SERIES REVIEW TOUR: “Serial Investigations” by Rhiannon D’Averc

SERIES REVIEW TOUR

Serial Investigations by Rhiannon D’Averc

Serial Investigations follows a private detective duo, Will and Ram, through tricky cases, mortal danger, and the horror of (maybe) unrequited love for your best friend – with plenty of demons to battle along the way.

The stories need to be read in order.

Overall Heat Rating for the series: 2 flames

Goodreads Series Link

Warning: All books contain depictions of alcoholism, anorexia, and violent crime/murder.

BOOK 1

Book Title: Bloodless

Length: 70 000 words/ 240 pages

Release Date: April 29, 2019

Genre/s: M/M Crime/thriller

Trope/s: Slow burn friends to lovers

Themes: Identity struggle, murder, unrequited love

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

How do you solve a murder…

… When you’re the prime suspect?

Blurb

A body cut up into pieces and left in Highgate Wood. It sounds like the most exciting case that private detectives Ram and Will have had to deal with since leaving their FBI training and returning to London.

As each new body is piled up amongst the trees, the stakes get higher – and Serial Investigations London embraces their first real challenge.

But Ram’s lifestyle – staying out all days of the week, drinking too much, and having sex with a different man every night – soon catches up with him when the police realise there’s just one link that connects the bodies.

And it’s him.

Will faces a battle around the clock to prevent his best friend from being put away for life – and while the two of them face their own demons, there’s a secret hanging over their heads that might just bring it all crashing down.

If you’re a fan of BBC’s Luther, Jo Nesbo’s Harry Hole, or sharply witty gay men, you’ll love Serial Investigations. Jump into the action from the very beginning with Bloodless, the first book in a series you won’t dare to put down.

BOOK 2

Book Title: Blood Evidence

Length: 63 000 words/ 200 pages

Release Date: August 15, 2019

Genre/s: M/M Crime/thriller

Trope/s: Slow burn friends to lovers

Themes: Coming out, murder, unrequited love

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

A missing person’s case…

… A murder investigation?

Blurb

Private detectives Ram and Will got their name in the news by catching a high-profile serial killer, and now they’re getting more clients. When they’re hired to find a missing person, all they’re worried about is having to spend a night away from home. They go to check his last known sighting in Kent, staying in a quaint country inn.

Little do they expect that Serial Investigations London are about to get thrust into a new murder investigation – one that happens right under their noses.

A confession seems to solve the case, but is it genuine? With suspicions running high, the duo still have to find time to sniff out the whereabouts of their client – and avoid getting arrested themselves.

With Ram hitting the bottle harder than ever and Will fighting to stay in control, they might be about to lose more than just the case.

BOOK 3

Book Title: Blood Alcohol

Length: 60 000 words/ 173 pages

Release Date: November 30, 2019

Genre/s: M/M Crime/thriller

Trope/s: Slow burn friends to lovers

Themes: Coming out, murder, inner demons

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

A horrific torture case with a ticking clock.

All he can see is the bottle.

Blurb

Private detectives Ram and Will thought they’d wrapped everything up when they found Ray Riley’s body in Sevenoaks. But it turns out that things aren’t what they seemed – and Riley may be the latest victim of a torture-happy murderous duo.

For the second time, Serial Investigations London are called in to assist as civilian consultants with DI Alex Heath’s team at the Met – but they have their own personal problems getting in the way of clear thinking.

Will has something to get off his chest, and it’s related to that kiss they shared – the one they both tried to forget. But Ram can’t stop drinking to push away the confusion, and this time he’s going to land himself in more trouble than ever before.

Can they get over their issues for long enough to stop another murder – or even keep themselves alive?

BOOK 4

Book Title: Blood Sucker

Length: 65 000 words/ 191 pages

Release Date: March 28, 2020

Genre/s: M/M Crime/thriller

Trope/s: Slow burn friends to lovers/misunderstandings

Themes: Conflict, murder, trust and loyalty

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

A dead body posted on social media.

A vampire stalking the streets of London?

Blurb

Will and Ram’s private detective partnership seems to be unravelling. After they ended up sleeping together, the tension between them is at an all-time high – and the unsolved Simon Shystone case is haunting them and their police contacts.

DI Alex Heath normally wants their help, but when a murderer posts images of his victim on social media, the chase is on to trace his digital footprint. With his superiors breathing down his neck, he might not be able to bring Serial Investigations London in on one of the biggest cases of their career.

They should be focusing on the artist who seems to have disappeared without a trace from his home studio. Could his latest commission have something to do with it? And will they be able to handle finding another client turned up dead?

Things are spiralling out of control for Will and Ram – and this time, they might not have each other to rely on.

BOOK 5

Book Title: Blood Sport

Length: 164 pages

Release Date: June 30, 2020

Genre/s: M/M Crime/thriller

Trope/s: Slow burn friends to lovers/misunderstandings resolved

Themes: Murder, kidnap, vanquishing the big bad

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

A copycat killer who knows every detail.
A locked room with no escape.

Blurb

Serial Investigations London is officially closed for business – with private detectives Will and Ram still not talking to one another after an explosive argument. Even when a copycat killer springs up, seemingly targeting only their own cases, they can’t see eye to eye.

Little wonder, given that they both have something more important on their minds. Someone knows about San Francisco – about the man who died on a rooftop at their feet. Who has discovered their deepest secret? And what will they do to keep it buried?

That’s when another mystery piles up on top of the rest: a traditional trope that every seasoned detective must face, the locked room. But this one has a deadly twist, and if they don’t come to terms with their differences and work together, one of them might not live to regret it.

Will and Ram face the most pressing and personal danger yet – but the question is, who’s behind it? And will they realise they’ve been set against one another before it’s too late?

If you’re a fan of BBC’s Luther, Jo Nesbo’s Harry Hole, or sharply witty gay men, you’ll love Serial Investigations. The story continues with Blood Sport, a nail-biting series of twists and turns that will have you questioning how they’ll ever survive.

Click ‘Buy Now’ to enter the minds of troubled yet brilliant detectives as they struggle inside an interconnected web of lies – and the spider is getting hungry…

Praise for Serial Investigations:
“The front cover didn’t lie; Bloodless is exciting and thrilling.”
“Sets up a really great atmosphere right from the start and constantly leaves you wanting to find out what happens next.”
“A punchy storyline makes it difficult to put down and leaves you wanting more.”
“Just the right amount of action, plenty of intriguing deception and detective work.”
“Love the plot twists! Can’t wait for the next book to see what happens next to Will and Ram.”

Excerpt

Bloodless – Chapter One

Unlocking the door to your new home for the first time is supposed to be exciting. I guess it was the jet-lag, but I couldn’t even force myself to smile as we walked in. Not even for Ram’s sake.

We crashed in hungover and out of it, the sparkling wine and whisky of the plane no longer seeming like such a good idea. I chose a bedroom and dragged my suitcases inside. It felt good to no longer have all of my worldly possessions attached to my person. Without the weight of my backpack on my shoulders, I could feel just how much strain the muscles had been under.

I found Ram still standing at the wide windows of the living room. He was looking out of the clean, fresh glass into the grey and drizzling London of December. It felt like a jolt to look out and see not palm trees, but old Victorian factories and blocks of flats as far as the eye could see.

But then again, no one has ever mistaken Whitechapel for California. It was always going to be a bit of a culture shock, coming back home again.

I shook him by the shoulder, trying to ignore the pit in my own stomach. Maybe if I could get him to snap out of this weary daze we had both fallen into, he would be able to wake me up in return.

“Ram?” I asked, after a moment. He simply swayed under the movement of my hand, like a doll. I wasn’t even sure he was actually looking out at anything.

He turned and looked at me when he heard his name. It was like he was looking at someone he didn’t recognise from a long distance away. If I had felt uneasy before, that expression made my scalp itch with worry. Of the two of us, Ram is the calm and centred one. Even when he’s so drunk he can barely walk, he doesn’t lose it. Not like me. But I’ve never seen him like this before.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, after a moment, seeming to rouse. He shrugged off my hand and walked away, leaving me stood watching the place where he had been stood watching. I felt like a sentinel. Something had left us behind and we were plunging into a bowl of cold water, too confused to even try to hold onto the side. I wondered if it would even wash away what we had on our hands.

I was alone, without the option of distracting myself by looking at him. The only thing I could do was to keep moving. I heard the sound of the shower turn on, and I guided my weary feet into my new room. It felt like midnight, but the sun wasn’t even at its midday apex. I went from task to task, like an automaton, letting the cogs turn by themselves to keep my mind empty. Suitcase unzipped; clothes pulled out; find hangers; one by one, up on the rail. Knick-knacks. Decorations. Picture frame.

The flat came furnished, but now I realised that on our hasty flight out of San Francisco we forgot to take a few things into account. The beds had mattresses, but no pillows or sheets. The drawers in the kitchen held no cutlery, crockery, or mugs for tea. Even if they did, there was no kettle, no bags of tea, no instant coffee machine.

I ran out of things to do but I had to find something. I stalked from room to room, tablet in hand, stabbing the pages of an online shopping site. Kettle — black, chrome, retro. Tea bags — Earl Grey, Caramel Rooibos, Herbal Blend. Bed set — plain blue, reverse check, king size. Next.

Ram’s room. Suitcases still locked, black leather bag slung onto bare mattress, leather jacket discarded next to it.

He wouldn’t mind. It’s not like we have any secrets from each other.

Or many, at least.

Open the suitcase (correctly guess the code on the lock). Take out clothes, one by one, to string them up on hangers and leave them waiting for him. Personal items. Books stacked by the bed. Jewellery case. Boots on the floor by the door. Leather jacket hung up last, finally, the only thing left untouched.

I wondered how long it must have been now.

A long time, surely, but all I could hear still was the water hitting the shower tray. Over and over, the same hiss in the same tone.

A long time for Ram to be in there, on his own, with those thoughts swirling around in his head.

With razors and scissors and other sharp things.

“Ram?” I shouted, pounding on the locked bathroom door.

Nothing but the sibilant hiss of the water.

I threw my shoulder into the door, felt it bounce back against me, sending a shockwave through from the impact. Again. The door rattled, the lock unable to give. Again. Again. As many times as it took, again, ignoring the flower of pain blooming out across my shoulder and back. Once more, and I was stumbling forward into the room, momentarily disorientated as the momentum carried me onwards.

The glass of the shower door was all steam, except for a patch near the bottom where the spray of the water was heavy enough to keep it clear. I saw his legs, sprawled across the floor, and I could barely breathe for the fear that I had realised too late.

I wrenched open the door and saw him, and for a moment I understood nothing. He was whole — yes. No blood. But he was lying naked under the water, letting it hit his face and open eyes without blinking, not even reacting to my appearance.

“Ram?” I said again, but his eyes didn’t even flicker in response.

I reached in and grabbed his shoulder, ignoring the water. It quickly drenched my shirt through to the skin, spreading up over my chest and into my eyes as I shook him.

Slowly, like he was caught in a time lapse, his face swivelled around. His eyes looked at me, but they were empty. I don’t think he even saw me.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” I said, reaching up and turning the shower off. I didn’t know if it was the truth, but he was alive. For the time being, that was enough.

He stirred a little when the water stopped hitting him, but only for a moment. His shoulders slumped back down and he rested, resigned, still looking fixedly at nothing.

I grabbed a towel from my bathroom, thankfully one of the few things I did remember to bring with me. I ran back to find him still sitting in the same place. It was like there was no one left inside to notice that he must be cold and uncomfortable. I pulled him out of the shower and into my waiting arms. He came willingly, falling against me like a doll. I towelled him dry as best I could and held him tight, like we were kids again, trying to take some small comfort from one another. His head slotted under my chin, and it felt right but so wrong, because Ram is supposed to be the strong one.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Ram, I promise,” I said, closing my eyes and praying that I was telling the truth.

About the Author

Rhiannon D’Averc is a crime writer based in the UK. She works as a ghostwriter and author under her own name as well as under pseudonyms. As a professional writer for over a decade, she also keeps herself busy as Chief Editor of London Runway, an indie fashion magazine. Her short stories have been published in Litro, Devolution-Z, Storgy, Literati, and more.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

Newsletter sign-up | BookBub

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win

a full set of ebooks for Serial Investigations

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Continue ReadingSERIES REVIEW TOUR: “Serial Investigations” by Rhiannon D’Averc

RELEASE BLITZ: “Iblis Affliction” by Nero Seal. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Iblīs’ Affliction

Author: Nero Seal

Publisher: Seal Publishing

Cover Artist: Sublime Novels

Release Date: May 29, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary, dark M/M romance, thriller/horror

Trope/s: Gay for you, HFN, mafia boss/assassin

Themes: Assassins, mafia, psychopaths, power play, a masochistic character

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 100 126 words/318 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

“If you sleep with the Devil, don’t expect to get out of hell.”

Blurb

Iblīs (Arabic إبليس)—the primary devil in Islam.

“If you sleep with the Devil, don’t expect to get out of hell.”

DEMANDING. NEEDY. DANGEROUS. Slater is everything Talha doesn’t want but is everything the crime lord needs. The bloodiest ripper of Anatolia, nicknamed Iblīs, kills for him and warms his bed. Yet, there’s no love.

Stuck in a power play, symbiotic relationship, Talha knows that if he shows weakness, he’ll fall at the hands of his own weapon.

THIRST FOR BLOOD, SEX, AND PAIN drives Slater crazy. The need to murder wrenches his soul, and only Talha can cool the deep itch that grows stronger every day. Only Master can understand what Slater needs because Master belongs to Slater.

Then Master changes the rules to cheat the game. But Talha doesn’t grasp, that there’s no escape from Iblīs’ affliction.

Excerpt

“Play with me…”

“No.” The sharp reply made Slater’s cheek twitch.

“I’m bored, Master. Play with me.” Irritation found its way into his voice alongside the demanding notes.

“No. I need you fit.” Not compromising, Talha glanced at his watch. “Entertain yourself. I have to work.”

“Fine…” Slater hissed.

Talha reached under his seat and pulled out the laptop. Slater’s focus slipped down but stumbled over the shirt. Too many pieces of clothing covered this muscular body for Slater’s liking. The desire to spoil Talha’s designer suit, so the man would strip, poisoned his blood.

His tennis shoe bumped against the black leather of the seat in front, as Slater spread his legs apart. The zipper vibrated against his groin, coming undone slot by slot a moment before he shimmed his ass out of his jeans and took his heavy cock into his palm. His gaze traveled up Talha’s smooth, square jaw to the hard line of his mouth. Five years older than Slater, Talha was broader, an inch taller, and a bit more muscular. At thirty-three, with his hair brushed back, he looked a couple of years older. His slightly arched brows and nose, broken in fights, enhanced his predatory aura.

Lust spiked Slater’s blood, splashing red desire all over his vision. Relaxing against his seat, he licked his lips. Talha’s rough skin allured him to lean closer and moisten it with his tongue.

At the hazy edge of his vision, Zaal’s face contorted in disgust, the conflict of interests twisting his features in an unreadable grimace. Slater didn’t care.

The air scraped his throat with every shaky breath; precum leaked over his fingers, marring his jeans. The uncomfortable atmosphere thickened as emotions streamed through the air. Disgust, hatred, contempt, discomfort, ignorance—all had colors and scents that crawled under Slater’s skin, igniting his depravity. His soul burned with all-consuming arousal. Slater craved Talha to look, and Talha did.

A surprised glance held and lingered. The rough mouth curled up in a lopsided smirk as a long, index finger brushed over the chapped lips, betraying Talha’s building arousal. Slater shivered under his cannibalistic stare.

“Need help?” Talha murmured. The cloud of discomfort emitting from Zaal darkened.

Slamming his laptop closed, Talha put it aside and removed the table. The papers scattered over the floor. His foot slid up the denim fabric toward Slater’s groin. Pressing down, it scratched the skin on the back of Slater’s hands and terminated the stimulation. Not gentle, not caring, but rough, authoritative, merciless. Pressure crushed Slater’s cock and balls, making him shudder.

“Hurts…” The weak complaint only made Talha’s lips twitch.

“Hands.” The husky voice seeping into Slater’s soul demanded obedience.

Instantly dropping his hands, Slater welcomed the direct skin to sole contact. His lungs burned from oxygen deprivation, forcing his nails to scratch a long trail under his t-shirt to alleviate the pressure in his chest and gain more pain. Up and down, the rough underside of the shoe rubbed his cock, the cruel heel meeting his balls with every thrust.

“You’re such a horny dog, aren’t you?” Talha observed.

Slater whimpered and closed his eyes, concentrating on the burning sensation growing in his lower belly. His thighs shook following the jerky rhythm of Talha’s foot as the cleansing pain burned every thought out of his head, leaving only lust behind.

“What should I do with you?”

Holding his breath, Slater listened to the voice of his master. The voice that had guided him through so much pain and pleasure; the voice that knew what he needed better than anyone else. More. Rougher. Harder. This wasn’t enough; chasing his pleasure, he thrust his hips forward, imprinting himself into Talha’s shoe. A shudder ran through his body, and a weak, shaky plea escaped his lips, “More, Master.”

About the Author

Journalist, poker player, casino events manager, designer, and SEO specialist, Nero Seal tried it all before committing to the idea of being an M/M fiction writer. Living in one of the most homophobic countries in the world, he has a lot to say. Being an avid traveler, he creates his imaginary worlds from the places he’s been and the people he’s met.
Characters always talk in his head, forcing him to write their stories, using his 49 kinks as the ultimate weapon of allure. When the voices in his head aren’t slaving him around, he is drawing, hiking, and procrastinating important things in favor of momentary gratification.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | YouTube

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for a chance to win:

1 place – 1 paperback of Iblīs’ Affliction

2 place – A direct to Kindle copy of Egoist series (3 books)

3 place – A direct to Kindle copy of Love of the Egoist

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Continue ReadingRELEASE BLITZ: “Iblis Affliction” by Nero Seal. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

BLOG TOUR: “T.A.G. You’re Heard” by A.G. Carothers. $15.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included! See entry below:

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: T.A.G. You’re Heard (The Assassins’ Guild Book 2)

Author: A.G. Carothers

Publisher: Independently published

Cover Artist: Samantha Santana

Genre/s: Action Adventure, BDSM, Contemporary, Mystery & Thriller, Suspense

Trope/s: Age Difference, Big Character / Little Character, Everyone is Queer, Hurt / Comfort,

May/December, Office / Workplace Romance, Rescue, Smartass Twinks, True Love

Themes: Blast from pasts, love vs self-doubt

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 45 000 words/ 180 pages

Add on Goodreads

Buy Link – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Blurb

Hello again, Mr. No here, communications agent for T.A.G. and your inside source to your favorite agents.

Our next file is on Operation Gingersnap and none other than Agent Code name Mr. Kr, aka Connor Foley Turgenev, our snarky and hyperactive computer genius.

Connor gets hit with a blast from the past that he’d thought was long dead. Yoshi and the rest of Upper Management must scramble to save him before his situation turns dire.

In the meantime, will nearly losing Connor push our gentle giant of a Chef, Asbjorn Sternberg, to open himself up to Connor and truly be the Daddy and partner that Connor wants and needs? Or will he let injuries obtained while serving in the Norwegian Army fuel his self doubt?

Find out this and exciting news that might change the face of T.A.G.’s future in this next installment from the archives.

Excerpt

I had been fantasizing about the time I finally got Oz to bend me over his knee and spank me. It was during Yoshi’s promotion party. A few months after we’d gotten Dmitry back Dad promoted Yoshi to Mr. C. It wasn’t unusual to have two agents with the same rank/codename. It happened frequently in the lower ranks, but in upper management it was rare. This led to Yoshi being called Mr. C2 around HQ to avoid any confusion.

Dad wanted Yoshi to start learning more about management as soon as possible. He still wasn’t planning on stepping down for another few years, but he wanted to spend more time with Nigel than over paperwork. No one could blame him. I took the opportunity to get a little tipsy and tease Daddy.

We were in the main dining hall and the music was going, drinks were flowing. I enlisted the help of Karl and Ricky to add a dash of jealousy to my tease. I got them both stacks of ৳10 banknotes. The pink bills were perfect for stuffing in places they shouldn’t be. One of the DJs from The Black Dragon was there, and I had conspired with him earlier in the week to play a song for me. I practiced for weeks the routine I was going to do. I wasn’t the best dancer, but I could shake my butt. I was determined to Magic Mike the fuck out of Daddy and seduce him to my bed.

The song right before my song was almost over, and I climbed up on the table in the center of the hall. Oz was talking to Dad and Nigel and not paying any attention to me. That was about to change. I had on a clean white tank top and my black break away jogging pants with dark green briefs with white trim underneath. I had thought about wearing one of my lace booty shorts underneath, but I didn’t want all the other guards and agents to see what belonged to Daddy. I knew there was a fine line between naughty and disrespect.

The beat started slow and hard. My hips popped and my body rolled. My eyes locked on the hulking form still across the room. Whistles rent the air. My body dropped to the table, and I ground against the surface, popping my butt up and down. More people gathered around the table, both men and women, cheering and shouting. Pink, blue, and green bills spilled across the table. Daddy was standing at the end of the table with his arms crossed over his chest. They bulged and flexed under the baby blue shirt he wore. His hair was down, but half the side was braided against his skull in several braids and then left loose. There were a few braids in his luscious beard. He was a Viking god with black eyeliner and blue sparkled eye shadow that matched his t-shirt.

I hopped back up to my feet and whipped my tank top off, tossing it wherever. I rolled and thrust my way down the table. Daddy’s gaze burned through me the whole way down. I beat slow and spread my legs wide, crouching low as my hips continued to roll. I put my hands on my thighs and gripped the fabric tightly. I licked my lips and stared Daddy right in his crystalline blue eyes. We both knew what was coming next, and he slowly shook his head.

I thrusted up hard and ripped my pants off in one smooth motion as the music crested. The cheers got louder, and I twirled around. I bent over and twirked my squat booty right in Daddy’s face. I knew he wouldn’t miss the “Daddy’s” spelled out in white letters across my ass. Before I knew what was happening, I was spun around and flung over Daddy’s shoulder. Whistles and cheers followed us as Oz almost jogged out of the hall.

About the Author

A.G. Carothers is actually a dragon very cleverly disguised as a human. They are a non-binary author of LGBTQIA Romance and Urban Fantasy, who enjoys writing original and entertaining stories. They are very excited to share the worlds they’ve created with you.

A.G. currently lives in Tennessee with their platonic life partner, who is not a dragon. They yearn to live back in Europe and will some day. In their spare time they are addicted to losing themselves in the lovely worlds created by other authors

A.G. is committed to writing the stories they see in their head without restrictions. Love is blind and doesn’t see gender, race, or sexuality.

Author Links

Newsletter Sign-up

Website

Facebook

Readers Group

Twitter: @ag_carothers

BookBub

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway for the chance to win a $15 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Continue ReadingBLOG TOUR: “T.A.G. You’re Heard” by A.G. Carothers. $15.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included! See entry below:

BOOK BLAST: “Damaged Hearts” by Jan St. Marcus.

BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Damaged Hearts: The Boys of Venice Beach, Book 1

Author: Jan St. Marcus

Publisher: SBPRA (Paperback), Blue Ascot Media (eBook)

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, LGBTQ Romance, LGBTQ Fiction

Trope/s: Hurt/Comfort, First Time Gay

Themes: Rescue Me, Romantic Thriller

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 138 000 words/ 466 pages

It is Book 1 of a planned Series

Add on Goodreads

Tragic Pasts. Unexpected Love. Unseen Danger.

Blurb

When 19-year-old military veteran Brandon Hawkins is attacked on Venice Beach by a gang of frat boys, he is saved by Michael Angelo Curtis, a passer-by. Michel Angelo was roaming the boardwalk grieving the death of his twin brother six months earlier. The two men’s unexpected encounter forges a strong bond between the damaged and lonely men.

Inviting the homeless Bran to his place for some food and a shower, 25-year-old Michel Angelo finds himself drawn to the younger man. Neither of the men is gay. But before long, their friendship morphs into something like love and takes them both by surprise.

And they have something else in common: The frat boys are out for revenge.

Trailer Video

Buy Links:

Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N

Excerpt

BRANDON

But a little ways down, the pizza joint is just closing down. They have those ridiculously big slices of pizza and most people who don’t weigh at least three hundred pounds can’t finish their slices. Fuck the hot dogs. Half of a giant slice of pizza will do me just fine. Besides, trying to remember to say “catsup” instead of “ketchup” would make my brain hurt. And if I’m being honest, I do see the frat boy douchebags laughing and being all loud and douchey, but I really want to see if they’ll leave some of their slices uneaten. So I hang back a little and pretend to be looking for something on the ground. After about a minute or so, they drop their slices on the counter and start walking away. Score! I walk towards where they left their pizzas with my head down, like I haven’t noticed what they left for me. They’re about twenty feet away when one of them turns back and clocks me checking out their pizza. The fat one grabs the other one’s arm and points to me. I look up and see them seeing me seeing their pizza. Did that make sense? Fuck it. So anyway, as soon as they notice me, I kind of figure that they are going to be douchebags about their pizza, but I hold out hope. The fat one doesn’t need any more pizza, that’s for sure, but my stomach is getting the better of me, so I speed up a little bit. They’re closer and they return to the counter, beating me there by three steps.

Then the fat one, who seems to be the leader of this fucked-up pack of douchebags, picks up what’s left of his slice and lifts it up in my direction, like he’s offering it to me. Really? Maybe they aren’t such douchebags after all. I lift my eyes and start to smile. I’m going to thank him. I’m actually going to say “Thank you.” I do manage to smile as I approach because I realize that I haven’t said two words to anyone all day. He looks me in the eye and when I start to reach out my hand, he hocks a big ol’ lugey and splats it right on the pizza. Then he holds it out like I still want it. Okay, I know it’s probably gross, but I do still want it. His aim was pretty good and the glob of spit and snot has landed pretty much in the middle of the slice. But I could tear the pizza around the gross part and still have a pretty good amount of food. So I reach for it and he must have seen my eyes studying the pizza because he hocks another one and it lands on one of the good sides. He starts laughing and then his friends start laughing and they’re staring at me and laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Assholes.

I turn around, about to say, “Fuck my life” again when one of the other guys apologizes and offers me his piece. It’s not as big as the fat guy’s, but it still looks good to my hungry young ass. And I can’t believe I am so hungry that I start to walk back over and take it, but I do. You can probably guess that he does the same thing his leader does and hocks a lugey and spits on his piece, too. My stomach growls with as much anger as I am feeling and I turn around and start walking back towards the boardwalk. It’s going to be a long night.

Their laughing stops and I hear a deep voice talking to them. “Why would you do something like that? What kind of asshole do you have to be to fuck with someone who is obviously hungry?”

As I turn around, I see the fat guy step in front of the other guy, who is six inches taller, and the frat-boy leader guy speaks in this bullshit little sing-song voice: “What business is it of yours, asshole?”

The guy just stands there, hands by his sides, not seeming to be bothered by the fact that there are three of them. Then he laughs. He looks right at the fat-assed guy and laughs.

About the Author

Jan has been a professional writer since he 15 and got a job writing for a local paper in the Washington, D.C. area. Since that time, he has travelled the world and enjoyed a myriad of experiences, meeting interesting people and sharing epic experiences. He is currently a full-time professional photographer and completed his first novel, DAMAGED HEARTS, the first book in a series partially inspired by his experiences living and working in Venice Beach, California.

Author Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

Continue ReadingBOOK BLAST: “Damaged Hearts” by Jan St. Marcus.