Hi, and thank you
for having me on your blog!
I’ve always been fascinated by dark psychological
thrillers that mess with your mind and keep you on the edge of your seat. I
toyed with the genre writing my debut novel Wild Hearted, but labeled it a
crime drama. Its sequel, Carnivora, evolved over six years to become a
full-blown hold-your-breath thriller that deals with grave issues such as
kidnapping, child sex trafficking, and self-harm.
Telling five parallel stories with as many voices,
it gives you the perspectives of a police informant, a hunted gangster, a mad
avenger, an inconsolable girlfriend, and a psychotic kidnapper. I pull no
punches weaving these stories, so be prepared for a dark, gritty, and graphic
read – a little dirty on the erotic side – that I hope will play with your
strings and stick with you for a long time.
Please note that
this is part 1 of Carnivora and I am currently working on parts 2 and 3, so if
those cliffhangers at the end are killing you, don’t despair. The continuation
is right around the corner!
Blurb
Fight evil with evil.
TOMOR
Crime lord Tomor is serving a life sentence behind bars. Without warning, he’s abducted by mysterious men. A sick manhunt is on, with people around him dying like flies. He will need all his street flair and gangster skills to prevent his loved ones from ending up on the death list.
LUZ
Luz grieves the loss of her lover while striving to take care of their baby. The last thing she needs is to fall for the new neighbor.
DAVID
A year after he betrayed his adoptive father and sent him to jail, David is slowly rebuilding his life. Then everything falls apart again: he learns that Tomor has escaped, and his police connections lead him to a child sex trafficking ring involving cold, powerful men.
The cops are in over their heads with “Project Carnivora” … Perhaps the only one who can help bust the pedophile predators is an equally vicious devil: Tomor, the country’s most hunted criminal.
Crime lord Tomor is serving a life sentence behind bars. Without warning, he’s abducted by mysterious men. A sick manhunt is on, with people around him dying like flies. He will need all his street flair and gangster skills to prevent his loved ones from ending up on the death list.
LUZ
Luz grieves the loss of her lover while striving to take care of their baby. The last thing she needs is to fall for the new neighbor.
DAVID
A year after he betrayed his adoptive father and sent him to jail, David is slowly rebuilding his life. Then everything falls apart again: he learns that Tomor has escaped, and his police connections lead him to a child sex trafficking ring involving cold, powerful men.
The cops are in over their heads with “Project Carnivora” … Perhaps the only one who can help bust the pedophile predators is an equally vicious devil: Tomor, the country’s most hunted criminal.
Available from
Excerpt
“Time to change
your bandage again,” the nurse mutters, voice cool, and pulls my orange-colored
sleeve up to the elbow.
She unrolls the
long strip of bandage from my wrist and tugs at one corner of the gauze
plastered on my wound. It sticks as if glued to the freshly grown skin, and
instead of removing the gauze carefully, she tears if off hard, discharging
pain through my arm, wrist-to-shoulder.
I open my eyes
and lift my head off the pillow. “What the fuck are ya doing, trying to reopen
the wound or something?”
“Like you care.”
She stops pulling and glares, gauze between her fingers. “I can see who you are
inside. You’re playing tough, aren’t you, bad guy? But you can’t fool
me.”
“Shut up.” I lay
down again, huffing, and stare at the white ceiling above me with its rows of
long neon lights.
“You’re a good
man.”
I glance back.
“I said, shut the fuck up.”
Her eyes shine.
She rips off the remaining gauze, ignoring my grunt of pain, and throws it in a
bin. “Look.”
No fuck.
“Look at it,” she
insists, voice low and demanding.
No. I know what
I’ve done, and I can imagine what it looks like. A six centimeter-long deep,
reddish, scratched-up ridge along my artery. Layers of skin, fat, meat, and
whatnot must be visible and sweating a pinkish liquid from the reborn pores. I
don’t need to see it.
I guess the girl
wants me to be so horrified, I’ll never attempt suicide again. That’s right.
She wants to shock me into acceptance.
You gotta be
fucking kidding me, little thing.
She shakes her
head. “I don’t understand why they gave you the life sentence.”
“You mean they
shoulda given me the chair?”
Instead of
responding to my sarcasm, she pivots to look up at the clock and widens her
eyes as if realizing she forgot an appointment. Face tense, she returns to her
work, applies some cool, gel-like liquid on the wound, and bandages it with
quick routine moves.
What’s up with
her? In my three days in this woman’s company, I’ve noted the things that make
her tick. Maybe she’s upset because I’m leaving the infirmary soon. Earlier,
she said she didn’t know when I’d be ready to go back to my cell. She probably
knows now, but doesn’t want to tell me.
The door opens.
She jumps.
A uniformed
guard pokes his head in, checks the small room, and exits.
She seems frozen
in place, features tense. Staring ahead and taking deep breaths as if trying to
regain composure.
I cock my head a
little. “What’s going on? They gonna transfer me?”
She visibly
swallows and fixes her gaze on some point on the wall.
I snicker. “Are
you sad ‘cause I’m leaving?”
Ha, I can be so
ugly, when the girl clearly likes me.
As she sits
there avoiding me, I take the time to check out her tits, and drink in the
amazing sight of their pressing against her green blouse with each breath. She
doesn’t have a name tag. Come to think of it, none of the personnel do.
Evidently, so the inmates can’t identify their ‘caretakers’, and should they by
some miracle leave the premises, track them down.
I nod to her
blouse. “What’s your name?”
She twists back
to me, brows raised, before shaking her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“C’mon, I’ll
never see you again.” I grin, then add with an ironic snicker, teasing her,
“They’ll never let me slash my wrists, or hang myself.”
She looks away
and busies herself collecting the medical stuff, throwing a quick, almost
invisible glance to the door. What the hell is making her so nervous?
Coldness fills
my chest. Something’s up.
“Come on, Babe,”
I coax with my most gentle, sensual voice, wanting to buy time. “Tell me your
name.”
“Why?” she
whispers, fidgeting with the roll of bandage.
“’Cause I want a
name to your pretty face when I jack off in my cell.”
About the
author
Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her
own stories the same intensity. After
a deep dive on the unforgiving world of gangsters with her debut novel Wild
Hearted, she divides her writing time between romantic suspenses, dark erotic
romances, and crime thrillers.
Meet Lea Bronsen
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