I LOVE me some O'Connell and company! These Irish and English boxers are smoking hot romantics with hearts. Be warned, this series will cause swooning!
I mean, check out these covers - holy hotness! And this excerpt:
It never occurred to me that mail was something to fear.
Not until the day I came home and found Em sat on the floor, her arms wrapped
around her knees, and a ripped open white envelope on the bed behind her.
“Sunshine,
what’s wrong?” I asked. She swallowed hard and sniffed a few times like she was
trying to hold back tears long enough to talk to me. I reached for the
envelope, thinking it would give me some clue as to why she was so clearly
freaked out.
“Don’t,”
Em croaked. “Please,” she added pleadingly. I knew then, as a tear rolled down
her cheek, that whatever was inside had to be bad. Contained within a folded
sheet of plain white paper were about a dozen or so photos. They were different
sizes and all taken at different times, but Em was in every one of them. The
earliest photo was of a smiling happy nine year old. Just a normal kid out
riding her bike. When the next one showed the same kid, fast asleep in her bed,
I felt sick to my fucking stomach. The older that Em was in the pictures, the more
invasive they became and none of them looked like they were taken with her
knowledge. The last photo was really grainy, like it had been through a window
maybe, or within a really bad camera, but it showed in intimate detail, her
frail, bruised body taking a shower.
“Mother
fucker,” I yelled, wanting to fucking hit something. Anything. I grabbed the
envelope looking for some clue who’d sent it, like I didn’t fucking know. Frank
was still in prison, pending trial, so someone on the outside must have sent
this for him. The postmark on the envelope read London, which didn’t tell me
much. The knuckles on Em’s hand were white where she gripping hold of her legs
so hard.
“Shit
love. You okay?” I said, hating that she looked so fucking scared. She nodded
unconvincingly, but didn’t answer. I gathered up the pictures and stuffed them
back into the envelope, not wanting her to see them anymore, but I knew we’d
need to give them to police as evidence. The idea of her being on display like
that to the police and the prosecution lawyers was as bad as knowing what she’d
been through. Sitting down next to her, I wrapped my arm around her tiny body
and pulled her into my chest. She was stiff as a board and shaking slightly.
Rubbing up and down her arms, trying to get her warm I waited for her to talk
to me. That was the way of it sometimes with Sunshine. She needed to think shit
over before she could get it off her chest.
“I
didn’t know about any of them. He’s been taking pictures of me for years. How
could I not know? How could I let that happen?” she asked me.
“You
didn’t let anything happen. He’s a
violent, abusive rapist who’s sick in the fucking head. He did what he did
because he’s a fucking whack job. Nothing you said or did gave him permission
to do this.” I could see by her face that the pictures shamed her. Fuck that. There
wasn’t a single fucking thing for her to be ashamed of.
“It was
bad enough dealing with what happened, but he could have hundreds of these
pictures and God only knows what he does with them. As if that’s not bad enough
he knows where we live. Even in prison he can get to me. I’ll never be free of
him will I?”
“Sunshine,
even if it means killing him, I swear he will never touch you again. This is
just a sign of desperation. In a few more months he’ll be too concerned about
how to pick up the soap in the shower without getting arse raped to worry about
getting you back. He’s going away for a very long time and there’s fuck all he
can do about it. This kind of shit just gives the barristers more ammunition
against him.” I did my best to reassure her, but as I was as freaked out as she
was. The fact that he could get hold of the pictures and post them from prison
had me worried about what else he could do from the inside.
She
wiped her eyes and leant across to give me a quick kiss.
“You’re
right,” she told me. “A few more months and this will all be over.” It had to be, because I hadn’t been
exaggerating. If Frank came after her again, I’d kill to keep her safe.
O'Connell. Sigh. If you haven't read The Hurricane you seriously need to do so now. It's heartbreaking, romantic and full of awesome. I'll post my review of The Aftermath soon, but let me tell you - My heart can't take it. All the feels. I mean ALL the feels.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Title: The Aftermath
Author: R.J. Prescott
Series: The Hurricane, #2
On Sale: August 2, 2016
Publisher: Forever
Formats: Trade Paperback &
eBook
Price: $14.99 USD (TP) / $3.99 USD
(eBook)
Now available in Trade Paperback!
Cormac "The Hurricane"
O'Connell's star is on the rise. Billed as the most promising young boxer of
his generation, his new career is taking him to places he never dreamed. But
O'Connell only needs one thing in life: his wife.
In her final year of college, Em
cannot follow him around the world but together they make it work. Just when
everything they ever wanted is on the horizon, the past resurfaces to haunt
them, and O'Connell realizes that justice might not be a part of his happy ever
after. He couldn't protect Em once before, but in the aftermath of the
hurricane, he will make sure that never happens again.
THE HURRICANE SERIES
The Hurricane, #1
The Aftermath, #2
BUY THE BOOK HERE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author R.J.
Prescott was born in Cardiff, South Wales, and studied law at the University of
Bristol, England. Four weeks before graduation she fell in love, and stayed.
Ten years later, she convinced her crazy, wonderful firefighter husband to move
back to Cardiff where they now live with their two equally crazy sons.
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