Date Published: September 7, 202

Freddy is a spirited rescue dog with a big personality and an even bigger
heart. Though he can be stubborn, bossy, and sometimes a bit of a
troublemaker, his playful nature and determination shine through—even as
he faces serious medical challenges, including multiple surgeries.

Through three foster homes and nearly three years of waiting, Freddy’s
journey is filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, and the unwavering
hope of belonging. His story offers a meaningful look at the realities of
fostering, the patience it requires, and the profound impact of love and care.

This inspiring and emotional story reminds readers that every animal deserves
a chance—and that sometimes the most challenging journeys lead to the
most rewarding endings.

About the Author

Now based in Rhode Island, she shares her home with her husband and their dog,
Nera.

Ms. Donato enjoys word puzzles, black-and-white movies, anything
Beatles-related, being active in her church, practicing the frame drum, and
hosting doggy playdates with Nera.

Her love of animals and deep appreciation for poetry and storytelling come
together in her writing, where she highlights meaningful, real-life
experiences with warmth and authenticity.

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The Magical Run of the College Team That Lost Its School

Date Published: 11-17-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Excerpt

The rise and ultimate fall of Birmingham-Southern College, a small
liberal arts school on a hilltop in Birmingham, has a history that mirrors the
fortunes and struggles of the United States since the mid-nineteenth century.
In 1859, Alabama Southern University opened its doors in Greensboro but nearly
closed them two years later when most of its all-male student body left to
fight in the Civil War. By 1866, the student body had dwindled to
twenty-eight. The school quickly rebounded, however, and in 1889, the
graduating class numbered 289 students, including the first woman graduate.

In 1898, another Methodist school, Birmingham College, was established less
than a hundred miles away. The new college was perched on a hill near the
western edge of the rapidly growing city of Birmingham. After the Civil War,
the two cities were a study in contrasts. While Greensboro was still largely
dependent on cotton, Birmingham had made the smart move to steel, and its
booming economy led to its nickname: “The Magic City.” By 1918, it
was clear that two Methodist colleges this close together would be
unsustainable. The answer: merge the two and call the new school
Birmingham-Southern College.

The merger solved an immediate problem, and BSC thrived—for a
while—but faced a devastating enrollment drop during World War I. The
college hung on during the Great Depression but lost most of its male students
and faculty during World War II. Two decades later, the Civil Rights Era
brought new challenges. BSC became an early supporter of the movement,
enrolling its first Black students in 1965, and continued to embrace diversity
as a core part of its mission.

About the Author

 Brian Nelson is a lifelong baseball fan, former player, and dedicated coach
whose love for the game spans generations. A pitcher at the University of
California, Santa Barbara in the 1980s, he later coached his three sons and
their teammates through Little League, high school, and college. Drawing
inspiration from a deeply literary family—especially his grandfather and
mother—Nelson brings an analyst’s brain, a storyteller’s heart,
and impressive baseball knowledge to his writing. After a multi-decade career
in finance, he has returned to his earliest passion to tell this story. This
is his first book.

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A Collection Inspired by True Stories of the Jewish Immigrant Experience

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Almost There offers an intimate, emotionally resonant portrait of the
Jewish immigrant experience in early twentieth-century America. This
collection of linked short stories follows individuals who faced the
uncertainty of a new land, summoned the courage to navigate unfamiliar
cultures, and endured the antisemitism that shaped their world.

While fictionalized, these narratives were inspired by interviews with
Americans who shared memories of their immigrant ancestors. Their stories
unfold against the backdrop of sweeping historical events, such as the Great
Depression, World War II, the Holocaust, and the founding of the State of
Israel.

Poignant and powerful, Almost There illuminates a pivotal chapter in American
history and speaks to the timeless search for belonging, identity, and home.

 

About the Author

 

 Award-winning writer Jean Seager graduated from the University of California,
Berkeley, and received two graduate degrees from San Diego State University.
Her writing has appeared in the

literary publications Mikrokosmos and The Long Story. In 2018, her story
“The Award” won second place in the San Diego Public
Library’s short story contest.

A granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who came to America from eastern Europe
in the early twentieth century, Jean was fascinated by her mother’s
stories of growing up as a second-generation immigrant in Tennessee’s
tobacco country. The Jewish immigrant experience continued to intrigue her and
became the catalyst for her writing.

Jean is a native Californian and long-time resident of Coronado, a suburb of
San Diego, where she lives with her husband Bill.

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Literary Fiction, Family Fiction

Date Published: October 13, 2026

Michael also struggles with a mother suffering from dementia, who insists he
is the grown-up version of a brother who died in infancy. When the Kafkaesque
Bureau of Preschool Special Education threatens to make their son repeat
kindergarten, the family must confront how they are living and decide which
therapies—everything from Mel Finkelstein’s sensory reintegration
sessions to pediatric neurologist visits—are worth the emotional toll.

“Everyone should read this miracle of a book. Carol LaHines is a
fearless writer. With brutal honesty, laugh-aloud-humor, faultless dialogue,
understanding, and ultimately with great empathy and compassion, she portrays
all our misguided efforts to control our bodies, our children, and our
lives.” —Sheila Kohler, author of award-winning novels including
Bluebird, Cracks, and Becoming Jane Eyre

About the Author

 Carol LaHines’ debut novel, Someday Everything Will All Make Sense, was
a finalist for the Nilsen Prize for a First Novel and an American Fiction
Award. Her second novel, The Vixen Amber Halloway (Regal House 2024) was a
gold medal winner in the Foreword Indies awards, a finalist for an American
Fiction Award and the Pencraft Award, and a Shelf Unbound notable indie, and
was featured on NPR and C-SPAN. Her fiction has appeared in literary journals
including Fence, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Denver Quarterly, Cimarron
Review, The Literary Review, The Laurel Review, North Dakota Quarterly, South
Dakota Review, The South Carolina Review, The Chattahoochee Review, Sycamore
Review, Permafrost, redivider, Literary Orphans, and Literal Latte. She is a
Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of the Lamar York Prize for Fiction.
Her short stories and novellas have also been finalists for the Mary McCarthy
Prize in Short Fiction from Sarabande Books, the David Nathan Meyerson fiction
prize, the New Letters short story award, and the Disquiet Literary Prize,
among others.

Ms. LaHines’ eldest son Dylan was born with Pierre-Robin sequence. His
condition, which can lead to breathing obstruction and is potentially fatal,
went undiagnosed and was compounded by other egregious medical errors, as a
result of which Dylan was medically challenged and severely disabled, at least
as defined by society. Having navigated these labyrinthine, Kafka-esque
corridors herself, she was moved to write this book as a testament to him and
all the other families like hers who have coped with an indifferent medical
bureaucracy. Miracle Grow is also laced with the satire, acerbic commentary,
absurdist subplots, and the tragic-comic sensibility Ms. LaHines is known for.

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Date Published: October 16, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dane — Brielle Sloan’s tangled up in the worst years of my life. Now
she’s at my clubhouse with secrets that could change everything, trouble
on her heels, and a mouth I have no business thinking about kissing. Then she
stands up to me, and all I can think about is getting closer. Having her under
my protection means seeing the woman behind our past. Getting involved could
cost me my parole, but when she looks at me like she’s aching for me,
I’m ready to take that risk. Every touch makes keeping my distance
harder. Whoever’s after her will have to get through me first.

Dane

The long ribbon of highway carried me south along the riverfront before the
sun had cleared the mountain tops. Cold air bit through my coat collar and hit
the back of my neck. My bike thrummed under me, a steady vibration through the
handlebars and into my palms.

Three blocks later, I noticed a dark blue Fusion behind me. It held my pace at
two car lengths, never dropping back. I watched it in the side mirror without
turning my head. The driver kept a distance but didn’t seem to be trying
to hide as they followed. So, I promptly ran the next light. If the cops had
suddenly taken an interest in me, I wanted the biggest head start I could get.
Not because I’d done anything, but because right now, I could pretend I
didn’t see them and speed back to the compound. Once inside, the guys
could call the lawyer who sometimes helped us out. If they blue lighted me,
though, it was over. So? I did ninety.

The compact waited at the intersection. A couple seconds later, I slowed down.
I still kept an eye out but went much slower so I could take my eyes off the
road and glance back occasionally. I thought that might have been the end of
it, but a half mile down the road, I spotted the same car. OK. I’d play.

Instead of continuing to evade, I led the fucker straight to the compound. If
someone was after me, I’d need backup. It’s what Knuckles and
Gunnar stressed when I first came here. If I got into trouble, my first call
or my next stop would be the Kiss of Death compound.

It didn’t take long until I reached the warehouses by the dock where the
compound sat. A few minutes later, I pulled up to the gate and waited. Sure
enough, shortly after, the little blue Fusion rolled up to the entrance and
stopped.

I swung off my bike and crossed the fifteen feet between me and the car in
long, threatening strides. My fist came down on the compact’s roof hard
enough to feel the metal give. The sound cracked through the predawn quiet
like a gunshot. Inferno and Oktober stepped just outside the gate where
they’d been on watch and waited to see if I needed backup.

“Who the hell put you up to this?” Cold air snapped at my
coat’s collar. “Why are you following me?”

The driver’s window rolled down. A woman’s face emerged from the
shadows of the car interior, pale in the gray light, dark hair pulled back,
and she trembled visibly. Her gaze found mine and held.

At first, I was just annoyed. Then my brain finally caught up with my eyes and
pushed away from the car like she struck me. All of a sudden, the past came
back to punch me in the balls.

The woman at the bank. She’d been the one to testify against me. Her
testimony had been crucial to putting me away, so her face wasn’t one I
ever wanted to see again.

She exhaled. Her breath misted between us. An envelope sat clutched in her
hands, pressed against the steering wheel like she was afraid to let it go.

“I — I’m Brielle Sloan.” Her voice shook as if she were
nervous or scared. Good. I hope she was scared. “I saw that charity-run
article in one of the city’s online papers. I wanted to find you at your
clubhouse and didn’t realize who I was following.”

“You saw me in town and followed me.” Not only was she a bitch but
she was a stupid bitch. “You thought it was safe to follow a strange man
affiliated with any kind of MC to their clubhouse? Is that what I’m
hearing?”

She blinked up at me, shivering now in the October wind.
“I…” She swallowed. “I guess so.” When she
spoke that time, her voice was soft and subdued, likely knowing she’d
fucked up.

“You’re not here about a fuckin’ charity run.” I held
her gaze, letting my anger bleed through so she knew exactly what she was
dealing with. “What the fuck do you want?”

She took a breath before opening the door and stepping out. She was smaller
than I remembered from the courtroom. In fact, she looked like shit with her
cheekbones prominent and her skin almost sallow. She looked like she’d
missed more than a couple meals and ran herself ragged. Outside the car, her
breath came in short white clouds between us.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t want to
testify against you, but I was being threatened.” She held out the
manila envelope she’d been clutching to her chest, offering it to me.
“This proves he built that robbery around you.”

This was not on my bingo card. “Evidence I was set up? The fuck
‘er you talkin’ about?” Twelve years. Twelve years I’d
spent on the inside, just trying to survive in an environment not in any way
shape or form friendly to a lone white boy. The lessons I’d learned had
to be learned hard and fast.

She took a tentative step forward, insisting I take the envelope.
“It’s all in there.” Brielle’s voice changed. The
level quality thinned at the edges. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rourke. I
never meant to be the bad guy in all this.”

Wind cut across the service road. Cold river air, carrying the scents of
diesel and mud. Her hair stirred at the edges with a couple of strands
catching on her eyelashes. She didn’t push them away, instead held the
envelope.

I took the envelope from her just as I noticed another car. I’d been so
focused on the blue car, I ignored the other car following. This was a gray
sedan. Seeing it now triggered the memory and I knew I had more than one
person following me. When Brielle got out of her car, she’d turned the
engine off. I’d been waiting for her at the clubhouse gate with my bike
shut off. Which meant, the gray sedan I’d seen earlier couldn’t
see our lights and didn’t have a warning we were around the next bend.

As the car rounded the curve and finally saw us, the driver let off the
accelerator a moment before continuing on as if nothing had happened.
Admittedly, the driver could have lifted his foot on reflex. But I had a
tingle between my shoulders I’d learned never to dismiss offhand.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Oktober and Inferno ready themselves.
Inferno actually started toward me, though Oktober held back. Likely to have
the wider angle, and to call for reinforcements.

The car continued on and had to pass close enough for me to see the outline of
the driver behind the windshield. I thought the guy had a phone in his hand,
but it was hard to tell as the floodlights glared against the windshield and
the driver’s side window.

Brielle didn’t seem to notice the other vehicle. At least, she
didn’t glance at it. Instead, she seemed so focused on me nothing else
around her seemed to register. I could see her hands shaking, but she
didn’t tuck them away or try to hide it. Which meant, she likely
hadn’t known who was in the sedan or knew she’d been followed. If
she had and this was a setup, she’d have shifted her gaze to the car on
instinct.

Just as I thought the car would roll on and keep going, it stopped a few car
lengths away from us. I could see the driver aiming his phone at his side
mirror. Taking a picture?

“Don’t move,” I said to Brielle.

Oktober and Inferno both now moved to cover me and Brielle, between us and the
sedan. The sedan stayed a moment longer. I caught the outline of the driver
through the back window. Great.

“What’s going on?” Oktober looked from me to Brielle and
back.

“Not sure,” I muttered. “But someone just photographed me
and the woman whose testimony put me in prison. I doubt my parole officer
would be impressed to find out we’d had contact of any sort.” I
scowled, stepping backward so fast, Inferno had to stop me from knocking him
down.

“Easy, man,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

I pointed at Brielle. “If you’re trying to get me tangled in
something to get my parole revoked, you can just take your sweet ass back to
wherever the fuck you came from.”

Gravel sprayed from the rear tires as the sedan hurried out of the area and
faded as the car swung onto the main road and disappeared toward Nashville.
Still, that itch between my shoulders became more insistent and bothersome.
Something wasn’t right at all.

“Who was in the gray car, Brielle?”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I… what?”

“The car that just stopped and took our picture. Who was following
us?”

She shook her head, a helpless expression on her face as she looked at Oktober
and Inferno, then glanced around the area. She turned her head to look down
the road opposite where the car had been. Could the woman be that clueless of
her surroundings?

Fuck. “So fucking stupid,” I muttered. I didn’t know if I
meant Brielle, or me. Because I was about to do something so incredibly stupid
as to not even be believed.

I tucked the envelope inside my coat. “Get in your car, Brielle.”

Brielle didn’t move. “OK. I’ll leave.”

“No,” I snapped. “Follow me to the compound. Follow me and
don’t stop for anything.” I moved back to my bike and climbed on.

“Everything OK?” Oktober followed me, Inferno hanging back to
watch over Brielle.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m taking her to
the compound. I’ll let Knuckles and Knight sort this out.”

“Sort what out?”

I met his gaze. “I’m pretty sure trouble just came crawling to our
doorstep.”

Oktober nodded at the little Fusion as Brielle climbed back inside.
“Someone was interested in whatever she brought me.” I indicated
the envelope. “It might be nothing, but if she’s not actually
working to wrap me up in some kind of trap, then she could be in some serious
danger.”

Inferno instructed Brielle which way to go once she passed through the gate.
As I watched, her eyes grew round and wide. Her already pale face seemed to
lose even more color as fear settled into her expression. She looked almost
haunted, like she knew it was only a matter of time before the bad guys caught
up to her.

She pulled up beside me, just inside the gate. “What’s going
on?”

I gave her a hard look, hoping I got through to her because, while I might be
angry with her, none of what happened back then had been her fault. And even
if it was, I knew the kind of man Grant Sutton was. Brielle had been little
more than a teenager when it had all gone down. He’d likely blackmailed
her or threatened her. Still, I couldn’t help my harsh tone. “Does
Sutton know you’re here?”

“What?” Her eyes widened and she started trembling even more.
“Why would he know I’m here?”

“I don’t know what your game is, but I’d bet my ass Sutton
has had you followed. He now knows you’re not playing by his rules
anymore. Whatever protection you thought you had just evaporated. Follow me
and don’t stop until I do.”

I rolled toward the compound, my brothers at my back. I knew one of them would
have contacted Knuckles. Both of them probably called their old ladies because
neither man would want the woman following me to be thrown to the wolves
without some backup. Whether she deserved that backup remained to be seen.
Either way, I’d get to the bottom of this. And I really hoped Brielle
Sloan was on the up and up.

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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