Wherever It Leads(106)

Candy Collins (The Locke Librarian) and Brandy Castenada took my plea for help late one night and answered. Thank you both for giving me information I needed; you made such a different in the final product of this book. I appreciate your kindness.

Speaking of kindness, thank you to Stephanie Gibson, Dawn Costiera, Karen McVino, Kiki Amit, Robin Bruce, Jen Lynn, Serena McDonald, Robin Keck, Lisa Gandy, Jade Hyland, Lexy Storries, and Chandra Gillig. You make me smile each and every day.

To my peers—SL Scott, Heidi McLaughlin, Staci Hart, Seraphina Donavan, Angie McKeon, K. Langston, Randa Lynn, Olivia Evans, and Brooke Cumberland: Thank you for always being available to answer questions and give advice and, most importantly, for your friendship.

My Facebook group, Books by Adriana Locke, and Goodreads group, All Locked Up, give me more support than I can articulate. Thank you all, each and every one of you, for your participation, excitement, energy, and love. You keep me going.

My eleventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Mitchell, made me a writer. She took my papers and pushed me, encouraged me, and gave me the tools to use later in life. She made such a difference and, although I haven’t talked to her in decades, I’d like to put good karma into the universe for her.

And, of course, my Instagram girls! How could I forget you?

book_ish_life, kinkygirlsbookobsessions, abwobookblog, henrycavillorg, d1mpld1, innergoddess_booklover, ktreister, mixlovesbooks, caramaterowski, 73jem, booksandbandanas, tiffany.the.bibliophile, readsbyrose, thereadingruth, fictionxfreak, lovekellankyle, charliehunnamforever, cozy_dita, jangare, most_beautifulmen, virginiacny, emmbooks, lakel24vr, bookobsessedgirl, rentasticreads, maciereads, ig_kayla, bookangels_, kshadows, heatherlynb1988, jenifrmthebloc, mg_herrera, love50shadesx, bookit18, smuttybooklover

Thank you to the blogs that jumped on board for my release day events and to those that have supported me in the past. You allow me to write and get my words to the world. You are so appreciated.

And, of course, thank YOU. I appreciate you picking up my book and giving it a chance. I’d love to hear what you think! My contact links are on the next page—please find me and let’s chat!

xo,

Addy





USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.

She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket.

Besides cinnamon gummy bears and random quotes, her next favorite thing is chatting with readers. She’d love to hear from you.





Contact Adriana


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Join Books by Adriana Locke for sneak peeks, giveaways, and more: www.facebook.com/groups/booksbyadrianalocke

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Continue on for an excerpt from Sacrifice, as well as the first chapter from Staci Hart’s newest release, Last Call, available now!





Crew

The slush crunches beneath my boots, my breath billowing away from my body.

I bow my head deeper, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt out from under my jacket to cover more of my face. I toggle the paper sack in my other arm, hoping nothing spills out on the wet asphalt. Remnants of the last snow are piled beneath the trees and mound in the shadows of the large apartment complexes looming above.

The neighborhood is alive despite the bitter cold. People sit on the porches of their apartments and duplexes, some toking shit that sure as f*ck isn’t tobacco. Smoke rolls from the chimneys of the few single family houses in the area. Most of them are dilapidated, nearly rotting to the ground.

I grit my teeth.

I hate that they live here.

The apartment comes into view. A wooden chair is placed at the right of the door, a faded red and yellow striped pillow sitting on it. The steps of the porch are piss-poor and I have to sidestep the second one. The right side has a gash splitting the wood and I’m pretty certain if I stepped on it, I would fall through. I grimace and make a note to call her landlord. Piece of shit might not give two f*cks about this place now, but he will.

I’ll make sure of it.

I bang against the door with my knuckle. It is a cold f*cking day, even for Boston at the end of February. It made for a long day unloading cargo at the shipyard. The afternoon warmed a little, but now that the sun is going down, the chill is biting through my Carhartt jacket. I bring my hands to my mouth and rub them together, blowing on them to warm them up.

I knock again, getting impatient. I hear music playing on the other side of the wood, the John Mayer stuff she’s always loved.

A loud commotion, something like a piece of wood smashing something followed by a scream, comes from the apartment next door. Cold and irritated, I turn the handle to give it a flick, thinking the jingle will make her give in and open it. My jaw tenses when it begins to swing free. A chip of paint from the door falls to the tile below.

What the hell is she thinking?

I walk in, brushing the hood off my head and scan the kitchen. The music is playing from her phone on the counter and a pot of something bubbles on the old gas stove. I notice that she’s got a sink full of dishes, which isn’t like her. She’s normally spot-on when it comes to details, taking care of everything she can control. It can be annoying as hell, but I figure it’s some kind of reaction to all the shit she’s not able to control in her life.