#Sale Blitz# RISKY BUSINESS = PATRICIA CAMPBELL is $0.99 until 30th March!!!

Women’s Fiction
$.99 Until March 30th
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Doggedly determined, Risky Williston strives to rescue every homeless dog in Simi Valley and beyond. Her small house and yard bursts at the seams with dogs of all breeds, some her personal pets and some waiting for her to find homes for them.
 
 
Disciplined, neat and orderly, Chet Jensen desires Risky, but can he cope with her bizarre and disorganized lifestyle?
 
 
Chet stirs old fears Risky has spent a lifetime repressing. She doesn’t want to confront them, to face them again.
 
 
Is it possible for two people with such diverse values to have a lasting relationship?
 
 
 
 
 
 
About the Author
 
 

 

Patricia Campbell turned life altering events into an opportunity to change direction, and reinvented herself as an author of women’s fiction and romance novels.
 
It’s never too late to realize your dreams.
 
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 $0.99 Til End of March 

 

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#Release Blitz# PEACOCK (The Faults Of Our Sins) = Esther E. Schmidt is LIVE NOW!!

 LIVE NOW!!

PEACOCK (The Faults Of Our Sins)
By Esther E. Schmidt.
Hosted by Jo&Isalovebooks Blog.

 

Cover Design: Esther E. Schmidt




Release: March 24th 2017
#MafiaRomance

SYNOPSIS

 

Going in blind is a rookie mistake. With my years of experience, you would think I should know better by now. I’m always the capable one that can handle anything that’s thrown my way, until Karma throws me off my game.
My Karma comes in the form of a woman and she has to be payback for all the shitty things I’ve done in my life. Not just any woman but one who is determined to self-destruct. This woman is clearly going to be my downfall. Leaving me to find myself not only losing my heart, but risking my life in the process.
There’s no other option than to claw our way through dilemmas that might leave the both of us wondering if our next breath could be our last. We relish in the fact that we’ve got nothing to lose, because let’s face it… The faults of our sins will catch up with us in the end.
**This steamy, dark and twisted, standalone romance is not for the faint of heart. You’ve been warned.**

 

AVAILABLE ON:
iBooks/Kobo/B&N/Amazon
 

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TEASERS
 
EXCERPT
Karma…I need to grab her and behead the metaphoric bitch. Some might say I had it coming. Me? I’ve looked over my fucking shoulder at every turn. So yeah, I guess my time was up.


“Proud of yourself, Karma?” It’s also the nickname I gave the woman who was thrown into my life. She fucking earned it on the very first day we met, because she has to be some form of payback for all the shitty things I’ve done in my life.


I pin the woman with my deadliest glare and all she does is smirk.

She takes her time to glance over the room. “Pretty much, yes.”

 

A few minutes ago, I almost had a heart attack. And it’s her fault. I was standing in the shower when I heard a gun go off. A whole fucking clip. Empty. Now I’m standing in my shot to fuck bedroom, naked, with water dripping down my body. My chest is still fucking pounding and I feel like an idiot.


Did I mention that this is only her second day here? I’m the fucking head of a large gang. Sometimes I lead a meeting where a bunch of gangs get together to discuss problems that involve all of us. Some may call it a syndicate, but I call it a group meeting. A few weeks ago, we had a problem with an out of town gang that was making waves. An uprising if you will. We’re talking snuff movies type of shit. We had to handle that situation quickly, that meant we needed intel.


The only way to get that kind of information was to work with a guy who works for favors. You can guess what’s coming next, right? Yeah, that fucking favor just emptied my gun inside my fucking bedroom.

@ Esther E. Schmidt – Peacock (The Faults Of Our Sins)
 

 

Other Books by the Author
 
Areion Fury MC Series 

#1 FREE!! https://books2read.com/Zack

#2 https://books2read.com/Dams
#3 https://books2read.com/Tyler
#4 Pokey coming 2017
#5 Sico coming soon
#6 Calix coming soon

Broken Deeds MC Series
#1 https://books2read.com/Deeds
#2 https://books2read.com/Broke
#3 https://books2read.com/Depay 2/14
#4 Ramrod coming soon
#5 Lochlan coming soon

Ford The Dudnik Circle #1
#1 https://books2read.com/Ford
#2 Yegor coming 2017

“Frederick”
https://books2read.com/Frederick

Peacock” coming 2017

“Marlon” Neon Marksman MC coming soon

Swamp Heads Series
#1 FREE https://books2read.com/Cyrus
#2 99c https://books2read.com/Elsie
Novella, Romance, Standalone, INSTAlove

 
Free Reads 
(Not Standalone)
Areion Fury
ZACK
MC SERIES #1

https://read.amazon.co.uk/kp/card?asin=B017099OS2&preview=inline&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_ZgO0ybGTA6B99

CYRUS
Swamp Heads Series #1
 

https://read.amazon.co.uk/kp/card?asin=B01HC83JAU&preview=inline&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_JrO0ybRB79V93

ABOUT AUTHOR
 
 
Esther E. Schmidt, author of Areion Fury MC, Broken Deeds MC, The Dudnik Circle series, and The Swamp Heads series. She’s a graphic designer that also loves to write. She released her first series “Areion Fury MC” in October 2015. Esther lives in The Netherlands with her family, three daughters, a crazy bulldog and four rats. She loves to write erotic Romance about bad boy Alphas with a heart for only one woman. To make it a bit interesting, that woman needs to be a badass herself. She loves to work out and most of her story lines come from doing cardio.
 
Connect with Esther..
 
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE 
Signup for Esther’s newsletter:
Join The Swamp Heads group on Facebook:
Join Esther’s fan group on Facebook:
 

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#PROMO Blitz# ROLLING THUNDER = MARK BERENT

Historical Fiction/Military Fiction
 
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Rolling Thunder is an historical novel about the decisive role politics played during the Vietnam War. Its characters range from men in the field to the Pentagon and the White House. Fighter pilots and Special Forces warriors try to do their best but are hampered by President Johnson, Secretary of Defense McNamara, and their staff members who despise the military. Only one aging USAF general, who fought in Korea and WWII, is on their side. His clashes with his Commander in Chief, Lyndon Johnson, are epic in proportion and startling in content.
 
 
In Rolling Thunder, the time is late 1965 and 1966 in war zone places such as Saigon, Hanoi, Bien Hoa, Da Nang, and Tahkli. While back in Washington, LBJ sits over lunch and personally picks bombing targets in an attempt to fight a limited war. In Vietnam the war knows no limits.
 
 
There, as the hostilities escalate, the fates of three men intertwine: USAF Captain Court Bannister, overshadowed by a famous movie star father who fought in WWII as a B-17 gunner, driven to confront missiles, MiGs, and nerve-grinding bombing raids in order to prove his worth to his comrades — and to himself…Air Force First Lieutenant Toby Parker, fresh from the States, who hooks up with an intelligence unit for a lark, and quickly finds his innocence buried away by the lessons of war…and Special Forces Colonel Wolf Lochert, who ventures deep into the jungle to rescue a downed pilot — only to discover a face of the enemy for which he is unprepared.
 
 
Four airline stewardesses, who fly the civilian MAC contract flights that bring American soldiers to and from the war zone in Vietnam, have difficult love affairs with G.I.s and fighter pilots. After one flight they come under attack while on an airbase.
 
 
Young American G.I.s are cursed and taunted as they return to the United States.
 
 
Through their eyes, and those of many others — pilots, soldiers, lovers, enemy agents, commanders, politicians, profiteers — Rolling Thunder shows us Vietnam as few other books have, or can. Berent captures all the intensity and drama of that searing war, and more, penetrates to the heart and soul of those who fought it. Rolling Thunder rings with authenticity.
 
 
Other Books in the Wings of War Series
 
 
 
Five months after we left them in Rolling Thunder, Steel Tiger brings back USAF Major Court Bannister, Special Forces Lieutenant Colonel Wolf Lochert, and USAF First Lieutenant Toby Parker, now scattered to their new posts: Bannister in Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base in California, Wolf Lochert at Lang Tri, Republic of Vietnam, carrying out covert operations in Laos, and Toby Parker, in the pilot training program at Randolph Air Force Base in Texas. Soon their diverse paths will lead all three men back to Vietnam for a second tour of duty — in the very heart of the conflict.
 
 
 
 
In Phantom Leader (May 9, 1991) Berent, himself a highly decorated Air Force Pilot, once again captures the intensity of the most controversial war in modern history. Phantom Leader shows readers exactly what it was like to be a pilot caught between the immediate reality of death and the distant decisions of Washington.
 
 
 
 
In Eagle Station (June 8, 1992) the newest installment in his Vietnam War series, Berent puts on the heat and raises the stakes, creating his most electrifying tale of war to date. Beginning with a hair-raising cliff side helicopter rescue under heavy fire, and racing toward a climactic ground battle played out in the dark of night, engaging top secret USAF first special operations gun ships, Eagle Station is filled with adventure and acts of daring, woven into a compelling and powerful plot.
 
 
 
 
Storm Flight, (Book Five of Five) the intense conclusion to his saga, the action is touched off by a daring raid on the Son Tay prisoner-of-war camp that reveals some startling information. With American prisoners in terrible jeopardy and crucial national secrets in danger of being discovered, the characters we have met in Berent’s earlier books are put to the ultimate test. They must call upon all their skill, leadership, guts, and strength to complete their missions.
 
 
As always, Berent highlights his knowledge of little known facts about the war, and his keen insight into the minds of members of the fighting forces. In one exhilarating sequence, Parker and his instructor pilot Ken Tanaka each shoot down two MiGs in the course of one fight, involving four MiGs and an unarmed transport. Despite the chewing out that they receive later from their superior officer, the two fighter pilots refuse to shoot down the transport. Ironically, that decision was the one that saved the life of one of their strongest critics, Jane Fonda, who had once called fighter pilots “professional killers.” (This incident is based on a true story.) Parker later makes “ace,” a title given to the rare fighter pilot who shoots down five MiGs.
 
 
 
Excerpt
 
CHAPTER ONE
 
 
 
1320 Hours Local, 17 December 1965
 
Airborne in an F-100D near
 
Bien Hoa Air Base, Republic of Vietnam
 
 
 
Precisely how a crashing jet fighter breaks up is a function of its speed, of its angle of impact, and of the topography of the ground it strikes. A high speed impact at a ninety degree angle ensures small pieces mashed into a neat circular hole with narrow wing trenches extending from each side. Depending on soil consistency, the engine can burrow down 30 feet and be compressed from twelve feet in length to three. Lesser angles of impact splash the wreckage in the direction of flight. A near-zero glide angle on smooth terrain is another matter entirely. Unless the air­craft cartwheels, which it often does if one of the landing gear collapses, the wings will usually remain intact al­though probably separate from the aircraft. Large sections of the tail assembly and fuselage usually remain. If the pilot is not killed upon impact, he may survive if the wreck doesn’t burn. Usually they burn.
 
USAF Captain Courtland EdM. Bannister knew all this as he delicately babied his shotup F-100D Super Sabre jet fighter toward his home base of Bien Hoa located 15 miles northeast of Saigon in III Corps, South Vietnam. There were six half-inch holes in his airplane, two nearly lethal.
 
Less than an hour earlier, Bannister and his flight leader, Paul Austin, had been scrambled from runway Alert to aid an American Special Forces unit in trouble up near Loc Ninh in War Zone C. In pairs, Bien Hoa F-100 pilots pulled three types of Alert: runway, cockpit, and standby. Each flight of two could be airborne streaking toward a target in one minute, five minutes, or 20 minutes.
 
Almost all Bien Hoa missions, whether scrambled from or scheduled the night before on the Frag Order, were air-to-ground doing what the USAF had been sent to Vietnam to do; support U.S. or Vietnamese troops in battle. The weapons hung under their wings were a mixture of bombs, rockets, napalm, and cluster bomb units known as CBU. Each carried 800 rounds of ammo for the four 20mm cannons mounted internally under the scoop nose of the fighter.
 
A radar controller in a small dark room had Bannister on his scope.
 
“Ramrod Four One, I have you twelve miles out on the 275 radial of Tacan Channel 73. Squawk Three Four, acknowledge, Bien Hoa.” To ‘squawk,’ a pilot toggled a switch to send a burst of energy to the radar scope.
 
“Bien Hoa, Four One, squawking Three Four. I have a situation here. I need a straight-in. I’m leaking bad; gas and, ah, hydraulic fluid. Get me down quick, you copy Four One?”
 
“Roger, Four One, GCA copies.”
 
The Ground Control Approach controller had picked up Ramrod Four One from Bien Hoa Approach Control who advised him the pilot had declared an emergency due to battle damage and low fuel. Bannister had not mentioned he was bleeding. Approach Control also said they had no contact with Ramrod Four Zero, Bannister’s flight leader.
 
As the controller prepared to transmit, another voice broke in. It was neither as low pitched as that of the GCA controller nor as calm.
 
“Four One, this is Ramrod Two speaking, Ramrod Two. You got gear? You got three good ones down? How about flaps? You got flaps? Where’s your flight leader?” Ramrod Two, Bannister’s operations officer and immediate commander, had channeled into the conversation using the squadron radio.
 
Bannister didn’t have time to answer his nearly hysterical operations officer. He was busy keeping his crippled airplane aloft. Suddenly, a red warning signal lit up drawing his attention to a small hydraulic gauge on a lower panel in his cockpit. The needle of the gauge bobbled twice, then yielded up the few remaining pounds of utility hydraulic pressure as the main pump ground to a halt, then violently broke up deep inside the big fighter. Bannister thought he could feel the grinding. He quickly raised his eyes out of the cockpit to see if he could spot the runway. He had to squint and to blink away blood. All he could see was the jungle canopy a thousand feet below stretching out for miles into a reddish haze.
 
Several slugs from a big quad-barrel Russian ZSU-4 12.7mm antiaircraft gun had stitched his Super Sabre from scoop shovel nose to just short of the tail section. They had punctured and ripped tubing and control lines causing a loss of hydraulic fluid which required Bannister to engage his emergency flight control system. That system was powered by a Ram Air Turbine called RAT by its acronym. The engine itself was untouched. One slug, however, had ripped a small hole in the belly fuel cell allowing fuel to stream out behind the F-100 like a smoke trail.
 
Another slug had crashed through the starboard quarter panel glass of the windscreen, smashing the gunsight, zinging fragments of metal and glass into Bannister’s face. His helmet and oxygen mask protected all but the area around his eyes and forehead. He wore no sunglasses and had not lowered either the sun visor or the clear plastic visor mounted on his helmet. The fragments had etched a few minor lacerations above Bannister’s right eye. While neither particularly painful nor disabling, the wounds produced prodigious capillary bleeding effectively causing Bannister to lose the sight of his right eye. Wiping with his gloved hand smeared it worse. Bannister unhooked his blood-filled oxygen mask and let it dangle. Pooled blood splashed down the front of his parachute harness and survival vest and mingled with his sweat. He heard the measured cadence of the controller through the headset in his helmet.
 
“Ramrod Four One, check gear down. Prepare for descent in one mile.”
 
Bannister cupped the mask to his face with his right hand, bracketed the control stick with his knees, and pushed the trans­mit button on the throttle with his left hand. He countered a right wing drop with a leftward motion of his knees pressing on the stick.
 
“Bien Hoa, my situation is a bit worse. No Utility pressure, Flight One is out, Flight Two is going, and I’m not getting much RAT pressure, flight controls stiffening. Yeah, and I only got about 100 pounds of fuel.” Bannister still didn’t mention the blood. He did not consider himself wounded, merely inconvenienced at a rather harrowing time.
 
“Where’s your leader, where’s Four Zero? Ramrod Four One answer me.”
 
“Get off the air, Ramrod Two,” the GCA controller broke in, “there’s an emergency in progress and I’ve got it.” His voice was brittle, not the calming one he used with Ramrod Four One.
 
Bannister shoved down a lever with a replica of a wheel on it. The lever released the lock pins allowing the gear doors to open and the heavy wheels and struts to fall free. Then he pulled the lanyard that shunted emergency hydraulic fluid into the last two feet of hydraulic lines locking the nose and left main gear into place. The right main didn’t lock causing its cockpit indicator light to remain red. Bannister pushed to test the green indicator bulb. It worked. He already knew his flaps wouldn’t go down; he had tried them at a higher altitude doing a damage check. His flight leader was not there to assist him and report whatever damage Bannister could not see.
 
“Ah, Bien Hoa, the right main is still red. I don’t think it’s locked in place. And this will be a no-flap landing. Put the barrier up, I’ve got to make an approach-end engagement.” Without flaps he had to bring his plane in fifteen knots faster. Bannister didn’t intend to eject unless the engine quit.
 
He punched a button activating a solenoid that released a heavy steel bar with a hook on the end which extended under the aft section of his plane. If he touched down in the right place, the hook would snatch the cable stretched across the approach end of the runway and yank him to a stop in a few hundred feet, exactly the way a Navy fighter engages a cable during an aircraft carrier landing.
 
“Roger, Ramrod Four One, Bien Hoa copies. Barrier crew noti­fied. This is your final controller, how do you read?”
 
“Loud and clear,” Bannister yelled into his dangling mask. From here on he needed his right hand on the control stick, his left on the throttle.
 
“Ramrod Four One, you need not acknowledge further trans­missions. Steer right Two Six Five degrees and start your descent…now.”
 
The controller frequently released his mike button for an instant in case Ramrod Four One had to make a transmission that his emergency was worsening.
 
Bannister concentrated on his heading, but did not start the standard 600 feet per minute rate of descent that would give him a smooth 3 degree descent angle to the runway. He needed to hold his altitude until the last minute in case his engine quit from fuel starvation. Then he would decide if he was close enough to glide in or if he would be forced to eject. He rapidly blinked his eyes as he scanned his instruments every few seconds while simultaneously searching forward for the runway. His right eye cleared. When he finally spotted the white concrete landing strip he started to breathe more rapidly as he estimated altitude and distance to the point of touchdown. His airspeed gauge indicated two hundred knots. He was flying into a five knot headwind giving him a speed over the ground of 230 miles per hour or 338 feet per second. In 23 seconds he would be on the ground, one way or another.
 
The controller’s voice faded for Bannister as he concentrated on aligning his craft and deciding when to start his last minute descent. If he was too late, his steep descent angle would cause him to overshoot the runway which would force him to bailout or crash, since he did not have enough fuel to go-around and try again. If he started too soon and the engine quit, he would also have to bail out or crash short of the runway.
 
One mile from the runway Bannister decided it looked right and started an abnormally high rate of descent. He could see the crash crew lined up along the side of the runway; red foam trucks, a yellow wrecker, and a blue ambulance. At 800 feet above the ground and 4000 feet from the end of the runway his engine sucked up the last drops of JP-4 jet fuel and quickly unwound.
 
“Flameout,” Bannister yelled into his mask.
 
The big plane wanted to quit flying but Bannister held his speed by shoving the control stick forward which forced the nose down more. His rate of descent increased to 1000 feet per minute. Airspeed had to be high to spin the RAT and give him hydraulic pressure to work the flight controls. He would need a lot of control response to break the glide and flare for touchdown. Though Bannister’s heart rate went up another notch, he felt confident he could make it. All the numbers were right. He calculated he had enough altitude to trade for airspeed to make the touchdown point where his hook would grab the cable. The camouflaged airplane plunged closer to the jungle, barely topped the palm trees, streaked across the half-mile clearing before the concrete, then flared smoothly as Bannister applied enough back pressure on the control stick to break the rapid descent but still make a firm touchdown so the hook wouldn’t bounce over the barrier.
 
It all worked. The hook snatched the cable with the immense force generated by 17 tons of mass in motion at 300 feet per second. The four-foot brake drums on each side of the runway feeding out cable screamed and smoked, absorbing kinetic energy as they decelerated the big fighter. The jet slewed sharply left, then, at 100 knots, the right main gear collapsed, slamming the right wing to the ground and starting a cartwheel.
 
Bannister’s head banged against the canopy as the wing hit the ground. He grunted as he pushed without results on the now frozen control stick and rudder pedal to counter the violent movement that would end in a fireball. Of the three remaining forces acting on the plane, forward momentum, right roll, and hook deceleration, the hold-back by the hook was the most powerful and won out. The left wing rose ten feet off the ground, the plane pivoted thirty degrees on the crushed right wing tip, the hook held and slammed the flat-bottomed airplane back onto the concrete runway. Bannister’s seat survival pack absorbed most of the impact for him but his head, weighted by the three-pound helmet, thudded down on his chest harness so hard the metal snap gashed his chin. The violent impact dazed him. For an instant he was on the edge of consciousness.
 
The fire trucks and crash crew surrounded the wreck almost before it settled. They shot great streams of sticky white foam over and under the plane, around the hot engine and aft section. Without fuel there was little chance of a fire. Four firemen in aluminum suits, looking like bulky astronauts, ran to the airplane, two to each side. One jerked the external lanyard blowing the canopy off while the others positioned a ladder and ran up to get Bannister, who was rapidly coming around and able to undo his own helmet, harness, G-suit, and oxygen connections. The years of programming himself to instinctively perform all the ground emergency egress actions were paying off.
 
 The fireman at the top of the ladder on the right side thought so much blood in the cockpit was unusual. Usually a guy hit this bad wouldn’t make it back. He passed Bannister’s helmet to another fireman, who, facing aft toward the open cockpit, was straddling the nose of the aircraft like a horseback rider. “Are you okay, Sir?” the closest fireman asked through his helmet faceplate.
 
 “Yeah, Chief, fine, thanks. How about fire? We got any fire?” Bannister, thinking the plane would blow up, was struggling to get out.
 
“No, no fire. No sweat, Sir, just hang on a minute.” The firemen gently placed his gloved hand on Bannister’s shoulder. He held the groggy pilot down until the Flight Surgeon from the ambulance could climb up the ladder and check his condition.
 
“Hey Court, how ya doing? Where ya hit?” Major Conrad Russell, MD, asked as he leaned over Bannister to wipe away blood and assess damage. He saw the facial rips and tears where the blood had already clotted. He thumbed up Bannister’s right eyelid and noted that the eyeball looked intact and functional. The nick in the chin was barely oozing.
 
“No place. I’m not hit. Just some junk in my face. Is my right eye okay?” Bannister asked. He looked up at Russell, squinting his gray-blue eyes as much from the residual blood as from the sun behind Russell’s back. Bannister’s brown hair, released from the confines of his helmet, soaked with sweat and plastered against his head, was trimmed almost to crew-cut length. His close-shaved sideburns ended at mid-ear. His face was square, his jaw line strong. Bannister was six foot two and normally trimmed out at 190. Vietnam heat and O’ Club food had dropped him to a dehydrated 170. He was 30 and had been a USAF fighter pilot for ten years. This was his first crash.
 
Major Russell, his preliminary check complete, said, “Come on, let’s get out of here. We gotta clear the runway. Other guys want to land too, you know. Your eye will be fine.” He tugged at Bannister to get up and climb down the ladder.
 
The Flight Surgeon started to smile and hum as he moved his bulky figure down the ladder, accepting the helping hand of a nearby fireman. Doc Russell was doing what he loved best. He wore standard Shade 45 USAF blue two-piece fatigues which were now smelly and stained badly by the foam. His name, rank, and Flight Surgeon wings were embossed on a piece of leather stitched to his left breast. Russell was overweight, rotund in fact. His round, young-looking face vaguely resembled that of Baby Huey, the cartoon character. The fighter pilots at Bien Hoa, particularly those of the 531st, the squadron he was responsible for, quickly gave him that nickname. Russell, a 34 year old major, would have been a pilot were it not for optic problems so bad that his eyes tended to cross whenever he was tired.
 
He walked Bannister to the ambulance. The letters and devices on the leather nametag on the pilot’s left breast stated he was Courtland EdM. Bannister, Capt., USAF. A star above his pilot’s wings indicated he had flown at least seven years and had amassed 2000 flying hours and was rated a senior pilot. Below his pilot’s wings were the parachutist’s wings he had been awarded after training with the Special Forces in Germany. Bannister still wore his G-suit and survival vest, and carried an olive-green bag stuffed with his helmet, kneeboard, and maps. On his feet he wore Army issue jungle boots which were perfectly suited for tropical wear but would provide no ankle support in a parachute landing.
 
Standing next to the squadron jeep edged up to the blue USAF ambulance, watching them approach, was Ramrod Two, Major Harold Rawson, five-ten, black hair combed straight back, a pencil-thin mustache over his thin upper lip. He looked the type who missed the days of puttees and riding britches. He wore, instead, the standard K-2B cotton one-piece green flight suit with the standard thirteen zippers. On his head was a regulation USAF blue flight cap with silver officer piping on the rim and the gold oak leaves of a major pinned front right. Rawson was the operations officer of the 531st Tactical Fighter Squadron, second in command to the squadron commander and responsible for day-to-day fighter operation. The commander, Lieutenant Colonel Peter Warton, was back in the States on emergency furlough leaving Rawson in charge. He felt burdened with the unexpected responsibility.
 
Rawson watched Bannister and Russell approach, barely resisting the temptation to run up to Bannister crying “What in hell did you do?” Instead he waited until the two men drew closer.
 
“Where’s Four Zero?” he asked. Then, unable to contain himself, “How could you lose your leader?”
 
Before Bannister could answer, Russell shoved him toward the ambulance and said to Rawson, “Look, Harry, I’ve got to check this guy out before you or anybody from Intel gets to talk to him. Now back off.”
 
Bannister’s face colored. He seriously considered slamming his fist into Rawson’s small, turned down mouth which seemed to perpetually sneer whenever its owner spoke.
 
“I didn’t lose anybody, Goddammit. Austin got hit and went straight in,” Bannister said in a tight voice over his shoulder as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. As the double doors swung shut he turned to see Rawson struggling with only limited success to control himself.
 
 
 
In the coolness of one of the nested trailers that served as a hospital on the Bien Hoa Air Base, Russell remained silent until he had finished swabbing the cuts on Bannister’s face. They would not require stitching and would heal quickly if kept clean.
 
“Well,” he said straightening up, “all that blood and these cuts are worth a Purple Heart.”
 
Bannister stood up and walked to one of the small sliding windows that looked out. He had taken off his G-suit and dark green net survival vest. The sweat beneath was crusted white with salt and starting to dry on his flight suit. He dug a crushed pack of Luckies from his zippered left sleeve pocket and lit one before he answered. The Zippo he used had a thick rubber band around it. He had learned that trick from his Special Forces buddies at Bien Hoa to both keep the lighter from slipping out of a pocket as well as prevent it from clicking on another metal object.
 
“Forget it.” He inhaled deeply, held it, and blew the smoke out in a long sigh. He could still see the fireball that Major Paul Austin’s plane made after it hit the ground.
 
 “Why?” Russell asked after a minute.
 
“Too piddly.”
 
“Well,” Doc Russell said, “I guess I understand that.” He stood up. “At any rate, Paul Austin will get one.” He was silent for a moment. “Hell of a way to earn it, though.”
 
After another pause he added, “Isn’t his dad a general in the Pentagon?” He nodded to himself. “Sure he is, a three-star. So that’s why Harry Rawson is so distraught.” He looked to Bannister for corroboration.
 
“That’s the one,” Bannister said. He hoisted his gear and started for the door. “I’ve got to go debrief. There’s big stuff going on up there near Loc Ninh. We stumbled into something hot and I don’t mean just gun barrels.”
 
“Okay,” Russell said, nodding. “Keep your dirty mitts off those cuts. Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the club.”
 
Bannister walked out the door thinking about the intelligence debriefing session he was about to face in the wing headquarters building. He knew he could convince the lower ranking Intel people that something was up at Loc Ninh, but he wasn’t at all sure whether the high level ones at Saigon would agree. They had their own concepts and didn’t like input that upset them. That was one problem he could probably deal with. He wasn’t so sure about the other.
 
What weighed on Bannister’s mind far more than the Loc Ninh buildup was the lie he planned to tell the Flying Safety Officer about why Paul Austin crashed.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
About the Author
 

Mark Berent is admirably suited to have written his historical fiction five-book Vietnam Wings of War series for he lived each story. He served four years and one day in the Vietnam War during the period from November 1965 until August 1973.
When asked why he kept going back, he replied: “A lot of reasons; because it was there, because I wanted a MiG, because when the threat goes up the paperwork goes down and the weinies run for cover, but mostly because the guys were still fighting. Everyday I’d pick up a paper and find another buddy KIA, MIA, or POW. I just couldn’t stay on the beach.”
Now he writes about these men. He has five books in print and Ebooks; Rolling Thunder, Steel Tiger, Phantom Leader, Eagle Station, and Storm Flight. Although historical fiction, the books are about the men and women who gave everything they had in a war they weren’t allowed to win. FAC pilots, Phantom crews, Thud, Hun, and Buff crews, gunship pilots and gunners, green berets, grunts, carrier jocks, MAC contract stews, boomers and tankers, from corporals to colonels; the whole nine yards about the day-to-day heroism and heroes we all know and loved . . . and some we hated. By way of contrast, LBJ in the Oval Office and McNamara in the Pentagon E Ring are included and the words they spoke as they picked strike targets over lunch are included in great detail, yes indeed. As are those of Jane Fonda and Tom Hayden.
 
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#Sale Alert# Just Friends by Monica Murphy is just 99¢ for a limited time only!!!

Just Friends 99c

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It’s the end of summer. Just before I start senior year with my two best friends in the whole world. Dustin and Emily are everything to me. We’ve been inseparable since middle school, and when we’re together, nothing can go wrong.

But things aren’t always what they seem. Em’s turned into a drunken mess who parties too much. Dustin and I have hooked up a few times—and now he’s ready to take our relationship to the next level. Yet I’m not sure I want things to change. I’m scared if I take it any further with Dustin, our friendship will be ruined forever. Then there’s Ryan. The new guy. He’s hot. He flirts way too much. And Em has totally set her sights on him.

So when my best friend betrays me in the worst possible way, guess who’s there to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart? Ryan. But he’s so confusing. Annoying. Sweet. Sexy. I want to trust him, yet he makes it so hard. What I really want is for everything to go back to the way it was before.

Before I found out that best friends make the worst kind of enemies

#Freebie Alert# Let us introduce you to the reading world of Author JSScott!!!

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Why not read these stories and fall madly in love with her Billionaires and Vampires.

Mine For Tonight, the first book in The Billionaire’s 
Obsession Series is #Free on all these retailers.
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Do you love Paranormal Romance? Then this is the book for you.
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*Would you like to be notified of future releases and promotions?, simply text Billionaire to 80464 to receive notifications. US Residents ONLY.

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#Promo Blitz# THE COLOR OF PAIN =Melissa E. Arnold

Contemporary Fiction
Date Published:  March 2016
 
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As a small boy, Alex becomes ensnared in the schemes of his mother, Cathlean, as she seeks to entrap a white British soldier, John, and “marry up” to improve her status in life. Her plan comes to fruition when John becomes obsessed with his black wife, marries her, then takes her and her son away from her native country of Belize to live in England. Cathlean becomes the society woman in England but begs her husband to return to Belize so she can show off her new status to her friends and fellow “good-time” girls. They return ten years later, but an unhappy Alex seeks solace in the arms of Sherrette. They fall head over heels but soon find their own problems as fast-paced revelations affect their fragile relationship. Told in a first-person view of life in Dangriga, Belize, young Alex’s story reflects on the color of his pain as he seems to bear the brunt of Cathlean’s selfish brand of pain that she calls love.
 
 
Excerpt

 

 
Prologue
 
Present-Day Dangríga
Stann Creek District

Belize, Central America

Friday night, and the plain pine coffin stood on three unpainted sawhorses in the middle of the floor. Mourners murmured among themselves as they gathered under the white tent and stood directly in front of the coffin looking down at the almost angelic face of the deceased. A copper penny had been placed on top of each of the deceased’s eyelids in true Garífuna fashion. The toes of the new white socks had been attached together with a shiny safety pin; that too was a Garífuna tradition, origin unknown. The copper pennies were vaguely representative of the “toll” that the dead would have to pay to get a pass from Saint Peter into heaven. Yes, you couldn’t always tell, but Garífunas, one of which the deceased was, believed in heaven, hell, and an afterlife.

Sure, they dabbled in Obeah, the Belizean-African system of spells, hexes curses, and magic, and they regularly participated in Dugú, a voodoo-like healing ritual, in the Dabúyabah (Temple) to appease the spirits, but they wanted to make absolutely sure the deceased paid their way into heaven. They, functioning in the shadowy, dual world of Christianity and spiritualism, wanted to make sure that all bases were covered, just in case the deceased needed help to get to meet their maker.

 
Directly to the right of the coffin sat a woman in a wheelchair, a tragic figure, her head bent and sobbing or at times wailing and cursing at God, blaming him for the loss of the deceased. An average, nondescript gentleman stood awkwardly behind her, talking soothingly to her, rubbing her shoulders and back, trying in vain to comfort her.
 
Another male, this one a stranger, stood near the inside entrance of the tent, shuffling from one foot to the other, twisting a beat-up brown fedora between gnarled hands. He seemed ill at ease, reeking of marijuana and rum; he too was sobbing pitifully. Some people whispered to each other, wondering who he was, what his connection to the deceased was, and why he was there, but nobody was brave enough to ask him. The few who knew who he was would not satisfy the curiosity of those clueless to his identity.
 
To complete the tableau of mourners, near the front, just to the left of the coffin, was a young girl of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, beautiful but clearly wracked with sorrow, with head bowed as she shrieked in agony. You could tell from looking at her that she was hugely pregnant, like she was about eight and a half months along. Many of those present wondered whether she would last through the funeral or if she would have to be rushed to the hospital even before the night was over. She was quite literally “ready to pop” and deliver her baby, but some were reassured because they saw that Mamma Graciela, the local midwife known for her magic fingers and calm demeanor, even in breech-birth situations, was in the crowd. They were confident that she would be able to handle things or whatever complications would arise.
 
A local band kept a lively flow of Punta music and other favorites going; people were nodding their heads and shaking their bodies to the sounds, even the non-Garífunas: Kriols, Indians, Spanish, or gi-yows as they were called. Papa Deuce had his card table set up in a corner and was doing a brisk business at four different tables at a dollar buy-in; one table was dedicated to the dice game “under or over,” the second to five-card Pitty Pat, the third to checkers, and the fourth to a cutthroat game of dominoes, or “bones.” The domino table drew the largest crowd as gleeful players loudly yelled “Domino!” as they slapped winning tiles to the appropriate end of the domino board.The louder the slap at the placing of that final tile, the more in-your face the win and temporary bragging rights until that winner was taken down by the next challenger, and so on. Marty, the most recent winner, taunted Louis as he slammed the winning domino tile down.
 
 
 
 
About the Author
 
 
MELISA E. ARNOLD was born in Dangriga, Belize, Central America, and has been writing stories since she was a young girl. Her family says she always created stories and always won essay-writing competitions in school. She is a thrice-published poet but has always felt that she had at least “one great novel” in her that needed to be written. This book is the result of her collaboration with fellow Belizean expatriate Alexander Cassanova, with whom she discovered she had much in common as they make their way in their new country of residence, the United States of America. Ms. Arnold resides in Los Angeles, California.
 
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#SALE ALERT# The ENTIRE Eagle Elite Series by Rachel Van Dyken is on SALE for a limited time only! Don’t pass up these great deals! Start the series today!

BIG SALE 99C

✮ ✮ ✮ HUGE SALE ALERT! ✮ ✮ ✮

The ENTIRE Eagle Elite Series by Rachel Van Dyken

is on SALE for a limited time only!

Don’t pass up these great deals!

Start the series today!

Do not touch the Elect. 

Do not speak to the Elect. 

Do not look at the Elect.

And most importantly, do NOT fall in love with the leader…  

Eagle Elite Reading Order: http://rachelvandykenauthor.com/the-eagle-elite

  Elite

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  Elect

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  Entice

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Elicit

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Enforce

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Ember

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Empire

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#Release Blitz# His to Seduce = Stacey Lynn is LIVE!!!!

HIS TO SEDUCE SBPR-HTS-RB[40204]

His to Seduce by Stacey Lynn
Publication Date: March 21st, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Loveswept

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Synopsis:

An honorable man who’s lost his way . . . A career woman who hides behind her button-up suits . . . Unexpected romance is the specialty at the Fireside Grill as Stacey Lynn’s captivating series comes full circle.

Becoming an ER doctor had been David McGregor’s mission ever since he could remember. But after tragedy strikes at his hospital in Chicago, David runs away from the guilt—all the way back to Latham Hills, Michigan, where he takes a job tending bar at his childhood friend’s restaurant. That’s how he meets Camden Reed, and the way Camden refuses to give him the time of day should be a turnoff. Instead, he’s drawn to her tough, tightly wound exterior, and soon David realizes that he has a new mission: to see her tightly wound beneath him.

Camden’s fighting tooth and nail to resist the desire she feels for David. Growing up dirt-poor, raised by a single mother, she worked twice as hard to get where she is today, and she doesn’t have any patience for the kind of guy who’d give up a decent paycheck to sling drinks. But when the sexual tension finally combusts between the sheets, Camden discovers that people aren’t always what they seem. As David pushes her past her limits, Camden begins to loosen up—and to trust that, when she falls, there will be someone waiting to catch her.

HIS TO SEDUCE HTS-teaser2[40206]

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2lZRrVS

HIS TO SEDUCE HTS-AN[40205]

Read Today!

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Check out the other books in the series:

His to Cherish, Book 3:

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His to Protect, Book 2:

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His to Love, Book 1:

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About the Author

stacey_author_pic_2015

Stacey Lynn currently lives in Minnesota with her husband and four children. When she’s not conquering mountains of laundry and fighting a war against dust bunnies and cracker crumbs, you can find her playing with her children, curled up on the couch with a good book, or on the boat with her family enjoying Minnesota’s beautiful, yet too short, summer.

She lives off her daily pot of coffee, can only write with a bowlful of Skittles nearby, and has been in love with romance novels since before she could drive herself to the library.

If you would like to know more about Stacey Lynn, follow her here:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/staceylynnbooks
Twitter: @staceylynnbooks
Website: http://www.staceylynnbooks.com
Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2g3Wiqp

#Sale Alert# The Rousseaus Brothers are yours for only 99c! The Rousseaus Boxed Set by Katy Regnery is ON SALE!

Young passionate couple making love in bed

★★★ Only 99c for this BOXED SET! ★★★

The Rousseaus Brothers are yours for only 99c!
The Rousseaus Boxed Set by Katy Regnery is ON SALE!

Amazonhttp://amzn.to/2nFqJlG
Nook: http://bit.ly/2m0Z82d
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Blurb: 

New York Times and USA Today bestselling series!

“Katy Regnery is a fresh new voice. I eagerly await every Katy book and I tell everyone I know to read them!” –Carly Phillips, NY Times Bestselling Author

Katy Regnery’s Blueberry Lane series continues with the Rousseaus – all three romances are included in this boxed set.

Meet Jacqueline (Jax), Madeleine (Mad) and Jean-Christian (J.C.) Rousseau, three wealthy siblings born in Paris and moved to Haverford, Pennsylvania, as children. Like their brother, Etienne (Ten), who found love with Kate English (of The English Brothers fame!) they are all NOT on the look-out for love. It just turns out that love is going to find them anyway! C’est la vie!

JONQUILS FOR JAX (The Rousseaus #1): Escaping a handsy suitor at her brother’s wedding, Jax literally runs into the neighbor’s landscaper, Gardener Thibodeaux. Unaccustomed to men who are immune to her charm and beauty, Jax can’t help her curiosity about the hot, growly gardener. next door.

MARRY ME MAD (The Rousseaus #2): Everyone knows you’re not allowed to date your twin sister’s ex. Everyone. So when Mad Rousseau finds herself falling for Jax’s high school boyfriend, Cort Ambler, she fights it tooth and nail. But, Cort won’t give her up that easily…especially now that he’s with the twin he always loved.

J.C. AND THE BIJOUX JOLIS (The Rousseaus #3): Playboy J.C. Rousseau likes two things: sex and art. When he meets his sister-in-law’s best friend, Libitz Feingold, a beautiful gallery owner, he’s smitten. But Lib isn’t interested in J.C.’s smirky smiles. She is, however, fascinated by art. A mysterious painting linked to both their pasts will bind them together in a search for answers, and may just end up binding their hearts.

#RELEASE BLITZ#COCKY SENATOR’S DAUGHTER : HANNAH COCKER (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book #8)=FALEENA HOPKINS

SYNOPSIS
HANNAH COCKER
 
We descendants of six notorious brothers are a close knit group, because we have to protect each other. People want to be our friends, our lovers, for the wrong reasons… for what we can do for them. What they can take from us. And sometimes snakes wear masks. 

Every man I’ve dated in this city has either bored me or hurt me. 

So when my cousin, Sofia Sol, offers me a ride on the back of her Harley with no destination in mind besides out-of-Atlanta, can you blame me for saying yes?

TOBIAS KYRKOS

Life doesn’t always give you what you want. You have to take it. Two years ago I lost a fight that cost me my Champion title. Now’s my chance to turn the tide.

I don’t know who the Cocker family is. Florida doesn’t give a damn what happens in any other state. So when I spot Hannah Cocker for the first time, I don’t know she’s semi-famous, and I don’t care. All I’m thinking is, how can I make that beautiful woman’s sadness disappear? I’m not good enough to be her forever, but I sure can give her one hell of a ride tonight.

*** Contains a BONUS NOVEL of “Cocky Senator” for a limited time.  Both are sizzling STAND ALONE contemporary romance, full-length novels that can EASILY be enjoyed in any order. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed, fun as hell, happily ever after! The bonus love story begins at approx. 50%

 

99c or #Free on KindleUnlimited
AMAZON LINKS

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GOODREADS


EXCERPT
 
Hannah presses closer into me, her fingertips tracing my skin. “My mom read to me every night, and taught me how before Kindergarten. She was really patient, you know? I don’t remember her ever losing her temper, at least not with me.”
“You see her lose it with someone else?”  
“She got mad at a plumber once, called him a robber. And when he left she kneeled in front of me and said, ‘Don’t ever let them take advantage of you because you’re a girl, Hannah.’ I think it’s my strongest memory of her. But I have photos, and my grandma recorded stories with my dad before she died.” 
I whisper, “How many?” 
“Tons.” Hannah’s chest caves in as she rubs her nose then wraps her arms around me again. She feels so good. “I haven’t listened to them in years. They’d make me miss her too much, and I miss her so badly already. I want my mom. I need her! Why’d that have to happen to her?” Her shoulders start shaking while I rock her. 
“I know, gorgeous, it sucks.” 
“So bad! It sucks so bad,” she whispers. “I hate it. I have a stepmother, and I love her. She’s great, and I know I’m lucky. I shouldn’t feel this badly, but Tobias, I want my real mom to meet my children. I want her to see who I marry. I want her to be able to slap my dad, like really hard! Maybe two times.” 
Quietly laughing at that last one, I ask, “You can’t do it?” 
“No,” she sighs, chuckling through the tears. “He’s too good a guy. But I kind of want to.” My chest rumbles with hers and then we go quiet together. “Thank you, Tobias.” 
“For?” 
“I think I needed to talk about her. I never do. All my cousins have both their parents. It’s only me who doesn’t, so they can’t ever understand. But then it’s like she was never here, and that’s not good.” Hannah meets my eyes. “And I’m sorry about what happened to you. I know they’re not the same stories…” 
“…but they’re the same feelings.” 
“Same loss.” Her stomach growls and she glances to it, making a face at the timing. 
I laugh and trace her cheek. “You hungry, babe?”
“Yeah, a little.” 
“Let’s get room service.” 
Her hand slides down my stomach and under my towel, which unlatches the haphazard knot. The damp cotton drifts to the ground. She takes hold of my sleeping length and smiles up at me, looking so beautiful my heart shudders. “I know what we can do while we wait for food to get here.” 
One of my eyebrows cocks up and I murmur against her waiting lips, “Let’s make the pain go away.”
OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
 
(All #Free on KindleUnlimited)
NOW FREE FOR A LIMITED TIME…
AUTHOR BIO

I write the kind of books I want to read, page turning, exciting escapes that lift the heart, melt it, and set it back down better than it was. 😉 



Strong family ties are always in my stories – they would take a bullet for anyone in their family if needed. Loyalty is number one. Though some fall at times, they forgive and help each other get back up.



I’m also an actress and filmmaker, and will be directing my first feature film in 2017, acting in it and yes, I wrote it. The book will come out when the movie does, and I’m so excited to share it with you. The MEN have been acting in and directing their own projects for a long time (Woody Allen, Ben Stiller, Ed Burns, Ben Affleck, etc…), why can’t I? I hope you’ll be by my side. You can see some of my showbiz resume here: http://imdb.me/faleenahopkins

Connect with Faleena here…