Tag: Lilly Atlas

Copper By Lilly Atlas – Release Tour.

Title: Copper
Series: Hell’s Handlers MC
Author: Lilly Atlas
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 5, 2019
Enormous, commanding, and hotter than sin, Copper is the only man Shell has ever wanted. Even as a young teen, when it was impossible and taboo to capture the attention of a grown man, she longed for him. For years, Shell clung to the dream of turning eighteen and finally being noticed by the Hell’s Handlers’ rough and gruff president. But the universe had other plans, and she was forced to make a horrible choice. A choice that altered the course of her life forever, sealing her fate and ensuring the dream of being Copper’s ol’ lady would never materialize. 
Sixteen years his junior. Daughter of his MC’s former president. Single mother whose deadbeat sperm donor doesn’t provide an ounce of support. Loved as a younger sister by every man in the club. The list of reasons goes on for Copper to stay away from Shell. Problem is, he’s been hot for her for years. Copper finally gets some relief when she moves out of Tennessee, but once she’s back, all those reasons to keep his distance grow weaker by the day.
Unable to fight against his own judgment any longer, Copper finally claims Shell for his own. But once again the universe steps in, revealing secrets with the power to destroy them both.
Shell will do anything for Copper, even tear out her own heart and confront the most agonizing parts of her past. But will she be too late to save her dream?
2010
If they caught her, there’d be hell to pay.
Absolute hell.
Michelle didn’t even want to imagine the level Copper’s anger would climb to if he discovered her trailing after him and his men in the dark woods behind the clubhouse well after midnight.
The fury would be epic.
Biblical.
She may be a fifteen-year-old kid, but she wasn’t an idiot. Sneaking out of her home, pedaling her bicycle across town to the clubhouse, and lurking in the shadows until the men emerged was not only dangerous, it was reckless—and probably pointless as well.
She wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing when the guys finally stopped trekking. But she had to be here. Had to find out if the club had really captured the man who murdered her father.
Four sets of heavy-booted feet tromped through the woods, making no effort toward stealth, thankfully. Shell wasn’t exactly mouse-quiet herself, but the noise from the determined group drowned out her leaf-crunching steps.
She shivered despite the down jacket engulfing her body. Mid-January at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains was pretty freakin’ cold. Lucky for her, it hadn’t snowed in the past few weeks.
“Fuck, it’s dark out here. Wouldn’t be able to see my own damn dick. We almost done with this romantic stroll through the woods?” That was Maverick’s voice. Easy to distinguish because ninety percent of the nonsense out of his mouth was laden with snark and sarcasm. As one of the newer patches, he was making a name for himself with his wit and constant inappropriate humor.
“We have a fucking flashlight, you big baby. Suck it up and keep walking.”
Zach. Another new patch.
Clenching her teeth in a fruitless effort to stem the chattering, Shell stole on after the men she considered family. Loved them like family as well. Loved them more than the majority of her flesh and blood relatives, if she was honest.
The further into the woods they ventured, the more confident Shell grew in her guess of their destination. The guys had to be headed to The Box. Thoughts of what that meant sent a different kind of shiver racing down her spine. Growing up in the MC, Shell had heard countless rumors about The Box. How the club kept a giant underground torture chamber filled with hundreds of Handlers’ enemies from years back. How it was about a mile out into the woods behind the clubhouse. How the walls were coated with blood and faded screams echoed through the dungeon. The Honeys loved to gossip and guess precisely what went on down there, and each tale was more gruesome than the last. By the time she was twelve, Shell had heard stories of prisoners having limbs sawed off, eyeballs plucked out, and dicks clamped in a vice. Half of what the club girls said couldn’t be believed. At least that’s what her mother told her when she was nine and asked what a blow job was and why she overheard a Honey using it in reference to her father. Since that day, she’d always tried to take what they told her with a grain of salt. It’s not as though the men actually shared any club business with the women who were little more than whores.
The truth was probably a watered-down version of the legends, even if the Honey bragging about blowing Shell’s father had been telling the truth. Turned out the man had been with nearly all of them at one point or another. Something every fifteen-year-old girl wanted to think about. Regardless, The Box existed and wasn’t a place anyone wanted to find themselves.
After another five minutes of wordless journeying through the woods, the men suddenly came to a dead stop.
Michelle darted behind the nearest thick-trunked tree. She held as still as possible, not even daring to breathe. Too bad her heart was pounding so loud it could be heard a mile away.
Had the guys noticed her? Did they suspect they had a stowaway? Could they hear the rattling of her frozen and terrified bones?
This was by far her stupidest idea ever.
“Bring him out to me,” Copper said.
Shell would recognize that voice anywhere. That Irish brogue belonging to the six-foot-five, tatted biker who starred in every teenage fantasy she’d ever had. His name decorated a diary hidden deep under her bed, scrawled over and over with spritzes of cheap perfume and lipstick kisses. If anyone ever found it, she’d die on the spot, but so far, her secret was safe.
“You sure, brother? Wouldn’t it be easier to do this shit down in The Box?” Rusty asked.
Shell frowned. Younger by ten years, Rusty was Copper’s brother and a huge jerk. There was no other word to describe him. Okay, there were a few others, but despite their extreme sailor-enviable mouths, the guys got on her case every time she swore. Sick of them always nagging about ladies not cussing, she avoided using any kind of foul language in front of them. Kinda like she avoided Rusty at all costs.
“I want him out here. I want him to feel the air, see the stars, smell the clean scent of the forest. He needs to realize everything he’s never going to have the chance to experience again. He needs to feel what I’m taking away from him. I want him to experience one last flicker of hope that we’ll let him live, right before I slit his fucking throat.”
Shell swallowed. Though she couldn’t see his face, she imagined Copper stroking his beard, deep in thought as he plotted someone’s demise. There were stories about that, too. About the lengths Copper would go to protect his club. His men and their families.
But now she had a front-row seat to the horror show.
“You got it,” Zach said. There was some rustling, then silence that seemed to drag on for hours but was probably only minutes. Everything appeared darker, longer, more intense when outside in the hours following midnight.
Finally, footsteps crunched over leaves again, followed by a grunt and a thud. Shell blew out a silent breath and peeked around her tree. Someone had lit a lantern, illuminating a small clearing in the woods. A man knelt on the ground, arms bound behind him with Copper, Maverick, Zach, and Rusty circled around him.
Back to her, she didn’t have a view of Copper’s face, but she sure had a clear line of sight to the man on the ground.
Reaper, they called him. Because of the number of men he’d sent to their graves. Those were rumors Shell believed. She’d seen the dark-eyed man in action. Her insides quivered at the memories, and she sucked in a soundless, trembling breath.
This was why she’d followed the guys into the woods when she should have been home snoozing away in preparation for school in the morning.
Reaper was the man who’d killed her father five years ago.
Earlier that afternoon, she’d been at the clubhouse helping some of the ol’ ladies prepare dinner. Tasked with letting the men know their meal was ready to be devoured, she’d wandered toward Copper’s office only to hear Reaper’s name being tossed around in conjunction with plans to head to The Box in the night.
Her mind and body had frozen until the noises from Copper’s office alerted her to the men mobilizing. Then, she’d scurried back to the door of the kitchen and pretended to emerge just as they did, feigning her ignorance.
Even by the dim glow of the lantern, it was apparent the eyes staring up at Copper held no remorse. No fear. It was as though life, even his own, held no value to him. Almost made her wish the men would keep him alive and in pain a while before ending him. Most might find it sick. Most might wake with nightmares after watching someone die, but Shell had already been down that road. The soulless look in his eyes was the same she’d seen the night he stole her father from her. Memories from that time had stayed so strong, so fresh in her mind even with the passage of time, and Reaper’s brought them right back to the surface.
She’d been with her father that fated night, four years ago, when the madman known as Reaper shot him in cold blood at a gas station.
As long as she lived, Shell would never forget the horror of that night. It was late on a Saturday, and her father was driving Shell and her mother home from a family barbecue at the clubhouse. From the second row of their truck, she’d watched her dad walk out of the quiet gas station market, two coffees in hand. Seconds later, Reaper appeared from the shadows, shot her father from three feet away, then disappeared as fast as he’d materialized. She’d had as clear a view of his pale face that night as she did now.
It all happened so fast, it was over before her brain processed what her eyes had seen. But once it did, her heart broke clear in two, and she screamed so loud she couldn’t speak for days.
Now, finally, more than four years later, justice would be served, MC style. And she didn’t have it in her to find anything wrong with that. Maybe it was how she was raised, or maybe it was just in her blood, but she had always felt safe, loved, and protected knowing the club would do anything and everything to protect and avenge its own.
Copper had been there that night. He’d witnessed her devastation, seen her in the lowest moment of her life. In her lovestruck teenage mind, she’d hoped some of the reason for Copper’s tireless search for Reaper had something to do with him wanting to ease her pain, though, in truth, he’d have done it for anyone associated with the club.
“You’ve been a hard man to find,” Copper said as he stepped closer to his captive.
Reaper snorted. Whoever had taken him prisoner, roughed him up quite a bit. One black eye, a seeping gash on his cheek, ripped shirt, wheezy breathing. His short black hair was caked with blood, matted to his head. Not near enough punishment in Shell’s eyes.
“Been easy to slip under the radar with you idiots looking for me,” Reaper slurred like his tongue was swollen. He smiled, actually smiled, revealing missing teeth.
From the cover of her tree, Shell locked her knees to keep from charging forward and raining a hell of her own down on the smug bastard.
Copper chuckled. “That may be, but we got your ass now. Been waiting on this moment for a long time.” As he spoke, he drew a wicked looking blade from a sheath on his belt.
Shell’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to muffle a gasp. Maybe she hadn’t been as prepared as she’d thought to watch Copper take a life.
Yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
The rest of the men stood with spread legs, folded arms, and flat expressions as they watched Copper close the distance to Reaper. Pressing the blade against the man’s throat, he said, “This is for my President, his ol’ lady, and Shell.” The venom in Copper’s voice had Shell’s eyes widening more than the act of blatant violence she was about to witness. He sounded like a different man. A lethal man completely capable of killing in cold blood. “This is for Shell most of all because an eleven-year-old girl should never have to live with the image of her father being gunned down. Rest in hell, motherfucker.”
Reaper laughed, making Shell flinch. The sound was so maniacal it could have been a psychotic movie villain’s cackle. And the man dared to do it while Copper held a deadly knife to his throat.
Insanity.
“There’s so much you don’t know Prez,” he said as though mocking Copper.
“Details don’t matter. You killed my president, now you die.”
Reaper might be a psychotic killer, but he was freaking brave. Not once did he cower, beg for his life, or break eye-contact with Copper. Just as Copper’s arm muscles flexed with the telltale sign of impending movement, Reaper said, “Too bad I didn’t notice the girl watching me that night. Might have taken her with me. She’da made a good plaything.”
The growl that came from Copper sent chills skittering across all Shell’s nerve endings. He didn’t bother speaking, just drew the blade across Reaper’s throat in one fluid motion.
Easy as slicing through butter.
Blood immediately flowed from the slash followed by a horrendous gurgling sound. This time, Shell couldn’t catch the shocked gasp before it left her mouth. The moment it was out, she held her breath and prayed no one heard. Copper didn’t so much as twitch. Zach watched the life drain from Reaper. Mav bounced his leg as though impatient to get the process over with.
But Rusty, Rusty met her gaze with a cold, sadistic stare. Shell gulped down the disgusting taste of bile that flooded her mouth.
As he glared at her, Rusty’s lips curled into a smile that could only be described as predatory.
The hairs on Shell’s arms stood straight on end. Something about that smile set her on edge because she’d swear it had nothing to do with Reaper’s death and everything to do with her.
Shit. Would he rat her out to Copper? The jerk would probably take great pleasure in that. Now that she’d been busted, she could only wait and see what fate had in store for her.
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Lilly Atlas is a contemporary romance author, proud Navy wife, and mother of two spunky girls. By day she works as a physical therapist for a hospital in Virginia. Lilly is an avid romance reader, and expects her Kindle to beg for mercy every time she downloads a new eBook. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she can often be found absorbed in a good book.
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Maverick – Release Tour

Title: Maverick
Series: Hell’s Handlers MC
Author: Lilly Atlas
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: August 14, 2018
Stephanie Little firmly believes the world exists in two states: right and wrong, good and evil, unlawful and law-abiding. She chose her side the moment she joined the FBI and pledged to rid the world of as many criminals as possible.
 
Maverick is everything Stephanie isn’t: inked, pierced, flirty, masculine as sin, but most of all, an outlaw. When corruption in Stephanie’s crime-fighting world lands her in the clutches of a dangerous gangster, Maverick is there to keep her sane and battle for her protection. 
With Stephanie’s neat existence so turned around that she can no longer distinguish the good from the evil, she finds herself thrust into a world so gray she can’t see three feet in front of her face. To survive the confusion, she turns to the only person who keeps her grounded—the sexy outlaw who melts her heart and weakens her knees.
But law enforcement and criminals can never mix. Not in the way her body and heart are begging for. At some point, someone is going to learn her secret, and when that happens, her fierce protector could become her greatest enemy.

The world existed in two states: right and wrong.
At least that’s how Stephanie Little had always seen it.
A clear, divisive line separating saints and sinners kept life manageable.
Good and evil.
Truth and lies.
Rule followers and rule breakers.
Criminals and law-abiding citizens.
All the murky gray areas and half-truths were just excuses and loopholes for people who weren’t willing to make the right choices.
After careful consideration, Stephanie always made the right choice or at least she tried to. And if she didn’t, she owned it and faced the consequences of her actions.
The split between right and wrong was what drew her to law enforcement straight out of high-school. Well, that and the fact that she grew up with the police chief for a father.
Born and raised in Pittsburg, she’d hardcore hero worshiped her father through her childhood. He’d received countless commendations for his life-saving work reducing the murder and crime rates in their city.
Stephanie had wanted that. Craved the opportunity to leave that kind of mark on the world. Rid the planet of some darkness and inject good back for those who deserved it. Those who followed the rules and lived in the light.
So, at twenty-one, with a shiny new criminal justice degree, she’d joined the police academy. Dreams of confiscating drugs, saving kidnapped children, and locking up murders powered her to the top of her class.
On the eve of graduation, her father showed up at the apartment she shared with another female cadet. In a matter of twenty minutes, he’d shattered Stephanie’s perfectly compartmentalized world.
“Steppy,” he’d said in the way her younger brother used to say her name. Jake had trouble with the F sound until he was four, but by then the name stuck and she’d been Steppy to her family from then on. “I know you’re excited to graduate and eager to dive into your first position with the PPD, but I need to tell you something important.”
She’d frowned and leaned her head on her father’s broad shoulder. “What’s that, Dad?”
“The world doesn’t always work the way you think it does, Step. You see black and you see white. Well, honey, in the real world, those colors don’t even exist. It’s all a grayscale. You need to know that, really know it, in order to survive the life you chose for yourself. There may be things you’re called on to do that don’t fit neatly into the boxes you’ve created.”
That conversation was the beginning of the end of her relationship with her father. She’d smiled, nodded, and told him what he wanted to hear, but rolled her eyes the moment he left. He was older, nearing retirement, out of touch with the way the world worked.
Such youthful arrogance and ignorance.
But Stephanie managed to hold on to her ideals through her first year on the force. Even when her father lost his position in a shameful bribery scandal that earned him fifteen years in prison, she hadn’t budged.
He’d done the crime, he deserved the time.
Then, somehow, she made it through two years working for the FBI before her perfectly divided world was smashed to bits. And it wasn’t smashed with a sledgehammer either. No, a damn wrecking ball in the form on an undercover assignment crashed through the glass house she lived in, launching millions of sharp shards at her delicate skin.
And it hurt.
God, did it hurt.
“One more chance, bitch. What the fuck are you doin’ here?” some dead-eyed brute asked her about five seconds after his fist connected with her face.
For the second time.
The second punch disoriented her for a second. Long enough to lose her sense of upright and meet the ground.
On all fours, with palms and knees throbbing from the bits of gravel and dirt embedded in the skin, Stephanie spit out blood that had pooled in her mouth from the split lip. “Hiking,” she said, the sound a bit muffled from her swollen lip. “Got lost.”
And…damn…who knew talking with a split lip would hurt so damn much. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she’d rather die than let one of those suckers slip free. She wasn’t the toughest of chicks out there…physically at least. A few arrests during her time as a beat cop had resulted in physical altercations with bumps and bruising. She’d always put on a tough mask in front of her fellow cops but bawled like a baby in the privacy of her own home.
Dead-eyes threw back his head and laughed before looking at his buddy, a guy so overweight, Stephanie was pretty sure she could outrun him even if they broke both her legs. “You believe this bitch, Top?” he asked the larger man.
Top grunted and shook his head, his many chins wobbling like Jello. “Fuck no. No reason for a bitch to be hiking out here, Shark. Ain’t even any fuckin’ trails.”
Like he would know?
Stephanie bit back the smart-assed remark on the tip of her tongue. Silence was her best bet. Plus, this little gangbanger pow-wow gave her a second to reorient and breath through the pain.
“What about you, King? You believe her?” The man called Shark asked the man on his right and Stephanie held her breath.
This was it. Her way out. Sure, there’d be hell to pay later for the rookie-level mistake of getting busted snooping in the woods outside their compound, but she’d take an ass chewing form her boos over being beat to shit or worse by pissed off gang members.
All her partner, Eric, or King to these pieces of shit had to say was that he believed her. Saw her tromping around like an idiot. Spotted her looking lost and stupid in the woods. He could volunteer to drop her somewhere and scare the piss out of her so she wouldn’t talk.
Shark and the Top dude were scary as fuck and she wanted gone in the worst way.
“No I don’t fuckin’ believe this, bitch,” King said, lifting his military grade rifle and stomping forward until the weapon was pressed dead center against her forehead. “I say we just waste her now. Bury her and get back to those bitches we left naked and needy.”
What. The. Fuck.
Stephanie had never worked so hard in her life as she did to keep the shock off her face and the vile words in her mouth.
Calm down.
King wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. Her partner was a veteran FBI agent for crying out loud. There had to be a plan to get her out bouncing around in his head.
That knowledge helped her relax despite the fact one twitch of King’s finger would splatter her brains all over the Tennessee woods.
“Nah,” Shark said. “Where’s the fun in that? Let’s take her with us. A few hours hanging with the boys and she’ll be ready to talk.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She stared hard into King’s eyes trying to send him a mental message. This was as bad for him as it was for her. They’d torture her for information and she’d crack.
Everyone cracked.
Especially if they had zilch training in enduring torture.
“Who gives a fuck why she’s here? Let me kill her and be fuckin done with it.”
Stephanie was in serious danger of puking all over the forest floor. As she stared at her partner of two years, the partner who taught her everything she knew about working for the FBI, the partner who teased her endlessly for her opinions on the black and white nature of the world, his lips quirked.
And she knew.
There were no fucking shades of gray.
She’d been right all along.
Only black. Only white.
And King had officially been swallowed by the darkness.
He’d always told her working undercover would change her view of the world. That undercover agents often had to live the life of a criminal and learn to deal with living in the shadows for the sake of doing good. But this wasn’t a case of doing what he had to maintain cover. This was a monster who wore human skin for a time and managed to fool even the most skeptical.
“What the fuck did I say, King?” Shark asked. “I want her at the compound. You can kill her eventually, but it’s been a shit week. The boys need some fun first.”
Stephanie swallowed. Boys? Fun?
There weren’t too many ways to interpret that.
The gun fell away from her head and she sat back on her heels.
Why? What was so appealing about this lifestyle that a decorated FBI agent would do a one-eighty and betray everything he once stood for.
Money?
Frustration with the system?
Sticking it to the man?
It seemed too dramatic to be making a point.
The ultimate hissy fit.
“Let’s roll,” Shark said, turning on his heel and strolling toward the building she could see through the trees in the distance.
The fat one leered at her for a second more before waddling after his master like an overfed but well-trained dog.
Somewhat alone with her partner, Stephanie rose to her feet. Whatever was about to happen, it would happen while she was on her knees in front of him. He’d have to look her full in the eye. For one second, she had the insane urge to call out to Shark. To yell as loud as she could and let the scumbag know his precious King was an undercover FBI agent.
It wouldn’t matter if he pledged his loyalty to Shark forever. He’d be killed. That’s how it worked with gangs.
Nothing less than he deserved at that moment.
But she didn’t give into that urge. Because it would be wrong.
And she always chose right.
“Why?” she whispered when Shark was out of earshot.
King grunted and shook his head. “So fucking naïve, Stephanie. You always have been. It’s all gray out here.”
No. She refused to believe it. This situation was clearly not on any gray spectrum. King was evil. Plain and simple.
“No, Eric, I’m not naïve. But you sure are a fucking traitor.”
“You’ll never get it. And you’ll never survive this world. Wake the fuck up,” King said as he thrust his right arm forward and rammed the butt of his rifle into her head.
His murderous expression was the last thing she saw before her vision blacked.
Lilly Atlas is a contemporary romance author, proud Navy wife, and mother of two spunky girls. By day she works as a physical therapist for a hospital in Virginia. Lilly is an avid romance reader, and expects her Kindle to beg for mercy every time she downloads a new eBook. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she can often be found absorbed in a good book.
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