Welcome to TRB Lounge! We’re thrilled to host author Suzie Leonie today, who will be unveiling an exciting excerpt from her book, Ivan, Boris and Me. Dive in and get an exclusive sneak peek into this amazing read!

About the Book

Ivan, Boris and Me

Illustrator Elodie Ginsburg and her spendthrift best friend, Boris, are inseparable. Taking care of an audacious yellow-haired clown in a red-and-white-striped onesie and oversized black shoes can be a challenge. However, Boris means the world to Elodie. He is a handful, but he’s her handful. Their symbiosis is disrupted when Ivan Lennard, a former professional cyclist with a closely guarded secret, moves into the house next door and becomes a regular occurrence in their lives. Each encounter is a catalyst for Boris to spiral more out of control and increase his outrageous demands, until Elodie finds herself at a crossroads and has to make the most difficult decision she’s ever made.

You can find Evan, Boris and Me here:
Amazon | Goodreads

Excerpt

4.

Boris: When we call in on our new neighbor, we have to bring dessert.

Elodie: I need to finish my work. I don’t have time to make anything extravagant.

Boris: It’s impolite to arrive somewhere without dessert.

Elodie: We aren’t even sure our new neighbor likes dessert.

Boris: You can’t bring the worst part of the meal and not the best.

Elodie: What do you mean?

Boris: You have to get through the savory to be rewarded with the sweet.

Elodie: That is not my experience.

Boris: But it is how it is.

Elodie: We have to agree to disagree on that.

Boris: No, we don’t.

Elodie: What if the neighbor agrees with me and isn’t a fan of dessert?

Boris: That isn’t going to be a problem. If he doesn’t like it, I will eat it all.

Elodie: Aren’t you planning to leave any for me at least?

Boris: Not necessarily.

Elodie: So, the dessert is actually for you then, not for our new neighbor?

Boris: You didn’t hear me say that.

Elodie: No, of course not.

Boris: It’s settled then. What are you going to make?

Elodie: I’m never going to win with you, am I? Why do I even try?

I find enough ingredients in my pantry and fridge to make a three-cheese lasagna and a two-tiered mango coconut cake for dessert. I spread them out, so everything is waiting for me on the counter while I add the last few details to my current illustration. I put down my pencils and admire the work. These pictures are turning out beautifully. My celebrity client came up with his own candy-based family a gift to his kids and, as an added bonus, an easy way to pad his bank account. The Lollipoppets hop around on one foot. Their bodies are rectangular-shaped with two bear ears at the top and cutout circles for their faces. Their eyes consist of a simple white rim with a black dot inside, and their mouths are made of small pieces of stringed licorice. I like their names: Molli Lolli, the indigo, grape-flavored one; Dolli Lolli, the pink, raspberry-flavored one; Polli Lolli, the tangerine, orange-flavored one; and Rolli Lolli, the brown, cola-flavored one. The project isn’t a chore. After all, the Lollipoppets are exactly what they’re supposed to be—cute, whimsical, and delightful. Boris likes them as well. Every time I finish a picture, he looks at it for at least half an hour, cautiously studying the details.

Before I can put my supplies away, Boris skips over to the table. I hurry to cover everything up and keep my work out of harm’s way, careful to prevent any smears from ending up on it. Boris isn’t the most prudent when there’s food around. He might even see staining my drawings as a contribution with intrinsic artistic value, and there would be no time to start over.

“My Melody Elodie, please read your story to me from the beginning. I like the Lollipoppets.”

“Boris, sweetie, we don’t have time. I need to prepare dinner.”

“Ten extra minutes won’t make a difference. I like the story. Please, please, please.”

I already know where this is going, and to avoid more discussion, I begin to read. “Once upon a time there were a Momma and a Poppa Lollipoppet called Molli and Rolli Lolli. They had two little Lollipoppet girls that they named Dolli and Polli. They were happy together, but something was missing from their lives; they were a bit lonely. Why do you think that was, Boris?”

“Because there weren’t any other Lollipoppets for them to play with!”

“Exactly, and that is why they started a search. First, they looked under the couch, then under the table, then upstairs under the bed. Unfortunately, there were no other Lollipoppets to be found anywhere. That is why they had to take their first steps into the wide world outside of Chocolate Cottage, which is where they lived. What do you think happened next?”

“They ran into other sweets, like Taffee the Toffee and Bubblegum Bert, who helped them search, but to no avail. They didn’t meet a single Lollipoppet. They looked behind every candy cane on Candy Cane Lane and didn’t find any Lollipoppets there either. When they finally reached the end of the street, they were getting tired from hopping long distances, but they were persistent and crossed the wide Popcorn Playground anyway. Their reward was meeting Winegum William at the other end, who knew where they were supposed to go. Together they hopped to the Fruit-Flavored Forest, where they finally found two other Lollipoppets in Caramel Cabin, the green, apple-flavored Jolli and the red, strawberry-flavored Tolli. They hugged each other and played together, soon becoming best friends. And then they did a hoppy dance and lived hoppily ever after.”

“I don’t even have to read it to you anymore. You already know the story by heart.”

“My Melody Elodie, I like it. Can we keep the drawings?”

“Unfortunately not, but as soon as the book comes out, the publisher will send us a copy.”

“But I love the Lollipoppets. I don’t want you to give them away.”

“I’ll throw together a booklet with some of my sample drawings for you, so we can keep reading once I’m done with the project.”

“Okay. Can I eat a piece of cake now?”

“After dinner. Why don’t you tell me who your favorite Lollipoppet is while I’m cooking?”

“I like Tolli the most because he is red, and I have red-and-white-striped clothes. Can you hang a picture of him above my bed? Will you draw one for me?”

“Sure, why not.”

Boris does cartwheels in the kitchen as a response. The space is small, and he barrels right into me, knocking the chopping board and knife I used to cut the vegetables from the counter. Fortunately, I’d already put the lasagna into the oven and only spill leftover vegetable juices on the floor. I set the timer before mopping up the mess. Then I open the back door and give Boris a little shove into the garden. There’s a big porch swing we like to sit on together. Boris loves it. “My Melody Elodie, can you push as hard as you can?”

“Of course.” The swing creaks precariously, but it’s sturdy and strong enough to hold us both. Boris pulls his nose away from his face as far as the elastic will stretch, and when I stick out my tongue in response, he howls with laughter. We are making a lot of noise, and apparently that is something our new neighbor doesn’t appreciate. I can see the top half of his face over the fence, and his grimace is even more prominent than it was earlier in the day. Boris says hello and smiles, but my new neighbor doesn’t acknowledge him, and the captivatingly gleeful expression on Boris’s face turns sour instead. I better take my clown inside and give him some fudge. I normally don’t allow him to eat sweets before a meal, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I hope I’m doing the right thing by bringing my neighbor dinner after this brief but telling display of displeasure. I don’t have long to think about it, though, because the timer on the oven pings, and I want the food to be hot when I deliver it. I grab a towel to protect my hands from the heat and put the clear glass dish onto the counter. “Boris, it’s time for us to go.”

“My Melody Elodie, do I have to come? I don’t like our new neighbor very much. He looks mean.”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for him to be grumpy. Let’s give the man the benefit of the doubt, and if he’s distant to us again, we can always leave. It’s possible that he needs to warm up to us because he’s an introvert.” Boris shrugs, which means he’s heard the message but isn’t buying it. I’m not sure if I am either. Our new neighbor frightens me a little. He’s kind of strange and stand-offish. I like a challenge and appreciate a good enigma, but I prefer for them to not be too far out of my comfort zone.

There’s a path that connects the gardens in our cul-de-sac, and since it’s easier to reach my neighbor’s house with my hands full and a clown by my side that way, I decide to risk going around the back. I have to balance both the lasagna and the cake, while simultaneously needing to pay attention not to trip over Boris’s feet when we both squeeze through the narrow entrance of my neighbor’s property at the same time.

Fortunately for us, the man is still outside. He’s sitting on an expensive wooden lounge set covered in thick, luxurious pillows with his legs stretched out in front of him. The construction looks sturdy. It is made of teak and it probably cost more than I make in three months. It’s way too big for the relatively small-sized patio though and covers the entire width and more than half of the length.

“Hello again. I hope we aren’t interrupting, but we thought we’d welcome you to the neighborhood. As moving takes a lot of energy and you probably still have plenty to do, we brought you dinner.”

My neighbor’s scowl turns into a wistful gaze for a moment, which disappears almost as quickly as it appears. The change happens so fast I don’t even know if it’s actually real or solely a figment of my imagination.

“My Melody Elodie, the neighbor still isn’t nice. I don’t want to stay.” My clown is already fretting. I hope he’ll be patient enough to at least give the man a chance.

Boris turns around, ready to walk out. However, that’s when the new neighbor finally holds out his hand. I put my offerings on the outdoor coffee table and shake it. While his fingers are warm and dry, his grip isn’t as firm as I expected it to be. I quickly withdraw when I experience a jolt of electricity. It’s zinging through me like the shock I received when I was thirteen and hurt myself switching on a broken blender with a faulty wire. I check my palm and see the skin is undamaged. I must have been the only one who felt it, because my neighbor looks unperturbed.

“Please excuse my bad manners. I’m Ivan, and I’m not used to unannounced visitors. My house is still a mess, so I have nothing to offer you yet. Although I do appreciate your kind gesture.” He’s pointing at the food. “Thank you very much.” Ivan picks up the dishes and walks away with them. I stand there on his porch, flabbergasted, not sure what to do with myself.

“That man is weird. He didn’t even ask us to come in. I was hoping he’d give me a glass of lemonade.” Boris is clearly disappointed.

I’m about to leave when Ivan steps outside once more. “I’m sorry I’m not more hospitable, but I am grateful and shall return the kitchenware to you tomorrow.” With another one of his curt nods, he walks back into the house and leaves me and Boris standing, gaping like two unsightly river pikes. Boris is right, Ivan is odd. At least he’s accepted my food. I don’t want to judge my new neighbor based on two brief impressions; maybe the man has a good reason for his sullenness. However, Boris isn’t as forgiving.

“This garden is ugly. It only has boring gray tiles, and there is nothing for me to play with. Can we go now?” Boris grabs my elbow and pulls me along with him. He starts to run, and despite his huge feet, he’s gathering too much speed for me to keep up. This time I trip over a loose tree root close to the gate. I have to hold on to the recently replaced woodwork to stay upright, and even though the hinges manage to hold my weight, they bend out of shape. Great, the first time we’ve been to my new neighbor’s house, Boris and I were snubbed, and I’ve already wrecked something. Why can’t I be the epitome of grace, the sophisticated elegant lady who wows everyone around her with her timeless beauty and poise? My sister-in-law Andrea has all these qualities, but my mother is right, I don’t possess any of them.

I’ll somehow have to find the cash to replace that fence, which means accepting even more commissions. It’s going to be a struggle to add to my already overflowing schedule, but I have done it before. Sleep is overrated anyway. I wipe the moisture from my eyes and soldier on.

“My Melody Elodie, are you mad at me?” Boris has done nothing wrong. He shouldn’t be the victim of my overdramatic tendencies.

“Of course not, sweetheart, accidents can happen.” It’s too bad that they always happen to me and Boris though.

About The Author

Suze Leonie

Suze Leonie is a literary fiction and children’s fiction author and illustrator from a Dutch coastal town. She has a passion for literature and philosophy and when she isn’t writing or drawing, she’s usually found with a book in her hand. In the spring of 2024 Suze Leonie made her debut with the novel Ivan, Boris and Me, which is the first book in a collection of literary works that heavily focus on human psychology. When Suze Leonie is able to let go of her precious books she enjoys going to museums, good food, board games and long walks on the beach.

You can find author Leonie here:
Author Website | X | Instagram

If you are an author and wish to be featured as our guest or if you are a publicist and want to get your author featured on TRB, then please get in touch directly by e-mail at thereadingbud@gmail.com

Welcome to TRB Lounge! We’re thrilled to host author Harrison F. Kraus today, who will be unveiling an exciting excerpt from his latest release, Of Gods and Men Book 1: Men. Dive in and get an exclusive sneak peek into this superb book!

About the Book

Of Gods and Men Book 1: Men

The war to end all wars has already been fought—and darkness has won.
In the realm of Aezigar, gods clashed, dragons roamed, and mortals fought for survival. But when the war between light and shadow reached its end, the god of darkness, Umbra, emerged victorious. His dominion is unchallenged, his hunger insatiable. Now, even as the land of Aezigar suffers beneath Umbra’s shadow, the god of darkness turns to a new world to conquer: Earth.
But Umbra’s conquest is far from assured. On Earth, unexpected powers awaken in the unlikeliest of Earth’s inhabitants: an uncertain younger brother, a fiery older brother, an ignored son, an aspirant student, and a hardened military captain. Soon these heroes begin to discover their extraordinary connections to their parallel selves in Aezigar.

Meanwhile, in his arrogance, Umbra has left embers of rebellion still smoldering in Aezigar. In that alternate universe, the heroes begin to stand against a world dominated by the forces Umbra left to rule in his absence: a hunter in service to the darkness, two brothers fleeing for their lives, a coward hiding in enemy lands, a leader of a shattered people, and a reaver seeking plunder in the chaos.
Now, the fate of two worlds hangs in the balance. Will the heroes of two worlds be able to stop the darkness that the heroes of Aezigar alone could not? Or will the light of both worlds be extinguished forever?
…
Of Gods and Men is a sweeping blend of fantasy and superhero genres, crafted for those who crave epic tales of courage, sacrifice, and hope. Spanning two worlds—modern Earth and the fantastical realm of Aezigar—it weaves multiple interconnected storylines into a grand narrative of rebellion, redemption, and resilience. With heroes shaped by their struggles and choices that echo across realities, this is a story where every action carries weight, every bond is tested, every sacrifice matters, and the fate of entire worlds hangs in the balance. Prepare to embark on an unforgettable journey of parallel worlds, godlike battles, and the enduring fight against darkness.

You can find Of Gods and Men Book 1: Men here:
Amazon | Goodreads

Excerpt

Prologue: The Man

Before the turn of the millennium, there was a man. He was tall, about 6’4”, with a skinny enough build that he nearly gave off the impression of being malnourished. However, if he wasn’t eating enough, his clothing gave enough indication to assume that it wasn’t due to a lack of financial means. He sat at a desk in an office overlooking New York City while wearing a three-piece suit. His pants, socks, shoes, jacket, vest, and tie were all black, as had been most of his clothing since he was a teenager. At the moment, he had his feet propped up on his desk. He held in his hand an audio recording device that he had purchased the evening before.

He spoke. “Today, I have resolved to stop.” The audio device had been recording for hours, but he hadn’t said a word. He wondered if it was even storing anything anymore.

He erased the recording and started again. “Today, I’ve made up my mind to put an end to the madness. Certain practices have been going on here, in the very company I founded, that can only be described as shameful, cruel, and downright evil. I’ve tried to stop this many times, but I failed. For the past three months, I’ve lain awake every night thinking about what’s been happening here, and every night, I’ve promised myself I’d put a stop to it. But every day, I’ve failed. It always pulls me back in. So today, I’ve decided to end it tonight. The truth is, I’m the one responsible for every crime, every cruel act, and every wrong done. I’ve given the orders, and I’ve pulled the trigger. I’ve dragged others into this life, and I’ve brought them down to the point where they’ve begged for mercy. I have to admit, I enjoyed the power and control. I’ve ruined lives and hurt people I claimed to love. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m capable of that… love. I never thought I was, but I thought that if I said the words, maybe they’d become true. Maybe if I pretended to be a trustworthy person, I’d become one. But I haven’t. To those who followed my lead, I lied. This life is destructive. But it might not be too late for you. It’s certainly too late for me. I have one honorable option left. I’ve tried to quit, but I can’t. As long as I’m alive, this will never end. I’ve lost control. So, I’ve decided to end the madness, stop the injustices, and kill the villain.”

About The Author

Harrison F. Kraus

Harrison F. Kraus has always been drawn to complex, multi-character narratives. Though he holds a PhD in Chemical Engineering, storytelling remains his greatest passion. He spent many weekends in college library study cubbies crafting his novel, balancing scientific rigor with creative worldbuilding. His stories often begin with a hand-drawn map, a habit that extends to his Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. Exploring themes of internal struggle, unity, and consequence, his work is subtly shaped by his Christian faith. Now residing in Greenbelt, Maryland, with his wife, Nisha, and their cat, Mika, he continues to write stories that reflect his lifelong love of epic storytelling.

You can find author Kraus here:
Goodreads

If you are an author and wish to be featured as our guest or if you are a publicist and want to get your author featured on TRB, then please get in touch directly by e-mail at thereadingbud@gmail.com

Welcome to TRB Lounge! We’re thrilled to host author Miles Joyner today, who will be unveiling an insightful excerpt from his latest book, Bazaar, an action-packed techno-thriller with a heart. Dive in and get an exclusive sneak peek into this superb book!

About the Book

Bazaar

A high-profile homicide of a former ambassador’s son in the nightlife district of the nation’s capital gets connected to an assassination market on the dark web, turning the DC area into a battlefield over a new generation of class warfare. When the ex-diplomat, Chiedu Attah, hires an elite executive protection team headed by siblings Yemi and Karen Uzunma to guarantee his safety, the security firm realizes they are going up against a young inventive contract killer who is determined to finish off the political VIP by any means necessary.

Bazaar is the first book in a series that follows the security contractor Raptor as it deals with the ramifications the prediction market has on the political celebrities of the capital region.

You can find Bazaar here:
Amazon | Apple Books | Barnes & Noble | Google Play Store | Rakuten Kobo | SmashWords | Book Website

Excerpt

Chapter One

Chapter 1

The only lighting inside the dark room was a couple of red LED lamps. They didn’t bother the eyesight of eighteen-year-old Aaron Williams, who was wide-eyed in fascination at his Ultramaker XT 3D printer going to work. The last of the white filament flew out the extruder onto the print bed, and he couldn’t have felt any more like a father watching his wife through the glass, holding their newborn baby.

He reached onto the platform and gripped his new plastic handgun that shot real, metal bullets. Like its predecessors, the Mini Talon had been banned from all sites hosting 3-D printing design files. However, Aaron was able to obtain it through torrents online, and now he had the opportunity to add it to his family of firearms that lay around the room, including an assault rifle with a lower receiver printed with the same material. But unlike the rest of its siblings, the MT wouldn’t be another one of Aaron’s toys to fire off rounds at tree targets deep in the woods. Some of the former models exploded on tests from the videos Aaron watched online, but he was confident the new version would not fail to take out his intended target in a few days with its untraceable ballistics.

Danny would be his escape. The son of a local pho restaurant owner was Aaron’s only friend outside the digital realm. Danny Phat took very little in life seriously, but for all the flaws, he knew every back road of the entire DC, Maryland, Virginia area. He could whip his raggedy-ass decade-old Nissan Altima pretty well. Either way, Aaron had no driver’s license and he wouldn’t risk getting pulled over or traced to a rideshare app. The young 21st-century gunsmith couldn’t take his eyes off his latest creation. He loaded a magazine, cocked the weapon, and listened satisfyingly to the crisp click. It blew Aaron’s mind to think the ammunition clip had fit perfectly into a gun made from the same material as his storage cabinet.

He was ready to test the gun. Would it fire smoothly? He had two days to test it and find out before he had to execute his assigned job.

August 20th, 2024. 1:30 AM.
Washington, D.C.

Liquor-induced shrieks and screams of laughter carried over the bass thumps throughout a bumping Adams Morgan, the corridor of D.C. that served as one of the city’s nightlife hot spots. Neon lights shined on the designer-brand, clean-cut, modern-day yuppies who strut out of the nightclubs and the plaid-shirt bearded hipsters who stumbled out of the brewing taverns. A lot were on their nights off from studying, but the cost of drinks was far higher than college town prices so the professional class of everyone from policy aides to software engineers got just as wasted. Regardless of education or socioeconomic background, many women looked for their best friend whom they lost in the partying, and many male counterparts hoped to be that lucky dude they might have run off with.

Isaiah knew that’s what his best friend Adamu Attah wanted to be at that moment. But it was past Last Call, and Isaiah had put pressure on him for them to start heading back to their university dorms. He could tell Adamu didn’t get it. The youngest patriarch of the politically rich Attah family from Nigeria had no issues getting cheeks back home, butAmerican girls apparently weren’t as impressed with his super-forward approach. Isaiah tried to explain this to Adamu outside the Astro Lounge on 18th Street with neither a female around his arm nor a single new contact in his phone, but before he could bother to listen, a tipsy trio of curvy young women strolled out after him and caught his eye. Long braids, luscious shapes formed from their Lycra dresses, flawless different shades of ebony skin. Isaiah just knew Adamu would try again.

“AY!” The belles reluctantly turned toward the source of the attempt at a mating call. “Where we goin’ tonight?”

“Nowhere that involves ugly!” The tallest out of the three formed a smirk under her glasses, her two graduate degrees having only enhanced a life’s worth of sharp rebuttals to catcalling in her neighborhood. She laughed, and the pack began to leave the scene. No different than a kid eyeing the milk chocolate bar right before checkout, Isaiah knew Adamu just couldn’t take no for an answer. The shorter one with the most voluptuous figure became the unlucky winner to have her hand grabbed without permission.

“C’mon mami, ditch these bitches—” Adamu was snatched mid-sentence by a bouncer whose neck rolls formed a poop emoji and got tossed like a rag doll into the hands of Isaiah a few feet away.

“Dumbass!” screamed the short one as the three marched off down the street.

“I’m royalty, hoes! Some other BITCH will get blessed with this big dick tonight!”

“HEY!” The head of Astro Lounge security had enough. So had Isaiah.

“I’m so sorry, sir, he’s drunk.”

“Get him the fuck outta here before I break his jaw.”

“Yes, sir. Again, I’m sorry!”

The situation was all too familiar to Isaiah. Except now, instead of guiding a destroyed Adamu down the Terrapin-flagged residential streets of College Park, Maryland, from one frat house to another, they had graduated to bar hopping in D.C., where the young bachelor had been able to finally drink legally for the past ninety minutes.

“Sometimes you’re a freaking embarrassment, Adamu.”

“Shut the hell up and get an Uber. We’re going to Starline.”

“Starline?”

“Strip club.” Adamu gulped down a wad of vomit from coming out. Isaiah looked away in disgust, but something else caught his eye as they turned the corner.

A Metrobus stop bench rested thirty yards from their position. He figured that was where they could gather themselves after such a night. He used the remainder of his stamina to finally reach the bench and slap the back of Adamu to the hard rubber as if to try to wake him up. Isaiah checked his phone. 2% battery.

“Dammit…Adamu!”

His eyes opened, barely able to comprehend where he was even at, let alone being able to give Isaiah a response.

“Your phone. Mine’s about to die.” Body in total slow motion, Adamu managed to tap his pockets.

“Sh-Sh-Sh-Shit” eeked out of Adamu’s mouth.

“WHAT?!” Isaiah tapped his friend’s pockets. “Where is it?! Or your wallet?” Another tap. Wow. Alcohol and a night of partying caused his buddy to lose track of his valuables. Unbelievable.

“The hell is wrong with you? This isn’t Saint Catherines anymore!” Isaiah yelled at him, referencing their boarding school back in Victoria Island.

Vomit rose through his esophagus, except Isaiah could tell from the lump in Adamu’s throat that this batch was going full projectile. Isaiah jumped out of the way right in time for only a chunk to get on his shoes. The rest of Adamu’s day’s intake became a red-yellow puddle at the side of the bench. The gross site, as well as the realization that their options were fading, prompted Isaiah to throw his fist and scream a few “fucks” to himself. He looked up at the bus stop sign and saw that the 92 bus had a destination of SHAW-Howard, a Metro station. Maybe the route was their best bet if the bus got there within fifteen minutes and they made the last train, figured Isaiah as he composed himself.

He looked away, and something else caught his eye. Several blocks down Marion Street walked a hooded figure. Not too brisk, but certainly with purpose right toward their position. Isaiah squinted, and the street lamps revealed a teenager in a dark blue hoodie with jeans. The getup, time of night, and even the location were enough for Isaiah’s nerves to merge into his skin. Yeah, they were in the “nice part” of D.C., but Isaiah’s classmates had been robbed on campus, so it could happen anywhere. The young male got closer. When he was thirty feet away, Isaiah was still unsure of how to react or whether to react at all. The feeling might have been what his student counselor emphasized as overthinking.

“Com’on now.” Shifting from foot to foot, Isaiah sunk his hands deep into his pockets, a reflex move he made whenever he was nervous. At the same time, he heard his parents’ judgmental biases about inner-city youth, fighting to stave off his own similar thoughts.

“Hey, bro,” the figure said once he reached the bus stop. They traded ‘sup’ nods. Isaiah’s was way more reserved. “My phone’s dead. You got the time?”

“Mine’s dead, too. Sorry.”

“Hate when that happens out of nowhere.” Isaiah started to ease up to the source of the voice that seemed extra friendly with a hint of anxiety. The jitters he noticed from the kid were probably from him panicking over his phone being dead, figured Isaiah. Something he clearly could relate to, given his own situation. The original image shaped in his head was starting to look too judgemental. The teenager looked at Adamu who hung over the bench, motionless and barely conscious. “I’d ask him, but he looks done.”

“Yeah, he lost his at the club. Long night.” Isaiah gandered at his friend draped over the bench, now sharing sympathy with his comrade.

“Ah, so THAT’S why the phone is dead. Had it out the whole time booking them females. Can’t even be mad at him.”

“Not even,” laughed Isaiah, trying to shake off whatever anxiety he had left. “Word, y’all heading to Howard?”

“Nah. We go to Maryland. Trying to figure out a way back, actually.”

“Shit, I’m in the same position. Know where the closest metro is? Wonder if we can make the last train…”

The sign, Isaiah remembered. They had to just keep walking down Marion.”Yeah, I think—” POP POP. The friend of the target was not getting up from the two .380 caliber bullets that were just blasted through his skull with the utmost precision and professionalism. Aaron didn’t waste a beat as he tactically shifted the open sights of his plastic 3-D printed pistol to a groggy Adamu struggling to get his words out. “Please,” he cried. “I-I don’t have my wallet, but I can give you anything. I’m rich as fuck I swear— ” POP. Three total gunshots.The first one might have caught attention, but the second one was supposed to send any potential eyewitnesses running. At least, that’s what he learned from observing the few shootings he witnessed around his way. Aaron stowed the pistol away in his waistband holster. He checked the surroundings for the fifth time that night. There was no sign of anybody. He picked the right spot and predicted Adamu’s every move since the club perfectly. But where the hell was Danny? His Altima was supposed to be turning that corner before the first shot. VROOM. SCREECH. There it was. Revved and making too much damn noise as it peeled from an alleyway to scoop Aaron. The passenger door flew open, and Aaron jumped in. They took off before any sirens could be heard.

“Woo!” yelled Danny as he whipped around another corner. The two dressed pretty similar but everything Danny did was exaggerated in an attempt to blend into the projects they were heading back to. Everything from the Commander’s fitted hat to his Foamposite pressed against the gas pedal contrasted the plainer attire of Aaron, who didn’t care at all about the brands his former classmates worshipped on a daily basis.

“Fool you a BEAST!”

Aaron needed a moment to gather himself. Despite his success so far, taking someone’s life for the first time was a difficult realization to settle into. Let alone two lives. His parents never intended to raise a killer. His dyslexia limited the options the school offered. Danny’s advice about selling drugs or sketchy affiliate marketing plans wasn’t a solution either. He knew what would end up to him down that familiar path. He also took note of how naive Danny’s hype was in the latest additions to the district’s homicide rate.

“You were late” was the first thing out of Aaron’s mouth.

“Chill, fam. Traffic around the corner was O-C. Stop acting like I ain’t do my job.” Aaron’s eyes just rolled in response. Maybe if it was another debate at Danny’s spot about Harden Vs. Curry over some french fries drenched in mambo sauce, he’d entertain the bickering. But not after carrying out his first homicide. He wanted silence.

“But yeah, slim, you did the damn thing. How much did those lames have anyways? Real live starving in this bitch.” Aaron’s eyes widened. Unbeknownst to Danny, Aaron was just supposed to make it only look like a robbery.

“Shit, I forgot to run through their pockets.”

“The fuck you mean forgot? Nigga what was the whole point of tonight?”

“I still got you…and I told you not to use that word around me.”

“Imma call you a whole lot of other things if you don’t get my bread, muh fucka. Fuck type shit you think this is—”

“DANNY! SHUT THE HELL UP! Please.” Aaron didn’t yell often, but the authentic rage in his voice shut down whatever gangsta persona Danny was going for. By then, Aaron knew Danny finally realized it wasn’t another discussion about the NBA playoffs.

“Just get us to P-G,” Aaron said. P-G was the county of their home right outside the nation’s capital, Prince George’s. “Stop somewhere, and I’ll cover, but I can’t talk right now.” Nothing but the sound of road bumps and night traffic until Danny began to piece together a hint as to what the real motivation for that night had been.

“Aaron.” Danny had to pause for a moment. “Are you saying this was a hit?” Aaron didn’t care to answer Danny’s curiosity. He stared at the night-lit city outside the car window. He had just clocked out, and there was no desire to talk about work. The murder of Adamu happened two hours after midnight, meaning his death landed on the date Aaronhad bet on the assassination market called the Bazaar.

About The Author

Miles Joyner

Miles shifted to novels after years of filmmaking and editing television in the Washington, DC area. He particularly loves the technothriller genre at the moment and is an active member of International Thriller Writers where his first novel, Bazaar, was selected for their Debut Authors program. He also attends monthly meetings for the writer’s group, Novels in Progress DC. 

You can find author Joyner here:
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If you are an author and wish to be featured as our guest or if you are a publicist and want to get your author featured on TRB, then please get in touch directly by e-mail at thereadingbud@gmail.com

Welcome to TRB Lounge! We’re thrilled to host author Bernt Erik Bjontegard today, who will be unveiling an insightful excerpt from his latest book, History Rules My Tomorrow. Dive in and get an exclusive sneak peek into this amazing book!

About the Book

History Rules My Tomorrow

A question to ponder: are we as humans pre-programmed to “follow in our father’s footsteps?” Is there something inherent in our heritage? Do we repeat what our forefathers and mothers did?
And if so, can we apply these inherited cross-generational learning methods as we invent the next generations of intelligent systems? Rather than creating AI that is artificial and intended to replace human work, can we create intelligent systems that AUGMENT the human’s work and support him or her? Can we invent intelligent systems that learn and improve themselves with the mind of creating betterment for all humans as well?

Erik Bjontegard left Norway when he was 18 to study in the UK, then moved on to California. Not realizing until later in life, his actions and behavior, his quests for new discoveries, and his desire to invent followed his father and grandfather on his mother’s side. Now an accomplished inventor, former NASA rocket scientist, deep sea robotics, and submarine explorer, he is now navigating the new Phygital realms connecting the physical and digital.

In this engaging and inspiring autobiography, Bernt “Erik” Bjontegard narrates his life filled with the stories of his grandparents’ sacrifices during WWII, his own mistakes and discoveries, and poses important questions on how to engage the listeners and their families to assist in creating and inventing better human-technology interfaces. Learning from his history, he is embarking on the journey to make his tomorrow better than today.

You can find History Rules My Future here:
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Excerpt

Chapter Five — My Story

While my own life story does not include war, Mayan Indians, Nazis, or building new countries or nations, you may start to see some interesting trends that I have only now started to understand as my hair is turning gray.

I left Norway to study in the UK at 18 instead of attending the university in Norway where my father was a visiting professor. I had been accepted, and staying in Norway would have been easier. All the education was in Norwegian. In England, they speak English a lot, even more so in the university classes.

I worked on subsea engineering and robotics. I got stuck in a submarine at the bottom of the North Sea. It made me look into space and explore other paths, which eventually brought me to the USA. So, I shifted from subsea robotics to aerospace and worked with NASA on their space shuttle at one of their big sub-contractors.

I had great success and was on the corporate ladder, supporting Boeing and Airbus in certifying their aircraft for the FAA, but I wanted more adventure. So, I ventured into a completely different realm, from deep-sea robotics, aerospace, and deep space to the equally mysterious world of make-up and fashion. As you may be able to tell, it is not a typical employment path.

From there onward, I moved into another entirely different business sector: building new homes and communities and becoming a real estate broker and land developer. Once that wasn’t exciting enough, I went onto something brand new.

Mobile technology. Another brand new frontier. I came into telecommunications, looking for new ways to connect the physical and digital worlds and build a way to enhance daily experiences.

As an American sci-fi author, Kage Baker said, “I don’t think humanity just replays history. We are the same people our ancestors were, and our descendants are going to face a lot of the same situations we do. It’s instructive to imagine how they would react to different technologies on different worlds.”

You must have figured by now that I am somewhat unusual. I don’t choose the road that most take. Instead, I create new paths. While different from my forefathers and parents, we will explore some remarkable similarities.

I am a patented inventor. I have started new companies and have also gone bankrupt.I have made a fortune and have lost it all. I’ve lived in tiny apartments and huge mansions. I have had a large family to feed and have sometimes been alone with my boy with little support.

But throughout it all, I seek answers to new questions! I ask, then paint visions of the future in my head. I think outside the box. I have been recognized by the high-tech giant CGI as one of the top technology visionaries in the world and have won numerous awards and accolades, from recognition at the White House to magazine cover stories.

I choose to do things differently. I’m an idealistic inventor and fascinated by technological and scientific innovation. I have conceived and invented things that affect millions of people and more to come. The common thread between all these various industries has been my desire to do something different and deliver better outcomes. I model, recreate, build, and deploy, and then I seem to get bored and go to the next challenge!

Weird, huh?

I have traveled the world and met key political figures across the globe, from 10 Downing Street in the UK to the White House in the USA, from Abu Dhabi to Norway, and from Hong Kong to Thailand.

As I look to the future, I wonder what we can learn about the past. Can we look at my family’s history and see how this can be used to improve the algorithms of augmented intelligence systems of the future? Is this my next destination? I am building solutions that connect the physical and digital, creating new worlds—Metaverses and Phygital spaces.

During the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown, I discovered my interest in the lost art of storytelling. My family, our four kids, and my fiancé had conversations around our dining table and shared ideas. I have observed my kids’ changing use of technology over the years. Now, we sat down and talked about it instead of using it. This made me realize that technological advancement has challenged the human transfer of knowledge and experience. Before, it was the tech that enabled us to talk. Now, we sat down at the table and spoke.

It was as if we had rediscovered something powerful. The COVID pandemic made us pause and observe how we had become dependent on tech for tech’s sake. We had lost the art of storytelling.

Personally, as you may be able to tell, I’ve always been driven by the challenge of combining science and innovation in ways that improve our lives. This is especiallysignificant in today’s ever-changing digital world, but we must keep the human elements.

It’s about taking advantage of the latest communication innovations delivered to everyone’s hand, wrist, and pocket. We all walk around with these connected “supercomputers” —our mobile phones. They are far faster and superior to those my grandfather used at UCLA or those my father used to find oil. Better than those used to build and used to operate the Space Shuttle to deliver people to space and back! Vastly more powerful than those I used to ensure we are all safe when we fly commercial airliners. We have enabled businesses and organizations to drive dynamic marketing, services, and communications. The result is the ability to easily bring real-time, relevant experiences to people in places like convention centers, universities, airports, medical centers, hospitals, events, office buildings, and tourist destinations. We even use these computers to play games when in the restroom! With my patented platform, we even deliver a layer of contextual intelligence to communications, turning engagements into relationships. Today’s norm was crazy science fiction only a few years ago. Imagine what we will consider normal 5 years from now?!

An excerpt from Yuval Noah Harari’s book, Homo Deus: A History of Tomorrow, reads, “If Kindle is upgraded with face recognition and biometric sensors, it can know what made you laugh, what made you sad, and what made you angry. Soon, books will read you while you are reading them.”

This is possible today. My platform can do this and more… much more. Even when shopping, stores can read people’s reactions to products and ads served on shelves in real time. Creating experiences like those in the SciFi movie “Minority Report” with personalized ads and offers to those in front of the signs is quite easy with my platform. We can even do more. We can send that offer to your phone there and then, and with a single button, ship it to your home! Why is it not everywhere yet, you may ask? Sometimes, just because you can doesn’t mean you should. The creepy factor of these interactive AI displays is rather high. But soon, this will be common. Imagine a flight display at an airport changing the flight and gate information to your flight as you approach it and then sending the gate information to your phone’s indoor navigation system so the phone will tell you where to go. This is possible now with contextually intelligent signage systems, integrated indoor navigation, and hybrid mobile app interfaces. It’s all part of a Contextually Intelligent Communication Platform ecosystem.

Nowadays, technology is all around us; as we fast forward deeper into the territories of intelligent computers and brain interfaces, the question of whether technology isneutral or not arises. One can argue that no moral value can be accredited to technology.

Technology is blind, is the thought. Thus, tools only have value when a person with their value system applies them, and thus, the technology is dependent on the value system of that individual.

Hence, this outlook advocates that the operators are responsible for the ethical use of technology. This argument is used all over. Crypto itself doesn’t cause terrorism. Terrorist do. Another such argument is that we shouldn’t blame guns for killing people. It’s not the gun that kills in and of itself. It’s the person pulling the trigger. Guns are neutral; people aren’t. But isn’t the fact that the gun enabled the killer and that crypto enables terrorists to do their horrible acts of violence? So, then, the tech enables actions. In fact, in a way, with this mindset, the technology augments the human’s actions.

When evaluating technologies and what to invent, should we consider why and what they can be used for? Surely, the invention of the atomic bomb had these diabolic considerations—if you drop one bomb, hundreds of thousands will die. But if you don’t drop the bomb, the war will continue, and many more will be lost. Is it our values that determine what technology to build? It’s the consideration of what is good and what is right. If a choice to invent something may be used for evil and wrong reasons versus not inventing it at all, I would suggest that it’s better to invent and then invent ways to control it. Someone else will eventually invent something similar and may not have the same moral considerations as you do!

While the actual value for the technology users will determine how the technology is used, the fact that it only exists because of our values makes them inseparable. Thus, we can debate that technology can be maneuvered. It can add choices or improve processes that point in a specific direction.

In addition to that, when we get too used to how things are, it takes a greater struggle to see how things could be different. It takes a more creative mind to see it in any other way. As time passes and familiarity grows, the technology and its functions become so entrenched as to be hardly thought about or questioned.

In 1986, Robert J. Welchel wrote in IEEE Technology and Society Magazine:

“This moral neutrality is based upon viewing technology purely as a means (providing tools for society to use) with the ends (the actual usage of technology) lying beyond and outside the realm of engineering; this position also assumes that available means have no causal influence on the ends chosen. If technology truly is only a means, then engineering is a second-class profession since we are the mere pawns of the real power brokers. We buy our innocence at a tremendous cost: To be innocent, we must be powerless.”

A vital impediment here is our inherent acceptance of the failure to predict the future. If no designer, inventor, or company can foresee the future benefits and costs of what they build, how can they ensure they embed good values?

So, using the information we have, we must find the best explanations or predictions we can. We can learn from our mistakes and make better decisions if we consider how different technologies progress and their consequences.

This is important, as future technologies will likely be much more powerful and consequential than today. Can we find ways to ensure these systems are based on knowledge of what works elsewhere? What worked before? Is there a way to learn from this transfer of knowledge that passes from generation to generation when the ages cannot physically meet? Naturally, I cannot meet and talk with my great-great-grandfather; he passed away long before I was born. How am I following his path so closely?

So, we are heading into a future where it is important to start asking strange and new questions. When intelligent machines make their own ethical choices, it will make no sense to say that technology is neutral, and aligning our values will be tremendously important.

Now it is getting interesting, isn’t it? There is much more to ponder and think about. We all know that there are consequences to our actions. Now, we must consider that there are consequences to our thoughts, dreams, and visions.

About The Author

Bernt Erik Bjontegard

Bernt “Erik” Bjontegard is the inventor of the patented, award-winning Spark Compass™, a Contextually Intelligent™ communication platform used globally to deliver the right message to the right person at the right time and place. As founder and CEO of Total Communicator Solutions, Inc., Erik has led innovative deployments at events like Wimbledon and America’s Cup, for brands like Puma and Coca-Cola, and even for public health initiatives in the UK. He holds multiple pioneering patents, many of which have been cited by industry giants, including IBM, Apple, Samsung, Google, and Qualcomm.
Originally from Norway, Erik began his journey as a snow shuffler and windsurf instructor, later earning a full scholarship to the University of Salford in the UK. He became a mechanical engineer, designing deep-sea robotics before working with NASA on the Space Shuttle program—something he proudly recalls with his favorite phrase: “I used to be a rocket scientist!” He later certified aircraft designs for Boeing and Airbus and has contributed to technologies that are now part of 5G infrastructure.

Erik’s career path has been anything but conventional, spanning fashion, real estate, and advanced telecommunications. His time with Qualcomm’s Corporate R&D team saw him contribute to emerging platforms like Vuforia and Gimbal, and it was there he learned to write patents and began his deep dive into innovation. Erik is also an honorary Fellow at the University of Salford and serves on advisory boards for several universities, sharing his visionary insights with future generations.
In his autobiography, Erik reflects on his life journey, his family’s sacrifices during WWII, and the inherited spirit of innovation that connects generations. He explores how human experiences can shape the development of intelligent systems that enhance rather than replace human work.
Through personal stories and big-picture questions, Erik invites readers to imagine a better future—one where technology supports humanity, not the other way around.

You can find author Bjontegard here:
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If you are an author and wish to be featured as our guest or if you are a publicist and want to get your author featured on TRB, then please get in touch directly by e-mail at thereadingbud@gmail.com

Welcome to TRB Lounge! We’re thrilled to host author Adam Knight today, who will be unveiling an insightful excerpt from their memoir, Made of Iron: The Dina Jacobson Story. Dive in and get an exclusive sneak peek into this beautiful book!

About the Book

Made of Iron

Made of Iron: The Dina Jacobson Story 1939, Southern Poland. Dina was a young Jewish woman. She anticipated getting married and raising a family in the same small town where she had grown up. War broke her life. But it would not break her. Dina endured years of suffering in Auschwitz concentration camp, then more years of homelessness after the war. She finally settled in America where, after finally raising that family, she dedicated her life to sharing her story with young people. I was one of them.

You can find Made of Iron here:
Amazon

Excerpt

DINA’S STORY

Spring 1998

Stepping into the lecture hall of my high school filled me with a sense o freverence and awe. Ordinary classes on ordinary days took place in ordinary rooms, but the lecture hall was for special events. As a freshman, I had never been inside. I scanned the banked rows of hard-backed plastic seats and the laminated tables that curved in a semicircle around the lighted stage. A pair of chairs sat in the middle of the stage. One, I knew, was for my teacher; the other was for the guest—the guest for this special event.

I took a seat in the second row. I didn’t dare sit in the back row. People who sit in the back row send a certain message to the speaker. I also didn’t sit in the front. That was too close. I was, and will always be, a sit-in-the- second-row type of person. I set my overloaded backpack down by a seat, then plunked myself down. The seat swiveled. How fancy! How collegiate! I could hear the squeaks and groans of all of the other seats in the hall. My classmate who sat next to me commented about how we should have class here every day. I smiled and agreed. It’s just a thing to say.

Recently, in history class, we finished a unit about the Holocaust and genocide. It was the first time I learned about these topics, and as always, I studied and did well on the test. Our teacher, Mr. Adessa, invited this guest speaker to give us a better understanding of the material. Since I had already gotten an A on the test, I did not see how much better understanding I could have, but I welcomed any assembly that broke up the monotony of the school day. I was 15 years old.

Mr. Adessa stepped onto the stage. He was tall, over six feet with a military bearing that made him seem taller still. Mustachioed, hair swept back, he was a man who rarely smiled, I had come to recognize him as a teacher who was tough and demanding and expected more of his students than they realized they could handle. A teacher who would give a B+ to an A student, so the student worked harder to realize what an A requires. Me.

He welcomed us and invited us to sit and pay attention. His students obeyed.

“I have with me here an important guest to our school. She is also a dear friend of mine. In class, you have learned about the Holocaust. You have heard of the Auschwitz concentration camp. You have learned a little bit about what happened to those who survived. I want to introduce you to my friend, Dina. She lives in Elmira, about an hour from here. She has a family there and has lived here in upstate New York for almost 50 years. But before that, she grew up in Poland and—well, I will let her tell her story.”

He escorted a woman to the chairs on the stage. He stooped down to offer an arm, though she did not need it. This woman could not have been more than five feet tall, with curly white hair and piercing eyes. She seemed old, the age of my grandparents, but she moved with a sense of strength and surety that made her seem like she could live forever. She sat in one chair. Mr. Adessa took the other.

“Thank you,” she said, and I immediately heard the Eastern European accent. She faced the audience. “My name is Dina Jacobson, and I was in Auschwitz concentration camp.”

I listened, silent and respectful, as Dina spent the next hour telling us about her life. She told us a few details about growing up on a farm in Poland. She told us about Nazis coming to her hometown and taking her family away, then eventually taking her. Much of her talk consisted of stories about her years in Auschwitz. She told about the abuse she suffered at the hands of guards, about living off of no more than a cup of ersatz coffee and a thin slice of bread each day. She rolled up her sleeve and showed us her forearm, where a number was written in blue ink. I couldn’t see the number clearly, as I was two rows back. Mr. Adessa told us that if we want to come up and see the tattoo up close at the end of the talk, we will have an opportunity. I already knew I would not. That would be too close.

Dina finished her talk by telling us a little about liberation from the camp, and about living in Elmira. Then she took questions, and students wanted to know more about the concentration camps. They wanted details. They wanted to know how terrible it was, and Dina did her best to explain. I asked no questions. I was moved, though not to tears, like some of my classmates. I assumed that this talk, like most educational experiences, will settle into my memory and stay there. I assumed that between the unit in history class and the presentation that day, I learned most of what I needed to know about the Holocaust. I assumed my relationship with Dina would end after the talk, and my relationship with my history teacher would end in June.

About all of these assumptions, I was completely wrong.

About The Author

Adam Knight

Adam Knight is an author and teacher in northern New Jersey, USA. His novel, At the Trough, was published in 2019 by NineStar Press. His memoir, Made of Iron: The Dina Jacobson Story, was published in 2024 by The Wordsmithy. His short fiction and essays have been published in a number of anthologies and online venues, including Arcturus Press,  Daily Science Fiction and Escape Pod. He is currently seeking publication for a cosmic horror novel about the sinking of the Titanic.

You can find author Knight here:
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If you are an author and wish to be featured as our guest or if you are a publicist and want to get your author featured on TRB, then please get in touch directly by e-mail at thereadingbud@gmail.com