Wednesday, January 13, 2016

REIGN { excerpt reveal } by M.N. Forgy


M.N. Forgy, LLC | January 27, 2016 | Romantic Suspense
Sin City Outlaws, book 1

TOUR HOST: TRSOR

As the president of the Sin City Outlaw Motorcycle Club, I fuck as hard as I ride and rarely go to bed alone. 

The women are fast and the violence is intense. 

I excel in both.

People either respect me or fear me. I'm not arrogant. It’s just the truth.

I was a king, reigning over Vegas without complication, until one gorgeous sheriff made everything fall apart. 

When I saw her, I became a Neanderthal, wanting nothing more than to be between those legs. 

I guess that’s where I went wrong, because my reality was shot to hell real fucking fast.

One kiss caused her to step over that blue line.

One night in her bed made me a traitor.

And now… we’re both screwed.
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{ about m.n. forgy } .



M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She's a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn't live with the "what if" anymore and finally took a chance on her character's story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.





{ excerpt } .

“Fuck you, Zeek! I am an officer of the law, and you!” I point at him, words starting to slur. “You’re a criminal, one everyone around here seems to pussyfoot around—”

“Everyone except you,” he interrupts. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he whispers, his head leaning back, eyes gleaming down at me. His question is laced with so many emotions, and I'm not sure how to answer.

Truth is, I am afraid of Zeek. I'm afraid of him for so many reasons.

“Who says I’m not? You’re a bad guy, Zeek,” I mutter. Citizens and law enforcement are conditioned to fear him, what he represents.
He steps forward, his hands slipping into his jeans pockets.

“I could be a good guy,” he whispers, looking at me as if he’s trying to tell me something.



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