(★)•♥•*´¨`*•.(♥)• You Wreck Me •(♥).•*´¨`*•♥•(★)
Releasing September 26th
I had no choice but to call my father, Demon, president of the Blue Devils MC, when I realized someone was following me. I had walked away from him and his outlaw lifestyle five years ago along with the man who had wrecked my heart. When I looked up to see my protector on his motorcycle I wasn’t expecting it to be Wrecker. He was the last man I ever wanted to lay eyes on again. I had warned him if I ever saw him again I would shoot off his d*ck and I meant it.
The run was supposed to be a simple one. Pick up the girl and take her to the hideout until it was safe to return her home. There was one problem, she was my ex, the daughter of my club president. She hated me for what I did to her, but I still loved her and I intended on making her mine again. No matter what it costs me.
This book is not intended for safe readers. It basically contains anything that will make you want to throw your e-reader so read it at your own risk.
Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B075RRFXGD
Amazon DE https://www.amazon.de/dp/B075RRFXGD
Amazon CA https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B075RRFXGD
Amazon AU https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B075RRFXGD
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Wasn't Supposed To Love You
By Dawn Martens
“Why are we here again?” I ask Alana. We’ve been dating for a few years now, and I still don’t know how her mind works.
She glances around the campus and rolls her eyes. “I told you already, Bryce, I want to take up a few classes. I want to open up my own business, you know that,” she says quietly. “Why do you think I followed you here?” I can hear the annoyance flickering in her tone, even though she isn’t being loud.
That’s been the one thing that I’ve always liked about Alana, she’s shy, quiet. But with me, she has this temper, and if I don’t do what she wants, when she wants, she gets pissy. I also know she’s wanted to go back to school for a while now, and part of me feels as if I’m holding her back.
I own a local BMX bike shop in the middle of town. Most people told me we wouldn’t get much traffic, because people buy their bikes from franchise stores. But real BMXers want the good shit, so they come to me. I make just enough to keep my shop afloat. Gotta say, though, this business is a dying breed. I want to start making more, branch out a bit, and get a website up and going. The back of my shop has a huge garage, and I’ve been debating on making that into a custom bike and car shop. I’ve already designed a few of my own bike parts, and a few engines for cars, but I need cash. I just don’t have the extra to do that. Yet. The cash I got for building a custom motorcycle for one of the Angels Warriors gave me the start up cash to get the shop open. Now I just have to get more money to outfit the back garage and order parts, and of course staff, then I should be good. It’s getting the money saved up that is the struggle.
I sigh, and rake a hand over my head. I stare down into Alana’s big brown eyes. “Babe, I know. I just want you to be sure.”
She smiles up at me, dimples popping out, “I’m sure. It would be nice for both of us, doing two separate things, making more money. Trust me,” she reassures, leaning up to give me a small kiss on the lips. She’s never been into public displays of affection, so this catches me slightly by surprise.
Alana has always been out of my league, why she went for me, I’ll never really know. Where she is all about uppity clothes and expensive makeup; I’m about jeans, tee shirts, tattoos, and piercings. We couldn't be more different from each other. I guess we are cliché in the opposites attract way.
“Make sure when you are here, you scope it out for someone that will want a job, I need some help at the shop. Since I want you focusing on school,” I tell her.
“I will, honey,” she says sweetly.
When I first met Alana, I thought she would stay away from me. But it was the opposite. She’d show up somewhere, I would happen to be, and just talk. After a few months, I asked her on a date. Her parents, I thought would hate me, didn’t. It was just the opposite. They were all great. I asked her dad once, why they liked me, and he just said, “Son, it’s not about looks, it’s about how you treat our daughter, and you treat her with respect and love. That’s good enough for us.”
I watch her skip, yes skip, off to the check-in booth by the front steps of the college. “She’s got this,” I say quietly to myself, and turn around.
I’m suddenly bumped into, and I’m knocked on my ass as books go crashing to the ground.
“Watch where you’re fucking going, huh?” a female voice snarls at me.
I look to see who just knocked me over, and I’m stunned. Standing in front of me, bending over is a chick, a stunning fucking chick. Small, I’d say about five foot one, long black, green, blue, and purple hair. Facial piercings, and a tattoo covering her right arm; actually, every bit of skin showing on her is covered in tattoos, even going up her neck. Holy fuck, she’s hot. My dick twitches at the sight of her. I silently pray that when I stand up, my dick will stand down.
I feel guilty, I don’t even have this reaction around Alana. I can’t remember ever having such a strong response to her. We were friends first before anything else. My attraction to this girl takes me off guard and I hope she doesn’t notice my semi-hard-on as I start to stand up, and help pick up her books.
“I got it, asshole. Hands off,” she tells me and snatches her papers out of my hands.
“Sorry, my fault,” I tell her, holding my hands up in surrender. She’s got quite a bark.
Her stormy eyes narrow on me and nearly turn me to stone, freezing me in place. “Yeah, it is.”
“So, do you like it here so far? The campus that is?” I attempt to make small talk. Wanting to keep her here longer, hoping she will soften up a little. I wonder what her major is. Suddenly, I want to know everything about her as I study her tattoos, while she ignores my question. I want to ask her what they represent. Most people tell you they simply liked the design but the detail and placement of each one, must tell a story. She says nothing more, refusing to look at me, and walks off.
Well, my day totally went to hell in a handbasket. First, I wake up late, which never happens to me. Then I get a call from my dad, asking me if it was okay that Emma comes for a visit this weekend, and then I get trampled.
Well, not really trampled, but basically. I also didn’t expect the guy to be totally hot, drool-worthy hot. Head shaved, tattoos going up the sides of his neck, a lip ring, and tall, holy fucking tall. He had to be at least a foot and a half taller than me. That’s not really saying much, since I’m short, only reaching five one on a good day.
I probably could have been nicer, but his hotness freaked me out. I’ve never been one for a guy’s appearance, because normally it’s the good-looking ones that are players and will stomp all over you, just to get what they want. Only caring for themselves.
Walking into the building, I’m still thinking about his light blue eyes. Shit, stop thinking of him, Kristi! Why am I getting hung up on this dude? I was a total bitch to him too. He probably thinks I’m evil. It's all for the best, anyway. I need to focus on finishing my degree. I get to my Early Learning and Child class just in time. Mr. Kale isn't even here yet. I took this class last year, and since I felt like I still had more to learn, me being the school geek and all, I figured I could take it again.
All my teachers don’t understand why I’m even in this class, because my major is in Computer Science. It’s what I want to do with my life. But I also know, one day, I want children, and since I didn’t have a good mother role model at home, I just took this class. I don't want to be like my mother. A bitch who walked out on her family.
I feel the seat beside me move slightly, and I look over. A plastic chick. Great. She's like a real-life Barbie doll! Just perfect in every way. Well most people’s idea of perfection. Blonde hair, perfect makeup, expensive clothes, a deep tan. “Hi,” she says quietly.
I look at her again, closely. I lift my chin and narrow my eyes.
“Is this your first year?” she asks, leaning toward me.
I sigh to myself. Great, she wants small talk. “No, third year.” I took a few years after high school to travel a bit and really think about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. If you ask me, seventeen and eighteen-year olds have no business going to college and trying to decide what they are going to do with the rest of their lives. That's just way too much pressure.
She gives me a big smile. “This is my first. My boyfriend didn’t want me to go to college, I think he wants me glued to him, but I had to branch out on my own. I love kids, so I can’t wait to get started on this.”
She seems nice enough, just a little random. Bit of an airhead, but whatever. Who am I to judge, anyway? I’m just shocked she’s trying to make nice with me. Not many people do that. Either because they know me, and know I won’t put up with anything they dish out, or they think I’m a freak. And most uppity people stay away from freaks, unless they think they can change me.
It looks like she wants to say more, but the professor comes in and starts class. Well, thank God for small favors. The lecture begins. I stare ahead, trying to ignore the overly happy girl next to me.
I feel a small tap to my shoulder and instantly I cringe.
She passes me a note and I sigh. Seriously? What is this, middle school? I open it up and roll my eyes.
I only took this class because my dad thought I’d benefit from it, in case opening my own lingerie shop is a bust. - Alana
Poor little rich girl. Whatever. I crumple it up and disappointment covers her face. Boo freaking hoo. Why should I care why she’s taking the class for? I didn’t know sitting next to her meant I wanted to know her life story. Some people are too chatty for their own good. It doesn’t pay to get close to anyone. They will only disappoint you in the end. I don’t have it in me to make the effort. I don't have time for it anymore. I already have enough friends.
Class finishes up and I move quickly to leave when Barbie calls to me, “Wait!”
I groan and turn to look at her. She smiles at me again, and it’s so big and wide it creeps me out. “I’m Alana, and you’re, Kristi, right? I heard the teacher say that earlier in class.”
I raise a brow and play with my lip ring. What does she want from me now?
“I love your hair, do you do it yourself or do you go somewhere to get it done?” she asks, seeming truly interested.
“Is this some kind of joke or something? You, rich bitch, talking to trash like me?” I sneer at her wanting her gone.
Her face pales and she puts a hand on her chest. “No, no, of course not. I was just hoping to make a friend,” she says softly.
I snort. “Sure, some uppity rich bitch like you wants to make friends with trash like me? Didn’t you hear?” I sneer at her. “I’m a whore,” I say purely snarky.
Her face changes and she looks angry. “You know what, I might come from a prestigious family, but I’m not a damn rich bitch. In fact, my boyfriend looks a bit like you, except well, he’s not, obviously because he’s a guy. I don’t discriminate. If you’re a good person, I’ll like you. But obviously, you’re not then.” She stomps her foot like a two-year-old having a tantrum. “You’re the bitch.”
I smirk. “I think I’m going to like you.”
Her face turns to shock and I walk away. Who would have thought that? Barbie has a temper. I wonder who this boyfriend of hers is.
Guess it goes to show, never judge a book by its cover, or in this situation, a person. She reminds me of the girls I went to high school with, the ones that taunted me when I started to dye my hair, get piercings, and of course, once I hit sixteen, started getting tattoos. Heck, dad was the one to take me, since I was underage. My dad has always been so strict, people were shocked he allowed it, even I was, but he told me, he’d rather me get my first tattoo with him supporting me, or he knew I would just get a fake ID and go by myself. I lost count how many times I was called a freak, trash, and just because I liked to have sex, a whore.
I’m not used to one of the Barbie bitches trying to be nice to me. Maybe this Alana chick is actually nice…huh. She has some backbone, too.
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Sunday, August 20, 2017
The Fighting Dirty Series - previously known as The Masquerade Series and The Blackened Heart and Wicked Heart books have undergone rewrites and cover/title changes. Dirty Rules will be the third re-release and the longest book of the series. These are a series of standalone titles that can be read alone or in any order. Every book focuses on a new couple who isn't afraid to fight dirty to get what they want (their HEA). Dirty Rules is still in the rewrite stage but I hope to have it in your hands soon. This book is the most special to me as it was the first book I ever wrote back in 2012. I pulled the original version from sale a few years ago as I have grown so much since then. I am loving diving back into Grace and Jax's world.
Dirty Love - books2read.com/u/3kZ1qN
Dirty Truth - books2read.com/u/bMGA2G
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Monday, August 7, 2017
Unedited and subject to change (C) 2014 Glenna Maynard all rights reserved.
The Diary of Gypsy Red
Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 10
My name is Kara Marie, better known to most as Gypsy Red. They say a dead woman can’t talk, but I beg to differ. A woman’s heart holds an ocean of secrets. I suppose I can share some of mine. This is my story—this is the diary of Gypsy Red… Do you dare to take a peek inside, to read the secrets that I keep?
I give these thoughts and memories to you. I give them to you to take my nightmares away. These are my secrets. My demons. My words I need to bleed out of me, before I go to my grave. I keep dreaming of dying. Death has stalked me since I was just a girl. Let’s start at the beginning. Well, as far back as I can recollect.
“Daddy, do all little girls have a daddy as good as you?” I look up into the eyes that match my own in color. Smooth as whiskey, I had heard my momma call them once. They look so tired. No longer holding the vibrancy of his youth.
He touched my cheek. His palms were soft but his fingers were rough. “Sweet pea. In a perfect world, all girls would have a dad like me, but we live in an imperfect world. We live around chaos, darkness, and despair.” He kisses my cheek and pries my fingers from his large blood-stained hand.
“I don’t want you to go, daddy. You are the bestest daddy in the whole wide world, and if you go…who will chase the bad guys away?”
He sweeps his thumbs over my cheeks wiping away my tears replacing them with streaks of blood. The blood of my mother. Or was it mine or his. I can’t remember why there was so much blood.
Where am I?
Where is he going?
Why is he leaving me here?
“Go to sleep, Kara. When you awake, none of this will no longer matter. Daddy loves you, sweet pea…”
The sound of the beating of my heart on the monitor was the only sound. A single tear slipped down my cheek. A nurse came in and injected something to my IV. Once the medicine hit my veins, a slow burn crept up my arm.
“This will help with the pain. You need rest.” She came closer to my bed and tucking me in tight as a mother would do.
Shame I never have known what that is like. To have a good mother.
My own mother hated me. She tried to kill me when I was five. She said I was bad luck and that the only way to save me from myself was through death. My daddy—he disagreed, she paid the price. The night my mother tried to kill me father murdered her before my five year old eyes. My daddy was my hero. He was my blood stained knight.
And my daddy is gone, my hero, the only one who I could count on to save me, to protect me. He died a few years later in a car wreck. I should have died, but somehow, I made it with only a broken arm, a concussion, and some bruising to my face and chest from the impact of the air bag.
I drifted back into a torturous sleep where my memories haunted me…where they have always tormented me.
“It’s sick, the way you fuss over her. It isn’t normal. You’re her father. I’m your wife. I should be number one in your eyes.” I heard my mother’s shrill voice as I tossed and turned…
I woke to my neighbor; she seemed like such a nice person. Her husband was an associate of my father. However, my eyes quickly fluttered shut once more.
The memories come in pieces. Sometimes, I wonder if they really happened or of I dreamed them.
“Kara, meet Winston, his family just moved in next door.” I looked up from where I was coloring in my Scooby Doo coloring book on the front porch. There was a young boy standing at the edge of the porch grinning at me. He had brown hair and when he opened his mouth there was a huge gap between his teeth; it made me laugh.
“Do you wanna’ color with me?” I offered. I didn’t have many friends, kids in the neighborhood all thought I was weird and we moved a lot, so I didn’t try too hard to make friends. My daddy called us gypsies—he said I was his Gypsy Red cause of my red hair and all.
“Sure.” He climbed up on the porch sitting cross-legged across from me. My dad patted my head telling me to be nice, before going inside with our new neighbors.
I held out my box of crayons. He took the black and the red and drawing blood coming out of the kitten’s mouth in my other book. Blood freaked me out. Ever since my mom… I tensed up and a single tear trickled down my face.
The boy took his thumb and brushed my tear away. “Don’t cry, Kara, you and I are going to be best friends,” Winston said like I was special.
My daddy always said I was special.
Winston Rush became my best friend, my only friend…he wouldn’t have it any other way and I was too scared of him not to be his. He was always doing stuff that he dared me to tell anyone about.
The memories are still fresh…the wounds still bleed. All of these thoughts, they swirl inside my head, making me beg to be dead.
Thursday, August 3, 2017
So I did a thing after some serious thought. I have given the ebook versions of BRRMC a new look, and before you ask why- my reason is because it is a business decision. The other covers will still be available in paperback and at this time I have no plans of changing them- they will continue in the original design they have now. So I will get right to it and show off the new covers below. These changes have not went into effect yet but will change over the next week. If you missed it in my newsletter, I have announced books 10 & 11 of the series (The Diary of Gypsy Red & The Devil's Rebel). At this time, book 11 may be the last rebel book, but I won't say that it is the last of them because they will appear in The Born Sinners series and the Devil's Reject when it releases. I will know more about the future of the BRRMC once those books are closer to being complete. Rebel has a few kids with stories to tell so we shall see how it goes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the covers.
Thursday, July 20, 2017
If you loved Stealing Conleigh you will devour Chasing Bailey!
Bailey Monroe will be the death of me. I’m Wren James, former lead singer of Bad Intentions. My face is on the cover of magazines. I could have any woman I want, but I had to fall for her. My brother warned me. Holden told me not to hurt her and I swore I wouldn’t, but I lied. I promised myself that I would never chase after a woman, but here I am Chasing Bailey…
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