This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. J. A. Jackson will be awarding a $15 Amazon GC + 8 kindle versions of the book to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Read an Excerpt
Blame it on the drugs…
Ever since that night Cupcake had promised Allen, she’d help him, she regretted making him that promise. She’d also started to have a sense that something was basically wrong with Allen. She couldn’t believe he summoned her to meet him at this place.
A cloud of Chanel perfume floated on the air just as a woman walked up to Cupcake and placed her hand on her arm. “Welcome to my home,” she said, in a syrupy country drawl.
It took effort to conceal the shock of seeing Devine Corea. She was the daughter of a famous local sweet-talking criminal, Stanley Core, who was nicknamed “Stan, the main man,” her father had a reputation on the Southside of Chicago.The story went that her father had discovered that he had mistakenly sweet talked the fifteen-year-old virgin daughter of a brothel into bed with him? The girl had only been in the brothel to pick up the cash receipts. When she failed to bring them back to her father. He had sent out a searcher for her who had discovered the girl in bed with Stanley Corea. In that heated moment, Stanley was persuaded to marry Devine’s mother. Now standing in front of Cupcake was the offspring of that union.
Cupcake considered the woman standing in front of her. She knew her well. Devine was territorial. She ruled the Southside of Chicago when it came to gambling, prostitution and doing favors for powerful people. Devine was famous for the taking care of private matters. One thing about the women who worked for Devine. They were all considered a class act, and all were over eighteen. It was said you couldn’t work for Devine if you couldn’t produce your birth certificate to prove your age. Cupcake was glad she wasn’t into that career choice. Lap dancing and stripping but she wasn’t into selling her ass. She cleared her throat thankful for her career choices and said. “Hi Devine. I’m supposed to meet Allen here.”
Devine’s face lit up with an evil, conniving grin. “Yes, I know. When I heard, you were at the front door, I had to come greet you personally, Cupcake. I’d love to have you come dance for my guest, someday, soon.”
Devine’s house wasn’t a home, but a nightclub slashed drug-den, slashed house of prostitution. Anything you wanted could be brought there. If you had the money.
About the Author:
J.A. Jackson is the pseudonym for an author, who loves to write deliciously sultry adult romantic, suspenseful, entertaining novels with a unique twist. She lives in an enchanted little house she calls home in the Northern California foothills.
She spent over ten years working in the non-profit sector where she wrote grants, press releases and contributed many stories to their newsletter. She was their Newsletter editor for over ten years. She loves growing roses, a good pot of hot tea, chocolate, magical stories, suspense stories, ghost stories, and reading Jane Austen again and again in her past time.
Email Address: firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com
Contact: Jerreece A. Jackson Author Pseudonym: J. A. Jackson
P.O. Box 1494
Clovis, CA 93613
Author Central: https://www.amazon.com/author/jajackson
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B082CVSJVD
Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B082CVSJVD
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B082CVSJVD
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