Blog Tour & Giveaway ~ Rush, Bad Boys of X-Ops V, by Rie Warren

Max Handsome Rush

I’m the black sheep of the Rush family, cut off from the bourbon distillery dynasty. Shrug. They didn’t approve of the high-octane rap sheet of arrests marring my pretty boy, prep school upbringing. Hot girls, hot cars, and time behind bars for illegal street racing—what can I say? Speed is in my blood.

Now I’ve cleaned up. I’m being good. I’ve got my own plans, and they for damn sure don’t include Shiloh Lockhart. Shy. The goddamn classic girl next door. She shows up out of the clear blue, turning all the MC dudes into drooling manwhores. But not me. I’ve got too much to lose to risk falling for a perfect girl like her.

When Shy’s overprotective folks tell her I’m bad news, they’re right. But come to find out she’s already endured more than her fair share of shit-gone-bad in her life, and she’s convinced I won’t make it any worse. Shy couldn’t be more wrong. 

Shiloh Lockhart

I haven’t seen Max since he got kicked out of the Rush family home years ago. Now I’m determined to get back in touch with the boy I used to crush on growing up. They call him Handsome at the motorcycle club he belongs to, and I can see why. The long dark brown hair. The smoldering whiskey-colored eyes. The sculpted face and big muscled body.

Too bad he’s intent on treating me like a kid sister. Hmm. We’ll see how long that lasts, because to squash this schoolgirl crush I need to be with Max just once . . . turns out one taste of Rush isn’t enough. 

My situation is life threatening, but what he’s hiding is even more dangerous. Too late. Rush is already in my blood.

Can be read as a standalone, however it is recommended to read the entire series

Amazon

Excerpt

Ripped and ready, I cut through the dim, cool interior of the MC.

Sweaty, half naked, with my shorts riding low, I stomped past the pool tables.

My tats gleaming, my muscles charged, I barged out the front door. Brodie trailed me, grinning like an evil ape when I swung my head back to—yup—sling about my fifth glare of the day c/o Shiloh Lockhart.

I was usually a pretty easygoing guy.

Something about having her hanging around turned me into a snarling animal.

Then I saw her helluva hot ride—a fucking white Hennessey Hellcat with a black racing stripe.

Holy. Christ.

The hot coupe with total street cred was nothing short of drool-inducing for a gear head like me. A flat-out, top-of-the line, bitchin’ ride.

And then I took stock of Shy, leaning against the above mentioned drool worthy Charger, looking no less jaw dropping herself.

Strike. That.

I meant I could see why Tail trailed out after us, then Cole.

Had nothing to do with my gut deep reaction to seeing a gorgeous woman with a delicious body wearing a long raspberry-colored dress that tightened over her tits and flowed around her legs. Or the hint of sunshine in her smile when she saw me. Or the sleek blonde-brown sun-drenched hair.

Or the luscious lips.

Not At All.

“’Zup, Shy?” I reeled in my tongue, half-shuttered my eyes, took anything but a platonic, good old friends greeting off the table.

Unfortunately I hadn’t counted on her inspection of me.

Her soft silver-colored eyes roamed and roved over me as she licked those—yup—luscious lips. I straightened taller the longer she detailed every inch of my body—most of it bare, most of it hard, a lot of it inked—and the color in her cheeks brightened.

Fuck. She was making me self-conscious. I almost ducked my head in an aw shucks move.

Brodie would get his rocks off about that.

Not gonna happen.

She slowly—in a silky movement—pulled herself away from the Hellcat. She came to me at what had to be an intentionally seductive pace.

Or my breath had roughened for nothing.

Didn’t look like nothing.

Really needed to be.

Hellcat?

I might have to start calling her that.

Could I hold out my fist for a knuckle bump with Shy? Back slap? High five?

Because hugging her at that exact moment might prove lethal to all my just an old friend dictates.

Shy took matters into her own hands, pulling me to her by the back of my neck while I played wooden soldier in her embrace. Something sure was catching wood.

Between my legs.

So wrong.

“Uhm.” Disentangling her arms from me, I created some space and hoped my shorts were baggy enough to hide a growing boner. “What brought you here?”

I heard Tail loud-whisper to Cole. “She wants some of that.”

“Handsome’s makeover’s working out then.”

“Nah. Dude. He’s magic. Could always pull pussy.”

Brodie strode up to the duo and smacked each of them on the back of the head. Not that he wasn’t capable of the same damn loose-lipped bullshit.

Shy—Miss Manners and all—pretended she hadn’t heard a thing. And for that I loved her.

“I was just on my way to a meeting and I got a flat.” She pointed to the rear left tire. “Hoped you could help?”

I took a turn around sizzling hot Hennessey then hunkered down to inspect the dead tire. “You should really take this to Stone’s. It’s their specialty. I can put on the dummy tire and drive it over if you want.”

Lifting to my feet, I realized Shy was way too fucking close in proximity.

Her fresh, beach-swept scent slid over me.

Her silvery eyes shone under a long fan of eyelashes.

And one step closer, her tits would hit my bare chest.

I stepped back, wiping my palms on my shorts.

“But you were always into this kind of thing. You can take care of me, right, Max?” Eyelash flutter and sweet smile.

Shit.

Brodie—bastard barbarian—shoved me forward. “He’ll do it. On the house too. We got just the right tire inside.”

I walked over to the garage side of Chrome and Steele and rapped on the wide door. “Open up.”

My feet pounding on pavement, I struck back to Shy and the Dodge that gave me an instant hard-on.

Because I refused to blame the sudden need to bust-a-nut on my old friend, never flame, the girl next door.

“Drive it in.”

“Why don’t you do the honors?” She tossed me her keys.

I looked at the car. Looked at her. And decided I might never get the chance to drive a Hellcat again.

Shrugging, I eased into the driver’s side then pushed open the passenger door. “Hop in.”

With a smoky laugh, Shy curled in beside me.

I started the car, and the loud purring engine sent another jolt to my dick.

This coupe was goddamn heart-stopping gorgeous.

Come to think of it, so was Shy.

Not going there.

I found my voice somewhere deep down in my chest. “What made you buy this?”

“I like my toys to be hard, fast, and sexy.”

“Toys?” A ragged breath rasped from my throat.

Author Bio

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.

A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.

You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency.

Website | Amazon



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Blog Tour & Giveaway ~ Storm, Bad Boys of X-Ops #3, by Rie Warren

Blurb

Danger.
Lust.
Desire . . . Trust?

Storm
I’m headed back to the Blood Legion MC in New Orleans, my old stomping grounds. Guns. Thugs. Broads. Cocaine nightmares. A Mexican cartel, cracker coke runners, and now there’s a new international threat in town.

Blaize Carmichael is my only partner in this op. Blaize. As a biker babe. Jeeesus. I’ve had a bone for her from day one when she walked into headquarters—haughty, superior, and always in charge.

There’s a goddamn good chance we’ll get made, played, and put in the grave as government-issue traitors. But I can’t help it—I love to get rough, raw, dirty, and dominant with her.

No more yes ma’am, no ma’am. Blaize is about to find out I don’t always takes orders as issued.

Blaize
I can’t stand the way Storm calls me woman or cher or sexy. As soon as we’re back in DC, I’m going to wipe that infuriating wicked smirk right off his dangerously handsome face.

I’m always prepared for every scenario. I’ve built my career on complete professionalism in and out of the field. But when Storm comes at me with wild animal lust—when he opens up to me—when he opens me up, I can’t say no.

I don’t want to.

We’re in danger every single day we stay in NOLA. There is no way we can make it out alive. Not together. Not this time.

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Excerpt

“T-Zone took you in when the CIA wrote you off,” Blaize scathed.

“And y’all think you were the ones doing me the favor? Baby, you’d need an extra hand to count the number of successful missions I’ve carried out for T-Z, and you goddamn know it.” I pushed her back with my huge muscled body pressing against her.

I watched her swallow, but some seriously angry heat came off her.

It only made her sexier to me.

“You got no excuses for that off-op shit you pulled tonight, and you know it. And you do not want to play this game with me tonight.” I began undressing.

Shirt tossed. Boots thrown. Belt whipped out. Pants tugged down.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood in front of her—a foreboding, tall, dark shadow of fully fit and ready-to-fuck man. “Lose the clothes, Blaize, before I slice and dice them with my knife.”

She sucked in a breath.

“You and I both know it’s been building to this.” With my hand curled beneath her chin, I lifted her mouth until it brushed against mine. “If you don’t want to get fucked and fucked hard by me right now you better leave this room and run tail back to DC.”

“I don’t back down from a challenge.”

I laughed. “This ain’t a challenge. It’s sex. You and me. Clothes. Off. Now.”

She undressed while I stood right up against her. Her breath hit me, her soft panting gusts of air. My eyes dipped lower when she skimmed the shirt from her shoulders. Her bra—lacy and creamy white—almost overflowed with her tits. I didn’t help her unclasp it but watched with hungry intensity when she hit the hook and it popped free.

The straps dripped off her arms, and her puffy pink nipples rasped against the hair on my chest.

I chugged in a lungful of air, balling my hands at my sides. My cock, thick and hard, wet the bare skin of her belly with a skein of pre-come.

“The jeans now.” My voice was low, thunderous, chest-deep.

She wiggled free, her breasts connecting with my abdomen, which clamped like I’d been hit by a hammer blow. Those soft swinging tits colliding against me made my head ratchet back. But I kept focus. Kept my gaze on her when she stood up.

No Fucking Panties.

Nude. Blaize. She was all golden skin and incredible eyes and glowing hair.

And heat poured off her, firing through my veins.

I stepped away, rubbing a hand across the thick black stubble on my chin. Taking her in. Filling my sights. Memorizing her.

And that little pink pout of her pussy lips—shiny and slick already—below the narrow tangle of bronze-red curls.

“Fuck, Blaize.”

She held her shoulders back, placed her hands on her hips, and asked, “Do I pass muster, sir?”

“Get on the bed. All fours.” A muscle at the back of my jaw ticked.

Her nipples hardened with my harsh words, and I watched a trail of wetness weep between her legs.

Fuuuuck me.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. But it was damn hard not to.

I watched as her ass swayed, her hips switched back and forth, and she got into position in the middles of the bed.

I was hugely hung, hugely hard, and really fucking angry. Blaize knew it, and she was ready for me.

This mating dance was nearly over.

But I didn’t let myself get close to her yet.

Couldn’t.

She needed to understand the new rules first.

I almost trembled in my skin, walking around the bed, viewing her lush bod from every angle.

My voice thickened from my throat and came out hoarse and husky as hell. “Fair warning. You’ll be screaming tonight. Not because I took a strap to your ass like everyone downstairs expects. But because I’m about to fuck you so good. And when you have a hard time walking and sitting down tomorrow? Won’t be because I punished you. But because I screwed you all night long, cher.” I prowled onto the bed behind her. “Understand?”

In answer, Blaize drew herself up and cupped her tits. I straddled right behind her. For a moment. Running my hands over her body. Touching between her legs and pulling her back to me when her pelvis kicked forward. Sliding my palms up over the indent of her waist and holding her hands down to her sides. Lifting her breasts, massaging them, palming both mounds and thumbing across her nipples.

With my hand at the back of her neck, I slowly laid her down. Laid her out.

Author Bio

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.

A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.

You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency.

Social Links

Website | Amazon

Giveaway

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Blog Tour & Giveaway ~ Justice, Bad Boys of X-Ops #2, by Rie Warren

Release Date April 25th

Synopsis

From the world of bad boys of Retribution MC comes a deliciously dangerous, scandalously sexy, four part series!

Good girl versus Bad boy. Southern charm comes head-to-head with military grit. They say opposites attract. That’s an understatement where Justice and Lawless are concerned. 

Justice

Let’s face it. I’ve got a bad rep with the ladies. I’m a rough-talking, smooth-loving, international playboy—yeah right, whatever—and an X-Ops specialist. Sure, I’m hiding a secret or two. Who isn’t? That’s the least of my concerns when I’m called in to lead an infiltrate-and-retrieve mission.

I’ve got my head in the game—the one firmly attached to my shoulders. An American embassy overseas is under siege, and I’m expecting to rescue the ambassador and his daughter, a stereotypical geeky damsel in distress, Matilda Lawless. 

Caught in the crossfire between explosive danger and wild desire, I’m in for the shock of my life. 

Tilly

I’m not looking for any man to save me. I’m pretty damn capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I have a successful career and was practically born and bred on a gun range, even if I can’t bake a perfect biscuit to save my life like a good southern woman should.

But there’s just something about that hardcore operative called Justice. He’s haunted and lonely, and I know that pain inside and out. It doesn’t hurt one little bit he’s been blessed with more than his fair share of good looks, plus a body that would make any red-blooded woman drool. 

Barricaded inside the embassy, under my father’s shrewd eyes, I intend to have Justice no matter how many times he says he’s not good enough. I see the way he watches me. With dirty, sexy, hungry lust. 

Fighting is what Justice does. Now I need him to fight for me. 

Warning: Graphic sex, graphic action, graphic language. Triple X caution.

Bad Boys of X-Ops
Four Part Spring/Summer Series

Walker

Justice

Storm

Bane: Coming soon

Excerpt

“I think you’d best get some rest, Matilda.” My voice came out low but razor sharp, my words blunt and unmuffled.

If I had to be an asshole to her to maintain the necessary distance I would, because the suddenness of wanting her so damn much was painful.

And futile.

And stupid beyond belief.

“Tsk.” She waltzed into the room all bare, tan legs and warm, soft scent.

Her fingers flicked at my forehead, and I reared back in surprise.

“Tilly, Ah told you. Only my grandmother has ever called me Matilda, and she’s so stiff I think she was molded into the apron she put on after she got married in 1948. I am not a Matilda.”

First of all, I couldn’t believe she’d flicked me. Me! A goddamn ex-marine and special operative.

And second, a grin crept up one side of my mouth, but I swallowed down the laugh that wanted to follow.

“What’s that?” Tilly pointed at the notebook resting in my lap.

“Uh.” Fuck. I’d completely forgotten about the damn thing. “Nothing.” I quickly rolled it up and stashed it in my pocket. “Bullshit on pages. Gonna make a bonfire out of it later.”

I pulled out a throwing star I always flipped back and forth between my fingers. It flashed like lightning, throwing sparks of light across the room.

A much more manly pursuit.

Jesus. I am losing it.

Maybe I need some sleep after all.

I groaned.

Tilly plopped right down beside me with upraised legs, leaning the back of her head against the wall. “God, but it’s hot in here.”

Plucking at her shirt that ballooned before settling back against the firm round hills of her tits, she rolled her head toward me. “Justin, right?”

I met her eyes for a moment to see the twinkle in her irises.

“Justice.” I growled.

“Justice? Hmm. Justice what?”

“I’m not giving out that information.” I made my frown as formidable as ever, but I could tell she didn’t give a shit.

She leaned close enough her warm breath caressed my ear. “Who would I tell?”

“Chase . . . Justice Chase.” The words tumbled from my mouth.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to withhold a giggle. “Well, that’s not so bad, is it? Imagine if it was Chase Justice.”

“It’s not that.” Maybe a little. “No one’s supposed to know . . . who I really am.”

“Lawless and Justice, huh?” Her hand found my forearm, and her fingers squeezed the steel cable muscles. “Sounds like an outlaw movie. The next big blockbuster. I promise to keep your secret, Justice Chase.”

Spunky Tilly somehow lifted all the fatigue from my body, and I aimed a feral grin at her.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Her smile became a softer curve of her lips.

Her fingers traced all the way down to my wrist where a pulse pounded a heavy beat before she skimmed her hand to my thigh and down to the floor between us.

She made my body thump and my blood race. She made sensations fire like a network of heat to the center of my groin.

Maybe it was just the day, the night, the adrenaline rush that hadn't worn off and probably wouldn't. The same thing happened with every op—unleashed energy I usually slaked afterward by fucking. Fucking hard. Randomly. Anonymously. 

Here there was no one to screw. Except Tilly.

There was no escaping her presence either, and, man, did I want to fuck the living daylights out of her.

I lifted one knee and casually—oh so casually—crossed a forearm over it so my hand nearly dangled in my lap, obscuring my growing hard-on from view.

“You should stay in your quarters, Matilda.” My voice sounded like gravel, and I shifted again.

“Is that a direct order, sir?” 

Author Bio

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.

A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.

You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez,Corvisiero Literary Agency.

Website | Amazon

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Blog Tour & Giveaway ~ Walker, Bad Boys of X-Ops #1, by Rie Warren

Walker
Bad Boys of X-Ops #1
A 4 book series to be released spring/summer 2016

Explosives are Walker’s specialty, but he’s never handled anything as combustible as his enemy, Jade Huntington.

Walker

Goddammit. All I want to do is blow shit up. Is that too much to ask? But, no. What I get is mission frigging impossible in the middle of a Beirut hotbed. I’m the renegade of Operation T-Zone, but this time I swear I’m gonna do things by the book. That is, until Jade Huntington’s involvement in my op causes a brand new snafu. 

My tribal name means desperate warrior, and that’s exactly what I am for reasons I can’t outrun. And Jade? She’s personal enemy number one. An incredibly sexy one at that. But she’ll never find out just how desperate I am for her.

Jade

I’m not an assassin, even though I am badass. I’m a protector. Except when it comes to Walker. What I wouldn’t give to bore a bullet through his stubborn skull. We’ve been at each other’s throats for years, this time I’m determined to leave him in the dust after I shoot a few holes in him.

We’re forced to work together when Walker practically kidnaps me and my package: the woman I’m guarding, the target he’s assigned to take out.

Days on the run. Nights of enforced closeness. Fighting side by side. Ever-present danger ignites a desire I can’t control. But the endgame is so perilous Walker and I might not make it out alive. 

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Excerpt

“Just a little R&R, he said.”

I listened to Storm grumbling through the industrial sized headgear affixed to my ears, the rotors of the HH-60 Pave Hawk whump-whump-whumping overhead and on the tail.

“Exotic location was the phrase I used.” I chuckled low in my chest. “Didn’t mention nothin’ about R&R.”

“Thought I’d at least be able to get my jock off without gettin’ my fucking head shot off.” Storm aimed me a look from the pilot’s seat, one sinister black eyebrow raised.

“I’ll get you a hooker in Dubai after we get out of this mess.” Unbuckling, I reached over and tapped him on the cheek, ignoring the growl that parted his lips.

In the cargo area of the Sikorsky helicopter, I checked my parachute, the altimeter, the straps of my harness, and my pack filled with all sorts of goodies. I was unofficially Storm’s copilot, but fuck it. The man didn’t need me. He could handle the chopper on his own without the usual five-man crew. He’d have to, because I was getting ready to jump ship in high-altitude, high-opening, full-on fuck-this-shit terror.

Storm snorted, and his deep voice rumbled over the ear-gear. “Unlike you, I don’t need to pay for my pussy.”

“Not after that time you caught syphilis, right, Kemosabe?” Ignoring the curses Storm slung my way, I started zipping into my fancy flight suit, checking and double-checking straps, buckles, my bailout O2 line.

Storm stepped into the back with a dip of his head. “Remember what Blaize said about covert mission?”

“The fuck. I’m always covert.” I wrapped my arms protectively around the desert camo pack snuggled against my chest like it was a baby in a papoose, because I knew what was coming next.

“Hand over the flash bang, Walker.” He opened his palm.

“Goddammit. I feel naked without my C-4. You know that.”

“Gimme.” Storm advanced.

“Motherfucker.” I watched while he dexterously unzipped the side pocket of my pack, eagerly snatching the two M112 demolition blocks of putty-white plastic explosives wrapped in a Mylar bundle.

My eyes narrowed. “Blaize is a bitch.”

“Head bitch in charge.” He pleasantly agreed. “Blasting caps? Priming unit?”

I placed both in his hands, my own shaking like a meth head giving up the last of his stash.

Watching hungrily as Storm placed my precious bundles aside, I muttered, “Blaize is definitely a chick with a dick.” Tearing my gaze from my favorite weapons, I grinned. “Bitch chick with a dick you got the hots for.”

“I’d rather dip my dick into a vat of boiling oil.”

“Like when you got syphilis? That can be arranged.”

Storm cuffed me on the back of the head. He was just lucky I was trussed up like a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving . . . heh.

Blaize Carmichael was our new hardnosed higher-up at Operation T-Zone. Op T-Z was an organization quite possibly unsanctioned by the PTB of the USA, because they didn’t need to know what we did behind enemy lines, in the line of duty.

We weren’t military.

We weren’t from the CIA Viper Pit.

We weren’t Black Ops.

We were darker than that.

Unlike previous operations managers who’d given years of orders over secure lines and in scrambled codes, Blaize had come on the scene, giving it the personal touch with an up-front team meet-and-greet. Yeah, the woman’s touch in the form of intense head games more mind-fucking than any passive-aggressive wifey could come up with.

By the time she’d debriefed us with her high-heeled boot up our collective asses, read us the riot act, and nailed us to the wall over every single possible past mistake and mission mishap, I’d gone home and drunk a bottle of tequila.

Blaize did have nice legs though.

I rubbed my sleeve across the mask of my helmet then peered at Storm . . . then gawped at the cockpit. The empty fucking cockpit.

“Wait. Who the fuck’s flying this thing?” I asked.

“Autopilot.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Autopilot?”

“Jerry-rigged autopilot.” His smug smile did not put me at ease.

“I do not want to know.”

“Probably not, but it involves a selfie stick and duct tape and—”

“La la la . . . I can’t hear you.” Jesus Christ. I was gonna die tonight. I just knew it.

Giveaway

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Release Date April 25th

Pre Order $0.99

Links

Amazon | Goodreads

Synopsis

From the world of bad boys of Retribution MC comes a deliciously dangerous, scandalously sexy, four part series!

Good girl versus Bad boy. Southern charm comes head-to-head with military grit. They say opposites attract. That’s an understatement where Justice and Lawless are concerned. 

Justice

Let’s face it. I’ve got a bad rep with the ladies. I’m a rough-talking, smooth-loving, international playboy—yeah right, whatever—and an X-Ops specialist. Sure, I’m hiding a secret or two. Who isn’t? That’s the least of my concerns when I’m called in to lead an infiltrate-and-retrieve mission.

I’ve got my head in the game—the one firmly attached to my shoulders. An American embassy overseas is under siege, and I’m expecting to rescue the ambassador and his daughter, a stereotypical geeky damsel in distress, Matilda Lawless. 

Caught in the crossfire between explosive danger and wild desire, I’m in for the shock of my life. 

Tilly

I’m not looking for any man to save me. I’m pretty damn capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I have a successful career and was practically born and bred on a gun range, even if I can’t bake a perfect biscuit to save my life like a good southern woman should.

But there’s just something about that hardcore operative called Justice. He’s haunted and lonely, and I know that pain inside and out. It doesn’t hurt one little bit he’s been blessed with more than his fair share of good looks, plus a body that would make any red-blooded woman drool. 

Barricaded inside the embassy, under my father’s shrewd eyes, I intend to have Justice no matter how many times he says he’s not good enough. I see the way he watches me. With dirty, sexy, hungry lust. 

Fighting is what Justice does. Now I need him to fight for me. 

Warning: Graphic sex, graphic action, graphic language. Triple X caution.

Bad Boys of X-Ops

4 Part Spring/Summer Series

Walker ~ April 5th (Pre Order $0.99 now)

Justice

Storm: Coming soon

Bane: Coming soon

Author Bio

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.

A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.

You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez,Corvisiero Literary Agency.

Social Links

Website | Amazon