Tuesday, January 27, 2015

KICK IS LIVE!



KICK IS LIVE



Are you ready for the ride of your life?


Enter an unsettling world of volatile relationships,
hot bikers, and even hotter sex
that will have you on the edge of your seat
and force you to keep a white-knuckled grip on your e-reader.



KICK

When I was ten, my father indoctrinated me into the family. 

A brotherhood who would fight, protect, and give their lives for one another. A club whose ties ran thicker than blood, murkier than the dirt and grime that tainted my soul. Stronger than the bonds that connected me to my own family. 

A band of brothers, where loyalty was kept and paid in a currency of blood. 

When I was twenty-seven, I betrayed that brotherhood. 

I’ve spent every day since running, avoiding paying back that debt. 

My name is Daniel Johnson. I have betrayed everyone I ever loved. 

And I’ll betray her too. 

This is my story—if you’re screwed up enough to want to read it. 

Warning: KICK contains graphic violence, profanity, drug use, and explicit sexual situations of a taboo nature. Intended for an 18+ audience only. Not intended for pussies.

 AVAILABLE NOW!! 
KICK (Savage Saints MC #1) 
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00SSCJT5O
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/m4mjlqk
B&N:http://tinyurl.com/kfmqf6u
Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/l3soqkc
Add to goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23318098-kick




Read an Excerpt:


I pick up a cup of cold, stale, black coffee and chug it down. It tastes like shit, so I screw the cap off of a bottle of Jack and chase the black filth with the burn of amber. I set it back on the table while the familiar click of my gun being cocked echoes through my small room. I laugh. Fucking ballsy bitches make me hot.
“Hands in the air, and turn around. Slowly,” the woman says through a scratchy throat. I do as she asks, mostly because I want to keep my spine intact, but also partly because bitches with guns are fucking hot, and I’m hard as a rock just thinking about the way she’s gonna look with a pistol trained on me.
She’s been busy while I was out, rummaging through my drawers and finding a pair of loose tracksuit pants. They’re rolled at the waist, so much that it makes her look pregnant. That, combined with her crazy fuckin’ cat lady hair and the filth covering her body, makes her look like a homeless person.
I smile and clasp my hands behind my head. Her eyes rove over me, taking in my size. She’s checking me for the arsenal I so obviously have stashed away in my fucking worn, faded jeans. She’s not checking me out and dreaming about me taking her rough and hard on my fucking scratched-up dining table, but I still get a fucking boner out of having her eyes roam all over me.
“Pick up the keys, and open the door,” she commands.
“If you run, they’ll shoot you.”
“Pick up the fucking keys.”
I snatch up the keys and lob them at her, hard enough that she has to twist out of the way. She cries out as she does, proving to me that her ribs are definitely injured, maybe even cracked. I lunge at her. Shoving her back against the bed, I land on top of her, warding off her blows with one hand and squeezing her wrist with the other until she drops the gun on the floor.
“Get off me!” she screams.

“You’re not leaving this clubhouse,” I whisper in her ear as she struggles beneath me. “The best you can hope for is to play nice and I might decide to keep you as a house mouse. But if you piss me off, and if you pull on me with my own gun again, your life will be so much worse. You thought the dentist was fucked up? Baby, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve lived inside my fantasies for a day. So if I were you, I’d be really fuckin’ careful about how you play your next move.”












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