Title: ACE: A Band of Brothers Novel
Series: Band of Brothers #1
Author: Lyra Parish
Genre: Romance
Release Date: February 22, 2016
Blurb
My name is Ace and I'm the Ace of Spades.
I'm not nice and I misbehave.
I will be your nightmare.
I will be your dream.
I will have you begging for more of me with each scream.
The truth is in my lyrics.
Uncontrollably controlled.
I bleed many things one being Rock & Roll.
I don't date or make love, I fuck real hard.
Did you know the ace of spades is considered the death card?
Love doesn't exist in my world, it never did.
Love won't exist in my world, it's something I forbid.
My name is Ace and I'm the ace of spades.
Proceed with caution, because I'm sharp like a blade.
The Band of Brothers novels are full length and will follow each brother in the band.
They can be read together or separately.
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Excerpt
Excerpt from Chapter 1.
Subject to Change.
Unedited. © 2016 Lyra Parish.
Tonight I would fuck the blonde in the front row who continued to visually rip my clothes off with every little blink she took. Her tits were hanging out of her shirt and she licked her lips and batted her eyes at me. The set was nearing the end and I could feel her gaze. When I looked away and back at her, it was like her eyes had never left me. I liked when a woman knew what she wanted.
Blue and green lights flashed over the stage then washed across the crowd. When we made eye contact again, her tongue traced the outside of her plump bottom lip and at that moment I knew she was DTF. Her being down to fuck made this so much easier but then again, being the lead singer of the Band of Brothers made panties magically melt. I'd be her fantasy for the night. I'm sure there would be many more one night stands considering each show from Florida to New York, all the way to California was sold out.
The drums beat on as I screamed out the next few lyrics. "I won't let the world decide. I'll die before that happens."
The drums stopped and the distortion was cut leaving a melodic strum of Nikolas's guitar.
The lights faded when walked off stage leaving the crowd screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs. Jex, Nic, and Rex had huge smiles covering their faces as they chugged the water the technicians handed us. This would never get old. Moments like this were the ones we lived and worked for. Once the chanting and clapping rose to the maximum volume, the four of us walked back onstage and gave the fans what they wanted, an encore.
Green and yellow lights flashed over the crowd and smoke hovered at the bottom of the stage. We played three more songs. People sang and swayed to the lyrics and music. Some jumped up and down, feeling the full beat of the drums while others banged their heads. The feeling of having thousands of people chanting my words would never become real. More often than not, I felt like I was in a dream, one that I never wanted to wake from.
During the last song, I pointed to the blonde. By the way she was dressed in a tight pink shirt and a skirt that showed the bottom of her ass cheeks, I knew she wanted to be seen. She could have possibly had this night planned from the beginning. Randomly, I chose a few others from the crowd to join us, to dance in front of our audience, to feel the temporary power. It was something I did every show, every tour. It was a habit of sorts.
Security helped the girls climb on the stage and they lifted their arms and shook their asses. Before the song ended, the technicians led the girls' side stage as cannons of small fireworks shot from the floor. After the final song, my brothers and played the crowd and threw drumsticks and guitar picks. The yelling didn't stop for minutes and the audience realized we weren't coming back out. I walked side stage where girls anxiously waited us. I smiled, popping an eyebrow at my chosen woman for the night, and she instantly came to me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and hers hung on my waist. My brothers stopped in the green room with the other girls, but Blondie and I walked to the bus.
"I'm Lindsey," she whispered in my ear before we reached the end of the hallway. I smiled at her and pushed open the exit door. Groupies and fans waited near the bus and as soon as we walked up they rushed it.
"I'll be out in a bit," I said, smiling at them with pearly whites. "My brothers are coming out that door over there. Really soon."
Subject to Change.
Unedited. © 2016 Lyra Parish.
Tonight I would fuck the blonde in the front row who continued to visually rip my clothes off with every little blink she took. Her tits were hanging out of her shirt and she licked her lips and batted her eyes at me. The set was nearing the end and I could feel her gaze. When I looked away and back at her, it was like her eyes had never left me. I liked when a woman knew what she wanted.
Blue and green lights flashed over the stage then washed across the crowd. When we made eye contact again, her tongue traced the outside of her plump bottom lip and at that moment I knew she was DTF. Her being down to fuck made this so much easier but then again, being the lead singer of the Band of Brothers made panties magically melt. I'd be her fantasy for the night. I'm sure there would be many more one night stands considering each show from Florida to New York, all the way to California was sold out.
The drums beat on as I screamed out the next few lyrics. "I won't let the world decide. I'll die before that happens."
The drums stopped and the distortion was cut leaving a melodic strum of Nikolas's guitar.
The lights faded when walked off stage leaving the crowd screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs. Jex, Nic, and Rex had huge smiles covering their faces as they chugged the water the technicians handed us. This would never get old. Moments like this were the ones we lived and worked for. Once the chanting and clapping rose to the maximum volume, the four of us walked back onstage and gave the fans what they wanted, an encore.
Green and yellow lights flashed over the crowd and smoke hovered at the bottom of the stage. We played three more songs. People sang and swayed to the lyrics and music. Some jumped up and down, feeling the full beat of the drums while others banged their heads. The feeling of having thousands of people chanting my words would never become real. More often than not, I felt like I was in a dream, one that I never wanted to wake from.
During the last song, I pointed to the blonde. By the way she was dressed in a tight pink shirt and a skirt that showed the bottom of her ass cheeks, I knew she wanted to be seen. She could have possibly had this night planned from the beginning. Randomly, I chose a few others from the crowd to join us, to dance in front of our audience, to feel the temporary power. It was something I did every show, every tour. It was a habit of sorts.
Security helped the girls climb on the stage and they lifted their arms and shook their asses. Before the song ended, the technicians led the girls' side stage as cannons of small fireworks shot from the floor. After the final song, my brothers and played the crowd and threw drumsticks and guitar picks. The yelling didn't stop for minutes and the audience realized we weren't coming back out. I walked side stage where girls anxiously waited us. I smiled, popping an eyebrow at my chosen woman for the night, and she instantly came to me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and hers hung on my waist. My brothers stopped in the green room with the other girls, but Blondie and I walked to the bus.
"I'm Lindsey," she whispered in my ear before we reached the end of the hallway. I smiled at her and pushed open the exit door. Groupies and fans waited near the bus and as soon as we walked up they rushed it.
"I'll be out in a bit," I said, smiling at them with pearly whites. "My brothers are coming out that door over there. Really soon."
I hated to out their exit strategy, but I wanted to take my time burying my dick deep inside Misty or Christy or whatever the fuck her name was. It didn't matter. Names never did.
Author Bio
Lyra Parish loves to write, glamp, and sing obnoxiously loud at the top of her lungs in the shower. Sweet love stories (along with the dirty ones) make her gush. She is a firm believer that a person can never have too many cups of coffee, cats, or happily ever afters. When she isn't busy writing, she can be found sipping various beverages from her non-alcoholic drink buffet, pimp slapping excel spreadsheets, or riding her bike. Lyra lives in Texas with her glassblowing, guitar-playing hubby and black cat named Nibbler.
Author Links
Giveaway
*** Upper New Adult Spinoff Standalone to the USA Today Bestselling Novel, Under the Influence***
“Shhhh, Cassandra, it’s our little secret.”
Secrets are stubborn things when they refuse to remain hidden. They tear through your soul, clawing and lashing until the pain becomes so unbearable, you’re left no choice but to silently scream your agony. No one hears you, of course. You smile on the outside and drift through life as though your mind is at peace, but all the while, you remain your own tortured prisoner. Sealed inside the darkened, soundproof room of your conscience, deafening cries echo as you plead for someone to unlock the door and release you from your nightmares. And eventually, when no one comes, you find ways to cope. To dull the suffering the only way you know how.
But what happens when you’ve become so numb, when everything around you has become so blurred, that you begin to lose focus on the saving grace standing directly in front of you? When you’ve anesthetized yourself to the point of losing consciousness, forced to watch as his once solid image fades away, lost to your reach in the haze as it smothers you?
What do you do then?
You fight. You heal. Then you bring him back.
Well, my name is Cassie Cooper, and it’s time.
No more secrets.
This is my story.
***WARNING - The subject matter of this novel centers around the psychological effects due to sexual abuse experienced during childhood. For this reason, as well as sexual situations, language, and adult themes, suggested reading age is 17+.***
Only twenty-three years old, and I’m so goddamn tired.
I used to be so much stronger. I somehow kept the voices at bay, the memories locked away safely, contained within the confines of my mind. But with each passing day, I feel the glow of my once-luminous strength fading. Darkness encases me now, bowing the walls of protection I put into place years ago. My past is an ever-present nightmare, repeatedly tapping, slowly fracturing the window of my sanity.
I have no doubt that it’s only a matter of time before the glass finally breaks. Blackness will eventually seep through its cracks and deliver me from the safety of my façade into a reality that will destroy me.
My reality.
I’ve done my part. I’ve kept the secrets thrust upon me with dedicated believability. My portrayal of who I am has become a blurred, hazy version of the once very distinct Cassie Cooper.
I read an ungodly amount of trashy romance novels.
I’m the overtly sexual and foul-mouthed friend who will say anything to get a laugh.
And I have exactly zero fucks to give to what anyone else thinks about my actions.
But the reality, the actuality, is this:
I read obsessively to escape my own world. To live the dreams of others when, for so long, the reoccurrence of my nightmares has been my reality. I read to fall in love and find a happily ever after, even if it is purely imagined. With each story I read, I’m able to live and love vicariously through the characters in my books. It’s the only plausible way for me to survive.
I threw away my virginity at the age of thirteen just to prove something. And when I found that proof, that vindication I was looking for, I sought it every chance I could. Sex is about control for me. Nothing more. The act will never be about making love, like it is for the heroines in my books. I will never be granted the beauty of that gift.
I use humor as a form of avoidance. I draw upon laughter to block the pain. And I smile to mask the agony of the eight-year-old soul who weeps within me.
And the fucks . . . well, that’s not entirely accurate either.
I have given two to be exact: One to my best friend of seventeen years. She knows nothing of my past, and although she so willingly disclosed the horrors of hers, mine remains hidden for no other reason than to avoid the pity she would undoubtedly cast my way if I were to ever tell her. I don’t want her pity. I would sooner die than have her look at me in any other way than with pride.
The other died with the person to whom it was given. Anthony “Rat” Marchione. He was my one allowance of naïveté. The one person I actually wanted to touch me, to hold me, to love me. He was going to rescue me from my brokenness as though I were a character in one of my books. Young and senseless, I thought he was to be my eventual happily ever after, but tragically, he was murdered five years ago.
Black coldness waits in vain to leech the void where his once beautiful existence filled the pieces of my irrevocably shattered heart. Where he temporarily healed the hurt of the innocent child and quieted the voices that tormented her.
He’s gone now. I’ve accepted that. And in turn, I have relinquished all dreams associated with finding the light at the end of this miserable tunnel.
I will keep trudging through this life . . . this sentence handed to me for someone else’s crime, my payment shackled by secrets and weighted with lies. I will continue to do so with the same fraudulent smile on my lips and play the part of the strong heroine so convincingly, that even I believe it.
It’s only a matter of time before my fictional strength wears out—when I’m no longer hidden safely inside my protective blur—and I have to face the very real and lucid image of my past.
But until that time comes, I’ll do all I can do.
All I have ever done.
I will pretend.
