Hey all, AK Nevermore back with you! This month I'm releasing the first book in a brand new series, Breaker. If you're a fan of Spicy Dystopian Romance, then this is the series for you!
Beware the Coming Storm...
On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…
Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is oath-bound to a life of strict penance.
Cursed with a vicious temper and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn’s sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn’t give a damn about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn’t in the mood to make good on a debt when it’s called in, especially when playing white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his soulmate.
On the run from her future as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no distressed damsel.
And the last thing she wants is to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido in check, her biology’s primed to procreate, and Flynn’s growled assurances that he won’t touch her doesn’t match the hunger in his eyes.
It doesn’t align with what fate has in store for them, either.
With elite troops hot on their heels and the border set to close, it’s a race to the North, away from Kara’s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he’s forced to choose between protecting the woman he’s afraid to love and letting out the animal he swore he’d never be again. Either may destroy him, if Kara’s secrets don’t get them killed first.
Excerpt:
Flynn buzzed his lips and folded, slinging his cards onto the table. The prick across from him grinned, his pockmarked cheeks making like an accordion as he snapped his cards down, one by fucking one.
“Flush, muthafucka.”
Like it would’ve taken more than two pair to beat the deuces Flynn’d been nursing. He shrugged, scanning the room as he lazed back, scraping one foot through the liberal layer of sawdust gumming the floor. His other leg stayed kicked forward, a hunk of dead meat. Change of position shot pain from his knee straight to his groin. Christ, this was gonna suck—
“You still in?” one of the prick’s sidekicks asked around a toothpick. Him, the other two at the table, and the eight taking turns tapping ass in the back room were all Underhill; soldiers for the scab crew that’d claimed Lyden. Not the worst gang Outside, but that didn’t mean Flynn wanted to dance. He had enough trouble walking.
“Nah. I’m spent.” His lack of interest wasn’t feigned. It was what was coming next that had his proverbial panties in a twist, but fucked-up knee or not, the chance to get clear of the Fuil’s onus had offered itself up on a silver platter, and he had to take it.
The prick licked his lips, snagging the bag of sear before anything else in the pot. Man wasn’t stupid. Shit was worth a mint. He swept up the rest of his win, leaving the cards scattered. Even if Flynn had the inclination for another hand, the answer would’ve been no. The fevered glint in the prick’s eye was all about that bag of dope he’d just pocketed. Delaying his fix wouldn’t go well.
And Flynn needed this to go well. He had that damned onus with the Fuil to settle and his cuff to get back. Oh, and promises to keep. Might as well change his name to Robert fucking Frost.
He pushed out of the chair, wincing as he stood. The mood in the room hitched, men’s hands finding reasons to brush across whatever heat they were packing. Flynn kept his movements slow, arms loose at his sides, waiting for someone to breathe. This close to the Source, being built like a brick shithouse topping six-eight made trigger fingers itchy. It pissed him off.
He wasn’t a fucking Breaker.
The set to his jaw and whitening of his knuckles wasn’t doing anything to dissuade them of the notion. The genetically engineered enforcers had a penchant for violence. Shit, so did he, but not the kind that included razing, raping, and pillaging scab squats under a veneer of Corporation-sanctioned peace keeping.
Didn’t matter. Wouldn’t take much for one of these assholes to try and pop him off, despite his beard and the scars running through it like a roadmap in relief. Both were proof-positive he wasn’t from the Source, but facts were for shit when people got excited, and he was one ugly mofo. Didn’t exactly engender warm fuzzies.
Christ, he didn’t have time for this shit. Flynn forced himself to push past the old hurt and relax. Okay, fake relaxing. He’d smile, but that usually made things worse. “Sorry. Not my night.”
The prick grinned, and a murmur went through the room, hands drifting back to tankards and whores. He stood, the soldiers at the table rising with him. His fist bulged his coat where he gripped those six grams of pending euphoria.
“Sucks to be you, but s’been a pleasure on my end.” The prick tipped an imaginary cap at him and whistled. His soldiers fell in, making for the door. Safety in numbers was a euphemism. More like upping your odds by providing alternate targets.
“Can’t say the same,” Flynn muttered. Didn’t have to fake that.
The prick’s guffaw hung in the crepuscular funk of the room as they left.
Flynn sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Right. Trap was baited, now he just had to kill time. Solid five minutes for them to get back to the compound. Omar, Underhill’s boss, would be out in twenty. It’d take all of a minute-six for them to break out that baggie once he was clear.
Flynn’d be in and out before they peeled themselves up off the floor.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Want more? Download the Breeder, the series prequel, for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/91ffk852qo
AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.
Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.
AK pays the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She belongs to numerous industry organizations, volunteers for far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.
2 comments:
Love dystopian stories. Breaker being a spicy romance, too, makes it even better. Great cover art, blurb, and excerpt! :)
Thank you! It's on Kindle Unlimited, so I really hope people check it out!
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