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22 Crime Thrillers by bestselling, award-winning, and critically acclaimed authors!

What happens when the person you trust the most betrays you? That’s the question posed in Betrayed, a powerful collection of stories about love, violence, and survival. The characters in these pages may suffer and bleed, but they fight back. They are survivors — not victims. 

In Terri Lynn Coop’s Legal Aid, an overworked lawyer takes on a complex divorce case that just may get her fired ... or killed. 

An invalid who believes his neighbor is tormenting his young wife takes matters into his own hands in Wendy Tyson’s Soap. 

When a private investigator is hired to find someone who appears to have disappeared from the face of the earth, he questions whether some people should be found in How Not to Find Someone in Houston by Liam Sweeney.

And in Elizabeth Heiter’s The Second Shot a teenage girl is convicted of murdering her abusive father ... but is she really guilty?

As a bonus, New York Times bestseller Allison Brennan contributed the novella, Mirror, Mirror, about what happens when a police detective suspects her sister is hiding a dark secret ... a secret that just may get them both killed.

These stories and more fill the pages of the first anthology published by Authors on the Air. Victims become victors and – hopefully – justice is served.

Every author has donated their time and stories. Profits from this anthology are being donated to programs and organizations that help victims of domestic violence reclaim their lives.


The death rattle of the prehistoric air-conditioning system was an annual reminder why management opted for the offices in the center corridor and left the bright, sunny spaces on the east and west sides to the lawyers.

“I’m so glad The Richardson Foundation loans us this building as a tax dodge instead of  repairing or demolishing it. Just another of the joys of working for a non-profit.” Lana, the catch-all miracle-worker paralegal, took a fan off her mail cart and set it on the table by my door. After she plugged it in, the blades hesitated before taking off with enough speed to lift a small airplane off a runway, or all the loose papers off my desk.

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No one personifies the FTW rock-and-roll ethic better than the Man in Black. Johnny Cash’s music can be captured in that one iconic photograph. Guitar slung off his shoulder, sneer on his lips, middle finger extended to let the status quo know what he thought of it. Which is why Cash’s music speaks to so many of the marginalized, the forgotten, the misunderstood, the disenfranchised. Featuring some of today’s best crime fiction writers, Just to Watch Him Die is a kick-ass collection of wronged men and women who, like Johnny, walk the line every day, fighting for what they believe is right.

I hate elevators. The idea of locking myself in a soundproof metal box kept aloft by cables is absurd. However, since my knees like twenty flights of stairs even less, when the doors slid open I stepped inside and pressed my back to the mirror lining the rear of the car. It adds an extra step if I need to escape the confined space, but I can keep an eye on my fellow passengers. A small monitor embedded in the wall over the control panel proclaimed the “Elevator News Network” and cut to a scene of a street protest complete with signs and chants.
“There oughta be a law.” 

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Presented by the Science Fiction Show podcast and Knightwatch Press, Battlespace is a volume of military science fiction from 28 up and coming authors. Short stories mix with flash fiction pieces to tell the stories of branchs of military service from across the galaxy. Tales of courage, fear, love and horror intertwine to form the perfect tome of military science fiction. Introduction by Stephen J. Sansweet, president & CEO of Rancho Obiwan and former director of content management and head of fan relations at Lucasfilm Ltd.

It was raining under the dome in Phobos City. Discharging plasma weapons in the humid oxygen-rich artificial atmosphere often started a storm-like chain reaction.
                Separated from my cadre, I ducked into a ruined storefront to regroup. I’d enlisted to protect Earth, not a private giga-credit mining op on Mars. After two tours, my main goal was to make it home.
                “SITREP,” said a sultry voice. It was my onboard computer demanding a diagnostic.
                “Lola, just a minute,” I responded into my helmet mic.
                Training prevailed. Lola could be persistent.
                “All armament systems in regen mode. Vitals acceptable. Supplies adequate. Sanchez/788 is hurt, but still on the board, Sweetie,” I said, slapping the reset button and lifting my visor.

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Some things are better left forgotten. Hidden away in drawers or locked in closets where memories can't escape and torture the living yet some do. Some...escape. Haunted objects tease the mind with dark thoughts, exposing the residue of a life imprinted on itself and now in the hands of another. No Rest for the Wicked tells the stories of these possessed possessions and cautions the reader to think twice before pulling out their wallet for a great deal on an old crib.
“From the beginning?” I asked.

Taking Joel’s silence as assent, I closed my eyes and let the memory flow.

“Just a few questions. Richard Fleming was here for a psychiatric evaluation?” asked the detective.

“Yes, court ordered. His lawyer was alleging insanity.”

“You knew Fleming had ten bodies on him? Why were you interviewing him alone in your office? 
His victims were savaged.”

Barely containing my annoyance, I answered, “He was restrained. Not my first rodeo, okay?”

The detective shrugged toward the broken window.

“Fleming was more psychotic than I suspected. Listen up,” I said, starting the tape recorder.

“Doc, Bobo did it.”

I paused the tape. “Bobo is a stuffed clown doll.”