Wednesday, October 30, 2013

WRITER WEDNESDAY featuring May Torres

On my journey, I've met authors that have become more than colleagues, contemporaries and peers. I can honestly say that I've been fortunate enough to gain great friends who support me in everything I do. This is my opportunity to return the love and to also share their work. This is the latest novel from the amazing May Torres.

When a crime of passion is committed in a quaint suburban neighborhood, long buried secrets begin to surface.
It was an ordinary Thursday night when Grace looked out her window to see her neighbor brutally murder his family. And, it wasn't the first time tragedy had struck the house across the street. Unfortunately for Grace, her special gift, and long buried secrets of her own, conspire to put her and her loved ones at risk.
If the line between good and bad is drawn in blood, what happens when less than six degrees separates you from pure evil?





PROMO VIDEO

Bio: May Torres is a freelance writer born in New York City. At a young age she became fascinated by all things supernatural, as well as unexplained phenomena. She cites Stephen King as her favorite author, heavily influencing her love of the written word. After completing her first novel she was faced with the arduous task of getting it published. She struggled with the fear of her work being turned into something she would not recognize, in order to conform to a publisher’s strict guidelines.She made the decision to self publish and, with a friend and fellow writer, started a company aimed at preserving the integrity of the author’s work. May currently resides in New York with her two children.

Friday, October 25, 2013

BLOOD AND VENGEANCE 2ND SNEAK PEEK

We're really happy about all of your feedback on Twitter, Facebook and here. Glad to know that you're intrigued by the story so far and because you asked for it, here is some more. 

Blood and Vengeance
(Encore Sneak Peek)
by
Keith Gaston (aka DK Gaston) & Keith Kareem Williams

Bible Thumper
Becoming aware of the approaching man, the posture of the officer posted outside the interview room hardened. “Who are you,” he barked, holding up a restraining hand that left no doubt he wouldn’t allow any unauthorized personnel inside.
“Special Agent Royce,” the man answered, three-fingering his cred-pack from his shirt pocket. He flashed his badge and ID card.
The officer scrutinized the credentials. “DOJID? Never heard of it.”
Mechanically, Royce answered, “Department of Justice Infringement Division.” The officer’s curious response hadn’t surprised him at all. He’d been getting that same reaction a lot lately. The agency was only three weeks old, and he, its only field agent. “It’s fairly new. Just more letters to include in the federal law enforcement alphabet soup.”
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to let you inside. Maybe I should check with one of the detectives involved with the case first,” the officer said scratching his head.
Royce read the name tag above the officer’s breast pocket and then produced some paperwork from somewhere inside his suit jacket. “Look, Northouse. This paperwork authorizes me to do whatever I like. I know this is a local case and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way. The suspect in the interview room may have information on a related investigation I’m working on. All I need is a few minutes with him, after that, I don’t care what happens to him.”
Northouse took the documents, his eyes moving left and then right as he scanned every word. After several drawn out minutes, Royce wondered if he should have let the man contact the detectives. Then the officer handed back the paperwork.
“I can’t let you go in with your weapon, Fed or not,” Northouse said in a gruff voice. He pointed to a table to the right with a metal lockbox. “Place your pistol and backup piece inside there.”
Royce upholstered his Glock first. Reaching down to his ankle, he lifted his right pants leg to claim his second gun and placed them both into the metal container. He noticed a thick, worn, bible beside the lockbox. “Yours?”
The officer shook his head. “That bible has been there for as long as I can remember. No one knows where it came from.”
“Mind if I take the good book inside with me?” Royce asked.
“Whatever,” Northouse replied, opening the door to the interview room.
Royce entered the room, the bible gripped in his fingers. Seated firmly in a chair behind a nondescript gray metal table, the suspect, Reggie Dobski, eyed him with obvious resentment.
“Who the hell are you?” Dobski barked. His gaze shot down to the bible in the other man’s hand. “You some kind of preacher man, here to save my soul?” A harsh laugh followed his question.
Royce waited until the door closed behind him before he spoke. “Who I am doesn’t matter.” Glancing around the room, he sought and found the surveillance equipment. “But I am interested in you baring your soul to me.”
Dobski craned his head around following Royce’s movements in the small room. “What the hell are you babbling about, man? And what are you doing?”
Reaching up to the camera perched in a corner; the agent disarmed the unit by pulling out the audio and video cables. When he finished, he circled around the table to stand across from Dobski. He slapped the bible down hard on the flat metal surface, his palm laid atop of it.
The man stared up at him in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of him.
“I have little time and require quite a bit of information from you Reggie. We both know you’re not going to simply answer my questions, because I have a winning smile. So, I’m going to appeal to you in an unexpected way…” He lifted the bible. “I’m going to do this with the word of God.”
Dobski laughed. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. No Name. There’s nothing in that book going to get me to talk.”
Royce grinned. “I beg to differ.”
“Kiss my ass!”
Royce blew out an exhausted breath feigning disappointment. Casually lifting up the book, he rounded the table until he stood alongside Dobski. “You’re not a good man, Reggie. You’ve hurt a lot of people, said and done bad things. You’ve pretty much have broken every commandment.”
“Kiss my ass,” Dobski shouted again.
“Commandment one,” Royce said, “Do not worship any other gods.” His arm came up smacking the man hard underneath the jaw with the bible, forcing him out of the chair like he popped a cork off a champagne bottle and onto the floor.
“You son of a bitch,” Dobski screamed, spitting blood. A tooth wiggled inside his mouth. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t hit me!”
Royce hit him again, striking him in the temple with the thick spine. “Commandment two: Do not make any idols.”
The man’s pain-laden cries filled the room, becoming Royce’s universe. The federal agent got all the way up to the seventh commandment when the suspect begged him to stop hitting him, promising to tell Royce anything he wanted to know.
Obtaining Dobski’s information in record time, Royce sauntered to the exit. The man’s wails followed him out as the interview room door opened.
Northouse stood in the hallway, his sidearm drawn. “What the devil is going on in there?” the officer shouted.
“I’m done with him. He’s all yours,” Royce said, nonchalant. He tossed the bloodied bible on the table next to the lockbox. “Oh, and he’ll need some medical attention.”
Northouse scrambled inside the interview room as the federal agent collected his pistols. His assault on the suspect would most likely lead to a sweet plea bargain in Dobski’s favor. Regardless, Royce hadn’t felt guilty about what he had done. The answers he’d drawn out of the man, trumped any of the petty crimes Dobski had committed.
Before leaving the police station, he’d have to make sure any digital footprint of his visit vanished from the police computer database. His role in the beating of the suspect would eventually become nothing more than rumor and hearsay. The federal agent would carry an air of mystery among officers and criminals alike at the precinct. Just the way Royce liked it.




BLOOD AND VENGEANCE SNEAK PEEK

First, let me apologize for the lag between blog posts. It has been about a month since my last. Those of you who have been following the blog for some time know that whenever I’m quiet, it’s usually because I’m working on something BIG. For the past few months I’ve been collaborating with Keith Gaston, one of the best of the best, to write a compelling, fast-paced thriller titled “BLOOD and VENGEANCE.” Fans of both our novels will be excited to read what happens when both of our writing styles collide and combine to create something truly amazing. Enjoy the first preview and feel free to leave comments and feedback.

Blood and Vengeance
by 
DK Gaston & Keith Kareem Williams
(Sneak Peek)

SWEET SASSY’S SUITE
1
The tiny bedroom reeked of marijuana mixed with the faint odor of the perfumes she sprayed and the incense she burned to try to mask the scent. She smoked weed way more than she ate which worked out perfectly in her profession. It was almost a job requirement that she protect her slender waistline at all times but she also needed to medicate herself to get her mind right, just to make it through her shifts with her sanity intact. Sassy needed the stranger’s faces and male parts that she was forced to get familiar with to become a blur. That way, she could wash away the pain and stains of their touch when she showered. Otherwise, she feared that they would leave the type of scars that only she could feel and see. At the moment, she remained fairly sober because she didn’t mind the company of the guest that currently laid his head on her bed. Will Samson was special. Everyone on the street outside must have heard her moaning, despite the fact that he wasn’t even the best lover that she had been with. All the same, everything that she felt inside her body while she was with him was all real. She had seen all shapes, ages, races and sizes of men but she sexually connected with him differently than she had with anyone else. That was probably because, if her suspicions were correct, she had been his first. It turned her on and excited her to know that she had basically trained him how to please her. There was also something deeper about him, something that she couldn’t explain with words but whatever it was, she had never felt it in any other man.
The evening air was stagnant and not much breeze blew through the open window. The noisy ceiling fan really didn’t do much about the sweltering heat as it spun weakly overhead and squeaked like a distressed mouse caught on a sticky, glue trap.
Will’s nine-millimeter handgun sat in its holster, slung over the metal folding chair in the corner. In the dark, she couldn’t see his eyes but she could sense him straining in the poor light to look at it. He was always wound up and paranoid, no matter how intense or satisfying the sex was.  Whenever that gun wasn’t firmly in his hand or safely secured near his left armpit, a few inches from his heart, he would stare it at almost as if he expected it to grow wings and fly away. He had even given it a name.
“Who do you love, me or her?” Sassy asked.
“Her,” Will answered dryly.
“All this ass, these tits and this pretty face but you love her and not me?”
“She’ll save my life...you’ll get me killed. One day, I’ll probably have to use her to save me from you,” he answered.
“I would never hurt you. Have you ever considered that maybe I love you?” she asked, realizing how ridiculous it was that she felt like the mistress, second place to a black, cold, metal gun.
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“You don’t love men. You don’t love me. You don’t even love yourself. You only love money...because you believe it can save you from everything you hate.”
“That’s a cruel thing to say.”
“Not cruel...honest.”
“Suppose I told you that I slept with three other men today?”
“Then that’s what you did. You don’t belong to anyone, especially not me.”
He climbed out of bed and walked over to the folding chair to get dressed in the dark. He didn’t like when she started to get emotional and sentimental with him. Those moments seriously threatened to make him forget what she was and he knew that that was dangerous, for his life and his heart. Sassy leaned over and turned the black switch on the lamp on the nightstand. The room was instantly filled with a tacky, rouge glow because of the thin scarf she had thrown over the shade to soften the light.
“Why’d you turn the lights on?” he asked.
“I like looking at you,” she answered, lustfully studying his scars and tattoos.
Will looked back over his shoulder as she lay naked in the bed and wished that he had left the lights on during their high-spirited sexual romp. She really was something to behold. If her skin wasn’t marred with tacky, poorly drawn tattoos, she would have looked almost like a woman straight out of a painting, graceful and flawless. However, her imperfections made her desirable in a way that inspired the nastiest of thoughts. He looked away from her before he was tempted to turn his short stay into an all-nighter. He had things to do and he had put them off for long enough. He really shouldn’t have kept her company for as long as he had but he believed that if he might not survive the night, he wanted to die with the recent memories of a woman’s thighs fresh on his mind. It might even have been good luck because he hadn’t been kissed by death just yet.
“You really don’t care about me do you?” she asked, pouting with her head on her white satin pillow. She saved her best white linens for his visits.
“I do.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” she said, sounding as cliché as a line straight out of a romantic comedy.
“How am I supposed to show it?”
“I don’t know,” she answered then paused. “You never say sweet things or do anything nice for me.”
Fully dressed with his gun securely strapped in place, he walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. He looked into her sad eyes and carefully weighed what he would say next.
“You work in a house of lies. Men come here and spend money to feel important and the women pretend to enjoy dancing for their howling amusement, to boost these petty, unimportant men’s egos so they can stomach going home to face their small lives with their wives. Men come here to fool themselves into believing that they can afford the part of you that their hands can never touch. You will never give that to any of them. That game plays out over and over again, every night, in all of these little back rooms. This...what we’re doing...is the only real truth.”
“You’re too complicated.”
“I’m not. The truth is always simple, basic and easy. Fantasies and lies get complicated because it’s hard to keep them believable.”
He leaned close to her face in a rare tender moment and pressed his lips to her forehead. Sassy smiled and got butterflies in her tummy like a school girl anticipating her first kiss. That delicate moment didn’t last long and she felt foolish for thinking it would.
“Doesn’t that mean it’s time for you to go?” she asked as his phone began to ring in his pocket.
“In a few more minutes. I want to spend a little more time with you,” he answered and for the next ten minutes, he ran his fingers along the smooth curves of her face and played in her hair as if he was looking at her for the last time. Then, almost as if he had been coldly calculating the time that had passed with clocklike precision, he abruptly got up from her bed.
“Would you care if I got hurt or killed?” she asked.
“I would shed tears at your funeral,” he answered and Sassy couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.
Will counted out a thousand dollars and tossed it on the pillow where his head had rested for the two hours he had spent with her. She reached across lazily to pick up the knot of money but didn’t bother to count it.
“You left way too much,” she said as he walked to the door, certain that, as usual, he overpaid for his stay in her land of milk and honey.
“I didn’t. I left exactly what I owe you. The extra is for the information you got for me,” he answered and walked out of her room.

Bible Thumper
2
Becoming aware of the approaching man, the posture of the officer posted outside the interview room hardened. “Who are you,” he barked, holding up a restraining hand that left no doubt he wouldn’t allow any unauthorized personnel inside.
“Special Agent Royce,” the man answered, three-fingering his cred-pack from his shirt pocket. He flashed his badge and ID card.
The officer scrutinized the credentials. “DOJID? Never heard of it.”
Mechanically, Royce answered, “Department of Justice Infringement Division.” The officer’s curious response hadn’t surprised him at all. He’d been getting that same reaction a lot lately. The agency was only three weeks old, and he, its only field agent. “It’s fairly new. Just more letters to include in the federal law enforcement alphabet soup.”
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to let you inside. Maybe I should check with one of the detectives involved with the case first,” the officer said scratching his head.
Royce read the name tag above the officer’s breast pocket and then produced some paperwork from somewhere inside his suit jacket. “Look, Northouse. This paperwork authorizes me to do whatever I like. I know this is a local case and as far as I’m concerned, it can stay that way. The suspect in the interview room may have information on a related investigation I’m working on. All I need is a few minutes with him, after that, I don’t care what happens to him.”
Northouse took the documents, his eyes moving left and then right as he scanned every word. After several drawn out minutes, Royce wondered if he should have let the man contact the detectives. Then the officer handed back the paperwork.
“I can’t let you go in with your weapon, Fed or not,” Northouse said in a gruff voice. He pointed to a table to the right with a metal lockbox. “Place your pistol and backup piece inside there.”
Royce upholstered his Glock first. Reaching down to his ankle, he lifted his right pants leg to claim his second gun and placed them both into the metal container. He noticed a thick, worn, bible beside the lockbox. “Yours?”
The officer shook his head. “That bible has been there for as long as I can remember. No one knows where it came from.”
“Mind if I take the good book inside with me?” Royce asked.
“Whatever,” Northouse replied, opening the door to the interview room.
Royce entered the room, the bible gripped in his fingers. Seated firmly in a chair behind a nondescript gray metal table, the suspect, Reggie Dobski, eyed him with obvious resentment.
“Who the hell are you?” Dobski barked. His gaze shot down to the bible in the other man’s hand. “You some kind of preacher man, here to save my soul?” A harsh laugh followed his question.
Royce waited until the door closed behind him before he spoke. “Who I am doesn’t matter.” Glancing around the room, he sought and found the surveillance equipment. “But I am interested in you baring your soul to me.”
Dobski craned his head around following Royce’s movements in the small room. “What the hell are you babbling about, man? And what are you doing?”
Reaching up to the camera perched in a corner; the agent disarmed the unit by pulling out the audio and video cables. When he finished, he circled around the table to stand across from Dobski. He slapped the bible down hard on the flat metal surface, his palm laid atop of it.
The man stared up at him in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of him.
“I have little time and require quite a bit of information from you Reggie. We both know you’re not going to simply answer my questions, because I have a winning smile. So, I’m going to appeal to you in an unexpected way…” He lifted the bible. “I’m going to do this with the word of God.”
Dobski laughed. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. No Name. There’s nothing in that book going to get me to talk.”
Royce grinned. “I beg to differ.”
“Kiss my ass!”
Royce blew out an exhausted breath feigning disappointment. Casually lifting up the book, he rounded the table until he stood alongside Dobski. “You’re not a good man, Reggie. You’ve hurt a lot of people, said and done bad things. You’ve pretty much have broken every commandment.”
“Kiss my ass,” Dobski shouted again.
“Commandment one,” Royce said, “Do not worship any other gods.” His arm came up smacking the man hard underneath the jaw with the bible, forcing him out of the chair like he popped a cork off a champagne bottle and onto the floor.
“You son of a bitch,” Dobski screamed, spitting blood. A tooth wiggled inside his mouth. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t hit me!”
Royce hit him again, striking him in the temple with the thick spine. “Commandment two: Do not make any idols.”
The man’s pain-laden cries filled the room, becoming Royce’s universe. The federal agent got all the way up to the seventh commandment when the suspect begged him to stop hitting him, promising to tell Royce anything he wanted to know.
Obtaining Dobski’s information in record time, Royce sauntered to the exit. The man’s wails followed him out as the interview room door opened.
Northouse stood in the hallway, his sidearm drawn. “What the devil is going on in there?” the officer shouted.
“I’m done with him. He’s all yours,” Royce said, nonchalant. He tossed the bloodied bible on the table next to the lockbox. “Oh, and he’ll need some medical attention.”
Northouse scrambled inside the interview room as the federal agent collected his pistols. His assault on the suspect would most likely lead to a sweet plea bargain in Dobski’s favor. Regardless, Royce hadn’t felt guilty about what he had done. The answers he’d drawn out of the man, trumped any of the petty crimes Dobski had committed.
Before leaving the police station, he’d have to make sure any digital footprint of his visit vanished from the police computer database. His role in the beating of the suspect would eventually become nothing more than rumor and hearsay. The federal agent would carry an air of mystery among officers and criminals alike at the precinct. Just the way Royce liked it.