Pulp Friction has another new release...oh my and oh boy is this
amazing Atlanta world with its bad ass heroes cozying up to you something
fierce or what? *winks*
Knightmare (City Knight #2)
Blurb:
What happens when two broken men collide?
And one of them disappears?
Marcus Prater has already lost one man to senseless violence. He
won't lose another. Calling in all his resources, former blue knights on the
Atlanta Police Department, and his own experience as a Vice cop, Marcus
desperately searches for the new man in his life, college student and rent boy
Ben Danvers.
Can love survive in the wake of Marcus's worst nightmare?
Warning:
This is the second in a three book series. It is filled with angst, gruff men,
and just maybe some hot man-on-man action. Be aware, there IS a third story
coming, so don't piss and moan if there is a cliff hanger in your future. You
HAVE been warned...
Excerpt:
Thursday Night
Marcus stood in the alleyway, letting the shock he’d initially
felt bleed out of his system. The blast of adrenaline that made everything
speed up and slow down simultaneously had burned through his body and now he
was able to focus. He took a deep breath and let his experience take over.
As he calmed and his vision cleared, he shoved away all the fear
that crawled through his body like an army of fire ants and looked around the
alleyway. Saw. And began to process, his mind functioning again . His cop
instincts made notes and started a mental file on the crime scene. He moved
slowly into the dark, pulling a flashlight from his jacket pocket and
painstakingly covering every inch of the alley.
No blood that he could see. No obvious signs of struggle. No
overturned garbage cans, not a goddamned thing. No sign of his Benjamin. How in
the hell was that possible? Ten minutes…he had only been ten minutes away.
Closing his eyes, Marcus let his conscious mind slow and shut
down. He’d thought his old friend, Wick Templeton, was full of it when he
rolled out the Zen bullshit and tried to teach Marcus to still his thoughts.
Until he’d tried it at a particularly gruesome crime scene. The smell of blood,
the victim’s body stabbed and, as closely as he could tell, dismembered and
strewn across the bedroom, all the overwhelming bits that forced him into
sensory overload led him to close his eyes and let it all float away. His brain
was able to shake the horror and assemble the facts rather than bog down in the
emotion.
His thoughts calmed, the emotions he felt throwing themselves
against his fragile mental walls faded away, and his heartbeat slowed. The
facts. He let those float to the surface of the now-calm lake of his mind. All
else didn’t matter, wouldn’t help get his Benjamin back to him.
Benjamin’s cell phone.
Marcus’s eyes flew open and he reached into his pocket. With
shaking hands, he flicked it on and entered the password he’d seen Ben use.
Quickly scrolling down to the phone log, his heart leapt to see an out-going
call made two minutes after they’d hung up with each other. Who the fuck was
Jeremiah?
He tabled that for a moment and took his attention back to the
alley. Nothing else, not a goddamned thing that he could see or feel or even
taste or smell. Marcus shook his head; this was either the cleanest snatch-and-grab
he’d ever seen, or Benjamin fled the scene. Think. Occam’s Razor—when you
eliminate the impossible, you are left with the probable. His gut told him
there was no way Martin could have taken Benjamin without a fight in ten
minutes. And the phone call to Jeremiah…
Striding quickly out into the street, he climbed back into his
Jeep and moved it out of the way of traffic. Marcus took the cell back out and
hit redial. The line connected and rang twice before a male voice answered.
“Jeremiah speaking.”
Thank God. Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Jeremiah, my name is Marcus Prater. I’m a friend of Benjamin…Ben Danvers. I
need to talk with him, and you are the last person he spoke with. Can you tell
me what he called you for about fifteen minutes ago? Do you know where he is?
It’s important, Jeremiah.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Prater. I’m at work and just
stepped outside to take a break. I haven’t spoken to Ben in a couple of weeks.
He’s in one of my classes and we’re in a study group together. My phone was
off; I just turned it on to check messages and send a text. I’m afraid I don’t
know anything else.” The young man’s tone was reasonable and slightly
apologetic, and Marcus felt his hopes for an easy answer dashed.
He gripped the phone tightly, trying to master his emotions. “If
you do hear from him, please tell him to call me. It’s important I speak with
him as soon as possible. Can you do that for me, Jeremiah?”
“Certainly. I’m afraid I have to get back to work now. You have a
good night, Mr. Prater.” The line went dead, and Marcus thumbed the phone, then
laid his head against the headrest. Okay, what next? Think, Prater.
Witnesses. The other hustlers. And didn’t Benjamin mention some
mentor guy that told him what area was safe to hang out in? A fucking hooker
mentor. What was this, Pretty Woman? What was the guy’s name? G—something.
Gene. George. No, Gabe…Gabriel. He’d need to find out more about that guy. And
he knew just the men to call to help. Grabbing his notepad from his jacket
pocket, he started making a list.
Interview rent boys.
Call Wick.
Call Chance.
And on the off chance that Martin was back to his old tricks, call
Archer and Zack.
He paused and sent up a prayer. Please, please, don’t let anything
bad happen to him. I will do anything. Anything.
