June 19, 2013
Stewart Folger lives in the Appalachian Mountains, where people take care of their family and follow the Bible. He feels that Appalachian pull in his blood, but that hasn’t tamed his wild side. A youth full of pranks left him with the nickname Stunt and a preference for danger in and out of bed. Other than a few contrary moonshiners who hate him for philosophical reasons since he’s a forestry technician and federal employee, he doesn’t have a problem in the world. Then one day he runs into Alex Soto, a man out for revenge.
Just out of prison, Alex knows firsthand that the justice system doesn’t treat poor and rich equally, so he’ll have to go outside the law to avenge his brother’s death. When an innocent man lands in the middle of his plans, he doesn't know what to do… other than take him hostage. Unfortunately, he never planned on having to deal with Stunt or with the twisted logic that passes for reasonable in Stunt’s mountain home.
MM Good Book Reviews
Stunt is a character so freaking unique, so funny albeit unwillingly so. So extraordinary that it’s near impossible not to love him. READ MORE
On Top Down Under Book Reviews
I fell in love with Alex even before his back story became known. I even told my blog partner "I am in love with a kidnapper who has set out to kill someone". That says a lot about an author and his/her talent in telling a story. READ MORE
Live Your Life, Buy The Book
I loved the hypocrites in this book. For the most part the characters in the book could be classified as chaotic good (A small group of very nerdy people will understand that, the rest of you can Google.). READ MORE
Sid Love: M/M Romance and Much More...
The fun in this read is how these two men get distracted in each other, without getting distracted from the goal. And neither does the plot. READ MORE
Hearts on Fire Reviews
Smokin’ Hot bondage. Sweet mercy. And Stunt has a nifty little trick that’ll bring a smile. That said, it is pretty darn funny and if you have any sort acquaintance with “The Dukes of Hazzard” this book will seem like another episode. . READ MORE
Mrs. Condit and Friends Read Books
There comes a time when a story fits perfectly with what you need at the time. After a heartbreaking read, I wanted something fun. Mountain Prey by Lyn Gala really fit that bill nicely READ MORE
[Lyn Gala] tends to have a BDSM slant to her books, and this one is no exception, but she does it in an original way and wraps it up in a story that’s entertaining and difficult to put down. READ MORE
The Novel Approach
Quite honestly, at first I didn’t like Mountain Prey. It seemed implausible and not well-thought out. Then, I realized that that was the whole point! ... Mountain Prey is like a hillbilly crime caper. READ MORE
Gay List Book Reviews
I loved that while this story was focused on the goal of getting vengeance for the murder of Alex’s brother and the comedy of errors that creates, it also gave us so much more. READ MORE
Top 2 Bottom Reviews
The people in this story are insane! I mean absolutely bat. Shit. Crazy! And this right here made this one of THE most entertaining stories I’ve read in a while. READ MORE
Pants Off Reviews
Mountain Prey has a lot more humor than you would expect and a lot less drama than I assumed from the blurb.... It's quite the ride, but I didn't put it down until I was finished. READ MORE
STUNT turned in a slow circle, trying to figure out why he had the feeling that someone was staring a hole in the back of his head. He didn’t know of anyone running a still or making meth in this area, and the forestry service had finally torn down the old shacks squatters used, so he should be safe. Still, his gut screamed at him. He even checked the shadows for bamboo. The weed growers used the fast-growing plants to hide their crops, so even a few bamboo shoots could mean trouble.
Nope. No bamboo, no pot, no scent of sweet mash, and no reason in the world for his skin to crawl. However, he was a good sight west of the official trail here—near where private land started—which could be dangerous at times. He couldn’t escape that cold shiver you got when there was something particularly nasty sneaking up on you.
The day was relatively cool, the trail littered with little saplings struggling up out of the hard-packed brown earth and between the gray shale rocks with their edges stained green with moss. The sugar maples shimmered in the breeze, their thick leaves leaving the younger beech and white ash to starve in their shadows. It wasn’t healthy, a whole cluster of one kind of tree, and Stunt figured humans probably mucked something up in the ecology ’round here, but other than a lack of diversification in the flora, all seemed quiet.
But occasionally the mountain lied. It made you see things that weren’t there. Stunt still swore he could feel Wicked John rushing by him on the breeze from time to time, his soul exiled from heaven for sinning and from hell because he’d given the devil so much grief before he died. It was a stupid kid’s story, but Stunt turned a full circle as he searched for something that didn’t exist.
“You’re a-fixin’ ta lose your mind out here,” he told himself out loud, hoping the sound of his voice would scare off any spirits. The only answer was the stirring of the wind through the branches so that shadows danced on the ground.
“The work ain’t going to start doing itself,” he chastised himself as he pulled on a set of gloves. After he wrapped his hands around a thin beech trunk that had invaded the official path, he gave it a good yank. Once the roots ripped free, he tossed it far back into the maples.
Stunt had bent down to pull another sapling when a flash of something caught his eye. He couldn’t say if it was a shape or a color or a movement, but he peered at a rough-shaped lump near the base of a tree, struggling to figure out what he was looking at.
He focused so hard and so long that when the lump turned into a man leaping at him, Stunt couldn’t do more than stumble back a step. His heel caught on a bit of shale, and he windmilled his arms and staggered back, trying to not fall on his ass. By the time he’d gotten both feet directly under him, the man had a pretty impressive rifle pointed right at Stunt’s midsection.
Stunt raised his hands high. “Now, no need to do anything drastic,” he said. “If you have a claim on this bit of land, I am more than happy to find myself someplace else to be.” This wasn’t the first time Stunt had had a gun pointed at him, and it wasn’t the first time he’d decided a certain bit of the federal trail system could do without maintenance. Hell, Stunt chose to let trails go back to nature on a semiregular basis because they came too close to some cranky soul with a gun. They were kind of a dime a dozen in these parts.
“Who are you?” The man was about Stunt’s age—mid to late twenties. Unlike Stunt, who had a real talent at being average-looking, this guy was seriously gorgeous, especially for a gun-toting psycho.
Stunt coughed to clear the fear that’d gotten stuck at the base of his throat. “Stunt Folger,” he introduced himself. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, and if it doesn’t bother you none, I will be taking myself back down the trail.” Stunt eased his way back. Mr. Gun might be cute as hell, with dark-brown hair, a clean-shaven face, and blue eyes a darker shade than Stunt had seen in a while, but that gun was a very big deterrent when it came to chatting.
“Freeze!” Mr. Gun raised his rifle, and Stunt froze.
“Now, let’s all calm down,” he urged.
“I am calm,” Mr. Gun announced as he climbed up onto the trail, leaves falling away with each step. He’d buried himself in the leaf litter, which did tend to indicate he was up to no good. No self-respecting moonshiner would bury himself in leaves just to avoid one little forestry technician. With each passing second, this was looking a little bit worse.
“You may be calm, but I’m not,” Stunt said as Mr. Gun kept on coming closer. “In fact, I’m freaking out a bit, so how about we just cool things down a little… take a second to think?”
“Think with your hands behind your head, fingers interlocked,” Mr. Gun ordered. Okay, this was bad. Stunt really didn’t want to be helpless in front of this guy, but at least the man was issuing orders instead of shooting him, which was one small point in Stunt’s favor. “Now!”
Stunt took a step back as the rifle came dangerously close. “Yes, sir. If it keeps you from shooting me, no problem.” He put his hands behind his head and interlocked his fingers. “Whatever you want, I’m not in any position to give you grief, so why don’t you just move on?”
With his heart pounding painfully hard, Stunt studied the man and tried figuring out if his life expectancy had just dropped from years to minutes. “You don’t want trouble any more than I do. You don’t want to pull that trigger.” Stunt kept his voice nice and quiet, like when some neighbor had his crazy-ass dog ready to bite you in the balls if you didn’t run fast enough.
Mr. Gun gave Stunt a real dirty look, the kind teachers and mothers loved to inflict on others. “I don’t plan to shoot you.”
“That whopper of a gun there is saying something else. I’m hoping it’s a liar.” Knowing he didn’t have a whole lot of choices, Stunt turned around, putting his back to Mr. Gun.
“On your knees.”
Before this day was done, Stunt was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t get shot in the head first. “If you’re going to shoot me—”
“I already said I wasn’t.” From the tone, Stunt had managed to offend the crazy man. Great. “I may, however, gag you if you don’t shut up and start following orders.”
“You might want to stop with the threats before my heart gives out,” Stunt countered as he went to his knees. It wasn’t easy with his hands behind his head. It made the angle very awkward, even for someone who was normally talented at going to his knees. While he might be exaggerating a mite about his heart, his chest did hurt. It’d been a good long time since he’d been this afraid.
“You look healthy enough.”
“And you look sane. Imagine that,” Stunt shot right back. His common sense kicked in about a second too late to save him from his mouth, and there was a long silence. Insulting the man holding you at gunpoint showed a real lack of common sense. Insulting him and then not being able to see the reaction because your back was turned and he’d gone utterly silent was so very much worse.
“You’d be safer if I did gag you,” Mr. Gun finally said, but he almost sounded amused. Stunt started breathing again and silently promised the Lord to take up regular churchgoing in the very near future.
“That’s a possibility,” Stunt admitted. “I have been known to insert two or three feet into my mouth at once. But feel free to tie me to a tree and leave me, only could you give someone a call and let them know where to find me? I’m not fond of the idea of dying of thirst out here.”
Hands patted Stunt down, pulling his pockets out and running up and down Stunt’s thighs. Normally, Stunt’s dick would have embarrassed itself by now, but luckily it was too busy trying to climb back up and become an internal organ to care. “You’re coming with me,” Mr. Gun announced when he finished.
“That doesn’t sound ominous, not at all.”
“I’m not going to leave you behind to describe me to the state police.”
“And the ominous just keeps on a’coming,” Stunt muttered.
Behind him, Mr. Gun made a noise that sounded a little like a growl. “Look, I’m only going to say this one more time. I wouldn’t shoot an innocent man. So relax and you’ll get through this.”
“Relax. I’ll get right on that.” Fear had loosened Stunt’s tongue, and he couldn’t quite stop the idiot thing from blurting out what he was thinking. Around here, people likely to take hostages generally would have had a little too much to drink the night before. If they didn’t shoot you before they fell asleep, they’d cut you loose in the morning. Jack Donnally had done that Stunt’s first year back from college. But this guy had him a Western accent, something from the middle of the country or the West Coast even, and Stunt didn’t know those folk real well. It did seem like they were less likely to go taking people hostage, but more likely to do some killing when it came right down to it.
“Cross your ankles and do not move.”
“Does shaking count?” Feeling like he was walking to his own execution, Stunt complied since he couldn’t figure out what else to do.
“Look at it this way, you’re going to have one hell of a story to tell your buddies.” Mr. Gun stepped on the back of Stunt’s top leg, pinning both his feet to the ground and making a sharp rock dig into the flesh of Stunt’s shin. Damn, that hurt.
“Have you considered therapy?” Stunt flinched as metal ratcheted closed around his right wrist. Of course this man carried handcuffs. Perfect. Ropes wouldn’t have been a problem, but cuffs…. Shit.
“You’re insulting your captor? I’m not the only one who might want to sign up for a few sessions,” Mr. Gun pointed out.
Stunt sighed as he realized that the guy was probably right. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
“Where’s your gun?” Mr. Gun pulled Stunt’s hands behind his back and closed the other cuff around his left wrist. Panic nearly crawled up Stunt’s throat and choked him to death before he could swallow it back down.
“Considering you just frisked me, you already know I don’t have one.”
Mr. Gun’s warm hands left him, and Stunt stared ahead at the split trunk of a maple, his brain spinning off into trivial thoughts about how they should come out here and thin the trees and clear a few damaged ones. A cold barrel pressed against the back of his neck. “I won’t ask you again,” Mr. Gun warned in a cold voice.
“In my truck. It’s under the front seat,” Stunt offered up. He definitely wasn’t winning any points here.
“Not smart, walking around without a gun.”
“Have you seen our little town? This isn’t exactly crime central. At least, it wasn’t before you showed up.”
“I don’t know about that.” The gun barrel withdrew, and Stunt took a couple of deep breaths to stave off a pending case of unconsciousness. “You seem to have some new neighbors. Trust me, you should keep your weapon on hand.”
“I tell you what, cut me loose, and I’ll go get it now.” Danger always had made Stunt a little giddy and stupid… which is how he’d earned his nickname. If he had his druthers, he’d be out cliff jumping or cave diving or having the most dangerous sex he could find six days a week, but this was far beyond even his comfort level.
“Not really. Terror makes it hard to tell a good joke.”
Mr. Gun reached up between Stunt’s legs and pressed up, nearly sending Stunt falling forward on his face, only Mr. Gun grabbed his shoulder and righted him before reaching around and fumbling with Stunt’s belt.
“Hey, hey, hey, if you’re looking for a partner who is into serious kink, I can give you the name of a club. Or two clubs. There’s more variety in the city than you might think. I mean, Southern gentlemen and genteel ladies can be just as sadistic and kinky as you want if you just find the right club. Or masochistic and kinky. It’s all good, so you do not have to do this.”
“I’m not going to rape you. I’m checking for knives.”
Stunt’s heart slowed a half notch. No killing and no rape… that sounded good. It didn’t match the hand groping him, but it sounded good. “Okay, if you think I could still have a hidden knife on me, I have to ask. Where the hell do you keep your knife?”
Mr. Gun chuckled. “You’d be surprised at what a man can hide in his pants.”
“After this, you pretty much know everything I have in my pants. Feel free to have your homophobia kick in, you know, the sense that maybe you shouldn’t look at another man’s dick in the school showers or ever touch a man’s crotch. Ever. I’m okay with that sort of homophobia right now.”
Mr. Gun’s hand ran along the inside of Stunt’s pants before pulling out the belt. “I’m gay.”
Stunt closed his eyes. Of course. Shit. Under normal circumstance, he’d love to meet a gay man this good with a set of cuffs. Right now, he was figuring this couldn’t get too much worse. “You do know that does not make me feel better, right?”
“I told you, your virtue’s safe with me.” His voice had a bit of frustration in it as he checked Stunt’s right boot.
“You have a bit of a credibility issue with me,” Stunt said, groaning when Mr. Gun checked his left boot and found the sweet little Mini Tac Beaver Tail skinning knife tucked down in it.
“Yep. I figure we both have trust issues at this point.” Mr. Gun stepped to the side and pulled on Stunt’s right arm to get him up onto his feet. “Let’s head to your truck. You do not want me to get spooked, so be a good boy and I won’t have to shoot you in the back.”
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