Happy Saturday beauties I’m so sorry this is coming rather late in the day. Was on a late shift and to say I’m exhausted is an understatement.
It’s been quite a week although in saying that there aren’t loads of photos from the week, but it’s been enlightening to say the least. I’ve managed to post every single day of this week and I’m super chuffed at that. So lots of posts to share I’ve also had some gorgeous book post although I haven’t taken pics of them all and I’m already out the house. I’ve been added to a few March blog tours and I’m extremely excited about that.
This is the truly gorgeous thank you pack that SJ from Simon & Schuster sent me for taking part in the Valentines #RespectRomFic post that I will be sharing again in this post.
The audio reading hasn’t been as productive since the lack of headphones but I have started listening to.
Very early stages but as ever she has had me laughing out loud. I will dedicate some time to this in the next coming week.
So what’s been on the blog this week?
On Sunday I took part in another fabulous Six for Sunday post and you can read that here. I love looking at these stacks although almost always I haven’t read all of them.
On Monday I shared my thoughts on Prince Harry’s Spare this has been quite a popular one this week and you can read it here.
Tuesday was Valentine’s Day and I was pleased to take part in the #RespectRomFic movement. I also managed to finish reading The Daughter in Law the review of that one will be up tomorrow. You can read my Valentine’s post here.
On Wednesday I shared a different post about poetry with an extract from a book. You can read that here.
Thursday’s seem to be for Throwbacks and you can read my latest one here.
Friday saw me actually post although I confused myself as I had written it and hadn’t realised I hadn’t actually posted it until later in the day. It was my review on the collection of poems and A Heart Lighter Than a Feather here.
That’s pretty much it…ooooh actually I lie. On Monday I got out and ran it wasn’t pretty but it was a start..
I also managed to spend some much needed time with the girls…that completes my week as I’m onward to work once again. Until next time…
Today I’m switching it up again and sharing something different and something that wasn’t originally on today’s agenda. Although for the first time in a while I’ve had a lot of content for the blog meaning I have something to share daily, which makes my heart happy. I haven’t read a Colleen Hoover book in a while but the ones I have read I’ve loved.
Today I am telling you about Never Never her latest offering alongside Tarryn Fisher that is released on 28th February. I’m also pleased to be sharing with you the first chapter of the book to wet your appetite.
Blurb: Charlie Wynwood and Silas Nash have been best friends since they could walk. They’ve been in love since the age of fourteen. But as of this morning… they are complete strangers. Their first kiss, their first fight, the moment they fell in love… every memory has vanished. Now Charlie and Silas must work together to uncover the truth about what happened to them and why. But the more they learn about the couple they used to be… the more they question why they were ever together to begin with.
Forgetting is terrifying but remembering may be worse…
Charlie
A crash. Books fall to the speckled linoleum floor. They skid a few feet, whirling in circles, and stop near feet. My feet. I don’t recognize the black sandals, or the red toenails, but they move when I tell them to, so they must be mine. Right?
A bell rings. Shrill.
I jump, my heart racing. My eyes move left to right as I scope out my environment, trying not to give myself away.
What kind of bell was that? Where am I?
Kids with backpacks walk briskly into the room, talking and laughing. A school bell. They slide into desks, their voices competing in volume. I see movement at my feet and jerk in surprise. Someone is bent over, gathering up books on the floor; a red-faced girl with glasses. Before she stands up, she looks at me with something like fear and then scurries off. People are laughing. When I look around I think they’re laughing at me, but it’s the girl with glasses they’re looking at.
“Charlie!” someone calls. “Didn’t you see that?” And then, “Charlie…what’s your problem…hello…?”
My heart is beating fast, so fast.
Where is this? Why can’t I remember? “Charlie!” someone hisses. I look around. Who is Charlie?
Which one is Charlie?
There are so many kids; blond hair, ratty hair, brown hair, glasses, no glasses…
A man walks in carrying a briefcase. He sets it on the desk.
The teacher. I am in a classroom, and that is the teacher. High school or college? I wonder.
I stand up suddenly. I’m in the wrong place. Everyone is sitting, but l’m standing…walking.
“Where are you going, Miss Wynwood?” The teacher is looking at me over the rim of his glasses as he riffles through a pile of papers. He slaps them down hard on the desk and I jump. I must be Miss Wynwood.
“She has cramps!” someone calls out. People snicker. I feel a chill creep up my back and crawl across the tops of my arms. They’re laughing at me, except I don’t know who these people are.
I hear a girl’s voice say, “Shut up, Michael.”
“I don’t know,” I say, hearing my voice for the first time. It’s too high. I clear my throat and try again.
“I don’t know. I’m not supposed to be here.
There is more laughing. I glance around at the posters on the wall, the faces of presidents animated with dates beneath them. History class? High school.
The man–the teacher-tilts his head to the side like l’ve said the dumbest thing. “And where else are you supposed to be on test day?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Sit down,” he says. I don’t know where I’d go if I left. I turn around to go back. The girl with the glasses glances up at me as I pass her. She looks away almost as quickly.
As soon as l’m sitting, the teacher starts handing out
papers. He walks between desks, his voice a flat drone as he tells us what percentage of our final grade the test will be. When he reaches my desk he pauses, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull.” He presses the tip of a fat pointer finger on my desk.
“Whatever it is, I’m sick of it. One more stunt and I’m sending you to the principal’s office.” He slaps the test down in front of me and moves down the line.
I don’t nod, I don’t do anything. I’m trying to decide what to do. Announce to the whole room that I have no idea who and where I am -or pull him aside and tell him quietly. He said no more stunts.
My eyes move to the paper in front of me. People are already bent over their tests, pencils scratching.
Fourth Period
History
Mr. Dulcott
There is a space for a name. I’m supposed to write my name, but I don’t know what my name is.
Miss Wynwood, he called me.
Why don’t I recognize my own name? Or where I am?
Or what I am?
Every head is bent over their papers except mine. So I sit and stare, straight ahead. Mr. Dulcott glares at me from his desk. The longer I sit, the redder his face becomes.
Time passes and yet my world has stopped. Eventually, Mr. Dulcott stands up, his mouth open to say something to me when the bell rings. “Put your papers on my desk on the way out,” he says, his eyes still on my face. Everyone is filing out of the door. I stand up and follow them because I don’t know what else to do. I keep my eyes on the floor, but I can feel his rage. I don’t understand why he’s so angry with me. I am in a hallway now, lined on either side by blue lockers.
“Charlie!” someone calls. “Charlie, wait up!” A second later, an arm loops through mine. I expect it to be the girl with the glasses; I don’t know why. It’s not. But, I know now that I am Charlie. Charlie Wynwood. “You forgot your bag,” she says, handing over a white backpack. I take it from her, wondering if there’s a wallet with a driver’s license inside. She keeps her arm looped through mine as we walk. She’s shorter than me, with long, dark hair and dewy brown eyes that take up half her face. She is startling and beautiful.
“Why were you acting so weird in there?” she asks. “You knocked the shrimp’s books on the floor and then spaced out.”
I can smell her perfume; it’s familiar and too sweet, like a million flowers competing for attention. I think of the girl with the glasses, the look on her face as she bent to scoop up her books. If I did that, why don’t I remember?
“It’s lunch, why are you walking that way?” She pulls me down a different corridor, past more students. They all look at me…little glances. I wonder if they know me, and why I don’t know me. I don’t know why I don’t tell her, tell Mr. Dulcott, grab someone random and tell them that I don’t know who or where I am. By the time I’m seriously entertaining the idea, we’re through a set of double doors in the cafeteria. Noise and color; bodies that all have a unique smell, bright fluorescent lights that make everything look ugly. Oh, God. I clutch at my shirt.
The girl on my arm is babbling. Andrew this, Marcy that. She likes Andrew and hates Marcy. I don’t know who either of them is. She corrals me to the food line. We get salad and Diet Cokes. Then we are sliding our trays on a table. There are already people sitting there: four boys, two girls. I realize we are completing a group with even numbers. All the girls are matched with a guy. Everyone looks up at me expectantly, like l’m supposed to say something, do something. The only place left to sit is next to a guy with dark hair. I sit slowly, both hands flat on the table. His eyes dart toward me and then he bends over his tray of food. I can see the finest beads of sweat on his forehead, just below his hairline.
“You two are so awkward sometimes,” says a new girl, blonde, across from me. She’s looking from me to the guy l’m sitting next to. He looks up from his macaroni and I realize he’s just moving things around on his plate. He hasn’t taken a bite, despite how busy he looks. He looks at me and I look at him, then we both look back at the blonde girl.
“Did something happen that we should know about?” she asks. “No,” we say in unison.
He’s my boyfriend. I know by the way they’re treating us. He suddenly smiles at me with his brilliantly white teeth and reaches to put an arm around my shoulders.
“We’re all good,” he says, squeezing my arm. I automatically stiffen, but when I see the six sets of eyes on my face, I lean in and play along. It’s frightening not knowing who you are- even more frightening thinking you’ll get it wrong. I’m scared now, really scared. It’s gone too far. If I say something now l’ll look…crazy. His affection seems to make everyone relax. Everyone except…him.
They go back to talking, but all the words blend together: football, a party, more football. The guy sitting next to me laughs and joins in with their conversation, his arm never straying from my shoulders. They call him Silas. They call me Charlie. The dark-haired girl with the big eyes is Annika. I forget everyone else’s names in the noise.
Lunch is finally over and we all get up. I walk next to Silas, or rather he walks next to me. I have no idea where I’m going. Annika flanks my free side, winding her arms through mine and chatting about cheerleading practice. She’s making me feel claustrophobic. When we reach an annex in the hallway, I lean over and speak to her so only she can hear. “Can you walk me to my next class?” Her face becomes serious. She breaks away to say something to her boyfriend, and then our arms are looped again.
I turn to Silas. “Annika is going to walk me to my next class.”
“Okay,” he says. He looks relieved. “I’ll see you. later.” He heads off in the opposite direction.
Annika turns to me as soon as he’s out of sight. “Where’s he going?”
I shrug. “To class.”
She shakes her head like she’s confused. “I don’t get you guys. One day you’re all over each other, the next you’re acting like you can’t stand to be in the same room. You really need to make a decision about him, Charlie.
She stops outside a doorway.
“This is me…” I say, to see if she’ll protest. She doesn’t. “Call me later,” she says. “I want to know about last night.
I nod. When she disappears into the sea of faces, I step into the classroom. I don’t know where to sit, so I wander to the back row and slide into a seat by the window. I’m early, so I open my backpack.
There’s a wallet wedged between a couple of notebooks and a makeup bag. I pull it out and flip it open to reveal a driver’s license with a picture of a beaming, dark-haired girl. Me.
Charlize Margaret Wynwood
2417 Holcourt Way
New Orleans, LA
I’m seventeen. My birthday is March twenty-first. I live in Louisiana. I study the picture in the top left corner and I don’t recognize the face. It’s my face, but l’ve never seen it. I’m… pretty. I only have twenty-eight dollars.
The seats are filling up. The one beside me stays empty, almost like everyone is too afraid to sit there. I’m in Spanish class. The teacher is pretty and young; her name is Mrs. Cardona. She doesn’t look at me like she hates me, like so many other people are looking at me. We start with tenses.
I have no past. I have no past.
Five minutes into class the door opens. Silas walks in, his eyes downcast. I think he’s here to tell me something, or to bring me something. I brace myself, ready to pretend, but Mrs. Cardona comments jokingly about his lateness. He takes the only available seat next to me and stares straight ahead. I stare at him. I don’t stop staring at him until finally, he turns his head to look at me. A line of sweat rolls down the side of his face.
During a deadly snowstorm, Hannah awakens to carnage, all mangled metal and shattered glass. Evacuated from a secluded boarding school, her coach careered off the road, trapping her with a handful of survivors.
Meg awakens to a gentle rocking. She’s in a cable car stranded high above snowy mountains, with five strangers and no memory of how they got on board.
Carter is gazing out of the window of an isolated ski chalet that he and his companions call home. As their generator begins to waver in the storm, the threat of something lurking in the chalet’s depths looms larger.
Outside, the storm rages. Inside one group, a killer lurks. But which one? And who will make it out alive?
Before I share my thoughts…I’m going to share the extract that I read.
The Drift by C J Tudor
The Earth is Full of Dead Good Guys
Hannah
A watch alarm was beeping. Someone was being sick. Loudly, close by. Several people were sprawled at odd, impossible angles over the uprooted coach seats. Blood pooled in eyes and dripped from gaping mouths. Hannah noted this dispassionately, clinically. Her father’s nature kicking in, her mother would have said. Always able to detach. Sometimes, this lack of emotional empathy made life difficult. Other times, like now, that side was useful. She unclipped her seatbelt and eased herself out of her seat. Wearing the belt had probably saved her life when the coach tipped over. It had rolled twice down a steep slope, causing most of the carnage, and then come to rest softly, propped half on its side, embedded in a snowdrift. She hurt. Bruises, scrapes, but nothing seemed to be broken. No massive bleeding. Of course, she could have internal injuries. Impossible to know for sure. But for now, in this immediate moment, she was okay. Or as okay as she could be. Others were moving. Hannah could hear groans, crying. The hurler had stopped, for now. She looked around the coach, assessing. There were a dozen students on board. They hadn’t really needed such a big coach, but it was what the Academy had provided. Of the students, she’d say almost half were dead (mostly those who hadn’t bothered with their seatbelts). There was something else, Hannah thought, as she took in the scene. A problem she hadn’t fully comprehended yet. Snowstorm outside, coach tipped over and half buried in a drift. What was it? Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice shouting: ‘Hey. HEY! Can someone help over here? My sister, she’s trapped.’ Hannah turned. At the back of the coach an overweight young man with a mass of dark curls was crouched over an injured girl, cradling her head on his lap. Hannah hesitated. She told herself she was just gathering her wits, preparing. Not that she was hoping someone else would move forward, step up, so she didn’t have to. She didn’t like close physical or emotional contact. But no one else was in any fit state to help, and as she had medical knowledge, it was her duty. She started to move forward, awkwardly, stumbling her way along the lopsided gangway, stepping over bodies. She reached the man and his sister. Straight away, she could tell, as they said in the movies, that the girl wasn’t going to make it. This had nothing to do with the stuff Hannah had learned in the classroom during her medical training. That was just a plain, honest gut reaction. Hannah was pretty sure the girl’s brother knew it too, but he was clinging to hope, as people do in these situations, because it was all they had. The girl was pretty, with pale skin and thick, wavy, dark hair. The sort of hair Hannah had always wished she’d been blessed with, instead of the fine, mousy strands that she could never do anything with and always ended up yanking back into an untidy ponytail. Hannah realized it was probably odd to feel envy when the girl was dying, but human nature was unpredictable. The girl’s eyes were glazed, her breath short and wheezy. Hannah could see that her left leg was trapped beneath two coach seats that had been forced together in the crash. A mess of mangled metal and crushed bone; she probably had multiple fractures. But the blood loss was the real problem, and that was before you got to the wheezy hitch of the girl’s breathing, which made Hannah think she could have other, less visible, injuries. Those were the ones that would get you. The British princess – Diana – had died from a small tear in the vein of her lung that no one knew was slowly, fatally, bleeding out. ‘We need to get her leg free,’ the man was saying. ‘Can you help me move this seat?’ Hannah looked at the seat. She could tell him that it wouldn’t make any difference. She could tell him that the best he could do would be to stay here with his sister for however long she had left. But she remembered her father telling her: ‘In extreme situations, feeling like you are doing something makes a difference psychologically, even if it has no effect on the outcome.’ She shook her head. ‘We can’t move the seat yet.’ ‘Why?’ ‘It may be the only thing stopping that leg from bleeding out more than it is.’ ‘Then what?’ ‘Are you wearing a belt?’ ‘Err, yeah.’ ‘I need you to take it off and make a tourniquet here, above the knee. Then we can try to move the seat, right?’ ‘Okay.’ He looked dazed, but nonetheless fumbled beneath his coat to take off his belt. His stomach spilt over his jeans. His sister stared up, lips moving but unable to force words out. Every effort concentrated on fighting the pain, sucking in those vital gasps of oxygen. ‘You look a little young for a doctor,’ the man said, handing her the belt. ‘Medical student.’ ‘Ah, right.’ He nodded. ‘One of Grant’s.’ The Academy did not specialize in medicine. Generally, it specialized in parents rich enough to buy their offspring an obscenely expensive college education. But a few years ago it had been chosen by the Department as the location for a new medical research centre. An extra wing had been built and Professor Grant, one of the world’s leading virologists, installed to oversee the development. Now, brilliant young students from around the world were selected to study at the isolated mountaintop campus. ‘Wrap the belt around here,’ Hannah instructed. ‘Pull really, really tight. Okay. Good.’ The girl groaned a little, but that was a good sign. If she was still conscious enough to feel discomfort, her brain hadn’t started shutting down yet. ‘It’s okay,’ the man whispered into the girl’s hair, tucking some of his own dark mane behind his ear. ‘S’okay.’ ‘Right,’ Hannah said. ‘Let’s try and lift this.’ The man laid his sister’s head gently down and joined Hannah in trying to heave up the coach seat. It was no good. It creaked and gave a little, but not enough. They needed another person. Two to lift. One to pull the girl’s leg out from underneath the twisted metal. Hannah could hear more voices, movement around the coach, people coming to, ascertaining whether their companions were still alive, or not. She turned and yelled: ‘Hey, we need a hand here! Can someone help?’ ‘Kind of busy over here,’ one smart Alec from further up the coach replied. But then a tall, slim figure stood and made his way towards them. Pale, short blond hair, matted on one side with blood. It looked bad, but Hannah knew that even small headwounds bled like bastards. ‘You called?’ His voice was cultured, with a slight German accent. ‘We need some help lifting this chair so we can free her leg,’ Hannah said. The blond man looked at the girl, then back at Hannah, and she saw the cool appraisal in his eyes. She shook her head slightly and he nodded, understanding. ‘Right then. Heft-ho!’ Hannah allowed the two men to do the lifting while she eased the girl’s leg out from underneath the seats. It took a couple of attempts, but finally, the leg was free. The girl’s brother moved his sister to a slightly more comfortable position, whipped off his jacket and placed it underneath her head. Beneath his coat, he was wearing a baggy sweatshirt that read: Excuse me for a moment while I overthink this. Weird, Hannah thought, the small stuff you noticed. She felt a hand touch her arm and turned back to the blond-haired man. Aryan, Hannah thought. He’d look at home in lederhosen and a hat with a feather in it. ‘How many do you think are dead?’ he asked. ‘Four or five – others may be injured.’ He glanced at the girl and nodded. ‘D’you remember what happened?’ Hannah tried to think. She had been sitting on the coach, dozing. It was snowing heavily outside. A horn blare. A squeal of brakes and suddenly they were swerving off the road, rolling and rolling, and then blackness. Crazy that they had even tried to make the journey in this storm, but the Academy had been eager to get the students out to the Retreat. To safety. ‘Not much,’ she admitted. She looked around the coach again. Her eyes skirted over the bodies, the people sitting around, moaning, crying. She was trying to recall what she had missed before. The coach had landed, tilted on its right-hand side. From where Hannah stood, looking up the coach towards the driver’s cab, the windows on her left were intact, facing up towards the darkening sky. Snow whisked around in lacy sheets, large flakes already beginning to settle. The worst of the damage was on the right: crushed metal, smashed glass. That entire side of the coach was buried in a thick drift, meaning… The door, she thought. The door is buried. We can’t get out. ‘We’re trapped,’ she said. The blond man nodded, as if pleased she had reached the same conclusion. ‘Although, even if we could get out, we wouldn’t last for long in these conditions.’ ‘What about the emergency exit?’ Hannah asked. ‘I have already tried that…it appears to be jammed.’ ‘What?’ The man took her elbow and guided her a little way along the coach. On their left, three steps led to the toilet and another door. A sign above it read: IN EMERGENCY PULL RED HANDLE. PUSH DOOR TO EXIT. The blond man pulled at the handle and pushed at the door. It didn’t give. He stepped aside and gestured for Hannah to attempt it. She did. Several times, in increasing frustration. The door was stuck firm. ‘Shit,’ she cursed. ‘How?’ ‘Who knows? Perhaps it was damaged in the crash?’ ‘Wait –’ Hannah remembered something. ‘Shouldn’t there be a hammer on board, to break the windows?’ ‘Correct. That is the other conundrum.’ Hannah frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’ The man stepped back and pointed towards a case mounted just above the windows on their left. Where the hammer should be there was an empty space. ‘There should be another up here, for the skylights.’ He gestured towards the roof. ‘That has also been removed.’ Hannah’s head spun. ‘But why?’ The blond man smiled without humour. ‘Who knows? Maybe some Arschgeige stole them for a prank. Maybe no one checked this coach before it left –’ He let the sentence hang. ‘We need to call for help,’ Hannah said, trying to batten down the panic. Which was when the other realization hit. ‘Our phones.’ All phones had been confiscated when the students boarded and stowed away with the luggage. No communication en route. No one must know where they were going. Hannah stared at the blond man. No way to call for help. No way of knowing how long it might take for rescue to come. How long until they were missed? And even then, who would come to their aid in this storm? She glanced back out of the windows, looking towards the sky. Already snow was piling up, cutting out the faint grey light. They were trapped. With the dead. And if rescue didn’t come soon, they would be buried with them.
My Thoughts: What a thrilling opening chapter…C J Tudor has set the scene in the most chilling of ways leaving so many unanswered questions in the opening pages. I loved The Chalk Man and I loved The Burning Girls. So when I saw this extract was available ahead of the release I was itching to read and I’m so glad to have… this thriller is going to be a rollercoaster read and I’m looking forward to getting back on this coach to see how it plays out….I’m definitely going to look into pre-ordering this treat. I’m pretty sure that Waterstones have a signed copy too.
Happy Saturday! Can you believe this is the 30th Weekly Update on Hayley Reviews.
I’ve really come to love these posts. In saying that it also shows how quickly or slowly each week is panning out. The last update felt a bit strange especially with my lack of running updates and days without a blog post.
So on Monday I got back out and ran – as a friend said to me – you don’t do anything by half’s. Following a week of no running I ran 10k on Monday and got my second fastest time.
I would then usually run on a Wednesday but I was still a tad sore plus the weather was quite simply disgusting. So I got back out on Thursday and ran another 5 miles.
This morning I got myself up bright and early and ran an epic run. Today is my longest so far in 10 miles it’s safe to say I’m a bit worse for wear now but feeling so good for it too.
I’m over the moon that I managed it. Two coffees a glass of water and a few biscoff biscuits as well as my much needed bath & hair wash.
This week I read:
I’ve been blown away by these books. The Burning Girls is the only one where the review isn’t up yet as I’m on the blog tour tomorrow.
What’s been on the blog this week:
On Sunday I shared another gorgeous Six for Sunday post which was Books I wish I had read in 2020 and you can read that post here.
On Monday I had initially had an idea for a post but following my run my thought process changed. Which is where Monday Motivation and smiles came from and you can read it here.
On Tuesday I shared my thoughts on the Jack Reacher Novella Small Wars and you can read it here.
On Wednesday I had a gorgeous cover reveal to share and you can read that post here.
Thursday was publication day for C L Taylor’s The Island and today I shared my review on this fabulous novel. You can read it here.
On Friday I was part of the #Intothewoods blog tour and you can read my post here. Friday evening saw the return of NCIS although I’m annoyed it wasn’t a double whammy as there are so many questions.
So as you can see it’s been quite a week I will be chilling for the rest of the weekend, reading organising blog stuff and it’s Saturday so my guilty pleasure is back – The Masked Singer. Although the one I was eager to know was unmasked last week.
Following the Thrillers I’ve started reading…
It’s been a while since I’ve read a Kathryn Freeman although I’m only around 10% in but it’s so fun.
Do get in touch if there is anything else you would love to see here at Hayley Reviews. Until next time. Have a good week and stay safe.
Blurb: If you go into the woods, you’re in for a dark surprise.
Thirty years ago, three girls followed a stranger into the woods. Only two returned. The surviving pair have never been able to remember what happened or what the fate of the third girl was. Local rumours talk of hippies and drugs and mystic rituals, but no one has learned the truth.
This story is just what Rowan Blake needs. He’s in debt, his journalistic career is in tatters – as well as his damaged body – and he’s retreated to the Lake District to write. Yet even Rowan isn’t prepared for the evil he is about to unearth, for the secrets that have been buried in that wood for far too long…
Today I am pleased to be a part of this blog tour for Into The Woods and I’ll be sharing an extract with you.
About the Author: David Mark spent more than fifteen years as a journalist, including seven years as a crime reporter with the Yorkshire Post. His writing is heavily influenced by the court cases he covered: the defeatist and jaded police officers; the competent and incompetent investigators; the inertia of the justice system and the sheer raw grief of those touched by savagery and tragedy.
He writes the McAvoy series, historical novels and psychological suspense thrillers. Dark Winter was selected for the Harrogate New Blood panel (where he was reader in residence) and was a Richard & Judy pick and a Sunday Times bestseller.
Today I’m pleased to be a part of a blog blitz for Freak By Leslie Georgeson.
Blurb: Jealousy. Betrayal. Family secrets.
Appearances are everything in my family. We are the Strongs. Fame is our birthright. Music flows through our veins in a continuous harmony. Flaws are unacceptable.
When my parents got a good look at the freak they’d created, I was hidden away, my existence wiped out.
Until they discovered my secret.
Now I had something they wanted.
Taking it from me didn’t faze them. They believed they were entitled.
I was just a boy, unable to fight back.
So I did the only thing I could.
I vanished.
That was nine years ago.
Now they are back, and they want something from me again.
They send the sexy and oh-so-tempting Mia Bennett to persuade me, and I’m helpless to resist her.
Mia seems innocent in my family feud, but is she really?
I can’t be sure.
All I know is she makes me feel alive again. She gives me the courage to just be me. She’s the new inspiration behind my music, my heart’s own melody.
But something dark and twisted lurks close to home, and leaves me questioning who is friend and who is foe.
Now I am forced to make a decision that could well break me.
How far am I willing to go for the woman I love?
About the Author: Leslie Georgeson writes a blend of romance and suspense, sometimes tossing in a dash of sci-fi or paranormal to make things more interesting. From genetically-altered super soldiers (The Dregs) to deceptive, daredevil rescuers (The Pact), her stories are laced with danger, action, and plenty of steam. Music and the mafia combine in her newly released romantic suspense series, Something Real. Book one, FREAK, is now available at all retailers. Look for the next book, SNITCH, in the spring of 2021.
Leslie is an avid reader, a nature and animal lover, a plant enthusiast, and enjoys spending time with her amazing family. She lives with her husband of 25+ years and her teenage daughter on a quiet country acreage in Idaho.
I am also pleased to share with you an extract from Freak…
I eyed the nearest “no trespassing” sign mounted on the fence about ten feet away. With all the surveillance cameras, he had to know I was out here. I was probably lucky the guy hadn’t had me arrested yet.
Another hour passed.
The sun was disappearing over the horizon now, darkness settling in. It didn’t look like I was going to be successful today.
With a heavy sigh, I gathered up my bag and rose to my feet, deciding to call it a day.
My skin prickled as something moved on the other side the fence.
I spun around, my heart smacking into my ribs.
The heavily-treed yard now deep in shadows, it took a moment for my eyes to take in what had appeared before me. Even then, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at in the low light. He stood as still as the tree trunks surrounding him.
My hand flew to my throat, my eyes widening.
Gasping, I stumbled back, tripping over my own feet and falling into the underbrush, my bag landing beside me.
I tilted my head back, unable to tear my gaze away.
Blurb: In 1978, the tension on the streets of Managua was electric. The whole city teetered on the edge of becoming a warzone.
The Somoza family held the people of Nicaragua in a stranglehold, stripping the country of everything of value and making beggars out of honest citizens. The only thing that kept them in power were the feared Guardia Nacional.
In order to survive, Paco eked out a living as a street musician, busking and playing university parties. His politics were those of someone never sure of where he would get his next meal. But when a violent government crackdown erupts on the streets, he’s forced to choose sides in order to survive.
Unexpectedly part of a fierce guerrilla war, what begins as a struggle for survival becomes something more. The heavy cost of the revolution becomes clearer with every battle fought, and every traitor executed. Paco must find the balance between fighting for a cause he increasingly comes to embody, and maintaining his humanity.
Every Arm Outstretched examines historical events through the lens of the human heart. How do we determine right and wrong when society itself has become corrupt? Do we owe our ultimate loyalty to our comrades or to our ideals? And can the end ever truly justify the means?
About the Author: Phil Halton has worked in conflict zones around the world as an officer in the Canadian Army and as a security consultant. His debut novel, This Shall Be a House of Peace (Dundurn Press, 2019) received a rare starred review from Book List. He holds a Master’s Degree in Defence Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada, and a Graduate Certificate in Creative Writing from Humber College. He has two forthcoming books. “Blood Washing Blood: Afghanistan’s Hundred-Year War” is a history that will be published on 27 April, 2021. His next novel, “Every Army Outstretched,” will launch on 16 October 2020.
Today I’m pleased to be part of this blog tour and I will be sharing with you an extract below.
we could hold. That terrible shout began again, and I heard wild firing off on my left. As I turned to look behind me, I saw that another wave of guardsmen was rushing forward. Huracán was close by and began to shout back at them, and I stopped where I was and fired as quickly as I could at the charging figures. A man dropped, and then another, but then I pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. I saw men running past me in my peripheral vision, and I realized that we were being overrun. I pulled out a magazine to reload but didn’t have time and swung the rifle instead by the barrel and hit a guardsman running towards me in the side of the head with a crack. Teeth burst out of his cheek, and he dropped on the spot as if he had been struck by the hand of God. I went to swing again at another man, but he was too close, and I hit him in the ribs. I was sure that it hurt, but he rammed into me all the same, and we both dropped to the ground. He was on top of me, his hands snaked up around my throat, and the more I tossed at him, the tighter he gripped me. I could smell onions on his breath, his face almost touching mine as he tried to pin my arms with his elbows, and my vision blurred. I punched at his ribs and tried to knee him and roll out from under him, but he had me pinned. I clenched my hands in frustration, desperately trying to breathe, my mind white and empty and loud when my hand wrapped around the handle of a machete on the man’s belt. I pulled it from the sheath, cutting my hand as I did, and hit him in the back of the legs with it. He howled and squirmed, but I couldn’t hit him hard enough to break his grip. I turned the machete in my hand, and with all I had left, I drew the blade down along his leg like the women in the market cut the meat from a drumstick, and I felt that machete scrape bone. The man rolled off, clutching his leg, and before I had even opened my eyes I had hit him three times in the face with the blade, cutting his cheeks open and causing one of his eyes to spew gore. I got back on my feet and swung the machete at the man nearest to me, hitting him in the shoulder. Huracán grabbed him and pulled him off balance, and I hit him again across the back of the head, and he dropped. There was a melee all around me, and I stepped into it, hacking and slashing at every guardsman I saw, cutting into bark and flesh and wood and bone and everything in my path.
Thank you to the Love Books Tours team for letting me take part in this blog tour and if this has wet your appetite for this novel you can purchase it here.
So it’s a bit of a blog tour Sunday today….I have shared the graphics on my HayleyReviews10 instagram also so be sure to check that out. But here I will be sharing with you some content from the book.
Blurb: Happiness is finally within reach for best friends, Amber, Dominque, Debra and Zya. But fate has other plans…
Pregnant and widowed, Debra is engaged to suave and charming Italian heartthrob Roberto. So why does her heart race when she thinks about her therapist, Brian? Has she said yes to the wrong man?
Dominque has found the love and acceptance she always longed for with Tad. But devastating news soon threatens their future together.
Successful fashion designer Zya has discovered her own unexpected happily ever after with Tina . . . until her daughter, Ashanti is bullied and becomes the focus of a police investigation and the media. Now Zya suddenly stands to lose everything she holds dear.
Finally, together with the only man she’s ever loved, Amber is determined to not let anything come between her and Patrick—not even her jealous and vindictive identical twin sister. But someone is watching . . . waiting for the right moment to destroy her . . .
Will the women get their happy ending, or is it déjà vu all over again? Find out in the dramatic and suspenseful second book of the Unbroken series.
About the author: After 35+ years in operations for various businesses (including her own), Melody pursued her dream of writing a novel. Having written for business publications, local magazines and even publishing a poem, Chemo’s not for Sissies, during treatment after her first cancer diagnosis, it was time to finish the novel that was started many years ago. When she started writing, “Facade: Things Aren’t Always as They Appear,” she had no idea where her characters were going to take her. “The story basically wrote itself. It was like a movie projector playing in my mind,” is how she describes her experience. It soon became apparent, their voices were not to be silenced… “The Unbroken Series” was born. “Deja Vu: Here We Go Again,” Book II, to be released June 23, 2020, followed by C’est la Vie, Book III, in December.
Melody lives with her husband in her native home state Florida. She’s blessed to be alive today after two cancer diagnoses and enjoys watching her grandchildren grow up; something she doesn’t take for granted.
“Please be careful and go straight home, your stalker might be waiting for the perfect moment,” Zya begs.
“I am—straight home—promise,” Amber replies as she crosses her heart.
As Amber begins to back out of the parking lot, she changes her mind and puts her car back into park. Maybe I should see what Patrick is up to tonight?
Reaching for her phone to ask him for a late night tryst, she realizes her phone is gone. “DAMN!” She looks all around her car for it to no avail. Must have left it on the counter.
Reluctantly, she turns her car off and heads back inside. She hadn’t realized how dark it was when she came out, it’s pitch black now—shadows are everywhere. The hair on the back of her neck stands up while a shiver runs down her spine pushing her to practically run back into the shop.
At the exact same moment, the wig fitter, having found Amber’s phone, is racing outside to catch her, almost colliding with her in the doorway. “I believe this is yours,” she says, her heart racing from the near impact.
“Yes, thanks. Glad I realized it now and not when I got home.”
Amber, still contemplating her booty call, uses the light outside the door to look for Patrick’s number. She begins her walk back to the car lost in her thoughts, debating whether to call him, forgetting for a moment all about the threatening texts piling up in her phone.
As she opens her car door, a man comes up quickly behind her, wrapping his arm tightly around her chest. She starts to scream but it’s muffled by his other hand covering her mouth as he tries to turn her around. He’s strong, and his scent… I know that cologne… “Wait a minute? Christophe, is that you?” she asks as she’s spun around, entrapped in his arms.
“Mon Cherie, I cannot surprise you no more?” he says in a thick French accent.
Amber breaks down into gut-wrenching sobs. She can’t stop. She let her guard down for just an instant, a second too long, exactly the opportunity her stalker would need to get to her.
“I’m so sorry, I only want to surprise you,” He says trying to comfort her, feeling terrible.
Still shaking thinking about what could have been, yet relieved it turned out to be Christophe, “It’s okay. Wait a minute—it’s not okay! You scared the crap out of me! Stop doing that will you?” she says as she playfully slaps his arm.
“Promise, no scaring…surprise yes, scaring no. I never want to make you cry.”
“You didn’t make me cry. I’ve just been on edge lately—a little stressed out. I guess your timing was off. But then again”—thinking about that phone call she was about to make— “maybe your timing is perfect.”
Amber grabs Christoph by the back of his head kissing him deeply, passionately before he has a chance to react. “Who’s full of surprises now?” she asks catching him off guard. “Last time was amazing, but do you think we could go somewhere else this time instead of the back of my car?”
In the car parked one row over from hers, HE is watching and taking pictures. Oh you are going to pay for this. You think you’re safe—not within my reach. Good thing your Frenchman appeared, he saved you, this time…
Blurb: To celebrate Aurora Metro’s 30th anniversary as an independent publisher with 20% of profits to go to the Virginia Woolf statue campaign. Includes essays, fiction, poems and interviews with top female writers. This is a special edition of the indie publisher’s inaugural publication which won the Pandora Award from Women-in-Publishing. Inspirational in its original format, this new edition features literary works and exclusive interviews with over 30 women writers, both emerging authors and luminaries of contemporary literature. In her foreword to the book, publisher and managing editor Cheryl Robson, describes the development of Aurora Metro Books to becoming a leading indie press and saw the company named a finalist in the 2019 IPG Diversity in Publishing Awards. Includes the original writing workshops plus quirky black and white illustrations.
Review: The absolute joy of taking part in a blog tour is being introduced to books that would have most certainly passed me by. I must admit when I first started reading this I honestly wasn’t sure I would continue. It wasn’t what I was initially expecting although like any good reader I continued. This collection of women’s writing was varied and informative featuring Sexism, Racism, LGBT, Trans, motherhood,essays, Q&As and a number of joy only positive but also literary quotes.
I really enjoyed the Q&As they broke up the writing as some of it was informative heavy and some pretty historic which was interesting but the light heartedness of the questions kept my attention. I was also truly moved by the talk of Virgina Woolf even if her story wasn’t totally what I was expecting.
If you’re a wannabe writer there are lots of hints tips and advice along the way in this collection. This book can be read in one or could be read as snippets and there is biographical information on each writer so if there are any you would love to hunt out again all the information is there for you.
This book has shown me that every once and a while I really should read more out of my comfort zone and expand and broaden my mind some more.
Thank you once again to Kelly @lovebookstours for invitingme onto this tour.
I’m so sorry I had started drafting a rather good World Book Day post whilst on my way to work yesterday morning. My break seemed to fly in the blink of an eye and I was out for a colleagues birthday so I apologise.
When I returned home I had received a parcel but said parcel wasn’t opened until this morning.
I’ve been such a fan of Rosie Blake since falling in love with her writing in her debut How to get a Love Life? Since then I’ve loved her other novels How To Find your (first) Husband? How to Stuff up Christmas? And the Hygee Holiday. So when the lovely lady herself sent me a message asking if I would love a super early copy the answer was always going to be YES.
I simply adore the cover and you can see it’s an August release by the colours…
Blurb: Lottie is always in a hurry, rushing through her days ticking tasks off her to-do lists. Teddy is worried about his granddaughter – and he knows that his late wife, Lily, would have known exactly what to say to make things better. Now that Lily has gone, it’s up to Teddy to talk some sense into Lottie.
With the help of Arjun, Geoffrey and Howard, the elderly reprobates who make up his Gin O’Clock Club, Teddy makes a plan to help Lottie find her way back to the things that really matter – family, friendship and love. But as Lottie balances a high-powered job with her reluctant attendance at whist drives, ballroom dances and bingo, Teddy wonders if she’s really ready to open up her heart to the possibility of true happiness…
I’m in the middle ofa Paige Toon readathon plus I have a few other books half started so I cannot start this yet. However it has been bumped up my list so it could slot in very soon watched this space, I opened the book read the gorgeous quote and then proceededto read a letter. Omg barely two pages and I can safely say this beauty has stolen my heart once again….
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