Yummy new cover art for my twisted short-Killing Apathy.  No longer is it affiliated with Black Label Books. I retain the rights. Look for it to debut on Amazon Kindle on or about  2-25-12.

And-attractively priced!
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RAZOR 01/02/2012
 
_RAZOR by Margie Church and K.B. Cutter
February 1 from Sizzler Editions

Amy and Bryce don't live the D/s lifestyle, but Bryce is every bit the dominant in the bedroom. And Amy's had enough of it. She takes a drastic step to help Bryce see that being a switch can be a very good thing.
RAZOR is a very intense, explicit drama. The first installment comes as part of a BDSM anthology, Bound by Love, from Sizzler Editions.


(KUDOS to Margie Church for the pic and Blurb info. )


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My latest work entitled 'Undead Reflections in a Jaundiced Eye' is due from Noble Romance late January 2012. It's part of the Lesbian VS Zombies anthology that will give you the shivers-both of fright and delight.


Book Blurb:

An undead infestation can be a real killjoy. For a group of misfit weekend bikers holed up in roadside dive, it is the understatement of the century.  One of them, a jaded misanthrope, examines her life as civilization crumbles.  Will true love finally pierce the cynical veil shrouding her heart before the zombie horde devours her flesh?

And for a tasty tidbit (NOT the Final edit)


Chapter One

A Zombie Apocalypse can be a real buzz-kill.

 The jolly Capt. Morgan and I, best mates, we were; however, the buccaneer was playing mischief with my sea legs. I stood with said legs slightly apart, imperceptibly swaying as if the bar’s floor were the wooden deck planks of a pirate sloop.

I spotted my prize leaning against the jukebox, booted foot tapping in rhythm to George Thorogood’s raspy lament of one bourbon, one scotch and one beer. Her treasures, encased in snug tight blue jeans that, accentuating the tantalizing curves of her ass, were mine for the plundering. Life was good, damn good at Red’s Roadside Tavern, until one of the locals burst through the door.

 The first thing I noticed were his eyes. Aside from an unnervingly vacant stare, his irises bore the milky white of cataract-afflicted orbs. His mouth was a crooked maw of blackened gums and jagged teeth; hair matted to his skull, slick with sweat and rain.

 At the time, we had no clue that he--it-- was the infected, soon to be walking dead. None of us did.












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