BOOK TOUR - Ocean Park, By Michael Walsh

Book Title: Ocean Park
Author: Michael Park
Genre: Mystery with Minor Romance

BLURB:

All Detective Matt Conley ever wanted was to raise a family in Ocean Park with his stunning and ambitious wife Lisa. When a corpse is found in his church, Matt begins a journey that reveals corruption and decay in his city and deceit in his marriage. As he searches for the murderer of a local businessman, a gang war erupts for control of the city’s drug trade, and the body count rises. With his reluctant new partner, Detective Lloyd Kendricks, Matt weaves his way through the puzzling connections between street gangs, politicians, bikers, and a private kink club.

Will their unlikely alliance be enough to return Matt's beloved hometown to its halcyon days? And will he find the faith he needs to rebuild his crumbling marriage?

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EXCERPTS (Exclusive excerpt):

The whore opened the motel room door, the light snapped on, and Vithu clutched her collar, his fist full of red pleather and fake fur. Samay saw that the tattooed letters on the back of his mentor’s fingers spelled LOVE. The irony wasn’t lost on him—the whore suddenly sported a human-hand necklace that advertised her trade.

She almost escaped before Vithu slammed the door. In fact her hand was flat on the guest instructions—CHECKOUT AT 11:00. ICE MACHINE DOWN THE HALL. Samay and the eleven others, ethereal in a cloud of hash smoke, stood around a bed with a nappy ivory spread and watched Vithu trap the girl for bauk.

Bauk—the Cambodian practice of gang raping a prostitute, was the first initiation rite for the Ocean Park Asian Boyz. Samay found her surprise exciting, delicious, as if she’d stumbled onto her own party. But tonight the party was for him, and they were guaranteed privacy. Two Ocean Park policemen, paid off by Vithu, stood sentry outside the door, easy duty on a slow Monday night.

Seconds later the girl nodded, knowing her choices were rape or a beating—and then rape. Samay was glad. They’d already spent too much time waiting. Smoked a lot of hashish and drank sweet wine. Talked too much about gang fights and Pon, the legendary Asian Boyz gang leader traveling to Ocean Park from Long Beach.

Laughter rippled, surrounding the girl as she stripped with the resignation of a prisoner walking to the gallows. She lay on the sagging mattress. Pale skin peppered with freckles and moles. Samay was first, and though he was a stranger to white women and the company of others to so intimate an act, he had no trouble performing. His friends cheered, congratulated him when he was done, then jockeyed for their place in line. The girl’s musk and sweat mixed with the sweet smoke.

There was trouble once—a question of place in line, booze-fueled threats, shoving. Vithu stepped forward and surprised everyone with a vicious chop to an ear that knocked the troublemaker down and drew blood from a gash on his scalp. The Boyz candidates quieted.

The sex was exciting, but not the way he thought it would be. Camaraderie was the high, the laughter and joy of his new friends, the ones he was pledging his life to.

When Vithu helped himself to the girl and spread his other hand next to her head, Samay saw HATE tattooed on those fingers. Vithu was a strange man.

No matter. This was the greatest night of Samay’s young life.

Bauk was good.

Brotherhood was good.

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Michael Walsh attended Boston University, where he became a staffer for the Daily Free Press and earned a degree in journalism. His first professional job was at a public relations and advertising firm, writing press releases that appeared in the Boston Globe, Boston Herald, and New England Journal of Engineering. He later became a technical writer, writing and editing jet engine manuals for General Electric Aircraft Engines. GE relocated him to Cincinnati and Florida, where he currently resides. He’s written and studied fiction for years at BU, the University of Cincinnati, and now Jacksonville, where he won the First Coast Writers Festival short story contest and had work published in the UK’s Twisted Tongue and Askew Reviews. He’s an active member of the Bard Society, Florida’s longest-running writers’ workshop.

His five novels and dozens of short stories, most of them richly-layered mysteries, take place in New England. Mike and his wife Jean live in Florida with their three sons.


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BOOK TOUR - The Children of the Blessing, By Perry Morris

This was supposed to go up yesterday, but a glitch caused some issue so I am making sure it is up now.

About the Book
Title: The Children of the Blessing
Author: Perry Morris
Genre: Fantasy

When key events prophesied thousands of years ago finally take place, those who lust for power will do anything they must to take control—even if that means killing the children of the blessing. The children of the blessing have never met. Renn wanted to be a farmer and Avaris a warrior, but their birth and blessing set an ancient prophecy in motion that promises to shift the balance of power on he continent of Lemuria. The two boy’s dreams and innocence are shattered by those determined to influence the events to come and seize power for themselves. When loved ones are killed and homes destroyed, both boys must flee from horrifying creatures and powerful magic users. Renn has to cross the continent to reach the safety of Elder Island where he can receive training from the Lore Masters; Avaris decides to follow the evil creatures that have ruined his life to caves beneath the Cragg Mountains where the surviving members of his tribe have been forced into slave labor. The Grand Warlock, Kahn Devin, has determined that both boys will either join with him or die.

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Author Bio

I was born and raised in the greater Salt Lake City, Utah area. I am very happily married and have seven wonderful children and one grand-daughter. I work for a large, publically traded, international company in Provo, Utah, where I manage supplier management, procurement and packaging engineering functions.My first exposure to the great world of fantasy literature was, of course, J.R.R Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, when I was fourteen. After that I read the books of Patricia McKillap, Terry Brooks, David Eddings, Stephen R. Donaldson, etc...Currently my favorite author (besides myself--ha ha) is Brandon Sanderson. I love the unique and interesting magic systems he creates, the memorable characters and interesting stories. I amazed at how prolific a writer he is.I am an author every day for an hour during lunch. I actually began writing the Lemurian Chronicles in 1993, and after more than two decades of rewrites, editing, re-editing, etc... I finally decided my epic fantasy was ready for publishing. Don't worry; each additional installment will be released no more than eighteen months apart. I expect book II: Chaos Rising, to be available summer of 2016.

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Book Excerpt:

Tellio let out a low whistle and rubbed his hand absently over his bald head. “Well, well,” he said. “Where do you suppose they’re from, Kivas?” Kivas, and everybody else in the company, looked in the direction of the big man’s gaze to see a group of tall, beautiful women. They wore far less clothing than other women Renn had seen—a loose skirt, reaching mid-thigh, a cropped, sleeveless top that left their stomachs bare, covered by a sheer, light weight gown that fell just below their knees; their bodies were young, strong, and well proportioned. Their skin was tan, their hair long and full, and their eyes were big—that was noticeable even at a distance. Renn felt himself blush slightly and quickly averted his eyes. He noticed, as he looked away, that Genea was practically glowering at the beautiful foreigners.

“I think I’ll go ask them myself.” Tellio announced, twisting his waxed mustache to a tighter curl. “Care to join me, Kivas?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Everyone looked with surprise at Raven. Renn had almost forgotten the dark haired scout was still with them; he almost never spoke. Tellio hesitated for a moment then asked, “Why not?”

“Watch,” Raven replied as he pointed to a group of Nortian men who obviously had the same idea as Tellio, headed in the direction of the tall, captivating women. Like most Nortians, they were big men with unkempt, dark hair, and full black beards and no mustache. Four of them approached the scantily clad women, and although Renn couldn’t hear them for the crowd, he could tell that whatever the first man said to the women was not received very well. The three women didn’t even acknowledge the foul mouthed man. The big man who spoke grew red in the face, grabbed the nearest girl by the shoulder and swung her around. Tellio—and, oddly, Durham—started visibly at the aggression, and were about to shout across the throng of buyers at the overzealous Nortian, but their mouths dropped open in amazement before either could make a sound. As the Nortian swung the woman around, she let her arm arc with the momentum and hit him across the cheekbone with a knife hand strike. The man, shocked at the sudden attack, stumbled backward, then dropped to the ground as her bare foot came down on his knee.

“Great gods of light!” Kivas exclaimed, “If I didn’t see it I’d never believe it.” Tellio got a grin on his face, however, before he could tease Kivas about a Nortian being bested by a woman the man on the ground pulled himself up and drew his sword. Quick as a flash, the object of his attentions produced a small knife from underneath her light gown, and let it fly. The next thing Renn saw was the big Nortian grasping wildly at his neck as he fell, once again, to the ground. 

The companions of the unfortunate man recovered quickly from their initial shock, and warily drew their own weapons. Before anything more happened, however, a small dispatch of city guards surrounded the foreigners and took them into custody. 

“I see what you mean, Raven.” Tellio admitted.

Kivas asked, “Who were they?”

“You’re fellow countrymen, of course.” Sela Nadgit said, as he stopped his horse next to the front of the wagon that still carried Danu, Artio and Genea. Genea, Renn noticed, was now beaming with pride, whereas, a moment before she seemed upset at the strange women.

“I know who the men were, Sela, I want to know where those girls came from.”

It was Artio who answered, “Domeria. Probably from the jungle city of Tanith.”

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Links

Official Website:  www.perrymorris.net

Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00YZP85T4

COVER REVEAL - The Killer Contract Agency, By Jessica Samuels

BOOK TOUR - Hopebreaker, By Dean F. Wilson

Book Description:

In the world of Altadas, there are no more human births. The Regime is replacing the unborn with demons, while the Resistance is trying to destroy a drug called Hope that the demons need to survive.

Between these two warring factions lies Jacob, a man who profits from smuggling contraceptive amulets into the city of Blackout. He cares little about the Great Iron War, but a chance capture, and an even more accidental rescue, embroils him in a plot to starve the Regime from power.

When Hope is an enemy, Jacob finds it harder than he thought to remain indifferent. When the Resistance opts to field its experimental landship, the Hopebreaker, the world may find that one victory does not win a war.

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Excerpt:

The walls crashed down and the soldiers stormed in, replacing bricks with leather boots and stones with clenched fists. The dissonance died down, but the dust hung for endless moments, dimming the light and stinging the eyes. Yet Jacob did not need to see; he knew why they were here, what they had come for.

A figure, tall and broad, stepped into view, his hair and uniform as black as the long shadow he cast across the room. His fists were not clasped, but the anger was still there, pouring out of the cracks and crevices of his crooked face. Everyone could recognise him, even in darkness—especially in darkness. Everyone knew his name. Domas. Yet not everyone knew what he was.

“You are accused of smuggling amulets,” Domas said. He paced to and fro restlessly, until the very floor began to recognise him. The light from the oil lamp flickered on his face, creating and killing lots of little shadows. Those shadows made him look inhuman, but under any other light he looked like everybody else. Jacob remembered when he was first told about them by his father. They are like you and I. They walk among us.

“What evidence do you have?” Jacob asked, hoping they would not search the bookcase, hoping they would not scour his soul.

Domas drew close, seizing Jacob by the collar. “I don’t need evidence.”

Jacob parried Domas’ glower with his own. He felt like responding, like snapping or biting, even though he knew it would not help. It would make him feel better for the briefest of moments, and then, as the soldiers responded with their fists, it would make him feel much worse. The words of his father haunted him like a demon. In time they will replace us.

“Take him to the Hold,” Domas barked to one of his commanders. He turned to leave, but halted as something caught his eye. “Open your hand,” he ordered.

“It’s a bit late to shake it.”

“Open your hand,” Domas repeated. He did not need to give a warning. His tone gave enough.

Jacob offered his left hand, which was empty.

“A clown as well as a smuggler,” Domas said. “Your other hand.”

Jacob reluctantly loosened his grip on the tiny bag of coils he was holding, his all too meagre payment for smuggling an amulet into the city. Domas snatched it from his grasp.

“You won’t be needing this,” he said. “In the Hold, the rent is free.”

The soldiers seized Jacob and pulled him outside, where a mechanised wagon waited, one of the many vehicles the Regime used to transport its forces—and its prisoners.

In moments Jacob was hauled up and hurled into the back of the warwagon, where he banged his head against the iron walls. He heard the cogs and pistons start up, and he heard the roar of the furnace and the rhythm of the wheels.

The smell of coal and smoke filled his nostrils and seeped into his lungs, until finally he faded off into a halfway place between the waking world and dreams, where he imagined what things might have been like if the demons had not come here, if the Regime had not gained power.

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Bio:

Dean F. Wilson was born in Dublin, Ireland in 1987. He started writing at age 11, when he began his first (unpublished) novel, entitled The Power Source. He won a TAP Educational Award from Trinity College Dublin for an early draft of The Call of Agon (then called Protos Mythos) in 2001.

He has published six novels to date, and is working on several others.

Dean also works as a journalist, primarily in the field of technology. He has written for TechEye, Thinq, V3, VR-Zone, ITProPortal, TechRadar Pro, and The Inquirer.

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