Review, Giveaway & Deleted Scenes: Touch Luck (Hard Rock Roots #3) by C.M. Stunich

Posted November 24, 2013 by bookstobreathe in Book Review, Giveaway / 0 Comments

Review, Giveaway & Deleted Scenes: Touch Luck (Hard Rock Roots #3) by C.M. StunichTitle: Tough Luck
Author: C.M. Stunich
Series: Hard Rock Roots #3
Publisher: Sarian Royal
Release Date: November 14, 2013
Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, New Adult
More Info: Goodreads
Purchase: Amazon US
Purchase: Barnes & Noble

*This is NOT the last book in the series. There will be later books featuring Turner and Naomi again, and they also appear in this volume quite a bit.*

Ronnie McGuire is my target.

But I wish he wasn't.

I didn't sign up for this destruction, this pain.

In his music, I hear his soul crying out for me.

If I could, I'd run away from here and never look back because to tell you the truth, I'm terrified. There are forces weighing in on me that even I don't understand. I'm scared. Things are dangerous. This could get real ugly, real fast.

& & &

Lola Saints is a godsend.

But I wish she wasn't.

I don't know sh*t about her, but already, I'm hooked.

When she plays, I can almost imagine the ghosts of the dead are calling out to me.

If I could, I'd shed my soul and leave the pain of the past behind me. But I can't. I have to figure out if there's a way to fall in love anew and respect the old. But something else is going on, something weird. Something that tells me my tough luck might just run out real fast.


EXCERPT #1 (Lola Saints):

“You look like you’re about to pass out.  Take a breather, will ya?” I tell him, wishing he’d give me some sign of life in those dead eyes.  They’re dark and swimming with negativity.  I can tell he’s not living in the here and now.  He’s somewhere else altogether.  My job is supposed to be to keep him there, force him down into the depths of pain and let him impale himself on his own tragedy.  Instead, I get the urge to pull him back.

Before I can stop myself, I’m spinning around in front of him and bumping the toes of my shoes against his, clutching his shirt in two grasping hands and pressing our mouths together.  I’m not shy with my tongue, forcing it between his lips and tasting all of that melancholy and anguish.  At first it’s like kissing a fireplace hearth, all old ash and extinguished flames, but just as I’m about to pull away, I see a spark.  It’s small at first, burning deep within him, taking over his lips and scorching me with brilliant heat.

Ronnie’s hands come up and find my ass.  He doesn’t start off with small talk either.  He goes straight for the gold, grabbing and caressing my flesh with greedy hands.  Careful, Lola, or you might get burned.  I push up against him, struggling to stay on my tiptoes so our faces can stay somewhat even.  I kind of want to climb his ass like Godzilla on top of the Empire State Building, just get all up in there and find my perch.  Ronnie responds to my scrambling by lifting me up by the cheeks and slamming my back into the metal pole of a street sign.

“Oi, watch yourself, fuck face,” I growl out, but the small ache in my spine is nothing compared to the raging burn that’s coming up from below.  What the hell are you playing at, bitch?  This is not what you’re supposed to be doing.  I hear my logical self screaming at me from the back of my mind, but I don’t pay it any never mind.  What I am supposed to do anyway?  A forest fire’s just caught in a dry bush.  I could put it out, but it’d take a lot of effort.  It’s easier just to let it burn.




 My Review:

We don’t exist to her in that moment, nobody does. Only Turner Campbell. I know because I’ve been in love before. It’s a selfish fucking emotion. You never read about that in romance novels, but it’s the truest truth there is. Love is selfish. Period. End of sentence.

Dirty. Gritty. Rough. Raw. Fucked. Abrasive. Vulgar. Saucy. Shameless. Crude. Naughty. Obscene. These words and many more can’t even begin to explain the complete and utter clusterfuck that is Tough Luck…..and I couldn’t get enough! Even without giving away any spoilers, I couldn’t begin to explain what goes on. It is a story that will have you riveted to every page, dreading the inevitable end. And least you not be fooled, we are left with another MAJOR cliffhanger. Unlike last time however, book four releases in a week!

I’m up and down and screwier than a Slinky, but that’s just the way it is.

 How C.M. Stunich comes up with this stuff is beyond me! The vernacular range in her repertoire never ceases to surprise and amaze me. When you think you have the story figured out, which let’s be honest, that shit doesn’t happen, a few more curveballs get thrown your way. Tough Luck continues the Hard Rock Roots story, but stars Ronnie and Lola. And whilst this sounds like the beginning of a country love son, trust me, it is anything but! This is no love story. Not in the traditional sense anyway. It is a story of finding yourself, discovering who you are, and realizing what is important was right in front of you all alone. Coming to the conclusion that you aren’t as alone as you previously though, and not being scared to take risks. Whereas Real Ugly and Get Bent were more about Turner and Naomi’s interactions and all the drama surrounding them, Tough Luck was more about the character of the people, heart to soul.

Memories are pain and they cut straight through the soul and crack the bones, bleed the body dry.

C.M. Stunich has one fucked up mind, and I wouldn’t change it or her for the world! I highly recommend this book! Find out for yourself what all the hoopla is about. Warning: must love raunchy rockstars, scorching hot gritty and raw fucking, and a mystery so suspenseful you will still be guessing long after the story ends. I cannot wait for the next installment and more of our favorite couple! 4 and ½ stars from me!

I’ve lost no time fucking any and everyone that came my way, but I haven’t actually melted into anyone, burned up, caught fire. I don’t know what this is, but it feels so damn good. So damn good.


Real Ugly Sale

EXCERPT #2 (Ronnie McGuire):

“You got a light?” a voice asks from the shadows to my left.  The accent sounds familiar, but when I turn to look, I know sure as shit that the face is not.  I’d remember a face like that.

The girl in question raises both her brows at me and holds out a cigarette.  It hangs limply between us.

“Have we met before?” I ask, because unless she’s a rogue fan who’s managed to escape the horde of bodyguards Milo’s hired, then I am plum dumb fuck out of luck when it comes to placing her.  And I know everybody, and I mean everybody on this damn tour.  I’ve slept with half of them, and fought with the rest.  I chit chat with the best, and I know who’s who – from the lowliest roadie to the most infamous tattooed self-proclaimed badass.  I slip my lighter out of my jeans and fire her up.

The girl snorts and raises her bug-eyed sunglasses up with her other hand, teasing me with a hint of bright blue eyes and a little crinkle between her eyebrows.

“I sure as shit hope so, Mr. McGuire,” she says and drops her shades.  “I gave you a blow job in a utility closet once upon a time.”  She kisses the words out, letting them slip and slide over her lips, so that I can feel each and every one of them caressing over my cock.  My body responds, much to the mystery’s girl amusement.  She laughs at the erection I don’t bother to hide and takes a drag from her cigarette.  “I was told that if I wanted information, I ought to come to you.”  She smiles at me and blows a fresh cloud of smoke into the hazy air.

The crowd is tearing up the venue on the other side of the cement wall behind me.  It sounds like they’re getting ready to start a riot or something, shouting Turner’s name, Naomi’s, screaming for that backstabbing bitch, Hayden.  When I was growing up, I always wanted to be a rockstar.  One, because I liked music, and two, because I was lazy as hell and thought it would be an easy job.  Could not have been any more wrong about that.  If I knew back then that I’d make it this far, I’d have probably gone for a nine to five and not because I’d like it, but because it would take less gusto, less courage.  Those two things have been in short supply for me for a long, long while.  It’s only recently that I’ve been able to grab onto them again, and already, they’re being drained from me like pus from a septic fucking wound.

The shouting of the audience is giving me a headache, and the lack of drugs in my system is actually making the words less clear.  Detox is a bitch.  I rub at my temple with my fingers and blink at the girl, hoping to hell she’ll give me her damn name before these people surge up and rip us all to pieces, eat our flesh and sacrifice us on some homemade alters in their parents’ basement.

“Yeah,” I tell her, sniffling and running my hand across my face.  “I’m pretty much the gossip guru of the camp.  What’s up?”  I look the girl up and down, examining her small round face, her waif like body and her plump lips.  I’d like to get more than a blow job from her, preferably in a state of mind where I can remember it.  How do I not know this chick?  I wonder, tilting my head to the side.

Her hip is cocked out and her mouth is twisted in a wicked smile.  She might be a foot or more shorter than I am, but she looks miles tall.  She’s got a confident air around her that commands attention, especially from somebody as lazy as me.

I smoke my cigarette and wait for her to respond.

“Come on, ya wanker, you seriously have no clue who I am?”  She drops her cigarette to the cement floor and crushes it out with her purple velvet heels.  Fancy.  I lean forward and put my hand on the wall next to her head.

“No, but I’d like to find out.”




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Other Books in the Hard Rock Roots Series

Real Ugly – Book One


Turner Campbell is an asshole.
I f*cking hate him.
But I can’t get enough either.
He sings like an angel and f*cks like a devil.
If I could, I’d run away and never look back because to tell you the truth, I think this man might be the death of me.


Naomi Knox is a bitch.
I can’t f*cking stand her.
But I can’t stop thinking about her either.
She looks like an angel and plays like a devil.
If I could, I’d f*ck her good and forget all about her, but to tell you the truth, I think this woman might be my last saving grace.

Get Bent – Book Two


Naomi Knox is missing.
I don’t even f*cking know whether she’s dead or alive.
What I do know is that she’s the air I need to breathe.
She’s my redemption, an all consuming fire that burns in my blood.
And I’ll do anything to find her. Anything. Even if it means the end for me.

& & &

Turner Campbell is searching.
But he has no f*cking clue what it is he’s searching for.
There’s darkness all around and enough secrets to choke.
There are angels, and there are devils. It’s impossible to tell them apart.
Light needs to be shone on the truth, but there’s no one left to hold the torch. The line between life and death is blurred, and the players are all thoroughly entrenched in the game. The question is: am I still one of them?

Bad Day – Book Four **Coming December 1, 2013**


Turner Motherf*cking Campbell.
I’m into him, yeah, and I think I love him.
But the sh*t has just hit the fan.
Time for the angels and devils to crash.
Because if we don’t, then this all falls apart, and we lose everything. The fans, the music, the relationships that are just beginning to blossom. This is it. Let’s kick as*, take names, and let the world know who’s boss.
& & &
Naomi Isabelle Knox, she’s everything to me.
And I know I love her.
But I can’t ignore the sh*t storm that’s taken over this tour, my tour.
Time to get serious; time to dig deep; time to take back the music.
Because if we don’t, then I could lose her. She could die; we all could. Or worse. Time to show the world what we’re made of, that we’re here to stay. Say hello to your idols, baby. Your new gods. Say hello to Indecency and Amatory Riot. Your latest obsessions, your greatest desires.


SCENE #1 (Naomi Knox):

My little invitation turns into a fucking party and soon, we’ve got everybody and their freakin’ grandma gathered around the table: America, Wren, Kash, Blair, Quinn, and me.  Even Spencer, who’s driving the damn bus is throwing her two cents in.  Everyone but Hayden.  She’s asleep in the back, knocked flat by a little Vicodin mixed with vodka.  Yum yum.

After a little experimentation, my ass is now planted firmly on a stool and I’ve got an acoustic guitar in hand.  Five eager faces gaze up at me and wait for my lips to part, for the song that’s been boiling beneath my skin to burst out.  They all know it’s coming, so I don’t hold back.  Hayden’s not conscious right now, so what’s the point?  Normally, I try not to sing around her because it freaks her out.  She gets really nervous and jittery and starts screaming.  Does she feel threatened?  Maybe.  But if there’s one thing that I really think would get her to spill the beans, break our little arrangement, it’s my voice.


SCENE #2 (Turner Campbell):

I need to know about this girl and why she thinks she has the right to crap all over me.  Who does she think she is, and where do I know her from?  Does she have something on me?  If so, I’m gonna take care of it now before it explodes out of control.  I’m not making that mistake again.  That whole pissing thing has already gotten out of control, and I’m tired of getting angry emails about it.  I’m not a woman hater; I love women.  Why does sleeping with them automatically make me some kind of bigoted fuckwad?  Besides, that girl asked me to try something kinky, and I was drunk off my ass.  Still, when she started blackmailing me with that video, I ignored her.  Now I have a fucking lawsuit.  Not.  Happening.  Again.


SCENE #3 (Turner Campbell):

I toss Naomi’s guitar into an open case and race out the back door and around the side of the building.  There are people fucking everywhere, screaming and shouting and clawing at me.  A horde of howling demons surrounds me as I slip under the ropes and past the police escorts, straight into the fray.  Hands slide across the crotch, slip under my shirt, pull at my hair.  Even through the raging storm of this riot, I can hear Treyjan calling out to me.  Frankly, I could give a shit less about our set.  I’ll try to be back in time, but if I can find that girl, it won’t matter.  None of it will.  Questions bombard me and cameras blind me as I claw my way through the mass towards the front entrance.

In my heart, I know that this is hopeless, but I’ve got to fucking try.  Even the smallest what-if is worth dying for.  So I plow through crazed fans and reporters and murder mystery enthusiasts until I hit the parking lot.  There’s a little more room to maneuver here, at least for now.

“Turner!”  Somehow, Milo is standing near the ticket window staring at me like I’ve lost my Goddamn mind.  He’s waving me over, begging me with wide eyes to listen for once in my fucking life.  But that’s because he doesn’t understand this desperate need that’s taken hold of me.

I have to find that girl.

The crowd surges forward and engulfs me, knocking me to my knees, grinding me to the pavement.  People press down on me like an avalanche, knocking my palms to the pavement, scraping my skin along the oily concrete.  I hear my name echoing around me, and for the first time ever, I see my fame as a curse instead of a blessing.  Hiding behind the walls of my bus, behind the fog of the drugs, the whisper of sweet, anonymous lips, I haven’t seen this side of it.  And let me tell you, it’s real ugly.  Real fucking ugly.

There’s this pain and this sadness, this tragedy, and they don’t care about any of it.  They see me how they want to see me, refuse to acknowledge my pain.  This is hell.  Destroyed by your own dream.  Brilliant, Turner.  Look at you now, you fucking fool.

In the heaving mass of faces and greedy, grasping hands, something stands out at me.

A pair of bare feet, frozen and still in the kicking and the scrambling, the stampeding.

I fight through to it, crawling beneath the sea of followers I’ve always wanted, who believe everything I’ve ever told them.  I said worship me, they said yes sir.  And now I’m paying for it.  My own arrogance is fucking the ever living shit out of me.

When I get to that island of stillness, I reach up and out and a hand brushes mine, depositing something in my fingers.  I have no idea what it is, can’t even hazard a guess.  All I can do is tuck it close and hope to hell I get to fucking keep it.

Tough Luck Tour Banner

About C.M. Stunich

C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin’s (yes, that’s her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.

Always a fan of the indie scene and ‘sticking it to the man,’ Ms. Stunich decided to take the road less traveled and forgo the traditional publishing route. You can be assured though that she received several rejections as to ensure her proper place in the world of writers before taking up a friend’s offer to start a publishing company. Sarian Royal was born, and Ms. Stunich’s books slowly transformed from mere baking chocolate to full blown tortes with hand sculpted fondant flowers.

C.M. is a writer obsessed with delivering the very best and scours her mind on a regular basis to select the most unusual stories for the outside world.

Ms. Stunich can be reached via e-mail or by post and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person.

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