I would love to tell you this is one of those reads where you can sit back, put your feet up, and relax; however, I couldn’t even manage to type that sentence with any kind of straight face. Especially, since I know you’re about to be taken on a dark, twisted joyride NOT intended for the faint of heart. There’ll be no such thing as unwinding with The Bad Ones. Instead, you’ll be devouring this unique and morbid, edge of your seat unconventional love story. 

Con and Dulcie were intense, savage, and quite cunning in nature. Their relationship/personalities taking normalcy to a whole new level of toxic. Between the deviant acts and hardcore kink, there was nothing delicate and affable about this duo. Rough around the edges doesn’t even come close to explaining the magnitude of all that is Con and Dulcie. Forewarning, the antagonists were a full house of cray-cray, and then some!! Their mind, a complexity of destruction and mayhem. 

You’ll either love them or hate them. Me—I loved them!

Affliction and apathy are the name of their certifiable and psychotic adventure. They are disturbingly scintillating; a land mine of raw, brutal dysfunctionality intertwined with gritty, vivid, and intricate layers. From start to finish, I was fully immersed, craving every second of this explosive, cataclysmic relationship. Con and Dulcie push all kinds of boundaries, often coloring outside the lines of the sane and commonplace. 

And that last sentence…

I'm in love, completely and utterly in love with the dark side. The darker the better. No one writes dark thrillers like Stylo Fantome. No. One. To spend even a few moments in this author’s mind would be quite fascinating if not a bit intimidating. Stylo can do no wrong in my book. She got EVERYTHING right with these two. Readers definitely won’t be disappointed by The Bad Ones.

If wicked and tangled floats your boat than run—do not walk—and immediately one click this baby.

Thank you, Stylo Fantome, for the complimentary copy of The Bad Ones. 

Con finally unlocked the doors and she hefted herself into the massive vehicle. They sat in silence for a while, their breath fogging up the glass. Then he opened his mouth. 

“Did he touch you?”

Dulcie knew he wasn't asking about the homeless man.

“Not in any way that counts,” she replied, turning to look at him. His hands had moved to grip the steering wheel.

“So he has touched you.”

“Jared was just an experiment, I wanted to see if -”

“You let him fucking touch you.”

“You fucking left me!” she was suddenly screaming. He didn't even flinch, just gripped the steering wheel harder. “You fucking left me in this fucking town, without a goddamn goodbye! Without a goddamn word! God, you have no idea what it's been like. That fucking camera, all those drawings. And there's all these people, and talking, and feeling this way, and all the blackness, and I don't even know what's wrong with me, and nothing. You come back, and it's like nothing to you. Oh hey, Dulcie. Where's your sketchbook, Dulcie. Come to a party, Dulcie. Let me just fuck this chick in the woods, Dulcie. So you know what? Yeah, he fucking touched me. I let him fucking touch me. And I hated every minute of it, and I would pretend it was you, and I would hate you, and I would hate myself, and I just let it happen.”

Con lunged across the seat, and absurdly, her first thought was “wow, he's really fast” before his fingers wrapped around her throat. She wasn't fazed, though, and she pushed right back, slapping him across the face. This only caused him to clench both hands around her neck and he yanked her forward, dragging her to him so their faces were only inches apart.

“Stupid little Dulcie,” he whispered, his breath hot against her lips. She held onto his wrists and glared at him, but didn't try to pull away. His fingers got tighter. “So scared of the big bad wolf.”

“I'm not … scared of you,” she managed to gasp out, but then his grip grew so tight he completely cut off her oxygen.

“Of course you aren't scared of me. I'm not the wolf. You are.”

So that's what was hiding behind the curtain. I wish you'd told me sooner, Con. We could've reveled in our darkness together.

It felt like a weight was lifted off her back. She'd been pretending for so long, and she hadn't even realized it. Had conditioned herself to do it. It was easier to believe Con was the darkness, and she was simply drawn to it. Basking in his wake. But it was all a lie – she was every bit as dark as him. They were the same animal. She'd just been better at deceiving herself. And now they'd evolved into something else, into a new, higher being.

Her lungs were throbbing, screaming for oxygen. She could feel her pulse pounding behind her face. Her mouth was open, but she couldn't make a sound. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, yet still they stared at each other. Recognizing each other, maybe for the first time ever.

Maybe for the last time.

What a way to die, looking into the face of this beautiful boy. What a gift.

Crazy woman living in an undisclosed location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since ..., forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball - I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT.

I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair - both a curse and a blessing - and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me.

Yeah. I think that about sums me up.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Instagram

Stylo Fantome's THE BAD ONES Release Day Blitz