Thursday, May 29, 2014

**BT & Giveaway** REV ~ Bayonet Scars 3 ~ JC Emery

With the looming threat from the Mancuso Crime Family, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club is preparing for a war that could destroy them. Grady, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, knows that love makes you weak, and he has zero interest in adding to his liabilities– especially now. He’s already got his teenage daughter who keeps him on his toes and a beef within the club that could fracture his relationship with a fellow brother for good.

For Holly Mercer, her life is finally getting on track and the last thing she wants is trouble from her hometown’s resident outlaws. Keeping her nose clean is easier said than done, when suddenly she finds herself embroiled in club business. Holly might like the idea of being with a real-life bad boy, but even being in the same room with tough-as-nails Grady flusters her.

When Holly inadvertently finds herself on Mancuso’s radar, she has two choices: trust that Grady will protect her, or continue to refuse the club’s help. Both roads are dangerous, but only one has the chance to damage her beyond repair.

Love is never more dangerous than when it can destroy you.

In book 3 of the Bayonet Scars, we are reintroduced to Grady. Father to Cheyenne, Sargent-at-arms for the Forsaken, all around bad-a*^ mofo. He doesn't want to be messed with, he certainly doesn't want to be told how to raise his kid, let alone by a paper pusher from the school. Regardless of how pretty she may be. 

Holly, the said paper pusher (secretary), due to short staffing has put a helluva lot of effort into keeping Cheyenne from being expelled from school. When she starts acting out again, she decides it's time to track down her dad to get what she needs to make sure Cheyenne graduates. 

She doesn't know she inadvertently walks into a war. She didn't know she'd set things in motion just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

I feel it needs to be said **WARNING - Parts to this novel are EXTREMELY GRAPHIC**

While I'm a new inductee into the JC Emery - Bayonet Scars fan club (read books 1 & 2 *swoon*), I did find I had a bit of trouble with Rev. I felt like the 2 main characters didn't get enough "screen" time together, I felt the lack intimacy needed for a couple in love towards the end of the book. I would have liked to have seen a bit more interaction between Grady & Holly as a couple with the Forsaken. I also think that due to the amount of stuff going on in the novels, that at this point, it would be beneficial to the author to either give us a glossary of characters, or a summary rundown in the prologue. These books are not ones you can sit down and read in a couple of hours. There is so much going on that is pertinent to the story that you must take your time reading or you will get lost in the shuffle. 

Regardless of all of this, I still am deeply embroiled with the Forsaken and this mission they are on. I swear I think I smelled a little bit of romance between Ian and Mindy, I'm just not certain yet. Anxiously awaiting the next book in the series and the sweet little novella (don't know that sweet and little could be used to describe anything with MC) that is coming soon. 

And for those of you who follow my reviews a couple of things~ 
I had a chat with the author, while Bayonet Scars and the names of the books don't seem to jive too well with what's going on between the pages, Be Patient. It's coming. ;) 

And If your interested in my review for books 1 & 2 check them out HERE.


Deleted Scene #1: What She Deserves


The cool evening wind whips at my face and batters against my bare knuckles as I breeze through town. I’ve only been riding for a little over four hours now, but it’s starting to take its toll. My back aches, my knees are sore, and my arms long to stretch and my muscles from my face down to my toes are protesting the ride at this point. Cruising slowly past downtown and on a long road that leads to the old apple farm that’s now used as one of our grow houses, I curve off at the upcoming turn and pull into the small parking lot of a rundown apartment building. I’m here, I think gratefully. The gratitude lasts but a moment before the dread sets in.

Layla’s such a goddamn mess. I never know what kind of condition she’s going to be in. Today, I need her to be alert enough to have a conversation with me. If I call beforehand, she’s usually in better shape, but my ex is fucking unpredictable and she might bolt if she knows I’m on my way if she can’t get clean in time.

There are few streetlights to illuminate my way as I pull into an empty spot in front of the shitty first floor apartment that my kid’s mom calls home—for now at least—she never stays in one place for long. I cut the engine of my bike, prop down her kickstand, and climb off. I leave my helmet on her handlebars and stride to the door. My hand balls into a fist and slams against the cheap hollow hardwood three times before I stop and wait a beat to see if she answers. Just as I go for round two, the door swings open.

She was a beautiful woman once, and in some ways, she still is. She’s skinny as fuck and her skin is shit. She’s got tracks in the bend of her elbows, sores in the corner of her mouth and her cheeks have caved in from all the poison she puts into her body. Her hair used to be full and gorgeous, but now it’s stick thin and I don’t know how long it’s been since she washed it. Her light brown eyes are wide as she stands before me in a thin stained tank top with no bra and a small pair of shorts. Her outfit looks like something I’ve taken away from Cheyenne for thinking she can wear outside to get the mail.

“Hey,” she says in a soft voice as she steps back and out of the way. The apartment is small on its own, but without furniture in here it feels almost too big. Back when Layla and I first hooked up, we were a mess—never having anything stable. I had the club and she had me, but that was it. I spent years busting my ass, earning my keep, and doing shit that wakes me up at night so that we could have a nice home—so that our little girl would have some kind of stability. I fought hard to never have to be in a place like this again. It practically makes my stomach churn to think that she chose this shit over the house I killed for so that she and Chey would have something nice. But I’m not here to talk about the past. This visit is about the future.

Inside, the apartment smells of an unnatural sweetness mixed with a putrid stench of something having been burnt that I don’t want to place. Still, I step inside and cross the nearly empty room. I pass wooden crates that have been used as a table and three or four sleeping bags that tell me she’s got people crashing here with her. I push down the irritation I feel at having fucking strangers freeloading in the place I’m paying for.

She’s no longer my wife, I remind myself.

“Didn’t expect to see you for another couple of weeks,” she says and shuts the door. She folds her arms over her chest and taps her foot nervously. Fuck. Sometimes she does shit like this and it’s almost like Chey’s here. My girl shares a lot of shit with her mama, but hopefully an addictive personality isn’t one of them.

“Surprised you noticed I got a schedule,” I say.

“Please,” she says. She lifts her chin and speaks with more volume than before. “I know my Old Man.”

“Yeah, about that,” I say. She ain’t been my Old Lady since Chey was in diapers, but in the ways that count I’m still her Old Man. Still looking out for her ass, still taking care of her, and still making sure nobody fucks her over too bad.

Shoving my hands in my pockets and locking my jaw in place, I take a deep breath. Layla may be fucked in a hundred different ways, but she’s not stupid. One of the reasons I hooked up with her was because she didn’t give me shit about anything I did. If this situation weren’t so screwed up, I might find it humorous that I married one bitch because she let me run wild, but now I’m looking to marry another because she doesn’t.

“Yeah?” she says with a smile on her face. “You movin’ Elle in?”

Of course she would think I’m here about Elle. Any sane person who’d caught onto the fact that I’ve been fucking her and leaving for her years now would think this is about Elle.

“Her name’s Holly,” I say.

Layla loses her smile. Her eyes narrow and she just shakes her.

“You’re a bastard,” she says. Layla and Elle got a bond between them. Guess they would since I’ve fucked them both—figuratively and literally. “Elle know about this?”

“Yeah, she’s figured it out.”

“She pissed?”

“I’m betting she is,” I admit.

“Tell me about her,” Layla says. She’s getting cocky like she’s got nothing to lose. I guess she doesn’t. She already lost me, she’s lost Chey, and she lost her fucking mind and dignity. But regardless of where she’s at now, she’s my kid’s mom and if she wants to know about Holly, I’ll tell her.

“She’s the biggest pain the ass I’ve ever met. She’s mouthy, doesn’t know her place, doesn’t give a shit that I’m Forsaken, and has no clue what it means to be an Old Lady.”

“She sounds perfect.”

“She is,” I say. It was a little over two months ago that Holly fucked that guy up. She’s mostly come out of that dark hole she was in, but now it’s all about Mindy for her. With Holly being more stable and on better footing, I’m ready to move shit forward. That means canceling the lease on the apartment she hasn’t been to in almost three months. It means telling the club that I want them to officially consider her my Old Lady when her time comes. It means changing her last name and making sure she’s going to be a permanent fucking fixture in Chey’s life. Because shit. My girl loves my woman in ways she’s never cared for her own mother.

“And Chey?” Layla asks. Her smirk disappears and she’s retreating into herself now. Nobody knows her pain and feels her failures better than she does.

“Shit. Holly loves our girl more than she loves me, I think.”

“Good,” Layla says with a nod. Her eyes glass over and she chews at her lip. She sways awkwardly as if to distract herself. “She good to her?”

“The best.” The raw pain that builds in my gut is hard to ignore. I push it down, hopefully just long enough to finish up here and leave Layla with her demons.

“Good,” she says again.

“Could’ve been you,” I remind her. She’s not as powerless over this shit as she thinks she is. She could have been a mom to her daughter. She could have done shit like bake cookies with her and braid her hair. She could have done all that fucking crap that Holly now does with her. She’ll be eighteen in a few months and sometimes I forget that through the attitude and big mouth she’s still just a little girl who wants her mother to love her. It’s never more apparent than it is when she’s with Holly and asking her to do shit I know she can do for herself—like helping her fix her hair or for Holly’s opinion on her makeup. I try to pretend that hole ain’t there in my kid, but it is. I see it every day and it tears me up.

“I’m not the mothering type,” she says. It’s the truth but damn. All I can think about is how my kid would feel if she heard that shit. “I love our baby girl, but I’m no good for her.”

“Not like this you’re not.” My mouth works at forming the words again and again until I can force them out. This is for Holly, and I promised her I’d do this. “Holly wants to meet you at some point. That means you’re going to have to clean yourself up and figure your shit out for an entire fucking evening.”

“No,” she says and shakes her head. “I don’t need some bitch telling me I’m a shit mom because I can’t handle being around my kid. I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“One, that word ain’t gonna fly when you’re talking about my woman. Two, I pay your rent and I’ve kept your ass from dying on more occasions than I can count, so shut it. Holly ain’t about making you feel like shit. You were my wife, you are my kid’s mom, and you may have left a long fucking time ago, but there’s a stain in that house with your name all over it. She just wants to know you is all.”

“You tellin’ me she ain’t got another motive for seeing the fucking junkie whore who left her kid?” Layla’s temper is coming out in a way I’d rather not be here for. I can deal with as much shit as she can sling, but I don’t have to. Besides, if she’s gonna pitch a fit about this, I’m going to have to deal with Holly’s shit when I explain to her why my ex refuses to meet her.

“Stop it with that shit,” I snap and nod my head to her inner elbows that are dotted with needle marks. “You want to feel bad for how you’ve fucked up, fine. Feel bad. But don’t cry to me about it. You’ve earned those tracks and that’s your burden to bear, not mine, babe.”

“Still a dick,” she mutters discontentedly.

Giving her my best smile, I say, “You always loved my dick.”

“Still obsessed, I see. Your Old Lady know how hung up you are on your cock?”

“She’s got an idea.” Actually, Holly’s half convinced that I love her and my dick equally. She might not be wrong.

“Take care of your woman so she can take care of my baby,” she says quietly. She won’t cry—she’s not that self-pitying, even now.

We stand in silence for a long moment, just absorbing the gravity of our conversation. We’ve talked around this before—the fact that one day shit would change between us in an irreparable way. She’s not mine and hasn’t been for a long time, but until now, I was hers.

As a child, JC was fascinated by things that went bump in the night. As they say, some things never change. Now, as an adult, she divides her time between the sexy law men, mythical creatures, and kick-ass heroines that live inside her head and pursuing her bachelor's degree in English. JC is a San Francisco Bay Area native, but has also called both Texas and Louisiana home. These days she rocks her flip flops year round in Northern California and can't imagine a climate more beautiful.

JC writes adult, new adult, and young adult fiction. She dabbles in many different genres including science fiction, horror, chick lit, and murder mysteries, yet she is most enthralled by supernatural stories-- and everything has at least a splash of romance.
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Ride ~ Bayonet Scars 1 


Death comes in Armani. Salvation comes in leather.

Principessa to the Mancuso crime family, Alexandra knows a thing or two about living outside the bounds of the law. Suffocated by the future her father has laid out for her, she makes a choice she can't take back, changing the entire trajectory of her life.

Thrust into the dark and dangerous world of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club for her own protection, Alex finds herself faced with the last thing she needs right now: the man of her dreams. He’s sex in leather, the devil incarnate, and one hell of a kisser. But he’s also off-limits. Ryan Stone can be her friend, but he’s forbidden to be her lover.

Third-generation Forsaken, Ryan knows nothing other than life on two wheels, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He enjoys the many privileges that come with the patch, and the only laws he recognizes are the ones set-forth by his club. That is, until who he wants more than anything isn’t allowed on the back of his bike —or in his bed. Balancing his desire for her body, and need to keep her safe, Ryan tries to keep Alex at a distance. Finally having made a choice for herself, she’s done hearing the word “no” and will push boundaries even Ryan himself doesn’t dare cross.

Love is never more tempting than when it’s forbidden.

Thrash ~ Bayonet Scars 2 

Loneliness suffocates the heart. Acceptance breaks down walls.

As a Lost Girl to the Forsaken Motorcycle Club, Nicole Whelan knows how to party. She’s not cut-out for relationships and her life is way too complicated for anything more than casual encounters. But one night when she falls into Duke’s bed at the clubhouse, he sees something in her that he can’t let go of—no matter how many times she tries to run.

Having been left to raise her teenage brother, Jeremy, she’s already got her hands full and isn’t looking for anymore complications. But Duke’s just watched his best friend fall for the only girl he couldn’t have, and then almost lose her so shortly after, shaking him to his core. Faced with his own loneliness, he’s more determined than ever to break down Nic’s walls and show her that he can be good for her; but he’s got a bad track record and she’s got a bad temper. Changing his ways isn’t easy when he’s not sure what he’s even changing for.

The violence and turmoil are at an all-time high, and Forsaken is in a vulnerable place when a twist of fate breathes new life into the club. It’s a much-needed beacon of hope for the embattled biker family, even if everyone’s not exactly on board. With Duke and Nic’s relationship already on shaky ground, and something even more important at stake, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club will fight like hell to keep their family together and whole.

Love is never more precious than when it’s new.

~~~~~COMING SOON ~ CRUSH ~ Bayonet Scars Novella~~~~~

Young love is always perfect. Until it's not.

Cheyenne Grady is a total daddy's girl to her bad-ass father, the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club. She's funny, and kind, and she just wants that deep, earth-shattering love like her dad has with her school secretary, Holly. But Cheyenne's been looking in the wrong direction, because the only good that can come from the way she looks at Jeremy Whelan is a lesson in heartbreak.

Jeremy always wanted to prospect for the Forsaken Motorcycle Club and wear the same patch as his father. When a life-long dream becomes reality, Jeremy realizes that the outlaw lifestyle is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it easy on relationships. He wants to be a good man, but temptation is everywhere.

Cheyenne is beautiful, and strong, and exactly what Jeremy could have forever. As long as he doesn't screw it up.

Love is never more powerful than the first time.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for participating in my blog tour!

    xx JC