When I first saw the title to this book Salt n' Pepa's song, "What a man" came to mind. That was a great song. A Mighty Good Man looks like it's going to be a good read.
‘Hank’ Jerry…Her personal and professional life on the skids, a family emergency forces her to return to the small town, and the aunt, she left behind.
Jack ‘Gent’ Darcy…Fresh out of prison, he’s bent on cutting ties with the Creds, but when you're a war counselor in a national gang, they don't let you just walk away.
Injured and on the run, Jack lands on Hank's doorstep, and makes her a proposition she can’t refuse: write his story about life inside one of the most powerful gangs in the country. It’s simple – she’ll get her career groove back, and he’ll bury the gang, then disappear – his version of freedom.
Only problem is, they can’t help falling for each other, and they’ve both got something to hide that could blow up in their faces. With time running out and gang enforcers closing in, will the trust they’ve forged survive the ultimate test?
Zip. Zilch. Null. Nada. Void. The empty set.
No text. No email. No electronic communiqué of any kind.
Scowling, ‘Hank’ Jerry—a woman who wore the self-made moniker the way some might armor—jammed her smartphone into the front pocket of her cargo pants and sucked a drag off her first cancer stick of the day, exhaling into the predawn behind her Aunt Henry’s restaurant. The fluorescents overhead cast a harsh glow over this particular piece of real estate in Fiddler’s Elbow, Pennsylvania—a throwback hunky mill town where dial-up was considered high tech and people still lived life one pierogie at a time.
From the shadows behind the dumpster, a man emerged and limped toward her, clutching his side, his chest heaving, clouds of his breath hanging in the April air.
“Hide me!” he gasped.
“What the hell?” Heart pounding, Hank retreated a few steps and threw her cigarette to the ground. Blood, bruises, panic—all of it oozed from this man who’d materialized like smoke. Tires squealed on pavement in the alley running the length of the restaurant and hodge-podge of neighboring buildings.
“Will you?” he ground out.
A dozen fleeting impressions swamped her brain. Muscular. Dirty. Unshaven. Murderer? Crazy? Eyes, wild and green, probing and pleading in the artificial light. In the alley, car doors slammed. Feet pounded gravel and shouts cut through the dark. Two people? More?
They locked eyes. No, said her gut. Not crazy. But maybe she was.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Rebecca E. Neely was born and raised in a small town in western Pennsylvania. Her father, an English teacher and a writer, instilled in her a love of words, and literature, especially short stories, at a young age. Her mother, a voracious reader, gave her Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfeild as a Christmas gift when she was nine, and Rebecca’s been hooked on reading stories of all stripes ever since.
Rebecca enjoys finding, and reading new authors via her Kindle. Live music inspires her, as do the family and friends she’s blessed to have in her life.
In a former life, she earned a B.S. in Accounting, and worked in that field for about a decade. Since 2001, Rebecca has freelanced, writing a wide variety of copy for local magazines, and businesses all over the country. She is a PRO member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), the Western Pennsylvania Romance Writers (WPRW), and is honored to serve as a judge for several writing contests each year.
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