To my husband, Alex, words cannot express how much I love you. Although, we’re not perfect, (What relationship is?) I can’t picture life without you. Thank you for always supporting me, for being there when I cried because I thought I couldn’t meet my deadline, and for picking-up laundry duty along with the take-out dinners. I know you haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in months. I owe you one or a few. ;-) Love you, babe.
To my family and friends, I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I used to. I was always a phone call away or jumped in my car when I was needed, but you still stuck by me and supported me the entire way! I love you all! Seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! <3
Mom! You’re the reason for all of this. It’ll never get old for me to remind you! Thank you for pushing me to publish Disastrous; it started my new beginning. Love you!
To Christine Martinez, thank you for sending me different medical terms to help with the “shooting scene.” You’re the best!
To my beta readers, Jennifer Diaz, Lori Francis, and Karinna Baez, thank you ladies for the feedback and for going through this process with me. *Heart hand motions*
To Jennifer Wolfel, you’re simply awesome. Thank you for dealing with my anxiety and slapping me a few times to get me out of my depression. Your honest feedback helped improve my story, so thank you for that as well!
To Ashley Hartigan Tkachyk, AHH! I love you! I’m so happy you stalked me *inside joke* because we would’ve never become great friends. I’m certain if you were not with me throughout this entire process Cautious would not be what it is and I probably would’ve been admitted into an insane asylum. Also, thank you for listening to me cry and whine over the phone or through private message. I know you rolled your eyes a few times, even though you said you didn’t. LOL. You’re the best, and your feedback on Cautious was amazing.
To Melissa L. Delgado, are there enough words to express to my CP/soul sister/awesome sauce friend how much I love her? Nope, not enough words! Melis, thank you so much, for everything. Not just for the feedback on Cautious but for being a friend. You showed me that there are still sincere and genuine people out there. Ending a Broken Journey is going to touch so many readers, and I can’t wait to ride that journey with you! Love you, honey bunny! ;-)
To Becca Manuel, thank you for the amazing Cautious trailer; you’re very talented. I can’t wait to see you shoot for the stars. Also, thank you for being simply sweet!
To David Goldhahn, again thanks for a wonderful job on the cover. I can’t wait to continue to work with you on my future covers.
Theresa Wegand, it was amazing working with you again. Thank you for beta reading, editing, and formatting Cautious.
To Miranda Petrillo, wow, you did such an amazing job proofreading Cautious! I couldn’t be happier with the end result and will be working with you in the future! Thank you so much for your hard work.
To all book bloggers, there are so many of you that it would have taken ten pages, but I just want to say thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. You take time out of your work life, family life, and personal life to support and spread the word of your favorite authors. I’m in awe of you, for just being so committed and loving a story that has touched you and all you want to do is simply share your passion about the story with others. Thank you for that! If not for you, many readers would lose out on the opportunity of finding a story that they might fall in love with as well. Thank you!
Last, but certainly not least, to my author group; you girls keep me sane. Seriously, you girls made me laugh when I wanted to cry, allowed me to feel pride when I was discouraged, and allowed me to believe in myself when I had doubts. A special thank you to Syreeta, Gail, Madeline, Claire, Cindy, Trevlyn, Karina and Laura—you girls rock! Thank you for listening to my everyday rants. <3
COMING SOON
By E.L. Montes
PERFECTLY DAMAGED
This is a standalone scheduled to be released: Fall 2013/Spring 2014
Sometimes in life we are confronted by unforeseen hurdles. Other times there are people introduced in our lives for unexpected reasons: reasons beyond our control or desire. No matter the differences, sometimes two people find one another when they are most needed, even when not searching.
When Jenna McDaniel meets Josh Lewis, she begins to slowly discover herself. Josh Lewis wasn’t looking for love or even a girlfriend. Trying to make ends meet and help care for his nephew, his already screwed up-life goes downhill the moment he is confronted by Jenna.
No one deserves to be alone, no one deserves to be judged, and no one certainly deserves to be unloved. For more reasons than one, sometimes we find something perfect—even when it has flaws.
Beaten, stomped, or simply thrown away, anything could be perfect even when damaged.
FIGHTING TO STAND (a novella)
This is a spin off from the Disastrous Series—Jimmie DeLuca’s story.
To be released: Fall 2013/Spring 2014
Synopsis coming soon.
Sneak Peek of Undeniable by Madeline Sheehan
To read an excerpt of Undeniable by Madeline Sheehan, turn the page and enjoy.
UNDENIABLE
By Madeline Sheehan
© Madeline Sheehan Books 2012
There will always be a reason why you meet people. Either you need them to change your life or you’re the one that will change theirs.
—Angel Flonis Harefa
PROLOGUE
Mark Twain said, “The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.”
I don’t remember the day I was born, but I remember the day I found out why.
His name was Deuce.
He was my “why.”
And this is our story.
It is not a pretty one.
Some parts of it are downright ugly.
But it’s ours.
And because I believe everything happens for a reason, I wouldn’t change a thing.
CHAPTER ONE
I was five years old when I met Deuce. He was twenty-three, and it was visiting day at Rikers Island. My father, Damon Fox or “Preacher”—the President of the infamous Silver Demons motorcycle club (mother chapter) in East Village, New York City—was doing a five-year stint for aggravated assault and battery with a deadly weapon. It was not the first time my father had been in prison, and it wouldn’t be the last. The Silver Demons MC was a notorious group of criminals who lived by the code of the road and gave modern society and all it entailed a great big fuck you.
My father was a powerful and dangerous man who ruled over all Silver Demons worldwide and was highly respected but mostly feared by other MCs. He had government connections and ties to the mafias, but what made him the most dangerous and most feared was his many connections to average, everyday people. People who didn’t run in his circle. People who were off the grid. People who could get things done quietly.
His way with words and his killer smile made him friends everywhere he went—and considering he’d been riding since he was in my grandmother’s womb, when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere.
My father’s shortcomings, the constant crime, and the club lifestyle weren’t strange to me; it was all I knew.
I was holding my Uncle “One-Eyed” Joe’s hand as we walked through Rikers family visiting room. Since my father was my only parent, my Uncle Joe and Aunt Sylvia had been given temporary custody of me. My mother, Deborah “Darling” Reynolds, had split a few weeks after I was born. Many men would have crumbled under the responsibility of a newborn baby, especially a biker who couldn’t handle more than a few weeks without needing the open road.
But not Preacher.
Aside from going to prison every once in a while, my father was a good dad, and I’d never wanted for a thing.
Dressed in an orange jumpsuit and his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail at his nape, Preacher spotted us immediately and jumped up. He was hindered slightly by the handcuffs a
round his wrists, ankles looped together by a chain, and the prison guard standing behind him who shoved him back down.
“Eva,” he said softly, smiling down at me as I climbed into an uncomfortable plastic chair. My sneaker-clad feet didn’t reach the floor, and my chin barely cleared the table. Uncle Joe slid into the chair beside me and put his arm around me, pulling my chair close to his.
“Daddy,” I whispered, trying so hard not to cry. “I want to hug you. Uncle Joe says I can’t. Why can’t I?”
My father blinked. Then he blinked again. I didn’t know at the time, but my big, strong, rough, and tough father was trying not to cry.
Uncle Joe squeezed my shoulder. “Baby girl,” he said gruffly, “tell Daddy ’bout the spellin’ bee.”
Excitement battled my tears and won. “I won the spelling bee, Daddy! My teacher, Mrs. Fredericks, says even through I’m only in kindergarten, I can spell as good as a third grader!”
My father grinned.
Seeing this grin and not wanting to lose it, I kept going.
“Do you know how old third graders are, Daddy?”
“How old baby?” My father asked, laughing.
“They are eight,” I whispered excitedly. “Or sometimes nine!”
“Proud of you baby girl,” my father said, his eyes shining.
I beamed. When you are young, your parents are your entire world. My father was my world. If he was happy, I was happy.
Uncle Joe squeezed my shoulder again. “Eva, honey, why don’t you go get somethin’ from the snack machines so Daddy and I can have a word.”
This was typical. At the club everyone was always “having a word”—words I wasn’t allowed to hear. Most times, I didn’t really care since all the boys loved me, gave me lots of hugs, let me ride on their shoulders, and bought me presents all the time. To a five-year-old biker brat, an MC full of surrogate big brothers and daddies is the equivalent to a normal child being able to celebrate Christmas every day.
I took my Uncle Joe’s money and skipped off to the snack machines. Two people were in line ahead of me, so I did what I always did when I was bored—I started singing. Unlike most children my age who were listening to New Kids on the Block or Debbie Gibson, I was listening to the music played around the club. A particular favorite of mine was “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. So there I was shaking my butt and singing “Summertime” way, way out of tune, waiting in line for stale potato chips in the Rikers Island family visiting room, when I heard, “You like Hendrix, too, kid?”
I swiveled around and met with a pair of denim-clad legs with the knees worn clean through. I looked up, and my eyes widened in delight. He was tall and tan. His arms and legs were thickly muscled, and his waist was trim. His forehead was wide, and his jaw was strong and square. His head was shaved, only a fuzz of blond hair showing, and his forearms were heavily tattooed with different depictions of elaborate dragons. I’d never seen a more beautiful man.
There are three different types of men in this world: There are weak men—men who run and hide when life slaps them in the ass. Then there are men—men who have a backbone, yet occasionally, when life slaps them in the ass, will rely on others. And then there are real men—men who don’t cry or complain, who don’t just have a backbone, they are the backbone. Men who make their own decisions and live with the consequences and who accept responsibility for their actions or words. Men who, when life slaps them in the ass, slap back and move on. Men who live hard and die even harder.
Men like my father and my uncles. Men I loved with all my heart.
Men like Deuce.
“I like Hendrix,” I said. “But Janis rules. I listen to ‘Rose’ almost every single day!”
He grinned down at me and dimples popped out all over the place.
“I like you, kid,” he said, still grinning. “You got good taste in tunes, and you’ve got a pair of Chucks on instead of those stupid fuckin’ high tops everyone’s wearin’.”
He liked me. This was hands down the best day ever.
“I hate high tops,” I said, wrinkling up my nose.
He winked. “Me, too.”
I was so throwing out all my high tops when I got home.
When it was my turn in line, I stood on my tiptoes and popped change into the machine. I took my time studying the selections, deciding on a small bag of salted peanuts. Moving out of the way, I watched as the man bought two bags of potato chips, three candy bars, and a big chocolate chip cookie.
“Wow,” I said. “You’re really hungry.”
He laughed. “Not for me.” He pointed across the room. “My old man.”
I spared a quick glance at my father and Uncle Joe. Their heads were bowed over the table still “having a word.”
“Can I meet him?” I asked.
His eyebrows popped. “Uh, he’s kinda cranky.”
I laughed. All the men I knew were kinda cranky.
I slipped my hand in his and looked up, ready to go meet his father. His hand was warm and comfortable, like my bed was after I’d slept in it all night.
He stared down at our joined hands, his expression confused.
“Ready,” I told him, tugging on his hand. Shrugging, he led me to a nearby table where an older man with a long, gray beard and a shaved head sat, cuffed the same way my father was. He released my hand to take his seat, and I climbed into the seat next to him.
“Hi,” I said cheerfully.
“You got somethin’ to tell me?” The old man asked his son.
“She likes Janis,” he replied.
The old man studied me. “You like Janis, kid?”
I nodded. “And Steppenwolf and Three Dog Night and The Rolling Stones and Billie Holiday—”
“Billie Holiday?” He interrupted, sounding surprised.
I popped some peanuts in my mouth and nodded. “She rules.”
The old man grinned, and his entire face changed. I knew immediately; a long time ago, this cranky old man had been as beautiful as his son.
“I like Billy Holiday,” he said gruffly.
“I like you,” I said spontaneously because I always said stuff spontaneously. “Do you want some peanuts?”
“Sure, kid,” he said, smiling. “I’d love some.”
I poured the rest of my peanuts into his hand, and he popped them all into his mouth at the same time.
“Eva!”
I jumped at the sound of my Uncle Joe’s voice. He was walking briskly across the room toward me. Once he reached the table, not only did Uncle Joe looked pissed off but so did my two new friends.
“You got a death wish?” Uncle Joe whispered to the old man. “Horsemen are in good with the Demons. Let’s fuckin’ keep it that way.”
“Ah,” the old man said, looking back at me. “You must be Preacher’s little girl. He’s talked ’bout you. Proud as fuck, he is.”
I nodded proudly. “I am Preacher’s little girl. And I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up. I’m gonna have a Fatboy, but I want mine to be sparkly, and I want a pink helmet with skulls on it. And instead of being the club President, I’m gonna be the club Queen ’cause I’m gonna marry the biggest, scariest biker in the whole world, and he’s gonna let me do whatever I want because he’s gonna love me like crazy.”
My Uncle Joe burst out laughing, and the old man shook his head, smiling. The beautiful man turned to face me and leaned forward.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he whispered.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was captivated by the intensity I saw in his bright blue-and-white-flecked eyes. They reminded me of a frosted over lake. He had beautiful icy blue eyes that sucked me in to a warm safe place that I wanted to stay inside of forever.
He stuck out his hand, breaking the spell. “Name’s Deuce, sweetheart. My old man here is Reaper. It was nice talkin’ with ya.”
I put my hand in his, and his big fingers closed around mine. “Eva,” I whispered. “That’s my name, and it was so, so great to meet you, t
oo.”
He smiled. And his eyes smiled, too. And I got lost again in his pretty eyes.
Then Uncle Joe picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “Isn’t that fuckin’ expensive as hell private school teachin’ you ’bout talkin’ to strangers?” he said. “Gonna have a talk with those prissy fuckers. Gonna have a talk with my fist.”
“Bye,” I yelled, waving frantically, as I was marched away.
Reaper gave me a two-handed handcuffed wave and a big smile.
Deuce got to his feet grinning and gave me a two-finger salute. “Bye, darlin’.”
Darlin’.
It was official. I was head over heels in love.
******
Deuce watched One-Eyed Joe, Silver Demon Lifer, stalk off with Preacher’s kid hanging over his shoulder, grinning and waving like a lunatic. He shook his head and smiled. When he could no longer see her, he lost his smile and turned back to his old man.
His old man had lost his smile, too.
“Cute kid,” Reaper grumbled. “Shoulda had a girl instead of you two fucks.”
He stared at his old man. He had a moment of longing watching him smile at that kid and talk to her the way he should have talked to his own kids but never had. He’d been too busy beating on him and his brother.
Good times.
“Preacher’s on the move,” Reaper growled. “Takin’ that fuckin’ deal with the Russians right out from under you. Why the mother fuck didn’t you snap that shit down when you had the chance?”
And there it was. He was VP, and that’s all he was to his old man. Someone to pass the fucking gavel to when he finally—and it couldn’t come fast enough—kicked it.
Cautious (Sequel to Disastrous) Page 24