants nothing to do with Lucifer, who shows up on his doorstep one day with a ridiculous proposal. Lucifer, also known as the Devil, wants Lionel to be his pretend boyfriend. Except the pretend part is something the Devil doesn’t really seem to care for.

Lucifer has read enough romance novels to know that a good dose of forced proximity might be just the thing to get the stubborn necromancer he desires into his bed. The Devil’s plans are soon complicated when Lionel proves more uncooperative and oblivious to love than Lucifer could ever anticipate.

While the Devil wants to claim Lionel, all Lionel wants is to get away from Lucifer. Meanwhile, magic users are being murdered in the city. Lionel cannot escape the implications of those murders for long, and the case soon takes a different turn. Will Lionel be able to escape the Devil’s thrall, or will the necromancer fall for the immortal seducer?

Publisher’s Note: The Devil’s Necromancer contains scenes involving dubious consent that some readers may find offensive.

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EXCERPT:

It was past midnight, and the stars that looked like sprinkles of white chocolate in the velvety dark night sky were overshadowed by the city lights and the waxing moon. I lay on the embankment, North Bridge’s metal frame rising just to my right and further hiding the chocolate sprinkle stars. My feet were wet, but I didn’t mind, not the embankment or the wet feet or the stars melting away in the light and the artificial structures around me. The zombie was oozing all over me from its — his — caved-in skull, and I did mind that. Zombie ooze was a bitch to get out of clothes, even if I’d given up on wearing colors years ago. Black simply was the safest bet for a necromancer.

Zombies reeked when they weren’t really fresh, and this one was ripe — fish-market-in-the-summer-heat-three-days-after-closing ripe. I looked up and considered my life choices, all of which had led me here.

“Do you need CPR?” someone said. It was a warm, manly voice, and I was reasonably sure it could make chocolate melt, star-shaped or otherwise.

I stuffed my self-pity away and turned my head to get a better look at the speaker. He was as handsome as a devil, with skin that looked like marble in the glow of the city at night. His hair shimmered liquid black, but it might have been some shade of brown in proper lighting. It went well past his ears and looked styled with care to get that messy, I just got up out of bed after a night of hard fucking look.

“Why the fuck would I need CPR?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like I’d just considered crying a moment ago, and I was proud of that.

The guy shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with humans. Your kind is so accident prone, and you seem to be having trouble breathing. Or maybe you hit your head? Do you remember how you got here?”

Did he fucking think I was suffering from amnesia or a head injury or something? “I’m having trouble breathing because I have a fucking dead zombie on my chest, asshat,” I said. In my considered necromantic opinion, I was being perfectly polite, even though I couldn’t be sure what kind of creature the guy was. I’d given him a quick glance with my mage sight, and human he was not.

Jeez, I hated gods and otherworldly beings.

“All zombies are dead,” Mr. Sexy said. “It’s a prerequisite. This one seems to have had its brainstem properly destroyed, however.”

“Oh, smarty-pants, thanks a bunch for the lecture. The basics of necromancy have ever escaped me, even after I raised my very first corpse thirteen fucking years ago.” It had been a blackbird that had died when he crashed into a window at my school. I had cradled the poor thing in my hands as it breathed its last, had cried, and that had triggered my necromancer power. Pretty boy did not need to know that. Every other person I’d ever told had made fun of me for it.

“You could have suffered a head injury with amnesia. How am I supposed to know what you know?” He walked toward me. His movements were silent, cat-like, and more elegant than was right. Even despite the zombie oozing out on me, my cock couldn’t quite ignore him. Seriously, though, what was up with his fixation on first aid and amnesia?

He grabbed the zombie by the legs and pulled the dead-dead corpse off me. “Oh. You caved in its skull with a rock,” he said when he saw the murder weapon in question, the goo glistening on its stony surface. Well, it wasn’t really a murder weapon, seeing as how the zombie had been dead, but details. “How traditional.” He held out a hand to me, and I took it and let him pull me back to my feet. “I’m Lucy, by the way. Short for Lucifer, but I prefer Lucy. As in Lucy Westenra, the woman who almost single-handedly turned Dracula into the first reverse harem romance novel ever before she made the wise decision to claim immortality instead. She was such an underrated character, and I really don’t know why people don’t like her more.”

I dusted myself off. Didn’t help with the wet feet or the zombie ooze, which I really only distributed, like soft butter on hot toast. The shirt I was wearing was ruined. Good thing I had a dozen other plain black shirts just like it back home. “Maybe because she fucking ate children.”

He shrugged. “Well, everyone has a craving now and then. No one judges women’s monthly chocolate cravings, and I don’t see how that was so much worse.”

My brain caught up with the conversation. Lucifer? The Lucifer? The fucking Morning Star, seducer of stuffy virgins and lover of apples? I looked at him. Up at him. Asshole was tall and handsome, the kind of guy I could only ever talk to with about three drinks in me. “You’re the Devil? Satan? Beelzebub?”

“Lu-cy,” he said, slowing down as if he was reconsidering the brain damage thing. Even his eyebrows were perfect, which I only noticed because he pulled one of those up, something most people couldn’t do in real life. He could. And he looked hot doing it. Hotter.

 

Author Bio:

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them.

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Spotlight & Excerpt: Politics Makes Strange Deadfellows + Giveaway

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Politics Makes Strange Deadfellows

Kate Matthews Mystery Series Book 2

by Jane DiLucchio

Genre: Cozy LGBTQ Mystery

 

Kate Matthews expected to face challenges when she was elected to the Santa Barbara City Council. She hadn’t counted on her sister-in-law, Michelle, being one of them.

Kate understood that Michelle was mentally ill and periodically homeless. What she didn’t understand was why Michelle turned up in Santa Barbara only to disappeared again—until the police announced that Michelle was wanted in connection with a murder.

Wading through the morass of Michelle’s life in order to find out the truth while also handling Council politics and issues proves to be more complicated than Kate could ever have anticipated. When her wife and children become entangled in the quagmire, Kate finds out just how much she is willing to do to save her family.

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politicsmakestrangedeadfellows - excerpt

Celia Tucker, California Coastal Commissioner and all-around pain in the butt, was my regular massage client Sunday afternoons. As I parked the car in the driveway of her ocean-view home, I took deep, centering breaths, knowing that Celia’s high energy level required me to be even calmer than usual during a session.
A gush of wind greeted me when I opened the unlocked front door. A gray, marble-floored entry led to a wide living room framed by windows and glass French doors overlooking the distant ocean.
I called my greetings as I set up the massage table between the couch and the fireplace. I covered the table with my usual soft, flannel sheets then topped it with an 800-thread-count linen that Celia had left out for me. She preferred the feel of her Egyptian cotton next to her bare skin.

As I spread the oil on her exposed leg, Celia screamed, “My back! My back’s burning!” She jerked herself upright on the massage table. As she sat up, the sheet fell from her shoulders. Red welts were forming on her back. “Epi. EpiPen.”
Celia’s gasp and waving arm propelled me to her purse. I dug through it and located the plastic tube. Mentally reviewing the instructions Celia had given me when I first started working with her, I popped open the top and slid the pen out of the holder. Grasping it firmly in my fist, I flipped up the safety lid and then pushed the pen against Celia’s thigh. I held it there as I counted ten long seconds. Each second was accompanied by wheezes from Celia’s constricting trachea. Her lips were swelling.
I tossed the pen aside and scanned the room for Celia’s phone while I massaged the medication into her leg. In those scant seconds, redness spread across the leg I had just oiled.
I sprinted across the room to an end table beside the couch, grabbed the phone, and punched in 9-1-1.
Despite the epinephrine, Celia’s breathing worsened. The emergency dispatcher stayed on the line as I detailed the developments. As she was describing what I might do in order to help Celia breathe, the EMTs pounded on the door.


Going Coastal

Kate Matthews Mystery Series Book 1

 

A client dying on her massage table is traumatic enough for Kate Matthews, but when the police declare that death a homicide, her life is upended as she is cast as the major suspect.


None of this is what Kate expected from her move to the peaceful, beach town of Santa Barbara, California. After a near-fatal heart attack, an early retirement from her Los Angeles law firm, and a change in careers, Kate envisioned a quiet life with her wife, Alicia, and their grown children.


Since her client, Celia Tucker, held a politically-influential position on the California Coastal Commission, the murder becomes a media event. Kate finds herself and her family sucked into the maelstrom. The former lawyer has all she can do to find the truth behind Celia’s death without adding her own name to the body count.

Add to Goodreads

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politicsmakestrangedeadfellows - excerpt

Celia Tucker, California Coastal Commissioner and all-around pain in the butt, was my regular massage client Sunday afternoons. As I parked the car in the driveway of her ocean-view home, I took deep, centering breaths, knowing that Celia’s high energy level required me to be even calmer than usual during a session.
A gush of wind greeted me when I opened the unlocked front door. A gray, marble-floored entry led to a wide living room framed by windows and glass French doors overlooking the distant ocean.
I called my greetings as I set up the massage table between the couch and the fireplace. I covered the table with my usual soft, flannel sheets then topped it with an 800-thread-count linen that Celia had left out for me. She preferred the feel of her Egyptian cotton next to her bare skin.

As I spread the oil on her exposed leg, Celia screamed, “My back! My back’s burning!” She jerked herself upright on the massage table. As she sat up, the sheet fell from her shoulders. Red welts were forming on her back. “Epi. EpiPen.”
Celia’s gasp and waving arm propelled me to her purse. I dug through it and located the plastic tube. Mentally reviewing the instructions Celia had given me when I first started working with her, I popped open the top and slid the pen out of the holder. Grasping it firmly in my fist, I flipped up the safety lid and then pushed the pen against Celia’s thigh. I held it there as I counted ten long seconds. Each second was accompanied by wheezes from Celia’s constricting trachea. Her lips were swelling.
I tossed the pen aside and scanned the room for Celia’s phone while I massaged the medication into her leg. In those scant seconds, redness spread across the leg I had just oiled.
I sprinted across the room to an end table beside the couch, grabbed the phone, and punched in 9-1-1.
Despite the epinephrine, Celia’s breathing worsened. The emergency dispatcher stayed on the line as I detailed the developments. As she was describing what I might do in order to help Celia breathe, the EMTs pounded on the door.


Jane DiLucchio is a late bloomer when it comes to writing.

She spent many years as a teacher (first elementary school and later at the community college level), massage therapist, and backyard farmer before giving in to the little voices that kept sounding off in her head.

Since there’s a thin line between a psychotic and a writer (psychotics try to convince everyone that the voices they hear are real; writers write it down and tell everyone its fiction), Jane finally decided to give in to the voices rather than undergo intensive psychotherapy.

Jane and her wife are raising their two cats in a loving home in Southern California. (Actually, the cats allow Jane and Sue to live with them in return for certain personal services, but that’s another story entirely.) Jane continues to raise crops, travel, write, and spend time with her friends and family – all activities she loves.

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