Warrior Woman Winmill: Reprisal, by Kathy Coopmans. Cover Reveal, Sequel to Contrite.

01/06/2015

Reprisal, by Kathy Coopmans. Cover Reveal, Sequel to Contrite.

**Cover Reveal**

Reprisal by Kathy Coopmans

Sequel to CONTRITE

Photography by Eric David Battershell

https://www.facebook.com/ericbattershellphotography?fref=ts

Model Nathan D. Weller

https://www.facebook.com/wellenater?fref=ts

Model Tessi Le'Anne

https://www.facebook.com/modeltessileanne

Perfect Pear Creative

Cover design Sommer Stein

https://www.facebook.com/PerfectPearCreative?pnref=lhc

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25367015-reprisal

Blurb:

Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it. My stomach is restricting, contracting. “Oh God.” My hands clutch my stomach. Excruciating pain progresses from my lower abdomen.

“Clove.” That grating voice reaches my ears from across the room.

“Stay the hell away from me.” His bare feet appear in my line of vision. His jean clad legs bend landing him on his hands and knees in front of me. “Please,” My voice wobbly. I’m petrified. I don’t know what’s happening or why. An unsettling feeling begins to well inside of me, clamping my eyes shut as another agonizing pain jolts. Only this time the pressure is so intense, so unbearable, making my body shake, beads of sweat instantaneously emerge on my forehead. “Trent.” Someone is calling his name, it’s not me though as my ability to speak is gone. My hearing is not.

There is nothing in this world that could make me not recognize the sound of that southern accent calling out Trent’s name. My heart pounding at an increasingly rapid pace. A dozen needles stabbing profusely over and over again.

My forehead crinkles in confusion, lifting it slowly, the click clack of her heels on the hardwood floor, louder the closer they approach. Heels as bright red as the blood beginning to pool underneath my body, those shoes are demanding the right to be heard as she squats down next to Trent. “W…what are you doing here?” My trembling sound waves ricochet throughout the room.

“You don’t look so well Clove, my dear.”
Her sound sugary sweet. She’s watching me so intensely. I don’t know how or why it hits me, but it does. When her head tilts to the side, her snide smirk graces her face.
“Y…you,” I say through a clenched breath. The last thing I remember before I fall on my side, crying, pleading, begging god to save my baby is the sound of her malicious.