Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Fighter Girl Blitz: Excerpt + Giveaway

Sammy Jo Smith inherited her kick-ass strength from her gypsy ancestors, but you’d never guess it by her Jimmy Choo high heels. By day she’s a maid of honor planning her older sister’s extravagant wedding. By night she’s a champion fighter who competes in dangerous, unregulated MMA matches against older boys. She’s got to find the money somehow for her sister’s fancy reception and Swarovski crystal dress!

Sammy Jo lives for intrigue and excitement. But in her world, the exciting can soon turn deadly. After beating up some local thugs to save rich boy Gregory, she ignites the contempt of a gang of ruthless criminals. Sammy Jo may be strong, fast, and tough in heels, but this time she’s met her match. She’s a target, and the men after her are nearly as dangerous as her forbidden love for Gregory. As Sammy Jo races to make the final arrangements for her sister’s big day, she can’t resist the urge to sneak off to defend her reputation in the MMA ring. Nor can she seem to shake the evil call of the magpies, which her superstitious Granny Kate won’t let her forget: One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, and four for a death.

Smart, thrilling, and filled with everything from secret fight clubs to gypsy folklore to first love, Fighter Girl is an empowering story about how difficult it is to play the part people expect of us, and how often good intentions can go horribly wrong.

Author Bio:
Kathryn lives in Leicester with her family, writing full time (and loves that!) Kathryn always wanted to become an author and wrote her first story at age eight. But it took quite a while and lots of different jobs before she got published.

She's worked with gypsy and traveller children, working from a converted bus with a rainbow on the side, doing video and photography projects, and documenting travelling lives.
Mist draws on and is influenced by her work with this community.

She's also written scripts for a local video production company, many of them for children and teenagers.

I ran to Gregory. I couldn’t take my eyes from the blood. 
Milo’s knifed him! That’s what it looked like. I fell to my knees beside him. He was curled on his side, his legs drawn up, his hands hugging his ribs. His face was splattered with blood. His shirt was ripped and flapping in the breeze blowing through the parking lot. 
I leaned over him, dreading to see a knife wound. “Hey, Gregory?” 
I could smell the metallic tang of his blood. For a moment he didn’t move. And then suddenly he was coughing, and a spray of red droplets misted into the air as he pushed himself with his grazed hands over onto his back, the breath hissing through his teeth. 
He was alive at least. I put my hands on his shoulders and made him lie back down, but he thought I was one of the bad boys and tried to push me away. I had to grab his hands and make him lie back. 
Suddenly there was a click from above us. “Aw, did your boyfriend get hurt?” 
Milo was perched on the wall like a monkey, phone in his hand, taking photos. “Why did you do this?” I shouted, my voice breaking. He laughed. “To teach you a lesson. Next time it’ll be your sister if you don’t leave town.”  
He gave me the finger again and disappeared over the wall like a rat. I would’ve loved to follow him. My blood was boiling. But it could wait. I had to see to Gregory. I let go of his hands. “It’s Sammy-Jo.  Just lie still. Let me check you over.” 
His eyes flicked open. He squinted at me and then he relaxed back onto the pavement. I pulled his shirt back, fumbling with the buttons. One was stuck; I ripped it away. He was skinny, his bones showing under pale skin that looked as new and tender as a baby’s. I almost fainted with relief when I saw his ribs.  
He hadn’t been stabbed. 
There was no wound, but he was a mess. There was a bruise spreading in the center of his chest. It was in the shape of a foot, and already going purple and black. There was a faint pattern to it like you get from the sole of a sneaker. Milo or one of his brothers had stomped on him. 
The cat meowed and came rubbing against my feet, but I had to push it away, and it paddled off through the blood, shaking its paws.  The puddle of crimson blood was coming from the gash in his head. It ran straight across his eyebrow and over to his temple. It would need stitches. I’d been trained to do first aid at the gym because fighters are always getting cuts, especially their eyebrows where the skin is thin and hard bone lies just beneath. But this was the worst I’d seen. It hadn’t been caused by a punch. The cowards had jumped on him from behind as he came looking for me.

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