Literal Hotties Naughty Book Reviews: Excerpt & Giveaway

Rogue Alliance

Michelle Bellon

Trying to escape a horrific past, Shyla has immersed herself in life as a tough cop in the bustle of LA. When the case of a lifetime takes her back to her hometown of Redding, she is thrown into a world of organized crime, deceit, and bitter reminders of her childhood.

As Shyla’s path crosses that of Brennan, a troubled sidekick to the ringleader she’s intent on taking down, she discovers he has a past even darker than hers and she is forced to re-evaluate everything she believes about herself, her job, and what she knows about right and wrong.

Can she face the demons of her upbringing and learn to trust again? Her life will depend on it.

Michelle Bellon lives in the Pacific Northwest with her four beautiful children. She earned her Associates Degree in Nursing and fills her moments of free time with her love for writing. She writes in multiple genres, including, YA, romance suspense, women's fiction, and general fiction.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Michelle-Bellon-Author/544448685599147
Blog: http://www.michellebellon.com/blog/
Website: http://www.michellebellon.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MichelleBellon
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4742393.Michelle_Bellon

Excerpt:

The parking lot was nearly empty with only three cars including her own. A light dusting of snow covered the landscape. One streetlight farther down the street dimly lit the street. Otherwise, it was dark and quiet.

Shyla wondered if she’d made sure to lock her car and crossed the parking lot to check. It was the farthest away, on the edge of the small lot, by the garbage and recycling bins. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled on the handle and confirmed it was locked.

“You gotta lot of fucking nerve coming back to my town.”

Shyla spun on her heel. Between a wave of dizziness and the pavement being covered in snow and ice, she nearly toppled over. Instinct kicked in and she quickly regained her footing, facing the man with the dark, edgy voice. He had a baseball cap over his scruffy hair and a grungy denim coat with fleece lining zipped over his red shirt. Still, she recognized him instantly as the same man that had stared her down when she and Victor had lunch together a few weeks prior. His menacing, bold stare was still the same.

“I didn’t know this was your town,” Shyla retorted, “I guess I missed the memo.”

“You always were a smart-ass little brat. Your dad and I were best friends all through high school. We grew up together. We hung out a lot less once he married your mom, and then when you came along even less, but I worked with him at the plant and we’d hang out at the bar when he could get out of that damn house. He’d tell me about your sassing him.”

The warmth in her gut suddenly dissipated. Shyla knew without a doubt that this was the man who’d thrown the brick.

“You got a good memory, and a good arm. Takes a real brave man to throw a brick through a window and drive off.”

Her reflexes were slow and her mind muddled. When he rushed her, plowing into her gut with his fist, she doubled over and nearly vomited. But when he came at her again she was ready, despite the intoxication. Fighting off the wooziness, she locked in on years of training and bolted upright, landing a solid uppercut on his chin. He fell back with a thud. Blood pumped through her veins and the world tilted. She squeezed her eyes shut tight then reopened them wide before she rushed him, hoping to keep him on the defensive.

She straddled his thick body and pressed her forearm against his throat. Suddenly, she was lifted up and set to the side. All she saw was a flash of color. Someone had intervened, snatching her attacker off the ground and slamming him up against her car.

Brennan had her assailant’s jacket in a vice grip and held him up off the ground. The man kicked and flailed about, banging his heels against her car, but to no avail. For a moment, Shyla feared Brennan would rip out his throat as he’d done to the man in his studio apartment above Victor’s shop. To her relief, Brennan head-butted the man instead with one solid crack, and then released his grip, letting her attacker slide to the snowy pavement.

Before she could speak or regain her composure, he turned and plucked her off her feet. He carried her to his car, opened the door, and plopped her into the front seat, slamming the door and walking around the car in swift, purposeful movements.

“I have a cab coming,” she said stupidly, still reeling from the large intake of alcohol and the sudden change of events. Everything had happened so quickly.

“Are you okay?” Brennan asked. His tone didn’t convey worry. He sounded like a different human being, his voice raspy with suppressed rage. She imagined that he was fighting more than just anger, reminding herself that there was an instinct to kill built within him.

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