~~~~~ATTENTION~~~~~ I have decided to close down my blog and my facebook page. After a lot of thought and tears I've had to make this hard decision. I no longer have fun working the blog or the page. It feels more like a job to me now, not to mention I've been neglecting the street teams of the authors whom I love the most. I will be closing this page on October 1st. Thank you all so much for being a part of my book world and supporting me.

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Hell On Heelz

 Hell on Heelz, An Asphalt Gods' MC Novel Coming from Bestselling Erotic Romance Author Morgan Jane Mitchell
 Feb. 23, 2016
"My demons needed a long ride, a half bottle of Jack and a hard cock on a
good day. One a bad day, they itched for trouble, a fight. The Heelz
provided everything I needed. I didn't need a man to come rescue me. -

 Hell on Heelz, an Asphalt Gods' MC, Stand Alone, full length novel. 18+ for content 
"They say time heals all wounds, but my time's done run out. I’m no spring chicken, but it’s more than that. I’ve been mad as hell for far too long. It’s made me a different woman, a bitter woman. No, they don’t call me Rage for nothing—I’m a twisting bitch tornado and that’s before you make me mad. When I’m not fuming, I’m secretly festering in suffocating smog of self-loathing. A man did this to me, and now that I’ve finally met another man, one who calms my storm, one I might let break through the thick thorny vines I’ve wrapped around my heart—I fear there’s nothing left of me." 
Edie Pearl, better known as RAGE never thought her decision to leave her cheating husband and join the Hell on Heelz would land her as the potential president of the female outlaw motorcycle club when the Banshee is murdered. Rage has spent the last two years mad as hell, nursing her broken heart with booze and fast men. When she's pitted against her fellow heel, Dixie, in a race to track down the Banshee's killer, she meets the man of her dreams. Mud may be the only man to get her motor running, but he's also her sworn enemy. Will Rage do the unthinkable and choose a man over her club? 

Mud's been a mess since his twin brother left the Asphalt Gods' MC. He'd hate to have to kill his own kin. When Scar shows Mud mercy by sparing his brother, he thinks everything will finally be back to normal. He's proven wrong. A ride to California is interrupted by the Heelz. After he leaves Scar and catches up to his enemy, he finds a beautiful woman, one he can not resist. Showing her the same mercy puts Mud in even more jeopardy. His heart on the line with his life, which road will he choose? 

*Even though we met the Hell on Heelz MC in Scar and Seven Sunsets, Asphalt Gods' MC, Hell on Heelz can be read as a stand alone

Read for FREE for a limited time on Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt Hell on Heelz, An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel
Copyright © 2015 Morgan Jane Mitchell
A typical Saturday night at the Roost meant our private club was busting at the seams with those who wanted to get drunk, get high and get laid. The Banshee and her girls had their favorites over. Some of the men were from other clubs but just riders tonight and then there were the stragglers, the men who the girls had brought in off the street. Me, I didn’t invite Ripper, but he was a regular here anyway. He wasn’t a looker either, but he had more than two brain cells which was a rarity around here.
“I’d say we’re perfect for each other.” He chugged his Bud Light, clutching my leather-clad knee under the table.
Good lord, this was not what I’d fixed my face for. Jerking my knee away from him, I barked, “Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel.” I didn’t feel a damned thing for Ripper. I sure as hell didn’t want a boyfriend.
Ripper smiled, the rare site almost making him dashing. He wouldn’t give up.
On my sixth drink, I didn’t want to talk about us—I wanted to fuck. It didn’t have to be Ripper. My chin resting on my hands, I searched around the Roost for another option.
Hearing Pepper’s voice screech over the noisy crowd, my neck snapped back to see her pink hair go flying over a man’s shoulder. That girl was so thin, she could hula hoop in a cheerio. Amazingly enough, she’d run away from a circus, used to be a contortionist before she started working at the Banshee’s shop.
Keg headed up the stairs behind the bar, taking a dangling Pepper to bed. I remembered when all I wanted was the man of my dreams to come along and throw me over his shoulder just like that. I imagined Ripper trying it and landing us both on our asses.
A young stud, Keg was Ripper’s younger brother. Both men had dark hair and light eyes, but Keg was fine, strong. Ripper looked like Keg minus the fine and strong part. They both worked at the paper factory where my girl Boots was foreman. They headed up the local riders’ club in Seville.
Where Keg was full of life, Ripper was broken, just like me. That’s why he thought we’d make a perfect pair, two broken people, fixing each other bullshit. I didn’t want to fix Ripper. I didn’t give a damn if his wife had died. I had my own demons to quell.
My demons needed a long ride, a half bottle of Jack and a hard cock on a good day. On a bad day, they itched for trouble, a fight. The Heelz provided everything I needed. I didn’t need a man to come rescue me.
“My house is awfully lonely, hon…” He put his arm around me, trying not to call me honey, sweetheart or darling. He knew better than to start with the terms of endearment.
“And it’s probably a mess,” I slurred. I still had my cleaning business, though my client list had dwindled. Club life and jobs for the club took up a good chunk of my time. I’d cleaned Ripper’s house a time or two before I was a Heel. His wife had had Cancer, on her deathbed when I’d been hired.
Fuck, that was two years ago, before I’d left Neil. Before, Kelly... I stopped my train of thought with another drink.
“You could come home with me tonight,” Ripper went on, thinking we could be something more.
I rolled my eyes before a crash from behind me took my attention. DDD and Twink were having it out, again. “Cat fight,” Boots hollered before a shot rang out. The Banshee had done shot another hole in the ceiling. Someday she was going to kill whoever was using the stables. That’s what we called the upstairs, where we took the men we didn’t want in our homes. Anyway, our president had stopped the fight. DDD let go of Twink’s silky dark hair and stomped off. Both only prospects, DDD and Twink were as different as night and day.
Dede, had been her real name, but we called her DDD for her triple Ds—she was a know-it-all beach beauty, like she’d stepped off the set of Bay Watch, but she wouldn’t get the reference because she was a young online college student with a nose problem, in other words, a drug habit. Twink, an ex-whore was a middle-aged Korean woman, who liked her racial slur of a road name. The Banshee had given her a place to hide from her pimp, and she liked Harleys and ink so much, she’d wanted to stay. Differences or not, Twink and DDD were both in the same boat now, like all of us.
Hell on Heelz wasn’t just a rider’s club like Ripper had founded. His club, the Seville Slayers was made up of mostly respectable blue-collar men who wanted to get away from their nagging wives on the weekend and put Harley decals on their pick-up trucks. They rode with us sometimes and ended up here. They were the sizzling meat in our biscuits.
Hell on Heelz, on the other hand was an MC, a motorcycle club with roots in the one percenters. Although Shirley, I mean the Banshee, wanted her club to be different than the men’s clubs, no prostitution, no sex trafficking and the like, she was no saint. The Banshee wanted us to be outlaws like the club she’d come from, the Asphalt Gods’ MC, which like many others struck fear in the hearts of regular folk. She’d picked us girls, all of us because of what we were capable—what we’d done, or in my case, what I was about to do. It was like she’d known it, seen something in my eyes that had been off about me.
Us girls weren’t regular people. I wasn’t a regular person like Ripper. Sure, he had a cool name, but he hadn’t murdered someone like I had. The only thing he could kill was an 18 pack of beer on a Friday night. He hadn’t been biker brats like Locks and Topper who played pool with some fresh blood, two hawt volunteer firefighters visiting us for the first time. He hadn’t escaped being an MC’s clubwhore by burning down their clubhouse like Miss B who had the attention of Squid, a bodybuilder who’d been in the Navy. He’d come to visit with a couple of Slayers tonight.
Every other member here tonight whether they be older, fatter, younger, a gay man or just plain dumb, Legs, Duchess, Butterbean, Sugar Hips and Short—in that order, seemed to be on to someone new. Here I was stuck with Ripper who stared at me like I’d be his salvation.

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