Chelsea Camaron – Page 3

Chapter Reveal ~ Use Me ~ by ~ MJ Fields & Chelsea Camaron

Title: Use Me

Series: Caldwell Brothers

Author: MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron

Genre: Sports Romance

Release Date: March 21, 2017

Use Me

Caldwell Brothers 4

Written By

MJ Fields

And

Chelsea Camaron

This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

New York Times Bestselling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard-hitting nonfiction to romance.

But first, she must find a muse.

Angelo has no desire to form relationships, when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six-foot-five, long-haired, tattooed, dangerous-looking man on his ass.

Will he be able to resist the temptation? Or will he allow her to use him?

*** This is a full-length, standalone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, though it is recommended. ***

Chapter One

Legacy Gym

Present day

I look around the gym. The walls are black and mirrored, the floor is black cement covered in red mats. The back wall, where all our daily equipment is stored, is covered floor to ceiling in black lockers. Hand wraps, gloves, medicine balls, headgear, nut cups, first-aid equipment, and clothing that have our logo on them.

Our logo. I am a part of something. There was a time in the not so distant past when I wasn’t sure I would ever be anything. There are still days I couldn’t give a shit less if I do.

To the left are sparring mats and a few pieces of cardio equipment. To the right are free weights, a few high-end weight training machines, five heavy bags, seven speed bags, and five timing bags. In the middle is where I prefer to spend my time and energy. The cage.

I look at the large clock hanging above the doorway to our office. Nine-thirty at night. That means I have been here for thirteen and a half hours.

Eight hours would send a normal man my age running home to his family, to a hot meal, or to a bar where he could have a drink and relax with his friends. I am not a normal man.

Normal men don’t have blood on their hands, and if they do, they have it with remorse in their hearts, or the blood came from fighting a greater cause. The blood on my hands came from an anger that took control, from the rage within me, a rage that still controls me.

“Put one foot in front of the other. Stand tall and proud. Make the decision that you are both of those things and never let them think any differently. You are a good man, a good kid. Your past doesn’t define you; your present and future do.”

Shaw, my father’s oldest and closest friend, words ring inside my head as I look at the picture of him, Jagger, and I hanging on the wall, illuminated by bright white up-lighting.

If only putting one foot in front of the other wasn’t so hard. The weight of the world is heavy on my neck, making holding my head high almost impossible.

Shaw believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Now Shaw is gone.

After killing the lights and locking the doors, I let out a breath and walk toward the door in the back left-hand corner of the gym that leads to my apartment upstairs.

I stand in the apartment above Legacy, a gym that Jagger Caldwell and I inherited. A gym that trains people like me. It was willed to us when Shaw’s fight with cancer ended.

I suppose he did it to make sure his promise to his best friend, my father, was kept. He made sure I had something, an income, a place to live—a piece of something tangible while I served out my parole sentence for a crime I committed eight years ago.

Honestly, it feels more like a curse, a cage, a confined space, than a new beginning.

My body aches. It’s bruised and sore, all feelings I not only accept, but embrace. The harder I push myself, the more men I get in the cage with to train, the more hits I take, the closer I get to controlling the fury that simmers just beneath a boiling point inside my soul.

I walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the distressed mirror above the small sink that is rust-stained from the constant drip of a faucet that I keep telling myself I will fix, but I have no intention or desire to do so.

I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and turn toward the shower to start the water. It takes a good five minutes for it to heat enough for my liking, and while I wait, I brush my teeth and open the cabinet.

I stare at the last bottle of pain meds prescribed to Shaw. I pocketed them after he died when the rage became worse. It is a battle of wills to tame the beast inside me. Waking up and looking in the mirror, knowing what I did and why I did it.

I twist off the childproof cap and count as I dump the pills out into my hand. Twelve. I have twelve nights left to sleep, and then the nightmares will ensue. I make a mental note to space the pills out to every third day. I can do without sleep for that long, no more.

I let them fall one by one back into the bottle, except one, as I feel my exhausted body become tense again. Anxiety is starting to creep in, so I take the last pill in my hand, toss it in my mouth, and swallow it down.

Before the pill’s effects kick in, I get in the small shower and bend so the water falls over my head instead of hitting the middle of my shoulders. When the water starts to run cold and I feel a bit drowsy, I step out, towel my hair lightly, and then drop it to the floor, allowing my body to air dry. Then I look up at my reflection and see a man who looks much older than his twenty-five years.

My eyes, once bright green and alive, are now dead and unreflective of feeling. My hair, once cut close to my scalp by my father’s own hand, is now well past my shoulders and a mess of brown waves. It’s only down after a shower or bedtime; otherwise, it is always tied up in a knot on the back of my head. I don’t have any damn desire to go to the barber. That would mean I would have to talk to someone. I’m functioning just fine here without making those types of connections, and there is no appeal in changing that up.

I run my hand over my beard. It’s been three days since I last groomed. I shave every fourth or fifth day, but never down to the skin.

I am six-foot, five-inches of intimidation. I weigh in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds of muscle, and my skin is covered in black prison ink. I have no desire for anyone to look at me and become confused as to who I am. No desire to have someone look at me and want to know more about me, or who I was. I have no desire for anything but the occasional release I can get anywhere. All I have to do is force a smile and say a word or two in order to get that need met.

My appearance is intimidating. It keeps people away. I’m not trying to give off the illusion that I’m unapproachable. Illusion would imply it wasn’t real.

It is real.

I am Michelangelo Mazzini. I was once called a saint by my peers, my teachers, and anyone who knew me.

Not anymore.

Now I am known as Kid.

I lay on the king-sized mattress that sits in the middle of the floor and stare at the ceiling, waiting, waiting, waiting for sleep to take me. The numbness that is my life isn’t holding me back. Rather, it’s my mind that won’t turn off, waiting for the next move.

I try not to close my eyes on my own. I wait for exhaustion and the drugs to do the work for me. Otherwise, I will be fighting a losing battle.

Chapter Two

Tatum

“Tatum, this is not what’s selling anymore. We need something …” Melanie pauses as she sighs.

Melanie and I have been friends since I sat next to her in a Shakespearian literature class we both enrolled in as an elective while attending Columbia for our Masters’ programs. Hers was in the classics; mine was in religion and journalism.

She loved fiction,a story you could get lost in, and I loved nonfiction, a story that didn’t allow you to run from your boring life, but showed you a life that you could get lost in and know it was real. Fairy tales were never meant to be believed in. They are stories written to scare children into behaving or else, so why waste time on them? Show them how to cope, what to avoid, and maybe a story that inspires them to do the right thing of their own accord.

She is the yin to my yang, the spring to my fall, the day to my night. The point is, she’s the lost-in-her-head kind of daydreaming chick, whereas I am the one who wants to get lost in reality to avoid getting lost in my head, and worse yet, believing that shit is even possible.

I am sure she has no other writers like me on staff. I am sure of this because one night, over drinks at Hotel Empire, she told me so. She told me in the sweetest way she could that I was my own worst enemy. That I had talent in abundance and was just too stubborn for my own good, and that if I were anyone other than “the Tatum” that played her Romeo a couple years ago, gaining us both an A in that godforsaken class, she would have walked away a long time ago.

We are opposites in our views on life, but who we are on the inside isn’t much different from the other. Both of us left our hometowns, knowing we were destined for greater things. And unlike most, we are willing to work our asses off to become. It landed us both in New York City, a city where we knew no one and no one knew us. A city that I swear wants to eat up young girls’ dreams and spit them back in your face.

Nothing about here is easy. What it is, though, is real. It’s gritty, it’s hard, and it’s all-consuming. If you can live here, you can live anywhere. Mark my words.

I know she could walk away at any moment, but Melanie would never. Even if she should run and not look back, that’s not who she is. It’s not who we are together.

We are forever friends, through thick and thin. The type of friends who you could talk to once every six months and pick up right where you left off. Though, in reality, we may go weeks without speaking due to work, but we have never gone more than a month at the most. She is my soul sister, and I am hers.

A few years ago, Melanie took an internship at a mid-sized literary agency, and I took off to write a story that would rock the world. I gave her, A View from Home, a novel about the foster care system in our country, and she went over the head of the man she worked for who said, “It wasn’t good enough” and emailed it to a company contact at Random House Publishing, where they not only bought the book, but hired her that day.

She became a junior editor at Random House, and I became a novelist. She became a senior editor when my first book put me on the New York Times Bestseller list. The subsequent three novels hit the list as well. Acclaimed awards, Wall Street Journal, and we were both riding a high of dreams coming true.

I can hear as she taps her long fingernails on her glass top desk, and then I hear the bell go off inside her head.

“Raw.”

“I’m giving you raw. I’m giving you real. I am giving you what people go through every day,” I tell her, trying to keep my annoyance at bay. After all, she is trying to help me.

“The market has shifted, Tatum. What’s selling is not this.”

I hear a thud and am certain it’s the manuscript I sent her. She prefers e-mail; I don’t.

“Then I’ll self-publish,” I threaten, and she audibly hisses into the phone, saying nothing.

This is new territory for us both. I love Melanie. I love working with her. Unlike the horror stories I hear about publishers washing out an author’s voice in edits, she doesn’t do that to my work.

“You still there?” I ask.

“I am,” she says firmly then pauses. I hear a door shut, then her heels click across the floor before she sighs out, “Please, Tatum. Please give me something that will blow the roof off this place. I know you have it in you. I know you do. Just let it happen.”

“Do you need this, Melanie?” I ask, wondering why she suddenly wants to mold my work into a completely different realm than I have ever written.

“Yes. Yes, I do. We both do.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of her world and my own landing firmly on my shoulders. “Okay, give me two months.”

“One,” she says, her edge returning.

“You have to push, don’t you?” I half-laugh.

“You taught me how,” she returns with a smile in her voice.

“Talk later.” I start to end the call.

“Wait! It has to be hot, Tatum. I need your voice, but bring the damn heat.”

“Melanie …”

“You’re gonna need to put yourself out there.”

“Meaning?” I have no idea why I ask when I know damn well what she is getting at.

“When’s the last time you actually got your peach plucked?”

“That’s none of your business,” I say with no intention of answering her, especially when she uses words like “peach plucked.” That’s up there with “moist” in words I would rather not use or hear reference to in sexual situations.

“You need to go find yourself a sexy, suit-wearing mogul,” she suggests.

“I’m in Detroit, Mel.” I sigh. “Remember, I was going to show the times in Motor City. A whole look back and look forward.”

I hear her nails tapping her keyboard. I know damn well she’s googling where to find the perfect place for inspiration.

“Get your ass to Texas.”

“I’m here for a month.” I stand with my phone in my hand, looking out the hotel window at what I know from pictures was once a beautiful city.

The river is mucky, the boats decrepit, and the cracked sidewalks once were beautiful. Detroit was something a long time ago.

“Right,” she sighs. “You can’t change your plans for the eye candy and your best friend?”

I laugh. “Melanie, this is all set up. Money spent, timelines sorted. I’m willing to think outside the box and shift my focus, but I can’t uproot my plans and still feel like I’m not insane.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes.

“Goodnight, Melanie.”

“Goodnight, Tatum,” she says with a softness in her tone that is without a doubt caused by the stress I just alleviated.

Hers is gone, and mine has returned. Yin and yang. Night and day. We are never on the same page, but the balance is and always has been there.

I sit down on the chair next to the small table by the window, grab the glass of sweet red wine I had just poured, and take a drink. It’s sweet, crisp and, God willing, it will help me sleep tonight.

I drink the entire glass, and then pour another before reaching across the table to grab the manila folder and drag it closer to me. I look through the pictures from the 1950s: the new buildings, the finely-dressed people on the streets, the cars. The streets were full of them, all shiny and new. Detroit used to be spectacular. I know it was; the proof is in the pictures. But it is not anymore.

All that glitters does not always remain gold.

All that once was beautiful doesn’t remain so.

All that was lost will not necessarily be found.

Time does not stand still.

I stand up and stretch my neck as I walk over and grab my laptop, carrying it back to the table and opening it up. Then I click on the new document and title it:Mommy Porn.

“To new beginnings,” I toast the air then take a sip.

There is a saying in the writing industry: “write drunk and edit sober.” I guess I will give it a try tonight.

Sweet Jesus, am I really going to do this?

For Melanie, I will.

New York Times best selling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard hitting nonfiction to romance writing.

But first she must find a muse.

Angelo has no desire to form relationships with anyone around him. But when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six foot five, long haired, tattooed, dangerous looking man, on his ass.

Will he be able to resist the temptation, or will be allow her to use him.

***This is a full length stand alone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, but it is recommended.***

USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields write books that scorch pages and melt hearts.

Her style is raw, gritty and authentic.
Love an alpha and a strong heroine? She does too.

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Release Tour ~ Coal ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

Title: Coal

Series: Regulators MC #3

Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: February 28, 2017

Cover Model is Jacob Wilson

Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog

Cover Design by Mina Carter

She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?

“I loved everything about Coal’s story! The drama, the violence, the sexy times!” – MJ’s Book Blog and Reviews

“Coal is worth more than five stars! I can’t wait to see what’s next in the Regulators MC series!” – Reader Review

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Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.

HOSTED BY:

Chapter Reveal ~ Coal ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

Title: Coal

Series: Regulators MC #3

Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: February 28, 2017

Cover Model is Jacob Wilson

Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog

Cover Design by Mina Carter

Coal (Regulators MC 3)

Chapter Excerpt

Written by:

Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane

This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.

Please Note: The following excerpt is subject to change in final edits.

~Coal~

She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?

Prologue

The pounding in my head continues to assault my ears. Chad’s party last night was epic, and my head is making sure to remind me of the good time I had.

Bang.

Thump.

Thump. Bang. Thump. Bang.

The rhythm is now unsteady.

“Trevor wake your ass us right the fuck now!” My dad yells in his Army Ranger voice that has me immediately up and at attention by my bed.

Shit, why is my dad yelling? This tone is reserved for the major fuck ups.

Making my way to the door, I don’t bother to put on clothes and exit in my boxers. Immediately, I’m met with the brick wall that is my dad. We’re about the same height and of similar build. Only my dad has seen war, has scars and quite honestly scares the shit out of me.

“Turn around and put some clothes on. Then you get downstairs and face the shit storm you’ve caused. Two minutes, or I drag you down and let them see you in your naked glory, I don’t give a damn.”

He gives me a slight shove back into my room while my vision blurs and the chalky taste in my mouth only makes me wish I had time to grab a glass of water. His instructions were clear and precise. I won’t press my luck with the Ranger. Quickly tossing on my sweats and a t-shirt I rush downstairs only to stop midway. There is no way I’m going to be any longer than necessary, not with the mood he is in this morning. No sir.

The sight in front of me is like a punch to my hungover already ready to puke gut.

My girlfriend, Amber, stands at the bottom of the stair case with tears in her eyes with her parents flanking her on either side. The girl I have spent every spare moment with for the last few months doesn’t look like the lively, beautiful young woman I’m used to seeing. No, she looks a mess, hurt, broken, and could it possibly be she’s ashamed. Her mother’s eyes are swollen from crying and her father …

His face is murderous. What the hell is going on?

I shake my head trying to sort out why they’re here. Why my girlfriend looks like the world has crumbled at her feet. More so, why she’s brought this to my doorstep.

“Trevor,” my father barks harshly making me jump while I complete my descent and hit the bottom step. “Ass – couch – now.” He commands me before looking to the other family. “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, Amber, please head into the living room so we can address this matter.”

Matter? What could be wrong? I haven’t seen Amber in three days. She said she had the flu. We’ve been dating six months. Three weeks ago, she finally gave it up at a party at her best friend, Kiki’s house. Nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. We haven’t had much time together. I know I was drunk, she was drunk, so it wasn’t some romantic thing. In fact, once I got inside her tight pussy, I had to fight not to blow my load with the first thrust. I didn’t last long, but I told her next time would be better. I tried to make it good. I even held her afterward knowing it was her first time.

I sit while my mind races.

“Trevor,” my mom says my name gently while I look up into her dark eyes and see pain. “Amber’s family tell us that something occurred a couple of weeks ago,” she starts only to be interrupted.

“You fucking piece of shit got my daughter drunk and raped her!” Mr. Bridges roars lunging at me only to be held back by my dad who easily towers a good six inches over the man.

My mother rushes to my side, her long black hair hitting me in the arm. She’s Native American and I get my dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin from her. My height of six feet seven inches comes from my beast of a father.

“We need to discuss this,” my mother says to the Bridges.

“Nothing to discuss,” Mrs. Bridges replies. “Graduation is in two weeks, we want to see Trevor gone. Amber will have enough of a reminder for the next nine months of what’s happened to her. After the kids graduate, Trevor gets out of town for school or the military, or we go to the police and press charges.”

“Press charges?” I scream and run my hands through my hair as sharp pains assault my head. “For what?”

“Rape!” Mr. Bridges yells back.

Tears hit me. I’m seventeen years old. One night at a party where I swear she said yes leaves me in this kind of mess.

“I didn’t,” I gasp and try to get out the words, only I make the mistake of looking into Amber’s eyes. The fear, the pain, the sadness, and the desolation are all writing in her features as she shakes her head at me. “I didn’t do that.” I can’t even say the word.

My mother grips my arm in support. “Let’s sit down and talk this through.”

We back up and sit on the couch where my father releases Mr. Bridges and paces behind us. The Bridges’ take their seats on the loveseat and chair. Amber refuses to make eye contact any further with me.

“Were you at a party two weekends ago with Amber?” Mr. Bridges starts his interrogation.

I nod.

“Were you drinking?”

I nod.

“Do you understand that the legal drinking age in the United States is twenty-one?” He continues to fire questions at me. “Do you understand that an underage girl being intoxicated is not of the right mind to give consent to sexual activities? Do you understand the pain you’ve caused our daughter? Do you understand the ramifications of your actions?”

“Sir,” I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I fight back emotions. “I understand the legal drinking age. I understand that while yes, I was intoxicated, your daughter was an equal participant. So no, sir, I do not understand the ramifications of my actions.” I fight back the urge to puke.

My father’s hand comes to the back of my head. “Since your mother and I failed to make a man out of you. The Army will.” He clips out. “Trevor will be signing enlistment papers today and be gone within thirty days time.”

Mr. Bridges rises to extend his hand to my father to shake. “We appreciate your attention to the matter and easing the burden for Amber. We’ll be in touch about the future.”

Amber stands with her mother never once looking at me as she exits, while I can’t help but fear what my future holds and my mind tries to grasp what they’re saying.

I didn’t do it. I didn’t take advantage of her.

Two years later, I finish selection to become a Green Beret. The badass of the badasses. One of the elite. I remember in the selection process, while trying to mentally survive one obstacle to the next, someone said, “Hell is a fictional place. When you’re done here it’ll seem like a fucking sanctuary.”

He was both right and wrong. Finishing selection was the most grueling thing I’ve ever done, but I had already seen hell.

Hell was your girlfriend saying you raped her when she turned up pregnant. Hell was getting a letter she lost the baby before summer was over. Hell was knowing her life went on while I couldn’t figure out if my memories of that night were teenage fantasies or reality.

Hell was living day in and day out haunted by an event you aren’t sure really happened.

Chapter One

Coal

“Ropa Vieja,” I order my shredded beef while Ice looks over his menu beside me. Without having to watch him I know what Ice is doing – scanning the restaurant. Taking in the colorfully painted booths and wood stained stables while checking to make sure there is no threat in here to us. To men like us, it’s second nature to make sure your area is free of danger.

“Arroz con pollo,” he gives the waitress his chicken order.

With a nod, she takes off to the back, weaving in and out of the tables, leaving me with one of the few people who I consider family sitting in front of me.

“It’s been three years, brother.” Ice meets my stare and doesn’t back down. “Madyson is good. She’s working through it.”

I pause and give it to him honest, “you really think someone works through something like that?”

“Watching her, I know they do.”

His statement does nothing to ease my fears.

“You got a thing for my wife’s sister, Coal?” He asks the question everyone seems to wonder. “Look me in the eye and tell me. If you do, I’m not gonna judge. Not sayin’ I’ll be happy either, but you need to buck up, Coal.”

“Fuck no, I’m old enough to be her damn dad.” I am angry he can even think this. “You know me better than that.”

“Then why since the day we got her back, you’ve made it your mission to make sure she moves beyond this. Hell, Coal, you’ve paid for her college like she’s your fucking kid.”

I glare at him. “No one is supposed to know that. As far as she goes, Morgan goes, or the damn Pope goes, you pay her way through school. Drop the subject.”

“Easier said then done, brother.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Got ghosts,” I reply as the waitress drops our plates in front of us.

It’s all I’m going to give him. My personal life, my hell, is not his business. I have the means now to find Amber. I don’t. I made a vow to my father the day I signed my enlistment papers to let the Army make a man out of me. I promised I would let Amber go and live her life free of me. Since the moment I took my oath, I haven’t looked into her. I won’t. The baby is gone. There is nothing for me to talk to her about without bringing up what is one bad fucking memory.

When Madyson was found, I promised her I would be by her side to make sure she could move on in life. I made a vow to leave Amber alone, good or bad. I had to keep my word. I wouldn’t let Madyson be alone, though, no I gave her my word to be her support.

And I have.

Ice raises his hands in surrender knowing I’m done talking about Madyson. “For now, I don’t have to kick your ass.”

“Forever,” I clip back meaning it. I do care about the well being of Madyson, but not in the way he thinks.

Three years ago Madyson was kidnapped, drugged and raped by men who were operating a sex slavery ring out of the Miami area. The Regulators had already taken notice of the number of women who were going missing, but it became personal when Ice’s daughter, Brooke’s best friend, Madyson, became one of those missing women.

Our club went in undercover, starting a business relationship with the man we thought was running the ring. I had to do some despicable shit to prove the Regulators were genuinely interested, such as fuck two of their drugged-up whores, but in the end it had been worth it because we got Madyson back.

Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to help other people. I have no problem doing that. I also have no problem with the black strokes each offense leaves on my soul after doing them. I am coming to realize there isn’t much of a soul left in me anyways. The way I prove to myself that I actually am some sort of decent human being is by doing things such as putting Madyson through school. Giving one girl the chance that I had inadvertently taken from another so many years ago.

It’s one of those things I don’t need to explain to a single soul. It’s between me and whatever higher power I choose to believe in today.

With our meals in front of us, we eat and spend the rest of our time in companionable silence. Brett ‘Ice’ Grady is one of my long time friends. He’s also not one to press me for words. Even if he did, he wouldn’t get them. My past is my own and it’s not something anyone needs to know.

I left Trevor Blake behind the day I enlisted in the United States Army. My black heart is dark as coal they say and earned me my name in the Green Beret’s where I met, Ice, Shooter, and Hammer. I kill without question. I sleep without dreams. And even all these years later, I still wonder if no was yes or somehow yes was no. It eats at me. It’s my penance to pay. I won’t bother her, I won’t dredge up the history for Amber. I let it be the gray area in life and determined that my future would be black and white forever. I no longer leave anything to chance or a misunderstanding.

Our phones ping at the same time, the text is from Screech, our tech man, and it’s a simple one-word statement.

Mission.

We have orders, time to finish up here and meet everyone at the club to see exactly what Uncle Sam has in store for our undercover group next.

Regulators Motorcycle Club, a brotherhood of military men with a job that is a special skillset. One that walks a line between right and wrong. We’re always one second away from going too far.

I have nothing to lose. I’m more than okay with it all.

Some of the other men in our club, such as Ice and Hammer, have everything to lose. Ol’ ladies, families. That’s not me. I have nothing to tie me down and not one fucking thing to lose.

My father died ten years ago from a heart attack. Now my mom lives alone. I help her out when it comes to making sure her bills are paid, but I can’t make myself face her in person. I’m afraid all I’ll see is shame in her eyes from the things in my past.

As I walk out of the restaurant behind Ice I see a familiar face. She goes by the street name Precious and is one of the whores I use when I need to get off. I don’t do many repeats, but Precious is one of the few that I have gone to more than once because she’s always clean, pretty, and I know she has a kid she’s trying to support on her own.

Sauntering over to me she purrs, “Hey baby. Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to go get a room?”

I shake my head. “Got somewhere to be Precious. You hittin’ on me because you want my dick or because you need to pay a bill?”

Her eyes flash in humiliation and I know it’s the latter. Pulling out my wallet I take out a hundred dollar bill and put it in her hand. “Take this and I’ll see you when I can.”

I walk away, not wanting to hear her thanks. I’m not the sort of man anyone should thank for anything. Seeing her desperate like that makes me wonder about my mom. It makes me worry if she needs more money from me or not. She’s stubborn and doesn’t like to take the ‘handouts’ I give her. Instead she would rather earn it at the little garden shop she works at. I’ll have to have Screech hack into her bank account and check things out for me.

My parents might have believed that I was a disappointment of a son because of what happened. Since the day I left to join the Army I still remember all the lessons my father taught me. Taking care of your family was one of those lessons. Whether my mom likes it or not, I’m going to check in on her soon to make sure she’s got everything she needs. If that means paying her bills for her behind her back, then that’s what I’ll do.

Throwing my leg over my bike, I start her up and rev the engine. Ice is already moving so I head out after him. I have no idea what the mission is yet, but I’m ready for it.

I feel that familiar need to fight, get my hands bloody. Release some of the rage I hold inside of my body twenty-four hours a day. I’m just hoping this mission gives me the chance to make someone the mangled mess I am inside.

Paisley

“Girl, you’re on fire!” I tell the air around me as I dance around my loft apartment getting ready for my day. Self-talk, it’s working wonders. “Dance, Paisley, dance, no one is here to see.” I shake my bootie and swirl around the kitchen making my morning smoothie. The space is open and airy, so I can twirl and shimmy my ass anywhere I please to go from the living room to the kitchen. For now, I stay in the kitchen as I start to drink my smoothie and bounce my hips from side to side.

In the last few years, I’ve changed my routine to start my day with as much pep as I can conjure. When everything is taken from you in a blink, it’s hard to rebalance.

Within thirty minutes, I’m at the gym for yoga. Walking through the front doors, I have my earbuds in and my music up, jamming in my mind. Looking down, I am stopped abruptly when I feel two firm hands grip my shoulders stopping me just inches from his chest.

Scotty.

While the man has muscles on top of muscles he’s an ego-maniac. I’m sure most women do swoon over him, but ‘man grunts’ and flexing don’t do it for me.

“Paisley, baby, gotta be careful.”

“Sorry,” I mutter knowing I need to pay attention.

“Make it up to me, take me to dinner tonight.” He sort of commands in the way Scotty does.

I reach up and pat his pectoral muscle to which he makes it jump in what I assume to be a way to impress me. “Scotty, at least twice a week you tell me to take you to dinner.” I sigh. “It’s getting old, buddy. Women want to be whisked away, swept off their feet, ya know,” I look up into his green eyes, “romance, buddy, romance.”

He cups my chin with his first finger and thumb, “Paisley, this ain’t no fairytale. You can have a night or two with a man like me, gotta take the leap, baby.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “you really think that works?”

“You have no idea,” he smirks and I’ve had enough. Jerking my head back, I step to the side and around the behemoth.

“Not happening, Scotty, go have another protein shake.” I say without looking back at him.

I make my way front the front entrance of the gym, passing a few isolated exercise rooms to the door that leads into the women’s locker room. Desirae, who is one of my closest friends is already putting her stuff in a metal locker when I walk in.

We met when she came to Miami after the death of her sister. She still visits North Carolina regularly but for the most part her life is in South Beach with her man, Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. They’re cute together in that ‘get a room’ kind of face sucking way.

Des is easy-going and doesn’t judge a soul. It’s why we get along so well.

She takes one look at my face before automatically speaking, “Scotty, again?”

“Yup. Des, is it really bad to think romance is dead?”

She laughs. “Honey, I live with a biker. Depends on your definition of romance.”

I sit on the bench rather than tuck my stuff away. “I want to be knocked on my butt. When cupid nails me with his arrow, I’m gonna be swept away. It’s not something I’ll find on a date, it’s something that’s going to spark and then go BOOM.” I raise my hands dramatically.

“You do realize it doesn’t necessarily work that way, right?”

“You and your logic. Okay so for most people it may not, but for me that’s how it’ll be. The stars will align and something will happen sending me barreling into the man of my dreams life and instantly there will be fireworks. I know it.”

She closes her locker before picking up my phone and towel to toss them in the locker beside hers.

“Fireworks, those can happen for a lot of reasons, Paisley.” She smiles and takes me by the hand to pull me from my perch on the bench. “I love you to death, but you are the craziest woman I know. Maybe a little meat in you would take the edge off?” She jokes to which I just sigh loudly.

“Meat in me, huh? That’s gonna solve all my problems.” We both laugh and make our way to class. Exiting through the other side of the women’s locker room, we walk through the heart of the gym filled with various exercise machines until we reach the yoga classroom in the back.

An hour session later, love, fireworks, romance, and all thoughts of my morning are gone. No, the meditation, the focus, the calm is all back in place. I’m balanced. Rejuvenated.

My shift at the grocery store begins on a register. Beep, beep, slide the cans with a smile, its my job. I count items or sing songs in my head to entertain myself as I ring up my customer.

“Paisley,” the produce manager calls my name getting my attention.

“Yes, sir.”

“Flip your light. Finish that one then you gotta work organic today, Paul called in.”

I nod my head and do as I’m told.

Bin by bin, I go through the vegetables and fruits making sure to discard any that are going bad and refill low stock.

“Can you believe they want over a dollar more for this organic crap?” A lady says to her friend.

“Half of it still has dirt on it,” her friend chimes in. I should probably mind my own business, but they are missing out on some good foods by their assumptions.

“While I can understand one’s aversion to the dirt, please understand that once rinsed in tap water the metal and mineral components in all water speed the process therefore the food rots at a faster rate. Organic does cost some more because the rate in which a store loses the produce is higher since they aren’t packed full of preservatives which settle in your gut and make for a slow moving digestive system. And the dirt you visibly see is simple the covering provided in nature to slow oxidation and keep the air off the fruit or vegetable.” Immediately, I regret speaking. I switched majors in college and finished with a degree in Horticulture. Plant life, studying it, exploring it, well it’s the only thing I could make sense of after facing loss of real people’s lives.

“Thanks for the science lesson,” the woman cuts me off and I draw back at her tone. My intention wasn’t to offend but to explain.

Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to work deciding not to press my luck.

I made a decision five years ago to live a simplified life as much as I can and be conscious of my decisions for both my body and my environment. I lost everything by being careless and I won’t do that again. The regrets kept me up at night for far too long. I try to remain focused and centered in my every thought, word, and action.

I even considered going off the grid living, but soon realized my fear of bugs and my height leave me at a strong disadvantage to making a go at it. Plus, living in South Beach there isn’t really a whole lot of possibilities for that lifestyle.

Instead, I live in a one room loft style apartment, drive a Prius, and eat a mostly natural diet. Like the women beside me, the life isn’t for everyone. Modern day conveniences come at a price to our bodies and environment, but it’s my choice and I can’t push it on everyone.

They push their carts on by without buying anything organic and I go about straightening up.

My shift ends and I find my mood to be lacking. Sadness, an emotion I was once all too familiar with encompasses me.

Depression.

I remind myself I won’t go there again. I’ve cleaned up my life. No demons haunt me anymore. Today was not the best day, but it wasn’t the worst.

I have dealt with the worst. Now I have my crystals, my diet, and my lifestyle to keep my energies refocused to the positive and not into the darkness. I lost a lot, yes, but I haven’t lost it all.

Not everyone can understand me. I don’t take it personally. The choices I make are for me and me alone.

It’s hard to keep it in perspective. Living a clean life allows me to not lose sight of the blessings I have. For me, keeping my diet away from processed foods isn’t about being skinny, it’s about not clogging my heart, my pores, or my mind with junk. Yoga, balances both the mind and the body. It wasn’t until I immersed myself in this lifestyle that I found peace.

I gather my things from the break room and make my way to my car. Distractedly, I pull out into traffic trying to forget my past and stay in my current.

The alarm on my phone goes off reminding me it’s time for a snack. Reaching over to my passage seat cooler, I take out an apple. We eat for sustenance not for hunger. By maintaining a healthy glucose, I don’t feel the hunger pains and keep my body and my mind on a regimented schedule. My mind can’t become distracted and my emotions won’t run in a panic if I continually eat in small portions. Again, it’s about control for me.

The light ahead turns red and I take my foot off the gas and decompress the brake. Lifting the green fruit to my mouth, I bite, feeling the bitter of the granny smith apple hit my taste buds I close my eyes briefly in appreciation.

That’s when the bump happens.

Throwing the apple over my shoulder, I look up to see a huge man on a motorcycle look over his shoulder at me as my bumper has clearly pushed into his rear tire.

Oh heavens, what have I done?

He pushes the kick stand down as I throw the car in park, slap on my hazard lights and open my door.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” I say rushing to him.

Before me stands a stunningly tall bald man whose aura screams sex. He has one of those seriously killer beards that you sort of want to pet because it’s so fabulous. It accentuates his strong face and tan skin. His long legs are covered in jeans that hug his tree trunk thighs, and his feet clad in some serious looking ass kicking boots. A black shirt covers his chest underneath his leather vest with patches all over it and the whole visual strikes me as an intimidating figure. His dark eyes stare right through me as I look at him. ‘Coal’ sits on the left side of his vest, over his heart. ‘Vice President’ lays opposite the name on his right side. The rest of his vest has a bunch of different patches with different cities and sayings. Is this a biker in the same club as Desirae’s man?

He shakes his head. “You okay?”

“Yes, I am, but are you?”

He nods. “I’m fine. Get in your car, pay attention and go home,” he dismisses me. “Don’t just stand there looking stupefied. Get in the car go home, it’s done.”

“I need to make this right,” I stammer as my mind spins and I feel like things are suddenly out of control.

“Nothing wrong so nothing to make right.” He studies me as cars rush past us. “Get in your car, can’t leave till I know you got back in the vehicle.”

“Don’t you need my information. I have insurance.”

“It was a bump.” He doesn’t hide his frustration. “Not a patient man, Pixie, so get in your pedal car and go on.”

Pixie? I want to ask, but I don’t. The man is clearly not wanting to do anything about our incident. So doing the only thing I can think of, I get back in my Prius, turning off the hazards and putting it in gear, I try to shake off my emotions. Anxiety, guilt, frustration, and sadness all toy with my carefully balanced core. I feel myself tipping, falling, and stumbling down into the darkness.

Next, I do what every respectable, twenty-six-year-old woman does when she is faced with a scarier than a horror movie biker, I follow him.

She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?

Coal by Chelsea Camaron

Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

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Cover Reveal ~ Coal ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

Title: Coal

Series: Regulators MC #3

Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: February 28, 2017

Cover Model is Jacob Wilson

Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog

Cover Design by Mina Carter

She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?

Coal by Chelsea Camaron

Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

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Release Tour ~ Below the Line ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron

Title: Below the Line: Nomad Bikers

Series: Devil’s Due MC #2

Author: Chelsea Camaron

Genre: MC Romance (standalone within series)

Release Date: January 30, 2017

The bastard boy was left alone when his mother was murdered and her killer never found. The domino effect of one person’s crime going unpunished is everlasting.

He’s no saint.

Owen ‘X’ Gallow has never known a real home. Groomed by the streets, he now has a life with the Devil’s Due MC that gives him the only comfort he has ever known. Family comes by blood and by choice. All Owen has left is his by selection. He keeps his circle close and doesn’t care to have a future.

She’s not afraid to call herself a sinner.

Hadley Combs doesn’t ask questions, and she has never had anyone to cover her back. She was born alone and will die alone, or at least, that’s how she views her life. In order to get by, she has a job to do—get them off and get herself paid, no talking necessary. The life of a hooker isn’t easy, but she gets by.

However, danger climbs in her bed.

Will Owen find a way to let Hadley in? When faced with the dangers of her lifestyle, will Hadley let Owen and his brothers keep her safe?

Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes, and the devil demands his due.

“I’m loving this series! Not surprisingly since Chelsea is one of my go to authors who never leaves me disappointed.” – Goodreads Reviewer

“This was a good quick read and I can’t wait for the next in the series.” – Review from Cat’s Guilty Pleasures

~Owen~

People buy into that romance shit. If you look for it hard enough, I’m sure it can be found. There’s someone out there for everyone, all that bullshit. Shit, shit, and more fucking shit.

Love. Never known it.

Acceptance. Never had it.

Freedom. Depends on how you define it.

Only with Hadley it was all different. She loved me. Not in the climb on my cock and ride herself to oblivion way, I see so many women do. No, what Hadley and I shared even at our young age was a slow burn in your soul deep, she understood me way kind of love, companionship, and partnership. We were young. We were innocent and yet hardened by life. Even in all the dark, she found light with me.

She believed in me when I didn’t fucking believe in myself. Then she was gone.

She loved deep. She loved hard. She loved me.

Acceptance. Hadley took me at face value. No one cared to hear the story of my mother’s murder. The cops simply took me away and never put any resources into finding her killer. No one stopped in the deep south of Louisiana to give me a chance to explain. I saw him. Her killer. I know who did it. I remember finding her and seeing a figure running away. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know I can identify him. Yet no one asked me back then. They didn’t question me. Instead, I was handed a pillowcase to fill as my new luggage and carted off to foster care. All the kids told me I was jinxed, a black soul one little girl said.

I wasn’t cursed.

Voodoo, black magic, I didn’t have the bad juju they all said I did.

Hadley didn’t look down on me for getting out of the system to face life on my own. She didn’t even gasp in surprise that I’m the one who found my mother’s body. She simply looked up at me with her midnight black eyes shimmering and said, “well you may be a bastard, but you’re still good to me Owen Maximus.”

She accepted who I was. She accepted where I came from. She accepted where I wanted to be … and it wasn’t living on the streets of NOLA.

Freedom. Hadley freed me from the chains of my past. She didn’t care where I came from or where I was headed. She only wanted to be with me.

Hadley gave me a simple freedom to be me. She freed me from society’s chains by not judging me. Hadley was my escape from all the bad.

Until she simply disappeared.

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Cover Reveal ~ Below The Line ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron

Title: Below the Line

Series: Devil’s Due MC 2

Author: Chelsea Camaron

Genre: MC Romance (standalone within series)

Release Date: January 30, 2017

The bastard boy was left alone when his mother was murdered and her killer never found. The domino effect of one person’s crime going unpunished is everlasting.

He’s no saint.

Owen ‘X’ Gallow has never known a real home. Groomed by the streets, he now has a life with the Devil’s Due MC that gives him the only comfort he has ever known. Family comes by blood and by choice. All Owen has left is his by selection. He keeps his circle close and doesn’t care to have a future.

She’s not afraid to call herself a sinner.

Hadley Combs doesn’t ask questions, and she has never had anyone to cover her back. She was born alone and will die alone, or at least, that’s how she views her life. In order to get by, she has a job to do—get them off and get herself paid, no talking necessary. The life of a hooker isn’t easy, but she gets by.

However, danger climbs in her bed.

Will Owen find a way to let Hadley in? When faced with the dangers of her lifestyle, will Hadley let Owen and his brothers keep her safe?

Love, hate, anger, and passion collide as the time comes, and the devil demands his due.

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Blog Tour ~ Stay ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron

Title: Stay

Author: Chelsea Camaron

Genre: Dark Romance

Release Date: Available Now

Fair Warning … This isn’t a sappy romance. It’s not sweet. It’s far from anything you would want to imagine. This is a story to leave you feeling dirty.

Nothing about us is normal.

Nothing about us is natural.

Can love ultimately be defined in such ways, truly? This is our story.

He is a hitman. The very one who took my family the night that changed us both forever. Something in my eyes stopped him from killing me. Something in my eyes called out for him to take me.

At ten he captured me, at fifteen he consumed me, and at eighteen he owned me.

Outsiders think he’s my father … that is so far from the truth.

Our twisted desires fuel the darkness that lies deep inside us both. My innocence never existed. He takes me as I am.

“I was pulled right into this story. The story has pain, abuse, laughs, secrets, despair, and heartbreak.” – 5 Star from Renee Entress’s Blog

“Chelsea opened my eyes and taught me that it’s not about whether a person leaves your life or if they stay but what they do in between the time of entering and leaving.” – 5 Star from Swoon Worthy Books

“Everything about this gem called out to me and I’ll forever think about it.” – 5 Star from Author Jo-Anna Walker

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Release Day Blitz ~ Honor Anthology

Title: Honor Anthology

Author: Emily Snow, Chelsea Camaron, MJ Fields, Daryl Banner, Lacey Black, S.M. Donaldson, Misha Elliott, Ellie Keys, Amanda Lanclos, Ryan Michele, and Dawne Walters

Release Date: May 30, 2016
All Proceeds Donated to Honor the Sacrifice Charity

For Memorial Day 2016, eleven authors have come together to honor those who lost their lives while defending our freedom. Enjoy eleven brand new military-themed stories, which may contain a few familiar faces.

Through happiness, struggles, love, loss, appreciation, and sorrow, these stories will leave you red hot and wanting more.

All proceeds from the sales of The Honor Anthology will be donated to the Honor the Sacrifice charity.

*Contains adult language and content not suitable for readers under the age of 18*