⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐THE WILLING by Lindsay Lees #dystopian⭐

 

Welcome to Ovoidia where every woman can be approached for immediate sex by any man…




By Lindsay Lees


Title: THE WILLING
Author: Lindsay Lees
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 299
Genre: Dystopian



In less than a year, fifteen-year-old Gypsy Capone will be considered a woman in Ovoidia, a “utopian” city-state where every woman can be approached for immediate sex by any man, where curving architecture adds weird whimsy, sporks are the only cutlery, and true intimacy between the genders is a sign of suspect subversion. After all, if a woman just plays along, she’ll also do her job and have children, with the reward of a fine home in the “Communities,” where she and the other “Mamas” live together in harmony with everything they need. Right?

The irony: Diam and Isis, the two leaders of Ovoidia, are themselves females. Fun, yes! And just below the surface, perversely sinister. They personally execute these precise sacrifices by women to establish their “happy,” absurdly totalitarian utopia, and are backed up by their chosen army of male “crusaders,” enforcing a crime-free, fully controlled society.

Men are relegated to work in the “City” where they may “enjoy”—right there on the street if they wish—any woman they want and are welcome to satisfy their sexual and emotional needs at establishments called Gaje Clubs where only the most “gifted” among women are chosen to work.

Not surprisingly, in Ovoidia women have evolved until they feel nothing of sexual pleasure. But in Gypsy’s deepest heart, she realizes her own dark secret: she is the exception. Next she discovers to her horror that her secret, if known, could result in the ultimate punishment—genital mutilation.

To save her body and even her soul, Gypsy chooses a dangerous path—to single-handedly confront this scary and absurd world. She has the support of her allegiant sister Sadie and Miles Devine, a rogue, secretly gay crusader, and also “Doctor,” a morally questionable physician to help her. But none of them fathom the levels of paradox, incongruity, and twisted evil they will soon face, and the ride becomes something even Gypsy could have never imaged.

PRAISE

The Willing is stunning in its brutality as well as its sensitivity! Absolute must read. We all have a piece of Gypsy in us. We must consider our potential future as women now with eyes wide open.”–Amazon Reviewer

“The Willing is an unusually deep commentary on a malignant dysfunction in our society, dressed in fishnet utopian stockings. While the premise and its sensual details push the boundaries of belief, a community that is ostensibly focused on the greater good but is governed by fear and hypocrisy fits perfectly in the dystopian genre. Gypsy’s character is flawed and immature in many ways, but her shield-like honesty is refreshing among a sea of conformists. A rather feminist piece filled with satire on the state of equality, The Willing is weighty and serious in its message, and sad in its reflection of how women are treated in our modern world. For a change from the norm, Lindsay Lees provides a gripping story that will have you thinking deeply about the importance of the relationships in your life.”–Jennifer Jackson from IndiesToday.com






In a basement meeting room of the Head Gaje’s oval-spiral Headquarters, an arched doorway slid open. Doctor Gino’s tired, wrinkled eyes also bolted open; he had only been resting them. He’d practically been dragged from his bed, after all. Ovoidia’s Chief Crusader, Rigby Katz, entered the hermetical, bleach-white room holding his round helmet, nestled under his thick, toned arm. Eyes bright and vigilant—a caffeine glow—he must have only just finished his shift, Doctor thought. He had been a Crusader for over thirty years but had the good fortune of not appearing his age. Rigby scanned the room like a robot from Robocop or Terminator, one of the Pre-Ultimate Revolution movies. After completing a thorough assessment, he surveyed the white leather office chair where Doctor sat with his liver-spotted hands folded on the round table. 

"Oh good. I'm not the first to arrive." Crusader Katz clomped in wearing heavy black boots, clean as the day they were made. "Gives me anxiety waiting around, wondering if I'm at the right place. Easy to get lost down here."

A round clock above the arched doorway swept past the seconds. It was almost three A.M. Doctor hadn’t expected the tribunal meeting to take place so late.

"Do you know why we're having the meeting now?" Doctor asked, casually.

Rigby regarded Doctor with amusement, rather like the way a mama looks at her child when she asks where babies come from. "Yes, the Head Gajes had an inauguration party to attend.”

Doctor yawned. So much for not having time to get a coffee.

Crusader Katz removed a piece of spearmint gum and his cell phone from his utility belt. He owned the newest model, a razor-thin silver flip-phone with a peek window on the front. When he flipped it open, the interior buttons reflected electric blue on his milky eyes. Doctor didn't know why cell phones required upgrades. So long as they served their primary function who cared what they looked like?

Crusader Katz snapped the phone shut and shoved it back in his belt. "No service." He sighed.

"We're too far down," Doctor said, pleased with himself.

The steady hum of an air purifier oscillated from a corner. A few stray bubbles burped in a standing water cooler. Doctor eased a ballpoint pen from his lab coat and hovered it over the table, pinching the cap to make sure it was firmly secured. He was forever spilling ink or coffee on the ubiquitous white leather.

“I forgot my notepad,” Doctor said, surprised at his error. While most communications in Ovoidia were transcribed digitally, Doctor preferred to handwrite his notes for archival purposes.

He experienced nostalgia for the tactile fluidity the pen afforded the fingers. “Do you happen to have an extra pad or a piece of paper?” he asked Crusader Katz.

Just then, the meeting room door opened to the heady scent of a dozen steamed bouquets, as though the Head Gajes had bathed in the buckets of wilting flowers being sold on the streets in the mid-day heat. Diam, the eldest of the Head Gajes strolled, chin up, into the room. Her stilettos tapped like hail on glass as she walked across the marble floor. She wore a black satin skirt flared above her knee. Her skin shone, glossy and supple. Isis, the younger Head Gaje, teetered in behind her, gripping a round red lollipop on a white stick.
















Lindsay Lees is originally from Los Angeles and holds dual citizenship in the U.S. and the United Kingdom, and while growing up and later in college, she split her time between the two countries. Lindsay earned a B.A. in 2008 from Manchester Metropolitan University, and next an M.F.A.in Creative Writing from California College of the Arts. 

The Willing is Lindsay’s debut novel. She currently lives a quiet Southern life with her husband and a houseful of pets. 

Visit her website or connect with her at FACEBOOK and GOODREADS.








Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Pretty Broken Dolls by Jennifer Chase @jchasenovelist #crime #thriller⭐

  


As the killer circles closer and closer to Katie, what if the only answer is to give him what he wants? 


By Jennifer Chase

Title: PRETTY BROKEN DOLLS
Author: Jennifer Chase
Publisher: Bookouture
Pages: 302
Genre: Crime Thriller



In the thin light of the moon, the woman’s limp body hangs from the iron fence amongst the redwoods. Looped over the railings is the little gold locket her mother gave her when she turned sixteen. The picture of the girl inside smiles out at a future she’ll never see…

As day breaks over the fairground, Detective Katie Scott forces herself to take in another disturbing scene in front of her. A woman, the same age as her, found slumped in the carriage of the Ferris wheel, red lipstick dragged across her lips, her throat cut.

Katie doesn’t want to believe that the serial killer picking off women across the state has found their way to the small town of Pine Valley, California, but when her team finds a gold engagement ring hanging nearby, it’s a terrifying, but undeniable fact.

With a twisted killer on her doorstep, Katie knows if she doesn’t act fast, she’ll find more women left out in the cold like broken dolls. Her team hit dead end after dead end, but only she can see the vital link between the victims: a connection with Katie herself.

Katie has spent years pushing traumatic memories of her years in the military far out of reach, but she must confront them now or more innocent women will die. But as the killer circles closer and closer to Katie, what if the only answer is to give him what he wants? There must be another way…

Warning – This absolutely unputdownable thriller will keep you up all night! Fans of Lisa Regan, Rachel Caine and Melinda Leigh better hold on tight for a nail-biting rollercoaster ride!

PRAISE

5 Stars! “This is the first book in the series I have read – and I want more! Suspense up to the end, characters I enjoyed, and K9 units. Loved it!” – NetGalley

5 Stars! “As always this Jennifer Chase thriller just cries out to be read in one sitting. Here we see Katie get tangled up with a serial killer although it takes time before anyone takes her seriously. Great characters and a great story, I loved this book.” – NetGalley





PROLOGUE


The front door stood ajar. It bumped gently against the jamb in rhythm with the evening breeze. The screen remained wide open and was bent precariously around the aluminum frame. Pieces of broken glass from a shattered light bulb above had scattered across the porch, leaving behind a shadowy darkness draped across the front of the small house.

The neighborhood remained quiet; the light blue one-story cottage eerily so. No outside illumination or motion lights flooded the front area. The blooming climbing vines and perfectly manicured bushes were eclipsed by the darkness.

Headlights approached.

A small, dark vehicle pulled into the driveway. Waiting a moment before turning off the engine, a woman pushed open the car door and stepped out. The young redhead was dressed for the evening, in a sparkly blouse and tight black pants. Wavering a moment in her spiked sandals, she looked at the house in curiosity—and then in disappointment. Quickly grabbing a warm jacket from inside the car and slipping it on, she walked up the driveway.

“Jeanine, where are you?” she whispered and headed to the front door, ignoring the shattered light bulb on the step crunching under her feet. She knocked on the door. “Jeanine,” she said, more loudly, leaning closer to the opening. “We waited for you… you missed a great party.”

No response.

The front door pushed open, revealing a darkened interior.

“Jeanine?”

The woman hesitated but seemed to be pulled by an unknown force. She stepped over the threshold, not bothering to close the door, and moved through the living room. Confused by the darkness, she turned on a lamp sitting on a small table. The room lit up instantly. Everything seemed in place. The oversized beige couches with brightly colored throw pillows, the dark mahogany coffee table with neatly stacked magazines and books precisely centered appeared usual for Jeanine’s house. It was always neat and organized.

“Jeanine?” the woman said again. “Are you here?”

The woman walked around and checked the kitchen and small bedroom, but there wasn’t any sign of her friend. She eyed a piece of paper on the counter and decided to leave a quick note, scratching out that she had stopped by and asking Jeanine to call her when she got the message.

She suddenly noticed a strange high-pitched whistling noise coming from the other side of the living room. Curious, the woman moved closer to the sound. The back sliding door was slightly open. The crack was enough for the wind to invade and make a strange noise.

Her foot touched something. A tall turquoise vase that had been sitting on a shelf nearby was now lying on the carpet. It seemed strange to her that it had been knocked over. She bent down and picked up the vase, replacing it on the shelf.

She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and tried calling Jeanine again. It rang numerous times and then went to voicemail where Jeanine’s upbeat voice said, “Hi, sorry I missed your call but please don’t hang up. Leave a message and I’ll get right back to you.”

The greeting was followed by a quick beep.

“Jeanine, it’s Mandy again and now I’m standing in your living room. Where are you, girl? Everyone was asking about you tonight. Hey, and you left your front door open. Call me.” She ended the call.

Mandy was about to head back to the front door to leave, but something stopped her—it didn’t feel right—and instead, she stood at the sliding door staring out into the large backyard where dense rows of pine trees and acacia bushes huddled around the house’s boundary. During the day, the property appeared green and lush, but now it looked gloomy and foreboding.

Mandy flipped on the outside light, but it only lit up the patio areas directly outside the house, and the extended wooded region still looked dark.

She pulled open the sliding door and the wind whipped through the house. It chilled her. Goosebumps scuttled up her arms. Worry now set in and she didn’t know what to do. Redialing Jeanine’s number, Mandy listened to it sound again and in unison heard the faint, far-off ringing of a phone somewhere in the distance.

She stepped outside, trying to decipher where the ringing was coming from. “Jeanine?” she said, noticing that one of the outside chairs had been toppled over and lay precariously on its side.

Moving off the stone patio and pulling her jacket more tightly around her, Mandy slowly trudged toward the trees, a bit wobbly in her shoes. She turned on the flashlight mode on her cell phone and moved forward.

She dialed Jeanine again. This time, she heard the distinct ringing of the cell phone coming from the trees—low at first and then it rang louder.

Jeanine,” she said, with barely a whisper. Her voice sounded oddly distant.

Looking down, she saw where there were crushed weeds and small broken branches as if someone had walked back and forth recently. Still, she kept moving forward, into the trees, swinging her cell phone back and forth which only illuminated a tiny patch of ground in front of her, creating dense shadows outside its beam.

Her pulse quickened.

Anxiety escalated.

Something fluttering on a bush caught her eye. She leaned closer, focusing. As she moved the cell light beam nearer, it revealed a piece of white fabric with a mother-of-pearl button still attached.

Mandy gasped.

It wasn’t the fact that she had seen Jeanine wear that pretty white blouse on so many occasions, it was the droplets of crimson spattered across the fabric that shoved a spear of fear into her gut.

Thoughts of dread and horror-filled scenarios ran through Mandy’s mind. Urgently, she pushed the redial button on her phone again.

The sound of Jeanine’s ringtone rang in the darkness. This time it kept ringing and there was no cheerful message.

Mandy walked further into the dark realm of the trees, still hoping that there was a logical explanation. Stepping over old branches with loud crunching noises and sidestepping bushes just before reaching the back fence of the property, she managed to make her way to the sound of the ringing phone.

Everything went quiet.

Mandy stood a foot from the phone lying on the ground. It mesmerized her. She slowly bent down to pick it up. With a startled gasp, she stepped back, dropping the phone as she stared at her hand. It was covered in blood.

In a frenzied panic, Mandy ran past the phone and continued along the low wrought-iron fence. The flashlight feature dimmed and she couldn’t see where she was going. Slowing her pace, she glimpsed something white and moving slightly.

“Jeanine? What’s going on?” She spoke in a strained whisper.

Trying to catch her breath and calm her hammering pulse, Mandy approached. Her cell phone flashlight surged and shone brightly on the blood-soaked white silk blouse, now shredded from Jeanine’s right shoulder. She reeled back at the sight of her friend.

Mandy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the horror. Her throat constricted as her breath trapped in her chest. She staggered backwards, taking in the entire scene—unable to turn her focus away.

Her friend’s upper body was impaled on the iron fence penetrating from her back through her ribs, and her throat was slit open. Her head flopped down, lifeless eyes trained on the ground. Her long brown hair fell forward, some strands sticking to the blood seeping from her chest. Her arms hung at her sides, legs crooked, like a marionette waiting for someone to pull the strings. Blood still dripped from her body, sliding down her arms to her fingertips before collecting on the ground—the wet crimson almost matching her fingernail polish. The body was shoeless and Jeanine’s feet were dirty and bloody—as if she had been running through the woods barefoot.

It was the sight of Jeanine’s face that made her sob in terror. Caked in grotesque makeup, making her look like a caricature of herself—a hideous broken doll. Red lipstick drawn heavy around her lips, dark purples for blush on her cheeks, and dark blues for eye shadow made her look like a circus clown instead of her friend.

Beside Jeanine’s body, a necklace hung on the fence. It was a small locket that she always wore, which her mother had given her when she turned sixteen.

Mandy mouthed the word “Jeanine” but no sound escaped her lips. Realizing she still had her cell phone in her hand, she tried to dial 911 but fumbled a few times with the buttons before she heard the words, Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”












Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning and USA Today BestSelling crime fiction author, as well as a consulting criminologist. Jennifer holds a bachelor’s degree in police forensics and a master’s degree in criminology & criminal justice. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent psychopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling.  She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists, and member of the International Thriller Writers. You can visit her website at www.authorjenniferchase.com or connect with her on TwitterGoodreads and Facebook.


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Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Honeymoon Roulette by Irene Woodbury @irenewoodbury #WomensFiction #DarkHumor⭐

 

To marry or not to marry Connor J. Barrington?

That is the question…


By Irene Woodbury



Title: HONEYMOON ROULETTE
Author: Irene Woodbury
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 180
Genre: Women's Fiction / Dark Humor



To marry or not to marry Connor J. Barrington? That is the question Roxy Drake faces one hour before her wedding, when she discovers her handsome fiance may have murdered his first two wives. Did Connor kill Annie and Charlotte, or simply let them die? Does Roxy become wife number three, or the runaway bride from hell? Find out in the darkly funny Honeymoon Roulette.

PRAISE

Honeymoon Roulette is funny and off the average track of love and romance stories. Honeymoon Roulette was a very quick and fun read. It was impossible not to love Roxy and share in the troubles she got herself into at every turn. There is plenty of romance but no vulgar sex scenes or cursing going on, only lots of good clean reading. This book is perfect for an afternoon at the pool or a relaxing day snuggled in front of the fireplace. Irene Woodbury has created great characters and a plot that leaves you wanting more. I am hoping for a second book so I can continue to follow my new friend Roxy's life. Do not pass up Honeymoon Roulette - it is a winner.”

Readers’ Favorite 5-Star Review








*  *  *  *    Chapter  1   *  *  *  *

         Drybar blow-out:  check.

         MAC make-up session:  check.

         Heirloom pearl strand:  check.

         Designer wedding gown:  check.

         It was January 14, 2017, and Roxy Drake was all set to marry Connor J. Barrington in just one short hour. But then the phone rang. Mom was on the other end, breathing fire. 

         “Sweetheart, whatever you’re doing, stop, and get your buns down here, pronto! There’s something urgent we need to discuss with you.”

         Oh God, what now, Roxy thought, rolling her eyes at her best friend and maid of honor, Amy Powell, lounging on a sky-blue love seat across the room.

         “Mom, you’re scaring me. What is it? Please, just tell me.”

         “No, darling, not over the phone. Come to our suite—now--and bring Amy.”

         Roxy quickly slipped on ivory-satin pumps that matched the voluminous wedding gown that now engulfed her. Then she and Amy, who was decked out in mauve silk-taffeta, head-to-toe, dashed out the door. Down a plushly-carpeted Caesar’s Palace hallway they scurried to an ornate, marble elevator that ferried them to the sixth floor.

         One more crimson-carpeted hallway later, they were standing in front of the Drakes’ elegant suite. Feeling strangely nervous, Roxy knocked on the door. In seconds, her father opened it. Tall, silver-haired Tom Drake was always a commanding presence, but this morning he appeared disheveled and out of sorts. Roxy was alarmed at how stressed out he seemed. A control freak honed by years of pressure as general manager of an upscale Chicago hotel, he shared his wife’s unbending will and overbearing ways. But now the bloodshot eyes and creases in his ruddy cheeks shook Roxy to the core.

         “Mom, Dad, what’s going on?” she asked, tossing her hands up, looking back and forth nervously between the two. “This better be good. Amy was just about to touch up my pedicure.”

         “Honey, this is far more important than your toenails,” petite, auburn-haired Margo Drake, clad in a chic mother-of-the-bride suit, shot back.

         Roxy’s stomach lurched. Dear God, she thought, what is this? Then her mom started to speak.

         “You see, sweetie, your dad and I felt we didn’t know enough about Connor. It bothered us more and more as the wedding got closer. So a few days ago we bit the bullet and rang up Roy Hopkins, you know, our old detective friend in Peoria. We asked him to take a peek at Connor’s background, even though we were confident there would be nothing. But we wanted to be sure. This is a big step you’re taking. You may be 25, but you’re still our baby girl. We’d hate to see you make a terrible mistake.”

         Roxy’s heart dropped. In an instant, she’d been blindsided and now was mad as hell. Folding her arms against her chest, she stepped back and returned their steely gaze.

         “You did what?” she bristled. “Called a private detective to investigate the man I’m marrying in one hour? Oh my God, this is insane! You’re both totally out of line. I’m the one getting married here, not you. Don’t you think I’m capable of making my own decisions?”

         “Yes, honey, of course,” Roxy’s mom assured her. “But Connor will be a member of our family, too, and sometimes love is blind.”

         Roxy rolled her eyes.

         “Okay, so what did you find out?” she demanded, hands on hips, defiant and breathing fire. “That he stole a lollipop at the candy store when he was six years old?”

         “Don’t be flippant with us!” Roxy’s dad cut in. “This is serious stuff. That piece of scum you’re about to marry was a murder suspect. He was under investigation for killing two women back in Colorado, one in 2003, the other in 2007. And both times the victim just happened to be his wife.

         “Yes, Roxy, Connor had two wives before he met you, and both of them died early in the marriage under strange circumstances. One of them on a honeymoon ski-trip, the other in her own home. Hear us out, sweetheart:  he was a person of interest in both deaths.”                                                                                                    

         The old man halted to let the bombshell sink in. Stunned by the revelations, Roxy teetered on the brink of collapse. Biting her lip, she clutched Amy’s arm for support.

         Now it was her mom’s turn to pile on, and she was every bit as outraged as her father. 

         “When Roy called this morning and broke the news, we were stunned,” she said in a rush of words. “Honey, we can’t let you marry this man today, or any other day. We would both be very poor excuses for parents if we did. You need to talk to Connor and get the truth, if he’s even capable of that, and then weigh it all carefully before moving forward.”

         Roxy was flabbergasted. In a matter of minutes, her world had been blown apart. Was her beloved Connor a committed husband-and-family-man-to-be, as she had always believed, or a wily, scheming wife-murderer? The two ideas were so completely at odds, she couldn’t figure out which one to believe. Her first instinct was to attack the messengers.

         “All my life, you tried to stage-manage everything I did,” she lashed out at her parents. “Then I met Connor and things changed. I finally got to run my own life and make my own decisions. That drove both of you crazy, and now you’re trying to wreck my wedding.”

         “Nice try,” Roxy sneered, “but I don’t believe you for an instant. None of this could possibly be true. Connor would never murder anyone--he wouldn’t hurt a flea. He’d never be involved in something dark and evil like this, and, if he were, he surely would have told me. This is a horrible mistake, some hideous mix-up. There must be another Connor J. Barrington out there. Your private eye investigated the wrong guy.”

         Now it was time for big brother, Wes, to join the fray. Bounding from a nearby sofa, he barked, “Why don’t we call lover-dude and get his ass down here right now to settle this?”

         As a shoeless, tieless Wes grabbed the phone and called Connor, teary-eyed Roxy turned to Amy for comfort, the pair clutching each other like two lost souls in a Jane Austen novel.











Luckily for all you fans of romantic fiction, Irene Woodbury knows that what happens in Las Vegas doesn’t have to stay there. The Denver-based author has captured the heart and soul of Sin City in four colorful, suspenseful novels.

In the gritty, engrossing Romeo Stalker (2021), a Vegas showgirl’s life is plunged into stalker-hell when her ex returns from prison and learns she has a new boyfriend. Love and Payback (2021) is a dark, dramatic look at a married woman’s mysterious death in Sin City, where she has gone to meet an Internet love.

In the darkly humorous Honeymoon Roulette (2021), a bride goes rogue after learning her handsome fiance may have killed his first two wives. And A Slot Machine Ate My Midlife Crisis (2021) is the vibrant, funny story of a mixed-up newlywed who goes to Vegas for a girls’ weekend that never ends.

Irene, a successful travel writer whose favorite destinations are London and Las Vegas, is currently working on another novel.

You can visit her website at www.irenewoodbury.com or connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.

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