Spotlight: Ferry Tails by Ted Mulcahey

Beneath the tranquil surface of Whidbey Island, a sinister force lurks. When a ruthless polygamist cult leader and his deadly enforcer unleash chaos, Deputy Sheriff Roger Wilkie is drawn into a relentless game of cat and mouse. He knows the truth—but capturing these cunning killers may be his toughest challenge yet.

With the help of the island’s eccentric residents—including a formidable ex-con who’s always in the thick of trouble—and two sharp-witted German Shepherds, Wilkie navigates a world of danger, dark humor, and razor-sharp sarcasm. Fast-paced and gripping, this thriller will keep you hooked until the final, heart-stopping twist.

Part of the Whidbey Island series, but can be read as a standalone

Excerpt

Twenty 

The cabin was rustic and smelled of old wood. A queen bed was shoved against a pine-clad wall, and a small writing desk with a lamp and a chair sat opposite. He presumed a stained, knotty pine door on the far side of the room led to the bathroom. One other item was shoved in the corner on the far side of the bed—a puffy, plaid dog bed.

Francis seemed unsure of his next move, but Henry…not so much. The three-year-old eighty-pound GSD vaulted into the center of the bed, turned three circles, then plopped down and stared expectantly at his human.

Jesus, he thought, what have I gotten myself into? He rested his muscular body on the small chair and looked at his new friend. “What do you think, Henry? What’s going through that brain of yours?”

The shepherd perked his ears even higher and twisted his head, seemingly trying to understand. He held that pose for a few seconds, then lowered his head on his two front paws, his eyes never leaving Francis.

He had heard dogs could be smart, but this one almost scared him with its intelligence. He was out of his league, so he did what he always did when unsure—he took action.

He stood up, and as he did, so did Henry. “Come on, buddy, let’s take a walk.”

The large rust and black mass of fur jumped from the bed, stopped at his feet, and sat, still looking up.

“What? What is it?” Francis sensed the dog wanted something…but what?

After a few seconds of staring at each other, he got it. “The leash, right? The leash?”

Two sharp barks answered his question. Francis shook his head in wonderment at this marvelous animal as he snapped on the leash and headed out the door. “Let’s go, boy, c’mon.”

At dusk in Kanab, the surrounding rocks and mountains gave off an unearthly, deep red glow. Francis and Henry took one of the many trails through the boulders and small crevasses surrounding Dogtown. The temperature was a comfortable seventy degrees, and the wind was nonexistent. The quiet was broken only by the swish of Francis’s boots through the sand and the rapid huffing of Henry. 

He found himself talking to his companion, asking him about the case, where Driggs was, and what made Mullins such an evil man. Every time he paused, so did Henry. He was astonished at the animal's awareness and constant search for threats. He started to understand why GSDs were the workhorses for police, search and rescue, and the military. Still, though, as much as he liked him, he wasn’t inclined to take care of a pet.

They circled back to the cabin just before dark. Opening the door, he saw a brown paper bag on the desk, several grease stains providing clues to its contents. On the floor next to the dog bed was a large bowl of water and another with kibble piled high. Francis had never heard of this place, but it was clear they had their shit together.

He scarfed down the still-warm hamburger and fries while Henry did the same with his dinner. Francis knew enough to take his pal for a short walk after eating to do his business.  

They returned to the small TV-less cabin, with only each other for company. Francis thought it was silly for people to talk to their pets like humans, but now he found himself doing precisely that. He was tired from the day's events and the exhilarating walk and was looking forward to crashing early.

Making sure Henry was in his bed, he showered, brushed his teeth, shaved his head, and returned to the bedroom. Henry’s bed was empty, and he was once again perched in the middle of the bed designated for humans.

“Henry…down, boy.” Francis snapped his fingers as he said this.

The large shepherd dutifully stepped from the bed and went to his designated sleeping place. Francis climbed under the covers, switched off the bedside lamp, and immediately fell asleep in the room’s pitch darkness. 

At some point in the middle of the night, he turned over to get up to relieve himself but found Henry nestled next to him. The dog seemed determined to sleep in the same bed, so Francis turned the opposite way to get to the bathroom rather than protest. He wondered what thoughts were going through the dog’s mind and why he seemed to latch on to someone like him.

He stumbled back to bed in the darkness, climbed back in, even pushing the animal over a few feet so he could fit, and soon fell back asleep. He didn’t stir until daylight crept through the curtains the next morning.

Reaching over, he found Henry was no longer lying next to him. He sat up to see his new best friend sitting alertly in his dog bed, apparently awaiting instruction. “Ya know, Henry, you sure are an interesting fellow. How about I get you a little food? Then we can get to finding these Barlow people.”

After Henry finished the last of his kibble, they headed for his truck. Francis opened the rear door of the crew cab and urged his companion to jump up into it, but the dog just sat there staring at him.

“What? You can’t jump?”

When Francis attempted to help the animal up, he pulled away.

“C’mon, Henry, what’s the problem? We gotta get going.”

Frustrated, Francis opened the front passenger side to put his duffle in. Looking like an Olympian, Henry launched himself inside the truck and onto the passenger seat. He sat there alertly, looked down at his partner, and barked sharply as if to say, close the damn door, buddy.

Shaking his head, Francis threw his duffle into the back, closed both doors, and headed for the Best Friends Welcome Center. They arrived to find Terri standing by the entrance.

“Well, Francis, how was your night with Henry?” 

They were standing on the step, Francis holding the leash and Henry practically glued to his leg.

“I’ll admit, he’s an amazing animal. He sure has a mind of his own, but we got along well.”

“Would you like to adopt him?”

“I think he’s wonderful, Terri, but I don’t see me having a dog.”

She looked disappointed but accepted his decision. “I understand. If you still want to talk to the Barlows, you can find them in the cafeteria, across the street.”

He thanked her, handed her the leash, and turned to leave. As he did, Henry began a high-pitched keening that nearly buckled his knees. He stopped momentarily but then continued walking to find the two men who might be able to help him find Driggs.

Abe and John Barlow were not brothers, but if looks meant anything, they could have been. They were both slightly built and somewhere in their mid-twenties. They seemed to be gentle souls and appeared to love their jobs working with the animals at Best Friends. Unfortunately, they were of little help in supplying any information that might help locate Joseph Driggs.

The two men had discovered that caring for animals and spending time with others of like minds was far more rewarding than living with the FLDS's strict and sometimes bizarre rules and practices. According to the Barlows, Driggs may have had altruistic intentions at one time, but their impressions were that he grew increasingly greedy and self-absorbed as the years passed. They felt he would never be far from Shane Mullins, especially if money were involved.

Disappointed but determined, Francis returned to his rented truck across the street. As he opened the door to get in, he heard Terri yell, “Henry…HENRY, come…get back here.”  

He turned just in time to witness what a full-grown German Shepherd traveling at thirty miles per hour looks like. In a blur, Henry vaulted into the pickup, hopped over the console, and sat in the passenger seat.

Terri rushed over and said, “I’m sorry, Francis. He pulled the leash from me as soon as he saw you. Let me get him out of there.”

 Francis looked up at the dog, sitting silently and alert, his intelligent eyes begging to stay. He melted. He’d never had a dog or even a goldfish, but there was a connection with Henry he’d never felt with anyone before, human or animal. “Never mind, Terri.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It seems I don’t have much choice here. I think he’s adopted me, not the other way around. What do I need to do to take him with me?”

The paperwork was taken care of on the hood of his truck while Henry supervised and never moved from his shotgun position. Francis had planned to return his ride to the Las Vegas Harry Reid International Airport, but now, with his additional passenger, he opted to make the seventeen-hour drive back to Whidbey Island. He figured they’d make Twin Falls by nightfall, then do the ten-hour stretch the following day.

A little over an hour after leaving Kanab, they merged onto I-15 and settled in for the next four hundred miles. Henry had finally curled up on the passenger seat and was snoring quietly. Every time he glanced at his new pal, he felt a little twinge in his gut. He knew his buddy, O’Malley, owned a German Shepherd and was rarely seen without her. He began understanding how attached this breed could become to a single individual or family. He recalled what Terri had told him: “Remember, these dogs are pack animals, and if you and your family are their pack, they will defend and protect you until they die. It’s their sole purpose in life.”

She also told him how important it was to socialize Henry with others, including other canines. As the miles passed, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was now responsible to and for another creature. It was the same way he felt about his brother…sort of. This was a little different. He wondered what Jake would have to say about his new roomie.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback

About the Author

Ted Mulcahey has lived most of his life in the Pacific Northwest. He is an Army Veteran, sales and marketing VP, entrepreneur, business owner, avid reader, one of nine children, and proud husband who attributes his sense of humor to his mother and his wife. 

Website: http://tedmulcahey.com

Spotlight: Bitterfrost by Bryan Gruley

The first in a brand-new crime thriller series from Edgar nominee and Pulitzer Prize–winning author Bryan Gruley. Feisty defence attorney Devyn Payne faces off against veteran detective Garth Klimmek as they work to solve a vicious double homicide in their small, icy town of Bitterfrost.

Thirteen years ago, former ice hockey star Jimmy Baker quit the game after almost killing an opponent. Now, as the Zamboni driver for the amateur team in his hometown of Bitterfrost, Michigan, he’s living his penance. Until the morning he awakens to the smell of blood . . .

Jimmy soon finds himself arrested for a brutal double murder. The kicker? He has no memory of the night in question. And as the evidence racks up against him, Jimmy’s case is skating on thin ice. Could he have committed such a gruesome crime?

Excerpt

ONE

Jimmy wakes to a pinging sound in his head.

And the smell of blood.

He sits up, too quickly, and pain blazes up from the base of his neck and wells inside his skull like a fist forcing its way out. He shuts his eyes, trying to squeeze it away. The high-pitched pinging ebbs but the throb persists.

He opens his eyes. He’s sitting on his kitchen floor in the dark. He checks the clock on the microwave: three fifty-three. He’s still wearing the black-and-silver IceKings jacket he wore to the hockey rink and then to the Lost Loon Tavern. A draft of winter air cascades over his face. He sees his back door is open six inches and trembling on its hinges. He gets up to close it and notices he’s wearing only one boot. He hobbles outside on his booted leg. The security light blinks on. Jimmy’s other boot is lying on its side on the porch step. As he squats to pull it on, he spies a ragged path of packed-down snow leading away from the porch. As if someone dragged in an animal.

He goes back inside, closes the door, and flicks on the lamp hanging over the kitchen table. Still smelling blood, he lifts his left hand to his face. ‘Jesus,’ he says. The hand is spackled with dried blood, the knuckles a hash of shredded skin and exposed bone a shade of rust. Blood spatters the silver sleeve of his jacket from wrist to elbow. As he stares at it, the hand begins to ache like it would after pounding some guy’s forehead and cheekbones in the middle of a hockey game. What did he do to himself? Or, God forbid, to someone else? He’s seen his hand like this before, but it’s been a long time, when he was still playing in the minors.

The thrum in his skull is deafening. He can’t think straight. He goes to the sink, splashes water on his face and neck. It doesn’t help. He gazes out the window over the sink. Outside is black all the way to the tree line several hundred yards away. All Jimmy can see is his reflection in the glimmer from the overhead lamp. A strawberry of a lump has risen on his right cheek. He touches two fingertips to it. It stings. 

He turns the water on hot, squirts dishwashing liquid on the hand, and washes the blood off as best he can, the soap tingling in the spots where the knuckle skin is shorn. The hand comes clean enough, but he’ll have to put his jacket in the wash and wear something else to work. That’s not ideal because it’s a game day and everyone, especially Jimmy, driver of the Zamboni, is expected to be in IceKings gear. 

He checks his back pocket for his wallet – it’s there – but, patting himself, finds no cellphone. Maybe in the truck. He goes to the garage. It’s empty. He hits the garage-door opener. As it rattles upward, he sees his truck parked at an odd angle across the two-tire drive that bends through a span of sparse woods to his house. 

Why is the truck outside? Did his garage-door opener malfunction earlier? He can’t recall. Did his one drink keep him from parking properly? Or was someone else driving? None of this is right. But he can’t remember how it got wrong. His stomach clenches. He feels afraid but doesn’t know what he feels afraid of. Which frightens him even more. And, man, it’s cold. Must be twenty below. He wraps his arms around himself and walks to the truck, shivering. 

Whenever Jimmy’s driving, he stuffs his phone in one of the coffee cup holders on the center console. It’s not in either of those. He leans across the driver seat to check the passenger side, grabbing the steering wheel for balance. The wheel is tacky on his palm. More blood? Holy shit, he thinks. Somebody got hurt. 

His breath billows white around his head. He checks the glove box, searches under the seats, rummages through the back seat. No phone. Goddamn. His boss will start texting him at seven and won’t stop till opening puck drop twelve hours later. He sits in the back seat, hands gripping his knees, trying to think: Did he leave the phone at the Loon? He doesn’t remember using it there; he usually turns it off before he goes in. 

Memory loss is an occupational hazard for a former hockey fighter who took a slew of blows to the head while delivering more than his share to other heads. If a doctor opened up his skull, Jimmy suspects they’d find tangles of that CTE stuff that supposedly blots out memory and drags its bearers to an early death. Still, this morning’s full-blown blackout is peculiar, more like the sort that plagued Jimmy when he was heavy into the booze, after the lawsuits and the publicity and the divorce and the child custody fight. Basically, the whole damn night from the time he left the Loon is missing.

He tries to picture the Loon, where he was sitting, Ronnie behind the bar. He recalls having words, though nothing too bad, with a couple of guys who might have been giving Ronnie a hard time. For some reason he remembers thinking they must have been from downstate, probably Detroit or thereabouts. There was a woman in an orange hoodie. Not much else is coming. He figures he’ll call Ronnie as soon as she might be awake, she’ll clear things up. But then he thinks, no, dumb shit, you have no phone. 

He twists himself around and digs in the crack between the seat and the seat back. Nothing there. He clambers back into the front and tries those seats. Nothing in the driver’s side, but his fingertips brush something solid on the passenger side. He pulls his arm out and yanks his coat and shirtsleeves up, then plunges back in and comes out with his phone. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he says, feeling something he hopes isn’t blood caked on the casing. He tries to turn the phone on, but it’s out of juice. Why would it have been jammed into the seat like that? Jimmy can’t believe he would’ve put it there on his own. Unless he was trying to hide it. But why? From whom? 

His right ring finger has gone numb from the cold. He starts the truck and pulls it into the garage. The stuff on the steering wheel feels like tar. Jimmy puts a palm to his face and sniffs. He used to think when he fought two or three times a week that he could smell the difference between his own blood and another guy’s. That was bullshit, just like it was bullshit that beating people up would propel him to the National Hockey League. 

He needs to clean the steering wheel and check the rest of the truck for blood, but he doesn’t want to freeze to death, so he goes inside and rubs his gluey hands warm then plugs the cell into the outlet next to the fridge. He goes back to the sink to rinse his hands and checks his reflection in the kitchen window. He’s gotta get some ice on that swollen cheek. People are going to ask about it. Which makes him wonder if he ought to call the cops. 

For what, though? What’s he gonna tell them? There’s blood in my truck but I don’t know why? I have no idea how I got this shiner? Or why my knuckles look like spaghetti? I had one drink and can’t remember much else because my brain is a sieve? 

No. 

He takes an ice pack from the freezer and presses it onto his cheek. He decides he’ll give the truck a onceover later, before heading to the rink. A little snooze, some cleaning up, and everything will be fine. He tells himself he must have gotten into it with somebody, they got the jump on him somehow, and now, here he is. 

He goes to the front room and sits on the sofa, holding the ice pack to his face beneath the framed photos of Avery when she was three, six, eight, eleven. His favorite is eight, where she’s standing in unruly pigtails at the end of the Bitterfrost pier at sundown, showing off a steelhead she pulled from Lake Michigan that’s almost as big as her. The house is dark and quiet but for the tocking of an old grandfather clock across the room. Jimmy has to be up and rolling in less than two hours. 

In his head he says his nightly prayers. For Mama, long gone. For Avery, of course, extra prayers for her, and even for Noelle. For the Richards family, especially Cory. And, tonight, a prayer for his bud Ronnie, who may have had a rough go at the Loon. It’s still too early to call her, but maybe a text. He gets off the couch and goes into the kitchen for his phone, now at thirty-one percent power. There’s a text from his pal Devyn that arrived at one fifty-three: Tell me you’re not in trouble. 

Jimmy swallows hard. ‘Shit, Dev,’ he says aloud. 

He calls up his regular text string with Ronnie. He’s about to start typing when he sees a text he does not recall sending. It left his phone at two forty-two: those two jagoff’s won’t be bothering you again.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Hardcover | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Bryan Gruley is the Edgar-nominated author of six novels – PURGATORY BAY, BLEAK HARBOR, the Starvation Lake Trilogy, and his most recent, BITTERFROST (April 1, 2025; Severn House) - and one award-winning work of nonfiction. A lifelong journalist, he shared in The Wall Street Journal's Pulitzer Prize for coverage of the September 11 terrorist attacks. He lives in northern lower Michigan with his wife, Pamela, where he can be found playing hockey, singing in his band, or spending time with his children and grandchildren. You can visit him online at bryangruley.com.

Spotlight: Reaching for Beautiful: A Memoir of Loving and Losing a Wild Child by Sally McQuillen

For fans of Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking or David Sheff’s Beautiful Boy, this debut memoir about a mother grieving her young-adult son’s death is a must-read for any parent who has lost a child or whose child struggles with addiction.

A luminous story of how love triumphs over pain, love transcends fear, and love never dies; this debut memoir from a mother grieving her young-adult son’s death is a must-read for any parent who has lost a child, is raising a child from the edge of their seat, or whose family struggles with addiction.

When Sally’s twenty-one-year-old son died in a boat accident, her greatest fear is realized. Christopher was often drawn to risk and struggled with addiction. In this riveting memoir, Sally captures the wild ride of his jam-packed life and her deep love for him while reflecting on her own childhood and family’s legacy of alcoholism.

Sally shares insights about what it’s like to experience the emotional aftershocks of acute grief, filtered through the lens of her personal experience as a mother and her professional vantage point as a psychotherapist. Even if they have not been touched by loss in this way, readers may see themselves in Sally’s bittersweet illusion of trying to keep her son safe, in how she is challenged to let go of her fear, guilt, and regret in order to forgive herself, and in the ways grief teaches her about the power of love.

Excerpt

Unless they’re in extreme denial, every parent of a child struggling with addiction experiences the very real fear that their child could die. Once you come to terms with the fact they have a disease, you realize it could kill them. If you yourself have been in recovery and attended meetings, then you’ve seen firsthand the lives lost to this brutal affliction with every passing year you stay sober. And once you realize you can’t prevent your kids from getting disease, it becomes about making sure they survive it.

There he was. With dirt under his fingernails and shaggy, greasy hair in his eyes, Christopher was gorgeous to me. He didn’t have much to say, as expected, but I could tell that neither a drink nor a drug had crossed his lips in two months. The sparkle was back in his eyes. Along with it, a touch of tenderness, maybe even contentment, shone on his tanned face. I realized in that moment that his heart and soul had been hiding, and now his light was turned back on. He had a gentle glow, and I turned to it. Along with his glow was a flicker of warmth. I drew closer.

This mama bird and my fellow bereaved mothers carry an emptiness that is so gaping it takes over. The pain is so great I ask myself how it’s possible that so many of us could be living with it. It is simply unfathomable. The mama bird sounds her alarm, and I am sobbing with all of the mothers who’ve withstood the suffering and death of their babies from physical illness, the mothers who’ve felt the despair of losing their sons and daughters to the devastation of suicide, the increasing masses of mothers whose children have been taken by the opioid epidemic, by murder, or accident—and any and all of the other ways mothers could lose their children that I have failed to include. I ache for us all.

One might think we would be acclimated to grief as mothers. There is a cumulative series of goodbyes at each milestone. Our generation not only celebrates each development, but we literally congratulate our kids for growing up. Our children shape-shift, and the years fly by with a whisper of grief along the way if we stop to notice it. But we rarely do. My heart is tugged at every age and stage without respite. Nothing lasts, nothing stays the same.

The toughest stuff of grief consists of regret, guilt, and pure pain. Grief has a mind of its own. When it comes, it hits hard. Familiar but still surprising in its power, descending as sharply as ever. Messy and unpredictable and tiring. I’m slapped in the face by its insistence. There is healing to be found in allowing the sadness of missing him to enter. It feels like loyalty. It feels like love. We are so connected that he is a part of me. I move through my pain more easily when I refrain from judging myself for it. I am dragged through its clutches, but then I come up for air and picture Christopher’s green eyes smiling, giving me the strength to keep going.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Sally McQuillen, LCSW, CADC, is a psychotherapist in private practice specializing in addiction recovery, grief, and trauma healing. An avid reader with a double major in writing and dance criticism in college, she began working in public relations and marketing prior to obtaining her master’s degree in social work. Reaching for Beautiful is Sally’s first book. She and her husband live on the north shore of Chicago where they raised their three children.

Spotlight: The Victorian Locket by Elefair King

A Galveston Historical Mystery

Cozy Mystery

Sarah Anne Law, affectionately known to family and friends as Sam, was playing the stalking game with her cat when she inadvertently discovered a secret compartment in her haunted Victorian home. Not only did Sam find a hidden treasure, but she also realized that their playful game aroused a long-dormant spirit. Perhaps the newly awakened spirit and one of the more disturbing hauntings in her beautiful home were connected. Did a murder occur? As Sam followed clues to unravel the 125-year-old mysteries, she unveiled the true horrors of Galveston’s deadly and gruesome past.

About the Author

Elefair King, a native Texan, grew up in Houston. Retired, she now lives in The Woodlands, Texas. Married for 40 years, she has one son who lives nearby. Driven by her compassion to serve others, she founded several non-profit organizations as well as served on committees and boards of many local and regional charities. Elefair loves history, especially about her beloved Texas. She frequently stops along its country roads to read historical markers when seeking new adventures.

Connect:

Website: http://www.galvestonhistoricalmysteries.com

Spotlight: The Never List by Jade Presley

The four princes of Lumathyst need a mate, and everyone wants a chance... except for her.

Threatened by invaders, the kingdom of Lumathyst is on the verge of chaos, and no one can stop it. Unless the four immortal god-princes find their fated mate—and safeguard the throne—Lumathyst will fall.

Five women have tried. Five have failed. And tonight in the royal city, the princes need to find their Chosen and hope she can survive the transformation that will make her immortal.

Only Rylee Gray wasn’t supposed to be here. She snuck in for her own dark reasons—and now they claim they’ve found their perfect match. Her. Of course, they have no idea she’s concealing a secret big enough to damn them all.

The four princes have no choice. They’ll use every delectably wicked skill they have to make Rylee fall for all of them…or watch their kingdom collapse.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Hardcover | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Jade Presley is a pen name created to write romantasy stories that pair rich world building with characters that will make you blush and leave you thirsting for more. When not writing, Jade goes on epic quests during game night or hangs with her family and Irish Wolfhound in her Colorado mountain home.

To learn more please visit www.jadepresley.com

Connect with Jade:

Instagram: @jadepresleyauthor

Facebook: @Jade Presley

TikTok: @jadepresleyauthor

Spotlight: Lush by Tinia Montford

Publication date: March 31st 2025

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Synopsis:

Laurene King had it all: beauty, wealth, and a sexy secret affair with Reese Ashbourne— the brooding heir of her family’s sworn enemy.

But one reckless night shattered everything.

Tragedy struck. Laurene disappeared. And Reese was left with betrayal, unanswered questions, and scars he’ll never forget.

Now, Laurene is back, forced to return to the life she fled, but her homecoming comes with a cruel twist. Their families, teetering on the edge of ruin, have resurrected an old deal to save themselves: an Ashbourne and a King must marry—or lose everything.

Only this time, Reese is the groom. Not his brother.

Haunted by the past, Reese craves revenge as much as he still craves her. Trapped in a forced proximity neither can escape, their chemistry ignites—and so do their secrets.

But someone knows the truth about that night. The lies that tore them apart are unraveling, and the shadowy danger lurking in their luxurious world could destroy them both.

With their second chance at love and their families’ legacies hanging by a thread, Laurene and Reese must choose: bury the past or watch everything crumble to ashes.

The clock is ticking, and some truths are better left buried…

Excerpt

An Hour before the Accident

The laughter spilled from the main hall of the yacht club, bright and careless, tangled with the relentless thump of music. I should’ve been out there, smiling, toasting, pretending. 

Instead, I’d been hiding in this bathroom for nearly twenty minutes, like it could stop the slow, sinking dread pooling in my chest.

Smile, Laurene! Smile!

Conrad’s great. 

Really? my conscience said. He was great. Great for the family, great for appearances, great for everything except me

The door opened and shut softly behind me. 

“It’s over.” 

I refused to look behind me. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d crack. 

Instead, I focused on putting on my lipstick, the motion mechanical. I looked immaculate—perfect—the kind of woman my mother would smile at with pride. But I hated the color.

This fucking burgundy. 

The same shade she shoved at me for every happy occasion, every moment she wanted to control. A color that screamed her. Everything she expected me to be. Everything I despised.

I met his gaze in the bathroom mirror. 

He loomed there, his suit rumpled and tie slightly askew, his dark hair rebelliously unkempt. He looked the exact opposite of his brother—wild, unapologetic, dangerous. Everything I wasn’t supposed to want. 

“Don’t look away.” Every word wrapped around me like a challenge, and that rebellious part of me strained beneath my skin. But he wasn’t asking. He was demanding.

And I obeyed.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I wanted him here. I needed him. But I couldn’t have him. 

“I could say the same to you.” In the dim light, his green eyes seemed almost black. “Shouldn’t you be outside? Smiling for the cameras? Pretending you don’t hate every second of this?”

“This”—I pointed between us—“ends now. Get out before somebody sees you.”

His eyes held mine, and the way he saw me, like he was stripping away every layer, every excuse, was almost too much.

I turned. “This isn’t a game, Reese. My mama would burn the entire town to the ground if she knew about us.”

“She doesn’t know.” He stepped closer. “I was careful. No one saw me. We still have the plan.”

“Please.” I had to get through this night without more tears. “Let’s…let’s just cut our losses. I—I don’t know if I can do it now.”

He was behind me before I knew it, his weight trapping me against the counter. I closed my eyes, my breath catching as his exhale grazed the sensitive skin of my neck, hot and tantalizing. 

“Can we think of something else?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “She always knows, Reese. You don’t understand—”

“What I understand,” he said, his voice sharp, “is that you’re miserable. You’re about to marry my brother, and you’re standing here trying to convince yourself it’s what you want. Believe in our plan or is that what you want, Laurene?”

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Tinia (TUH-NIA) Montford is a Pisces who’s a sap for romance, especially when there’s (tons of) kissing. Loves eighties sitcoms and will consume anything with chocolate. She graduated from the University of San Francisco with a degree in English and Graphic Design. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction.

You can find Tinia at www.tiniamontford.com or on social media: @tiniawritesbooks

Connect:

http://www.tiniamontford.com/

https://www.facebook.com/tiniawritesbooks

https://www.instagram.com/tiniawritesbooks/

https://www.tiktok.com/@tiniawritesbooks

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21958554.Tinia_Montford

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