Tag: #Suspense

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Choose Me

Posted on by BookReviews

I’ve always run away from labels. 

Now there’s one I cannot run away from.

Father.


Choose Me

The Ballerina Series Book 4

by Ursula Sinclair

Genre: Contemporary New Adult Romantic Suspense



I refused to be placed in anyone’s box.

Vin
I’ve always been the best friend, the one nightstand, the groomsmen never the groom. Then I go and become that ‘F’ word. Yeah, I become a Father before I am even part of a couple. I’ve never been one to live a normal life. Whatever that is. It’s never been for me. But then a woman and my child change everything. They become everything. I will become whatever they need. Because that will be who I am.

Samantha
My husband and I always wanted a child, but it was not meant to be. Until one day, one came into our lives, and she became my everything. But the man that should have protected us didn’t, he betrayed us. Exposed us to men who threatened the safety of my child and me. Then someone came into our lives amidst the chaos, but who was he there to save, me or his child?

 

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Future

Vin

 

“Vin!”

“What!” Something about the way she said my name had me blinking and trying to focus my sleep fogged mind. A shudder traveled through my body. What the hell time is it? The connections in my brain were still a bit fuzzy, but I recognized the pitch of that voice. I’d heard it enough times. Something was wrong.

“Christie?” I spoke into my phone.

“I’m at the hospital, Vin. The baby…” Terror laced her tone.

“What? Isn’t it too early?” I questioned. Christie wasn’t quite eight months pregnant, since that was the last time we’d hooked up. “Is something wrong?”

“You’ve got to come now!”  Fear rippled in her voice.

I’d never heard her sound like this before. My heart pressed against my chest. “Okay, okay on my way.”

I glanced at the time on my phone. Since my head hit the pillow, I’d gotten less than three hours of sleep. Rolling out of bed, I downed some aspirin I kept on the nightstand. Staggering to the bathroom, I washed my face with cold water. It helped a little. My eyesight was no longer quite so blurry. When I glanced at the mirror, I could at least make out my blood shot eyes from too little sleep. But my mind was clear.

Quickly, I tossed on some clean clothes then caught a taxi to the hospital, Christie had scheduled her delivery in. I hoped like hell she would be there. This woman prepared for everything.

Except for an unplanned pregnancy.

I pulled out my phone to shoot a group text to my best friends, Maze and Dante. To let them know Christie was in the hospital and to meet me there but stopped myself before pressing send. First, it was three fucking o’clock in the morning and secondly, I had no idea what the hell was going on, other than I could hear the panic in Christie’s voice. I’d wait until I knew more.

At this hour, it only took about fifteen minutes for me to get to the hospital in midtown. Still, by the time I got there—it was the right hospital—they’d already taken Christie into surgery. I wasn’t family, just the father of the child we’d both agreed to put up for a private adoption. Which meant no one would tell me anything, other than to have a seat and wait for the doctor. Or the lawyer, for the couple adopting the baby. But I wasn’t sure if the hospital or Christie had notified the lawyer, or the couple, and I wasn’t going to remind anyone. At this point, I also didn’t give a rat’s ass. Christie might have been a one or two night hook up, but I still cared about her and the baby we created.

“Mr. Tinsdale?” A pretty young woman in plain purple colored scrubs stood in front of me.

I stood up. “Yes, that’s me. How’s Christie and the baby?”

“Christie signed a form before they took her in, allowing us to talk to you as the biological father of the baby. The baby is in distress, the doctor is performing an emergency C-section, as soon as he knows more, he’ll come out to speak to you.”

“Thank you.” Even if her words did little to relieve my anxiety. I plopped my ass back down onto the seat. It wasn’t until the nurse disappeared through the double doors, I questioned what she’d said. Or rather the way she said it, know more about what? Shouldn’t it only be to tell me if it was a boy or a girl? Oh, God! Did distress mean the baby might die? Was Christie going to be, okay?

I ran my fingers through my shorthair as these thoughts played table tennis in my mind. I’d made a bit of an ass of myself earlier at the nurses’ station, demanding someone come out to tell me something. All I could do now was sit and wait for the doctor.

I sat there alone, my hands rested on my knees, head down, eyes staring at the floor, seeing nothing but my f’ing life rolling away from me. Tied to someone I didn’t even like—for life. One who would be the mother of my child. All because some shitty piece of latex malfunctioned. Fuck of a malfunction. Still, I prayed to a supreme being or beings somewhere out there that Christie and the baby would be okay. Even if I’d agreed to the adoption, the thought of my child dying sent fear zinging through me.

I took a deep breath. Single mother, single father, nothing single about it. Not when an innocent life was involved. A life who apparently wanted to make an early appearance. Way early. A preemie. My child would be a preemie. Labels—fucking labels. All my life I’d dealt with them. But I refused to be placed in anyone’s box.




Don’t miss the rest of The Ballerina series!

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Ursula Sinclair is a USA Today Bestselling Author and the alter ego for LaVerne Thompson, a USA Today Bestselling, award winning, multi-published author. An avid reader and a writer of fantasy, paranormal, contemporary, and sci/fi sensual romances. She loves creating worlds within and without our world. She enjoys good action scenes. Most of her books under either name, also have a touch of violence and a few more than that. She writes romantic suspense and new adult romance under her alter ego.

She is a certified chocoholic and is currently working on several projects. Some might even involve chocolate. But writing helps maintain her sanity.

 

Sign up for her newsletter for sneak peeks and advance information on new releases as well as a few freebies to subscribers. http://bit.ly/1hA7C9W

 

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I’m a Mom, a Grandmom, and a Veteran. Nothing scares me! That’s the saying on my favorite T Shirt. I’m enjoying life too much to let the little things slow me down. If you can’t tell from my Avatar, I live in Florida where I enjoy the sunshine and endure the hurricanes with good grace. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good!

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Adverse Reactions

Posted on by BookReviews

When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. 

Unless yours is the mind they can’t break.


Adverse Reactions

by Deborah J. Lightfoot

Genre: Dystopian Paranormal Suspense



Purity demands a bullet. Devin brings a reckoning.

Since she was six years old, Devin Perridin has been locked behind the walls of the family home to keep her hidden from those who would kill her. But at sixteen, she is exposed as a “Syke,” one of an outlawed minority who possess extraordinary powers of mind over matter. Snatched from hiding, she escapes the firing squad, but only to be imprisoned in a house of horrors: the Peaceful Hills Sanatorium and Rehabilitation Center for the Treatment of Persistent Mental Disorders. After an unknown time of torture and “behavior modification,” brutally designed to destroy her psychokinetic reflexes, she emerges from the asylum severely damaged in mind and spirit. Her salvation may lie in the series of crimes triggered by her release: first kidnapping, then attempted murder, and then a mustering of forbidden forces to assault the remote pseudo-psychiatric facility where she had been tortured into near-mindlessness.

Drawing upon a strength she had always known was hers but had never before been able to consciously control, Devin defies the authoritarian society with its unjust laws that demand her death. She pushes through pain, isolation, and moral quandaries to seek justice for not only herself, but all members of a maligned and cruelly persecuted minority. A post-apocalyptic, paranormal allegory for the times in which we live.

When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. Unless yours is the mind they can’t break.

 

“This novel is immediately immersive, with an opening scene that sucks readers in with vivid sensory detail and a great sense of suspense.” —The Black List

“What a story! I was picked up from the first page and you never let me go thereafter. The premise is original … compelling … convincing.” —ARC Reader

“A very enjoyable read. Excellent pacing. Immersive language. Polished, effortless writing. I’d love to see a prequel (or three)!” —ARC Reader

“Relevant to the current situation in the world. Ostracizing others who are different out of fear and ignorance. Cruelty and inhumanity.” —ARC Reader

“Believable and relatable.” —The Black List

“Thematically rich, as Devin faces constant self-doubt but eventually comes to find empowerment in the unique abilities that have made her an outcast.” —The Black List

 

**Get it #OnSale for only $1.99 4/21 – 4/24!**

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Chapter 1

 

VAPORS BILLOWED INTO the chamber in thick masses of orange. Devin choked on the sickly sweet odor.

“Don’t fight it, child,” came the voice—equally cloying—from the darkness beyond the floodlit, glass-walled chamber. “Give yourself up to it.”

The gas surged into Devin’s face, blinding, gagging her. She made it go away. By force of will, a moment’s mental reflex, she flung it back.

Fresh air flooded her nostrils and drove out the syrupy stink. She sucked in a cool, clean breath.

“No!” snapped the voice, crackling with amplified static. “You must not.”

The therapist dropped her with two thousand volts. Devin collapsed to the chamber’s floor, her body jerking, her nerves on fire. The pain was beyond enduring. A pain this intense must be lethal. But she did not die. As she convulsed, her muscles knotted in spasms, she could not scream. No part of her, not even her voice, was under her voluntary control.

“Try it again, child.” Smooth and saccharine once more, her unseen therapist spoke from the concealing shadows as the shock ended and Devin’s pain faded. “Stand up,” the torturer ordered. “And this time, do not fight it. Or your punishment will be the same: swift, sure, and severe.”

Devin struggled upright. She had to brace against the curved glass wall of the gas chamber to keep on her feet. Her muscles had melted from knots into jelly.

An orange cloud flooded the chamber and filled her nose with the stink of rotting fruit.

“Breathe it,” her therapist instructed. “You must.”

But again, Devin reacted by instinct alone. No conscious thought interposed between stimulus and response. The cloud approached; she pushed it away. Pure reflex, action of mind: act of self-preservation. The gas held back, suspended in midair, blocked by the power of her impulse.

On the instant, thousands of volts knocked her to the floor. Pain engulfed Devin, such a pain as must be lethal but wouldn’t do her the service of killing her. She writhed, silent and barely conscious.

Her therapist withdrew the punishment. Devin remained on the floor of the isolation chamber, curled in the fetal position, her long brown hair covering her face. Her body was hers to command once more, but her muscles had no strength to obey.

“You give new meaning to the word persistent, don’t you, girl?” muttered the disembodied voice. Then, more forcefully: “The first step toward healing is to admit you are diseased, Miss Perridin. You have an illness. A mental disorder. I am offering you the cure—in a pleasant aerosol spray that you need only breathe. Once inhaled, the drug acts quickly, and its effects are lasting. But you must take the first step and acknowledge that you want to be cured.”

The voice grew soft, sugary. “Child, for as long as you hold to the notion—the mistaken notion—that your disorder is in some way a strength or a benefit to you, you will continue to fail. And you will suffer the consequences of that failure. We can’t have that, can we?”

Devin gathered the remnants of her strength and rolled onto her back. To stand was impossible; she could barely shape a word.

“No,” she whispered.

She wasn’t speaking to her tormentor.

But: “That’s the spirit!” the therapist responded, sounding genuinely enthused. “Now we try again. Take your medicine like a good girl.”

The orange stink flowed in at the top of the chamber. Devin, lying face up, watched through the curtain of her hair as the cloud descended. She had time to ward it off, to make it go away. But in the soul of her being, nothing sparked. Her reflexes, her instincts, failed to respond. What had been a spontaneous force of mind over matter could offer no resistance.

Devin’s mouth filled with the sickening taste of defeat. The orange cloud enveloped her, a sticky weight, and she choked down lungfuls.

“Wonderful!” her therapist exclaimed. “My dear, I couldn’t be more pleased. This is the tipping point. Your recovery will be much easier from now on, I promise.”

Devin breathed the sickly sweet drug and felt the core of her mind go dead.

Then came the retching. Her body contorted in gut-shredding paroxysms as the drug made her vomit—or attempt to vomit. Her keepers had starved her for so long, her stomach had nothing to bring up. The dry heaves racked her with such violence that she could not breathe. After long moments, unconsciousness brought relief.





Castles in the cornfield provided the setting for Deborah J. Lightfoot’s earliest flights of fancy. On her father’s farm in Texas, she grew up reading tales of adventure and reenacting them behind ramparts of sun-drenched grain. She left the farm to earn a degree in journalism and write award-winning books of history and biography. High on her bucket list was the desire to try her hand at the genre she most admired. The result is Waterspell, a multi-layered fantasy series about a girl and the wizard who suspects her of being so dangerous to his world, he believes he’ll have to kill her … which troubles him, since he’s fallen in love with her.

 

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I’m a Mom, a Grandmom, and a Veteran. Nothing scares me! That’s the saying on my favorite T Shirt. I’m enjoying life too much to let the little things slow me down. If you can’t tell from my Avatar, I live in Florida where I enjoy the sunshine and endure the hurricanes with good grace. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good!

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Death Before a Hookup

Posted on by Reluctant Retiree

In a world ruled by power, desire can be deadly.


Death Before a Hookup

by Alicia Rice

Genre: Romantic Suspense, Thriller



In the heart of two cities divided by rivalries, it unveils a compelling narrative of passion, ambition, and transformation.

 James, a steadfast leader striving for progress, faces the complex dynamics of a changing world as he partners with Evelleyne, a boss from a rival gang. Against an ongoing feud between the Northside Ryders and the River Syndicates, a symbol of new possibilities, the characters embark on a journey of self-discovery, secrets, adoration, and resilience. The flames of change burn brightly, forging alliances, shattering expectations, and ultimately illuminating the path to redemption.

Prepare for a tale of love, loyalty, and redemption set against conflict and transformation. As the characters navigate the complexities of their choices, the story explores the resilience of the human spirit and the indomitable power of love to endure even in the darkest times.

 

“The perfect enemies-to-lovers novel with Romeo and Juliet vibes. Gritty, emotional and utterly unputdownable!”

“Evelyne and James’ love story was beautifully made. I was torn apart by the tragic ending.”

 

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Where are you, baby? You know I hate waiting,” says Evelleyne, her breath briefly fogging the reflected outline of her bare shoulder on her phone’s screen.”

“I just got out of the shower. Give me about fifteen minutes, and I’ll be there,” said James.

“You could have waited on the shower, baby. You’ll be hot and sweaty as soon as I let you in the door.”

“Is that so? Well, let me hurry up then. Sounds like I’m going to have my work cut out for me tonight.”

“You have no idea.”

“Let me finish here. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay, baby. Be careful. No speeding tickets this time.”

“I can’t make any promises. You know I can’t wait to get to you, girl.”

“I know, baby, but I’m not going anywhere, so there’s no need to rush. Just know your girl is waiting on you—with nothing on.”

“See, that’s what makes me break the law getting to your house.”

Evelleyne laughs. “You’re so cute when you’re possessive.”

“Yeah, and I’m the luckiest man alive to have you in my life. I’m gone; see you in a few.”

“Okay, baby.”

Evelleyne sits on the window ledge, gazing out into the night. The moon is high, and its white light glistens on her voluptuous, tanned body. Her heart beats faster, and she can barely catch her breath as she tightens the grip on her cell phone.

James is rushing down the steps, ready to see his beloved. He hears a soft, shaky voice as he’s about to hit the “end call” button on his cell phone.

“I love you, James,” says Evelleyne.

“I’ll see you soon,” he shyly responds.

Evelleyne gazed at the night sky, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She knows James loves her, but he won’t say it—he’s proved that. Still, she wants to hear it from his lips.

James hopped in his Chrysler 300. Though excited to see Evelleyne, he’s nervous before starting the car. His mind drifted through the chapters of his life, a journey marked by unexpected turns and profound transformations.

He thought back to the days when he rose through the ranks, becoming an underboss for the Northside Ryders. The choices, alliances forged, and conflicts navigated shaped him into a formidable figure in the city’s underworld.

Meeting Evelleyne was a turning point. Her strength, resilience, and unwavering spirit drew him in. Love blossomed amidst the chaos, a beacon of light in the shadows of their tumultuous world. Together, they dared to dream of a different future.

 



Alicia Rice is a multi-genre author, leadership development strategist, and speaker whose work explores power, choice, resilience, and the human condition. She is the author of several compelling titles, including Historian of the Wasteland, a gripping dystopian series that challenges readers to examine what survives when systems collapse — and what should.

By day, Alicia serves as a Learning & Development leader, designing leadership programs that empower emerging and senior leaders to lead with courage, justice, and accountability. By night, she writes stories that explore generational trauma, moral conflict, and the quiet strength of those history often overlooks. Her work is deeply influenced by her grandmother’s encouragement, who nurtured her love of storytelling from a young age and instilled in her the belief that her voice mattered.

When she’s not writing or mentoring, Alicia is either gaming or building platforms that connect authors, leaders, and lifelong learners through purpose-driven dialogue

 

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Helios #CoverReveal

Posted on by Reluctant Retiree

Helios
Sybil Bartel
Publication date: April 17th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Ranger.

Sniper.

Stepbrother.

Yeah, you heard that right. Stepbrother. With a stepsister who made me forget the one damn thing I’d spent my entire life aspiring to be.

One step ahead.

I’d been selected from the Army Special Operations Command’s 75th Ranger Regiment for Delta Force. The unit was my home. Taking down terrorists was my specialty. I took a few hits, but I was always one step ahead… until they took her.

Now I had a new mission, and trust me, no one was walking out alive except for me and her.

HELIOS is the second standalone book in the thrilling Paragon Operations series by USA Today bestselling author, Sybil Bartel! If you’re ready to step into a whole new world of romantic suspense, come meet Helios and the darkly dominant Tier One Operatives at Paragon Operations who will make your e-reader combust!

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Author Bio:

Sybil Bartel is a USA Today Bestselling author of unapologetic alpha heroes. Whether you’re reading her deliciously dominant alpha bodyguards, her page-turning romantic suspense, or her heart-stopping military romance, all of her books have sexy-as-sin alpha heroes!

Sybil lives in South Florida and she is forever Oliver’s mom.

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The Rescuer

Posted on by Reluctant Retiree

She’s moving on. 

He’s running out of time. 

One reckless night changes everything.

The Rescuer

Fall River Series Book 3

by G.K. Brady

Genre: Small-Town Second Chance Romantic Suspense



She’s moving on. He’s running out of time. One reckless night changes everything.

Reece Hunnicutt has spent his life coming to the rescue—whether it’s pulling climbers off treacherous mountain faces or volunteering to string the town’s Christmas lights. But after walking away from the elite search and rescue squad that gave him purpose, Reece is a man untethered, without a landing pad and dodging questions about his future. The one constant in his life? His quiet dedication to his small mountain town and his brothers who have no idea he’s about to embark on a new future that will take him to the other side of the continent.

Town veterinarian Neve Embry has been nursing a one-sided love for Reece since childhood. But she’s done waiting for him to see her as more than a kid sister who needs his protection. Between juggling a struggling clinic and starting up an exciting new relationship with a charming billionaire resort owner, Neve is determined to move on. Sparks might not fly with her new beau, but at least her heart isn’t on the line.

Until one impulsive night in Vegas changes everything.

Waking up married to Reece is the last thing Neve expects—or wants. But when her clinic is vandalized and her life upended, Reece insists on sticking around until the culprit is caught. Forced to live under the same roof, their shaky alliance begins to crack under the weight of their undeniable chemistry.

As danger closes in and secrets come to light, Reece and Neve must confront the truth about their desires—and decide whether this love can be rescued.

 

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The urge to giggle had everything to do with nerves and nothing to do with how he looked. No, nothing about his physique was giggle-worthy. If Neve could have crafted the perfect male specimen, he would have looked exactly like Reece. A sculpted torso that started at wide shoulders and tapered to a trim waist, like a V, above a perfectly square butt. Smooth, tan skin.

His back was to her, so she couldn’t assess the man package, but judging by the way it had felt against her in bed, he wasn’t lacking in that department either.

He came to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re staring.”

She swallowed a yelp.

A slow grin spread over his face—at least the side she could see in profile. “You know what they say. You see mine, I see yours.”

“That’s so childish!” she spluttered. “Besides, you’ve already seen it, and so have I.”

“We were five years old, Neve. I think things have changed since then.”

Details.

She brushed at something tickling her shoulder and looked up. “They have robes in here. His and hers, judging by the sizes.”

“Good because I can’t find a single stitch. Throw one out, would you?”

Hoisting herself to her feet, she slid the smaller robe from its hanger and quickly pulled it on before handing him the other one through the closet door.

“Thanks.” Fabric rustled. “As much fun as it is talking to you through a closet door, I think it’d be much easier if you came out.”

“Are you decent?”

“Always.”

She opened the door and stepped out—and tried not to laugh, especially given the seriousness of their dilemma. The robe hit him at the knees, and the sleeves were halfway up his forearms.

“We need to figure this out,” they both said at the same time.

“Maybe there are some clues in here.” Reece loped toward their adjoining doors, which stood wide open, but before she could follow, he let out a strangled sort of noise from his bedroom.

“What is it?” She hurried through the doorway.

“Found our clothes.”

His bed looked as though a herd of elephants had tap-danced on it. Scattered around said bed were various bits of his and her wedding outfits. Her panties lay in a crumpled heap beside his boxers, and her matching strapless bra hung over a chair that sat cockeyed to the desk. On the nightstand stood two empty champagne bottles, along with a half-dozen martini glasses, also empty.

She gasped and tried not to hurl.

He held up his hands. “Don’t panic.” Traipsing over to the desk, he switched on the lamp and picked up a piece of paper. A groan punched from his lungs.

“What? What is it?”

He locked gazes with her. “You can panic now.”

A mere beat passed, and she was by his side, gawking at what he held in his hands. Her already-unsettled stomach plummeted to her toes. “That’s … that’s …”

“A marriage license. Yeah.”

“It’s got to be a joke. Are those our real names?”

“Looks like.”

He plucked up what looked like a receipt and whipped his head toward her. His eyes dipped to her hand. “Holy Mother of …”

She followed his gaze, and her mouth swung open.

He pointed at her hand. “That is not fake.”

On her left ring finger was a big-ass diamond and a matching band.

Now she darted her eyes to his left hand. “Uh, you seem to be wearing what looks like the man version of mine. These must be fake! Right?”

“Don’t think so.” He held up the receipt.

She covered her mouth to hold back a choked cry. “Is that a six? With four zeros after it?”

“No, that’s an eight.” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Damn! I bought these!”

She inspected the ring, which was almost too big for her small finger. “It is beautiful.”

“I have great taste. Did you have a say in it, or did I just … buy it?”

She blinked. “You’re asking me?”

“You were there, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was there, but I was as drunk as you, and everything’s a black hole.”

Dear God, what had they done?

 



 **Don’t miss the rest of the series! **

Find them on Amazon



Since childhood, all sorts of stories and characters have lived in G.K. Brady’s imagination, elbowing one another for attention, so she’s finally giving them their voice on the written page.

 

An award-winning writer of contemporary romance, she loves telling tales of the less-than-perfect hero or heroine who transforms with each turn of a page. She also writes historical fiction under the pen name Griffin Brady.

 

G.K. is a wife and the proud mom of three grown sons. When she’s not writing, she might be reading, traveling, drinking wine, listening to music, or gardening—sometimes all at once! She currently resides in Colorado with her very patient husband.

  

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