Teaser of WIP - Dino DeLuca #ChicagoWar
Hey, all!


I'm about 20k into Dino DeLuca's story which I've hesitantly titled Worthless & Wasted (following in line with the theme for the Chicago War titles).

I'm not sure if the title will stick, or rather, fit once I am done his story ... but we shall see.

For today, here's a small teaser of the opening bit of the story. Enjoy.



Memories could make a monster out of a man.

There were times that seemed harder to deal with than others; a passing moment that could make Dino DeLuca’s chest tighten in pain, or his fists clench in anger.

The sound of metal being dropped was one of the worst. He swore he could feel his back bruising and bleeding all over again at the simple tinging tone.

Whispered words made him jumpy—paranoid. Whispers were good for nothing but taunting, and he didn’t want to hear those mocking words anymore.

Had enough yet?

Learn to follow directions, Dino.

It should fucking hurt, kid.

The stench of vomit, clinging to the air and seemingly never letting go, would make his panic rush into overdrive, overwhelming him with an almost sense of itchiness all over his skin. As if the vomit was still soaked and dripping off his clothes in the darkness as he sobbed in a dank basement, curled in a corner and fighting off another round of sickness.

The reactions always came so swiftly they surprised him no matter the time or place. His memories weren’t much different when it came right down to it.

These times were the most difficult for Dino.

Those times came at night.

When the lights were off …

When the apartment was quiet …

When it was just him and his monsters …

When he was alone.
Cover + Blurb Reveal: Where the Wind Whispers
Where the Wind Whispers
Seasons of Betrayal, Book 3

Hey, loves.

London Miller and I are super excited to share the cover + blurb with you today for the final piece to Kaz and Violet's journey in the Seasons series. As we've said before, there are 3 parts to Kaz and Violet's tale, but not 3 books in the series. So more to come ... we're just not sure when.
For now, enjoy the pretty, designed by London.

You can Add WtWW to your Goodreads TBR


There is death where the wind whispers.

Left for dead by his own father on a snowy sidewalk, Kazimir Markovic finally understands what true betrayal really means, and just how far one will go to keep a secret. He only needs to survive, to make it home alive to his wife, and then everyone else will know what it means, too.

It will all come to an end …
Right back where it first started …

New York’s streets are bloodier than ever.
No souls are safe in this war.
The games are over.

From authors Bethany-Kris (Donati Bloodlines Trilogy) and London Miller (Den of Mercenaries) comes the final installment of Kaz and Violet’s journey in the Seasons of Betrayal series.
Thin Lives is now in Paperback!

Hey, all!


I'm dropping off a couple of links today.

Thin Lives is now in Paperback, which means the whole series is officially available in paperback.

I love seeing all my pretties in paper.

You can find Thin Lives at the following:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Createspace


Something a bit different today ...
Hey, lovies.

So, I have something a little bit different today.

A while back, a reader and friend of mine, Tracy, asked me if I would be willing to donate items to a charity she heads, and I couldn't have been happier to help.

It's a silent auction-type, and you can find the full list of all items involved here: https://www.32auctions.com/pawapalooza2016

However, if you want to find MY items, you can find those here: https://www.32auctions.com/organizations/26778/auctions/32094/auction_items/803753


Where the Wind Whispers (Seasons of Betrayal, 3) Teaser! #ComingSoon
Hey, all.


London and I are working all week together to finish the third book in the Seasons of Betrayal series to make sure it is out in October as we promised.

It is titled Where the Wind Whispers.

So this is the final chapter in the series for Kaz and Violet, but it is not the final book in the series.

We'll have more info soon.

For now, enjoy a teaser. ;)



There was fear.

And then there was terror.

The two may have seemed similar, but they couldn’t have been more different.

Fear was the extra beats of a racing heart, anxiety simmering below the surface, and shaking hands hidden from view.

Terror was all-consuming. Debilitating. It wasn’t just a fast heartbeat, but the belief a heart would stop altogether. It wasn’t just anxiety thrumming through the nerves, but the inability to even speak through the emotion.

Terror was vomit in a throat.


Dry mouth.

Aching sobs.

Fear and terror were not the same.

Violet Gallucci had never considered the differences between the two until terror was staring her straight in the face and laughing.

First it came as a phone call. A simple call that silenced the men milling about her house that her husband had left behind to watch her. Then it came as a hand grabbing her wrist hard enough to leave bruises as she was shoved into a car with a gruff, “We gotta go.”

Go where?


Violet’s questions, asked quietly from the backseat of someone’s SUV, had gone unanswered. She listened as more phone calls were made, and sharp, angry Russian was spewed between men.

She heard his name said.

A few times.


Terror was being shuffled from one car to another without an explanation. It was someone’s coat being thrown over her head as she was pushed into another backseat with a quiet, “Keep her face hidden.”

She stopped bothering to ask questions after that, knowing good and damn well they wouldn’t be answered, anyway.

Terror was streets whipping by in a blur and worried eyes watching her in a rearview mirror. It was street lights that seemed too bright in the middle of the night with the snow falling down in heavy flakes. It was pulling into the emergency parking lot and seeing cars already waiting.

A fleet of them.

Men leaning against driver’s doors.

Gazes trained on their car as it slowed to a stop.

Like they knew …

Like they were already waiting.

But she didn’t know.

But above all else, more than all that had come before, terror was seeing Ruslan Markovic sitting on the floor of a trauma triage room, bloodstained and silent.

Violet just … stared.

At the blood on the man’s hands and his clothes. At the bloody shoe prints smeared across the tiled floor that spoke of rushed chaos. At the handprint on the curtain when someone had flung it open.

And the wheel marks …

Violet’s gaze followed those to where they were just starting to be cleaned by a janitor, the heady scent of bleach filling the hallway.

Someone said something--a question, she was sure--but she didn’t really hear it. She couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in her ears or the tightening of her lungs with every breath that seemed to be a little more painful than the last.

Ruslan finally looked up, but he stared past her to someone else. Bloody fingers lifted high to his throat, slashing back and forth without even saying a word.

It took a while, more questions and silence, before sound began to bleed through Violet’s overworked senses.



Bled out.

Touch and go.

But worst of all was the I don’t know’s.

She’d heard the question that came before that answer, but she really didn’t want to.

Is Kaz alive?

“I don’t know.”