Welcome to the Book Tour for Club Revenge by J.M. Dabney. And be sure to read to the bottom for your chance to win a $25 Amazon eGift card from Sensuous Promos!
A family forged in battle. Amora Medina-Jackyl knew one thing well—vengeance. She’d inflicted pain without mercy to those who deserved the punishment. She’d lived by one motto her entire existence-- family was to be protected above all else. An ancient cult murdered her parents and siblings when she was little more than a child. The Order of Angelus hadn’t understood the Hell they’d brought down on themselves that one brutal night. Amora was many things in her four centuries. A daughter and a sister, a mother, yet she was best known as a killer. When she finally meets her end, Amora will have hundreds, maybe thousands of lives to answer for. Her only wish is to find one moment of peace. She denies her need as much as she fights to protect it. When the one woman who can bring her serenity comes into her life: can Amora destroy century old walls to let her in? Lies and conspiracies tear at the fabric of sanity—of what’s right. Can truths come to light that change the reality of a family who’s known only the taste of revenge and loss?
Excerpt #3: (R-rated: Violence)
“Boone.” Her tone was deadly with no warmth.
“Medina-Jackyl, we finally meet in person. Are you to be my executioner?” His voice mocked her as he tried to make Amora lose control and strike out in anger.
“I was thinking about it, but we got some business to discuss first.” Amora removed one of the knives from the sheath, she lifted it to drag the sharp edge across his cheek exactly where Ada’s face bore his mark. “I hear you like to play the big bad man, leave a woman with a few scars to remember you. To make it fair I thought I would return the favor, as I’m more equipped than she is. Do you even remember her name,” She inquired.
Boone was a slight man, slender and unassuming, and it had always been his out. No one would expect that a fiend lived inside the mediocre shell. An animal who could walk through a room unnoticed, yet she’d seen firsthand what he was capable of and that was before she ever set eyes on Ada. Amora’s fingers constricted around his throat, she turned and she thrusted him towards a nearby chair.
“She was a whore, they’re all whores, and these humans are nothing more than cattle, here for us to feed upon. You’ve done your share of killing. I’ve heard the stories of the bodies left in your wake.”
“I fed, hunted to survive—” The lie fell too easily from her lips. “and I took great pleasure in the kill, but it was a kill, I didn’t leave any alive. Ada deserved protection, I expected better of Herder than to let you live. She’s barely more than a child.” Amora ignored the echo of Seamus' statement in her head. As much as she wanted to let all the anger out, she couldn’t and pushed aside the memories of the woman from last night. She tensed as she realized what she was doing and ignored the siren’s call of her scent that still lingered in her memory.
The coldness of his laugh cut through her like a frigid wind. “She was no child, she knew what was going to happen, I was going to use her body as I saw fit and I did, repeatedly, all the while she begged me to stop. Her whimpers were beautiful. Maybe I should find her again, even for a whore she was so… innocent.”
“No, Boone, you won’t be getting near her or anyone else ever again, but we have a few things to take care of first.” Amora leaned in and inhaled. “Let’s begin.”
“Do your worst. You won’t break me and pretending this is retribution won’t make you less of a killer, Jackyl.” His words didn’t take away from the building terror she sensed.
“You’re right,” Amora easily agreed.
Pale flesh split open as the deadly sharp blade effortlessly sliced skin. First she opened his cheek into a gaping wound, the skin peeled back from his teeth and jaw. Amora placed one hand on his chest and held him in the chair. He sat there, a stony façade in place, but fear blossomed in his eyes. His precious blood slowly seeped from his body, his skin going from naturally pale to ashen and she continued. Boone refused to give in, she almost admired his courage that bordered on stupidity. Amora stroked her hand upward and enclosed his throat in an iron grip.
She picked the buttons from his shirt one by one with the tip of her blade. While she tended Ada she’d memorized every scar with the intention of giving them all back to Boone, but Amora wasn’t just here for the kill, she wanted him to suffer. Each cut deeper, she coldly sneered as his stoic shell broke. Boone’s nails clawed at her forearm and he kicked at her legs. She ignored the minute injuries they were nothing compared to what she’d already experienced. He whimpered and began to beg, those pleas fell on deaf ears. “Are those whimpers and pleas for mercy sweet now that they are falling from your lips?” He gurgled as the wound in his cheek caused his blood to flow down his throat.
Amora continued until not an inch of his flesh didn’t bear marks that seeped crimson, Boone was too drained to fight back. Ada’s scar-ravaged body played on repeat in her memories.
Everyone had fled and the house was quiet except for Boone’s labored breathing and pain-filled groans. Amora released him, straightened, and slipped the knife back into its sheath. She leaned forward, easily threw his form over her shoulder and carried him outside. She tossed him to the ground and left him there.
In the madness that tinged her mind there was a terrifying sense of calm. Peace she found in the retribution for the innocent maybe one day she’d shed enough blood of evil beings to even out her slate.
She arrived at her truck, grabbed the bag from the truck bed and carried it back to where Boone stiffly lay. The rasp of the zipper loud in the quiet night. She quickly drove four stakes into the ground and pulled out the specially charmed rope for this job alone. “I can assure you this won’t be pleasant, If I were you I’d start praying for death right about now.”
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By day, she's an introverted cook hiding out in her kitchen in the middle of nowhere Ohio, by night and any free time she may have, she is a writer of mainly LGBTQ Fiction and Erotica. Although. she's equal opportunity when it comes to telling a story, she'll even write a bit of straight erotic romance when the mood strikes.
She has been writing for years in old notebooks. At the age of eight, she wrote the worst poem in the history of poetry, but it sparked her love for writing. She reads too much and loves to get lost in other worlds and her favorite stories have to include laughter and having the reader doing at least one double take. Thirty-something, forever restless she uses her stories to ground herself, and find her place of peace.
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