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Books: “Real Ugly”& “Get Bent”

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Real Ugly

Book Info
Title ~ Real Ugly
Series ~ Hard Rock Roots #1
Author ~ CM Stunich
Genre ~ New Adult, Rockstar, Bad
Boys, Romance
Bisac ~ Fiction / Romance / General
Playlist ~ Playlist:Unholy
Confessions,Bat Country,Beast and the
Harlot, Avenged Sevenfold; The Drug in
Me is You, Falling in Reverse; Jealousy,
War of Ages,No Angel, The Confession;
Pray for Plagues, Bring Me the Horizon
Publication Date ~ June 9, 2013
NOTE – Mature – Ages 18 and Up.
Contains sex, drugs, violence, and rock ‘n’
roll.
♥ BOOK DESCRIPTION ♥
“These are real people with real
problems. This is real life, and it’s real
f*cked up.”
Turner Campbell is an asshole.
I f*cking hate him.
But I can’t get enough either.
He sings like an angel and f*cks like a
devil.
If I could, I’d run away and never look
back because to tell you the truth, I think
this man might be the death of me.
%%%
Naomi Knox is a bitch.
I can’t f*cking stand her.
But I can’t stop thinking about her either.
She looks like an angel and plays like a
devil.
If I could, I’d f*ck her good and forget all
about her, but to tell you the truth, I
think this woman might be my last saving
grace.
REAL UGLY (BOOK 1) EXCERPT:
Through my sunglasses, I see a face just
offstage, hiding in the shadows with a
smirk.
Turner. Turner fucking Campbell is
watching me screw this crowd with my
axe, and I can’t breathe. For a moment,
I’m afraid my fingers are going to slip,
and I’m going to blow this whole gig,
but the inner me, the one I dragged
out, turns up the notch on my smirk and
slides my tongue across my lips. Oh my
god! What the hell am I doing? I flick it
out and suck it back in, melding into
Wren, sliding against him like we’re
screwing back to back. And I don’t even
like the guy.  I don’t like either of these
guys, but I can’t stop myself. The
music’s taken over me, and will do what
she fucking pleases.
I watch Turner watching me, and see
that his brown eyes are glittering dark,
like a night sky filled with stars. It’s so
off-kilter with his personality that it
really throws me for a loop. Once again,
I find myself having trouble hating him.
Seem to be having a lot of trouble with
my loathing abilities as of late. Guess
when I get onstage, I am just fucked.
Our duet ends and Wren pulls away
leaving me cold.  And in the middle of
an impromptu solo. Shit.
Luckily, Amatory Riot has functioned as
a unit long enough for the others to
follow me, modifying our song right then
and there.  The crowd goes fucking wild,
and the air escapes my lungs. The lights
overhead shift and I find myself bathed
in color. My eyes shift to search for
Turner again, and I’m glad I’m wearing
these shades. If he knew I was looking
for him, I’d never live it down.
A gasp goes up on my right and Turner
appears out of nowhere, snatching my
mic from its stand and grabbing Hayden
around the waist. He makes a little
come on gesture at me and then leans
forward and grabs my lips with his.
I don’t stop playing; I can’t.  Even if I
wanted to, I couldn’t stop the burst of
fucking power that’s just taken hold of
me. I’m both a victim and a master to
it as it draws my hands along the neck
and plucks strings with a violent fervor
that both scares and amazes me. Hot
wet heat takes over my mouth and pulls
the rest of the inner me out, and then
I’m kissing Turner back hard and fast
and furious while the world’s most
intense riffs are just pulled straight
through me, cutting me up and bleeding
me over the stage.
When he pulls away, our eyes lock tight,
and I know he can see right through my
shades, through my head, and straight
down into me. It’s a trick; it’s gotta be.
I want to remember the way he spoke
to me on the phone, the way he left
that poor girl half-naked over the PA
speaker, but I can’t seem to grab any
memories that haven’t been made right
here, on this stage. What else is there?
my soul asks me as Turner uses the cord
of the mic to spin it in a circle and
snatch it back in one tattooed hand.
My solo comes to a natural end, and I
fall right back where I left off, taking the
band with me, opening my ears up to
Turner’s voice as it slides into the
microphone. It’s unbelievable – my
words from his lips. I step back and
Hayden moves up beside him, doing her
best to out sex her colleague.
It doesn’t work.
I don’t think it’s even possible to out
sex Turner Campbell.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and slides
it up, flashing his taut belly and a sea of
tattoos against pale, sweaty flesh. His
fingers rub the dark hair above his jeans
and then drop the fabric back into place,
much to the dismay of the crowd.
“Tearing me up, shredding me inside;
my walls are coming down in flames.”
Hayden’s voice slides in alongside
Turner’s and for a split second there,
I’m jealous. Of what and who and why,
I have no idea, because I fucking hate
them both, and they deserve each
other, but … I brush the feeling aside
and slam my axe to bits with my pick.
“If you break me, baby, be prepared to
pick up the pieces.”
Three. Two. One. And the song is
over, and my pick is flying out across the
crowd and landing in greedy hands.
Sweat pours down my face in sheets
and my body is wracked with violent
trembles. Turner spins around and grins
at me as the crowd explodes into a
riotous fervor that makes the bouncers
nervous.

         

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Book Info
Title ~ Get Bent
Series ~ Hard Rock Roots #2
Author ~ CM Stunich
Genre ~ New Adult, Rockstar,Bad Boys,
Romance
Bisac ~ Fiction / Romance / General
Playlist ~ Playlist:Unholy
Confessions,Bat Country,Beast and the
Harlot, Avenged Sevenfold; The Drug in
Me is You, Falling in Reverse; Jealousy,
War of Ages,No Angel, The Confession;
Pray for Plagues, Bring Me the Horizon
Publication Date ~ July 27, 2013
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Naomi Knox is missing.
I don’t even f*cking know whether she’s
dead or alive.
What I do know is that she’s the air I
need to breathe.
She’s my redemption, an all consuming
fire that burns in my blood.
And I’ll do anything to find her. Anything.
Even if it means the end for me.
& & &
Turner Campbell is searching.
But he has no f*cking clue what it is he’s
searching for.
There’s darkness all around and enough
secrets to choke.
There are angels, and there are devils.
It’s impossible to tell them apart.
Light needs to be shone on the truth, but
there’s no one left to hold the torch. The
line between life and death is blurred,
and the players are all thoroughly
entrenched in the game. The question is:
am I still one of them?
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I tap the vein in my right arm with two
fingers and check the rubber tourniquet
that’s wrapped around my sweaty flesh,
making sure it’s pulled tight. I’m trying to
set up a good injection site, so I can take
the syringe I’ve got clutched between my
teeth and shoot up. It’s the only way I’ll
get through this. The only fucking way.
“Turner! What the hell is going on in
there?” I slump against the wall and
ignore Treyjan’s hoarse shouting. He’s
been out there all damn morning,
screaming his friggin’ head off. I don’t
want to hear it anymore. He’s driving me
nuts.
I pull the syringe out of my mouth and
slide the needle into my skin, hissing at
the rush of white hot pain when it
punctures my vein. I press the plunger
down and wait. A few seconds later, I feel
it in the back of my throat. It tastes like
fucking victory, like accomplishment, like
I’m king of the fucking world. I yank the
needle out unceremoniously and toss it
into the trash can. It lands on top of a
mountain of used condoms and tissue
paper, and it’s probably unsanitary as shit,
but I don’t care. I don’t care about
anything right now except Naomi.
Naomi.
“Turner, get your fucking ass out here
now!”
I rip the tourniquet off next and lay it on
the counter, clutching the sides of the
sink as I lean over and cough. Good meth
always makes you cough. And it makes
you feel so fucking good that even a
nightmare like this starts to look like a
dream.
“Are you slamming dope in there,
motherfucker?” Trey screams, and he
sounds like he’s about to burst a damn
vein this time. I lift my eyes up and stare
at myself in the mirror. It’s not a pretty
sight. I look like shit. Jesus Christ. Have I
been walking around like this for three
days?My eyes are bloodshot and ringed
with purple, and my lips are pale and
cracked. I look like a Goddamn zombie.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, bitch,” I
call out to him, standing up and sniffing,
letting my eyes fall closed for another
minute. At least now I don’t have to
worry about how I’m going to get through
another day. The drugs will take care of
that for me.
Naomi.
I reach over and unlock the door.
Trey doesn’t waste any time opening it
and throwing me a death glare. I ignore
him in favor of putting on some eyeliner.
We have a show tonight, and I want to
look good. Hell, I have to look good or
I’m not getting onstage. My pain is
private, not something to hang out for all
to see. I’m not on display here.
“You got a hard-on for me or something?”
I ask him, pretending that everything’s
alright, that my life has not just gone
from bad to worse, that the breath has
not just been suctioned out of my fucking
lungs. “I can’t even shit in peace
anymore?” Trey looks down at the
garbage, up at the tourniquet and sneers.
“You’re just gonna get high everyday
now?” I shrug, applying black around my
eyes, making sure it’s thick enough to
hide the circles. Women love eyeliner on
guys anyway. Or at least the women at
my shows do, the ones with the piercings
in their noses and the tattoos on their
hips. I want to pick one of them up and
fuck away the pain, but I can’t do that to
Naomi. For the first time in my life, I
can’t even imagine screwing another
woman.
I look up at the ceiling as my brain
seizures with false pleasure, misplaced
hope, fatal courage.
“What are you now, Mother Theresa?
We’ve gotten high everyday since we
were sixteen.” I pretend not to notice
that Trey is wearing Travis’ cap. Or
whoever’s cap. Still haven’t figured that
mystery out. There seem to be a whole
shit ton of them floating around right
now, and that’s kind of the least of my
worries.
Naomi.
“Not like this, Turner. Not fucking like
this. What are you doing? You’re gonna
kill yourself.” I don’t tell my best friend
that I don’t care, that I’d rather die than
live without Naomi Knox. I mean, how
fucked up is that?Love sucks balls.
Everybody always acts like it’s the one
thing worth living for, that spark in the
fire that pulls you in, that strokes your
hair back and lets you know that
everything’s going to be okay. Well now
that I’ve fallen into it, nothing is okay.
Nothing will ever be okay. I sipped from
love’s wine and now I’m drunk as shit
without a place to lie down. My happy
ending, my saving grace is lying dead in a
morgue, cut up and fucked up, so
mangled they can’t even identify her
damn body for sure. Oh, they say it’s
probably her because if not then, I mean,
where the shit is she?Where?Where?
Where the fuck are you, Knox?With your
pretty blonde hair and your sunglasses
and your fuck you all attitude.
I drop the eyeliner and shove Trey out of
the way, barely managing to lift the toilet
seat before I throw up into it. He watches
me with a curled lip but doesn’t say
anything, not until I’m done and cupping
water from the faucet to splash my face
with.
“Look,man, what happened to those girls
is fucked up in all sorts of crazy ways, but
what do you want to do about it?The cops
are on it. The manager chick is in the
hospital.” Treyjan pauses and blows out a
rush of air. His brown hair is disheveled
and his eyes flick this way and that,
looking for a way out of this
confrontation. He knows what he wants
to say to me, but he’s afraid to. He
should be. I stand up and turn on him
quick, getting in his face, narrowing my
eyes. My body is pulsing now, and I feel
like I could sing from the mountaintops or
some shit. But then I think of her.
Naomi.
For as long as I’ve been playing with fire,
popping pills, shooting up, whatever, I’ve
never had a buzzkill quite like this. I feel
the urge to reach into my mouth and pull
my heart up, yank it right through my
throat, bleed my pain all over the damn
sink.
“Say it,” I tell Trey, clenching my fists,
knowing I could beat the crap out of him
if I wanted to. And I’m not gonna lie, I
kind of want to right now.
“You don’t even know her.”
“Naomi. If you’re going to insult her, you
may as well use her name.” Trey sighs
and steps back, pulling a cig from his
pocket and lighting up. He glances around
for Milo, but our manager is off in
another universe, one that has to do with
hordes of reporters and TV cameras and
magazine editors. There are conspiracy
theorists galore, some cops, crazed fans,
candlelight vigils. We’re not on tour
anymore, not really. Now we’re part of a
traveling circus, complete with freak
show. Everything’s gone to shit and
nothing is right anymore. I feel like I’m
walking crooked, like the whole world’s on
a tilt and I’m the only one trying to stand
straight.
“Naomi was a cool chick,” he begins, but I
cut him off, turning away and stalking
back towards the front of the bus. Ronnie,
Josh, and Jesse watch me with nervous
eyes.
“Is,” I tell him because if I don’t hold
onto that last, little shred of hope, I’ll
crumble to pieces. I pull out a smoke of
my own and light up.
“Turner, come the fuck on!” Treyjan
screams, getting frustrated with me
again. I think he’s terrified that I’m going
to turn into Ronnie, slide away into the
shadow realm and become a walking,
talking slice of melancholia. But he
needn’t worry about that shit. Knowing
what I know now about this love shit, I’m
surprised that Ronnie’s still alive. I won’t
last if I find out for sure that she’s gone.
I’ll just wither away and disappear. I take
a drag and let my head fall back while
smoke curls from my nostrils in gentle
spirals. “You had a week long affair with
this girl. Big deal. You’re not in love. Stop
being an emo bitch and get over it.
People die, Turner. Life fucking blows. So
suck it up and get over yourself.”
The bus goes silent.
I stay completely still for several long
moments.
Ronnie sniffles.
I guess they think I’m going to go bat shit
crazy and fuck up my friend, but I’m not.
The meth is kissing me softly, teasing me
with its horrible, little claws, seducing my
mind from the inside out. Instead, I
smile.
“The show must go fucking on,” I say,
dropping my chin to my chest. I flick my
cigarette into the sink and snatch a pair of
shades from my front pocket. When the
cops gave me back my personal items,
these were there. I think they might be
Naomi’s, but I don’t want to think about
that right now. I slide them up my nose
and thank fuck that I didn’t get booked
for elbowing that cop. A few nights in jail,
no drugs, no music, that would’ve killed
me, stripped me right to the soul and
bled me dry.
“What?” This is from Josh. His voice is
kind of shaky, but hey, he has balls for
even trying to talk to me right now.
“I’m going to sing for Amatory Riot,” I tell
them, and there’s no collective gasp or
anything; the bus stays dead silent. They
think I’m fucking nuts. “Trey, you’ll play
guitar.”
“I don’t know any of their fucking songs,”
he snaps back at me, taking a step
forward. “Turner, they’re done for. Their
manager is in critical condition, their lead
guitarist is dead, and their front woman is
missing. Don’t try to save a sinking ship.
Worry about us, worry about this.
Indecency needs you, man. Don’t fuck
us.”
I roll my shoulders and reach down,
wrapping my fingers around the neck of
Naomi’s guitar. Don’t ask me how I got it
or why I have it. If love makes you crazy,
then the absence of it drives you insane.
“If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”
“Turner … ” There’s a warning in Trey’s
voice, but what is he going to do?Is he
going to stop me?Don’t fucking think so. I
move over to the door and reach out,
wrap my fingers around the handle and
pull.
Light and sound explode like fireworks.
People start to shout; cameras begin to
flash. I ignore it all and step out into the
fray.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

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C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of
fog in the area known simply as Eureka,
CA. A mysterious place, this strange,
arboreal land nursed Caitlin’s (yes, that’s
her name!) desire to write strange fiction
novels about wicked monsters, magical
trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!).
She currently enjoys drag queens, having
too many cats, and tribal bellydance.
Always a fan of the indie scene and
‘sticking it to the man,’ Ms. Stunich
decided to take the road less traveled
and forgo the traditional publishing route.
You can be assured though that she
received several rejections as to ensure
her proper place in the world of writers
before taking up a friend’s offer to start a
publishing company. Sarian Royal was
born, and Ms. Stunich’s books slowly
transformed from mere baking chocolate
to full blown tortes with hand sculpted
fondant flowers.
C.M. is a writer obsessed with delivering
the very best and scours her mind on a
regular basis to select the most unusual
stories for the outside world.
Ms. Stunich can be reached via e-mail or
by post and loves to hear from her
readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this
biography and has no idea why she
decided to refer to herself in the third
person.
Happy reading and carpe diem!

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