Friday, May 1, 2015

Info on CURRENT & FUTURE Releases

I've been so busy rewriting the books I've lost, that I haven't had much time to come on here and announce ALL current and future releases below. 

This week's releases are:

***420 is a modern day re-telling of Little Red Riding Hood with a stoner twist.*** 
Interracial Romance
20,000 words. 

Blurb:Wolf is a legend, a rebel in the street art world. Museums have paid millions just for him to recreate the hard-hitting political images he’s portrayed on buildings all over the world. 
Yet, only a few know his true identity. 

Red is a rising star. Her murals throughout Miami’s poverty-stricken streets have triggered a craze in not only the art world, but in Wolf. 

He’s on Red’s trail, sniffing out her scent in the graffiti jungles of Wynwood and luring her to one of his legendary 420 parties—where true stoners join together on April 20th to partake of the greatest herb. 

Red has no time for men. Yet, Wolf is not the type to give up. 

Can Red stay on the path and avoid being ate by the big, bad wolf? 

Or, will they both collide, on a sensual journey, where weed smoke slips against bare skin and dreams equate to 
a box full of spray paint, 
an empty wall, 
a voice for the people, 

and two rebels’ hearts beating to the cadence of Miami’s rough streets? 


The sequel to Cupid is out, Valentine.

Cupid $.99               Valentine $2.99


Clearing things up

** My computer was stolen, when I took a greyhound down to Miami.  That's what I get for being cheap. I lost several final manuscripts, ones that I'd uploaded onto Dropbox, but I guess apparently had not updated the online box.
That being said, I'm fucking beyond pissed and aggravated, and some of these books are like my third rewrites. . .so . . .whatever.

That's the life of a full-time writer. Sometimes we lose books. The only good thing about this in my case is, with every re-write, the story becomes closer to perfect.

So what am I writing now?

There's a mania to my writing process. I write 5-10,000 words/day. 

The catch is, I can't stay on one book all day.
That being said, 
I'm writing, 
and I'm happier than I've been in a long time since separating. 
and these final books are coming, 
but understand,
they're not just books to me anymore.
I'm looking at these novels as My Legacy.

I'm in the zone, 
trying to do my best to blow your mind,
so I won't rush the flow,
and I won't just throw out a bunch of jumbled stories just cause the wait has been forever.

I love you all for your support, but my books are not quick hustles to take your money.

Writing is art to me.

My goal is to draw you into a world that you have never seen before, and then drug you.

Get you addicted.

Again, what I'm writing now?

***Commitment to Love (Chase and Jasmine)
60% Complete, 
(third rewrite) 
(bring your black dresses. . .there's going to be some funerals for some characters.)

***Complete with You 
(Jay and Evie, Pipe's POV) 
100% Complete, 
(In the revision stage) 
(Wynwood is the big background for this one, and Pipe is Pipe and Jay is Jay.)

***Flaming Tongues (Santeria Habitat #4)
Final Outline and beginning chapters 
20% Complete
(Lots of research done for the Shinto Habitat. We're going to Tokyo, baby!)

There is another book I'm writing for my graduate degree at Seton Hill's Writing Popular Fiction program
I have to turn 30 pages each month.
It's called, The Beauty in the Breakdown
A dark, dark, dark, magical realism retelling of Beauty in the Beast

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Visual Excerpt: Complete with You (Book 3 Coventon Campus)

Tonight, I'll be on Ancelli's Romance Book Club on Facebook, discussing No Ordinary Love and any other thing you want to ask!

Join us at 7pm on Feb 11, 2014!

I'll be giving away ebooks by me and others. 
This is the Event link   CLICK

In order to not giveaway too many spoilers, I decided to do a short excerpt of Evie that gives you a good idea of the challenges she's facing in the final novel.

Evie's Visual Excerpt from
 Complete with You 
(Book 3 of Coventon Campus)



I fled them both, Pipe and Jay.

Miami beach served as my escape

Although sunlight warmed my skin, I remained cold to it all. People laughed around me. I shut it out. My stomach growled, but I could not eat.

All day, I walked, my mind spinning around everything that had happened. 

How had I allowed them both to seep into my skin, and own me?

This emergency trip to Miami was supposed to be about PipeWe were supposed to save him.

But now who's going to save Evie? All I want is my friendships back to normal and a boring, regular freaking relationship with one man! 

My phone rang in my pocket. I checked the screen. Instead of it being Pipe or Jay, it was Lamm.

Oh God. How did I forget about him? Shit. I can't talk to Lamm now. 

On paper, I should've been with Lamm. He had the hot nerd thing on lock. 

He catered to me, considered my feelings in all things, and treated me like a human being.

But he couldn't trap my attention like the others.

As far as Pipe,
well. . .
he was home and laughter,
lush, amaze-balls personality combined with erotic surrealism.

But Pipe was also a very dark fantasy.

He was forbidden fruit
that's why he always tasted so good.

But things never worked out for the princess who feasted on the dark nectar.

And even worse,
now Pipe was broken.
Carved on

Poison dripped out of the cuts all over his face.
He hoped I could save him with my body.

I knew I couldn't.

Pipe and I are going to have to talk. 
What. . .happened. . .that can't happen again.

My mind shifted to Jay.

Last night, he owned me.

And around him, 
I wasn't Evie anymore.

His love broke me down,
altered my brain,
redesigned my cells,
had me craving more than the norm.

Around him,
I sank deep into stormy waters.

Like the villain of a romance, Jay captured my neck, told me to hold my breath, and dragged me down to the  ocean's bottom,

Jay had me doing things I'd never think to do, 
had me sharing his love,
had the bottom of the ocean scraping against my toes,
and the whole time I loved it all.

I pretended I didn't.

Society said, "No."
Mom screamed, "Hell no."

But some nights,
late as I hid in the shadows of my bed,
some nights,
I craved the downfall,
hoped for water to choke my lungs.

Last night I begged for it all,
and he dominated me--his fingertips slipping along my skin, and then gripping my limbs as if he was scared to let go, 
his mouth teasing my nipples,
his cock stroking my insides.

My legs had turned into lead as I sank.

Warm water rushed through my hair and past my bare skin. 

Mute sounds filled my ears. 

I could not breathe.

And although my brain had told me to fight him,

battle the downfall,
and move my body, 
I didn't listen.

"Swim to the surface," it screamed. "No. Don't go there. Save yourself!"

Instead of listening last night,
I chose to suffocate on Jay.

I filled my mouth with his tongue,

stuffed my open, hungry legs with his cock,

and welcomed my demise.


Did you miss the other Visual Excerpts?

I'm going to put all Visual Excerpts on a page on my website right here:

Visual Excerpts

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Commitment to Love COVER & Visual Excerpt (XXX GIFS)

***Do Not Watch At Work, and wherever else you can't watch Adult Gifs****

Before we get into the excerpt:

Tonight, I'll be on Ancelli's Romance Book Club on Facebook, discussing No Ordinary Love and any other thing you want to ask!

Join us at 7pm on Feb 11, 2014!

Hosted by Denise Williams Cherry

I'll be giving away ebooks by me and others. 
This is the Event link   CLICK

(Discussion on the release date after the excerpt)


The masquerade ball had begun with no problems. 

Tonight would be an event of the senses

Celebrity chefs composed mouthwatering dishes that Jasmine had approved. 

Broadway set designers arranged the decor and turned the luxury hotel’s ballroom into an exotic, underground world of sex and mystery. Ropes of red light hung from the high ceilings, while yards of sheer fabric draped the walls. 

Bare, breasted women strolled the space in strips of satin that tied around their bottoms and hid their other secrets. 

Gossamer silk cloaked their entire faces. 

With smooth elegance, they balanced trays on their heads and served drinks.

And now the time had arrived to present Jasmine

Dressed in a tuxedo,

I donned a mask. 

It was themed with the Beatles “Yellow Submarine” album cover. 

Psychedelic blues, yellows, and reds painted the whole disguise that only covered my forehead, nose, and cheeks. Stacks of silver musical notes outlined the border like huge peacock feathers. 

John Lennon himself might have ordered a second mask.

I tapped my side packet over and over as I waited in front of the orchestra, which was placed at the center of the ballroom. 

Jasmine would be entering from the far back of the space, so that she could walk by all of the guests. . . in horror.

Sorry, Jasmine. But everyone needs to understand who you are to me.

Tonight, the world would know that she was mine. 

Respect would be required. 

If not given, then taken with a swift vengeance that I held only for enemies. 

Those that knew me reasonably well, figured that Jasmine would be the first live-in girlfriend of many more. They’d watched me in awe as I lived with my old girlfriends for years. 

Dawn, Wendy, and Lucy had strolled on my side from city to small beach town, elegant engagements to private dinners. Some compared me to Hugh Hefner and his bunnies. 

That was all behind me now.

I’ll show her and everyone else. Tonight is a start. This will let the women know that I’m unavailable. 

The ring would show Jasmine, Michael, and her family. 

Everything else would fall into place. . .after I give her the ring.

Initially, Jasmine had wanted a simple welcome or small meet and greet with my friends. She hoped for something like a short news article about our relationship, or even a tiny afternoon tea with a casual group. Regardless, she begged me to do a quick hello and then escape back into her private universe. 


I wanted a goddamn ceremony—horns blaring and tons of news cameras, high-end dishes and sparkling decor. 

We’d fought for days on this.

And I’d won with my tongue between her shivering thighs. 

I was the victor, and I had it all on video. My personal camera recorded, while I consumed Jasmine. 

The top half of her body hung over the bed, defeated. I was the champion while she groaned out yes over and over, and then begged for my mouth some more. 

But back to the masquerade. . .

The music lowered in the ballroom. 

The doors opened far ahead of me, but I couldn't make her out.

Don’t be nervous, Tesoro.

“Rise!” the master of ceremonies beckoned all to stand and come to the border of the dance floor. 

He was an androgynous man, wearing a mask done in tiny crimson roses. Those flowers swarmed all over his face, seeming to move each time he turned or pranced around. A massive shadowy cape hid his body and dragged on the floor as he strolled. 

The guests sashayed forward. Curiosity thickened in the air. 

Elegant masks covered Willow Park’s high-society faces. 

Peacock feathers outlined the tops of their heads. Others had half-masks made from an assortment of material. Most covered only the wearers’ eyes, foreheads, and noses. Everything from gems to shards of crystals glimmered from their disguises.

Welcome your queen!” The master of ceremonies clapped. “Jasmine Montgomery.”

I held in a chuckle as I imagined the look on Jasmine’s face when she heard the word queen.

She’s probably going to kill me for having him say ‘your queen,’ but it was worth it.

Everyone went quiet. 


Even the musicians 
held their instruments 
close to their bodies.

Jasmine entered the immaculate ballroom.

Two nude men flanked Tesoro as she walked. They held her hands. Silver masks shielded the guy’s faces.  

My treasure. She’s really all I’ll ever need.

Like the men, she wore her own disguise—a mass of tiny, black, and coiled lines started at her forehead, rounded both eyes, and covered only one side of her face with diamond-spotted feathers. 

Dressed in black lace, Jasmine glided toward me. A strapless gown formed around every curve and trailed behind her in a wave of elegance.

Jesus. She’s enchanting.

I’d ordered the fabric from a designer boutique in Paris—Chantilly lace with hand-embroidered calla flowers that revealed my Tesoro’s bare flesh among the swirled pattern. Luxury wrapped around those thick hips and cupped her full breasts. Tiny gems glimmered up her bare fingers, hands, and arms, tons of gems that were done in a henna tattoo pattern. 

She’s all mine.

She was a goddess, draped in darkness.

I wanted to fuck her
right there in the center of the ballroom,
ignore the hundreds of people around us,
bend her over, 
yank that lace away, 
spread those secret, moist lips, 
and slide into that luscious warmth. 

That was how she made me think. 

Vile and raw with no chaser, just the hard-hitting thrill of flesh against the mind-numbing rhythm of pleasure.

No. I’ll take you later. I have my other ways to have fun this evening.

I put my hand in my pocket and grabbed the tiny remote control inside. Oh how I loved my games with Tesoro. 

Tonight, hours before this moment and before my staff helped Jasmine get dressed, I gave her a gift. 

A special toy.

“What’s this?” She closed her robe tight as if that could stop me from taking her right there in our bedroom. “Get dressed.”

I grinned. “Open my present.”

“The party starts in an hour and a half.”

“The masquerade ball doesn't start until I walk into the building.”

Rolling her eyes, she hit her forehead and nodded. “That’s right. I forgot that you are a god.”

“One shouldn't ever forget that.” I took her into my arms and devoured those lips. Sighing between moans, she tried to pull away.

“Sit down, Tesoro,” I whispered.


“I have a present.”

She stepped back and sat in the cushioned chair behind her. “What is it?”

“Spread those beautiful legs.”

“Excuse me?” She frowned.

“Let me give it to you.”

She stared at my crotch. “Really? Haven't I had that present before?”

I forced myself to keep my pants on. “Not that present, Tesoro. You’ll get that later.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” I licked my lips. “Open your legs, Jasmine.”

She bit her bottom lip and opened them, inch by lovely inch. 

I got right in front of her and dropped down to my knees. “You’re following orders with ease.”

She smirked. “I tend to follow orders, when they involve opening my legs and your getting down to your knees.”

“I’ll make note of that.” I landed a trail of kissed down her thigh and lifted her robe. 

She wore nothing on under it, not even panties. Fuck. 

I had to blow against those moist lips.

Groaning, she let her head fall back and mumbled, “No, Chase. We don’t have time.” 

“What did I tell you about that word, no?” I gently pushed her legs apart some more and took out my gift from my pocket to show her. 

It was a tiny, pink object, shaped like a pen that was thick at the top. A white cord dangled at the bottom of it.

With an opened mouth, she stared at it and laughed. “You bought me a high tech tampon? What the hell?”

I glanced back at it. “This isn’t a tampon.”

She tapped the dangling string. “It looks like one.”

“Trust me. If this was a tampon, then stores would be full of women pretending to be on their periods.” I parted her secret lips, relished in the moistness of them for far longer than I should have, and then inserted the pen inside of her.
“Mmmm.” She tensed against me as I pushed it in further. “What is this?”

“A special type of vibrator.” When I’d made sure the top part of the pen was inside of her, I twisted the bottom half off, slipped it down over the cord, and put it in my pocket. The toy and cord remained. When it was time to take the little toy out of her, I would gently pull on the cord.

She turned to me. “Now what, Mr. Stone?”

 “Now you can get dressed.”

“Excuse me?” She laughed and stood up too. 
“How long do you want me to have a little vibrator inside of me?”

I got up and walked off. “Leave it inside during the whole ball.”

“I will not.”

I targeted her with a heated gaze. “You will.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“I’m the god of the day.”

“You’re a power hungry egotistical rich brat.”

“I’ll know if you take it off.”  I took out my remote control from the other pocket and showed it to her.

“The vibrator inside of me has a remote control?” she asked.

I pressed the first button, ordering the toy to turn on and start moving inside of her.

Groaning, she grabbed the edge of her desk, closed her eyes, and mumbled, “Chase, stop.”

“Stop what?” It took everything in me to not rush over there and lick her.

“Chase. . ." She squeezed her thighs tight together. “Please.”

I pushed the off button. “You told me that I would be the god of the day.”

“No,” she said with her eyes still closed as if she was desperately trying to regain composure. “I said that I would do your crazy masquerade ball.”

“You said god of the day.” I considered turning on the toy again just to hear her groan and thought better of it. 

Knowing me, I’d have Jasmine on her vanity table before she could finish the sound. 

“Do I have to remind you, Tesoro? I have you agreeing to me being the god of the day on video. I for one, enjoy watching that particular film we did. I can put it on. Remember the way you screamed my name?”

Opening her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re enjoying this? Aren’t you?”

I winked at her and left our bedroom.

“I only said god for one freaking day!” she called after me. “Be careful, Chase. Tomorrow is a whole new normal day, and on normal days, Jasmine is the goddess of the day!”

I pressed my remote control to silence her rant and send more delicious vibrations to that body. Her grunts escaped the bedroom and fled into the hallway. 

It was hard to stay away, 
difficult to keep my hands out of my pants 
as I rushed down the stairs.

Clearing my throat, I returned back to Jasmine in dark lace and the masquerade ball in front of me. 

Not now. I won’t push it while you’re strolling over to me. You’ve been too good this evening. But when you get close. . .that’s when I’ll have my fun.

I wrapped my fingers around the remote control.

First we have fun with the games. Later, I’ll show you what’s in my other pocket, and hope you say yes. 

I closed my fingers around the jewelry box. A shiver ran up my spine. 

Would she say yes and marry me? Would she be enough? Should I even be thinking this way, while that ring weighs my pocket down? 

Letting out a long breath, I concentrated on the sight before me.

Under all of our feet, the surface glowed in an electric lavender hue. 

The lights dimmed and left only the candles’ glow as they adorned every silk-draped table. The full orchestra prepared their instruments and then played a slow groove that required the sensuality that only violins could master. 

“Oh how beautiful she is!” the master of ceremonies declared.

Chatter shifted to silence.
Waiters placed a port chocolate glaze onto crystal plates and then stacked the sauce with pepper-crusted lamb chops. Each dish was sided with seared vegetables and lobster mashed potatoes, a new Jasmine-inspired addiction of mine. 

The staff wore white velvet oval masks with wide eye-holes and no opening for the lips. Jasmine believed they appeared muted and odd. 

That was the goal. Hopefully, the waiters inspired the guests to keep their mouths closed as well.

This is our night.

“Come!” The master of ceremonies waved at everyone. 

Jasmine continued down the path.

“Come see the magnificent queen!”

Her steps faltered a bit at the second mention of queen. 

Oh Tesoro. I know you’re cringing inside. You’re going to kill me aren’t you?

I tried to hold in my laughter and failed.

“Oh how captivating!” The master of ceremonies clapped some more.

The crowd edged around and drank Jasmine in. 

I had no idea what they thought. 

I rubbed the side of the remote with my finger. 
Lust itched in my hands. 
My dick had been hard since the limo ride to the event. 

The whole drive, I pressed the buttons, testing out their various intensity levels and getting her to come all over my soft, leather seats.

Do you want to come in here, Tesoro?

Barely six feet away from me, Jasmine continued. 

Hundreds of people glittered around her, but no one shined like Tesoro. 

Sure, I’m giving up women. Many of them. But. . .this time I get why those guys in corny films say love is worth it. At least, I think I do? What is this feeling? Lust or love?

It was hard to understand sometimes, too much to comprehend.

She was a drug in my veins. 

She was the song 
that I played every night, 
until my brain imprinted with the melody of her moans. 

And they drummed, 
those moans, 
over and over in my head, 
triggering desire at the wrong times.

Like in that moment, while everyone surrounded us. 

Is this love or an intense lust? Does it matter.  When she’s around, I just can’t help myself.

Inside of my pocket, I pressed the button, delivering the command to the toy inside of her slick tunnel. 

I wanted to make that lush pussy vibrate, 
and force her to shudder, 
and moisten between those lovely thighs.

She slipped a little with the last step. 

Thankfully, the men held her hands. I caught a tiny whimper from her lips within the downpour of the crowd’s clapping and orchestra’s playing of violins.

She mouthed the words. “I’m going to kill you.”

And I laughed behind my own mask.

She frowned as I pressed a more intense level.

I met her before she could stumble again. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Stop it,” Gasping and falling into my arms, she whispered, and still I pressed the button, rocking that secret space between her thighs and sending intense throbs to her center.

“Chase,” she moaned and grabbed my shoulders hard. “Please.”

Not noticing her distress, and I doubted anyone else did, the master of ceremonies beckoned everyone to cheer as he proclaimed. “Welcome Chase Stone’s new beautiful girlfriend, Jasmine Montgomery!” 

The crowd cheered some more, and I pushed the toy’s control button for the highest level. She shrieked against me. “Chase!”

You’re mine.” I nibbled at the bottom of her earlobe. “You know that right?”

“Yes.” She trembled against me.

The master of ceremonies glanced back at us, waiting for Jasmine and I to start the opening dance. I shook my head and hoped he understood that I needed a few seconds or maybe even one delicious, throbbing minute with my treasure.

The crowd clapped, but in that moment, I shut them all out.

Her voice was a low murmur as she slowly rubbed her breast against my chest. “Stop it, baby.”

I kissed her neck and looked over the crowded, who’d centered all of their attention on us. Many pointed. All clapped. Even a few whispered. 

They can wait all tonight. 
I’ll start when she’s done.

How good does it feel?” I kept my finger on the button and glided my free hand over her supple behind. “Do you know how many men in this ball room want you?”

“No.” She rocked against me.

Good.” I held her closer to me with my one arm and continued to keep the button down on the control.

God. I want to fuck you.

“Please, Chase.” 

“Please, what baby?”

“Oh never. . .mind. . .” She leaned in and bit my neck. 

All of her subtle attempts at maintaining composure fell to the floor. 

Slowly, she gyrated into me. 

Who knew if anyone understood what was going on? 

I barely could keep standing as my dick went even stiffer. I pressed against her and she rotated those hips.

The crowd clapped louder. They probably figured we were making out.

“How wet are you, Tesoro?”


“All down those thighs?”

“Yes, baby.” She tightened her hold on me and rocked some more.

“God, this is cruel.” I squeezed her behind, my fingers getting lost in the cushion of her pillow-soft ass. “You know what I would do with that wetness?”

Her words were breathless whispers. “Lick it up.”


She moaned,” Oh god!”

Some of the clapping faltered. 
The master of ceremonies turned back to me. 
I released Jasmine’s behind and gestured for him to get the orchestra going or at least do a damn trick. 

Keep the baboons busy. I want to hear her come.
Who knew if he truly got what I was saying. If Jasmine moaned like that in my ear one more time, I’d throw her over my shoulder, rush us out of the ball room, and fuck her until that sweet voice went raw.

“I’m coming.” She fell against me.

I had to use all of my energy to hold her up.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. Is she about to go to sleep?

“Jasmine?” I released the remote control, held her close to me, and whispered in her ear. “Are you okay?”

The longest minute passed. 

After that, she stood on her own, without my help and frowned at me. “Do not touch that goddamn controller again.”

“Yes, Tesoro.”

“Tesoro, my ass.”

“Your ass is a nice one.”

“Chase,” she hissed and tried to walk away. 

“Where are you going? We aren’t done.” I gestured to the crowd who’d now turned to us with confused eyes and opened mouths. 

____THE END____


So when does this come out? 
People in my facebook fan group know that I'm considering taking one of the subplots out of Commitment to Love, exploring that more, and making a book 4 "Secret to Love."

As you know, Valentine's Day to a Romance Writer, is like Christmas Season to retailers.

I've been busy.

I'm going to make a final decision next week, and announce the official release date then.

Anybody have any thoughts on whether you would want a book 4 in this series, or are you basically saying, "Kenya fucking release the book before I come to Florida and stab you four times in your brain!"

Oh yeah.

And do you have any thoughts on the excerpt????

Cupid Visual Excerpt (Other excerpts of Book 3s coming this week. . .)

My Valentine's Day presents to you all are:

Committment to Love (Book 3 Chasing Love Series)
Cover Reveal & Visual Excerpt Wed 2/11.

Complete with You (Book 3 Coventon Campus)
Visual Excerpt Thurs 2/12

Here's the VISUAL Chapter One of CUPID 

There was a man in the darkness, 

and that man held a bloody bow and arrow.

The bow was carbon, barely three pounds, 

and with a leather grip.

 Long ago, he’d carved ten lines into the 


Each mark represented his kill, and tonight, 

he would add two more lines.

Blood always came, when the man drew back his bow. 

The arrows were fast and easy to pull, and oh how he loved to make them fly.

He loved to watch the blood drip down a graying corpse, inch by inch, staining flesh and radiating the scent of death.

He loved to watch that crimson liquid pool around dead bodies, 
his targets,
men who’d hurt women for sport, 
fathers that raped children,
husbands that cheated on loyal wives,
brothers that stole the innocence 
from their sisters.

He loved to watch them die.

And when they did, he crouched down, hummed his mother’s lullaby, sniffed the rotting air, and peered into their lids, to see their mortality glaze over vacant eyes.

That night, the bow and arrow had done everything it had been brought to the rich man’s condo to do. 

Mr. Neil Carson, millionaire extraordinaire, lay dead on the kitchen floor.

His mistress’s corpse was sprawled along the granite counter with her bare bottom up, red bra hanging around her tiny neck, and her head resting in the sink. Water dripped from the faucet, wetting her hair and filling the space with a haunting rhythm.

“This was too fast.” The killer frowned. “Too easy.” 

Blood dripped from his fingers, spilled red dots onto his polished shoes, and stained the front of his tuxedo shirt. He would have to change before returning back to his mansion.
No doubt he’d scratched his hair due to his restlessness, and got blood on his blonde waves. 

At least I can wash this mousse stuff out of my hair.

Usually he wore his strands in disarray, only getting a haircut the few times he had to show his face at a board meeting in his corporation or a news spotlight for some innovative food product his staff had designed. 

Earlier tonight, his mother obsessed over his hair, called her stylist, and had his head done up in ridiculous waves.

She’d had him on her eighteenth birthday.

A monster had gotten her pregnant. 

But that hadn't stopped her from loving Asher the minute he came into the world. In fact, there was no person, no man who could possess the love she had for her son. 

“Oh darling! You look fabulous!” His mother embraced him right as he stepped out of the hallway. 

“I look ridiculous.” He patted down his tuxedo. “I won’t wear this thing all night.”

His mother laughed. “Asher, you’ll wear it or I’ll give you hell.”

She slid her hands down his muscular arms as if marveling at his strength. 

Asher had been working out more, 

testing his speed in the morning during runs, timing the instances he scaled up walls or dashed down a hall without making any sound. He’d been getting better, just for the sake of never getting caught.

He always had to be two steps ahead of everyone—the police, his victims, and the few curious rich folk, who put down their caviar and took notice of all the wealthy men dying around them.

Asher’s mother stopped her hand at his wrists, turned it over, inspected him, and then glared. “Do you have to wear those cufflinks?”

He glanced at them. They were classic steel and oval shaped. On the surface, diamonds outlined skulls. “I like them.”

“They’re ruining the effect.”

“I disagree. The skulls add to the effect.” Nodding at a maid who hurried past him, Asher traveled down the hall and toward the spiral staircase.

The stairs were one of the main reasons he’d bought the mansion. Several film production companies had made them famous and shot numerous scenes from the top view. 

Gangsters in mafia movies fell to their death from that level, their legs and arms wagging as they plunged to their descent. 

In the few romantic flicks done in his mansion, lovers raced down those stairs—the hero hoped to catch the woman he might’ve lost, the heroine rushed away, yearning to finally be done with the broken cycle. 

Directors had documented those spiraling steps, noting the artistry in the carvings on the rail. Tiny angels decorated the inside, where most people placed their hands as they traveled down. 

Horned-demons covered the outside. 

Asher relished in the demon etchings, pleasured in the wicked grooves that pressed against his fingertips each time he rushed up or took his time going down. 

They were eye candy.

When he stood at the top and gazed below. A wild rose of stairs greeted his eyes—this sort of spiraling down of petals made from iron and cream marble.

Tonight, those stairs also served as Asher’s escape from his mother.

“Where are you going?” She trailed behind him. “I haven’t smelled you yet?”

“What?” He scrunched his face up in horror. 

“Smelled.” She rushed after him. “I haven’t smelled you yet.”

“Goodnight, Mother.”


He stopped at the top of the stairs, checked his watch, and hoped he’d have time to go over preparations for this evening. His gloves, other equipment, as well as his bow and arrows needed to be near his motorcycle that was parked on the far south of his grounds, at the end of a massive garden. 
His mother inhaled him.

Shaking his head, he smirked. “Do I smell good?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Soap and water.”

“No cologne?”

“Good evening, Mother.” He continued down the stairs. 

“Where are you going?”

“The party will begin in two hours. I’m sure you want to go over everything with the kitchen staff.”

She paused, looked down at her flowery robe, touched the curlers in her hair, and turned around, rushing back to her bedroom at the end of the hall. “I should get dressed.”

He grinned. “You look beautiful just the way you are.”

“Oh stop it!” She glanced over her shoulder, right before entering her room. “By the way,you look amazing this evening. You look like Jay Gatsby himself, right from the novel obsessing over his beautiful debutante Daisy 

Buchanan. . . 

. . .I’ve invited many women this evening for your event. There should be tons of Daisies there.”

“Great.” He shook his head.

“Don’t you roll those beautiful blue eyes at me,” she huffed. “Remember. Mother knows best.”

“She does?”

“Yes, Asher.”

“Sometimes you scare me,” he muttered under his breath and hurried down the stairs.

The killer pushed the memory out of his mind and returned to his predicament. 


The only reason he’d been okay with having the party at his mansion this evening was that it provided him an alibi to kill Neil Carson and his mistress.

Now I’ll have to go back. 
It’s like eating a bad meal that was huge, yet unsatisfying. I don’t even feel like I've ate. 
I’m still hungry. 
Do I have time to feed myself some more? 
That’s not the way. 
I have to be careful, have to plan my kills, not rush into them. But. . .do I have time for one more?

Due to living on Ovid Island, he never truly had time to himself. The area was named after the famous poet Ovid, and catered to the most affluent people in Miami. 

The island was south of the city’s coastline.

Residences were exclusive.

One needed a boat to get there, and even then, security checked for written approval and identification before the person could step onto land. For that reason, no one really left the island. Instead, they remained there, partying on their estates and getting into everyone’s business. 

Beyond Ovid Island's bustling business district and the breath-taking blue rippled waves - there were rich men and women hiding secrets. No one asked questions. No one wanted the truth.

Even Asher didn’t leave the island to kill. 

Along with the boredom, he’d gotten lazy, swimming in the dullness of day-to-day life among the affluent.

I don’t have the time. I should go.

Hundreds of guests would still be in Asher’s mansion, partying well into the morning. They’d expect him to show his face after the fireworks exploded in the sky above his grounds, and all wished each other a happy new year. 

Not that his alibi wasn’t secure. 

News cameras filmed his New Year’s Eve speech an hour ago. His staff kept all glasses topped with expensive champagne. Some of the men and women were probably so drunk in that moment, tomorrow there would be made-up stories of him and his exploits all over the party. 

He gritted his teeth and stared at the corpse in the center of the room. “I didn’t even get a chance to hear Neil beg.”

Silence filled the space. 

He flexed his bloody fingers and gazed at the dark figure on the floor, cloaked in shadows and decay. All the excitement of the evening fled from his chest. That hollowness returned, that empty feeling he always felt as he walked around day-to-day—running his corporations, escorting movie stars, and smiling for the flashing lights that followed him everywhere.

Not a good New Year’s Eve at all.

He exhaled. There was nothing else to do in the kitchen, but leave. 

That night, he would go home, drink, smoke, fuck a sexy stranger, and do all of the things that normal people did. 

Yet in his head, 
a blackness would unfurl, 
spiraling down into him, 
just like that huge staircase in his house, 
the one that looked like a black and white rose, 
but on some days, 
stared back at him like an evil eye.

A gloom would spark in the center of his core and rise up to meet that dwindling blackness. 

The hunger would return, 
and yank away at his senses. 

He would be enraged with blood lust, 
similar to a thousand year old vampire that just crawled out of the grave,
after centuries of a deep sleep,
and in need of some young maiden’s ivory neck.

The killer licked his lips at the thought.

In his mind, he saw a young woman, in one of those old gowns with elegant fabric, hooped skirts that dripped with silk, and a stiff corset top that held her bosom up on display.

He could see the lovely maiden with spiraled hair, bobbling as she raced away in a foggy forest, the vampire right on her feet.

“No,” she would scream.

But the vampire would not care. 
The hunger was too strong. 
He would capture her in his arms, slip his fingers along the curve of her neck, push his fangs out of his gums, and pierce the beautiful flesh.

“Neil!” a woman yelled in the condo and shoved the killer out of his daydream. “Neil!”

Who the hell is that? No one was supposed to be here tonight.

And then the kitchen door opened

 photo door-open.gif

He froze.

A woman’s voice filled the air as she yelled out the dead man’s name again, “Neil?” 

The word came out like a melody as if she’d intended to sing Neil’s name, and changed her mind, once it left her lips. "Neil?”

Who is this? 

“Neil?” Her voice drummed through to the killer’s bones.
He bit his bottom lip and squinted to get a better look of her. It was too dark, too black and hard to see.

No one else was supposed to be in the condo tonight. Not Neil’s wife, personal assistant, and even his staff. Who is this? Wife or someone else?

Inhaling the air, Asher blended back into shadows. His heart battered against his chest. Plans had changed. The urge to kill more itched in his gums and sparked in his fingers as he tightened his grip on the bow.

Yet, did she deserve to die?

No. Not by my hands, at least. Who knows what she’s done to another? Women can be evil little creatures. Mother taught me that.

“Neil?” The woman appeared in the opened doorway. Light glowed around her.

She was a black woman. That much he could tell. He couldn’t make out the features of her face nor the color of her eyes or the fullness of those lips as she called Neil’s name again. Long, wavy black hair hung past her shoulders. He couldn’t see much else, yet her silhouette kept his attention.

Neil, you lucky bastard. Who is she? This can’t be your wife.

Asher’s research on the man had been lackluster. Instead of taking weeks to follow him around, he decided to kill Neil based solely on island gossip. Everyone had called him an emotionally abusive man-whore, yet when they spoke of his wife, they did it with respect in a sort of sadness, like they felt bad for the poor women would been shackled to the beast.

I should’ve at least broken in a few times while he was home with his wife. Like I did with the others. Watched them sleep. Checked out their hidden secrets.


Is this his wife or another mistress?

“Neil?” The woman had a lush frame—curves and softness.

Part of him craved a closer view

The rest of him tensed in fear of being caught.

If she spotted him, then she would die.

There would be no question in his mind, if the moment came, he would draw back his bow and hit the target on her chest in seconds. Sometimes, he let a few women go, if he deemed them innocent. Tonight, he didn’t have the time to judge her.

Turn around. Leave. 

Unease crept up his spine.

“Never leave witnesses behind.” His mother would always say as she held him close to her bosom, rocked his small body, and sung that lullaby over and over. “Kill them all. It’s only us in this world. No one else needs our protection.”

The kitchen door squeaked as the woman pushed it open wider.

What made her call Neil’s name over and over, and stay there peering at the shadowed kitchen? Did she feel something? Was she not scared or nervous? Did she sense the terror around her?

Death pricked at the average person’s skin, whether they knew it lingered around them or not.

It was hard to ignore.

She should’ve sensed the morbid situation around her, and been forced to back away.

“Neil?” she said into the darkness, but didn’t enter the kitchen. “Neil, are you in here? I don’t feel like any of your games tonight. If you’re hiding and plan on jumping out at me, as usual, then you’re in for a very violent surprise.”

She placed her hand on the wall next to the door way, slid it up and down, flipped the switch, and gasped when the light didn’t turn on.

This is when you run.

She froze right there, not moving her finger or the rest of her body another inch. Thoughts must’ve spiraled around in her mind.

What are you thinking? There’s no light in here, yet the rest of the condo’s lights work. Tonight is not the time to investigate. Tonight is when you turn around and leave. Tonight you escape a destiny that wasn’t meant for you.

She stood there, silent. Besides the dripping from the faucet, quiet continued. A sweet perfume traveled into the room and journeyed to the killer.

What scent is that? Vanilla or something flowery? Roses. It must be roses.

Hiding in the shadows, he gripped his loaded bow and inhaled her fragrance some more.

Turn around, sweet one. Tonight is not your day to die.

She cleared her throat and stepped inside. “Neil? I’m serious. You told me to meet you in the kitchen, but. . .”

So Neil had asked his wife or whatever to come to the kitchen? Why would he do that when he was having sex with his mistress? Had he hoped she walked in? This must be why others gossiped about him being a manipulative douche. 

She inched in further. “I swear on everything. I don’t have time for more of your fucking mental games.”

Turn around.

From the shadows and with smooth precision, the killer pointed the arrow at her chest. If she took one more step inside the kitchen, he’d release the wire and let the arrow glide through the air. Knots built in his gut.

Turn around, sweet one.

A sigh left her lips. “I’m done playing your games, Neil.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and stepped back. “You couldn’t even give me tonight. Could you? What’s the point of being your wife, if I see you less than all of your mistresses, and get absolutely no respect!”


The kitchen door slammed behind her.

Asher leaned forward and patiently listened for the sounds of her departure—footsteps pounding away, keys jingling, doors creaking open and shutting back.

Don’t worry, sweet one. Neil’s gone. You won’t need to play those mental games with him anymore.

Minutes passed. She made a few more noises here and there in the apartment, yelling out his name from time to time. Another few minutes went by.

Finally, the condo’s front door slammed, and Asher guessed that the sweet-scented woman had left and he was finally alone.

He returned his attention to the dead man on the floor and crouched low to get a good look at the corpse in the darkness.

Pulling out his tiny flashlight and turning it on, he studied Neil’s face. “You had a beautiful wife. What made you decide to have her come to the kitchen tonight, while you knew, you would be fucking your mistress from behind? Was your wife supposed to see that? Did you think it would be funny?”

Asher winked at the corpse. “Now who do you think will be laughing, once tomorrow’s morning news reports your dead body found with your slutty secretary in a secret apartment that was paid for illegally by your company’s investors? Poor Neil.”

Asher inhaled the space. A harsh odor radiated from the stiff’s flesh.

There was no other fragrance that left a bigger imprint in most people’s minds.

When one smelled death, 
there was no way of getting it out of their head.

It sat, 
that scent
in the crevices of the brain where gloom clung to cells and veins, 
and where nightmares were birthed, 
and horror fulfilled.

Yet, he inhaled it all. 

To him
death mingled with childhood memories, 
nightmares soothed, 
and taking one’s life released the tension from his shoulders.

Blood warmed the coldness in his chest, 
just for a few seconds, 
before his core returned back to an empty cave made of ice. 

What was her name? 

He walked over to the dead mistress’s naked body that was slumped over the counter.

Asher thought back to the moment, right before he surprised the evil pair. Neil’s pants sat at his ankles as he barreled his pecker into his mistress.

“Let’s make her cry,” the mistress had groaned. “Show her how you make me scream your name.”

At first, Asher wondered who the mistress had been talking about. Who had she wanted to make cry? For that reasoning alone, he didn’t give her the chance to escape. Making people cry wasn’t really nice after all. She got an arrow in her back, and then Asher gave all of his attention to Neil’s shaking frame as he pissed on himself, right in the kitchen.

“Let’s make her cry.”

“Now it all makes sense.” He grabbed the arrow sticking out of Neil’s chest and yanked it away. “You wanted to hurt your wife for whatever reason. Maybe it got you off, added to the orgasm. Fucking another was no longer enough. Now you needed the games.”

Asher wiped the arrow’s tip on his pants. Blood smeared on the material. He’d planned to burn everything he wore once he got to the back of his grounds.

“I get it, Neil. Boredom makes us do wicked things.” He rose and headed over to the mistress. “Too bad your wife couldn’t have seen me kill you. Would she have liked it? She smelled so good. A woman that smells like that would use logic. Mother always said, a female that could master all of a man’s senses around her, is one that’s using the maximum power of her brain.”

Laughter fled his lips. He pulled the arrow out of the mistress’s back and wiped it off.

Okay, Asher. You’ve had your fun.

But for whatever reason, he didn’t rush away like all the other times he’d killed. For some crazy reason, he remained there, breathing in everything.

Soon, he’d have to sneak out of the condo, jump on his motorcycle, speed through traffic, and enter the back of his mansion, hide his tools, clean himself, and rush off to party until dawn.

Soon, he’d have to dive into meaningless conversations with faceless people whose names always blurred together, with the intoxication of the wine, and the artificial feminine giggling that lingered afterward.

Soon, he’d have to shift from killer to Asher Bishop, heir to the Bishop multi-millionaire food empire.


Releasing a long breath, he stared to the rich man’s corpse for a few more seconds, but that time, he didn’t sing his mother’s lullaby, as he did with all the others. 

That time, he stood over the dead body and thought of the fragrance of roses.