When Emmy Russo returns to high school in Moncks Corner, South Carolina after summer break, she discovers some changes. First: Mom has a boyfriend. Second: the cute new student, Charlie Fields, is a Rockabilly greaser with a gang who obeys his every command. Third: attractive Keir Harper wants to be more than just her best friend. And fourth: a perplexed Emmy soon finds herself drawn to two extremely different boys. How do you choose between sweet and smoldering? Then tragedy strikes on desolate Thunder Road. Strange things start happening, with Emmy in the middle of it all. Intent on finding the truth, she must fight for her heart, her life, maybe even her soul. Because someone wants to possess all of Emmy. And they will be together, no matter what the cost. For eternity.

At forty years old, Jessica Martinelli's life is in a rut. She is in a marriage with no passion and a job she can no longer stomach. She wishes that things were different, but fears the risk involved in upsetting the balance she has managed to strike for so many years. With the support of her family and friends, Jess makes the choice to begin an unorthodox journey to find some meaning in her empty existence - a journey that leads to new opportunities as well as surprising developments around every turn, including an unexpected chance at love

Thunder Road by James Axler released on Sep 01, 2008 is available now for purchase.

Which street racer really controls the strip? An award-winning YA novel full of fast cars, burn-offs and an unwritten code of loyalty. 'Thunder Road' . You find it in any city after the cops are in bed. It's where street racers go to test their machines - and their nerve. For me it was ... the steep rising pitch of the turbo, the screaming tyres and curtain of white smoke hanging behind me: all the stuff that spells street racing.' Trace is 19 and has grown out of small-town ways. He's hungry for more. In Auckland he hooks up with Devon, a guy with the Midas touch, who introduces Trace to burn-offs, big city style. Soon everything is smoking. There is a code with drivers: you don't criticise and you don't show fear. When Trace falls for a girl even Devon says is out of his league, loyalties are stretched. Then Devon hits on a scheme for hauling in cash. Soon enough he and Trace find out who really controls the strip. As the underworld closes in, it looks like their friendship is heading for burn-out. Menacing and suspenseful - a gripping novel from a remarkable talent which won the of the NZ Post Children's Book Awards Young Adult Fiction category in 2004.

Evoking Stephen King's terrifying novelThe Gunslinger and the epic adventure film Cowboys and Aliens, Tamara Thorne delivers a tantalizing blend of horror and Western SciFi--in an arid, dangerous world from which there is no escape. . . The California desert town of Madelyn boasts all sorts of attractions for visitors. Join the audience at the El Dorado Ranch for a Wild West show. Take a ride through the haunted mine at Madland Amusement Park. Scan the horizon for UFOs. Find religion with the Prophet's Apostles--and be prepared for the coming apocalypse. Because the apocalypse has arrived in Madelyn. People are disappearing. Strange shapes and lights dart across the night sky. And a young man embraces a violent destiny--inspired by a serial killer whose reign of terror was buried years ago. But each of these events is merely setting the stage for the final confrontation. A horror of catastrophic proportions is slouching toward Madelyn in the form of four horsemen--and they're picking up speed. . . "Tamara Thorne has become one of those must-read horror writers. From her strong characters to her unique use of the supernatural, anything she writes entertains as much as it chills." --Horror World "Tamara Thorne is the new wave of horror--her novels are fascinating rides into the heart of terror and mayhem." --Douglas Clegg

In this gamble, more than a few poker chips are at stake. When an Army Air Force Major vanishes from his Top Secret job at the Fort Worth airbase in the summer of 1947, down-on-his-luck former Ranger Jefferson Sharp is hired to find him, because the Major owes a sizable gambling debt to a local mobster. The search takes Sharp from the hideaway poker rooms of Fort Worth's Thunder Road, to the barren ranch lands of New Mexico, to secret facilities under construction in the Nevada desert. Lethal operatives and an opaque military bureaucracy stand in his way, but when he finds an otherworldly clue and learns President Truman is creating a new Central Intelligence Agency and splitting the Air Force from the Army, Sharp begins to connect dots. And those dots draw a straight line to a conspiracy aiming to cover up a secret that is out of this world?literally so.

From Thunder Road: I don’t know why we stared at that dead pterodactyl chick so long—there wasn’t anything particularly striking or even gross about it; there were no flies, for example, no maggots—just a couple of butterflies, one white and the other burnt orange, which matched the fading sunlight. Maybe it was our nonstop ride all the way from Biggs Junction near the Washington border to Multnomah Falls, which was closer to Portland (I mean, it’s a lot of work, peddling a BMX bicycle some 70-plus miles, even across level terrain). Or maybe it was how paper-thin the creature’s exsanguinous, oyster-white skin was, how almost translucent, or the way its little talons weren’t really talons at all but little hands, like a baby’s hands. All I remember for certain is how contemplative everyone seemed to get while looking down at it—how funereal; even elegiac—like we were saying goodbye to one of our own. All I remember for certain is something akin to holding vigil for a fellow traveler; which, in a very real sense, we were. “For him, the war is over,” I whispered—although I doubt anyone heard me over the crash and roar of the falls. “I wonder where Mom is …” “Not here, that’s for sure,” said Quint. “There are no nests.” I followed his gaze into the treetops and beyond, to the waterfall itself, which dashed and cascaded down the cliffs. “Weird. I mean—where the hell could it have come from?” “Maybe it came from up there,” said Jesse. “From the very top. There’s—there’s a platform up there, a wooden observation deck. We came here on a field trip once and hiked up to it. Be a good place to build a nest—real stable. And defensible.” I looked from one end of the concrete bridge—“Benson Bridge,” the sign had called it—which was closed off with cyclone fencing, to the other. “Speaking of which, this bridge looks pretty defensible—don’t you think?” I peered off the way we had come. “Only one side to protect; we can take turns standing watch … I mean, it may not be the Ritz but—what do you say?” We looked around and then at each other. “Hell, I’m in,” said Quint. “We can even build a fire and maybe eat something—something hot, I mean. It’ll be just like—it’ll be just like Camp Courage!” I couldn’t help but to notice he’d stopped short of saying “home,” and a quick glance at Jesse confirmed he’d noticed it too; although whether he’d done so because his own home life had sucked or because he’d understood—in that moment—that, because of the Flashback, we’d never see home again, I don’t know. “Sure, why not,” said Jesse. “We can heat up that beef stew, the one we were saving for Portland. We’re close enough.” He shrugged off his pack and spear and laid down his bike. “And besides, it’ll lighten my load.” He dug out the can of Dinty Moore stew and paused, looking at it. “Seems … almost wasteful, though … doesn’t it? I mean … you’d like to think, you’d like to think nothing was born … just to lay there and rot, you know?” We all turned to look at the bird. “Yeah,” said Quint. “I mean, it’s like God laid it out there just for us, and here we are wanting to eat something from a can.” I got off my bike and reached for my pocketknife—touched its smooth, imitation-wood handle. “We’re going to have to learn how to hunt eventually, I suppose. I mean—” “I already know how to hunt,” said Quint. “And to clean and dress a—” “I know how to do that, too.” He held out his hand for my knife—which I gave over to him: slowly, reluctantly. “And since both you pussies missed man-school; I guess I’ll be the one to have to show you.” Jesse looked at me and then back to Quint. “Let me guess. Because—attributes.” “Because—attributes,” said Quint, and got off his bike.