A lust for beauty, a secret just waiting to be told and a diamond as seductive as the people around it. In the end, just who gets what?
About the Author
I am an award-winning hybrid author of southern and women’s Fiction, including Dancing Backward in Paradise, The Story of Sassy Sweetwater, Where the Wildflowers Grow, Pleasant Day, Marybeth, Hollister & Jane and Lies a River Deep. As my alter ego, Olivia Hardy Ray my books include Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem, Annabel Horton and the Black Witch of Pau, and Pharaoh’s Star. The first novel I ever wrote, Dancing Backward In Paradise, won an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence and an Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction, 2007. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater and Dancing Backward in Paradise received 5 Star ForeWord Clarion Reviews and The Story of Sassy Sweetwater has been named a finalist for the ForeWord Book of the Year Awards. I have published in ESL Magazine, Christopher Street Magazine and I have also written early childhood curriculum for Weekly Reader and McGraw Hill.
Four years have passed since the lillipads fell and Etyom slipped into darkness. The New Black Death has mutated again, spreading to near epidemic proportions. What little order existed in Earth’s last city has disintegrated into chaos.
Rippers roam the Vapid, robbing and leaving their victims butchered. The Robusts have spilled out of their broken enclaves and hide in any dark corner that will conceal them. Meanwhile, the elite Graciles, fallen from their pristine towers in the sky, have all mysteriously disappeared.
Demitri is a prisoner in his own mind. His demon, Vedmak—now known as the Vardøger—is manipulating Demitri’s body to execute a secret plan far more disastrous than even the Gracile Leader dared.
Mila, her status among the fractured resistance elevated to that of Paladyn—a protector of the people—leads the fight against zealots intent on destroying what little remains of Etyom. It is a responsibility she never wanted, a calling that prevents her from doing what she truly desires.
Yet, Mila should be careful of what she longs. Caught between annihilation and loyalties that refuse to die, she must reconcile a single immutable truth: following your heart comes at a price.
Previous Book in the Series
Sci fi, dystopian, apocalyptic
Date Published: May 22 2018
Publisher: Vesuvian Books
The world you know is dead. We did this to ourselves.
The epidemic struck at the end of the Third World War. Fighting over oil, power, and religion, governments ignored the rise of an antibacterial-resistant plague. In just five years, the Earth was annihilated. Only one city survived—Etyom—a frozen hellhole in northern Siberia, engulfed in endless conflict.
The year is 2251.
Two groups emerged from the ashes of the old world. Within the walled city of Lower Etyom dwell the Robusts—descendants of the poor who were immune to the New Black Death. Above them, in a metropolis of pristine platforms called lillipads, live the Graciles—the progeny of the superrich, bio-engineered to resist the plague.
Mila Solokoff is a Robust who trades information in a world where knowing too much can get you killed. Caught in a deal gone bad, she’s forced to take a high-risk job for a clandestine organization hell-bent on revolution.
Demitri Stasevich is a Gracile with a dark secret—a sickness that, if discovered, will get him Ax’d. His only relief is an illegal narcotic produced by the Robusts, and his only means of obtaining it is a journey to the arctic hell far below New Etyom.
Thrust together in the midst of a sinister plot that threatens all life above and below the cloud line, Mila and Demitri must master their demons and make a choice—one that will either salvage what’s left of the human race or doom it to extinction …
Bronze Medal Winner — 2019 Independent Publisher Book Awards — Science Fiction
The young man in the brown jacket spins, arms raised high, a blood-curdling scream issuing from his lips. A few awkward steps and he falls, sprawling headlong across a pile of slush and rubble. A crimson fan spreads out under his corpse, staining the snow red. Another death, another friend of the cause, gone.
He was seventeen.
All around the pop-whizz of gunfire followed by deafening explosions from detonating grenades reminds us all the Kahangan stronghold of Nazal will not fall easily. I slide farther into the frozen mud of the ditch and scrunch into a ball.
“Mos.” Where the hell is he? “Mos, you with me?”
“I’m here, Mila.” The barrel chested Kahangan with midnight skin crawls up next to me, careful to keep his bulk below the rise.
“Who’s hit?”
“Mauricio.”
“Is he dead?”
“He’s not moving.”
“Sniper?” Mos jerks his head in the direction of the building before us. Politsiya in faded Cyrillic letters adorns the ruined facade.
“Knows what they’re doing too.” I pull a small mirror from the arm pouch on my leather jacket and slowly raise it to get a better view.
In the reflection is the form of a person, prone on the roof of the palace—if you can call it that.
A glint of light bounces off the glass.
I snatch my hand down and pinch my eyes shut as a chunk of earth explodes from the rim of the ditch, showering us with wet clods of cold mud. The lingering crack of a rifle follows. He’s got a sarding scope and a good, stable position. Guy definitely knows what he’sdoing.
“There’s a way up to the roof on the back side,” Mos says. “I can flank his position and approach from behind if you can keep his attention.” He cocks his head. “That’s probably stupid, huh?”
“It’s only stupid if it doesn’t work.”
Mos, already shuffling away, motions to a few others hiding in another ditch to follow.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Wait for my call.” Mos grins, revealing large, square, white teeth, then creeps away and seems to vanish into thin air.
The cold seeps through my clothing, stealing the fading warmth of the sun. My scarred Kalashnikov rifle feels like a cold, lead weight. I exchanged my bean-bag propelling weapon for a death-dealing one some time ago. I don’t even remember when that happened. Like everything else in this forsaken city, it just sort of did. Yeos forgive me. I loose my canteen from my satchel and take a shaky swallow of the nearly frozen water.
A bark, much like a wild dog.
The signal. “Now!”
I drop the canteen, roll to the left, and rise to one knee. Three more of my fighters appear and the air ignites with the sounds of war. Dust and stone billow around the sniper’s nest. Our suppressive fire has the desired effect: he’s blinded by debris.
“Ceasefire!” I kneel again, the Kalashnikov pressed into my shoulder, watching as the dust clears. “Stand ready.”
We wait in silence, a bitter wind snapping at our scarf-covered faces.
Another flash of light from the roof.
“Get down!” I flop into the muck.
This time there is no report. No exploding clump of earth. A cry of terror fills the air, followed by the sounds of a struggle. I chance a glance. Mos is standing tall and proud on the roof.
“Hold your fire!” I yell.
My comrades lower their weapons. Mos reaches down and plucks up a skinny Kahangan who drops a long-barreled rifle. The little man screams, flailing madly against my friend’s superior strength.
“Traitor.” Mos bellows loud enough to be heard, even from down here. With a single heave, the large Kahangan hurls the sniper over the edge. The man’s hollow scream is cut short as he strikes the frozen ground some ten stories below.
I force myself to peer down at his mangled corpse, twisted like a broken doll in the ice and mud below. The Kalashnikov drops to hang from its canvas strap across my chest. My people follow suit, relaxing their guard, their eyes glazed over in a mixture of relief and stress. They’re all good soldiers. Committed to the cause—peace in Etyom, the last city. The Kahangan civil war has been going on for too long. Kapka—who somehow managed to survive the RPG blast on the platform four years ago—continues his campaign against the followers of Yeos with renewed vigor, but has so far not managed to take this Musul faction. Instead, in this desolate place, power-hungry warlords fight over resources while the people suffer. Here, it’s not Kapka who reigns, but Nazal.
Little is known of the origins of this despot. Some say, like all warlords, he simply rode to power on the broken backs of the Kahangan people. That there was nothing he wasn’t willing to do and no one he wasn’t willing to betray to claim the power he felt was owed to him. Others seem to whisper of his evil deeds like he’s some sort of phantom—a terrible consequence of our own divisiveness. Whatever the case, Nazal is a plague. He’s no Kapka, but the piles of corpses he’s left in his wake can no longer be overlooked. The resistance will stop him because someone must.
About Stu Jones
A veteran law enforcement officer, Stu Jones has worked as a beat cop, an investigator, an instructor of firearms and police defensive tactics and as a member and team leader of a multi-jurisdictional SWAT team.
About Gareth Worthington
Gareth Worthington BSc PhD EMBA is a trained marine biologist and holds a doctorate in comparative endocrinology. Gareth works in the pharmaceutical industry helping to educate the world’s doctors on new cancer therapies.
Friends since childhood, Logan Ritter and Hunter James are now only held together by family ties and a history of codependency. Logan is a doctoral student and teacher who wraps himself in work, Hunter’s parents, and his other long-time friend, Missy. Meanwhile, Hunter, struggling to balance his summer undergraduate courses, a part-time job, and his ever-increasing alcoholism, becomes obsessed with a misguided young woman he’s never met. As their university town experiences unprecedented fear in the summer of 2002, each man’s life becomes blurred by self-absorption, assumptions, and full-on delusions. When faced with some undeniable truths, Logan and Hunter must decide how to untangle themselves from the false realities to which they’ve been clinging.
Excerpt
Another mouthful of hoppy beer enriches my senses. Before I can even swallow, I see he has finally made the connection in his brain, his eyes opening twice as wide as I thought was possible. Logan lets out a breath and contorts his face, as if he just caught me doing his precious Buffy, or Cindy, or whatever, doggy style on their Egyptian cotton sheets.
“You’re delivering pizzas? A pizza delivery boy? That’s just fucking fantastic. Good for you. Something to be proud of after spending a fifth of your life in college.” Logan is really great with literature and shit, but he sucks at math.
“Well, like I said, I prefer to say I’m in transfers. I will transfer the pizza from Pizza House to someone’s living room,” I say, demonstrating the complexity of the gig with large gestures. “Without me, thousands of people would starve. I’m a god-damned humanitarian!”
Logan shakes his head, looks me up and down, and laughs. Not because he finds humor in anything, but because he is mocking me. His judgemental stare causes me to heat up with rage, with the amount of alcohol in my system I’m already highly flammable. “I am not a fucking clown!” I ignite and slap Logan’s beer bottle off of the table. It hits the already damaged wall and shatters making a loud, but not out of place, sound. No one else in the bar seems to notice. Logan lets out a slow, controlled breath. Now having a look of disapproval rather than shock, he pulls a fifty out of his wallet, sets it on the table and walks through the bar, leaving me alone.
About the Author
Lana Orndorff works as a freelance writer and lives in Chicago with her husband and son. Missing Colors is her debut novel. As a reader and writer, she prefers beautifully tragic stories that fracture her heart. Because of this, her husband rarely takes her book recommendations.
Roxy and Stumpy, two clever raccoons, are known for their dumpster diving abilities. Most mornings, their bellies are full and sleep comes easy. Until one day, they aren’t so lucky. Tired and hungry, Roxy and Stumpy meet a handful of unique animal friends who eat prickly pear cactus. Yes, that’s right – CACTUS! Join the raccoons as they decide whether or not this spiny food is worth the trouble.
About the Author
A transplant from Massachusetts, Tina lives in Austin, TX, where she was introduced to the prickly pear cactus! Having been a singer/songwriter for years, Tina decided to put pen to paper and try her hand at picture book writing. It was much harder than expected, but she loves it. When she isn’t writing picture books, Tina spends her time working as an 8th grade language arts teacher and keeping up with her family of 4 humans & 5 pets!
A Story Of Bad features a woman and a man, both intelligent with strong personalities.
She is June Replyn, a city reporter working the business side of the fashion world. June is asked to write a story about how a small company, a clothing factory, survives the death – by murder – of its inspirational leader.
He is Detective Terry Stans. Reviewing clues and interviews, Detective Stans comes away with the impression that the dead man knew his assailant, and his dedicated workers and bereaved family are all prospective suspects.
One day June is at the clothing factory gathering additional material, and Terry is there, continuing his investigation. The detective is stuck. The case is going nowhere, and he believes that the fashion writer has a better view of the inside workings of the company than he has been afforded. Hoping that fresh eyes will see something he hasn’t, he obtains a promise from her that nothing will be printed without his permission, then he invites her to come to his precinct station and review the file. Not long after, he invites her to dinner at his favorite ribs joint.
This novel is about a reporter and a detective, both asking questions about a murder – although from different perspectives – who become ensnared in a romance. Their relationship raises questions about confidentiality, loyalty to one’s employer, professional ethics; she is trying to write a story for her readers, he is trying to keep control of an investigation. Both of their bosses caution them about the dangers to their careers raised by this situation. And there they are, lovers.
The tale is designed to intrigue with two intertwining stories, the mystery of the murder and the unexpected love affair. As the relationship grows and the mystery is solved we visit the worlds of Cambodian employees in America, police investigations, newspapers and their editorial policies, and drug smuggling.
There is no graphic violence or sex in the novel.
Excerpt
In this excerpt June Replyn is interviewing two sisters, Cambodians, about a cousin and co-worker who was murdered in front of them. Because their English is quite limited, June has brought along Salath Doeung (Sal), a college student born in New York to Khmer-speaking parents.
The four sat in silence for a moment, sipping the hot green tea, eating the sweet, wonderful dessert, and then the conversation began again. June wrote some clarifying comments next to the notes she had hastily written as he was speaking. She took her time, her head down, not wanting to convey the least impatience. Silence, and she glanced up to see him writing. Then he said something else and the cousin’s smiles disappeared. They paused, and then in lowered voices began to speak. June felt like screaming, she wanted simultaneous translation. What were they saying? But she waited, waited. Finally they paused, and he turned back to her.
“Two things. The first is that she had done a little dating here but no boyfriends, and she liked it that way, she thinks it isn’t easy to be a married woman with little kids here, not if you don’t speak English. Like I said before, she really wanted to go home, planned on it, and pretty much was at work or here or a local restaurant, not out late, no mysteries. As far as your guess, the one you mentioned in the car, I think your impression is right, correct.”
June, head down, nodded slightly as she wrote.
“Second, someone at work, guy who unloads boxes and helps the cutter, assistant cutter I guess, had a fight with her about some boxes or materials or something. Something at work. They don’t know what it was about because Rith didn’t want to talk about it, most unusual, she liked to gossip. They had a fight, and after that she avoided him.”
“Avoided scared or avoided mad at?”
He turned back and there was a brief flurry of Khmer.
“Scared, but she didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Did they tell the police about this, and if so, why not?”
Even as she said it she realized her mistake; anyone living here, especially in lower-income neighborhoods, knows the word ‘police’ no matter what their language background or skills. The sisters visibly tensed.
He started to turn, but she stopped him.
“Wait, I just made a stupid error, they recognized the p-word and they’re already on guard. I really want to know the answers, hope you canfix things.”
He winked at her, a youthful show of confidence, and turned back to the two young women, who now sat holding their tea cups tightly in their laps, their backs straight. He spoke for some time, they both listening intently, occasionally glancing at June. Then he stopped, and no one spoke for almost a minute. Then Sopheara Moeun softly began to speak, said only a few words and her sister spoke sharply to her. Sopheara responded in a raised voice, Sopharath responded loudly, and suddenly both were standing on their feet, noses inches apart, screaming at each other. In the midst of this June noted that they carefully placed the teacups back on the tray, a gentle, delicate gesture while they shouted as loud as they could. Suddenly Sopharath whirled and looked at June with a startling combination of fear and anger, tears starting to run, and held out both hands, palms up, pleading, and said “You all make dead.” Her right hand changed, index finger pointing, and pointed at herself and her sister, back and forth, pointing at each several times. “You all make dead, you all make dead.” She ran from the room.
June wasn’t sure what to do next, so she did nothing. She lowered her eyes, giving up any control, trusting that her interpreter, who had done so well so far, would know what to do.
He said something softly, and Sopheara sat down again. He paused, then turned to June. “They do know something, they may even know who did it. They are, as you can see, scared. They didn’t say anything to the police for that reason, but now Sopheara feels that she has to make it right, has to help the Americans…I mean, the government, punish him.”
June took her time, spoke slowly and gently, nodding at Sopheara Moeun, trying to be positive, reassuring, conveying not only through the words to be translated but with her demeanor and tone of voice. “Please tell her this. First, she is doing the right thing, honoring her cousin’s memory, and that she is very brave. Second, I have.. friends… in the police department, and I promise her that they will be very careful, move cautiously, and not do anything that will…. No, that doesn’t work. Sorry. Say this, say that I will explain the situation and ask the police to be very careful.”
The Khmer began again, both speaking in soft voices for a short time. Then Sal leaned forward and gently patted Sopheara on the shoulder, looked her in the eyes and said something. She smiled shyly, got up and started to leave the room. She stopped in front of June and, while looking at her, said something in Khmer. Salath Doeung translated “I hope you are the one who wins.” Then she was gone.
About the Author
Edward M. Krauss is the author of A Story Of Bad; Solomon The Accountant (a gentle love story set in a middle-class Jewish community in Toledo, Ohio in 1950); Here On Moon (betrayal, divorce, recovery).
The long-requested sequel to Maddie James’ first published novel, Roses & Rawhide is now available!
Readers wanted to know…
What happened to Jillie and Mack’s relationship at the end of Roses & Rawhide?
Why did Jillie go back to Kentucky?
Will they get back together? What’s their story?
While Kim Martin and Thad Winchester find their happily-ever-after in Roses & Rawhide, their best friends, Jillie Abernathy and Mack Montgomery, end their sleeping bag sharing relationship during the rugged, two-week pack trip into the Colorado San Juan mountains.
But when Kim and Thad host their wedding at Thad’s Colorado ranch a few months later, Mack and Jillie must come face-to-face with reality–and with each other. She’s the maid of honor. He’s the best man. Both are harboring secrets that could break a potential future relationship if they both keep avoiding telling the truth.
Can they reveal those secrets to each other? And if so, can they get past the withheld truths to plan a future together?
Excerpt
Jillie glanced up from the pot of chili and froze. The back door softly closed, and Mack pushed into the mudroom. She watched as he parked his hat on the bench beside the back door and hung his coat next to hers in the closet, then strolled into the kitchen.
This feels a little too cozy. “What the hell?” she said. “I thought you’d gone.”
He tossed her a sarcastic grin as he approached the kitchen island. “Nope. I’m here. At least for the night. Guess we both need to get used to it.”
“Why?”
“Weather and other stuff.”
“Is it that bad?”
He ignored her. “Did you get a nap?”
“Yes.”
“Good. By the way, I’m still on babysitting duty,” he added.
“Oh my God, Mack, I can manage.” Jillie bristled and narrowed her gaze. “I don’t need a sitter.”
“I’m still here anyway.”
“Well that’s ridiculous.” She turned back to the chili. But the smirky smile he gave her right before she did—one that half crossed over into dangerous sexy waters—unnerved her a bit. Flustered, Jillie dropped the ladle into the chili. The hot soup splashed onto the back of her hand and she jerked away. “Crap. Ouch!”
She snagged Mack’s gaze as he stepped forward. His intense glare unnerved her so much that she didn’t see him reaching for her hand.
“You lost the spoon,” Mack said. His fingers were still cold from working outside. He lightly touched a knuckle. “You okay? Those knuckles look red already.”
And they stung. She pulled back sharply, but not completely out of his grasp. “Um. Yeah. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” He tugged her closer, his blue eyes dancing. She locked into his gaze and he held her there for a few seconds, while her heart did a little flip-flop. Leaning in, he lifted her hand to his lips, and licked off the chili spatter off.
One. Knuckle. At. A. Time.
Mesmerized by the action, all Jillie could do was stand there and let him. His tongue dragging over her skin sent a revolving skitter of desire through her body and jump-started the months-buried yearning for him in her heart—and elsewhere. Every delicate nerve ending connected to her hands tingled with anticipation. Where else might he lick?
Her lips?
Neck?
Um…?
Stunned at the heat of his touch, Jillie attempted to stifle the shiver racing up her spine and keep her hand from shaking. She wasn’t successful. After what seemed a suspended moment in time, he stopped, and his gaze drifted up to meet hers.
Those blue eyes twinkled back. She trembled a little inside while her tongue made a quick swipe over her suddenly parched lower lip. Mack’s gaze immediately dropped to her mouth, and she willed down the flipping butterflies in her stomach.
She stepped back and jerked her hand away.
About the Author
Maddie James writes to silence the people in her head—if only they wouldn’t all talk at once!
Whether writing traditional contemporary romance or building paranormal worlds, bestselling romance author, Maddie James, pens stories that frequently cross a variety of romantic sub-genres. Sweet or spicy, suspense or comedy, western or time-travel, her heroes and heroines are always chasing one thing—the happily-ever-after.
Affaire de Coeur says, “James shows a special talent for traditional romance,” and RT Book Reviews claims, “James deftly combines romance and suspense, so hop on for an exhilarating ride.”
Eating the Forbidden Fruit is a gritty fiction novel loosely based on true events in author Roland Sato Page life. The newcomer author delivers a personal journey into his rise and demise as a St. Louis City Police Officer. He takes the readers on a roller coaster ride of good old family memories to the nightmarish reality of being a police officer indicted on federal drug charges. During his trial, he wrote memoirs as a testimonial of redemption. Roland’s case stems from the conflict of his childhood affiliation and his oath to uphold the law. What is certain one can’t run from sin for karma is much faster. The author actually wrote the novel years ago however after battling Lupus he lost his motivation to complete it. Promising his mother, Fumi Karasawa, who recently passed that he would finish what he started. Roland opened his computer to complete telling his story. He also would like to encourage others with determination they too can reestablish position as a productive citizen.
Roland was a popular tattoo artist in the St. Louis area however once diagnosed with Lupus he lost his hand and eye coordination bringing the body art career to a halt. No other choice he had to reinvent himself transforming visual art into literary art. Writing is quite therapeutic for the newly ordained writer. The silver lining is his family support kept him going. “With tragedy comes blessings”.
About the Author
Author Roland Sato Page was born in Brooklyn New York in a military household with a mother from Osaka Japan and a combat trainer father with three war tours under his belt. He grew up in a well-disciplined home with five other siblings. As he got older his family relocated to St. Louis where the author planted his roots and also pursued a military life in the Army Reserves.
Roland married his high school sweetheart and started a family of four. Roland joined the St. Louis police department where his career was cut short when he was convicted of federal crimes due to his childhood affiliation.
After enduring his demise, Roland rebounded becoming a tattoo artist opening Pearl Gallery Tattoos in downtown St. Louis Mo. The company grew into a family business yet another unfortunate incident tested his fate. He was diagnosed with Lupus which halted his body art career. However, with tragedy comes blessings. Roland’s sons took over the business and propelled the shop to a higher level. Consumed with depression, Roland began writing to occupy the time. With a newfound passion, he traded visual art for literary art.
