The Juice

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

Juicy Robinson was the color of sweet black licorice, of a charcoal briquette soaked in lighter fluid and no one was going to make her feel like she wasn’t the sexiest thing around—not the white people that her mother had taught her to distrust and certainly not the homeless white man that has been watching her from the alley.Troy’s mental illness forced him onto the streets. After an altercation, Juicy finds herself rescued by this unlikely individual; a white, homeless man that she has thoughtlessly nick-named; ‘Mr. Cracker.’ Out of a sense of loneliness and true friendship the two outcasts try to find something deeper than friendship as they journey to self-discovery. Juicy is created by Pepper Pace, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

Juked: A slang soccer term meaning: faked out, deceived, confused your opponentSee examples Daniel Zavaro and Quincy Watson:As the rising star in Houston, Daniel has found fame as Captain of his Pro soccer team and the city’s most eligible bachelor. Daniel has everything – except someone special – and that suits him just fine. He doesn’t want, or need, complications.Quincy has baggage, and lots of it. After a tragic accident spins her world on its axis, she finds herself as a single mother, raising a newborn nephew she never knew she had. Between parenthood, her full-time job, and dealing with the suffocating grief of losing her sister, every day is a struggle. When they begin to cross paths often, an unlikely friendship starts to evolve. Feelings change. Lines get crossed. Before they know it-- they’ve been Juked.Contains explicit content and is recommended for readers ages 18+.Juked is created by M.E. Carter, an eGlobal CreativePublishing Signed Author.

“You don’t know the pit you’ve dug yourself in, Ms. Elena Lubov. Can you honestly tell me that if I slit your neck right now, you can still love me?” Michael asked as the knife on Elena’s neck began to cut slowly and draw a bit of blood. Their gazes never wavered. “I’ll cut my throat on your behalf, Michael, if it would make you believe in every word that I say” she said without fear, “I have nothing to lose.” she whispered. When the most powerful mafia boss finds out his past never existed, how can he keep his madness from destroying the future he created? When power and money is useless, what can the words of the dead do for those left behind? “You don’t know the pit you’ve dug yourself in, Ms. Elena Lubov. Can you honestly tell me that if I slit your neck right now, you can still love me?” Michael asked as the knife on Elena’s neck began to cut slowly and draw a bit of blood. Their gazes never wavered. “I’ll cut my throat on your behalf, Michael, if it would make you believe in every word that I say” she said without fear, “I have nothing to lose.” she whispered. When the most powerful mafia boss finds out his past never existed, how can he keep his madness from destroying the future he created? When power and money is useless, what can the words of the dead do for those left behind?

Book 2 of THE ARENA! "Rule or be ruled." People should know that there is a great difference between a leader and a follower. Inside the prison, the weak must perish. Featured on CANDY MAGAZINE ARTICLE. There's only one way to survive inside the prison, fight. Declan must find a way out or else he's gonna end up cold in the ground.Book 2 of 'THE ARENA'

My boss, Grant Whitlock, removed every table and chair from the operations team's area during the company's holiday party. Then, he placed one stainless-steel dog bowl in the middle of the stage. "Ops is basically the company's guard dog," he announced. "And dogs don't eat at the table." The top sales guy laughed and scraped his leftovers straight into the bowl. After that, Grant threw a black trash bag over my shoulders. "From now on, you're our walking trash can. Make yourself useful." The room exploded with laughter. I didn't say a word. I just tightened my grip around the master access card in my hand. What they didn't know was that the building's emergency utility approvals, maintenance access, and property management favors all went through me. They were all living it up because of this "dog" they loved looking down on. I had had enough. So, I dropped my employee badge into the dog bowl and walked out on them. I thought, 'After the holidays, no one will be cleaning the mess on those two floors. Let's see how well they survive without me.'