The hero isn't always the good guy, or girl.

This is the cover concept for Biker Queen. Isn’t it pretty?

A few comments about the cover.

First, notice the “Nomad” patch. This is Fin’s status in the Destroyers MC at the beginning of the book. Roughly, I’m setting this story way across the country from the Maryland and Pennsylvania chapters you know and love.

Second, color. Purple, repeated in the text, necklace, and in the roses in the background.

Third and HUGE SPOILER: I picked roses for the background because, while Fin and Betty Jo are much older than their parallel counterparts, the story is very much a Romeo and Juliet re-telling, with an HEA ending, not that whole tragic one. You know Betty Jo and Fin survive, they have to… right?

Oh and may I just say, this goregous model is a goddess. She is close to how I envisioned Betty Jo. However, please understand, I had to compromise a little on hairstyle and makeup. (Pinterest collection is here.)

Excerpt from “Biker Queen”

My cousin, Theo, was a certified idiot. Just because he didn’t have a piece of paper claiming the authenticity of his stupidity, his rap sheet should have sufficed. Then again, he wasn’t doing anything our family hadn’t done for decades, starting with my grandpa, sliding down the branch to his kids, including my pa, and right over to Theo, or “Bear” as he was known to his biker brothers.

Luckily, my pa had some sense and steered clear of being a full member to the club. Instead he was their mechanic, and a damn good one.

That meant our house connected to his repair shop was a second clubhouse where every Theo, and hairy Dick stopped by to drink our beer and fuck with me.

At sixteen, I thought it cute and romanticized one day marrying a biker.\

Knocked up at seventeen wasn’t in my plans.

Neither was getting hitched.

I’ll skirt by the whole not being a mom thing, if you don’t mind. It was bad enough I gained over a hundred pounds from gestational diabetes but losing about five years to being broken apart over and over again was none of anyone’s business. Thank you, and moving on.

When I was twenty-seven, I lost three-hundred and ten pounds.

Too bad two-eighty of it was in dick form. Or, on second thought, that was a blessing. He was a lying, cheating bastard had the nerve to knock up not one, but TWO of the club whores during our marriage.

Which circled right back around to the reason Theo was a certified idiot. He didn’t have the good sense God gave him to keep his fucking trap shut about how my ex, one Roger “Road King” Nelson, was getting hitched to his going-to-be next baby momma.

I sipped my tea and contemplated murder.

“She’s got big tits, too. Did I tell you that?” Theo made the motions around his own man-boobs. He’d been going on for at least twenty minutes singing the praises of Jennifer, I’d blocked her last name, who was twenty, blonde, perfectly cute, and had big tits. If I didn’t know better, I’d call bullshit on Theo, dreaming up a Barbie doll instead of a real woman. But then again, Jennifer’s description matched the last two women rogering Roger knocked up.

This one wasn’t a bike bunny though, and this time, old Roger was single.