WELCOME TO THE BOOK HANGOUT SPOT!
I created The Book Hangout Spot to celebrate the love of books. It's a fun and engaging place for everyone to just kickback and chat about books. The group also has some cool monthly activities to partake in.
*Bookworm of the month – we celebrate readers!
*Cover Wars – voting polls for best cover
Click the image to join my group. Would love to see you there!
STREAMING NETWORK NEWS! LUCIFER IS BACK - May 8 2019 on Netflix - No vampires, but a whole lot of devilish fun!
LOVE MY BOOKS? Check out my merchandise page. You can order T-shirts, Tanks, Totes, and Coasters from your favorite book!
VAMPIRE PORTRAYALS - Goes to Blade (half-mortal, half-immortal) who is out to avenge his mother's death and rid the world of vampires.
Click my book image to read the interview
CURRENT PROJECT - THE SOUL COLLECTOR - first draft sneak peek
The most anticipated boxing match landed on Friday, the 13th. Newcomer, Johnathan Bayfield, and heavy-weight champion, Lou Turlock weren’t going to let a little thing like superstition get in their way. The fight fans agreed, stomping their feet and chanting, fight, fight, fight inside the packed arena. An army of sportscasters seated below the ring, fired off opinions for an in-your-face camera view.
Bayfield locked his gaze on his opponent, his right ear taking Coach’s words.
“Go to the body, don’t overreach, straight punches, got it?” Coach gripped Bayfield’s shoulder. “Hey, eyes on me. Don’t let him get inside your head.”
Bayfield glanced at Coach, giving a slow nod, then reverted his focus back to Turlock, transmitting a defiant “this fight is mine” glare.
Turlock tossed a taunting sneer Bayfield’s way.
The vein in Bayfield’s forehead pulsed, spreading a surge of heat through his body. A fist to the gut, that’ll show that arrogant prick he had something to worry about, circled around his brain.
The chime shattered Bayfield’s thoughts, bouncing him to his feet. Turlock came out swinging. Bayfield pivoted while throwing a hook, catching the corner of his Turlock’s jaw. Turlock countered, landing a jab into Bayfield’s chest. The blow forced air from his lungs, folding Bayfield’s body in half. He sprang upright, shaking off the sting and firing off several punches straight into his Turlock’s gut.
Turlock wobbled backward, and the crowd roared, shouting, “Way to go, Bayfield!”
Bayfield bounced back and forth on his feet, tapping his gloves to the crowd’s cheers.
Turlock’s own pulse pulverized his eardrums. Where was the respect? He was a champion, and they had the nerve to cheer for a nobody, some kid who landed himself a good manager? Adrenaline tipped the scales on the fighter’s rationality. Conscience no longer mattered. The whites of his eyes blazed as he hurtled his body as a weapon, slamming his skull against the kid’s.
A crackling of bones ricocheted inside the ring. Shouts came from all sides. The Ref barged in, spewing spit as he held back Turlock. Turlock’s gaze traveled over the Ref’s shoulder and collided with the kid’s vacant stare. He knew that look, like no one was home. He’d seen it in his Grandpa’s eyes before he’d taken his last breath. An icy chill scurried down Turlock’s spine as the kid crumpled to the floor. Turlock stood still as medics, judges, more refs flooded the ring and surrounded the kid’s lifeless body.
“I can’t find a pulse.”
Coach pushed his way through the chaos to Bayfield. “Johnathan, can you hear me?” Coach’s voice shook. “Stay…” He blew out a breath. “Stay with me, buddy.”
Bayfield’s eyelids flew open. With one push, he was on his feet. A weird and wonderful lightness affected his body, and that made no sense being that he weighed 200 pounds. Sounds rushed back, bouncing against his eardrums and forming words — Coach’s words. “Hold on, Johnathan. The ambulance is on its way.”
Bayfield centered on Coach. “Ambulance?”
“Just hold on.”
“What are you talking about? Coach, I’m standing right behind you. Turn around.”
Coach made no attempt; his focus centered on something in front of him.
Bayfield’s tone rose an octave. “Coach, what gives?”
No answer came, not from Coach or from the many bodies hovering around him. Bayfield skimmed the faces of the crowd, searching for a hidden clue or hint to enlighten him of what the hell was happening. Why was everyone ignoring him?
“Step aside people,” Security broadcasted with authority, herding the crowd backward. “Let the paramedics through.”
“Paramedics? Who got hurt?” Bayfield’s gaze bounced to Turlock. Dark Blue suits surrounded him, escorting him toward the locker room. Bayfield let his gaze grow distant. He had no memory of the fight ending. His boxing gloves were missing. No one acknowledged him. None of it made sense. He gave a good shake of his head. “Got to be an explanation for all of this.” As his vision cleared, it centered on the paramedics rolling a lifeless body away on a stretcher — his body!