Misled - Book Tour and Giveaway

​ Can love survive in a world of violence and betrayal?  

Misled
Death Dwellers MC Book 1
by Kathryn C. Kelly
Genre: Contemporary MC Romance  

 Outlaw, the new president of an infamous motorcycle club, hides a horrible secret that has haunted him and thrown his club into chaos. Misled into believing her father wants her with him, Meggie flees her home life to search for him. She quickly finds herself in the middle of a dangerous world, with a handsome but tough MC President who wants her gone. Meggie unknowingly falls in love with the man who killed her father. Is love enough to conquer the treachery and peril in the Death Dweller biker club?

Winner Indie Book of the Day

1st Place CLC Book Excellence Award


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​

A gun. Meggie had a gun in her face, pointed at her head. The man holding the gun could be a sex symbol women all over the world drooled after. Muscles swelled from his tatted arms. Broad shoulders and a wide chest narrowed to ripped abs and…and he stood, tall and tempting and all but naked. Despite her best effort, her eyes insisted on roaming to his unfastened jeans. Black pubic hair and part of his penis showed.
The gun should be more important, but she’d never seen such a beautiful man before. A beautiful, nearly unclothed man. The one man she had seen naked…God. That man and this one was worlds apart. Her stepfather reminded her of the Pillsbury Doughboy, soft and pudgy. This man had muscles rippling from his broad shoulders down his flat stomach. They defined his biceps and abs. The tattoos on his arms and chest flexed with power. A Grim Reaper with burning red eye sockets and a bloody scythe floated on his left bicep, sliding onto the Celtic cross wrapped in roses on his forearm.
But his penis kept drawing her attention.
“What the fuck you want?”
Meggie blinked and jumped. The edge in the words hardened his voice, made him appear scary. She’d come this far, though, escaping whatever Rack intended for her over five measly dollars. She made herself meet his green gaze and ignore the weapon. “I want my daddy.”
A heartbeat pulsed by before he lowered his gun and stuffed it partially in the front pocket of his jeans. His thick, black hair lay in complete disarray, swatches of it falling onto his forehead. Her errant gaze refused to stay on his face and insisted on traveling down to his penis and upwards over his perfect six pack to his amazing face. He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he knew how he affected her.
She limped a step back and winced at the pain. The heat sweeping through her body, pulling at her belly and nipples had nothing to do with her foot injuries.
“Boss your pops?”
She swore recognition flashed in his eyes when he first saw her. Obviously, she’d been mistaken. She nodded. “Yes.”
He tipped her chin up, his fingertips rough against her skin. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. Coupled with his enticing lips, he had a dangerous aura. He smelled of musk, smoke, and something wild and ripe, mixing with the underlay of his unique scent.
He rubbed his thumb over her lips, and they parted, her heart jumping and her breath shortening. His fingers slid through her hair and exhaustion pressed in on her. She was so tired and so hungry, she could’ve stood beneath his scrutiny forever.
He traced the tender skin under her eyes. She was so glad she’d stuffed a toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack when she’d run away. Bad enough she wore the same, smelly clothes she’d had on for a month. At least her teeth were clean.
The man nodded. “Yeah. I fuckin’ see he your old man.”
She leaned into his touch, and he stiffened. “I need to see him,” she whispered, regretting the loss of his nearness when he pulled away and stepped back.
Another half-smile curved his full lips, this one cold and mean, not reaching his green eyes. He folded his arms and mockery twisted his face. “He ain’t here.”
She refused to panic. He seemed to be waiting for her to fall into a screaming heap. Although she wanted to fall into a screaming heap and have him pick her up and take care of her until her daddy returned, she wouldn’t humiliate herself in front of all these men. Men who looked up to her father. Her weakness might somehow be broadcast upon Big Joe. Her stomach growled and her feet throbbed, like they had a direct connection to one another. In a way they did since both of them were causing her such distress and misery. She stiffened her spine. “When’s he coming back?”
He laughed, the sound as ugly as he was beautiful. And he was very beautiful. “Probably never.”
Women’s cackles and harsh male snickers followed that announcement.

Misappropriate
Death Dwellers MC Book 2 

Meggie. The beauty who tamed the biker.
She believes her future is bright. Her baby boy. the love of her man and the affection of the Death Dweller brothers fill her with contentment. Now, the only thing she wants is to have her marriage blessed in a church ceremony.

Outlaw. The bad boy who fell for the beauty.
When a new threat rides into town and puts a target on his woman's back, Christopher "Outlaw" Caldwell is forced to confront a past that has him questioning if Megan belongs with him or not. Standing in a sanctuary reciting sacred vows suddenly seems a useless exercise. He wants vengeance and blood. Love and romance have no place in a world of violence and vengeance. The more he pushes her away, the more Megan lures him in. She sees him as Christopher, but Outlaw is in his blood. Just as he always feared, the man she believes him to be and the one he is collide, risking the most important thing of all: Megan's life.

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​ “I DON’T THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA,” MEGAN CALDWELL said. She glared at the three men surrounding her after listening to their suggestion that she go away so her husband, Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell, could enjoy the bachelor party they’d planned for him. They’d waylaid her on her way from meeting with the lady she’d hired to help her decorate her and Christopher’s house. Meggie only had time to open the door to the room she shared with Christopher at the MC, thank her mother for babysitting, and watch Dinah scoot through the wall of men Meggie now faced. “CJ and I will stay in the room and—”
Mortician, Enforcer of the club and the man with a variety of handy skills, folded his arms, muscles rippled on his brown skin, while the skull ring he never seemed to remove leered from his middle finger. Though cold outside, he wore short sleeves under his cut. “C’mon, Meggie,” he persisted. “You think Prez’ll enjoy himself knowing you and his kid right down the hall?”
She glanced back at her sleeping son. Judging from her achy breasts, his feeding time was approaching. Only seven months old, he was the size of a baby twelve or thirteen months and already a smaller version of Christopher with the blueness of his eyes changing to a deeper shade of green with each passing day. Her hair might’ve been golden, but her son’s was just as black as his daddy’s. A daddy who didn’t let him very far out of his sight. Besides, she didn’t have time to just leave with the near completion of their house and their church wedding ceremony coming up soon, scheduled to happen in a month. In the beginning, the service was to have taken place on Valentine’s Day. Now, February 14th was two days away. The wedding had been pushed back to March 14th; Christopher’s bachelor party hadn’t been. As much as she loved Valentine’s Day and would’ve enjoyed having her church ceremony coincide, their new wedding date would be even more special. CJ would turn eight months the same day.
“Christopher isn’t going to like this. He won’t want us—”
“Is it him or you, girl?” Digger, Mortician’s real brother, asked, cocking his head to the side.
All right so maybe it was her a little as well. But they wanted to throw her husband a bachelor party, complete with the Bobs—those women paraded out for special occasions and their exceptional oral skills.
“We’re already married,” she pointed out, jabbing Digger in the chest. He was taller than his older brother, a little less broad in the shoulders, arms, and chest. Mortician was ripped. Digger was muscled but…she frowned. Was she actually sizing up her husband’s officers?
“Why does he need a bachelor party?”
“Right, Meggie,” Val, the bald RC, grunted. His mouth kicked up in a smile, revealing the sexy dimple that made him irresistible to so many girls.
Umkay. Yes. Yes, she was sizing these men up. Men she’d known for over a year and thought of as friends and older brothers.
“Why you need some big fucking church wedding?” Val went on in the steely voice he adopted for intimidation. “You already married, huh?”
She’d walked right into that one. She stepped farther into the hallway, so their voices wouldn’t prematurely awaken her son. She’d be so glad when their house was finished because she was sick to death of living day-in and day-out at the MC. “Where am I supposed to go all of a sudden?”
“I’m with Megs,” a voice to the right of her said. Johnnie, Christopher’s cousin, and the club VP, leaned against the wall next to her.
Meggie looked at the ankle boots she wore, not wanting to stare at Johnnie. The one glimpse she had seen of his chiseled face, when she’d glanced between the space created by Mortician’s head and the wall, proved enough for her.
“Christopher will have your balls if he knows you’re pressuring his wife to leave,” he continued.
Johnnie’s blond hair, longer on top than on the sides, made his silver-gray eyes stand out. The heat of his gaze lasered her profile and she shifted her weight beneath his scrutiny. She didn’t have to look at him to know he studied her. He always did. And not in a brotherly way.
“I’m suggesting you asswipes back off,” he said lazily.
Meggie rocked back on her heels, satisfied at his defense. “He’s known about this bachelor party all along. He’s never once said he didn’t want me there. Or, at least, on the premises.”
“Prez wouldn’t want to upset you,” Mortician went on. His dreads had grown even longer in the months since she’d met him. Today, they were queued, and his strong neck flexed with his movements. “But we gonna have associates, hangers-on, and brothers from our support clubs as well as dudes from our out of town chapters. You know if you’re here Prez’s either gonna want you out there with him or he’s gonna be in here with you. How’s that gonna make him look to the other brothers?”
“Like he loves and respects his wife,” she snapped.

Reckless
Death Dwellers MC Legacy Generation Book 1 

Sixteen-year-old CJ Caldwell struggles to live up to the reputation of his legendary father, Outlaw. He dreams of joining the Death Dwellers, but he's expected to finish high school and go to college before he can even be considered.

To make matters worse, the only girl he wants, Harley Banks, has rejected him, breaking his heart. Little does he know, she's breaking her own heart too. CJ must navigate the challenges of becoming a man, coping with heartbreak, and saving his cousin Ryan from dangerous influences.

In this gripping coming-of-age tale, CJ learns that being reckless can have serious consequences, and that sometimes, the hardest thing to do is the right thing.


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​ “Is lying ever acceptable?”
Christopher Joseph Foy Caldwell frowned at the question his English teacher posed. Mr. Lumbly was a massive pain in CJ’s ass. His stupidly styled balding gray hair worked well with his stupidly oversized glasses.
CJ was so fucking glad the school year was ending. If he could, he’d tell Lumbly to fuck off, forget school, and hang with Outlaw all day.
Being the son of a legend wasn’t easy.
CJ worshipped his father, but he doubted he’d ever live up to Outlaw’s reputation. Worse, his dad wouldn’t easily give CJ the chance to follow in his footsteps. Fuck, sometimes, it seemed Outlaw didn’t want CJ to become a biker. Before he’d even be allowed to prospect, CJ had to finish high school and go to college.
“The real question is when is lying unacceptable?” Willard Byrd blared with a smirk.
Ryan Taylor, CJ’s cousin, laughed. “Never!”
Mr. Lumbly drew himself up, his lips tight, as if he’d sucked on something sour. “Neither one of your answers will be recognized, gentlemen, since you didn’t follow my rules of engagement.”
“I don’t like your rules of engagement,” Willard said flatly, irking the fuck out of CJ.
An easy achievement from that dickhead. Everything he did irked the fuck out of CJ. Motherfucker didn’t look like a wild pig for nothing. Beady black eyes. Black hair. Snout for a fucking nose. He reminded CJ of Uncle Val’s potbellied pig, Hogzilla.
“Shut up, Willy,” CJ ordered. “I don’t feel like having extra homework or a detention because of your stupid ass.”
“Mister Caldwell!” Mr. Lumbly gritted as Willard flipped CJ off and said, “fuck you.”
CJ sat in the front row, in the line of desks and chairs closest to the door. In the classroom’s grid pattern, his seemed the best spot. Until he had to address Willard on the last row in the same line as CJ.
Leaning around and staring at Willard, CJ said, “I’ll let that comment slide, so—”
A hand landed on his shoulder. Facing forward, CJ found Mr. Lumbly’s rancid brown gaze on him. “Just what you didn’t want to happen has. You have detention and extra homework.” Smug, the teacher backed away, into the open space at the front of the classroom, near the chalkboard. “What do you think, Mr. Caldwell?”
Fuck all because it wasn’t happening.
“I can’t do detention today,” CJ announced, as polite as possible. Twatwad held the fate of the next year of CJ’s life in his grimy little hands. However, he’d prefer to face his father’s wrath and being kicked off the team before he allowed blatant unfairness. “And I think you forgot to include Byrd in the punishment.”
Mr. Lumbly lifted a thin brow, while Willard’s laughter filled the classroom, and drowned out Ryan’s snickers, the only other amused fuckhead out of twenty-five students. “You don’t have the authority to decide when you serve detention. That’s my call. As for Mister Byrd—” the teacher glanced in the big oaf’s direction, his sucked-lemon face, sphincter-lip pucker increasing— “he did nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, Caldwell,” Willard taunted. “I just passed my opinion. You bullied me.”
“Not yet,” CJ snapped, his patience at an end, “but if you keep fucking with me I will.” Not for the first time he wondered why Lumbly hated him. “I’ll do extra homework for the next month, sir. I’ll come to detention on Saturdays. Whatever it takes. Just, please, let me leave today.”
Lumbly peered over the rim of his glasses. “Do you have an important engagement, young man?”
CJ nodded. “With my dad.”
“Ahh, you’re giving me the warm fuzzies inside,” Willard called.
Balling his fists, CJ didn’t answer the asshole. When the Byrds moved to town and Riley, the club’s PI, and Brooks Redding, their long-time attorney, did background checks, CJ wished they’d been flagged. He wouldn’t have two motherfuckers to deal with on a daily fucking basis. Even worse, Ryan gravitated to Willy. An asshole following another asshole led to worse assholery. Not only had they checked out, Willy and his brother, Wallace, were also orphans, living with an aunt and uncle who’d taken them in after the death of their parents in a car accident.
“As loathe as I am to come between father/son bonding, you’ve left me no other choice,” Mr. Lumbly said with mock regret. “Stay for your detention today or face suspension. You know what that means.”
Coach Yancy kicking him off the football team and Dad grounding him for the summer. Not having his moped and confined to only the club grounds would suck. Missing practice and watching Byrd, his backup, promoted to starting quarterback would piss him the fuck off. But not spending time with Harley Banks for the duration of school break had CJ weighing his options.
It would be his third suspension, all courtesy of the little fuckbag strolling to his desk. And even if he hadn’t had suspensions dogging his ass, his low grade in this class would. Coach Yancy allowed him to stay on the team after CJ promised to bring his grade from the depths of hell to an acceptable ‘C’. No matter what he did though, Lumbly kept CJ’s grade between a sixty-eight—in other words fucking failing—and a seventy-one. Just a notch or two on the other side of failure.

Restless
Death Dwellers MC Legacy Generation Book 2 

In the gripping second installment of the Death Dweller MC’s Legacy Series, "Restless," CJ Caldwell finds himself facing more challenges and heartbreak than ever before. Still grappling with a devastating family tragedy, CJ is now also dealing with the fractured relationship between him and his once-best friend, Harley. Her erratic behavior has not only destroyed their friendship, but it also threatens to unravel other important relationships in CJ's life.

As CJ's parents struggle with their own personal issues, the weight of responsibility falls heavily on CJ's young shoulders. He must step up and take care of his siblings while navigating the complex dynamics of a broken family. But little does he know, danger lurks in the shadows, ready to pounce when he least expects it.


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​True love was a quixotic ideal, though a plausible desire.
For most, love was a fleeting euphoria that either imploded without warning or slipped away in drawn-out pain. And a love for the ages…? That elusive perfect love for imperfect people? That was an exclusive club where only a select few had a membership.
John “Johnnie” Donovan learned the hard way he’d been denied admission. He had loved and lost and loved again.
And almost lost everything. His friends. His life.
His wife.
Kendall’s suicide attempt sobered him. He’d sought perfection from imperfection. He’d based his own frustratingly imperfect relationship on someone else’s impossibly perfect marriage.
She’d been discharged from medical care and put into a
psychiatric facility. Unlike times past, Johnnie made sure she was as close as possible. After three months, she was released. He’d never been so relieved or grateful, yet she insisted on staying in a guestroom.
When their kids moved back in with them almost a year after Kendall’s near death, Johnnie convinced her to return to the master bedroom. Upon her agreement, he’d thought she wanted to share a bed with him again.
She hadn’t.
Instead, she’d sworn if he didn’t move to a guestroom, she wouldn’t return to the master suite. Mystified at why she resisted each one of his seduction attempts, he’d given her the master suite. As time progressed, they became each other’s best friends. He awakened with her on his mind and fell asleep with her in his dreams.
They were like teenagers, sharing secrets and spending every waking moment together. Once Rory, Matilda, and JJ returned, Johnnie had never felt so complete.
And, yet, his sex life was non-existent. Kendall denied him access to her body.
Over the next six months, Kendall was slowly welcomed back into the fold of the other old ladies. Megan, as always, was the first to forgive. She, with the help of Roxanne, paved the way for the others.
For the first time ever, Johnnie knew what real happiness was. He saw how it looked on Kendall. She glowed and he floated. He’d never love anyone the way he loved her. Not even Megan, whom he’d loved with everything in him. She’d been his first love and he’d always hold a special place for her. Committing to help Kendall through her near fatal suicide attempt forced him away from constant contact with Megan. True, Rory, Matilda, and JJ lived with her and Christopher, but Johnnie knew they were in good hands and refused to use his children as an excuse to talk to his sister-in-law.
As his feelings for Megan faded into sweet memories, he realized how much he truly loved Kendall; she was his everything.
Exactly two years after she tried to end her life, she finally welcomed him into her arms again. The next day, Johnnie moved back into the master suite and slept by her side from that day to this one. There were exceptions, of course, such as club runs and business trips.
Kendall wasn’t perfect, so she had her moments, but
neither was he.
And so that notion of true love was a quixotic ideal. Real, constant love took work and care and time.
It took understanding and protection.
It was that last, protection, that saw Johnnie in the passenger seat of a Mercedes, driven by the club’s attorney, Brooks Redding.
For most of the twelve-hour drive, Johnnie hadn’t said much. Understanding the wisdom of remaining on Johnnie’s good side, Brooks kept his mouth shut.
As he turned into the entrance of a wood and metal building, west of Salt Lake City, and paused at the gate, a shaggy motherfucker wearing a denim cut, indicated he roll his window down.
Swallowing, Brooks sidled a glance at Johnnie. “Go ahead, Brooks. This is for Kendall.” “Suppose they kill us?” Brooks whispered.
The biker knocked on the window.
“If I have to die to save my wife, then I will.”
Johnnie didn’t intend to die, but it was a very real possibility. They were there without Christopher’s— anyone’s—knowledge. Death was a very real risk.
“Johnnie—”
“Open the fucking window,” Johnnie and the enemy
chorused.
Brooks swallowed again. Heaved in a breath. Finally, he
pressed the button.
“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?” Shaggy Motherfucker demanded once the window was rolled down.
High fences surrounded the property, so Johnnie couldn’t discern if an army of motherfuckers trained guns on them, ready to fire.
“Repeat your name.” “Brooks Redding.”
“And the motherfucker in the passenger seat?”
Johnnie leaned forward, all the better to see fuckhead. “I’m Johnnie. Bash’s little brother,” he said blandly. “Outlaw’s little brother.” Only by six months. Asshole didn’t need a fucking family history.
The gatekeeper leaned into the car and dropped his gaze to the patches on Johnnie’s cut. Straightening, he backed away and opened the gate.
By the time Brooks pulled into the parking space another biker directed him to, Johnnie had lit a cigarette. Jamming it in the side of his mouth, he got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Standing for the first time in several hours felt good. His full leathers and steel-toed boots protected him from the January cold.
“It’s a full house,” Brooks said, suddenly at Johnnie’s side, briefcase in hand, glancing around the parking lot in wide-eyed fear.

Savage Suit
A Hero Club Novel 

​Savage
Noah Keegan lives life just as he pleases: as a scuba-dive enthusiast with a love of the finest things in life and beautiful women, as well as an art to closing deals. He’s CEO of Keegan Enterprises and has it all—looks, an Upper East Side entitlement, and savage charisma. He suffers one quirk: he’s a bit of a chauvinist. With the 20th anniversary of his mother’s death approaching, Noah wants to create a perfume in her honor. He brings in a temporary manager from another firm that has experience in the fragrance industry. Ryan Hagan sounds perfect. However, he’d wrongly assumed based on the name that Ryan was a guy. Ryan was a she who sets Noah’s blood to boiling in more ways than one.

Suit
The moment Ryan meets Noah, she realizes that every sordid, narrow-minded allegation against the infuriatingly misguided chauvinist is true! She has a lot riding on the success of this project, so there’s no way in hell she’s allowing Noah Keegan and his antiquated ideas to deter her dreams. They're stuck with each other if they want to achieve their individual goals. If only he wasn’t too sexy for his own damn good and her peace of mind, her plans would be so easy.


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​

​ Noah
I didn’t need fucking enemies when I had brothers.
Somewhere downstairs, my youngest sibling, Nathaniel, roamed in search of his next fuck, unconcerned today would’ve been our mother’s 60th birthday. While I had my share of complaints against Nate, our middle brother, Nicholas, cared even less. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have opened his home to this travesty. Despite my protests, he’d planned this masquerade ball at his wife’s behest to celebrate her 30th birthday.
Fuck, I didn’t begrudge him or my sister-in-law, Tina, their happiness. All I’d asked was they withhold hosting this enormous affair in deference to a sacred day in my life.
The room spinning, I leaned my head against the pillow and closed my eyes. After presenting the gift I’d gotten Tina and a check for the family’s favorite charity in her honor, I’d closeted myself away in one of the guest rooms. Photographers and society columnists were in attendance—another thing I’d asked they forgo, and another request denied—so public speculation on a Keegan feud would’ve been rife if I hadn’t shown up. My disguise was a poor cloak to the rabid media always on the hunt for me.
Without warning, the bedroom door opened.
“Get out, little brother,” I growled. True, he preferred this bedroom, but I’d commandeered it. Partly to be a motherfucker, but mainly because of the location in its own corner, the most private of the guestrooms.
Since the door hadn’t closed, I snapped my eyes open, shooting to a sitting position to blast Nate’s intrusion into my solitude.
Instead, I blinked, sure the vision in the doorway was a figment of my imagination. But, no, she remained. Across the room, two lamps were lit. One on the table between the chair and the loveseat and the other on the writing desk. Lights from the hallway flooded in, illuminating the stranger like an angel dropped from heaven.
A blue mask of feathers and crystal covered half her face. Black, bone-straight hair blanketed her shoulders and cradled her face. Full, red lips taunted me. She wore a shimmering long-sleeved blue gown. A deep, plunging neckline stopped inches above her belly button. The intricate décolletage revealed golden skin and teased my senses with glimpses of her tits. The form fit curved into her tiny waist, flared at her luscious hips, then slid down her legs, fabric pooling around her feet.
She stumbled entirely in, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it. Her gaze fell on me, and her beautiful mouth opened in surprise.
“I didn’t know someone occupied the room.”
My fingers touched my mask. I hadn’t removed the thing in case one of my brothers invaded my privacy with someone in tow. But I was shoeless and shirtless.
She turned. “I’ll find another room to rest in.”
Leaning back again, I eyed her. My mouth watered at the sight of her shapely ass, where the tips of her hair flirted. I longed to run my fingers through the thick mass. “Stay,” I told her.
Without further encouragement, she turned and floated to the bed. Instead of sitting on the side near the door, she came to me and plopped on the edge, inches away. She eyed the empty whiskey bottle on the nightstand next to the highball glass I’d used.
“We’ve both drank a lot tonight,” she said gravely.
Although her balance and slurry tone pointed to a large amount, I didn’t know how much she’d had. I remained silent, not in the mood to talk. Not in the mood for anything. It was rare I drank to the point of drunkenness. I didn’t like hangovers, and I hated the foggy memories. My brothers said I wasn’t a drinker.
Fuck, according to them, I wasn’t a fucking human.
“You seem sad,” she said, her observation surprising me. It had been a while since anyone looked closely enough to see anything other than entitlement and assholery. “Are you?” she pressed. “I am. Today has been shittier for me than in a very long time. I don’t think I would’ve come otherwise.”
I hadn’t turned on the lamp on the nightstand, so I couldn’t gauge the color of her eyes, but her light, clean fragrance held hints of coconut and arrowed to my head, awakening my cock.
My sudden lust annoyed me and stirred my temper. I didn’t engage in one-night stands with strangers. Ever.
Once again, I sat up. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said politely and indicated she slide over with a nod of my head.
“You don’t have to leave on my account. Truly. I’ll go back downstairs and wait for my sister.” She waved a slim, manicured hand. “She’s with the Count of Monte Cristo.” She laid a finger on her chin and thought for a moment. “No, I think he’s D’Artagnan.”
“Who?”
“My sister’s date. He’s blond and dressed to the nines.” She paused. “Well, everyone is, and he still stands out. So maybe to the eighteens?”
“He wishes he was D’Artagnan. Think Porthos. Loud, obnoxious, and ostentatious.”
“You’re being unfair,” she chastised around a chuckle. “Porthos turns out to be a profoundly devoted friend and a fearless fighter.”
I nodded. A ridiculous rule for tonight’s masquerade required everyone to remain anonymous, so I stayed silent about my cousin.
She slid over, affording me the room needed to move off the bed. I didn’t. Her sweeping glance settled on my bare chest. “You’re not even in a tuxedo,” she said with disappointment. “I was hoping to guess your musketeer counterpart.”
Relaxing against the pillows, I offered her a heavy-lidded smile. “Why don’t you take a guess anyway?” I challenged, enjoying our simple conversation.
She cocked her head to the side, gazing at my lips and chin, before meeting my eyes again. Her silence stretched. I thought she mightn’t give her opinion, then her mouth curved into a half-smile. “Athos. Definitely Athos.”
“I’m not old,” I said sharply

In her dreams, Kathryn C. Kelly is a flirtatious biker babe with the rumble of a hog between her legs and a shirtless bad boy wrapped in her arms. Kathryn and her bad ass biker boy spend their evenings tossing back great scotch (Chivas Regal) and fighting over who is better at Cards against Humanity (she is, obviously.)
In her reality, Kathryn is a native New Orleanian who has survived Hurricane Katrina and breast
cancer. Now she’s hoping to survive three lively girls. While not playing Wonder Mom, Kathryn can be found putting all those dreams into the pages of her next Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club novel.


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