Présentation de l'éditeur :
Instincts are all we have to rely on.
And mine were spot on.
There are a few things I don’t like to talk about in life.
My father.
And Kansas.
I hate him, and I hate that godforsaken state.
To this day, I haven’t loved because there’s a fear.
An inkling.
An instinct that I will be just like him.
I convinced myself our blood was rotten, tainted, and sour.
I believe I didn’t have the ability to be faithful or loyal.
But then after a blizzard, a sailboat washed to shore.
And she was there.
She’s here at the clubhouse now.
Violet Winston.
A name that matches the fields of lavender of her eyes.
I have no right to want her.
I can’t love her.
I’ll ruin her.
The more I get to know her, the harder I fall.
Usually, there’s a calm after the storm.
But not this time.
Between her father being a drug dealer.
The drugs hidden in the boat.
And the man that wants his drugs.
We are about to feel the havoc of a hurricane.
Truths hit us out of nowhere and they hurt worse than a lie ever did.
Love tests us and rips us open. Friendships are lost. Loyalty is damned.
I’m not in Kansas anymore.
But Jersey hurts just the same.
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Free in Kindle Unlimited
Releasing April 14
Narrated by Mia Madison & Tristan James
EXTRAIT
I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of whimpering. For a second, I don’t know where I am, but then I hear a soft beep of a monitor and realize I’m with Springs. I glance down, and my nose gets buried in the bush of her unruly, wild, curly hair. I’ve never seen hair like this before. It’s how I came up with the name Springs. Each strand of hair looks like a tightly wound coil or spring.
Since I don’t know her name, I’ve been calling her Springs.
She quiets down and settles against me again, and I do something weird, something I’ve never done before, and I’m glad she’s asleep for it.
I inhale the scent of her hair, and my eyes roll to the back of my head when I smell peaches. I have to hold back a groan and many, many other things that are not appropriate right now.
I’m such an ass.
She rolls away from me, and blood rushes through my arm. Static tingles my fingers, and I slide my arm out from under her and then fix the sheet as it slides down her shoulders. She has a small tattoo right under her collarbone, simple, delicate, and sophisticated. It’s a simple flower, a rose. The line work is thin, which gives it a feminine, elegant appearance. I want to lean down and kiss it so badly, but it’s selfish thinking, considering everything she’s been through. I shouldn’t want her like I do. I have no right.
There are a few things I tell myself to stay away from.
Love.
And hate.
I like to be balanced. Being right in the middle means nothing can go wrong. There are no expectations to be met. No promises can be broken. No disappointment can be felt. No love can be lost.
I live life in the middle for the most part. Personally, I think it’s worked out pretty well, minus being whipped and strung up like a pig for standing up for what I believe in.
Keeping my desires close to my heart saves me, even if what I want suffocates me every day.
Even though I want love, even though I want more, and I don’t want to slide between the legs of a club whore, I’m scared.
What if I’m just like my father? What if what I have isn’t enough, and I’ll want another life, another family? What if his bad blood runs through my veins, and I’m just this piece of shit human being? Maybe I try too hard to be a decent man because inside I know just how rotten I am.
My stomach growls, yanking me out of my pity party. I rub my hands over my face and look at the time. It’s four in the morning. No wonder I’m hungry. I missed dinner, and that means she did too.
I sit up and swing my legs over the bed as I stretch my neck left, then right, getting the cricks out. My boots hit the floor with a soft thud, and I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her. Her curly hair looks like a huge cotton ball on the pillow. Her body is covered by the sheet and all I see are those curly coils. I chuckle to myself and fight the urge to reach up and run my fingers through her hair.
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AUTHOR BIO
K.L. Savage decided they were tired of looking for the kind
of books they wanted to read. They had an itch that needed to be scratched, and
as every girl knows, nothing scratches better than an alpha.
They write about gritty, alpha males, sometimes their dark sides, and the women they love.
They write about gritty, alpha males, sometimes their dark sides, and the women they love.
If you have the same itch, their alpha males should fix that.
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