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Title: Lost Lyrebird(Harbingers Of Chaos, #2)

Author: Darby Briar

Genre: Contemporary/MC Romance

Release Date: Coming Soon

Cover Design: Romantic Book Affairs

Photography: Eric Battershell

Models: Burton Hughes & Tessi Conquest

Synopsis

“What he doesn’t realize is the girl he remembers doesn’t exist anymore.” -Lily

Goose calls her Little Bird. But the love of Lily’s life has no idea why the nickname describes her so perfectly. He doesn’t know who she really is, and that their first meeting wasn’t a happy twist of fate, but an elaborate plan that’s been years in the making.

But then lies do what they always do. They pile up, like feathers in her hands, and one by one they all fall.

 

As Road Captain for the Harbingers of Chaos Motorcycle Club, Goose is an expert at spotting potential danger from miles away. He’s also a living and breathing lie detector.

And yet…when a new little bird dances her way into his life, the vast threat she poses to his club slips right past his radar. He’s too distracted by the color of her lips, and her not so subtle curves, to see her for what she is.

A little lyrebird.

A ghost that’s haunted him for years.

And ultimately, his downfall.

“She says she’s not the girl I remember. I’m not so sure.”-Goose

About The Author

Darby Briar is an American author who loves writing stories about men with broken souls and women who don’t know their own strength. She’s a lover of fiction whether it be a movie or book, but prefers stories with some romance, and ones that include a happy ending. She grew up in Utah and still lives in the northern part of the state. She’s married and her and her husband have three adorable kids.

Website| Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Newsletter

Burning Ember (Harbingers Of Chaos, #1)

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Ibooks | KOBO

Teaser, please keep in mind, my editor hasn’t even lay eyes on this neither has my betas so I apologize now for all the grammar and spelling shit.

He remembered stumbling out of the warehouse, half dragging his useless leg behind him, naked, and landing in the moist dirt. He looked up, straight into eyes filled with a hellish green fire. A gun pressed against Maxus’ head where he kneeled a couple of feet ahead of Hades. Hand held against his right shoulder, his crispy white dress shirt decorated red with blood, some his own, the rest — the two men Colt had shot as Hades had learned later in the hospital.

The man with his fingers in Maxus’ hair glared down at Hades, his light blue eyes cold, wearing a smile he might as well have stolen from Lucifer, ready to welcome Hades into Hell.

Blood, snot and spit gushed from Hades’ mouth as he heaved for breath, dirt and sweat burning his eyes, raw cuts on his stomach and back spitting in a sepsis of pain.

He glimpsed the man’s cut-off, barely able to read the patch of the club’s name on the right breast.

Hades grunted into the dirt. He knew that face, those light blue eyes, that golden hair and thick grizzly beard; Ian fuckin’ Kyzar, aka Dead Walker, recruited to be the Sergeant at Arms of the Watchers’ MC. Scar had picked his men good. Fuckin’ good.

“We didn’t come all this way to steal the Russian’s prey, and have your Latino ass lay there and die on us.” DW’s voice was so smooth and cold it could seduce Death himself, like Hades’ remembered it to be. The man was ten years Old Devil Eyes’ junior, if Devil Eyes was still alive which would place DW at forty-five. Hades just lay there, too tired and exhausted to do much else. If only the Watchers knew Khaiton’s intentions were never to kill Hades. That shit would have been far too easy for the Russians, and with DW confirming it, Hades understood then it was Scar’s boys who had sent the Russian’s family reunion into a fuckin’ tailspin of chaos. But he was still trying to understand why Maxus was here. His brain pounded like a pocket full of unwanted change, rattling around in his skull while he lay in front of Hell’s door. So why was he wasting thought on these insignificant fucks? Rex was all that mattered to him, the only thing that had kept Hades clinging to the life he had by his teeth in that perdition.

A sharp splitting fire roared through Hades’ nerves when a rubber sole gnawed into  his left hip. A painful scream bolted from his raw throat, sick sound of bone scraping bone beneath his flesh, crunched under the boot’s weight.

Maxus was shoved down, cheek rammed into the dirt next to Hades, his breath washing Hades’ face as he flared his nostrils.

“You two cupcakes take care of each other.” DW barked, then leaned over pressing that metal dick right into Maxus’ cheek, “If Breno dies, I’m coming for you, fucker. You better make sure he keeps pissing till Scar gets out of the Big House. Big Pappa got plans for Daddy H.”

DW wasn’t quite done, Hades knew the man never left a job without adding another tail to his already bloodthirsty reputation. Hands grabbed him and flipped him on his back. It was night, the stars smiling above him or it could have been the spots dancing before Hades’ eyes.

The flash of silver, the sharp smell of fuel and then came the low rumbling of a blowtorch being set a light above him.

Before Hades could even will his exhausted frame to move, a hand grasped his throat hard, choking his windpipe while a heavy ass took nest down upon his chest. Boots stepped on his right wrist, a knee pressed into his bicep, pinching skin, holding him down, another pair of feelers gripping his head, a third pair his right arm. While two other nameless fucks pinned Maxus’ struggling frame to the soil, leather fingers muffling his mouth.

“No.” Hades’ voice, a harrowing sound, spat past his lips.

DW sneered, pushing out his tongue and licked his old lady’s gunpowder-gray barrel, an 1860 Colt, the only lady that would ever get close to DW’s cock. Hades should know, DW was the man that taught Hades how to kiss, suck dick and ride and fuck ass.

The piece was a vintage original, dulled from age, scarred and scratched, couldn’t fire to save a man’s life, but it was DW signature bitch.

“DW, please.” Hades coughed while the man’s fingernails cut into the flesh of Hades’ gullet.

“An eye for an eye, blood for blood, a brother for a brother,” DW growled, those words stung Hades… rocking his heart and mind. It was Old Devil Eyes’ secret mantra, only bestowed upon those who turned their back on their brothers. Hades’ gaze caught the light as DW offered his old lady’s barrel to the flames flaring from a blowtorch. Hades swallowed, tears pissing from his eyes as the revolver’s tip glowed an ominous hot yellow-orange. “Lucky them Russians hadn’t jumped one us. Hold the man’s right lids,” DW snapped at someone.

Dirty smeared fingers peeled Hades’ right eyelids from one another. He shook under their weight, his body a pulsing storm of pain, exhaustion, and dread. His heart a dying animal fighting for its last breath.

(Please note this has not been before my betas or my Editor, please excuse the bad writing.)

Chapter One

(Four years later)

“They say old love runs deep, what they don’t tell you is how ruthless it can sting.”—Richard Flinór

Portland was abuzz with traffic. Altogether, this city was a lot less cursed than New York City. The crisp new suit felt a little stiff this morning as I tugged at the lapels, but the need to make a good impression on this new company, Naked!, that I had bought was the top priority.

Well, I licked my lips…the soul priority in question was my top aim. The lengths a man would go to for love, it sounded cliche, but it was the truth.

I gazed out the window again, the rain soft, yet so abundant it looked like a blanket of mist. I could get used to living here…as long as it took, whatever it took…if that meant permanently, so be it.

I would not let him slip away again.

My phone chirped signaling a text. Pulling it from my pocket, I saw who it was and glared at the message.

Good luck, bonehead, go get your boy.

BTW Beo says hi, and sends fucking kisses.

Colt.

The nerve of him. I clutched my phone so hard as my anger swelled that the cover snapped.

That self-righteous, inconsiderate, arrogant asshole. And I had called him my best friend for so long. I should have known one day Colt would bite the hand that was kind to him. It was a simple matter of time.

Sixteen, drunk and high on weed, Colt had grabbed my thigh as he sat in front of me. I snapped my gaze to his face, his nose and bottom lip still swollen and raw from the fight he had been in at school.

“What you doing, Sam?” I asked, my voice hoarse, mouth dry as his fingers slid further up my leg and dipped in under the material of my shorts, pulling a gasp from me when he brushed my cock that had already flooded with blood.

“Told you…” he bared his teeth, hand wrapping around my dick in a tight clench, “never to fucking call me that.” He increased the pressure, bringing his lips to my neck, his breath damp and hot against my skin. “Colt, Richard, the name’s motherfucking Colt,” he growled then licked my throat. I shivered as his lips sucked at my skin, nipping at it with his teeth, sending a sharp spike of pain into my flesh.

Colt was everything I was not, bigger, stronger, smarter, more handsome and a menacing bully on the school grounds. Hell, even the teachers were scared of him, including my parents.

He was one of the football team’s linebacker, and the coaches never gave a damn when he injured the opposing team’s players because they knew with Colt on the playing field they had a sure win every time. And I wanted Colt, didn’t understood why I became jealous when he went out with the team after a game, coming back and telling me how he had two guys sucking him off at the same time. Until I could call it for what it was. I was in love with my best friend and adopted brother.

“Going to fuck you, Richard,” he rasped, making my ass clench, his voice against my skin, lips and tongue venturing closer to my mouth. I was dripping in his palm.

“Excited?” He gave my cock a squeeze, “and leaking already. Bet your little hole’s begging for it, wants me inside you, stretching your virgin ass.”

“Colt!” I tried to pull away, but he simply pressed me back against the wall with a light thrust, his wild green eyes meeting my own gaze.

He smiled, that liquefying your spine smile before his fist would break a guy’s face.

“Knew my little brother was a fucking virgin!” he chuckled while my face seared.

My breath was coming out in short pants as he licked his lips and exposed my cock from my short’s right leg.

“Mmm, pretty.” He stroked my dick, pulling the foreskin back. “Like your fucking eyes, damnedest, most beautiful hazel eyes I’ve ever seen, Richard,” he said in a softer tone before his lips kissed my cock’s head. He growled, flicking his tongue at the slit and wrapped his lips around my shaft, swallowing me in one fast go down. I nearly came as I fisted his hair, trying to muffle the scream clawing to come out of my mouth, biting down at the knuckles I had shoved between my lips.

There are books, then there are Books, then there are the ones that will rip out your heart… then there are books that will fucking kill you, mutilate your feeling so severely you don’t know what to call that shit, that is left.

I was swallowed by the darkness and it had devoured me before it spat me out, raw and gory, and I will crawl back to it again and again, because it’s so fucking good.

Anya M. Silver is new author that is going to burn the dark romance (M/F and M/M) genre with black fire, shining so bright, you will be left blinded.

The tension is there from page one, so heavy and thick it’s gripping your throat and choking you.

And I’m jealous how brilliantly good she is at it.

She is talented. She sets a tone to a story, that not many authors can do that—no matter the years of writing they have under their belt.

There are learnt talent, then there is raw-natural talent and that’s what she has, some writers work years to achieve this kind of talent and never attain it.

Her characters are strong— god, fuck are they beasts you want to have ravage and devour you, no matter how terrifying they are.

Her scenes are dynamic and vivid. You can taste the air in them, they are so well written. It’s as if time slows while reading her story, you can see every rain drop in 3D, full-rich-live-action-techno-color. I’m not kidding here. You can hear every breath, smell every drop of blood and sweat.

Some writers need to give long paragraphs to place the reader into a scene, but she is one of those writers that it doesn’t matter how much or how little description she give of a setting, the scene will always be clear in the reader’s mind and imagination.

You know that feeling you get when you read a book and you are biting down on your teeth and sitting on the edge of your chair, your breath is ragged and your heart’s about to explode from your chest, painting the wall in nice gory blood — Silver has accomplished that.

With one sentence, one goddamn sentence she made my heart break. ONE SENTENCE PEOPLE! ONE!

This book will leave you hurt, scared, devastated and fucking mutilated— poking your darkest desires and making you crave it with a ferocious hunger.

I though Raw by Belle Aurora was something good, nope, shit, I was so wrong.  Aurora can not compete with Anya M. Silver, there is no fucking comparison between the two of them.

Pure Revenge transcend anything and everything dark I have ever read. She has set the bar high and I fear for the other authors I will read next, because I doubt strongly they can compete with her.

But wait, you need to know something; Pure Revenge is written in Italian. Now saying that, how does that help none speaking and reading Italian readers to read the book.

We as reader are lucky, we live in a time where we can have a foreign language translated to us at the tip of our fingers, there are apps available that can translate entire documents. Do not let your inability to read a foreign language hold you back from reading a good book.

I am lucky, I understand Italian somewhat, but I read this book along with an app— okay now you can say that apps aren’t very respectable at translating text, and that is true, they are not— but I can say, proudly, no matter how bad the app would have translated the story, I still got a clear heart-gripping experience from this book.

Pure Revenge follows the intertwining storylines of four people;

Rev, mangled and shaped by a painful past set out on revenge. (He is also one blood boiling hot feral predator.)

Sibylle, stunningly innocent, running form a misery she can not name- until the darkness reminded her.

Jay… sigh…Jay *sniff, my heart bleeds for you!* a beautiful boy who tried to be valiant, only to be caught in a wolf’s snare and fall in love with the wrong man.

Kynk, a deadly man, as lethal as his friend Rev, trying to hold onto something precious only to be forced to end its life.

The book focuses around these four characters, but there were two others that pegged my interest.

And I hope we get to learn more about them soon.

Samael, mmm, yeah. I wanne see that demon fall for love and break his jaw while at it.

Xavian, there was something about him, something very intriguing and sexy mysterious I want to taste, really want to sink my teeth into and maybe have his puppies… and I think he might just be the Devil himself.

Splendidamente selvaggia, cuore avvincente cessione e così maledettamente delizioso avrete leccarsi le dita fuori come le lacrime strisciare dai tuoi occhi sopra il tuo cuore spezzato.

Beautifully savage, heart grippingly divesting and so bloody delicious you will lick your fingers off as the tears crawl from your eyes over your broken heart.

If there was any author I would strive to have the same kind of darkness in my own books as they, or wanted to co author a book with, it would definitely be Anya M. Silver.

Brilliant piece of fiction for a debut novel.

I hope Silver plans on having it translated into English because I can say she would definitely benefit from it and make quite a name for herself in the writing world of Dark Romance.

Author madia

You know that moment you see your child grow and suddenly they aren’t a child anymore … nope, sorry I don’t, but what I can say is, I can relate to that. Last year I released my first story with the M/M group on Goodreads and with that story I found three precious betas who has now accomplish putting out their own story.

One has grown so much and I can see it clearly with her story for M/M group; Moondrake can be found here; http://www.mmromancegroup.com/moondra...

Another two of my betas has released their story with this event this year.

Now before we go further, I need to say; releasing a story is extremely brave, fucking scary and it takes a hell of a lot of courage. I know so many people who says; “oh, I’m writing a book!” Two years later, they are still writing that book, then years later they are still writing that book. There is difference between actually fucking doing it and saying you are doing it.

So here’s to those who said I’m gonna write a book and actually fucking did it and then either self published it or published with a publisher. You are my fucking heroes!

After publishing more scary shit happens; reviews.

Just on a side note, readers! OMG, where did we lose the perspective of rating literature for literature, instead we are bitching and moaning about content and triggers and I don’t know what other crazy shit.  We are completely failing in focusing on what literature is. (But I won’t go into that now, maybe in another post, because, yes; even I, myself, is guilty of this.)

 Tears for the Sand by S. van Rooyen is brilliantly written piece of poetic literature. It’s about two gay South African men, trying hard not to but end up to. :) see that, its called undertone, this story has a lot of that (And so do some of mine) but it’s something I see very rarely used in fiction.

 Tears for the Sand is not your normal M/M. It take appreciation not just for the story but for the writing and how the words are beautiful woven. Something just to mention, if you ever read an Afrikaans piece of literature, it is a lot like this; it how we Afrikaners mostly write in our native tongue.

The story about sand and what its value is worth, how beautiful cruel it can be and how devastatingly quick it can take your life. A silent picture captured only in time. The writing itself gives you that taste of being in a far-off unfamiliar place, a strange place with an anomalous beauty.

The characters are true to what is present in your typical gay Afrikaner men mostly from those of the older generation.

This is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I ask you just give a little bit of a read, read it slowly and try to appreciate it for the beauty of what it is; fictional poetic literature. In all honesty if this was published in South Africa it more than likely would receive a literature award.

But you know something; sometimes getting to know the author first helps a bit so without further due here is Mrs. Van Rooyen.

You are a new Author, tell us a bit more about yourself:

Do we really have to use the BIG “A” WORD… it’s scary… I don’t like it!!

As for myself… I believe that events that profoundly affect our life happen mostly by accident. It’s normally large, smelly and invokes shudders and writhing as shit goes up in smoke.

One such event left me a broken girl, with too many walls and a complex that brought empathy to others emotions roaring to life. It’s that empathy that drives me, that hurt that defines me and makes me the person I am today.

As a story teller I want to take people on a journey, show you places untouched by time, have you touch and taste the words itself. I want you to live the passion itself.

What made you decide to pick up writing, and why M/M?

Because life should be a crazy ride… a roller-coaster… a piece of eighty percent dark chocolate. And it should be shared like a single malt aged whiskey, preferably straight from the lips.

But I can’t go around kissing everyone … so words will have to do.

I have always loved telling stories… a natural day dreamer to escape reality, so sharing them on paper… it sort of came naturally.

Why MM…

It’s not necessarily the label MM that should be defined, but the draw of something real.

When any person, man or woman pick up a “romance” novel, we are transported to a world where the norm don’t apply. It’s fantasy… at its best, entertainment in a written form.

What specifically drew me to MM or GLBT literature was something more real. A personal journey, one that brought to light a subject that I perhaps would not have looked into.

Favorite genres to read?

Science fiction, fantasy and paranormal. I sneak in a bit of poetry once in a while. And Dante… don’t forget Dante

How does your writing process work, what inspires you to write a story, and what had inspired you to write this one?

My writing process could be as simple as fucking around with my characters until it makes sense or plotting a story line from memoires, experiences and emotions. The later normally runs over, and the story develops before I have any say in it.

Tears for the sand was a personal journey, one I wanted to share with someone special, a chance meeting… the “accident” that profoundly changed me. But things don’t always play out as we plan and in the end the expedition was mine to take and the storm mine the weather.

The emotional pain that followed shaped the story, a series of misunderstanding, miscommunication when unconditional love and acceptance should have been the only road taken.

“Amor, ch’al cor gentile ratto s’apprende

prese costui de la bella persona

che mi fu tolta; e ‘l modo ancor m’offende.

Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,

Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,

Che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona…”

“Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart,

Seized him with my beautiful form

That was taken from me, in a manner which still grieves me.

Love, which pardons no beloved from loving,

took me so strongly with delight in him

That, as you see, it still abandons me not…”

Dante Alighieri , Inferno: A New Verse Translation

Favorite Horror Icon?

Hannibal Lecter – it’s the deeper emotion and whit that induce the feeling of total possession and absorption, it’s not just the play on dialog but the intellect and mind games he wraps you in.

If you could be a gay man for a day you would….

Just be me, interact with people… live my life… take it all in. Memories and emotion defines me… empathy molds me. I might just plant my ass under a tree and watch the clouds go by.

Biggest influences:

I would have to say the people and life itself influence me the most. The lessons we take from it and how we evolve as part of us.

They have just announced the zombie apocalypse is upon us, what would you do?

Park my pretty fat behind on top of the ammunitions bunker in Wingfield, my dad was a sailor that overhauled cannons at sea, and watch everyone else freak the fuck out.

Fav author of all time (I don’t count) :)

Edgar Allan Poe and Dante Alighieri

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

  Edgar Allan Poe

Anything we can look forward to after Tears for the sand

Tears for the sand will someday lead into a series called Tears for the desert, a collaboration of stories entwined with the sand of Mama Africa. In due course I would like to translate the first story and the rest of the series into my mother tongue, Afrikaans.

I do have a few other non-contemporary tales hidden in my dusty journal, they might make it to paper soon.

Manacles to see the sky

The slide of the scalpel, beautiful pain. Salt, smoke and copper permeated my senses. Moist wet heat trickled from my fingers. Clattering of steel on steel barely registering.

None mattered. It was over.

Life.

Death

Two; bound, broken. The same, but not.

Knees buckling, I felt the first licks of heat. It would be over soon.

My world stated to grey, but vibrant burst of colour flashed before my eyes. My life. If there was seven deadly sins, there was seven deadly absolutions. Yes, that was fitting. Dante’s sins, his absolution.

Chains of flesh – Black sun

Chains rattled. A silent reminder that he still hung in the middle of the courtyard. The sun had set and the evening temperature gave little relief to aching bones and joints. Fresh blood that had attracted bugs earlier was now sticky and heavy on the jagged edges of torn skin.

Silently the clouds as if summoned, called to one another, collected in a dark blanked of grey.  The taste of sweet rain filled the darkened sky bringing redemption to those chained in this night.

A final wisp of tempered air flowed over his body, lifting once sweat soaked hair, in a thick matted mess.  Soon even those clumps would be drenched and washed clean

Redemption was mere moments away, but snatched away as light shining from an opening door was shadowed by two menacing figures. The barest of whimpers escaped his lips as one lifted the tethers from their suspension hooks and tightened the bonds once again.  This could only be interpreted as punishment. Again, still. He had yet to give the masters what they most wanted.

Book blurb

So this is what they called a midlife fucking crisis. Fucking. Perfect.

Events that profoundly affect our life happen mostly by accident. Dirkie and Campbell learn this the hard way and a series of misunderstanding, miscommunication and just plain deluded sanity colour their journey.

Old Jacky and his pink parachute panties do all but intervene, and send Campbell on a ride that will change his life forever.

One can only hope that when the sand settles from is silent creep over the horizon that they would have lived the desert and survived.

A scene from Tears for the Sand

Silence settled as morning broke and gave breath to a new day. Dirkie found himself in a place long forgotten by others, the ancient desert holding a small piece that brought old memories to life. The stone path leading down the ravine was barely visible. Sand and dust covering its presence as if inclined to hide it from those that had no right to be there.

The old farmhouse, weathered and long forgotten loomed in the distance, rusted barbed wire running in patches off its boundary. Dirkie turned away from the path heading away from the house that once held childlike laughter and bright potted sunflowers in its garden. A small whitewashed wall and grumbling wooden gate his destination.

Fate had brought him here, to a place in the past where he could now face the goodbye. Dirkie hesitated with his hand on the slightly parted gate and looked over his shoulder to the home he visited as a young boy. So many memories, many eclipsed by pain, but what he felt now was a simple peace, a calm that had long eluded him.

Dirkie crouched down at the single headstone. He removed his worn riding gloves and ran his fingers over the name etched into the stone.

Philips van Staden

1980 – 2011

“I’m here,” Dirkie started. “It took me a long time.” He lifted an old quill off the ground next to him and started drawing little lines into the sand before him. “I lost my way, baby. For a long time I’ve been running.” A little wisp of wind caressed his face. The skin turning cold from the moisture that pooled below his eyes. “When you got sick, when you left…” Dirkie took a deep breath and looked up to see a lone falcon gliding along the drifting breeze. “I was so angry, hated you for what felt like forever.” Dirkie looked down at the lines he drew in the sand. Words eternally etched in stone. Forever loved.

He stood, brushed the loose grains from his knees and smiled down at the little lizard darting across the sand. “It’s time to stop running.

“I’m not alone anymore.”

download link: http://www.mmromancegroup.com/tears-f...

Author Bio:

I use way too many F-Yous… and can outswear most sailors. Vodka is my drink of choice and yeah… that comes with the territory of being my father’s daughter as well.

I dream in my mother tongue— as the real Dirk once said, “It’s always vivid with the colours of my homeland.”

I believe in something more… I could elaborate… but then you would be here all day.

Some call me angel… others not so much. They don’t know me though.

Life is like… yeah, I could get all warm and fuzzy here… but Fate… and all that… She’s a bitch that can’t get Karma to love her… so she ends up messing with us.

Contact & Media Info:

Email

wulfginn:

And thank you for this post, much shears my own views on the topic, don’t say you are pro LGBTQ and then try to fit us in a glove that suits you, it’s like saying “I don’t mind you being gay, I just don’t like the things you do or the fact that you date and sleep with men.” This is not a custom family meal you pick up at the drive through, you don’t get choose what LGBTQ part you want, you except us as a whole for who and how we are or bye Felicia!

Originally posted on Thorny, Not Prickly:

I had a different post prepped for today, but a discussion on Google+ last night and this morning about threesomes and open relationships in M/M Romance books has changed my mind. I’m going to talk about that now.

Polyamorous for always or just tonight? It’s nobody’s business but theirs. Sex with more than one man is just that. You know the saying, men can separate sex and love. It’s why we can say it didn’t mean anything, it was just sex.

Carter and I were in a relatively open relationship from the day we met. I didn’t want to limit him to just me, I was fine with it, and it was fun. He had fun too. The guys we sometimes hooked up with had fun. Yes, there were rules to make sure no one got uncomfortable or hurt feelings.

Now, if you noticed, I said “were” because we recently…

View original 251 more words

It’s been a long time since I posted anything and quite honestly I don’t know why. Maybe I was scared, hell, who knows maybe too much shit has been going on.  But here I am, typing to you, my readers, my haters, my admirers— yeah, right! Like I have admirers, stop with the fantasy, Wulfy, and on with what you are really saying.

What everyone wants to know about.

What everyone has been waiting for.

HADES…

Yeah, Hades.

Where to start.

This book, these characters are far more complex than I first anticipated.

Hades story is not an easy one to tell.

It’s been hard, long and difficult road. Hades is different, multifaceted and deep.

As a writer, I never know beforehand the journey the characters will take me on, some scream clearly (like Colt who never knows when to shut up) and their stories comes easily.

Others are more reluctant to speak. I never anticipated him to be such a… complicated soul, he doesn’t speak easily to me. I have to force him to tell me his story.

And with Daddy Hades being who he is, and having to paint a villain in such away that the readers can sympathize with him, it’s not an easy feat to accomplish.

Hades is not done being written yet.

I can confirm that his story will be split into two and the first one will end on a major cliff hanger. It still needs to go to my editor too… I’m even considering to have it published with a publisher if they would take a chance on him, me, us. Not sure if that would be a good thing or not.

I have predictions for reviews already — it was to long, there was too much going on. Their relationship don’t make any sense, it’s too cruel, too violent. This is not the Hades we saw in Of Gods and Monsters: Menoetius. This book made no sense— a lot of that is what I am predicting.

I’m terrified of releasing Hades, as I am with each and every book I bring out.

I’m sorry if I disappoint, it’s really not my intention, but I believe in, to give my readers something more than just a story that’s been rushed to get finished out and be published. I want to give you more than just characters on a page.

I don’t write fluffy-sweet, sticking to the rules characters. I write charters people can relate to, can feel for, and even hate if they want. I write a complex story sometime focusing more on plot than the actual romance.

I’ve tried to make Hades as dark as I could, only to realize; one person’s version of dark is not the same as the next, not the same as mine.

But Hades also has a beautiful undertone, no darkness can exist without its light.

Aside from Hades I’m trying to finish ACID for the M/M Romance group’s Love is an Open Road Event. It will be short, fucked up and completely different than any of my other work.

Apart from that, Neon White E4 and E5 will be coming out soon then—big breath— I will be releasing my first ever Queer Horror fiction story, The Wulf Chronicles, I should advise that this is not romance (there is a romance going but it is a sub genre of the book) it’s something I’ve been working on since ’09. And if of any of my stories this one is maybe the closest to my heart than any other.

Stay strong people, be patient with me, you will get Hades before the year reaches it mid mark, that much I can pronouns you.

As for now I’m gonna go back and curl up with a book its weekend anyway and even authors needs to take a breather sometime.

But before you go … here’s the first whole chapter of Hades… Keep in mind it’s not been by my editor yet.

“I’ll make Colt Maxus look like a fuckin’ fairy princess.”—Breno Hades el Oscuro.

The cage loomed over them, bars casting elongated shadows like claws on the floor stained russet with fresh splatters of red for posterity.

Like some deranged beast, his skin pulsated with carnal pleasure as his raw-knuckled fist ripped through the air, impacting the face of the nameless lump of meat in front of him. The piece of shit’s nose and lips exploded, teeth bursting out onto the floor, while he was choking on his own blood filling the back of his throat. The prison fighting ring had only one rule—the fights needed to be bloody, dirty and violent.

It frightened him, this thing he had become. A seven foot, three hundred and fifty pound roid-infested spawn of Evangelion and Hercules, as if they’d had a fuckfest and hemorrhaged out a kid. When he stepped into the ring, Hades fucking ceased to exist; he became something else. A monstrous creature, ripping men apart and crushing bone along the way to get what he craved: the sweet taste of pain. Palpitating, surrendering pain—a living breathing entity. Hades needed to feed the savage within. Inflicting agony in the most brutal of ways, satiated something in the beast. But what terrified him most was that this creature had lived inside for a long time, and now that it was here, it was here to fuckin’ stay. ’Cause in its genesis, Hades el Oscuro was devoured like a bitch cleaning up its afterbirth.

Tears of sweat lapped down the rough skin of his neck and dripped from his beard and hair. Others mapped the scarred-over tattoos on his back, the ink on his massive shoulders, his heaving chest, charting paths down his abdomen and clinging to his body hair. He was bleeding in too many places to care and intoxicated with too much hatred to feel. All while his muscles throbbed and trembled, jacked up on juice.

Adrenaline coursed a mantra through his body, completely in sync with the crowd’s clamor. Slaughter. Maim. Destroy. Kill. Shouting, spitting and rattling the railing, like fuckin’ animals. It started slow, increasing in tempo with a single chant that signified it was time to deliver the killing blow.

The muscled fucker across from him wouldn’t be ended with a snap of his neck. He was fighting his inevitable death hard, swaying from side to side, eyes like fuckin’ stone while he held up his fists.

If the monstrosity inside could feel, he would grant him an easy escape.

Hades popped his vertebrae, grunting as the muscles contracted in his face and spat out a glob of blood that had pooled in his mouth. He lunged forward with a snarl, spittle and plasma spewing from his mouth, and grasped the fucker’s head, the man’s hands shot straight for Hades’ throat. The crowd’s shouts and cheers erupted in a violent frenzy of roars and an engorging upheaval. Hades forced his thumbs into the man’s eyes, heard the fucker scream out as blood and membranes popped like egg yolks in his sockets. Hades bared teeth, gripping the skull hard, feeling the putrid eye innards running down his fingers. He slammed his forehead into his opponent’s temple and, with all his strength, twisted his body around, using the momentum to send his rival off his feet and into the air. Hades’ muscles convulsed in sharp agonizing spasms as he tossed the man’s frame—just a sack of muscle and bones now—over his shoulders, raised him over his head, and slammed him into the gore-covered concrete floor. He wasn’t sure if the resulting crack was from the force of the man’s skull meeting stone or the vicious hold he had on the guy’s large head.

He stood silently, the fucker’s eye guts dripping from his hands, the temporary makeshift fluorescent spotlights, bright and sharp, outlined his physique and highlighting his deranged glower behind the strand hanging before his eyes. Vapors of steam visibly danced as they rose from his body, the intense cold of the winter air colliding with his heated flesh.

The horde of human scum surrounding the sealed off Death Cage went into a fuckin’ euphoria of cheers, banging on the bars and tables. Hades couldn’t give a fuck. He wanted to get the fuck out of there and back to his cell. Movement behind him, and the increasing cheers of the prisoners, confirmed his victory again. Fat fingers grasped his wrists, pushing his right hand into the air, one…tw—fuck it.

Hades released a carnal roar, fisting the guard’s shirt and slamming his knuckles into the man’s fat face. The overseer was only there to confirm the other opponent’s death. He dragged the man a few feet and then proceeded to throw him across the ring. The crowd fell silent as the man landed against the rusted bars, seconds later cheers erupted when the fucker slumped and lay unmoving, blood running from his nose and mouth.

The roars became a distant echo as he moved his heavy bulk towards the sealed door, where shaking hands, belonging to fucked-up faced guy, attempted to use a small blowtorch to detach the metal gate. He was taking too motherfuckin’ long. A vicious growl rumbled from Hades chest as he kicked against the metal with his boot. The gate snapped back, and the man screamed. The flying gate driven straight into the man’s hands, his blowtorch rising up and further rearranging the idiot’s face. Hades stepped out of the cage and glared down at the man, his cries of agony nothing more than the annoying buzz of a fly. He sent his boot straight into the cunt’s nuts when he passed him, further penance for taking his fuckin’ sweet-ass time getting the cage open.

Hades held out his wrists to the guard standing at the entrance, next to the warden, Knight, wearing seventies style aviators while dangling a cigarette between his grinning lips.

“You’ve earned yourself some cozy dark time in the hole for slamming Lewinsky in the cage, el Oscuro,” Knight growled.

Hades bared his blood stained teeth in a sly smile. He flared his nostrils as the guard slapped cuffs on his wrist and bend over to shackle his ankles. Hades was tempted to send his knee into the man’s face. He seized Knight by the shirt instead, yanking him forward. The guard at his feet jumped back, pulling out his night stick. Two more came running from his right, three from Hades’ left, Tasers ready. Hades snatched the cigarette from Knight’s lips, sucked in a deep drag, shuddering as it filled his lungs—cheap Chinese shit—and blew the smoke into his face. He killed the coal on his tongue, not minding the quick scorch, when the first set of volts rocked through him from his back. His muscles locked, forcing him forward and crashing to his knees.

Hades’ body convulsed in spasms of pain, muscles rippling and twitching as electric charges coursed through him. He felt the point of Knight’s boot bite into his side while the fucker’s voice droned overhead, “Put the dog in solitary, don’t be too gentle about it either. Let it fucking starve.” Knight spat, the glob landing on Hades’ face.

They say fear controls men—till some fucker scrapes together the guts and slices off its head.

For fourteen years Hades had danced to the strings of the Dragon’s Tongue, taking over the Cerberus Motorcycle Club when Old Devil Eyes’ reign as King ended. At twenty-two he’d become a badass motherfucker, fuckin’ Hades the King Kage of the United fuckin’ States.

He had power. Rivals feared him. Men who would cut off a man’s cock and force feed it to his family just for looking wrong at them. All fucking bowed to Hades.

But greed destroys men.

It corrupts the soul, blinds a man to his own familia and stains the heart black, makes people fuckin’ dumbfucks.

The dragon had never been greedy in the past.

They’d come into existence at the turn of the first century, during Japan’s Heian period, hiding behind powerful leaders throughout the ages: emperors, kings, queens, governments, even other crime syndicates. Very few believed the Dragon’s Tongue truly existed, that the Uroboros seal burned into the flesh of their higher ups—the Kages—was just a show to induce fear of a ghost organization. They were a myth, a murmur on the wind, letting fear of the unknown play in the dragon’s favor.

The Dragon’s Tongue valued the merits of what an individual could bring to them, more so than the money, drugs and weapons they could obtain. They believed their true power lay in their people.

The only sure way the Dragon’s Tongue was going to hold onto control in the States was by bringing in the upper-hierarchy lords of the crime world. The dragon didn’t bother with the little sideshow punks, gangs and mobs trying to step up and wet their feet in the forbidden wine. They left Hades and the other Kages to deal with them. Made them the shadows the dragon hid behind. In turn, they gave them each a large enough piece of turf to control and a fat cut of the fuckin’ pie, so the Kages didn’t have to fight for it amongst themselves.

The only ones unaccounted for were the Russians. They were like an infestation of greedy swine wanting the entire monopoly of the crime world that was so acutely balanced between the different sets of power. It wasn’t easy to achieve the delicately impartial dominance among the different crime kings. A hell of a lot of blood had been spilled before an agreement was reached, and even then, a hell of a lot more blood and bodies had fallen before some form of respect was erected between them. It was a secret peace, only shared with the top men in each cartel. The dragon stood first among them all, a world dominator who lit their enemies aflame and devoured them whole.

The Dragon’s Tongue was not impenetrable, though. As mammoth as their network of crime and influence was, it all led back to the Dragon himself, Mr. Orochi. Greed had finally infected the Dragon’s Tongue and was slowly rottin’ it from the outside in. Its poison tipped claws were slipping. Like a snake being attacked by a nest of ants, the serpent was deliberately being torn apart. The Dragon’s Tongue was going to fold; Hades had seen it coming for years, could fuckin’ feel it on his inked skin, like a tattoo being done with the Tebori technique. The Russians being the biggest red ants among the players wanting to gain total ground in the crime world. He also had a suspicion about who the fuck was behind it.

But…

To cut off the dragon’s head, you needed to be the one who could get the closest, and there was something screwed up, mentally fuckin’ wrong with that fucker. Hades knew the shithead was going to send the dragon up in flames, war and gut-matter would be splattering over the earth like a fuckin’ bloodbath.

And it had. Far and fast. In every direction.

Now the King was nothing…better known as perra del diablo—the Devil’s fuck bitch.

For four fuckin’ years he’d been living behind bars in an isolated cell that knew no light, walls, that Hades came to know intimately, decorated with the claw marks and masterpieces, its previous animals left with their fingernails and rusted blood in their burst of madness. A beast confined amongst other rapacious monsters. Kept on the edge, starved and violated, driving him to an aggravated rage, just so he could fight in a steel cage, where only one was allowed to leave. Forced to sleep on a cold, hard, piss-saturated floor that made his bones ache and muscles hurt to the point he wanted to scream himself to sleep. Roaches and rats were his constant companions in the bowels of the prison where his cell was located. Hades was sure as horseshit, this place was so filthy it was harboring fuckin’ cholera-infested Ebola. He was only let out for four hours a day to the gym after which they would hold him down and drive a shot of roids into his system. The shit wasn’t the same stuff Hades used to supply Maxus with—this was fuckin’ “radiation” in liquid form—placing a major strain on his heart muscle, burning in his veins as it flooded his body and jackfuckin’ his already obsessive sex drive to maddening levels. They would leave him restrained and naked while his cock ached for release. Oh, he was given release—Knight would hit Hades’ sac with a rattan cane until cum exploded from his cock. Force Hades to lick it up too.

But Knight wanted Hades bigger and wanted it fast. Wanted Hades hurting to the point of berserked vehemence. If he didn’t train his tired body, they would beat him till he couldn’t move, only to drench him with ice water and force him to work out his tender frame followed by a freezing cold shower.

Hades assumed it was fitting for the life he chose as a Cerberuen, being held as a fighting dog. Knight had kept him isolated, his star fighter, deprived of all human touch and contact  except for the sting of volts, spit and beating fists and boots from those bitching Chihuahua puppies Knight called guards.

Then there was the dark time in the hole.

A single cell. Like a closet. Barely high enough for Hades to stand up-right, needing to bend his knees, with his feet in running drain water. His shoulder squeezed tight into the slimy walls, still dripping with fuck knew what. Forced to stand for twelve sometimes twenty four hours with the constant stink and tap-tap-tap of the water dripping on the back of his neck. He would shiver and scream, to keep himself awake. Slam his fist raw against the steel door to drown out the voices in his head. And when they would open the door, Hades would just fall forward, his muscle clamped tight from the cold, crashing to the floor, too exhausted to care.

But even the cruel treatment couldn’t compare to the torment that shredded Hades heart… Not even seeing the hurt in his club brothers’ eyes after being in the business and riding with them for years, or feeling the knife cut into his back, to scar over and destroy the Cerberus dog tattoo that was their club colors before Hades entered prison. Nor was it the heartache that fucked him up as he longed to hold his mamá in his arms again, see his nephews drive his sister crazy, which would have been a God sent blessing he didn’t fuckin’ deserve. It was best that his own family assumed their piece of shit oldest son’s body was rotting someplace six feet under.

None of that shit was anything compared to the memory haunting him each time he found the darkness behind closed lids. A memory that Hades held close to heart, no matter the ruptured pain it clawed into his chest each time he thought about him. That voice so raspy, gruff and hellfuckin’ sexy…

Dios, was he ever the sad sucker for a nice, young piece of ass. His gaze had cut at the sound of asphalt giving way and Hades stared at the dream walking past him, hell-bent, going straight for the bar’s entrance. He released a loud grunt pulling the boy’s attention to him. The kid was cocky in his safety response when he asked, “You wanted something, big guy?” but took a step back.

The boy was nervous, all big brown eyes and soft, pink lips. Sí, Daddy Hades definitely wanted something, my fat tongue in that sweet-looking mouth. He’d stepped closer watching the boy’s nose flare, Adam’s apple moving slick under the pale skin.

Dios, he was just…beautiful.

Hades flexed his arms while eating the kid up with his hungry gaze. Those nervous eyes glanced at his biceps giving Hades the perfect signal to stalk closer and grip the boy’s chin with his right hand. “You, Bello,” Hades had said in a dark, graveled voice. The boy visibly shuddered in front of him. Hades knew he was big, scary and…he was no pretty princesa. He didn’t even try to fool himself when it came to his looks. He was a fuckin’ ugly motherfucker, scars, bald head and muscles heavily covered in ink. But it was there, always. That softer side he would show, a nurturing instinct that stuck out its head when it came to the smaller, younger, weaker men he was attracted to.

“Easy, easy,” he’d said, bringing his left hand up to stroke the boy’s cheek. The kid had caught Hades’ hand, stopping him. A shiver raked down Hades spine at that touch, soft fingers rubbing gently on his callused palm, petting the beast. The boy didn’t seem to even realize what he’d been doing as fear glazed his eyes, while he stood frozen. Hades knew that kind of fear, it wasn’t because of Hades’ intimidating bulk or appearance, it was… “It’s just a kiss. A pretty little thing like you never been kissed?” Hades stroked the boy’s cheek with his right hand.

“No,” he’d whispered, lips trembling.

Hades bared his teeth and rumbled a grunt from his chest that could have just as well said mine!

“Guess Daddy Hades should teach you how.” Hades brought his lips to the captivating creature’s, traced them with his tongue, feeling his dick swell in his leathers. His PA pulled at his cock head, giving him that jolt of sharp, pleasurable pain. Hades took the kid’s mouth, tasted him and drew him closer, pulling the boy’s smaller body up into his arms. He deepened the kiss that had his world spinning so fast he didn’t know when or if he wanted it to stop.

He brought Beo back to the bar three weeks later. The kid wanted to get happy and have a good time, and who better to have a good time with than Daddy Hades, at least Hades could keep an eye on him, make sure he’d be safe and not succumb to the claws of predators. It all lasted up until, after too many stolen sips of beer sneaked from Hade’s glass and lips, Beo leaned in next to Hades, pressing his face into Hades’ neck and took a deep breath, followed by a very tipsy, very satisfied sigh.

“I want you.” It was something of a mix between alcoholic-lust, pure want and puppy-love in Beo’s voice. It brought Hades world to a very fast and dangerous stop. ’Cause, how could Daddy Hades deny a request like that? Especially from the sweet twenty-year-old nibbling at his neck?

Summer rain had never tasted as good as it did on Beo’s skin, never smelled so motherfuckin’ sweet. And when it came to fuckin’ him, after Hades had his tongue stuffed up that beautiful, sweet hole, Beo wanted it bare, naked—Fuckin’. Little. Shit—Daddy Hades gave it to him, shutting all and any warnings off in his head about safe sex.

The devastating, sad truth about the life of criminals: those you love are your biggest weakness, your most vulnerable liability. And Beo had Hades in a way no boy ever had him before. And who could blame Hades for loving Beo Moon. Hell, who fuckin’ couldn’t love that boy?

Hades poured every ounce of love he had left in him, into that night, spilling his seed inside Beo while taking his virginity on his Fat Boy. The result of it: Hades made love for the first time in his life. He made love to someone he loved…someone he wanted with every part of his soul but would never allow himself to have. Beo fuckin’ licked my nut milk off my lips too, when I sucked it out of his tender hole and shared it with him.

The day Beo stormed Maxus’ office, that shit tore Hades a new one. Standing there, manhandling Maxus and asking about Beo’s baby butter, Hades was hiding the fuckin’ train wreck happening in his heart. He left wanting to get as far away from fuckin’ New York City as his Fat Boy could take him. He needed the open road, to feel the power between his legs, needed to fuckin’ forget. Only he couldn’t ’cause he and his brothers still had a problem to take care of. And then there was goddamn Wendigo pushing Beo, after having picked him up on the side of the road, straight into Hades’ arms. Hades knew something was wrong with Beo, watching the boy he loved thinning and pale, left his heart a shredded mess. But those words, those fucked-up words, were like volcanic ash in Hades’ lungs.

“I’m sick… I’m dying.”

Dios, Jesús, motherfuck and fuck.

Hades lost it for the second time in his life.

“A veces la gente llora, no porque unas personas son débiles…Sino porque llevan mucho tiempo siendo fuertes.” His papi told him once—Hades had cried when the man was declared lost at sea, and Hades cried when Beo had told him about his shit. Sometimes people cry, not because they are weak…but because they’ve gone a long time at being strong.

While holding Beo in his arms, not knowing if it might be the last time, Hades felt like useless crap, like the fucking piss and fecal matter stinking up his cell. Ever since that fuckin’ night six years ago, when he’d stole a kiss from an innocent kid with the most beautiful brown eyes and sweetest motherfuckin’ lips that made Hades’ dick pop its shit…ever since he’d danced with him, made love to him weeks later… Ever since Hades met that little motherfucker, his heart wasn’t working right. And what had it gotten me…

Fucking nada, but nearly six years of wanting what I wouldn’t allow myself to have. Only to get a bitch slap in the face when Beo fuckin’ chose that cunt Maxus, another self-righteous tyrant over me! The old Hades might have stood for it, the new one would have cut fuckin’ Maxus right in his goddamn office.

Hades peered up in his cell and clenched his fist around his aching hard shaft, biting back the sting as his raw knuckles protested. Anger bubbled in his blood, pain radiating from his aggravated flesh while he braced himself against the wall with his left hand.

Years of pushing him away and keeping him at arms’ length, ignoring my own bleeding heart to keep him safe from my dark shit.

The carnage inflicted from the fight and Knight’s issued beating pulsed through him. It throbbed from each blow his muscles had received, with each violent stroke he gave his cock.

Only to have him run straight into the arms of another fuckin’ monster, one with some fucked-up crazy going on in his head.

Hades grasped his dick at the base, fisting it hard enough that he knew there would be bruises. He gritted his teeth as his skin flared with pain and tingled with pleasure.

I thought I had made fuckin’ peace with that shit the night I went to go see Beo in hospital. Promising him that Maxus would be free of a crime-infested lifestyle. Fuckin’ safe!

He snapped his hips forward and thrust his cock through his callused fingers, fuckin’ his hand brutally.

I took the fuckin’ hit from the dragon for losing one of their top connections. Got beaten to a pile of blood and bruises.

Each flex, twist and movement of his body, followed by ragged grunts, set the searing muscles under his skin on fire. His legs shook under him, thighs quaking. Whether it was from pure exhaustion or the pain riddling through him, he didn’t know, he didn’t care—they came in equal measure with full velocity, as he pumped his cock.

Beo wasn’t mine, he ain’t never been. I need to stop bitch-licking my wounds, always scraping that shit back open again.

Hades’ chest rumbled as the growl erupted from him, feeling his climax clawing closer. Splinters of pain tenderized his already swollen muscles when he arched forward, curling his toes.

I am a fuckin’ Cerberuen, while one head is lickin’ the wounds, there are two more ready to fuckin’ bite back and tear shit to shreds.

As much as Hades wanted to wring Beo’s little neck and gut Maxus open leaving his innards to spill out and his body to rot somewhere in an alley, he could never bring himself to do it. Hades knew why; he would be breaking Beo’s heart—as much as he hated to admit it—Colt Maxus would be good to Beo. He’d take care of him.

Me… I couldn’t…to drag him into the Cerberuen lifestyle, watch it dislodge his soul, tear and rip it to shreds, and lose that precious boy to this kind of life? I’d never forgive myself for that. I didn’t need to add another thing to that list.

Hades grunted and closed his eyes, his chest pulling tight. He was fine staying here, dealing with his shit of a prison life, till some anonymous bitch had sent him an envelope of photos.

Hades had taken one look at that shit and wanted to curl up and die at how happy Beo was, how fuckin’ handsome he looked under those LED lights wrapped around the tree branches. Stung like a sledgehammer to the balls when he saw the beautiful glow on Beo’s cheeks while he married fuckin’ Maxus. All after Hades had declared that nobody would penetrate the steel door bolted shut. That there wasn’t a motherfuckin’ boy born who he would allow to twist his gut the way Beo had.

He smashed his fist and forearm against the wall, snarling, nostrils flaring while his dick spewed jizz onto the filthy floor.

He slammed himself forward, drained, aching and heaving on the hard, cold concrete wall. His ragged grunts of breath his only company as he crumpled and lay in his own cum and disgust, knowing they’d return soon to administer another shot, another beating before a workout and another dance in the fuckin’ ring.

He murmured to himself, “But you can’t force someone to love you, Breno.”

No matter how motherfuckin’ much you love them back.

But like all things in life, everything has a season. Hades could almost taste the turbulent storm rising. Soon the fuckers would need to be reminded of their place and that Hades wasn’t known as the King for nothing.

The cell door screeched like a banshee going down on Hades’ ears, sharp light stung his eyes sending his head into a throbbing shit storm two days later.

“Thought it was time I came and dug you out of Hell.” Bale Munroe’s voice bounced off the walls in Hades’ cell.

“’bout motherfuckin’ time you showed up, asshole.” Hades spoke in horse toned voice, his throat raw from screaming in the hole.

“Hades, shit’s been tight.” Munroe glanced to his left and stepped into the cell, coughing from the stench. The fucker, covered his nose and struggled to get his words out as he spoke.

“Feds were onto me, asking questions, sending in a goddamn special agent to oversee my case. I was even placed on probation while everything went down.”

Munroe’s tall frame moved, dropping a gym bag on the floor. “There’s clothes, get yourself dressed. Can’t do much about a shower for now.”

Hades pushed himself off the floor, cringing at the flare of pain shooting up his back.

“Tell me something.” Hades sped past the gym bag, seized Munroe by the sac with one hand, shoving him hard against the wall, a palm to the man’s chest as he stepped in close, breathing into his face. “Did you have a fuckin’ swell time while I was rottin’ in here, being kept as a fuckin’ pussy bitch?”

Munroe clenched his jaw, avoiding Hades’ gaze or it might have been Hades’ breath that caused the fucker to crane to the side, veins jagged on his bald head as he painted the motherfuckin’ floor with his dinner. Hades held the NYPD’s Deputy Chief up by the balls, increasing his grip before he released him and slammed his knee in the man’s gut, letting him drop to the floor.

“Jesus, Hades,” Munroe coughed, grabbing his crotch, “What the fuck? I did everything I cou—” Hades stepped on the man’s hand making him cry out in pain.

“Not good enough, fucker!” Hades sneered down at him, knuckles popping at his sides while he worked the crick out of his neck, stretching it left and right.

“It wasn’t that fucking simple,” Munroe spat.

“Not that fuckin’ simple…” Hades grabbed Munroe by his lapels, pulling him up and off his feet. “What wasn’t so motherfuckin’ simple about just taking the agent out and shutting up the Feds, huh? You got the brothers’ contacts, not to mention the other Kages. I’m sure if the fucks put their thick skulls together they could have come up with something.” Hades released the man, knelt before the gym bag and unzipped it. He pulled out a pair of black briefs.

“Last I checked—shit’s too fucking small!” Hades stripped them off and chucked the briefs at Munroe’s face when they didn’t want to go higher than Hades’ thick thighs “—you’re still on my goddamn payroll.”

“Hades, that agent…” Munroe fell quite, a silence Hades wanted to murder with his bare hands.

He glowered at the man, watching the fuck’s face shadowed by his hand over his eyes in shame, embarrassment, God knew what.

“I fell for the man. Hard.”

Hades bared his teeth. Someone needed to take the fuckin’ piss pistol out of  motherfuckin’ Cupid’s hands, hold the little shit down and plant a bullet straight down his pee slit.

“He helped me get you out of here,” Munroe’s hazel eyes met Hades’ dark gaze.

Hades just grunted, pulled on the tight-as-fuck jeans, buttoned them up to the third button and slipped on the skintight shirt.

“Sorry,” Munroe said as Hades growled at the flip-flops. “These are the only pieces of clothing I own I thought would fit you. They don’t make things for big fuckers like you. No offense.”

Hades slapped a flip-flop over the man’s bald head. “Talk about yourself, asshat.”

Of all the Dom’s at The Bark, Munroe, Hades and Maxus were the tallest, with Hades towering over the two of them at seven foot one. He figured they had the same problem he had, having the majority of their clothing made for them, and the fact that Hades was a motherfuckin’ behemoth of muscle didn’t help at all. He heard the t-shirt protest when he flexed his arms.

Munroe stepped out of the cell holding the gym bag’s straps and shoving the briefs into it as he waited.

Hades groaned at hearing the sticky sound of flip-flops resonating with every step, and his motherfuckin’ nutz weren’t happy being squeezed half to death either.

Hades snapped at Munroe; his gaze fixed on the back of the fuck’s head not caring to look at the guard at the door. “I want a joint and a goddamn STD test, the whole works. Who the fuck knows what shit I picked up in here.”

“Anything else, Your Royal Highness?” Munroe bit back while the guard opened the door for them.

“Yeah, I want a fuckin’ ice cream…no, wait make that ice cream dripping off some sweet motherfuckin’ little’s mouth while he licks it from my cock…or better yet…” Hades felt the tremor rush through his muscles, the magma searing in his blood. “I wanna watch ice cream spew out of Beast’s asshole while I pound the fucker into the dirt, into a fucking pulp…”

Hades grasped Munroe by the back of the neck, leaning close to whisper in the man’s ear. “And I want Allan Knight, stuffed, on a platter with garnish and shit, and an apple in his mouth, roasted alive, Deputy Chief.”

Munroe met Hades’ gaze as he turned. “That, my old friend, I will help you do with my own bare hands. Gladly.”

The heavy New York clouds loosened their hold, and the rain thrummed down upon his skin, disrupting the quiet night. Hades looked up into the dark sky, never had the dim night looked more beautiful. The filthy smog air of NYC never smelled more delicious than it did at that moment.

Beast was going to fuckin’ die, torn to shreds and then some.

He climbed into the black Mercedes, turning his attention to Munroe. “Who knows I’m out?”

Munroe shook his head, “None of your boys know, thought you would want to keep quiet until you knew what you were going to do.”

Hades ran his hands over his beard, he needed a shave and to motherfuckin’ soak in a tub for the next year and a half.

“Take me to my condo.”

Munroe grasped the steering wheel, the car springing to life, all blue lights and shiny shit sparkling like fuckin’ Knight Rider when the car fuckin’ spoke.

“Good evening, Mr. Munroe, what is your destination for the night?”

“Fuck me, the NYPD has money to throw around, or is this what you do with the cut I give you each month?”

Munroe chuckled as the automated voice snapped something about improper language use. “Present from Mommy and Daddy.” Munroe pressed something on the LED screen shutting the bitch up. “She doesn’t do well with crude talk.”

Hades gave a huff, bumping his knee on the dashboard of the small space. He felt the seat gently slide back giving him more room.

“Hades,” Munroe gazed out of the window his eyes dark, his face hard, “I know this is none of my business, but… I got intel on Khaiton.”

Hades’ body froze, each muscle going rigid and tight as wrath surged through him. The rage rush from hearing that name had him lusting for Russian blood, balling his fists.

Hades stared at night traffic through the rain, but he didn’t see it. All Hades could see was Khaiton’s head with Hades’ big hands around the man’s cranium, increasing his grip and pressing until it exploded like a fuckin’ underripe watermelon.

Khaiton was the man behind the Russian cartel, pulling strings and issuing orders. He was the one that helped take Mr. Orochi out, brought the dragon down, and turned the delicate balance of power in the States inside out. It wasn’t so much about revenge, or getting even over the Dragon’s Tongue’s downfall, or about reclaiming what Hades once had—including the power. It was about brotherhood, about loyalty to a man that had become a second father to Hades. To a group of men that had been the only true brothers Hades had ever known.

He closed his eyes, remembering that day fourteen years ago, the day he grew some real motherfuckin’ man hair on his balls. That day, Hades and Cracker had fuckin’ front row seats watching bodies pop with bullets. Like piñatas ripped apart and candy flying everywhere, only it wasn’t motherfuckin’ candy, it was blood and scrap metal, glass and wood, and fuckin’ bone and brain guts, all while Hades pissed himself under the table. Watched Old Devil Eyes spit his last breath, telling Hades he was passing the fire on to him, making him promise to cut every motherfuckin’ Russian down.

Happy fuckin’ times.

Nineteen goddamn years he’d known Cracker, the old, gray-bearded biker. The man’s bad was all in his fucked-up knuckles. Cracker ain’t got the nickname because he goes off like a firecracker; when the brother was popping them busted up knuckles, you knew the bastard was starving for blood. No matter if the bones in them had been shattered and were now being held together with steel pins, he’d still go at someone’s face till there weren’t nothing but brain pulp left. The brother had been with Hades since Old Devil Eyes’ time and had stuck around until Hades went to prison.

Hades didn’t know the current state of his club, whether or not the brothers kept going without him or were waiting for him to take back his throne of bones. And now that the Dragon’s Tongue was out of the picture, they were nothing more than a regular old MC.

Knight had made sure Hades was kept in solitary, preventing him from receiving any visitors. Wendigo was too young to take over and Cracker too old to be dealin’ with that shit, man had a weak heart when it came to stress. It was why Old Devil Eyes never passed the baton on to him.

“I want that intel, and see what you can find on Beast. Last I heard the fucker was cruising along the West Coast working for Ardal, and—”

“Ardal MacNamara is dead, Russians blew the Irish Mob apart.”

Hades grunted, “Guess that fuckin’ Leprechaun luck didn’t go so far.”

“From what we gathered, Khaiton’s cleaning house, picking off the last remaining stragglers of the dragon, one by one. Cartel by cartel. Hell, the Feds aren’t complaining, Hades. They’re just damn glad they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Taking out one is better than taking out all of them.” He shrugged. “Why not have the cartels murder each other?”

“Yeah, easy piss peasy, you boys say. Let the dirty fuckers take out their own trash.” Hades turned in his seat and combed his fingers through his greasy hair, “but here’s what you boys ain’t getting. The Russians are made from a different cut of meat, they’re gonna be more trouble than what this bloodbath is worth.”

Hades drummed his fingers on his thighs. He looked down at them, sticky and dirty from cum and blood, the underside of his short bitten nails, black, disgusting him.

He peered out the windows as a new torrent of rain washed down around them. “When the dragon was in power we made sure the shit we dealt: drugs, whores, money, whatever was done in controlled measure. Give a little here, withhold a little there, get ’em addicted so they come back for it again and again and again. The Russians don’t give a shit. They’re as dumb as dirt. They’ll sell as much as they can, as fast as they can. They don’t think about tomorrow. End of the day, you’re gonna have crack whores and druggies popping out of every fuckin’ hole within five miles of you. Leads to violence, ’cause the Russians aren’t supplying fast enough to the dealers, people will be murdering each other left, right and center, stealing to get their next fix. Body count’ll go up, STD and infection rates will skyrocket, homelessness will quadruple, it’ll be like a fuckin’ virus invasion, screwin’ up our world.”

Hades fixed his gaze on Munroe’s reflection, watching the slow swallow of the man’s throat. “We might be the bad guys here, copper, but we’re the good motherfuckers, si, amigo.”

“Si.” Munroe gave a short nod. “You still want that ice cream?”

“That would be a fuck yeah, Chief.”

Of Gods and Monsters: Hades© Copyright 2014 By Wulf Francú Godgluck.

He he I’ve been doing something I shouldn’t … News on Hades coming soon but in the mean time enjoy

Please welcome new up and coming author��Alexis Woods

You are a new Author, tell us a bit more about yourself:

Oh��� early forties, happily married for almost eighteen years. Have three beautiful children (seriously, they were even born beautiful) ranging in ages from 13 to 9. They keep me hopping. I work part-time as a pharmacist for a small independent that I love. Many of my customers have followed me store-to-store, and I value those personal relationships the most. I���m a natural flirt so the silver foxes love me. I love to dance and sing, although I���m terrible at both, it���s all in fun and I don���t mind the teasing.

What made you decide to pick up writing, and why M/M?

I avidly wrote poetry in my youth. I was all for the dark and dreary and I never really thought about writing a story, although it���s how I usually fall asleep at night, always have some running storyline in my head to drift off too.�� When last year���s call from Goodreads for story prompts went out, it set the ball rolling in my mind. I sent in my prompt and then wondered if I could do write a story. I wrote Opening Day and had it beta read by Jonathan Penn. During the process he decided to throw his hat into the ring and picked up a ���lost��� prompt, and then I did the same. Been writing ever since.

Since I immersed myself in reading M/M, it was kind of inevitable that I write in the genre. It���s super sexy to me, and hot! My imagination runs wild while I try to make it all believable.

Favorite genres to read?

Just about anything except zombies. (Sorry, Wulf. I did manage the first chapter of your Black Honey.) Fantasy and military are my favorites though.�� I was/am big fan of Conan, Forgotten Realms/Dungeons and Dragons, and Percy Jackson (Rick Riordan), but also the Kildar and Paladin series (by John Ringo), and I���m devouring SE Jakes��� Men of Honor series. Combining the genres has great appeal for me. I love MM contemporary stories too, as long as they are plausible.

How does your writing process work, what inspires you to write a story, and what had inspired you to write this one?

Themes inspire me. A snippet of song or line of thought, holidays, time of year. I love writing to picture prompts and have been dipping my fingers into Flash Fiction recently.

Not really sure how I stuck on the idea for Opening Day, but I suspect it all started with ���the bases.���

Favour Horror Icon?

Ugh. Actually I steer clear of horror movies whenever possible.�� But I’ve seen the classics The Birds and The Fly, and the first Hellraiser. I’m a vivid dreamer and I try to avoid stimuli that would probably give me nightmares. But that doesn’t answer your question… I’d have to say Dracula, ��the vampires are just a cool phenom. Maybe because I’m a bit of a night owl, maybe I just like to bite.

If you could be a gay man for a day you would….

I���d try to discover if gaydar is for real, probably end up at a gay bar, find myself a stud, hold hands, kiss in public (ignoring all the stares) and have mad, passionate sex. Then I won���t be dreaming…I���ll be living.

Biggest influences: ����

Life, work, writing?�� Too vague, love. There is never just one influence in life. My father for pointing me towards pharmacy. My mother for all her help growing up writing papers. My husband for allowing me this new passion even though he shakes his head at my antics. Having a great support network of author friends. No one person more than another, all equally hugged (virtually or for real) in thanks.

They have just announced the zombie apocalypse is upon us, what would you do?

Easy, pick my axe and schlagger (a heavier type of fencing foil) off the wall and start killing. I hate zombies��� Can���t even stand to read about them. Sorry Wulf, I know you have mad love for them.

Oh…and just so you know I���m not lying:

(hoo those look awesome!)

Fav author of all time (I don’t count) :)

This is a tough question, but I���d have to say Mercedes Lackey. She is one of the few authors that I have read so many her books. I love her world-building, the Heralds of Valdemar being my favorite. She also gave me my first exposure to M/M, but it was almost another dozen years before I truly discovered the genre.

Anything we can look forward after Opening Day (Southern Jersey Shores #1)?

That���s easy. Evading Exodus, (SJS #2) as I mentioned above as the sequel to Opening Day will be available at the beginning of April.

Religion often plays a marked role in my stories, although not in an overbearing way. If you���re a member of Goodreads (and kept up with Love���s Landscapes), I���ve got an unpublishable story there about two twin Jewish boys, and last winter I wrote Lion���s Hero, for the Boughs of Evergreen Anthology about an angel and a Jewish man coming together during Chanukah. April marks the start of Passover and is the backdrop for Evading Exodus. This story is a bit longer at 16k and is told from Darren���s point of view. Darren, or Dare, as Ace comes to call him, worries about their relationship when an old friend of Ace���s arrives in town, and it just so happens that that old friend is also one of Darren���s exes. Friends and family join together, braving the plagues of Exodus, riding out the waves of miscommunication and discomfort, understanding and pleasure to brave their future together.

Following Evading Exodus, will be Ultimate Summer, book three of the series, to be released at the beginning of summer. It���s focused on two new characters, but Ace and Dare make a cameo appearance.

Lots of works-in-progress. I���ve got at least two other short stories planned: a series short story based on the Lion���s Hero world matching an angel with his human ���half��� during Chanukah, and book 4 of SJS, back with Ace and Dare. Maybe Goodreads��� Don���t Read in the Closet if I can find an Alexis-worthy prompt. Plus, I am currently working on what I hope will be a novel length M/M/M romance backdropped on solving a cold-case murder.

And, of course, working with you Wulf.

Author Bio:

Always an avid reader and colorful dreamer, it was only a matter of time before taking pen to paper, oftentimes literally. I sing under my breath, tap my toes and swing my hips, much to the delight of my coworkers and friends. I’m a firm believer in every song tells a story and every story has a song, so each story I write has a song or theme, sometimes both, behind it. I freely admit that becoming a romance author is the best mid-life crisis a girl could ever have.

Release Date: March 1, 2015

Blurb: When pharmacy manager, Aaron Lark, known to his best friends as Ace, is dumped by his latest boyfriend, he decides to step back from the dating scene. What he doesn’t expect is for the blue-eyed pharmacist, Darren Goldman, to step into, and rock, his world. Bonding over beer, brownies and baseball, Ace and Darren play a game where hopefully both end up crossing home plate as winners.

A scene from Opening Day:

���So…tonight?��� I asked, turning back to Darren once Steve had left. He was sprawled out in the swivel desk chair, in a pair of tight blue jeans, his ample package on full display. Oh… This man was very smart. And sexy. I eyed him hungrily.

���West coast game. Doesn���t even start till after ten. What���s the game plan?��� Darren smirked at his own joke. Game plan? Oh yeah, I could work with that.

���Hmm…you want dinner at T.J.���s again? We could watch the game there or back at my place?��� I hoped he���d say my place, but I didn’t want to seem too forward.

���Yeah…dinner, then back to your place. It���s gonna be a long night, and a couch sounds a lot better than a bar stool.��� His eyes heated when he mentioned the couch. Elated, I barely stopped myself from jumping him right there. I placed my hands on the chair arms and leaned over, trapping him. He watched me wet my lips, coming closer, but I went right and placed my mouth next to his ear.

���Game on,��� I whispered.

Were to stalk her.

��������

wulfginn:

A very Important point Theo made please take a read he is a exceptional experienced editor well in my opinion that is.

Originally posted on Theo Fenraven:

You���ve written a book. You���ve had it beta���d, you���ve gone over it yourself several times and fixed all the obvious garbage (typos, punctuation, awkward sentences, etc., and if you haven���t done this, shame on you), and now it���s time to submit it to a publisher. Or perhaps you���ve decided to self-pub. Either way, your manuscript needs editing.

If you go with a publisher, you get this service for free. Well, their cut of your royalties pays for that, but you don���t suffer money out of pocket. A manuscript will usually go through several edits before it���s pronounced ready for the next step. Remember my novella, Blue River?����Betas went over it. I went over it. I didn���t think DSP could find anything wrong with it.

WRONG. Their eagle-eyed editors caught some things, and one of them was important. That manuscript went through three freaking edits! Three! I was humbled���

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