Résultats de "Anne Malcom" dans Toutes les catégories

Magnolia Grace is a horror writer, despite what the name might suggest. One of the best in the business, if you ask around. Pressure comes with that title. Expectation for the next nightmare. The next bestseller. Sickness. That's what it is. She can't be healthy. Because that means she won't write. And she hasn't been writing.

My job is to break Piper Matthews. But to leave her breathing afterward. An important distinction, since I don't walk away from a job without blood on my hands. That's how I like it. How it needs to be. I'm comfortable with death. Pain. Cruelty. No conscience troubled me when I took Piper Matthews deep into the Appalachian woods, intending on fracturing her mind, destroying her. I never imagined she would destroy me instead. With her smile. Her laughter.

There's a phrase: Still waters run deep. But there's more to it than that. Because "still" doesn’t denote peace. Nor calm. Nor happiness. It’s an illusion. It's chaos. The only way to handle chaos is to become it. That’s what Lucy did. She created stillness out of the chaos tumbling inside her and called the most chaotic motorcycle club in the United States her family. The Sons of Templar gave her chaos, friendship, family, danger, and death. But she wouldn't want it any other way. Then he came.

Should I tell you a story? Not a fairytale, mind you. There's not a princess to be seen. Nor a prince. Not even a hero. This is about the stripper and the outlaw. Our story begins with the Sons of Templar MC, with a man even the outlaws fear. He was trouble. More than trouble. A scoundrel. A sinner. A villain. To everyone but me. Our story begins with blood, violence, and pain. I have a feeling it will end that way too. But it's too late for escape. I've fallen for the scoundrel. The sinner. The outlaw.

She survived the deadliest serial killer of her generation. Or so everyone thought. No one knew how many pieces of her he took to the grave with him. She hid her scars, her nightmares. She hid everything until she couldn't. Then she ran. But Colby followed her. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth. To hell and back. Sariah knew he would. Because Colby had already wrenched her out of hell once. Because Colby loved her. Only Colby loved the girl she was before. The carefree girl she used to be. She had to show Colby that girl was gone. By any means necessary.

The good girl falls for the bad boy. Can we name a bigger, or better cliché? Despite my ideas about the deep misogyny associated with this particular one, I've somehow found myself in the middle of it. Except, I'm not the good girl. I'm exceptional at playing that role. But I'm not. My secrets make sure of that. And he's not a boy. He's a man. Older than me by decades. An outlaw. A villain. A member of one of the most notorious MCs in the country. The Sons of Templar.

The Sons of Templar MC. I'm sure you've heard of them. They're infamous. Murderers. Criminals. Outlaws. But to me, they're family. My husband wore the cut for well over a decade. For almost as long as he wore a wedding ring. Our marriage survived wars. Deaths. Blood. The cuts were deep. And they never healed quite right. But we survived. Until we didn't. He promised me forever. And he gave it to me. His version of it, at least. Mine was longer, though. Much longer.