The hero is not always the good guy. (or girl) And this anthology, Street Justice, is right up my alley.
In life we come across those that don’t have an honest bone in their body. They take and take, without thinking of anyone but themself. Sometimes, it’s minor, other times it’s major.
Street Justice releases 2/5/2025
They steal from others, money, freedom, their sense of safety or even self, knowing they have the upper hand, knowing that nothing will be done.
Let’s face it, taking someone to court is expensive. The justice system so bogged down and ill-equipped to handle things.
Sometimes, it’s the justice system that’s corrupt… In these cases, it’s easier and more satisfying when we exact our own justice. Sometimes we make a bigger impact with some good old-fashioned Street Justice.
Justice!
Grab your copy of Street Justice today. There are great stories inside, including my all-new Skilletsville short, “Legacy of Smoke” which won’t release solo until the end of the year.
I had so much fun writing this Skilletsville tale with all new characters you haven’t heard much about.
Smoke (Austin “Smoke’em” Vaughn) was Sprout’s best friend growing up. They ran wild until Smoke was sent to prison for attempted manslaughter. Now he’s back and trying to adjust to the “new” Skilletsville where the evil mayor is dead, his best friend is not only RICH but married, and he’s THIS CLOSE to getting his dream of being a full-fledged Destroyer.
But he didn’t count on Poppy Hikialania (Albert) or the entire CRAZY Albert clan. That family doesn’t just have skeletons in their closet, but brutally dismembered corpses.
And for good reason. NO ONE touches Pinner Albert’s daughters. Especially not an ex-con Destroyer prospect.
Smoke has some ‘splaining to do…
Check out the inspiration here.
See the imagery and inspiration for Poppy, Smoke, Lily, and the dream home.
While I knew better than to overdress for the construction site, the day was perfect for my cutest tailored floral crop jacket and pencil skirt. The weather was not cold, which would require pants, and not hot enough that I’d be soaking through the fragile crepe shirt I wore underneath said jacket. And because the pencil skirt dipped just below my kneecaps, my round-toe platform wedges were the only option because someone once said their shape elongated my stumpy legs.
(excerpt from Legacy of Smoke by Calia Wilde)
October in Pennsylvania was a crap shoot. Rain, heat, cold — you never knew when it would be beautiful. Therefore, like my father used to say, fuck the haters, wear what you want.
And for me, that meant the bright hibiscus pink, deep jade, and violet jacket.
Commence the catcalls.
“Shake it, Poppy!”
“Fuck me, little mama, you wanna ride?” Cutty didn’t mean on his motorcycle. I ignored him. It was only the seven-hundred-and-fifty-something-th time he’d asked.
“Wrap those sweet little legs around a real man, Popsicle,” Big Joe said.
I paused because there was no way that would go unanswered. My daddy didn’t raise meek women. I gestured to my legs with a smile. “I don’t think these would fit around your beer gut.”
“Wanna try?” The catcalls and ridicule muted his words. One voice rose over the others.
“If she wants a man, it wouldn’t be you, ya asshole.” That was Sprout, my boss and owner of the company, who ran this peculiar mix of miscreants and knuckleheads. He was about eight years older than me, but I’d known him since I was born. He was one of the Destroyers’ family. His father was a full-fledged biker like mine. And the very first minute old Jeffery “Pinner” Albert got a hold of me, he introduced me to his club as one of theirs, and they were mine. Sprout had the same initiation as his father and grandfather were members.
It’s a shame both of us lost the close connection we had with them. I counted my blessings. At least I could still talk to my dad. He was available during visiting hours at SCI Frackville. The only way Sprout could talk to his father was through a gravestone.
