LET'S GET TO KNOW MS. MARTIN.....
-How did you come up with the idea for this story?
In a lot of ways, this tale began with these two characters super-vivid that Skye and I created: this hot, dangerous felon with a dark past and this buttoned-up college girl who teaches a class at the prison.
In a lot of ways, this story felt like it wrote itself from those characters as we breathlessly batted it back and forth, imagining this prison break and the way they’d get entangled.
-Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
There are themes that writers return to over and over. One of my themes I return to, even when I’m not trying, is two super messed-up people finding love with each other, and being messed up together, and loving each other for their flaws (and not getting rid of them, because to me, flaws are what make people who they are!) So I guess my message is, even if you feel like you’re really screwed up, being really and truly yourself is beautiful and you deserve love.
-Will you write more about these characters?
Definitely. Grayson and Abby will likely have cameos in future books, but Stone, Nate and the rest of the guys all have their own stories – it’s just hard to know which guy to start with.
-What is for you the perfect book hero?
I love a hero with a lot to overcome. Especially a lot of darkness. It’s so rewarding, as a reader, to see a hero go through a lot to get to a place where he is right with the heroine. I think my favorite and perfect kind of hero most of all is the hopeless and dark hero. Or the hopeless, dark and tortured hero. Yeah!!
LET'S GET TO KNOW MS. WARREN......
-How did you come up with the idea for this story?
Prisoner was my first collaboration with author Annika Martin. She and I first met because I’d read her books (love them!) and she read mine. We were both in a boxed set together, MAKE ME. We were chatting over email and came up with the idea to write a book together. We knew it would be edgy, and dark, and also fun! And so, Prisoner was born.
-Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Message is too strong a word, but there are certain recurring themes in my books. Redemption is a big one, trying to atone for your past failings, believing you had overcome only to be sucked back into it, fighting to better this time, stronger this time. The other recurring theme in my books is that everyone deserves to find love. That means some very dark characters walk the pages of my books.
-Will you write more about these characters?
I hope so! Annika Martin and I conceptualized this as a series that we’re calling Criminals & Captives. It focuses on a group of men who share a dark past and work together on their criminal enterprises. There’s kind of a ‘lost boys’ feel to it. And each one will take his own captive.
-What is for you the perfect book hero?
I like them intimidating. Competent. Vaguely sinister and smug. Possessive. Harsh. Cold. Hot. I like them everything that is mean and cruel, even with the heroine. And then… when he stops, when sex and intimacy and love force him to stop, the clouds part. The sun rises on grass still sticky with dew. It paints the world in orange light and long shadows, hinting at what is to come. And that’s the end of the book. Not a wedding. Not a happily ever after. The ending is hope.
So I hide behind my prim glasses and my book like I always do, because I have secrets too. Then he shows up in the prison writing class I have to teach, and he blows me away with his honesty. He tells me secrets in his stories, and it’s getting harder to hide mine. I shiver when he gets too close, with only the cuffs and the bars and the guards holding him back. At night I can’t stop thinking about him in his cell.
But that’s the thing about an animal in a cage—you never know when he’ll bite. He might use you to escape. He might even pull you into a forest and hold a hand over your mouth so you can’t call for the cops. He might make you come so hard, you can’t think.
And you might crave him more than your next breath.
EXCERPT:
He forces me into the stream. Freezing-cold water swirls around my ankles and fills the insides of my boots, numbing my feet clear to the bone. I try to pull away, but he holds my wrist tight. I’m shivering. I can’t believe he’s not cold without a shirt on. Not that I should feel sorry for him considering he used his shirt to gag and blindfold a cop.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks
“The other side.”
He shakes his head. “We’re walking the stream.”
“I can’t,” I say.
He pulls me closer; he still seems obsessed with the gash on my face, which maybe should be a good sign. I force my focus onto the trees in the distance, anything but the rise and fall of his hard, scarred, mud-streaked chest. It’s around dinnertime; I can tell by the slant of the sun. Up close he smells like sweat. Not pine, not cologne, not musk, just man sweat.
“Bend over.”
“What?” I try to yank my wrist from his hand, but he fists my hair and pushes my face nearly into the water. He splashes water onto my cheek. I close my eyes against the cold spray of it, spitting it out of my nose and mouth, trying to twist from his grip.
“God!” I say as he lets me up. I sniff and wipe my eyes.
He inspects my cut and grunts his approval, as if infection is this huge threat right now. He pulls my hand. “Come on.”
“I can’t even feel my feet."
He frowns, furrowing his dark brows. “Fine.” He bends over and loops my arm around his neck and just hoists me up.
I pull my arm back and struggle against his hold. “Put me down!”
“You want to walk? Or I still have that .357. I could put a few holes in you, and you could float. Is that what you want?”
I loop my arm around his neck, feeling weird, like I’m participating in my own captivity. But it seems better than the alternatives. Don’t struggle. Wait for your chance.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks
“The other side.”
He shakes his head. “We’re walking the stream.”
“I can’t,” I say.
He pulls me closer; he still seems obsessed with the gash on my face, which maybe should be a good sign. I force my focus onto the trees in the distance, anything but the rise and fall of his hard, scarred, mud-streaked chest. It’s around dinnertime; I can tell by the slant of the sun. Up close he smells like sweat. Not pine, not cologne, not musk, just man sweat.
“Bend over.”
“What?” I try to yank my wrist from his hand, but he fists my hair and pushes my face nearly into the water. He splashes water onto my cheek. I close my eyes against the cold spray of it, spitting it out of my nose and mouth, trying to twist from his grip.
“God!” I say as he lets me up. I sniff and wipe my eyes.
He inspects my cut and grunts his approval, as if infection is this huge threat right now. He pulls my hand. “Come on.”
“I can’t even feel my feet."
He frowns, furrowing his dark brows. “Fine.” He bends over and loops my arm around his neck and just hoists me up.
I pull my arm back and struggle against his hold. “Put me down!”
“You want to walk? Or I still have that .357. I could put a few holes in you, and you could float. Is that what you want?”
I loop my arm around his neck, feeling weird, like I’m participating in my own captivity. But it seems better than the alternatives. Don’t struggle. Wait for your chance.
I'm a pet wrangler, bookworm, mediocre tennis player and hairstyle failure. And yes, an author, but I promise not to spam you if you friend me!
I live just a stone's throw from the Mississippi with my husband and two beloved cats in a home full of plants, sunshine, books and cookie crumbs. By day, I'm a freelancer in the business world. In addition to being smutty Annika, I write urban fantasy under the pen name Carolyn Crane.
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Skye Warren writes unapologetic erotica, including power play or erotic pain and sometimes dubious consent. There's struggle in the sex. There's pain in the relationships. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
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Aw I love that outlook of just being you and finding someone who loves you for all your weird and wacky :)
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