Release Blitz & Excerpt | Hurt by Lydia Michaels


***HURT is a Dark Romantic Thriller and contains multiple
scenes of violence. It is not intended for sensitive audiences or readers under
the age of eighteen.
Award Winning Author,
Lydia Michaels, enters the world of DARK ROMANCE with an unforgettably suspenseful
psychological thriller!
MacGregor might speak with the eloquence of a Scottish poet, but a hard life
has turned him into a merciless killer. With a first-hand account of hell, he
trusts nothing and no one but the hollow hurt tortured into his bones.
Sacrificing all, he must escape Scotland to survive.
Tanner is captivated—to the point of obsession—by the stunning Scotsman tending
bar at the Imperial Hotel. With as many dark secrets as he has scars, she
hungers to know every exquisite inch of him, but her shy nature leaves her
tongue-tied. Despite her sense that innate kindness rests beneath his savage
surface, Callan MacGregor is a man to approach with caution—if not fear.
tragedy strikes and Emery’s world is shattered, she learns just how ruthless
Callan can be. Violence has shaped his soul and love has always led to loss in
both their broken lives. But as secrets are exposed, they find truth within the
hurt and awaken a desire to become whole once more
Title: Hurt
Release Date: May 21,
Genre: Psychological
Thriller | Dark Romantic Thriller | Suspense
Tag Line: #ItsGoingtoHURT
Series: The Hurt Series (Book
Pages: 518
Edition: 1st
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9995236-2-9
Print ISBN: 978-0-9995236-3-6
Available: through all major
retailers in print & eBook
Giveaway runs May 21 – June 4


Readers can enjoy Lydia
Michaels’s book soundtracks by following her on Spotify here:
of Silence
 by Disturbed

Possession by Sarah McLachlan

Stay by Rhianna

Enter Sandman by Metallica

Uninvited by Alanis Morrisette

Quiet by MILCK

Bruises by Lewis Capaldi

Personal Jesus by Marilyn Manson

Psycho Killer by Talking Heads

I Know You Care by Ellie Goulding

Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy

Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Ray

Nothing Compares 2 U by Chris Cornell

Rise Up by Andra Day

Love Reign O’er Me by The Who

May It Be by Enya

Shape of my Heart by Sting


Twitter: @Lydia_Michaels
Michaels Website

About Lydia Michaels

Lydia Michaels is the
award winning author of over 35 romance novels. She is an iBooks Bestsellers
and her work has been featured in USA Today. She is the two-time
winner of the Author of the Year Award from Happenings Media
[2018 & 2019]. In 2015 she won The Best Author Award from The
Courier Times.
 She is a five time nominee for the prestigious
RONE Award. Her books are intellectual, emotional,
haunting, always centered around love. 
Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email


(*1k Word Count | PG-13 )
Callan’s teeth clacked with a horrid smack. Precise pain exploded behind
his eyes as a fire bloomed under his stinging skin. His face caught the brunt
of the assault, flesh splitting and bones throbbing with familiar distress.
Thick blood mixed with sweat as rivulets poured down his face.

He spit onto the cement floor and waited for his vision to clear as the beast
of a man pounding him like raw mince shuffled back to catch his breath. The
buffeted sound of the crowd returned, their hungry cries surrounding the
makeshift ring from all angles.

Callan’s throbbing ears siphoned the droning noise in and out to the rapid
tempo of his heart. Womp—womp—womp—womp… His skin pulsed to the beat.

His head snapped back. Another blast to the skull. Blood gushed behind his
nose, choking off his airway, drenching everything in the metallic flavor of

Tripping over his feet, he forced his knees to bend, rewarded by several knocks
to the ribs. Voices collided in a drunken slur of bloodthirsty chants.

Launching forward, he dodged a fist and blasted a punch into the tender solar
plexus of his assigned enemy. The blood-drenched tape over his knuckles did
little to protect his hands, each crushing hit pulverizing his brittle bones
and weakening his wrists. At this point, they swung like numb ham hocks.

Adrenaline thrummed through his veins. He bunched and bounced like a bobbin on
a spool, tethered by a thread to the unknown outcome of the match, prepared for
anything—even death.

Heart hammering like a bodhrán, he maneuvered closer, blinking through the
opaque film of blood and sweat coating his eyes. No time to wipe it away. Even
blinking cost him.

His head snapped back, jaw vibrating, as pain exploded in his ears. The sharp
burst spiked through his brain, blowing open his sinuses, and drilling to the
base of his spine—tripping him on thin air.

He spit again, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

The dank air mixed with the tang of whisky and desperation. Boarded windows
kept the moonlight out and a stale scent of abandonment in.

Everyone in that deserted mill had something to lose. Or everything to gain.
But no one had more riding on this than him.

No guarantees. Win, lose. Live, die. So long as the right people got paid, no
one gave a **** who got hurt.

A hasty lunge and a miss—bad timing on his part. A solid fist to the ribs
whacked the wind from his lungs. It was the only warning before a storm rained
over him. His opponent pelted him with fists, caving in his chest and hemming
him to the line.

While he’d always been a notably large man, his rival was ****ing huge.

They loved to do this, to cut off his oxygen, hoping he’d black out. If they
couldnae get the knockout, they’d go for a collapse. But his ability to take a
hit—the sort of hit that would drop an average man—had made him a legend.

Stumbling. Battered. Breathless. He let his rival—and the crowd—assume he was
done. The roars of excitement echoed every hit as they fell in a flurry.

The enemy weakened with each blow, slowed with each swing. Callan gasped
through it, wearing his opponent down as he gathered his strength like a tidal
wave sucks into the ocean before letting go.

The abuse chiseled away the man until only an animal remained. And then…


Like a phoenix of rage, he rose from the ashes. Nimble, with unexpected
agility, he drew back, wheezed in a breath of blood and hate, and hurtled
forward, rushing his rival and lobbing his ravaged knuckles into his meaty

When a man had nothing to lose, he’d do anything to win. No longer shackled by
strategy, Callan unleashed.

His skull throbbed with the beat of his pulse. The bastard tumbled into the
crowd, tripping over his own feet, only to get hoisted back into the action.

Tasting victory, Callan bared his bloodstained teeth like the devil about to
take his prize.

Something dark and inhuman shifted inside of him. Limitless. Unredeemable.
Hungry. He cleaved into the enemy, throwing haymakers, ballistic and desperate.
It’s him or me.

A blow cuffed his ear, delivering a stunning swirl of black behind his eyes as
the roar muffled. Swarming figures blurred.

From the depths of his pain, buried beneath every ache and injustice, he
scraped the filthy floor of his soul for every jagged piece of broken determination
he could find. He unleashed everything.

“He’s done!”

“Knock him oot!”

Jumbled chaos scattered his thinking like sparks flying from a blowtorch.

“Finish him!”

A calm stole through him as his civility disintegrated, sinking into the dark
abyss of his soul where he dinnae like to dwell. Barbaric determination took
savage hold of his actions, demanding he finish this.

“MacGregor, destroy that scunner!”

His family needed this win. But they also needed him.

Gavin’s elfin face wavered in his mind, too gaunt for a boy of ten, but so
hopeful. Innis’s beauty shined like a beacon, her ebony waves framing the
delicate angles of her ivory face.

Incarnate hate for every suffered uncertainty spewed from him in a primal rage.
The body beneath him slackened and stopped flinching.

“MacGregor, yer gonna murder him!”

The hushed shock of the crowd’s alarm penetrated his haze of savage fury, and
his arms slowed. When nothing came at him, he staggered back, his heaving sides
pumping like a bellow feeds wind to a flame, only the fire in his opponent’s
eyes had died.

He swayed back, panting and confused, as the world took a moment to spin to a
stop. The other man lay bloody and still. Callan’s panic and paranoia churned
into a frenzy of doubt, waiting to see him breathe.

Balanced on the sharp prick of a needle’s edge, his existence teetered on his
opponent’s breath. Though they were enemies in the ring, outside, they were the

Unlike the spectators, they came from nothing and would do anything to survive.
But if that breath dinnae come, Callan would have to live with that sin for the
rest of his life…







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