Mishawn

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me. Whoever coined that phrase is a bald-faced liar. Words are often the sharpest weapon of all, triggering some of the most powerful emotions a human can experience. "You're pregnant." "It's a boy." "Your son needs a heart transplant." Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me. Lies. Syllables and letters may not be tangible, but they can still destroy your entire life faster than a bullet from a gun.

Author Olivia Rossi hasn’t been able to write a word since tragedy struck two years ago and ripped her world apart. Heartbroken and still haunted by the past, she accepts an offer to spend the summer at a friend’s apartment in Paris in search of healing and her lost muse. What she finds instead is James, an enigmatic stranger who ignites in her an unexpected and all-consuming passion. Agreeing to tell each other nothing more than their first names, Olivia and James embark on a torrid affair.

He's empty, inhuman, dishonest, and cruel. She's never wanted anyone more. Sydney has lived in fear for eight years after freelance assassin, Merc, failed to rescue her from a cult-like militia group. Left in the hands of a sadistic man, she did whatever it took to survive. But Merc's last words gave her hope. Hope he'd be back to finish the job. After Merc is betrayed by her father, Sydney becomes his target. He wields sex, drugs, lies, and love like weapons.

When the director of a local mental health hospital is found murdered and mutilated, Homicide Detective Reed Davies is first on scene. What was done to the body is gruesome. Inexplicable. But Reed is dealt another curveball when he finds that the doctor who discovered the victim is someone Reed is intimately familiar with - a woman with whom he shared one passionate night weeks before. Dr. Elizabeth Nolan is somehow tangled up in the crime, and even while Reed must now question her possible involvement, he can’t help being drawn to the beautiful, enigmatic woman.

Cleary, North Carolina, is a sleepy mountain town, the kind of place where criminal activity is usually limited to parking violations. Not so, lately. Four women have disappeared from Cleary over the past two years. And there's always a blue ribbon left near the spot where each of the women was last seen. There are no bodies, no other clues, and no suspicion as to who their abductor might be. And now, another woman has disappeared without a trace.

I first met Tristan Miles at a meeting where he was trying to take over my late husband’s company. He was powerful, arrogant, and infuriatingly gorgeous, and I hated him with every cell in my body. In the shock of the century, he called me three days later and asked me on a date. I would rather die than date a man like him - though I do have to admit it was good for the ego. Turning him down was the highlight of my year.

I had a plan to escape the friend zone. Step one: sneak into Reed’s room. Step two: sleep with him. But when the lights turned on, it wasn’t familiar blue eyes I saw. These were dark, angry, and full of demons. And they belonged to Reed’s much-older brother. Four years later, Nash Prescott is no longer the help’s angry son. I’m no longer the town’s prized princess. At 22, I’m broke, in need of a job. At 32, he’s a billionaire, in need of revenge.

After going through pregnancy at her side, listening to all the mumbo-jumbo jargon strangers in white coats spewed at me, just to have my woman do the exact opposite the minute we left their office - I decided to help my fellow man. In a language we actually speak. If you've got a Baby Mama, pick up this short, simple guide and thank me later.

I swore I would never work at the whiskey distillery with my last name on it, that I would never be a part of my father's legacy. But when I graduated with my art degree and realized there were no jobs, the devil appeared, and I sold my soul, agreeing to work in the family business if he'd give me the art studio I'd always dreamed of.

I haven’t been feeling like myself lately, whoever that is. I haven’t felt like Parker for a long while. There are these moments where I'm terrified of the dark thoughts that plague me, the haunting memories of bright white light followed by excruciating pain. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’d lived a different life. In another realm filled with magic and prophecies. It can't be real. My delusions are what put me in the mental institution in the first place. Still, I can't shake the thought that there's something I'm missing.