Addy Footit is reeling from losses. She lost her home. Her boyfriend crushed her heart. Her girlfriend’s brother shattered what was left of her. The band she and her sister Rachel hoped would be a success is on the rocks. Addy’s plans have failed her and so has love. Worse, her previous problems have been replaced by an even more terrifying one.
Her handsome best friend might be the right one to help her put the pieces of her broken life back together. He understands her. He’s strong. He’s accustomed to adversity. But he’s younger than her. He has troubles of his own, and if she crosses that friendship line with him, she can’t uncross it. All the reasons that kept them apart in the first place remain. Plus, there’s a new one, a precious secret, a life altering one.
Will Addy escape the powerful man who is obsessed with her? Will she find trustworthy new friends to replace the ones who betrayed her? Can wounds as deep as hers heal?
WARNING. The conclusion to Addy’s Rollercoaster Romance is as deeply emotional as the beginning. Your heart will ache. You will cry. When you think it can’t get more painful, it will. But you’ll smile too. When relationships are mended. When friendships are restored. When Addy transforms her mistakes into triumphs. When she finally gets the hero she deserves.
MICHELLE MANKIN is the New York Times bestselling author of the Black Cat Records series of novels.
Fall in love with a rock star.
When Michelle is not prowling the streets of her Texas town listening to her rock or NOLA funk music much too loud, she is putting her daydreams down on paper or traveling the world with her family and friends, sometimes for real, and sometimes just for pretend.
USA Today bestselling author Michelle McLean turns the Duke trope on its head with a witty, laugh-out-loud Regency perfect for fans of Eloisa James and Sarah MacLean.
Michelle McLean is a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl who is addicted to chocolate and Goldfish crackers and spent most of her formative years with her nose in a book. She has degrees in history and English and is thrilled that she sort of gets to use them. Her novel Truly, Madly, Sweetly, written as Kira Archer, was adapted as a Hallmark Original movie in 2018.
When Michelle’s not working, reading, or chasing her kids around, she can usually be found baking, diamond painting, or trying to find free wall space upon which to hang her diamond paintings. She resides in PA with her husband and two teens, the world’s most spoiled dog, and a cat who absolutely rules the house. She also writes contemporary romance as USA Today bestselling author Kira Archer.
For more info on Michelle and her work, please visit her website at michellemcleanbooks.com.
It’s something I’m not accustomed to, not anymore. Not since my father took me from the slums and brought me to his billionaire mansion. He told me it was all mine and that I needed to buck up and be the son I was destined to be.
He might have lost a son, but he didn’t gain one back.
The car slows as I approach Woodview Estate. It gives me the fucking shivers. I’m not afraid; it’s more of an old memory, like a fire burning in my mind. One I extinguish as I park my new BMW along the curb. The grass is dead, the orange earth is dry, and the pitiful shrubbery is wilted. This place is devoid of life. Like nothing is worth growing here. This is Ireland, so it rains all the time, but this place is forsaken. Even the rain doesn’t bother to piss on the landscape. As I stare around me and study a little closer, I start to notice signs of life.
In front of me is a large row of houses, and at the corner of the end house, shadows of movement catch my eye. Behind drawn curtains, light seeps through the small cracks. I’m sure some watch me from the windows. My presence here has not gone unnoticed. get out of the car and lock the doors. Shadows creep closer. Most of the men have their faces camouflaged inside hoodies. Three houses are in front of me, and I wander toward number six. I’m apprehensive of the guys at my back, circling closer to my car. The moment I push open the gate to number six, they murmur.
Their whispers reach my ears. “He’s with Chester. We’d better scram.”
Like rats, they scurry. Chester must be the man I’m seeking. Warren only gave me an address, no name. I knock on the door three times before someone answers. The guy who opens it isn’t looking at me, so I’m faced with his profile. Tribal tats rise from the collar of his jersey and wrap around his neck.
He draws a drag of a cigarette, side-eyeing me. His hands are coated in tattoos too.
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Chester.”
This fucker is a wolf, but I’m no lamb. He faces me, flings the cigarette past my shoulder, and grins. “What for?”
“Can I come in?” I ask, and I take a step closer to him.
His grin transforms into a sneer, but he steps back. “Sure.”
I don’t like that he’s at my back, but I continue to keep a relaxed posture as I walk into the dingy entrance. The smell of smoke and something stronger clings to everything.
“I didn’t pick up what you wanted.” He passes me while lighting up another cigarette. He shoulders a door to our left open, and we step into a sitting room that’s full of guys who are sporting tats just like his. I unquestionably have the right house. He plops down between two other men on the couch. All eyes are on me.
“I didn’t say what I wanted.” I point at the empty armchair to my left. The guy, who I assume is Chester, nods, and I sit down, opening my jacket.
R&B music plays in the background. A fog of smoke floats close to the ceiling.
A guy close to me offers me a rolled-up cigarette. It doesn’t smell like smoke, and I decline before facing Chester. “Could we talk somewhere private?”
He glances at the other men, who laugh, before he faces me. “No. If you have something to say, say it.”
I‘m not telling him shit in front of everyone. They all move when I reach into my pocket. I raise one hand as I slowly withdraw the envelope of cash with the other. “Three grand for a word in private, Chester.”
He jerks his chin, and I toss the envelope to him. He catches the cash, shreds it open, and starts counting. Once he’s satisfied, he passes the stash of cash to the guy beside him before standing.
“You’ve bought yourself five minutes.”
My five minutes are in the entrance hall. I assumed it would be someplace more private, but I take the time I’m offered.
“I need a gun.”
“What makes you think I can get you one?”
“Warren O’Reagan gave me your address,” I explain. Something shifts in Chester’s stance. “You don’t look like a friend of Warren’s.”
I smirk. “Neither do you.”
Chester jerks his chin again. “It will cost you.”
“Name your price.”
He thinks about it. “Ten grand.”
For a fucking gun? “I want it wiped.”
“It will be untraceable. But it will take time.”
“How long?”
He takes a drag of his cigarette before stepping to the front door. Opening it, he flicks the cigarette outside. He pauses before looking back at me. “Is that your car?”
“Yeah.” I stride toward him.
He lets out a whistle. “Touch it and you die.” He issues the warning to the group outside and closes the door. “I should have asked for more money since you’re driving a car like that.” He grins.
I don’t smile. “I’ll give you five grand tomorrow and the other five grand when I have the gun.”
He nods, and I hold out my hand. Chester hesitates before he grips my fingers. “We have a deal.”
I’m ready to go when he asks a question he shouldn’t. “What do you want it for?”
I glare at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Just asking, brother. You know it won’t end all your problems.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger, mimicking a gun. “It might end one,” I say before I take off. My car is still unscathed. Driving out of the estate doesn’t make the memories evaporate; instead, I’m yanked right back to my childhood. The very reason I want a gun.
Everything comes full circle. My father once said, “What’s meant for you won’t go by you. Justice will be served in this life or another.”
I say, fuck that. If Justice isn’t served the way it should be, then I’ll take matters into my own hands and deliver my kind of justice.
Once I do this, my life will be my own again. I’ll finally be able to live.
When Vi Carter isn’t writing dark romance books, that feature the mafia, are filled with suspense, and take you on a fast paced ride, you can find her reading her favorite authors, baking, taking photos or watching Netflix.
Married with three children, Vi divides her time between motherhood and all the other hats she wears as an Author.
She has declared herself a coffee & chocolate addict! Do not judge.
