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Married to the Mob Book 1
BY K C KLEIN
5 stars “WOW!”
5 stars “Unputdownable!!!!!!! Mesmerizing!!!!!!!!”
Love is complicated…so is the mob.
My life could be every episode of Cops. Kicked out of the trailer by my stripper mother with an angry drug dealer hot on my trail. I’m outta gas and outta money and stuck in a crap-hole bar too close to the Mexican border.
Yeah, nothing could go wrong with this picture.
But I’ve gotta plan–hustle money out of the losers at the pool tables or five-finger discount some fat wallets, and then back on the road before anything else in my life implodes.
Meet Jack. Designer jeans. Bulging wallet. Perfect pick-pocket material. Until I follow him into the men’s bathroom and learn he’s playing his own game.
Dark, dangerous, and involved with the mob, Jack’s everything I hate…and in this family, I’m the weakness he can’t afford to have.
Mi Familia Part I is a full-length contemporary novel from award winning author KC Klein about revenge, survival, and the dark game of love on the wrong side of the law. It’s the first book in the addictive MARRIED TO THE MOB serial.
“KC Klein is an author to watch.” Rachel Gibson, New York Times Best Selling Author
“…twists and mysteries that kept me riveted…”
“The storyline instantly lures me in like a snake charmer that sends me straight to the edge of my seat…”
“Absolutely loved it!’!!!!!!”
Hello lovely readers,
I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to Karen for having me back on the Karen’s Killer Book Bench. I’m glad to be here, and I’m excited to share my new book, Mi Familia: A New Adult Mafia Romance, with you.
But before I share the excerpt, I want to acknowledge that the whole world is going through a dark time with the corona virus. All of us on some level have been affected. And if you or someone you love is battling with this illness or if you’ve lost a loved one, I want to express my sincere condolences.
I’m not on the front lines of this fight and there are times when I feel helpless, but I also know that writing stories that allow people to escape, if even for just one hour, is huge. If everyone does his or her part, we can get through this.
I also want to do a giveaway for a free ebook of Mi Familia to a commenting reader. Please feel free to share and comment. I promise I’ll respond back.
Stay home if you can and stay safe always.
It isn’t until I finally get into my zone and start pocketing some balls when Designer Jean dude gets up and heads to the bathroom. Freaking nice timing. Even knowing I’ve won this round, I make the decision before the nine ball finds its way into the side pocket. There’s a light round of applause as the table is cleared. Something I’m sure Emilio hates.
I walk over and drain the last of the ice in my glass, and then mumble something about needing to use the restroom.
Perfect scenario or not, risky mark or not, Emilio only has to win one more game, and I’m not willing to chance it. I need that money, and I’m out of options.
I follow those loose-fitting jeans with that beautiful bulging back pocket to the men’s room.
Time to shop.
I breathe a little easier as I notice he’s unsteady on his feet. His movements are thick and a tad exaggerated. He’s been downing shots like a man with something to prove, but even if he isn’t drunk, I’m not too concerned. Dude’s a flake. To sit with your back to an exit. To wear your wallet in your back pocket. To hang out with this crowd and not have a gun, or at least not one I can see. The dude’s basically asking for it. I figure, if I don’t lift his wallet then someone else will just come along and do the job for me.
I count to ten outside the door, and then follow him inside, head down, shoulders slouched.
He’s already doing his business, middle urinal with his back to me.
I work fast. I walk past him, doing the perfect cross-body bump. The one that always draws the attention to the opposite pocket of the one I want inside of. “Sorry, dude,” I slur, pounding him on his left shoulder while my middle and ring finger graze the soft leather.
The execution is perfect—right angle, ideal amount of force, on point attention diversion.
I don’t know what happens. One moment I have my fingers on the corner of his wallet, and the next my wrist is up high behind my shoulder blades, face smashed against the bathroom wall.
“You steal from me, I break your arm.” His voice is low and gravelly in my ear and coming from somewhere deep in his chest. A chest that is plastered hard against my back. And that’s not the only thing hard—there’s some six-pack abs to go along with that broad chest. Designer Jeans isn’t as soft as I expected underneath all those expensive clothes.
I’m up on my tiptoes, doing everything I can to prevent him from following through on his threat. “Wait…wait…no…I’m sorry, mister. I just fell.”
“Stop the act.” He shoves my arm higher this time, and I really believe he’ll break it. If he does, I’m through. No way I can support myself, hustling pool or lifting wallets, with a broken arm.
“I’m sorry, mister, please don’t hurt me.” I use my pathetic whiny voice which isn’t much of a stretch. I’m feeling pretty whiny and pathetic right now. “It’s for my baby sister. My mom’s up and left, and I need money for food. I don’t mean anything by it.”
The silence is heavy and mixes with the scent of bleach and urine as I become overly aware of the coolness of the tiles and how the grout is rough against my cheek, waiting to see if he buys my story.
A laugh. Deep and harsh, and a puff of warm air brushes my ear. “Good story. How many times has that one worked? FYI, use diapers next time instead. It’s more specific.”
The pain in my arm lessens, but not his grip. I’m still pinned, but he hasn’t started to beat me to a pulp yet, so that’s a plus.
“Have you been working this bar all night? Do you have anyone else’s wallet?”
“What? No.” I say, pushing back. Will this dude ever get off me?
“Is that why you’re trying to hustle my brother? You looking to get his wallet also?”
Brother? Creepy Bathroom Dude is his brother? I haven’t picked up on that either.
“You picked the wrong guy,” Jean Dude continues. “He’s as good as he says he is when it comes to pool.”
“No,” I say, but that doesn’t stop him from patting me down. “No. Stop.” I struggle, but it’s too late. A few pats to my behind, then a “What the…” A hard cup to my breast and my cover is blown.
He releases me and steps back. “You’re not a guy.”
I turn to face him, rubbing my wrist while realizing my entire night’s work is wasted because this joker is playing his own game. “And you’re not drunk,” I fire back. “Guess we’re both liars.”
KC Klein is award winning dystopian and sci-fi romance author. A Reader’s Choice award, Prism award, and a two time prestigious RONE award winner, KC has published over thirteen books, both as an indie author, and with major New York publishing houses like Harper Collins and Kensington. She’s been represented by both Nancy Yost Literary Agency and the Marsal Lyon Agency. She lives in sunny Arizona with one overly-indulgent husband, two sarcastic teenage daughters, and three very spoiled dogs.
KC loves to hear from readers and can be found desperately pounding away on her laptop in yoga pants and leopard slippers or more conveniently at www.kckleinbooks.com. Join her Rock Star Facebook Fan Group for updates on her latest releases, sales, and ARC giveaways.
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