Book Promotions by Literary Nook
Author Bio -
Kenya Wright always knew she would be famous since the ripe old age of six when she sang the Michael Jackson thriller song in her bathroom mirror. She has tried her hand at many things from enlisting in the Navy for six years as a Persian-Farsi linguist to being a nude model at an art university.
However, writing has been the only constant love in her life. Will she succeed? Of course.
For she has been coined The Urban Fantasy Queen, the Super Iconic Writer of this Age, The Lyrical Genius of Our Generation. Granted, these are all terms coined by her, within the private walls of her bathroom as she still sings the Michael Jackson thriller song.Kenya Wright currently resides in Miami with her three amazing, overactive children, a supportive, gorgeous husband, and three cool black cats that refuse to stop sleeping on Kenya’s head at night.
On the first day of her nude modeling job, Elle deals with a corpse, an eccentric dark artist, his sexy brother, and a grandmother that can see someone's future by just touching their hands. Although these crazy distractions shove her on edge, it's just what she needs to mend her battered heart and forget about her ex-boyfriend. Besides, she does get to live in their castle for the whole three months.
Everything seems magical and perfect. Until more dead bodies are discovered.
There's something going on at night, right in the artist's garden. Under the moonlight, young women are being cut and sliced, and no one has a clue to who's doing it. And the more she's around the weird family in the castle, the more she realizes that they all are hiding secrets.
"Can I take you upstairs to my room?" he whispered. As if to not give me too much time to think about it, he assaulted me with sweet and long sugary kisses all over the tops of my cleavage. My nipples pebbled at his attention. My breasts begged to be released right there on the dance floor in front of everyone.
"Come with me." He clutched my behind some more. "God, I’ve got to have you tonight. Please."
But before I could answer, someone screamed.
It wasn’t the type of shrill sound that one could hear at a party where someone let out a loud yell of enjoyment. It wasn’t a cry of excitement. It sounded like fear. The noise cut through the air and delivered cold shivers up my spine.
The person screamed again.
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