Life of crime was my return to Kimberley Chambers books after a while and what a fantastic read.
Jason Ramplings is a chancer who
loves wheeling and dealing, and lives on a run-down council estate and is itching
to get off that estate by meeting a girl who can help him do this and make a
home for him and his daughter.
Melissa is a single mum who meets
Jason and falls in love with him. Jason likes Melissa but doesn’t necessarily
love her but sees a way to get off estate when he finds out who her father is.
Melissa is the woman who ends up
marrying Jason but despite a “hiccup” on their wedding day feels like he’s the
one, or is it “she’s made her bed …………”.
We get to see the highs and the
lows of Jason and the lengths he will go to get what he wants.
The story is told in part from Jason’s
view and gives us an understanding of what his life was like and what he had to
deal with as well as the lengths he will go to get what he wants. Little does
he realise what will happen!!!!!
An excellent book by Kimberley
Chambers and one I enjoyed.
A gripping psychological thriller with chilling
twists, from a unique new voice.
Keller Baye and Rebecca Brown live on different sides of the Atlantic. Until
she falls in love with him, Rebecca knows nothing of Keller. But he’s known
about her for a very long time, and now he wants to destroy her.
This is the story of two families. One living under the threat of execution in
North Carolina. The other caught up in a dark mystery in the Scottish
Highlands. The families’ paths are destined to cross. But why? And can anything
save them when that happens?
5(Rebecca Brown, aged 10, decides to go
searching for her parents)
Shortly after the
birthday party, Rebecca was on a school trip to Fort William. The children were
walking double file along a pavement and as they passed the Library at Airds
Crossing, she happened to look in the window and saw someone there, sitting at
a table and looking at a newspaper. Quite relaxed, they looked, as if it was
their own kitchen. She wondered about that all day. She wondered so hard about
that anonymous person reading a newspaper comfortably in a public library that
the wonder scooped out a small section of her brain and made its home there.
When she got home,
Rebecca asked her grandmother if she could join that library at Airds Crossing
and Primmy said, “No”. This was quite usual and did not daunt the girl in the
least. Her grandmother said “No” to everything, whether she had properly heard
the question or not. When Rebecca asked next, Primmy said there was a perfectly
good mobile library provided by High Life
Highland each Thursday morning in the Co-operative
Supermarket car park – Primmy never called it the Co-op – and indicated
that this was a duty, to support the mobile service.
Rebecca didn’t ask
again but instead arranged to go swimming with her friend Maria Theresa at the
weekend. She gave MT five pounds. Two pounds fifty of that was to go swimming
by herself in the municipal pool at Fort William. One pound fifty was for a
Slush Puppie afterwards. The remaining pound was to keep her mouth shut.
During the bus
ride however, the duplicity now properly underway, Rebecca became increasingly
nervous. The bus stopped suddenly and when she heard the hiss of the door
opening, she felt the game was up and stiffened, ready to be accused. But the
driver was just getting out to usher a few blackface sheep off the road. Maria
Theresa was pleased with the driver’s intervention, since she enthused for rare
breeds. MT’s family had begun to specialise in Castlemilk Morrit on their farm.
suggested to her grandmother that they too acquire a dozen or so sheep, she was
told the answer was no. Primmy did not hold with sheep. And the children’s
grandfather took no interest in the Taransay
livestock, full stop.
At the bus station
in Fort William, Maria Theresa and Rebecca synchronised watches, agreed to meet
again in ninety minutes, and parted ways. For a moment, Rebecca thought they
might shake hands. But then she settled for saying, ‘So Long’.
Rebecca felt like
a criminal once again, as she stood at the library reception. She blushed
easily and her cheeks were aflame.
“Gosh, is it cold
out?” a quite young lady said to her and pressed the back of her fingers (the
nerve of it!) against Becky’s cheek. But Rebeca was used to people touching her
cheeks because of her dimples. ‘Irresistible,’ her grandfather often said.
The librarian took
charge of Rebecca Brown’s Lochaber (Under 12) Transport card which had her
address. In just minutes, the girl was signed up to membership of this lovely
warm library in Fort William. The peak of this victory suddenly troughed as a
vision came to her of Maria Theresa alone at the Leisure Centre, at the deep
end of the big swimming pool, her hand just out of reach of the edge, her legs
oddly still beneath the surface and her torso sliding into the water, then her
open mouth. Rebecca held her breath, as if she herself were going under.
something in particular I can help you with?’ the librarian wanted to
know.Rebecca hesitated, so the
librarian continued, ‘Just to get you started.’ Rebecca mumbled something about
liking newspapers and the young woman smiled, gesturing with her head that she
should be followed. Rebecca was instructed how to log on at the monitor and how
to make the selections from the menu. And then she was left to it. She knew the
date. 7th December 2001. The newspapers: Glasgow Herald, Scotsman, Daily Record all carried the story on
their front page the next day, after the accident.
But it wasn’t a
crash involving just her parents. There was a pile up, lots of vehicles, and
from the pictures, it looked like they had been dropped there by a crane; the
kind of crane which had a giant magnet hanging down; as if the cars had already
been scrunched for scrap. Though the vehicles had not been neatly cubed. You
could not tell from the photos if there were any ripped persons inside. The
shots were too grainy. It looked like one articulated lorry had eaten a small
hatchback. The end of the little car poked out from the open bonnet jaw of the
truck. There was no particular sense in the photography that this was winter
but you could tell it was night. Just
after 9.00pm, according to survivors. The pictures were black and white.
There were no bodies strewn on the tarmac. There was nothing red. There was a
number: 11. That’s how many died. Her parents were mentioned: … couple leaving behind three young children.
Another phrase that has remained with Rebecca is ‘visibly shaken’. Officers and medical personnel were visibly
Later, during her
teens, Rebecca was to add detail to the crash scene. From her imagination, she
augmented the photographs over the years, adding Highland cattle slaughtered
and strewn along the dual carriageway too, with legs bovine and human twisted
together. She made the horror more real, with eyes popping or swollen shut, and
horns splitting femoral arteries. She was able to make the images move, she
flung a bony tail over a windscreen and lying in her iron bed at night with her
eyes tight shut, she could make sound too, with hooves beating on the metal
bodywork. Her grandmother was always shaking her head at Rebecca’s imagination,
and with fair cause. One peculiar day, Primmy said, ‘It’s no use hiding. Life
will still be here when you get back.’
that grab you.I for one like the sound
of this book and look forward to reading it soon.
Jenny is a novelist, screenplay writer and
playwright. After a series of 'proper jobs', she realised she was living
someone else's life and escaped to Gascony to make gîtes. Knee deep in cement
and pregnant, Jenny was happy. Then autism and a distracted spine surgeon wiped
out the order. Returned to wonderful England, to write her socks off.
Jenny would like to see the Northern Lights but worries that’s the best bit and
should be saved till last. Very happily, and gratefully, settled with family.
Grace Nicholls has a
few reasons for wanting to turn back the clock … although an archaeological dig
at a Bronze Age settlement on the Yorkshire moors is not what she had in mind.
But encouraged by her best friend Tabitha, that’s exactly where she finds
McDonald is the site director and his earnest pursuit of digging up the past
makes him appear distant and unreachable. But when a woman on the site goes
missing, it seems that his own past might be coming back to haunt him once
they dig deeper, Duncan and Grace get more than they bargained for – and come
to realise that the past is much closer than either of them ever imagined …
I was unsure when first starting
Living in the Past and began to wonder if I would enjoy this book.However, I preserved and gave it the usual
few chapters I allow myself to read, to see if I would like it and if not, it
was one of those DNF books for me.I am
pleased to say that I did finish it and due to this book being completely
different to my usual read actually found myself quite enjoying reading this
different genre for a change.
We meet Grace who we learn lost
her husband Jamie to cancer two years previously and after a really tough time coming
to terms with her bereavement, reluctantly decided to go on an archaeological
dig with her friend Tabitha and her partner Millie.
Grace is a teacher and currently on
summer break and initially it is Tabitha and Grace that arrive on the site in
North Yorkshire with Millie due to follow behind in a week or so.They are assigned jobs with Tabitha in the
kitchen or mess area feeding the troops and Grace allocated work on the wet sieves
section.Grace is really not keen on
being there but her friend Tabitha asks her to stick it out as she thinks it
will do her good.Little does she
realise what is about to happen.
Millie, Tabitha’s girlfriend then
comes out and joins the dig and it transpires that Millie is well respected in
the field of archaeology and on Millie joining the camp, Grace realises that the
two girls need some privacy and space and she finds herself ending up sharing a
tent with Duncan.
Duncan MacDonald is the head of
the dig and also a professor at the university.He has bit of a reputation of being a moody man, and not very socialable
and often can come across as quite snappy.He also has a bit of a troubled past.
During the course of the dig, a
dig member goes missing and the police become involved and Duncan is
interviewed.It transpires that the
police officer and Duncan have a bit of history.Through this investigation it becomes
apparent that Duncan seems to have a bit of a past with the police officer
investigating this missing student and Grace comes to learn that another dig
member went missing over 15 years ago who happened to also have been his then
We see the group going through
the daily routine of digging certain areas and seeing if there is anything of historical
value and Grace not really enjoying herself at all and wanting to go home.We learn that Grace doesn’t really sleep at
night as that is when she is left alone with her memories and thoughts and she
finds the only comfort she can which is wandering round the site and some days
watching the sun rise at the top of the dig overlooking another camp.It is through these late night visits that we
realise Grace seems to be able to move between past and present.
Using her senses and the fact
that she can move between past and present, she uncovers where Duncan’s
girlfriend of 15 years has gone and tries to bring him closure and let him know
that it wasn’t his fault. We see a different side to Duncan, a softer and much
more caring side buried deep underneath all that mud, dirt and baggy clothes he
wears whilst on the site.
As this book wasn’t my usual
read, I must admit to thoroughly enjoying it and read this quite quickly on my
commute to and from work, taking me just over a week to read), even managing to
read at lunchtime on a few occasions.This isn’t bad for me considering I would only be reading for about an
hour a day some days.I look forward to
seeing what else Jane Lovering has written / will be writing shortly.
About the Author
Jane was born in Devon and
now lives in Yorkshire. She has five children, four cats and two dogs of
variable sanity. She works in a local supermarket and also teaches creative
writing. Jane is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and has a
first-class honours degree in creative writing.
writes comedies which are often described as ‘quirky’. Her debut, Please don’t stop the music, won the 2012 Romantic
Novel of the Year and the Romantic Comedy Novel of the Year Awards from the
Romantic Novelists’ Association
Jane’s novels include: Please don’t stop the music, Star
Struck, Hubble Bubble, Vampire State of Mind, Falling
Apart, How I Wonder What You Are, I Don’t Want to
Talk About It,
Can’t Buy Me Love and Little Teashop of Horrors and Living in the Past.
Follow the rest
of the blog tour or find out what other bloggers have thought whose stops have
already been featured.
is some advance praise from one of Jane Lovering's
books "Little Teashop of Horrors"
I have read and loved all Jane Lovering’s
books and can never get enough of her quirky sense of humour or different, but
amazing, heroes. This, however, was probably my favourite of all her books – it
is, quite simply, wonderful! Christina Courtenay, Award-Winning Author
I’m a totally unashamed fan of Jane Lovering’s
writing. It’s always a teeny bit quirky, romance with perfectly judged humour
that has you laughing out loud at times, but often with a surprising edge of
darkness. And this book – well, I’m delighted to tell you that it’s up there
with her very best … It’s a great story, beautifully written in her own
inimitable style, with characters I guarantee you’ll grow to love every bit as
much as I did. Highly, highly recommended. Anne at Being Anne.
Little Teashop of
Horrors is another winner from Jane Lovering. It's quirky and funny, explores
some dark issues and has a proper romantic story at its heart. Jane Lovering
really knows how to write a story that will have you wrapped up in the lives of
her characters, following them through their problems and cheering on their
triumphs. A perfect read to leave you smiling.Joanne, Portobello Book Blog
I have always loved Jane's
books - she brings so much humour to them. The humour is still there in this
one but it goes a little deeper than usual … I couldn't put it down. In the
usual romcom you don't root for the people in the way that I did for these characters
… I can honestly say, hand on heart, I've never read a Choc Lit book that I
haven't loved! And this one is near the top of that list! Ann, Annie's Book Corner
Today I am pleased to be able to
participate in the blog tour for Dangerous Score by Michael Bearcroft.My thanks go to Rachel's Random Resources.
Football hero Jason Clooney is
riding high....until a date with a beautiful woman lands him in trouble with
the media, and into battle with the criminal underworld.
Now against a backdrop of an
uncertain professional future, Jason has to confront disturbing revelations
surrounding his new girlfriend’s family. From football action on the pitch to
behind the scenes plotting. To battles with a criminal gang and constant media
attention, all adding to the toughest challenges he has ever faced in life,
love, as a player and as a man.
that the prodigal son had returned home he got his mother’s equivalent of the
fattened calf, which meant they sat down to Jason’s favourite meal. Melon
followed by mum’s own special homemade turkey and vegetable pie, with mashed
potatoes and sweetcorn all to be finished before bananas, raspberries and
home-made ice cream. You certainly wouldn’t have wanted to play football after
eating that lot!
they all helped clear up, then mugs of coffee in hand it was back to the
conservatory. Clooney tried to keep them talking about what they would do in
Canada, but Sue was having none of it, always bringing the conversation back to
him, trying to fathom out just what was going on in his life.
dad had printed off loads of stuff he had found out about Thresham on the
computer. Sue thought Jess looked a real stunner in her photos, and worried for
the well-being of this young woman she had never even met. They watched some TV
in the lounge, then after Mrs Clooney retired Jason and his dad opened the
brandy he had bought, while John pressured him with more of what he had
discovered online. Once Clooney senior was sure his wife was out of earshot, he
spoke quietly, seriously.
found out a lot about this Thresham,’ he said. ‘Old friends in the police
force, revenue and business people have all convinced me, how dangerous he is.’
Thresham was the youngest of seven kids, brought up, or should that be dragged
up in a council house in Raunds, Northamptonshire. Martin was nearly expelled
at eight when he hit a fellow pupil with a house brick. Age twelve he was
convicted of shoplifting and demanding money with menace from two
eight-year-old girls. He was taken into care, but three years later he was
banged up in a young offenders’ institute. He had taken part, in fact the
police believed he was the ringleader, in a vicious attack on a courting
couple. The man had been beaten so badly he was hospitalised for weeks and the
woman had been subjected to an appalling sexual attack. Upon his release, now
too old for school, not that any would have had him, he started work on a
building site as a labourer. Six months later having stolen tools and materials
from the site, he was back inside. He never learnt the error of his ways, and a
short time after his release he was involved in a fight in a brothel in
Bedford. He punched a prostitute, the owner and the two policemen who arrested
him. His next sojourn at Her Majesty’s pleasure was the last to date. He had a
twin brother, Karl, who worshipped him, God knows why, who also did time for
various offences. Sadly, of the seven siblings only one worked at a normal job,
a school teacher, and she had nothing to do with the others.
moved abroad upon his release, where and to do what, no one knows. But he
returned with enough cash to buy a small, struggling, caravan manufacturing
firm, Nene Valley Caravans. He had some talent, because he turned the company
around and opened sites in France and Spain. Then over the years a casino in
Northampton, a club in Corby had followed, and even a hotel in Florida, as well
as other illegal businesses like brothels that he was suspected to
the age of forty he was reputed to be a multimillionaire. Though Mr Clooney’s
contacts had hinted some of his wealth was a result of tax evasion, people
trafficking, drugs and prostitution, rather than legitimate business. He really
was a man to be very wary of.
Clooney had also discovered things about Jess and Amanda’s real father, Colin
Granger. He had been the manager of Shipsmore Removals, a transport company
owned by Thresham. Colin and his family lived in the village of Woodford, just
a few miles from work. Every day after finishing work he used to drop into his
local, drink two halves of beer, never more, before walking the couple of
hundred yards back to work, collecting his car and driving home. Only one night
he never made it. He was knocked down by a hit and run driver. At the inquest
it was reported that he had seemed stressed that last night in the pub and was
definitely not his usual self. No one was ever found or charged, and the
coroner’s verdict was manslaughter by a person or persons unknown. To this day
the driver had never been found.
Granger’s boss, had supported the family financially; he paid for the funeral,
paid off their mortgage and supplied Mrs Granger with a decent pension. He paid
for the girls’ holidays, even bought Paula Granger her first car – she was too
upset to drive her late husband’s. He was so kind and considerate to the
family, it was really no surprise when some years later he and Paula married.
The girls’ names were changed to his, the big house in Loddington was built and
Mrs Thresham, née Granger, apparently thought he was a saint, even though most
people thought he was the devil.
couldn’t help being surprised at all his father had found out. He knew his
parents loved him, but to go to these lengths, just proved how much. The quiet
way his dad had told him, the research he must have done, told Jason how
worried they must be, but to put all that effort in, it just reminded him, do
kids ever really know their folks and just how much they care?
was little to be said after that, except he again promised to look after
himself, and he thanked his old man for all he had found out. There was a last
surprise though, when his dad said Blister had phoned them.
guessed we would be worried when we saw your injuries, he just wanted to let us
know he was keeping an eye out for you and we weren’t to worry.’
was stunned by the thoughtfulness of the man he now regarded as a dear friend,
then pleased, because he knew it would have the desired effect of making his
folks worry less. He was even more humbled by the old soldier now.
said their goodnights and retired to bed.
in the book well pop across to Amazon http://amzn.to/2BAaf6jor enter the Giveaway – Win 3 x Signed Copies of Dangerous
Score by Michael Bearcroft (Open Internationally)
A real find in the burgeoning
field of European crime fiction. Simone Buchholz writes with real
authority and a pungent, noir-ish sense of time and place. Blue Night is a palpable hit’ Barry Forshaw
After convicting a superior for corruption and shooting off a gangster’s crown
jewels, the career of
Hamburg’s most hard-bitten state prosecutor, Chastity Riley, has taken a nose
dive: she has been
transferred to the tedium of witness protection to prevent her making any more
when she is assigned to the case of an anonymous man lying under police guard
Chastity’s instinct for the big, exciting case kicks in. Using all her powers
of persuasion, she soon
gains her charge’s confidence, and finds herself on the trail to Leipzig, a new
ally, and a whole
heap of lethal synthetic drugs. When she discovers that a friend and former
colleague is trying to
bring down Hamburg’s Albanian mafia kingpin single-handedly, it looks like Chas
Riley’s dull life
on witness protection really has been short-lived…
My new office in the public prosecution
department is only half as big as my old one. It’s more of a storeroom than an
office really. The idea was probably to come up with a special cell, just for
me, one where only I – and they – know it’s a cell. Every time I look out of the
narrow window I’m amazed that it isn’t barred.
Officially, I have a secretary, but
because there’s no anteroom to my office, only a corridor, the secretary sits
in the outer office belonging to my colleagues in drugs. So obviously she’s
mainly their secretary and not mine. It doesn’t really bother me, if I’m
honest. It’s just another excuse to crawl out of my cubbyhole. And obviously you
don’t need a secretary for most things. I’m perfectly capable of phoning the
archive myself, for example.
‘Riley here, hello.’
‘I’d like everything relating to Gjergj
Malaj, as soon as possible, please.’
‘From the early nineties to now?’
‘Anywhere the name appears.’
‘It’ll take a while; that’s almost a
hundred and fifty files.’
‘I know,’ I say, hanging up.
I open the arrow slit in the wall and
light a cigarette.
I hope to smell a faint hint of spring
or hear a bird twittering in a tree. But the only thing I notice is the
disaster galloping down on us.
‘Calabretta thinks Faller wants to shaft
the Albanian. All by himself.’
I’m standing at the bar at Klatsche’s
place, a beer in front of me and the boss in person behind the bar.
‘Calabretta thinks what?’ Klatsche’s
clattering around, filling the fridge with bottles.
‘That Faller’s hatched a plan,’ I say.
‘And that he’s about to put his plan into action. He seems to have decided that
it’s bang out of order to have the Albanian still running around free,
especially now he’s putting on society airs.’
‘It is out of order,’ says Klatsche.
‘I’m with Faller on that one. That guy’s
the biggest skunk in town. He ought to be banged up, not going to receptions at
the Hotel Atlantic.’
He’s stopped putting the bottles away.
He’s opened a beer and lit a cigarette. There’s not much light in the Blue
Night; the friendly shimmer in the room mainly comes from the candles on the
tables and in golden holders on the red walls. And there’s a warm yellow tinge
to the blue neon sign above the liquor shelf. It makes no sense. Klatsche insists it’s tinged with red, but
that’s not true. It’s yellow. Yet it doesn’t turn the blue green. It’s nuts.
‘Of course he ought to be banged up,’
I say.I’d like to add something clever starting with ‘but’ to explain why he
hasn’t been. I can’t think of anything. I’ve been chewing on it for years;
we’ve all been chewing on it for years – decades, it feels like. And Faller
won’t get the Albanian banged up now. He’ll just get himself into trouble.
Gjergj Malaj sent him a vicious warning years ago. Faller’s suffered for it
ever since. Malaj won’t warn him off again.
Klatsche knows all this. I don’t need to
explain it to him. He just watches us as we throw ourselves at windmills and
run into brick walls. He’s the one who scrapes us out of the corners each time
and patches us up with a palette of strong drinks and kind words.
I sigh; we clink bottles.
‘You’re worried about Faller,’ he says.
‘He’s starting to crack up,’ I say. ‘He
feels too strong. It’s not good to feel too strong. You forget to take cover. I
mean, we’ve been through all that…’
‘Has he done anything that could be
‘No idea,’ I say. ‘According to
Calabretta, he hinted that he’s planning something soon.’
‘Faller was boasting? Doesn’t sound like
‘He wasn’t. Calabretta reckons he’s
going to need him, and that’s
why he let him in on it.’
I light a cigarette; Klatsche pushes
over an ashtray.
‘We’ve got a top mole on the team then,’
he says. ‘And I’ll keep my ears open in case anyone’s noticed any, er,
disturbances in the Force, or whatever.’ He waves his beer bottle and makes
‘But he didn’t say anything to you?’
I shake my head. ‘I met him this
morning, and he was just brewing up mysterious stories,’ I say. ‘Nothing
specific. I thought he was feeling good, that’s all. Not as crumpled as usual.
More like he was having a second spring, if you see what I mean.’
‘That all fits,’ says Klatsche. ‘And if
we assume that Faller’s not in love, it must be his second spring as a cop.’ He
draws on his cigarette. ‘Fair enough … But the idea of Faller as a lone avenger
against organised crime … He’s scaring me.’
‘Faller or the Albanian?’ I ask.
‘The combination, sweetheart.’ He raises
his beer bottle and drinks. ‘What’s the story with your car, by the way?’ he
‘Why mention that now?’
He shrugs. ‘Talk of fear, maybe.’
‘Bollocks, Klatsche. I’m not scared of
driving.’ I swig my beer. ‘The car broke down,’ I say. ‘I left it in
‘Garage,’ I say, because I don’t dare
tell him I just left it where it was.
‘Garage, uh-huh.’ He looks at me.
He knows perfectly well that that’s not
He says nothing. We drink up our beer.
Outside we can hear a police siren on the Reeperbahn.
Then the door opens and a bunch of
customers come in. Three women, five men, early thirties, dressed like
hipsters. Klatsche’s bar is transforming slowly but surely from a red-light
dive to a trendy
hangout. I bet next year people will
come in the mornings and ask if this is a sober rave.
I nip behind the bar, give Klatsche a
kiss on the cheek and say, ‘Slip me a couple of beers, I’ve got to go.’
To follow the blog tour and see what other readers think, check out my fellow bloggers thoughts.
Simone Buchholz was born in Hanau in 1972. At university, she studied Philosophy and Literature, worked as a waitress and a columnist, and trained to be a journalist at the prestigious Henri-Nannen-School in Hamburg. In 2016, Simone Buchholz was awarded the Crime Cologne Award as well as runner-up for the German Crime Fiction Prize for Blue Night, which was number one on the KrimiZEIT Best of Crime List for months. She lives in Sankt Pauli, in the heart of Hamburg, with her husband and son.
‘A dark mix of gritty police procedural and
rollercoaster ride, swirling with humour and affection, thanks to its feisty
protagonist, Chas Riley. Sharp dialogue, an atmospheric setting and an
intriguing plot kept me reading into the early hours. Certainly an author to
watch’ Off-the-Shelf Books.
‘Blue Night hits hard from page one with its
beautifully atmospheric noir feel and a divisive, engaging main character in
Chastity Riley – one to watch’ Liz Loves
‘Not a word out of place – memorable characters –
an absolute treat!’ Michael J. Malone,
author of A Suitable Lie.
‘Had me in its clutches from the very beginning.
Exciting, unique and highly more-ish; thanks to Blue
Night, my night was no longer blue’ The Writing Garnet
‘A truly fresh narrative style which slowly lays
out an intriguing and complex story. The protagonist, Chastity Riley, is one
you are immediately drawn to, a unique and ultimately likeable character in a richly
drawn world of vice’ Jen Meds Book Reviews
'Explosive writing, larger-than-life characters, a
killer mystery ... Loved it!' LV Hay,
author of The Other Twin