Saturday, September 17, 2016



Imani Cartwright left the rough world of her childhood in Virginia almost a decade ago. Among the broken pieces she abandoned were her best friend, Monica, and the ruined young man that swore he would love her forever, Roman O'Malley. Her brother, Tyreke, a passionate advocate who turns to the UFC to save their neighborhood, can't forgive her for leaving. 

She hasn't spoken to anyone back home but her mother for over a year when the phone finally rings, and suddenly the rift between the past and her new life has grown too wide for anyone to cross... But Death. 

When her brother is murdered Imani has no one but old friends and enemies to turn to. Did Roman O'Malley, UFC Prize-Fighter and her brother's former best friend, kill Tyreke? What happened to Monica, the sweet young girl who was Imani's best friend? And if they're innocent, then who killed Ty? 

A Galaxy of Scars spans a decade, an epic love, and contains rough language and adult sexuality and situations. It is meant for mature audiences. 

Genre: literary fiction, interracial/multicultural romance featuring BWWM pairing, suspense 
Length: 123,533 words







Grief has a sound.
In the beginning, it masquerades as an absence--the silent eye of the hurricane, the hushed rattle of bone beneath skin.  Time passes, grief waits.  It reveals itself slowly, uncoiling from the center: an insidious constant creeping below the noise and tension of our simple lives, a stain on the edges of everything.
In the end, it is deafening.
When I was a little girl, my brother and I would hang upside down on the swings next to one another; we would hold hands and try to swing the other back and forth while our heads filled with blood and we got dizzy and tired from laughing and flailing.  When the first one fell down in the hot sand, the other would quickly tumble after in fleeting victory.  And then the blood would deploy to all the other waiting stations in the body--a flood downward that screamed by our eardrums like a river just out of sight, rushing and pulsating past, invisible.  Our voices grew louder as we tried to talk over it, our eyes swimming with the overwhelmed innocence of children as we were deafened by the sudden rush of our own thundering blood.

         Grief sounds like that: a great nothing that overwhelms everything.


Raunchy heretic and romance writer that dabbles in anything sultry, shiny, sexy, sin-bent or soulful. Her blog and twitter are the best places to catch ramblings about upcoming books, feminism, horror movies, and the many and varied reasons why Canada is sexy.
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