Thursday, November 29, 2018

A smorgasbord of genres, heroes, and heroines

Brought to you from the pens of:

Afton Locke
Aliyah Burke
Angela Kay Austin
Dahlia Rose
Eve Vaughn
Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh
Latrivia Welch
Leagh Christensen
Naleighna Kai
Phoenix Daniels
Reana Malori
Sage Young
Savannah J. Frierson
Shara Azod
S.k. Lessly
V. Vee Ursula Sinclair
Cross Roads: Every Decision May Cost You
However, every penny readers spend on this box set will be well worth it.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Laying Down the Ahhhh

Infernos, Chaos, and First-class Ish-Starting  

Atlantis Idlewild is your average woman, with a not-so-average family. Her dad needs to be kept away from anything that can be used as an accelerant.  Her mom needs to be kept a full yardstick away from her man, unless her parents want to set a record for oldest couple to conceive without medical intervention.  She even has an extra dad who is as white as his naval uniform, a special ops brother who is put out that he cannot kill her ex, and a young co-ed who has a perfectly nice room in one of the most impressive sorority houses in the U.S., but spends so much time at her own house, that everyone thinks the girl is her daughter. One would think that the special kind of crazy that is her family is what led to her divorce, but alas the crazy is the only thing keeping her sane. She’s divorced because her ex decided to try his hand at douchebaggery. 

Theodoric Ermenrich might make his living by maintaining order, but he doesn’t mind a little bit of crazy.  Of course, it wouldn’t matter if he did considering his family is chock-full of it. The Ermenrich clan might be renowned for their business prowess, but they have some characters in the bunch, including a five-time kumite champion, a derrickman, and a SWAT team member...and those were just the women. Chaos was simply a way of life for his clan, so getting into a little bit of sh*t didn’t faze Theodoric, which was a good thing considering his current quest involved getting the lovely, voluptuous Atlantis to give him the time of day. He was not above using her soft spot for his son to make it happen...or above using his army of attorneys, or his personal jet to spirit her father away from the inferno he'd set in the name of revenge. Infernos, chaos, and melees.  Sounded like an average day in the Ermenrich family.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Dad Is Great.

Dad's Day Reads

Father’s Day joint release with the fabulous and talented, Marteeka Karland 

Let Them Eat Stake by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh, available June 2017

Despite her inability to put up with nonsense, rudeness, or generally f*ckery, single mom Roxana Herrington felt as if the blood in her veins pumped to the chorus of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.”  She wouldn’t have asked for anything more out of life if she’d rubbed a genie lamp and was granted three wishes.  Roxana felt that she’d already been more than adequately blessed with a family who loved her like the last line in Psalm 81, a son whose birth made her truly understand John 3:16, and a best friend who’d made the advent of cheesecake and kitchen tables a necessity. Roxana’s grandparents were glad that their granddaughter had a sunny outlook.  However, that didn’t stop them from wanting Roxana to experience being loved by a man who’d sacrifice both his tears and his blood for both Roxana and her six-year old son, Xandr.  When you have two Pentecostal preachers on a mission, there is sure to be some tambourine-shaking, shouts of Hallelujah, and some prayers answered.

The man Roxana’s grandparents settled on for their beloved granddaughter, was more than they’d expected, which was fitting being his name meant “beyond expectation.”  Their great-grandson adored him, and their granddaughter didn’t want to stab him, which was always helpful.  The young man was loyal, compassionate, steadfast, had a good head on his shoulders, the ability to provide, and would kill anything that threatened their granddaughter or great-grandson without a second thought and without mercy.  They couldn’t have thought up a better man for Roxana if they’d been given clay to craft him.  There was just one thing they hadn’t counted on: Tosya was not exactly a man.   

No one attempted to stare down Tosya Aleksandrovich…with good reason.  He was danger personified.   Opening his senses, Tosya was surprised to discover that he was being sized up by a boy who appeared to have just entered elementary school.  He didn’t get a chance to be impressed with the way the boy held his stare without backing down, despite being a bit afraid because he was soon waylaid by a vanload of Pentecostals on a mission to marry off the granddaughter of the co-pastors.  He was about to beg their pardon, when the imp showed him a picture. “This is my mommy.”  That photo proved two things: 1) a picture was worth a thousand words, and 2) the woman in the photo was going to be his.

Unedited Excerpt.  All Rights Reserved.  Copyrighted by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh

“I just want to go on record and state that I’m not doing this because I’m scared,” Yngvi Aðalmundsson said to no one in particular, since no one was listening to him anyway.  He sure as shit knew that Isoke wasn’t listening to him as she’d never wasted a moment of their acquaintance doing so despite the fact that he was a partner in the firm.

“Whatever, Scandinavia,” Isoke said without missing a beat.

Yngvi smiled.  He knew that Isoke knew his name, as well as the names of the firm’s other partners, she simply couldn’t be bothered to speak their names, so she simply referred to them collectively as “Scandinavia.” 

Spearing his partners with a look that he hoped conveyed all of the ways they could go fuck themselves, Yngvi slapped a smile on his face before turning back to Isoke, who had yet to even spare him a glance.  Like her eyeballs had something better to look at.  “You know I have a name.”

“You know I don’t care,” she retorted.

Yngvi smiled, knowing with absolute faith that Isoke didn’t care at all.   That’s why he adored her. Of the six partners, Yngvi was the one known as the “The Makes-You-Want-to-Kick-Him-in-the-Teeth” man.  At least a million times a day, someone yelled refrains of “Danish bastard” his way.  He responded by showing a smile that was the wet dream of many a dentist.  Instead of being offended by the description, he embraced it.  Probably because he was the type of asshole that reveled in his a**holishness.  Being as it was so early in the day, Yngvi was in the warm-up part of his a**hole-dom, which was why he kept pushing, despite knowing it would not end well.

“You can’t pronounce our names, can you, Isoke?”

“I tell you what I can pronounce: Murder-Death-Kill in each of y’alls native tongues.”

Yngvi had to stop himself from falling to his knees and worshipping this woman.  The fact that she’d taken the time to learn to maim and cuss in Danish, Faroese, Finnish, Icelandic, Norwegian, and Swedish almost brought a tear to his bedroom eyes. 

“Y’all need to speak a language that sounds less like one is garbling consonants.  And get names like Bob, Mike, William, James, and Steve, and perhaps someone would bother to learn your names…especially if y’all got personalities to go along with said names.”

“Says the woman whose family members all have names that contain letters that net the highest points in Scrabble.®  I could go to HR about your nationalism.”

“I could trip you into an empty elevator shaft, but I really don’t have to bother since I can simply go next door and you know, ride my husband’s face as I’m complaining about you.”
Dammit, he’d momentarily forgotten that Isoke Morehouse-Valdason was nothing the lesser mortals that populated the earth.   A, she had the brains to make her fantasy of him dying a gruesome death come true.  B, whenever Isoke threatened him, she didn’t even bother to look upon his physical magnificence.  The fact that she ignored his stunning presence was a clue that despite her impressive CV, something was wrong with her.  Not that he’d ever again fix his mouth to say that unless he wanted to know what their section of Peachtree Avenue would look like decorated with half of his major organs.    He could already envision the argument Isoke and Njarðar would have over who got to go all Aztec priest and rip his heart from his chest.  His money was on Njarðar.  While the man was as mild-mannered as they came, all bets were off when it came to his bride.  His bride who was intent on having her way regardless of who she had to ride roughshod over.

Being 6’6” and 250 pounds, brilliant, high born, and hot, Yngvi was not a man others ignored, baited, or gave direct orders, unless of course said person was a big-tittied woman in his bed demanding that he fuck her harder.  He was a man of privilege who could say “yes” to the pleasures the world offered, and “no” to that which failed to interest him.  What he couldn’t do however, was tell Njarðar’s bride “no.”  Well, he could, but Isoke was a first-rate lady, who also happened to be seven months pregnant.  Despite not appreciating his awesomeness, Yngvi knew that if he didn’t do what she “suggested”, he’d end up limping, peeing blood, and before doing what she wanted anyway.  If her grandmother didn’t make him regret his decision to point out that Isoke wasn’t the boss of him despite being married to the boss, there was always her brother, the other partners, and Isoke herself. 

This was how he ended up in Bluegrass, Kentucky at a food truck run by a sorority comprised of women who, in his opinion, needed to be sized for good-fitting straight jackets.  Yngvi was going to mention that until he witnessed one of the chicks demonstrate how to bust free from a litany of items including duct tape, hand cuffs, a straight jacket, and one of those face muzzles people who practiced extreme BDSM used.  There was also the fact that there was a freaking enchantress in the group.  While he wouldn’t swear to it on a stack of bibles, Yngvi was more sure than not that she’d lured a couple of sh*t-starters to their deaths.  Oh well, not really his problem as it’d led to him being bumped up two places in the long line. 

There was a lot of things Yngvi didn’t know before his unplanned trek to the Bluegrass state—first and foremost, the fact that bib overalls was acceptable attire for formal events.  However, since the good women of the Bluegrass Chapter of Rho Beta Omicron Tau had introduced him to the delights of corn pudding and derby pie, he could forgive their taste in attire.  Gnawing on the last section of his second slab of ribs, he admitted that he could probably forgive them anything as long as it didn’t interrupt his food supply.   He now understood why Isoke had sent him on this mission to bring back food.  After meeting the sorors, Yngvi now also understood why the sorors couldn’t simply drive their food truck to Georgia: two-thirds of the members were probably banned from leaving the county.  Thank Odin for that miracle.  And also, thank Odin for whoever taught these women to cook.  Good cooking, like good loving, covered a lot of faults including an abundance of crazy.

And crazy was the name he’d given the woman currently at the head of the line looking like she was about to dress down the dumb*ss behind her.  

“Before I jump to conclusions and call you all manner of Motherfuckers, have you had a lobotomy?” she asked the man behind her who kept pushing and grumbling.

“That is a f*cking rude question.”

“Well, I was trying to be all politically correct.  I was going to ask if you were just fucking retarded.  That’s why I rarely bother to be nice.”

Right then…that very moment is when Yngvi decided that this woman was coming back to Atlanta with him…along with every single slab of ribs the sorority had.  He’d worry about logistics later.  Tossing his plate in the trash bin, he made his way to the front of the line so that he could save the dumb*ss.  He wasn’t going soft; he simply didn’t have the time to bribe the law and get this woman out of jail and to the empty as hell office outside of his office.  From the look on that woman’s face, she’d already made up her mind to kill the dude.  She was merely considering how she was going to do him in.  Yngvi didn’t care if he had to cut his own salary in order to get her to work for him.  People were entertainment for him, and he was already anticipating the joy he’d feel watching this woman shut sh*t down with just a look.  Their HR department was getting ready to get a workout.  He might’ve been meant to bring back food, but he was bringing a personal assistant along with the grub.  Atlanta might already be chock full of badazz women, but there was always room for one more.  

Get Ready. Get Set. Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Master Hang Glider + Master Enforcer = Epic WTFs

Joint release in the Jail House Rocks series with author Kassanna, author extraordinaire, hostess with the mostest, and the bringer of the IRAE Interracial Author Expo. 

All Goads Lead to Roam by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh. Available this summer. 

Master hang glider La La Lookout’s official job is instructor.  As evidenced by her H-5 rating, her average review, and the lengthy wait-list for her classes, she is damn good at what she does.  However, her unofficial job is the official looker-outer for her peeps in the Lookout clan.  While her hang-gliding business has her heart, La La doesn’t take anything more seriously than the wellbeing of her family. 

Tiger shifter Roam Matera is an elite enforcer for Belladonna Senemetu-Ramman, The Absoluta, Босс всех боссов (boss of all bosses) of the white tiger shifters on planet earth.  His annual “see if my son-in-law has done something to warrant killing,” is the only reason he is in a backwoods town straddling the border of Tennessee and Georgia, rather than on one of the many white sand beaches of the Caribbean headquarters of Senemetu.  La La Lookout is the reason he’s considering staying.  La La is a woman accustomed to getting her way.  He’s a shifter male accustomed to “helping” others understand why they should do as he says.  

It's On...Like a Pot of Neckbones

Trust Her...You Don't Want None

Book 1 PBOT: Florida (Alpha chapter)

Triss Versus Frat by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh. Available in June 2017.

Located on the Gulf side of Florida, Sinnieva College has the looks of a five-star resort, an endowment that ranks in the top 50 for US colleges and universities, and co-eds that come from families that comprise the who’s who of the planet earth.  Every incoming class is given a litany of things to best avoid: underage drinking, waiting until the last minute to write one’s final paper, and effing off Daytona Triss—aka ISH FINISHER GALORE.  The good news is that Daytona is a senior.  The bad news is that she still has two months before she graduates, which is bad news for so many people and entities, especially the president of the frat that happens to be located in the house next to her.  Frat war is one of those things best avoided. Of course, no one told Daytona this small, but pertinent fact.  Even if they had, she would have given exactly negative trillion and a half f*cks.  When she says STFU, she means it; when she says stop your mascot from sh*tting on my lawn, she means that too, as evidenced by the banner she hung from the balcony of her house: Y’ALL ARE DEAD.  

Grab your sweet iced tea, your beach umbrella, and sit back and watch the fireworks.  Daytona Triss versus the Frat next door.  It can only end one way, because this is a JandJ joint.  

And of course, if you have a chapter, you have to have t-shirts:

F'ed Up Fairytales

Guess Who's Back...Guess Who's Back...Guess Who's Back...the JandJ

Part of a multi-author joint release in the F'ed Up Fairytale series.  Coming in late May 2017.

Do. No. Charm.  Sometimes the Risk Is Worth the Bait by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh.

Darling Charming is everything that one would expect the only daughter of Prince Charming, Junior to be, which is the problem…for everyone else in Fairytale Land…except for her.  Quick to smile, and armed with the Prince Charming hair swing, she spends her days rewriting fairytales.  And running from the mob of angry villagers who hate her work.   It’s a good thing she’s fast.     

No one ever accused Munro Severe of being fun…and walked away without a limp, a little bit of head trauma, and a few major organs rolling around loose in their torso.  Rumor has it that the no-nonsense liger shifter hasn’t cracked a smile in over a decade.  But the corner of his full lips did lift the tiniest bit that one time at band camp…when he started an inter fairytale land war.  Cut, silent, and deadly, he is the guy after the last guy who should be in a room with any of the Charmings. Yet, he is the unfortunate soul who is charged with keeping Darling Charming’s shenanigans to anything less than an epic level. As her brother, PJJ would say: Good Luck with that.

Check out the other offerings:

Monday, September 19, 2016


In the end, there can be only one, which kind of sucks, because really, who wants to be alone?  Besides a mom whose wet dream is to be able to use the bathroom without interruption.  Or a reader who is so into her/his book, that the world could be falling down around them, and they wouldn't notice unless debris got on their e-reader or book.  

Haters hate, but who really wants to go to the places where hate takes you.  Ballers ball, and that can take you all the way to a championship and lucrative endorsements...which allows one to buy books.    Readers read, and thus consider the world as a place filled with endless possibilities.   

Authors have vision.  Readers have the guts to jump in and revel in the worlds that authors create.  Speaking of creation, let us tell you what creative genius Xyla Turner has created: AUTHOR GO! 

This is a game for lovers of the written word...and shenanigans.  Five levels.  Epic quests.  Points, badges, and PRIZES!!!  Did we mention the shenanigans? And the prizes?  

Watch the video, and be amazed:

Go here to register and start playing:

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Epic Shenanigans...and a Jeanie and Jayha update

We may be on stealth mode, but we are writing, editing, revamping, and rebooting.  Fall is not simply back to school time, but time to sink into some new reads.  The Dynamic 2-Oh has been quiet, but busy. 

In the works:
  • We have rewritten text for  our website, which should be ready by September. 
  • We are bringing back Verses Mode, our newsletter. 
  • We organized a street team, because yeah, we need one
  • We are launching a new series.  NAUGHTY & HEIST revolves around epic shenanigans.  The first offering in the series is The Cupcake Caper.  It will be available in October 2017.

Thank y'all for continuing to read and for your warm welcome in Orlando at Kassanna's IRAE event.  It motivated us in so many ways!

Sunday, October 25, 2015


Available on 03 November 2015.  Ready for pre-order right now: 

This is a two-fer.  The Jeanie and Jayha wrote a story for a box set and it's not just any story, but a Christmas story.  How Christmas-y it is might be up for debate.  Probably a whole lot of debate.  It takes place during Christmas time...there is a Christmas tree...and a wreath.    However, there is also a sledge hammer, a welding torch, and a healthy dose of revenge.  

And the plus side is that there are nine other stories with various levels of Christmas, shenanigans, and love.  Come get your Christmas on!

Our story:  The Twelve Craze of Christmas by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh

Attorney and sugar cookie fanatic, Cayenne Creighton preferred her steak with a side of steak, vegetables to be some place other than on her plate, and her revenge to be absolute overkill. Former Ranger and security specialist Rennes Sabine preferred his steak medium rare, his women easy, and his life orderly. Only two things stopped the third from being a reality: his sister, who was a raving lunatic, and Cayenne, who was her best friend. He could forgive his sister because his mother told him to. He wasn’t about to go easy on Cayenne, who was the one woman who’d ruined him for other women. Not that he’d admit it…ever…to anyone.

And then he gets the call. The call that caused his manhood to shrivel up. All he knows is that there is a dick, a dishwasher, and a welding torch in Cayenne’s hands. This would not end well for someone…or several someones. Except maybe it could. Would this be the holiday season that all of his wishes came true?  Or would this be the holiday season that he had to smuggle Cayenne and his sister to a country without extradition treaties?

Book 1 in the BAT SH*T CRAZY series


Bia Biscayne earned everything she had, and that included her reputation, her stretchmarks, and the moniker—Judge That Effing B*tch.  She was damn proud of every one of those things.  A no-nonsense, straight-laced woman, her professional life was marked by orderliness that was a product of her mild-mannered temperament.  And then she gave birth to her daughter, Zest, and her personal life started to resemble a mix between Looney Toons cartoon/action adventure films and science fiction.  It was a good thing Bia counted a surgeon, a judge, a rabbi, a cardinal, and an orthodox priest as her friends, and that Zest counted a Texas ranger, a habitual felon, and the chick that was #1 on the International Fraternity of Mime’s most wanted list as friends, because all of them (sometimes at the same time) had been called into action to save the world from Zest’s brand of crazy.

Being the one who birthed that kind of crazy into the world, Bia felt it was her duty to contain it as best she could.  She was doing a good job…until the day she got a call from a town called Mid-NFW, Georgia…wherever the heck that was.  All Bia had needed to hear was “blood feud with an international crime family vowing revenge” and she was in her car dropping the hammer all the way there.  Instead of the massacre she was expecting, she found a Norwegian warlord who looked like he’d been dreamed up by a comic book artist.  She should be trying to thwart an international incident, yet all she could think was how many ways she could ride the Norseman’s face off.

Vasily Gu∂brander could be summed up in five words: As*holish Som’B*tch of MotherF*ckerish Proportions. Just as products had warnings, ads had small print, and printed material had asterisks, Vasily—and every member of the Gu∂brander clan—was the type of crazy that required nothing short of full disclosure. Half berserker, half Russian, and a hundred percent WTF, sometimes even that wasn’t enough.  That is why the Berserker Tribunal had an entire section of their laws dedicated to that family.   Banished to Atlanta—in summer—just because everyone else was a pussy, his goal was to not get any blood residue on his sister’s jet and something that involved not killing and maiming.  But you throw five people out of a jet (in midair), and suddenly you’re the bad guy. Thank goodness his friend knew people who knew people who owned a bar that was so buck wild it had an entrails detail.  Everywhere that wasn’t Aghi, Norway was forsaken territory, but he was learning to appreciate Mid-NFW.  They weren’t offended by anything, so while there’d be bloodshed, no one would bitch about it.   

He’d planned to while away his time in the backwoods and then hightail it back to Norway, but then he met the sweetest child…and then her mother, which led him to wonder how a woman so mean could birth a child so sweet.  That of course, led to him getting cussed out, and if he’d been a lesser male, killed.  And while that was the sort of thing that usually led to him kicking off a massacre, all he wanted to do with Bia Biscayne was kick off his shoes, then tear off his clothes and make that feisty woman his. 


Zest Biscayne was a peaceful woman.  It was just pure irony that brawls happened in her wake. Not her fault and not her problem…unless she got hit in the face with a chair.  Then, if people went missing and countries got wiped off the map, they brought that shit on themselves.  There was a reason she taught a class called Retribution 101, which consisted
of three parts: Learning to shut the fuck up; learning to get the fuck out; and, learning to keep your head on a swivel.  She taught it as a favor. It was her way of trying to spread the message about how to avoid being on the wrong end of bad happenings.
Zest knew her colleagues and students thought she was a bitch; she just didn’t care.  She’d made the top-ten list of most hated people in academia every year since she’d started teaching college.  She’d had a line of students wanting to whip her ass since she began TA’ing. Oh well, wish in one hand and shit in the other.  To date, she still hadn’t had her ass whipped, which was a trend she planned to keep going.
It wasn’t her fault dumb people kept signing up for classes she taught.  Yet, here she was sitting in the dean’s office…again.  They may as well make this her new office being she was here so much.  She’d tuned the dean out two seconds after the man had started talking.  Really, the man could at least have the decency to revamp his lectures.
Trying to decide if she was more hungry or angry, she settled for hangry, which never boded well for anybody.  Zest decided she was done listening…done sitting here…done being berated for a) pointing out the obvious, and b) doing her damn job.
“Dean, with all due respect, no.  I will not attempt to be a kinder, gentler professor.  What I will continue to be is an informed, engaged, part of this community who brings my best to the students I teach.  They deserve that and my personal integrity demands that I give them nothing less.”
The Dean interrupted her.  “No one likes you.  And that includes the staff.”
“That’s not really news.”
“You’ve gotten two death threats this week alone.”
“So that makes what, fifteen in the last two years?”
“It makes fifteen this semester…and it’s not over.”
“Well, note how no one has whipped my ass yet?  There’s a reason for that.”
“You can’t taze students.”
“Dean, maybe you can’t taze a student, but I would taze the shit out of a student if, of course, it wasn’t against the university rules to be in possession of a Taser on campus.”
Zest smiled.  She didn’t have a J.D. from one of the top law schools in the nation for nothing.  She knew her rights; she knew the rules; and, she knew the way around the rules.  And the Dean knew it…and hated her for it. Too. Fucking. Bad. 
“Whatever it was that you did to him, you can’t do that.  ‘Professor Beats Student Unconscious’ is not a good headline.”
“Neither is ‘Student Kills Professor.’  You beat the shit out of one student and no one else strolls into your lecture late or unprepared.  That’s a win-win in my book.”
The Dean looked like he was about to launch into another futile argument, but she was past tired of this shit. 
“Dean, when a student tells me to go fuck myself, I’m going to put him or her out of my class.  If he or she doesn’t want to go, I’m going to have security come and remove them.  If the student would’ve left it at that, we could’ve talked it over, and moved on.  However, when you walk up on me with your dick swinging, threatening to whip my ass, you better be able to whip my ass.  I will never throw the first punch, but I will never let you throw another punch at me after that.  And before you ask, no, I will not drop the charges.  My cousin taught me ninety-nine ways to take down an insurgent.”
“That’s the problem.  No one else refers to their students as insurgents.  And you are not a government or civil authority.”
Zest stood and pointed at herself game show hostess style.  “This body right here.  This is the Temple for which the Supreme Creator has both gifted and entrusted me.  In this realm, I’m the absolute ruler of it.  You don’t get to touch it in any way that’s not reverent.  When you come after me, you’re an insurgent, and you’ll end the interaction on the ground holding something in, whether it’s an internal organ, vomit, or the contents of your bowels.”  
“Dr. Biscayne, I truly don’t know what to say to you.”
“Dean, I believe you know exactly what you want to say to me, but I also believe you don’t have the guts to do it.  You’re too sophisticated to call me a fucking bitch.  However, I expect to receive a politely-worded letter denying me tenure because y’all can’t handle the truth…and you can’t handle me.”
“I just want you to be a team player.”
“I know, but being a ‘team player’ means lying down and taking it.  I’m just not built that way.  You do what you have to do, but cross all of your T’s and dot all of your I’s because if you don’t, the university is going to be writing me a big, fat check.  While you and the staff are here being team players, rolling over and just taking it, I’m going to be in Tahiti, not wasting one moment thinking about y’all.”
Zest didn’t get a chance to say more, because her attorney took that moment to speak.  “I believe we’re done here.  You have my client’s contact information.”
The dean made a futile effort to stop them.  “I—,”
“Good day, Dean.”
“So, I thought that went well.”
Zest’s attorney didn’t even bother to respond to that.  “You do know that I enjoy living in Texas, right?”
“Yeah, I was at the wedding.  If I was on the fence about how you felt about living in Texas, I would’ve known for sure when I got a gander at your wedding refinery.  The cowboy boots were okay, being you’re Texan.  However, I thought the gun holster was a bit over the top.”
“You, of all people, have no right to tell anyone any damn thing about being over the top.”
“As the kids say now, ‘whatevs.’  Anyway, if I still had lingering doubts after that ridiculous display, when you eschewed the traditional wedding march for the theme song of Walker, Texas Ranger™, yeah, that pretty much cemented it for me.  I’m not even going to say anything about the steer horns on your Cadillac® being that I’m riding with you and all.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a douche?” Brix asked without heat.
“If we don’t count the last twelve years of my teaching, then no.  No one’s ever told me that I’m a douche, which is why no one has lost any teeth.” 

Monday, June 2, 2014

Zombie and Hitch by Jeanie and Jayha

unedited excerpt:

Five weeks later...

As a connoisseur of reality television, Alden Chrysanthos had seen them all from truckers to housewives to gator hunters…and enjoyed them all.  All of those shows combined, however, didn’t have a damn thing on the town—and he used that word lightly—that he was in, or the people—and he also used that word lightly—who lived in it.  As a spec-ops warrior, he’d seen a lot of sh*t, but he’d never witnessed or experienced the likes of this level of WTF.  He didn’t know where in the f*ck they were, but he knew they’d left “normal” behind about twenty miles and two hours ago.  He missed normal.
As if the town and its residents wasn’t enough for one mortal man to deal with, there was that other thing:  the wedding.  The wedding hadn’t even started good and already he was sure he never wanted to witness anything like it ever again.  This wedding was just wrong on so many levels. 
First, there were the groomsmen…or should he say hostages. It wasn’t the fact that this wedding featured groomsmen; it was the fact that he and his team were the groomsmen, courtesy of some shotgun-wielding nuns.  Having anyone get the drop on them was a bitter pill to swallow, but hey, at least they could still swallow.  No thanks to Ms. Mel, who’d pulled a gun on them and forced them to drink her moonshine. 
Being alive gave him the opportunity to ponder things like the family Thane was marrying into.  He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but he’d bet good money that every single bridesmaid was certifiable. The first bridesmaid stumbled in carrying a hound dog.  He wasn’t sure if she was stumbling due to the weight of the dog or because Ms. Mel had pulled a gun on her and made her taste her moonshine. The second bridesmaid had a falcon with the wingspan of a pterodactyl, perched on her shoulder.  The third bridesmaid didn’t have an animal, probably because she had a tray of cupcakes…and a matching frosting ’stache.  And they were going to be Thane’s sisters-in-law. 
Of course, they were the saner option than the woman who was Thane’s bride.  Zelda Dodge who put the b, the u, the c, the k, the w, the i, the l, and the d in buck wild and the c, the r, the a, the z, and the y in crazy.  Lead zombie hunter for Smashes to Ashes & Bust to Dust, according to her 1099, her primary duties included cutting the heads off of zombies and incinerating their remains. 
But right now she wasn’t knee deep in gore.  Nope, she was rocking an eloquent gown while dragging a butt a*s naked Thane, up the aisle.  The second-to-last thing he wanted to see was the crack of Thane’s a*s, and that was only because the very last thing he wanted to see was the barrel of the highly-illegal gun haphazardly slung over the bride’s shoulder. 
Alden’s thoughts were interrupted by the freakishly large reptile that slithered up to the front and stretched out. 
“Is that an alligator?” Sander asked hopefully.
The man was probably trying to work out how many pairs of cowboy boots that hide would yield.
Braughan corrected Sander before Alden could get the chance.  “Komodo dragon.”
“We are so totally screwed,” Grosvenor said.
“And not in a good way,” Angel added.
They were totally screwed but at least none of them had ‘Grosvenor’ as a Christian name, Alden thought. 

Thane was going to owe them.  If he didn’t pay up, they wouldn’t help him get this farce of a wedding annulled. Of course, the way Thane kept interrupting the ceremony with his vociferous proclamations of love—for the bride, not for them—an annulment may have been the last thing their teammate wanted.  Even though he knew better than to ask, Alden knew he would eventually ask Thane what had happened.  And from the absolute mayhem surrounding him, he would dollars to doughnuts that Thane’s story would begin like all WTF stories did: What had happened was.

THE CROSS ROADS BOX SET A smorgasbord of genres, heroes, and heroines Brought to you from the pens of: Afton Locke Aliyah ...