2ND EXCERPT: If The Seas Catch Fire

You didn't think I'd only taunt you with ONE excerpt, did you? Oh, no. Never.

So, here's chapter 2 of If The Seas Catch Fire. The book is available for pre-order, and releases January 3rd.

Chapter 2

Every step Dom took was agony. Thank God this kid had intervened when he did. Left to their own devices, Floresta and Mandanici may or may not have killed him, but they sure would’ve done some more damage.

Clutching his side and holding his breath, Dom stole a glance at the slight blond enigma walking beside him. He didn’t know what to make of this kid. Not a fucking clue. He had to be around twenty-five, give or take a year, and judging by his accent, he must’ve been a Russian immigrant. There were a lot of those in Cape Swan. The way he was dressed—tight red leather and not a lot of it—he was either a stripper or a hooker. Nobody in this town dressed like that unless they were selling orgasms.

He obviously wasn’t a pussy. There was no telling what he’d done to Mandanici and Floresta. Dom had been on the verge of blacking out when the kid had shown up, and he’d only just been aware of the shot that had apparently hobbled Mandanici. Then Floresta had knocked Dom to the ground, and everything that happened after that was hazy at best. Next thing he remembered, he was being guided out of the car and onto his feet, and why the fuck were they down by the marina?

EXCERPT: If The Seas Catch Fire

We're getting close! Just over two weeks, and If The Seas Catch Fire will be available! So I thought I'd give you all a little teaser.

Well, not a little teaser. More like the entire 4,000+ word first chapter. But considering the size of the book (120,000 words), it's relatively little. Next week, I'll post chapter 2.

Chapter 1

Sergei Andronikov hadn’t been in the guy’s lap thirty seconds, and there was already a hand on his ass.

Carefully schooling his expression—keeping the irritation well beneath the surface—Sergei batted the asshole’s hand away. This was Sergei’s fourth or fifth client of the night, and he was one of those middle-aged financial types. The kind who’d been behind a desk in a bank long enough to think he was God. Sergei hated those fucks.

But he was getting paid, so he writhed and undulated on the banker’s lap, sharing it with a sizeable paunch. And after a few beats, the hand was back, this time coming up off the armrest to caress Sergei’s hip. Before it could inch toward his ass—these fuckers were so goddamned predictable—Sergei again pushed it away, adding a playful, “No touching. That’s the rule.”

The banker grinned, revealing teeth that were flawless aside from the misfortune of being in this man’s head. “I’m paying you good money.” He placed a defiant hand firmly on Sergei’s leather-clad hip. “I’d say the rules are negotiable.”

“Actually.” Sergei dropped the playfulness as he grabbed the man’s wrist and shoved his hand away. “They’re not.”

Do it again, and you’ll be swallowing those pretty teeth.