Pen Pal, an all-new dark and gripping story from international bestselling author J.T. Geissinger is available now!

The first letter arrived the day my husband was buried. It was postmarked from the state penitentiary, and contained a single sentence:

I’ll wait forever if I have to.

It was signed by Dante, a man I didn’t know.

Out of simple curiosity, I wrote back to ask him what exactly he was waiting for. His reply?

You.

I told the mystery man he had the wrong girl. He said he didn’t. I said we’d never met, but he said I was wrong.

We went back and forth, exchanging letters every week that grew increasingly more intimate. Then one day, the letters stopped.

When I found out why, it was already too late.

Dante was at my doorstep.

And nothing on earth could have prepared me for what happened next.

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Review

Feels 4
Steam 3
Storyline 4
Overall Rating 4
Kindle eArc provided by Author
Reviewed by Lindsey

I don’t think I’ve ever been more pissed off at a book in my life. But I loved it! The ending had me screaming. Super intense and unique story. The characters were so complex. I had a hunch that something was amiss. But NOT THAT ENDING. Soooo good. Although it did make me mad, I loved it because the author took a chance on something completely different and it worked. She had me hooked from the crazy beginning to the shocking ending. Bravo lady! Bravo!

Excerpt

It’s raining as my husband’s casket is lowered into the hole in the ground. Raining hard, as if the sky itself is about to rip in half like my heart has.

I stand motionless under an umbrella with the other mourners, listening to the priest drone on about resurrection and glory, blessings and suffering, redemption and the holy love of God. So many words, and all so meaningless.

Everything is meaningless. There’s a Michael-shaped hole in my chest, and nothing matters anymore.

That must be why I feel so numb. I’m empty. Grief has blown me apart, scattering my bones into a desert wasteland where they’ll bake in silence under a merciless sun for a thousand years.

A woman behind me quietly weeps into her handkerchief. Sharon? Karen? A colleague of Michael’s who I met at a long-ago faculty party. One of those awful holiday work parties in a school auditorium where they serve cheap wine in plastic cups and people stand around making awkward small talk until they’re drunk enough to say what they really think about each other.

Sharon or Karen behind me told Michael he was a prick at that party. I can’t remember why, but that’s probably why she’s crying now.

When someone dies, you start counting all the ways you failed them.

The priest makes the sign of the cross over his chest. He closes his Bible and steps back. I walk slowly forward, bend down to grasp a handful of soil from the pile to one side, then toss it onto the closed casket.

The wet clump of dirt makes an ugly hollow sound when it lands on the gray lid of the coffin, an uncaring splat of finality. Then it slides off, leaving a smear of brown behind like a shit stain.

Abruptly, I’m shaking with anger. I taste ashes and bitterness in my mouth.

What a stupid ritual this is. Why do we even bother? It’s not like the dead can see us mourning them. They’re gone.

A sudden gust of cold wind rattles the leaves in the trees. I turn and walk away through the rain, not looking back when someone softly sobs my name.

I need to be alone with my grief. I’m not one of those people who likes to commiserate over a tragedy. Especially when the tragedy is my own.

When I open the front door of the house, it takes a moment for me to register that I’m home. I have no recollection of the drive from the gravesite to here, though the blank spot in time doesn’t surprise me. Since the accident, I’ve been in a fog. It’s as if my brain is blanketed in thick clouds.

I kick off my shoes and leave them under the console table in the foyer. Tossing my wool coat onto the back of a kitchen chair, I head to the fridge. I open the door and stand looking inside as rain drums against the windowpanes and I try to convince myself I’m hungry.

I’m not. I know I should eat to keep my strength up, but I have no appetite for anything. I let the door swing shut and press my fingers against my throbbing temples.

When I turn around, I notice the envelope on the table next to the fruit bowl. It sits by itself, a white rectangle with neat handwriting and a stamp that reads “LOVE” in red letters.

I know for a fact it wasn’t there when I left.

My first thought is that Fiona must’ve brought in the mail. Then I remember she cleans the house on Mondays. Today’s Sunday.

So how did it get there?

As I cross to the table and pick up the letter, a rumble of thunder rattles the windows. A sudden gust of wind whistles through the trees outside. The eerie feeling intensifies when I read the return address.

Washington State Penitentiary.

Frowning, I tear open the edge of the envelope and pull out the single sheet of white unlined paper inside. I unfold it and read aloud.

“I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

That’s it. There’s nothing else, except a signature scratched below the words.

Dante.

I flip the page over, but it’s blank on the other side.

For a fleeting moment, I think the letter must be intended for Michael. That idea gets tossed aside when I realize it’s addressed to me. That’s my name right there on the front of the envelope, printed in neat block letters with blue pen. This Dante person, whoever he is, meant for me to receive this.

But why?

And what is he waiting for?

Unsettled, I fold the letter into thirds, stuff it back into the envelope, and drop it on the table. Then I make sure all the doors and windows are locked. I draw the drapes and blinds against the wet gray afternoon, pour myself a glass of wine, then sit at the kitchen table, staring at the envelope with a strange feeling of foreboding.

A feeling that something’s coming.

And that whatever it is, it isn’t good.

About J.T. Geissinger

J.T. Geissinger is a #1 internationally bestselling author of twenty-seven novels. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold over five million copies and been translated into more than a dozen languages.

She is a three-time nominee in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITA® Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of America®. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy.

She’s a Southern California native currently living in Nevada with her husband and rescue kitty, Zoe.

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Everything they thought they knew is about to change.

In Chaos We Reign, an all-consuming dark romance from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Amo Jones is out now!

I was the trick that they could never play.

She was the greatest game of all…

There was elegance that comes from being carved from the ashes of all the darkness that surrounds you in the world. You start as dust, and you end as dust. At least that’s what I always thought. Crowned Princess Mayhem all my life became old fast, and I found myself forging my iron crown with the blood of our enemies.

To The Brothers of Kiznitch, I was nothing but a little brat that always got my way. I was the sister none of them asked for, but they’d find themselves needing. He was no different. Loving Keaton Cicero was never going to be easy. There was evil within him that would never be accepted.

They thought their over-protectiveness had kept me safe all these years, but they were wrong. Everything they thought they knew, was about to burn around them. I wasn’t someone who needed protecting…

They were.

In Chaos We Reign can be read as a stand-alone, but it is recommended to read In Silence She Screams first to better understand some story points.

Download your copy today on Amazon and Free in Kindle Unlimited!

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Review

Feels 2
Storyline 4
Steam 4
Overall Rating 4
Kindle eArc provided by Author
Reviewed by Lindsey

I’m going to be brutally honest about this book. I’m having mixed emotions. The story was great. The mysterious twists and turns are all revealed. The characters were epic…obviously! I’m just sad this series is over. Keaton and Cartier are so darn toxic for one another it hurts. But they work. Like really work. Highs and lows with everything in between had me completely submerged in this story. I was on pins and needles wondering if all the delicious treachery would come to light. Whew! It sure did. In true Amo fashion! The odds are against every single Midnight Mayhem member from beginning to end. No one is supposed to make it out alive so the action and suspense was soul gripping. Simply put this book was awesome. But it made me so very sad. I’ve loved this crew for years. They truly feel like part of my twisted, slightly crazy family saying goodbye. The ride was totally worth it though.

Keep reading for a look inside In Chaos We Reign!

Chapter One

Cartier

Sixteen years old

I remember the first time I realized my brother was crazy. I was twelve years old, and I watched him rip the meat off a man’s bones after he kidnapped me and locked me in an abandoned house to play dress-up. The man was a stranger, and even though our family business was risky, it had no connection with Midnight Mayhem or Kiznitch. Yet my glorious brother tore him to pieces with his bare hands and didn’t blink once. Tonight is just like then, only worse. Worse because this is someone I know, and it’s someone who tried to hurt me.

Doors slam closed outside, and I stop pouring the cashmere pink bubbles into my bath. Reaching for my phone on the counter, I open Spotify and hit play on “OT” by Niykee Heaton before dipping my toe into the warm water. Bubbles spill onto the dark veined marble floors as I sink deeper beneath the water, closing my eyes in an attempt at scrubbing the night away. I don’t want Kyrin to hear me cry because I know it will only make him worse. I’ve handled this school since my parents dumped me in it when Kyrin threw a fit to keep me away from Mayhem, and I will continue to handle it when he goes back on the road. Right now, I need peace. I need to feel nothing. See nothing. Hear nothing. They say drowning is the most peaceful death, I can imagine why. After being suffocated from oxygen for minutes, you welcome the feeling of numbness. Like now. Void. Stuck between a realm of life and death, I could float and hold my breath until I simply… die.

A hand is around my throat, pulling me out of my haze and I swipe water from my face angrily when I resurface. “What the fuck!” As soon as my eyes open, they land on Keaton, one of the four Brothers of Kiznitch. He and my brother have been inseparable since they were born—they all are—but Keaton isn’t like the rest of them. He is simply… different.

My mouth closes as I take in his clothes. Blotches of blood litter his designer jeans, and when I finally look up at his face, I find mud and more blood all over his cheek and shirt. The Brothers of Kiznitch have all been my extended brothers, all of them except Keaton. He is nothing like a brother to me, and that’s largely because he has never treated me the same way the other Brothers have. He doesn’t seem pissed about my presence, but not that fond of it either. He has always just existed. For a long time anyway. But I don’t know if I’d call what we share a normal friendship. My stomach always twists anytime I catch him staring, and it’s become more frequent the older I get, but that doesn’t change the fact that we both fight. Fight probably more than any of the other brothers, Kyrin not included.

“What the fuck, Keaton?” I glare up at him while leaning back against the curve of the bath, flicking my toe against the faucet to turn the hot water back on.

I see him dip to a kneeling position out of the corner of my eye, when his fingers curl around my chin, forcing my face to his. I hold my breath when his eyes settle on mine. Keaton is the scariest of all The Brothers—to everyone but me. Darkness hovers over him everywhere he goes, and no matter what he does, he’ll never be rid of it. Torment swims beneath the surface of his god-like features, and it has always bothered me that I can never take it away. No one can.

“Was there anyone else involved?” His voice is low enough to be a warning. I find myself losing my train of thought when I trace the edges of his naturally swollen lips.

“No,” I whisper, only it comes out broken from the saliva forming in my throat.

He stands back to his full height and kicks off his boots, tugging his shirt over his head from the back and throwing it onto a pile in the corner.

“Keaton…” I warn. “If Kyrin—”

“—don’t really give a fuck right now, Tigger.” I close my eyes and lean against the edge of the bath, listening as the clink of his belt falls to the floor before a long stretch of silence drifts between us. Just when I think he’s not going to do what he’s going to do, I feel his leg brush mine as he lowers himself into the bath opposite me. Keaton and I have kept each other at a distance, and most of the time I think I’m imagining the things I do. The long stares, brushes of hands, lingering touches. We fight as hard as we clearly care about one another, but it has always been clear. The lines have never been blurred.

Until now.

Meet Amo Jones

Amo Jones is a USA Today & Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author whose books have been translated in multiple countries.

She resides in the tropics of Australia with her family, though she’s a born and bred Kiwi who more often than not, misses New Zealand.

Connect with Amo

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Choosing her may ruin his life.
But he doesn’t want a life without her.

True North, an all new forbidden, workplace contemporary romance from New York Times bestselling author JB Salsbury is now available!

The North name is a heavy burden. Two things I learned young—the best way to keep my head on is to keep my head down, and… never fall in love.

But I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.

Lillian came into my life swinging. Mistaking me for my abusive twin brother, she greets me with a swift kick to the balls and a busted lip. Then she really shakes up my world.

She needs her job, but she needs a break just as much. And nothing silences my demons as efficiently as playing the hero.

To protect her from my jerk twin—her boss—I take her on a business trip and quickly learn that she’s different. Blunt. Honest. Intriguingly strange. I’m transfixed, so when she unknowingly sinks a multimillion-dollar deal, I don’t speak up. Something my family won’t forgive.

Now, I have a choice to make. I can go against my own blood and burn the North legacy to the ground, or play it safe, commit to my self-imposed rules and predestined future. Choosing her would ruin my life as I know it, but I’m starting to wonder if a life without her is worth living.

Download your copy today!

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Review

Feels 3
Storyline 4
Steam 4
Overall Rating 4
Kindle eArc provided by Author
Reviewed by Lindsey

I love me some North men! They’re broody and moody. Until you get to this one. He’s sweet, honest, sexy and possessive. What else could you want?! I loved that the female lead wasn’t just picture perfect. She was different and unique. I loved her more than Mr. North. Beautiful soul, sassy with a quick wit. These two together are fire! Definitely not a book to miss. Salsbury can spin some of the most captivating stories. So good!

Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from True North!

Hudson

We stroll down the street, taking turns with the fried bread and looking at each booth that offers some variation of Native American cuisine. Lillian finds a way to strike up a conversation with everyone. The woman likes to talk. And I’m getting an unexpected level of enjoyment watching her.

“Let’s head to the arts section.” She tugs on my jacket sleeve. “I want to get a souvenir—oh, look! A bouncy house!” She hooks her hand into the crook of my elbow.

I startle a little at the contact, even though, so lost in her excitement, she doesn’t seem to notice she’s even touching me.

“We have to jump in the bouncy house!”

“Why? We’re not six years old.”

She drags me closer to the jungle-themed contraption, complete with inflated palm trees, monkeys, and bananas decorating the entrance. “Because it’ll be fun.” She whirls around, her pale blue eyes dancing. “You do remember what fun is, don’t you?”

“My idea of fun isn’t making a fool out of myself in front of a bunch of kids.”

“Why not?” She toes off her shoes. “Kids don’t care if you look like an idiot.”

“You go ahead.”

“You’re missing out,” she calls as she ducks through the strips of green plastic made to look like hanging vines.

Within one minute, she’s laughing with the kids, jumping in a blur of black, with her golden hair flying in every direction. I don’t mean to stare, so I pull out my phone, sure that there’s an email I can attend to, but her laughter keeps my eyes from the screen. I’ve never heard a sound so authentic, free from the constraint of social expectation or acceptance. Have I ever met a person who gets this much joy from something so simple and childish? Lillian balks at a three-Michelin-star meal and finds a contagious kind of joy from a bouncy house.

She’s breathing hard as she has an in-depth discussion with the kids about what she dressed up as for Halloween and who would win in a fight between Sophia the First and someone named Doc McStuffins. A little girl asks her where Lillian’s mom is and if she wants to have a playdate tomorrow.

“See that guy there?” Lillian points me out to her new friends. “He’s afraid of bouncy houses.”

The group of littles reply in multiple forms of shock.

An evil smirk tilts her lips. “I think he might feel brave enough to try if you guys go talk to him.”

“Oh, come on…” I grumble.

Three kids who I wouldn’t guess to be older than five come barreling toward me.

“Don’t be scared!”

“My little sister isn’t even afraid!”

“You can hold my hand.” A small hand slips into mine and holds on. The little girl with bright brown eyes and black hair tilts her head back to look up at me, and something warm seeps into my chest. “Just hold on, okay?”

Only an asshole would say no to that face.

I kick off my shoes and let her drag me to the bouncy house. The kids are still shouting their encouragement while Lillian dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“Don’t be a wussy!” one of the boys calls out while jumping furiously.

I release the little girl’s hand and walk straight into Lillian’s space. Her laughter dies, and I watch her throat bob with a hard swallow.

“I’m going to pay you back for this,” I say low so the kids don’t hear, which makes my voice rumble.

A spark fires in her eyes. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Read more here>>> https://bit.ly/3oFoTD6

Start the Wild North Series of standalones now!

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About JB Salsbury

JB Salsbury, New York Times Best Selling author of The Fighting Series, lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband and two kids. She spends the majority of her day lost in a world of battling alphas, budding romance, and impossible obstacles as stories claw away at her subconscious, begging to be released to the page.

Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance prompted her to write her first novel.

Since 2013 she has published six bestselling novels in The Fighting Series and won a RONE Award.

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