RELEASE TOUR Incl Exclusive Excerpt: Ferocious by Leslie McAdam
This is a terrible idea. I’m in.
Length: 424 pages
Series: IOU, 6
Prior Reading: not required
Genre: contemporary
Tropes: Grumpy/sunshine, Age gap, Size difference, Rich/poor, Meet at knifepoint, Primal play, “Daddy” (but no age play), Caretaker and hurt/comfort, Secret billionaire, Murderous twink, Virgin hero, Orphan, Marry to get inheritance, Forced proximity, Criminal vigilante, Badass lesbian nana/grandma, Shopping spree and makeover, Plant dads
Trigger/Content Warnings: CNC, miscellaneous crimes or attempts at crimes, recreational drug (cannabis) and alcohol use, illness and death of a parent, homophobia, depictions of poverty and unsheltered/unhoused individuals, and references to infidelity and suicide.
When a scrawny, pink-haired ragamuffin tries to rob me at knifepoint, I respond the way any sensible person would and invite him to dinner—where he proceeds to threaten my entire ten-year plan simply by being his effervescent self. Much to my annoyance.
There’s no room in my life for a gorgeous criminal named Rowan. I need to check off the next item on my list: Find the right, respectable husband. I can’t be an accessory to a life of crime.
And yet, my perfect plan’s been a bust. Yes, I have millions of social media followers, a prestigious job, and an expensive car, but I’m realizing I want more from life. My casual hookups aren’t making me happy. I’m … lonely.
While Rowan’s a tattooed menace, he does something to my heart, and I can’t seem to stay away from him. Let’s not get started on how I like seeing my marks on him. Everywhere.
Rowan isn’t who I’m looking for, but it seems he’s not who we think he is, either. Which creates an entirely different set of problems with much, much higher stakes.
I’m in way too deep to get out. If I even want to.Ferocious is a stand-alone contemporary M/M romance about Rowan, a rideshare-driving twink with a penchant for violence, and Charlie, a grumpy lawyer. It features first times, primal play, kidnapping and other crimes, and a philodendron that likes to ride in the car. HEA? Definitely.
Now I’m straddling him, staring into his face. Our eyes lock, and some force crackles between us.
What the actual f_k?
He’s just a kid. Well, maybe early to midtwenties, so at least five years younger than me, from what I can tell in the light from the streetlamp a distance away. He’s got unruly pink hair and tattoos scattered along his bare arms and neck.
And he’s damn pretty.
Not just pretty. His face has an unearthly beauty. Ridiculously big eyes. Straight nose. Pouty mouth. Clear, pale skin. A mole on his cheek. Multiple piercings in his ears, and a nose ring.
He’s also really small. His black T-shirt’s painted on, showing off his super slim arms. He’s short, too, and just … tiny. He seems feral—a guttersnipe. His hands are like ice cubes. Where’s his jacket?
What the hell was he thinking? I’m a lot bigger than him. Twice his weight.
His nostrils flare, and his eyes widen, though I’m not sure how well he can see me. My face is probably in shadow. On the other hand, I imagine he was watching me as I walked to my car, so he already knows what I look like.
“I got jumped by a twink,” I blurt.
“F__k you,” he growls. “Don’t call me that.” He bites his lower lip, and before he can sneer again, a lost expression flashes across his face. One that makes me pause.
What the hell am I doing? He’s young and scared.
Now I feel like a bully, which is ironic as hell—he had a knife to my throat. But someone needs to be the adult in the room. Might as well be me.
He’s clearly desperate. It doesn’t seem like he’s on drugs—he doesn’t smell like weed or anything chemical.
He grunts and tries to shove me off him, but I stay put, even though his feet are scrabbling at the pavement and he’s doing his damnedest to knee my balls. The angle won’t work for him, though.
“Why are you trying to rob someone twice as big as you? Do you have a death wish?” I hiss.
“Maybe.” The kid spits in my face.
I tsk, letting it drip back down onto him. “Someone should teach you some manners.”
“They tried. They failed.” He’s breathing hard.
“Yeah, I can tell.” I’m very aware of my own heartbeat.
The guy’s eyes are blazing, although I can’t quite tell their color in the low light. They’re very dark. Navy blue, maybe?
A car whizzes by. I’m not surprised they don’t stop, even if they saw us. Right now it looks like, what? I’m making out with him?
I glance down. He wouldn’t be so bad to make out with. If he weren’t trying to kill me.
Leslie McAdam is a California girl who loves romance and well-defined abs. She lives in a drafty old farmhouse on a small orange tree farm in Southern California with her husband and two children. Leslie’s first published book, The Sun and the Moon, won a 2015 Watty, which is the world’s largest online writing competition. She’s gone on to receive additional literary awards and has been featured in multiple publications, including Cosmopolitan.com. Her books have been Top 100 Bestsellers on both Amazon and Apple Books. Leslie is employed by day but spends her nights writing about the people of your fantasies.
