Blog Tour: Rebel by Callie Hart

The first of a three part series. This novel contains a small snippet which has already been released in the Owned: An Alpha Anthology, however it is followed by a full story installment.

Sophia

Sometimes, you don't mean to become another person. Sometimes the choice is made for you, and pretending is the only thing that keeps you going. When Alexis Romera is taken and her kidnappers find her fake ID in her purse, she must become Sophia in order to keep her family safe. Revealing her real identity to the man she's sold to would be easy enough, but can she trust him? Hell bent on revenging the murder of his uncle, Rebel doesn't seem all that interested in playing things safe.

In fact, nothing about the secretive, dark and brooding MC president seems safe at all.

Rebel

What do you do when the man who raised you is murdered, and the only witness is kidnapped girl who's being sold as a sex slave? You buy her, of course. As president to the most powerful motorcycle club in America, Rebel isn't lacking in power. There are strings the man can pull, and entire criminal organisations and corporate businesses alike would fall to their knees. However, along with such power comes intense interest. The DEA have their eye fixed solely on the MC...and they're just waiting for Rebel to trip up.

Getting Sophia to testify is the only way to bring the Los Oscuros cartel down. The beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed woman is belligerent and uncooperative and unlikely to bend to his will, but Rebel has a few tricks up his sleeve to make her compliant--he'll charm her until she's bending over backwards to please him.

Of course, falling for her might cause a few hiccups along the way...

 

I love a story a takes me where I wasn't expecting it to. Yes, I'm reading romance and an hea is required at the end of the book (or series.) So, yes, the hea is a given. But I LOVE to be surprised all the way up until the hea. How do the characters get there? What do they have to overcome?

Sophia witnessed a horrible crime. Not only that, but she is kidnapped and pulled in to dark, scary world. She finds an unlikely hero in the dark, harsh, brooding Rebel. But Rebel is no one's hero, he is the president of a motorcycle club.

He has to convince Sophia to be on his side. To do what he needs her to do, but she doesn't trust him. The problem is, though, she is drawn to him. He slowly shows her different parts of himself, and as he does, feelings develop on both ends.

This is a great start to a new series. Be aware, this book ends in a cliffy. It isn't too major, but you definitely will want more of Rebel and Sophia. I know I can't wait to get my hands on the next book!

          “It’s time for you to tell me your name.” She arches an eyebrow at me. I can just imagine her getting them waxed in some fancy fucking boutique beauty parlor in Seattle, run by Asian hipsters with shaved undercuts and thick glasses. She seems like the type. “Why do you want to know?” she asks, cockiness filling her voice.

“I’m asking because I need something to call you. And if you don’t tell me your name, I’m going to be forced to call you One Eighty-One. And I’m guessing you won’t like being called One Eighty-One.”

“Why would you call me that?”

“Because that’s the reference Hector Ramirez gave you when you uploaded your picture onto his skin site. Hector tags his girls chronologically. The first girl he sold was number one. The fifty-third girl he sold was tagged fifty-three. Using that logic, guess how many girls he sold before he tagged you one eight one?”

“So a hundred and eighty other women came before me?” She looks like she’s going to throw up.

“Exactly. And he hasn’t been caught. The police haven’t raided his place out there in the desert. No one has reported his website. No one came to rescue the one hundred and eighty other girls who came before you, and no one is coming for you, either. So if you want reminding of that every single time I call you one eight—“

 “Sophia!” She screws her eyes shut, clenching her jaw. “My name is fucking Sophia, motherfucker.” She spits out the words like they’re poison. When she looks at me again, I can see the fury burning in the dark depths of her dark brown eyes. She comes alive when she’s angry. A thrill of adrenalin stabs through me, sending mixed signals to my cock; provoking such a violent reaction from her is provoking an entirely different reaction from me. For the first time, I see her. Fucking Sophia. I don’t see her as a means to an end—a potential way to take down the bastard who killed my uncle. I see her. I see her as a woman, and she is beautiful.

“Alright, Sophia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Callie has experienced many changes throughout her life, and gone through many ups and downs that have all worked towards shaping and molding her into the person she is today: fun loving, active, social, and hard working. The only thing that has remained a constant throughout her life is writing. Creating characters who will tear your conscience in two is a favorite pastime of Callie’s. There are few real saints and sinners in her books; more often, the denizens of her stories are all very human. Broken, flawed, and always with the potential for redemption.

Despite the subject matter being markedly hot and heavy in comparison to the stories she wrote in elementary school, there will always be an element of fairytale to her work.

 Website - Facebook - Twitter - Goodreads - Join Callie’s Newsletter

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3 Rebel Super Swag packs 

1 paperback of Rebel w/ signed bookplate 

1 complete eCopy set of the Blood & Roses series 

1 ARC of Callie Hart & Lili St. Germain's upcoming collaboration, Hell's Kitchen (to be ready by end of February) 

1 MAC "Rebel" lipstick 

Gary Taylor Leather Jacket 

$20 Amazon/iBooks Gift card 

Kindle HD 6 

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Release Day Launch: Prisoner

 

  

He seethes with raw power the first time I see him—pure tattooed menace and rippling muscles in shackles. He’s dangerous. He’s wild. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. So I hide behind my prim glasses and my book like I always do, because I have secrets, too. Then he shows up in the prison writing class I volunteered to teach and he blows me away with his honesty. He tells me secrets in his stories, and it’s getting harder to hide mine. I shiver when he gets too close, with only the cuffs and the bars and the guards holding him back. At night, I can’t stop thinking about him in his cell. But that’s the thing about an animal in a cage—you never know when he’ll bite. He might use you to escape. He might even pull you into a forest and hold a hand over your mouth, so you can’t call for the cops. He might make you come so hard, you can’t think. And you might crave him more than your next breath.

About Annika Martin

Annika Martin is a New York Times bestselling author who loves writing stories about criminals – some of her tales are dirty and fun (kinky bank robbers!) others are dark and intense (Prisoner collaboration). She also writes gritty, sexy romantic suspense and urban fantasy as RITA-award winning author Carolyn Crane.

Website • Twitter • Facebook • Goodreads

About Skye Warren

Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romantic fiction. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.

Website • Blog • Twitter • Facebook • Goodreads

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Blog Tour: Hostage by

My life is split into two realities. Before Code. And after him.

The first time I saw him, he walked into my father’s bank with the strut of a man who knows exactly what he wants. I saw in him a fearlessness that I desperately wanted, needed, craved as much as my next breath.

Because I was watching him, I knew immediately when he pulled out a gun, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired three shots.

And that is the way I mark my life—before that moment and after it. Before, when I tried to be agreeable, tried to be admired, tried to be pretty, tried to make sure everyone liked me. Tried to shake myself of shame. And after, when all of that fell away. When I just didn’t care anymore.

Before Code. And after him.

I didn’t know then what he would be to me. I didn’t know how he would transform the fabric of my existence. I didn’t know he would move me, reshape me, mold me into someone else, someone I wanted to be.

Afterwards, he would become my lover, my savior, my hope, and my strength.

But, before that, he was my hostage-taker.

Hostage is a very, very good novel by N.S. Moore. I was sucked in to the story from the very first page and wasn't able to put down the book until it was finished.

This is told in the dual perspectives of Code and  Wren. They "meet" when Code robs a bank. Wren is there meeting her father so they can go to lunch when the robbery goes down. Of course Code is a complete jerk when he first takes Wren. I mean he IS a criminal and obviously a bank robber. But there is more to him than that.

There is also more to Wren. She grew up in a life of "privilege,"  never wanting for anything. However, we learn almost immediately that things aren't as they seen with her as well. Because of a past event, she goes through life pretty much indifferent to everything. She wants everyone to be happy and has a problem saying no. She is just drifting through life.

The longer Wren is held captive by Code, the more layers are peeled back. I enjoyed the subtle transformation and growth of both characters. They both start to open up. There is actually a good and decent guy in Code and there is actually spirit in Wren.

There is instant attraction on both sides from the get go. The sex, o.m.g. is explosive and HOT!!! At first, he just thinks he needs to get her out of his system. She thinks she can use sex to distract Code or to soften him up. They both quickly realize that one time isn't enough.

Hostage is a must read! It is not as dark as I expected it would be due to the synopsis, however this book did not disappoint. It's part dark, part light and happy, and so, so sexy. This is a fresh and original book that satisfies my need for a great story.

I wrench my arm away from the guy’s grip and try to run back toward my dad.

I actually get away from him. I think I must have surprised him, since he’s obviously a lot stronger than me. My whole body hurts, and my vision is still blurry, and I smell a burnt scent from the guns that’s so familiar and makes my stomach roll with nausea.

But I stumble away as fast as I can. I don’t make it very far when a strong arm wraps around my middle and pulls me back toward a lean, hard body.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” the guy says—same sexy guy as grabbed me before. “I need you.”

I don’t want to be needed by a bank robber, even a sexy one with a tattoo and a five o’clock shadow. I’m used to going along with whatever people want, but there’s this surge of resistance that suddenly swells up inside me.

It explodes in one choked word. “No!” I struggle against his powerful grip, even though he’s a lot bigger and stronger than me. I don’t even think about that. I just need to get away.

“Damn it,” the guy mutters, dragging me with him toward the back offices again. “Stop your fucking wiggling.”

“Let…me…go!” I throw my elbow back, hoping to connect with something that will hurt him. Instead, I connect with the metal briefcase. The shock of pain is so intense that I momently see white.

He takes advantage of my brief limpness by repositioning my body so I’m even more under his control. “Stay still,” he bites out, gruff authority in his tone, “or you’re going to get yourself killed.” He pushes me down a hallway, after the rest of the crew.

It’s an outrageous thing to say to me. “Fuck you, asshole! You’re the one who’s going to get me killed.”

His arm is now tucked under my tits, and it’s trapping both of my arms. I can’t swing out to hit him. And I don’t have the leverage to use my legs, since he’s half-carrying me as he strides through the hall. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just borrowing you for a while. So shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

My mind is a whirl of terror, outrage, fury, and shock, and my body is completely out of my control.

This guy has control of it. Completely. He says he’s not going to kill me, but I have no reason to trust him.

He’s the criminal. He’s the bully. He’s the bastard.

He’s the one who is taking me hostage.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

If it were me, I’d dump the hostage and then make a run for the Mexican border. But I figure maybe he thinks I’m the only leverage he has if he gets trapped.

Then he grabs me and pulls me to his side, keeping his arm around me. Maybe to someone else, it looks like we’re in a romantic clench, but his arm is so hard around my ribs that it almost hurts.

I know my own strength, and it’s nothing compared to how strong this guy is. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull away from him.

“Walk,” he grits out, forcing both of us forward.

So we walk that way. Right along a pleasant, downtown street. Like we’re so in love we can barely keep our hands off each other.

Or like one of us has been taken hostage.

It’s all pretty surreal, when I think about it. Mostly, I’m too scared to do much thinking.

No one seems to be paying attention to us. I hear a lot of sirens, so I assume help has arrived at the bank. It would nice if help could arrive for me too.

We turn a corner, and I see a couple of uniformed police officers walking toward us. I can’t believe my luck. If I can get their attention, maybe they can shoot this guy and I can get free.

There’s not much I can do except say something, so I open my mouth to call for help.

I just start to make a sound when the guy pushes me back against an SUV parked on the curb and covers my mouth with his.

It hurts. He moves so abruptly and so roughly that it hurts when my shoulder blades hit the hard metal of the car. I can’t even breathe because his mouth is over mine. I can’t move because his lean, strong body is holding mine trapped.

My heart, my pulse, my vision is all pulsing with fear, surprise, and helplessness. My body is hot and cold at the same time. My arms are trapped between our bodies, but I can use my fingers and I claw at his shirt.

Then suddenly I can breathe. He’s torn our lips apart, although his face is still directly in front of mine and his body still pushing into mine. “Little bitch,” he mutters, his eyes flashing anger. “Don’t even think of doing something like that again.”

I open my mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s to scream or to snap back a reply. It doesn’t matter because his mouth has claimed mine again.

It’s not even really a kiss. It’s hard, punishing. And his hand slides down my bare thigh and pulls my leg up, like he’s really into the kiss. He’s mad at me, so I can’t imagine that he really is. He’s probably just putting on a show for the cops, who must be walking by us right about now.

I’m pretty well experienced with kisses, but this kiss isn’t anything like I’ve had before. My stepfather would kiss me when he came to my bed at night. They were always light and gentle—some sort of brutal mockery of tenderness. Guys always kiss me before they fuck me—usually kind of sloppy and like they want to get them over with so they can get to the main course.

I’ve never been kissed hard and rough and punishing like this.

I don’t like it. At all. I hate this guy like nothing else for the way he’s treating me.

And I hate him even more because my body is reacting.

N.S. Moore has been writing for years, and she loves romance of all varieties—from sweet to very dark. Her first book, Hostage, is a sexy New Adult contemporary romance about two people who find each other in very unlikely circumstances but discover they’re exactly what the other needs.

When she’s not writing, N.S. Moore likes to read, shop, play tennis, and spend time with her family and her dog. She’s currently working on her next book.

She would love to hear from readers. If you’d like to get in touch with her, you can follow her on Facebook or email her at nsmooreauthor@gmail.com.

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Release Day Blitz: Hostage by N.S. Moore

My life is split into two realities. Before Code. And after him.

The first time I saw him, he walked into my father’s bank with the strut of a man who knows exactly what he wants. I saw in him a fearlessness that I desperately wanted, needed, craved as much as my next breath.

Because I was watching him, I knew immediately when he pulled out a gun, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired three shots.

And that is the way I mark my life—before that moment and after it. Before, when I tried to be agreeable, tried to be admired, tried to be pretty, tried to make sure everyone liked me. Tried to shake myself of shame. And after, when all of that fell away. When I just didn’t care anymore.

Before Code. And after him.

I didn’t know then what he would be to me. I didn’t know how he would transform the fabric of my existence. I didn’t know he would move me, reshape me, mold me into someone else, someone I wanted to be.

Afterwards, he would become my lover, my savior, my hope, and my strength.

But, before that, he was my hostage-taker.

I wrench my arm away from the guy’s grip and try to run back toward my dad.

I actually get away from him. I think I must have surprised him, since he’s obviously a lot stronger than me. My whole body hurts, and my vision is still blurry, and I smell a burnt scent from the guns that’s so familiar and makes my stomach roll with nausea.

But I stumble away as fast as I can. I don’t make it very far when a strong arm wraps around my middle and pulls me back toward a lean, hard body.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” the guy says—same sexy guy as grabbed me before. “I need you.”

I don’t want to be needed by a bank robber, even a sexy one with a tattoo and a five o’clock shadow. I’m used to going along with whatever people want, but there’s this surge of resistance that suddenly swells up inside me.

It explodes in one choked word. “No!” I struggle against his powerful grip, even though he’s a lot bigger and stronger than me. I don’t even think about that. I just need to get away.

“Damn it,” the guy mutters, dragging me with him toward the back offices again. “Stop your fucking wiggling.”

“Let…me…go!” I throw my elbow back, hoping to connect with something that will hurt him. Instead, I connect with the metal briefcase. The shock of pain is so intense that I momently see white.

He takes advantage of my brief limpness by repositioning my body so I’m even more under his control. “Stay still,” he bites out, gruff authority in his tone, “or you’re going to get yourself killed.” He pushes me down a hallway, after the rest of the crew.

It’s an outrageous thing to say to me. “Fuck you, asshole! You’re the one who’s going to get me killed.”

His arm is now tucked under my tits, and it’s trapping both of my arms. I can’t swing out to hit him. And I don’t have the leverage to use my legs, since he’s half-carrying me as he strides through the hall. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just borrowing you for a while. So shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

My mind is a whirl of terror, outrage, fury, and shock, and my body is completely out of my control.

This guy has control of it. Completely. He says he’s not going to kill me, but I have no reason to trust him.

He’s the criminal. He’s the bully. He’s the bastard.

He’s the one who is taking me hostage.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

If it were me, I’d dump the hostage and then make a run for the Mexican border. But I figure maybe he thinks I’m the only leverage he has if he gets trapped.

Then he grabs me and pulls me to his side, keeping his arm around me. Maybe to someone else, it looks like we’re in a romantic clench, but his arm is so hard around my ribs that it almost hurts.

I know my own strength, and it’s nothing compared to how strong this guy is. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull away from him.

“Walk,” he grits out, forcing both of us forward.

So we walk that way. Right along a pleasant, downtown street. Like we’re so in love we can barely keep our hands off each other.

Or like one of us has been taken hostage.

It’s all pretty surreal, when I think about it. Mostly, I’m too scared to do much thinking.

No one seems to be paying attention to us. I hear a lot of sirens, so I assume help has arrived at the bank. It would nice if help could arrive for me too.

We turn a corner, and I see a couple of uniformed police officers walking toward us. I can’t believe my luck. If I can get their attention, maybe they can shoot this guy and I can get free.

There’s not much I can do except say something, so I open my mouth to call for help.

I just start to make a sound when the guy pushes me back against an SUV parked on the curb and covers my mouth with his.

It hurts. He moves so abruptly and so roughly that it hurts when my shoulder blades hit the hard metal of the car. I can’t even breathe because his mouth is over mine. I can’t move because his lean, strong body is holding mine trapped.

My heart, my pulse, my vision is all pulsing with fear, surprise, and helplessness. My body is hot and cold at the same time. My arms are trapped between our bodies, but I can use my fingers and I claw at his shirt.

Then suddenly I can breathe. He’s torn our lips apart, although his face is still directly in front of mine and his body still pushing into mine. “Little bitch,” he mutters, his eyes flashing anger. “Don’t even think of doing something like that again.”

I open my mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s to scream or to snap back a reply. It doesn’t matter because his mouth has claimed mine again.

It’s not even really a kiss. It’s hard, punishing. And his hand slides down my bare thigh and pulls my leg up, like he’s really into the kiss. He’s mad at me, so I can’t imagine that he really is. He’s probably just putting on a show for the cops, who must be walking by us right about now.

I’m pretty well experienced with kisses, but this kiss isn’t anything like I’ve had before. My stepfather would kiss me when he came to my bed at night. They were always light and gentle—some sort of brutal mockery of tenderness. Guys always kiss me before they fuck me—usually kind of sloppy and like they want to get them over with so they can get to the main course.

I’ve never been kissed hard and rough and punishing like this.

I don’t like it. At all. I hate this guy like nothing else for the way he’s treating me.

And I hate him even more because my body is reacting.

N.S. Moore has been writing for years, and she loves romance of all varieties—from sweet to very dark. Her first book, Hostage, is a sexy New Adult contemporary romance about two people who find each other in very unlikely circumstances but discover they’re exactly what the other needs.

When she’s not writing, N.S. Moore likes to read, shop, play tennis, and spend time with her family and her dog. She’s currently working on her next book.

She would love to hear from readers. If you’d like to get in touch with her, you can follow her on Facebook or email her at nsmooreauthor@gmail.com.

Amazon

Amazon CA

Amazon UK

Amazon AU

B&N

a Rafflecopter giveaway

  

HOSTED BY:

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