Friday, March 27, 2015

Blitz: Exiled by Lana Grayson

Exiled by Lana Grayson 
(Anathema #2) 
Publication date: March 19, 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Suspense




The only thing more sacred than the Anathema MC is the vengeance of a wronged man…


Exiled from the Anathema MC, Brew Darnell escaped the bullet only to face the unforgiving solitude of the road. With no future before him, Brew battles his past and vows to protect the one he loves the only way he can—by hunting the man who destroyed his family, devastated the Anathema MC, and betrayed every promise he ever made.


Trapped in an abusive relationship with a sadistic biker, Martini Wright learned to manipulate, controlling her boyfriend’s temper with a wink and a smile until she’s traded as collateral to a rival MC. Her captor, Brew, has never trafficked a woman before, and Martini intends to exploit his guilty secrets to escape. Caught in the middle of a gang war, Brew and Martini fight a dangerous attraction—a second chance to heal from the mistakes of their past if they can confess the terrible truth.


Brew failed his family before, but Martini can still be saved. With redemption delivered at the edge of a blade, Brew must choose who to rescue—the one he already lost…or the love he never deserved.


A woman sat on my bike.
It was the most dangerous place in the world for her.
Had a man trespassed, he’d be laid out on the concrete cradling a broken nose and counting the teeth scattered on the pavement.
But the blonde leaning against the handlebars gave me a fucking smirk. The kind of look that gripped a man by his jeans and twisted until he handed over his wallet or fell in love. She mugged with a smile, charmed with a twirl of her hair, and saved her perfect ass from my temper with an arching eyebrow.
She was the type of pretty worth a night of regret, but I knew better. Pretty was about as good for my bike as a ride on dry gravel. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder.
She spoke first.
Disarmed, and she didn’t even throw a punch. The leather jacket tailor-fit her frame, snug against a thin waist and swelling hips that promised endless trouble. Her boots had heels, probably to pin down the men who fell for her siren song. Her jacket wasn’t zipped, but a pink, silk scarf tied over her neck and obscured the cleavage from her plunging neckline.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in three thousand miles and thirty-eight years.
And she sat on my bike.
“Get off.”
I counted the seconds her silver eyes dared to meet mine. She glanced down, batting her thick lashes as she studied the ground with a bite to her lip and another squeeze on my jeans.
How fucking old was she? College probably, though I doubted many people in the coal mining town saved their pennies for higher education.
“I can’t get up.” Her lips puffed into a perfect pout.
She didn’t want to play this game with me.
“It’s real easy, Darling. Stand up. Get the hell off my bike.”
“I told you. I can’t.”
Those silver eyes pierced my patience, daring me to haul her over my shoulder. I considered it. She thought she could tease without consequence, thought she’d handle how I punished little flirty girls for playing a game they’d never win. She crossed her ankles and settled in. Defiant.
I hardened.
And I hated myself for it.
“Get off the damn bike.”
“They’re waiting for you inside the garage.” The woman teased me with a glance over my leather. “I won’t let anyone touch your ride.”
A scratch to the paint would be nothing compared to the bruise on her ass.


I regretted stumbling off the motorcycle. I lost my formidable seat of power, my only defense against the man who protected his bike like it was his only possession.
Noir was a large man. His shadow darkened me in his strength, his brawn learned on the streets, built and strengthened for necessity, not vanity. He dressed in riding leathers. Head to toe. Leather jacket, gloves, belt, pants. Some men wore it to look formidable, a declaration of their toughness and an invitation for trouble. Noir didn’t need to threaten.
His very presence menaced. His eyes burned an intense and furious shadow. He searched the parking lot for threats and looked at me like a problem to be hauled away.
I had no idea what happened to this man to make his eyes so hard, his squared jaw so practiced with grimace, and his body taut with unspoken violence. It might have once enticed me. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
This man was danger—a desperate beast lurking in the shadows of a pride he once ruled. He regretted his every breath and coiled for a battle life hadn’t yet offered. No road was long enough for him to outrun the chasing demons, but his bike delivered him beyond the sins quaking in his wake.
He was the same kind of mistake I made again and again.
Except this time I wasn’t teasing to get on his bike. This time, I had no choice but to greet the monster who’d command my next hundred and fifty miles. He thought he’d be the dangerous one.
He had no idea what he was getting us into.
My stomach clenched as he approached. His expression hardened like steel, and the sparks of his impatience scorched every part of me.
“Get on the bike.”


He didn’t kiss me. Our desperation wasn’t the soft brush of lip against trembling lip.
He mauled me. Brew seized my mouth with such brutal and unforgivable possession I moaned against his power and prayed the teeth he bared were only a threat and not the promise of a vicious bite. Like a fool, I offered my neck anyway. The dangerous thrill shivered me from my head to my toes and sliced through every delicate place in between.
My back struck the wall again. I had leaned too far into the kiss, presuming too much and attempting to return his touch. His grip tightened, but he didn’t hurt. He needed only one arm to keep me still. The second pinned me for his own thrill.
His lips tore over mine. He tasted my every gasping shudder. I had no air to call his name. He didn’t care. His body pressed into me. His wasn’t a lover’s touch but a force of sheer muscle and size that served only to remind me of my precarious situation.
I tempted a man teetering on a blade’s edge of violence and regret.
One slip of his arm and he’d break my neck.
One murmur of pain from me, and I’d be the bullet that finally fired into his brain.
Temple hunted him, Kingdom stalked us both, but it was our fevered, frantic kiss that threatened our lives.
Every repressed ounce of our control crumbled away as his tongue ravished mine.
His growl excited me. His touch thrilled me. His punishing, crippling grip hauled me from the wall and threw me onto the bed.
He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t give me the opportunity to escape. His lips crushed me once more, and his aggressive weight pinned me under someone bigger, stronger, and in absolute control. I didn’t know whether to hope for mercy or grip the blankets and just hang on.
He was everything I ever wanted, and that made him the most dangerous man in the world.


Lana Grayson was born to write romance. Her favorite genres range from the dark and twisty to the lighthearted and sentimental—as long as the characters are memorable, the story is fun, and the romance is steamy. Lana lives in Pittsburgh with her husband, and, when she isn’t bundled in her writing chair, she’s most likely cheering on the Steelers or searching for the ‘Burgh’s best Italian restaurants.

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