Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Review: My Dirty Detour by Grace Risata

My Dirty Detour 
Grace Risata
File Size: 1958 KB
Print Length: 323 pages
Publication Date: January 19, 2016LLC
Language: English
ASIN: B01AU6674G

A dominant leader flees the mafia, looking for a fresh start in a small town. He put all his effort into starting a business and resigned himself to a life without love. 
A neurotic germaphobe lives vicariously through the books she reads, preferring to play it safe in real life and hide behind her sarcastic remarks. 
“I am NOT that neurotic! I just have germ issues and I tend to over-analyze things. Sure, I second guess myself all the time and have a tendency to freak out over the small stuff. I’ll admit that I do ask a lot of “what if…?” questions. Fine. I’m neurotic.” 
One fateful day, the simple act of taking a wrong turn leads Violet right into Rocky’s life and completely turns it upside down. Accustomed to his orders being obeyed immediately and without question, Rocky doesn’t appreciate Violet challenging his authority at every opportunity. 
“I don’t like being told what to do. Especially when some arrogant tough guy thinks he can boss me around. I might have argued with him just to keep him close. He smelled like heaven. Although with a body like his, I knew he was no angel. 
Violet charmed her way into his heart with her quick wit and stubbornness, causing Rocky to fail at his many attempts to resist her. 
“He’d never met anyone like me before. I trash talk, curse like a sailor, and pretty much say whatever’s on my mind. Life is too short to pretend to be something that you’re not.” 
Rocky tries to keep his violent past hidden from Violet, but it suddenly catches up to him and he can no longer deny who he really is. Will Rocky turn his back on the life he built or stay and fight for what’s his? When Violet is faced with situations that rival anything she’s merely read about, will she be able to face her fears and work together with Rocky or will the truth tear them apart? 
“It’s one hell of a wild ride! Take a look inside the first few pages and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Follow the journey of Rocky and Violet as they take a dirty detour…
Please note: As is often the case after “Boy Meets Girl” but before “Happily Ever After,” Steamy Bedroom Scenes will occur. Well….some of the steamy scenes actually take place outside the bedroom. You’ll have to read the book to find out more!
This is a full length, stand-alone novel with no cliffhangers. 

I haven’t wanted to jump in and hang out with characters in a book in a while. My Dirty Detour by Grace Risata is the kind of story that makes you want to be a part of it. I want to go to Sunday dinner and hang out with the cast of crazies. Yes, I mean crazy. You wouldn’t think that these people would ever hang out with each other but they make a fascinating, dysfunctional family to replace their already dysfunctional family. It reads first person from the eyes of Violet, who has been down on herself for her boring and neurotic life. A wrong turn into a brewery turns her life upside down and it is thrilling. These gangsters turned good ol’ boys are hot and you’re going to have a hard time figuring out which one is your new book boyfriend. Violet’s love interest Rocky is cool, but I think my pick is Dmitry. Now, normally I hate when a first person story switches to third person. It pulls me out of the story when it goes back and forth to much. Risata did a great job of only switching a few times to third and italizing it, so me, the reader, didn’t get confused as to how Violet knew all the stuff that happened behind her back. The book continued to flow nicely between the changes. Also the girl writes some steamy sex scenes without being too flashy with innuendos or cutesy names for body parts. I have to admit, I craved Italian food, mainly pasta, and really want to try Russian Honey Cake. I like a story that has good romance and good food. When I read about characters who like to eat and tell you about all the amazing dishes they are enjoying, it makes the story more real and comes to life for me. I can see myself sitting down and breaking bread with these people or maybe just my BBF.

About the Author

Grace Risata is a new addition to the literary world.   Grace is very excited to share her first novel,  My Dirty Detour, and she hopes you enjoyed reading it as much as she enjoyed writing it.  Grace would like to thank everyone for giving her book a chance and she welcomes all feedback.  Grace is happiest when reading, eating Portillos hot dogs, and patiently waiting for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.


On a beautiful Friday night in mid-September, where do I find myself?  On a hot date with a new guy that I’d been nursing a crush on?  Nope.  At the newest bar/night club in a little black dress with my closest group of girlfriends? Not even close.  I found myself lost in the middle of nowhere on a dusty dirt road.   I think real streets have two lanes and pavement, but this was pretty rustic.  My tires were kicking up rocks and possibly ruining the paint job on my black Nissan.
            My obligation for this evening involved a trip to some random welding shop to pick up a tractor part for my mother’s ex-boyfriend.  I lost track of how many times they’d broken up and gotten back together, so it was beyond me why I got stuck with this job.  I guess it was because she was the queen of guilt trips and I still owed her for giving birth to me thirty-four years ago.  She always found a way to get me to do what she wanted, but make it appear as though she was doing me a favor.  Tonight’s reasoning was that “it will get you out of the house and you have nothing better to do.”  Unfortunately she was correct.  It was the perfect night and I had no other plans.  That is how I stumbled upon the Grim Rock Distillery and how I had the misfortune of meeting one insanely infuriating Rocky Duncan.
            I followed the directions to pick up the tractor part, but the adventurous side of me wanted to take a different route home.  The windows were down, the radio was up, and I was cruising on a Friday night.  I was not ready to go back to the TV shows filling up my DVR or the books on my kindle.  I wanted real live action.   Or at least to drive by other people experiencing real live action.  So I took a left and then a right and then I must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque (to quote Bugs Bunny) and I ended up on a one lane dirt road in the middle of hillbillyville.  Being the thrifty girl that I am, I opted not to upgrade my vehicle to the next package and thus had no GPS.  Also being somewhat lazy, my cell phone was not charged and had run out of battery an hour ago.  I guess my new plan would be to pull into the first place I saw and just ask for directions.  
            After following the road for a few more minutes, I pulled into a gravel parking lot behind what appeared to be a large brick factory.  It was two stories tall with a row of windows that had bars on them.  That’s strange because I live in a small town with only eighteen thousand people in the heart of the Midwest.  Even the name is wholesome: Pineville.  This is farm country, not “put bars on your windows like it’s the apocalypse and zombies are coming” highly populated metropolitan area.  The driveway led around to a paved lot and I figured it must have been the back entrance to the factory.  The front looked a little bit safer with a windowed door (no bars on it!) and a hand painted sign that read “Grim Rock Distillery:  Home of Olde Devil Gin.  NO TRESPASSING.”  That struck me as bizarre.  I would assume a brewery would have tasting tours and be open to the public.   I had never heard of this place before.
            The interior of the factory looked as though it was completely up to date with modern equipment and decor. There were two levels of the largest tanks, vats, and copper pots that I had ever seen.  There must have been miles of tubes going from one direction to the next.  It looked beautiful with shiny chrome and all sorts of bizarre gauges and devices.  Kind of like a steampunk dream.  I was pulled from my reverie when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.  It was then that I noticed two muscular goons giving me the evil eye.  They appeared to be in their late twenties, almost equal in height at well over six feet tall.   One of them had shoulder length dark hair tied off in a low ponytail, while the other had blond hair that seemed a tad bit longer then a buzz cut.  Mr. Ponytail was wearing a black short sleeve T shirt with a pair of designer blue jeans and black combat boots.  He had high cheekbones and full lips and he was perfectly tan.  Unnaturally tan.  “I-spend-too-much-time-in-the-spray-booth” tan.  His perfect face was covered in carefully groomed three day stubble.  If I had to guess his nationality, I’d put my money on Italian.  He was staring at me with sultry brown eyes and looking mildly confused.  The other one just looked pissed off.  He exuded a vibe of raw strength and danger.  Mr. Anti-Social, I noticed, was wearing light blue jeans, a form fitting white V neck t shirt that showed off how well built he was, and a pair of brown boots.  He had no tattoos, in sharp contrast to the artwork covering the arms of his friend.  I got the impression that while Mr. Ponytail would have looked at home on the cover of Italian GQ, it seemed like Mr. Anti-Social belonged in Streetfighter Magazine, if such a thing existed.  He looked as if he’d been in a fight or two and had the evidence to prove it.  With a crooked nose that had undoubtedly been broken, this dude was definitely not someone to mess with.  After staring each other down like soldiers on opposite sides of a war, Mr. Anti-Social broke the silence.
                       “Who the fuck sent you here and what do you want?”  Wow.  Not the greeting I expected.  At all.  Who talks to a potential customer like that?  Wait until the owner found out this guy was on the welcoming committee.  
                       “No one sent me here.  I sort of took a wrong turn, got lost, and stumbled upon this place and I thought it looked cool with the name and all, and I wanted to see about possibly trying a sample (I’d never had gin before, so why not? They probably had free samples, right?)  and maybe get directions to get unlost?”  Did I mention that I get nervous easily when standing in the presence of violent looking people who could probably snap me in half like a twig?  Hell, I get nervous speaking in front of large crowds, flying on planes, and pretty much doing anything not in my regular routine.  If they’re Mr. Ponytail and Mr. Anti-Social, then just call me Ms. Anxiety.  
                       Mr. Anti-Social marched over with an enormous scowl on his face, clearly NOT liking my answer to that question.  “Are you from the Health Inspectors Office?  Tell me your name and what you’re doing here NOW,” he demanded.
                       “My name is Violet and I got lost.  I can just turn around and leave and find directions elsewhere, but thank you for your time.”  That was polite, right?  Well Mr. Anti-Social was having none of that.  
                       “You will go nowhere until my questions are answered to my liking.  And if I find out you’re not telling the truth, you WILL be held accountable, do you understand that?”
                      Holy shit.  What fucking rabbit hole did I stumble down and how the hell do I get out of here?  What if this is some clandestine phony business front for a real drug den or prostitution ring?  What if they’re killing people in the back room right now?  What if I don’t make it out of this alive?  This shit happens on TV, not in real life!  Deep breath, don’t faint, answer his questions nicely.  “Sir, I will answer any questions you have.  Please just let me leave.” And maybe let me live, too.
                       “Fine,” he snarled.  “Who sent you here and what do you want? If you claim to be from the health inspector’s office, you’re not seeing shit until you show me some identification.”
                       “No one sent me here.  I was just picking up a tractor part at the welding place about five miles and several turns down the road.  I wanted to take a different way home and my stupid detour led me here.  I got lost and I only need directions back to the main road.”  That was short and to the point, yet honest and respectful.  I might get out of this alive.
                  “What was the name of the welding place, when were you there, and what did you pick up?” he questioned.
                       “I left there about ten minutes ago, it was called Black Tower Forge, and I picked up a broken tractor part that had to be welded.”  Honesty is always the best policy.  And hopefully the one that would keep me alive.    Mr. Anti-Social took a cell phone out of his pocket, tapped a few buttons, and glared at me.
                        “Dmitry, it’s Rocky.  Tell me what customers have been in the shop in the past twenty minutes, what they looked like, and what they picked up.”  Ah, so Mr. Anti-Social has a name: Rocky.   Crap!  Now I know his name and that gives him one more reason to kill me.  Rocky was staring me down as he waited for a response from the guy on the other end of the phone.  “I see.  There was only one customer?  A girl who picked up a tractor part?”  
                       Ooh, looks like I was telling the truth…what now?  I must have had a look of I-told-you-so on my face because he frowned and responded, “What did she look like?  Was she a short, pathetic-looking, ditz with fuzzy hair?”  What the fuck? That was pretty unnecessary on his part.  I am not a ditz at all; I’m just bad with directions.  My sour expression at that comment must have betrayed my intent to keep a straight face because Rocky narrowed his eyes at me and grinned.  “Very well, then.  That was all I wanted.  No, I don’t know who she is either.  I was just checking out her story.  She claims to be lost and stopped here for directions.  I don’t know why she didn’t see the sign that clearly said ‘no trespassing.’  Maybe she can’t read.”  
                       Rocky appeared visibly more relaxed as he hung up the phone and told me, “Go left when you turn out of the driveway.  Take a right after three miles and then another right.  You’ll hit the main road.  As for free samples, this is not a grocery store.  There’s the door.  I suggest you use it.”
                        He turned around and dismissed me just like that.  No “Sorry I freaked out and acted like a jackass” or “Please tell all your friends about our remarkable gin.”   I really don’t like to be treated like I’m the shit under someone’s shoe.  I also have a bad habit of doing the opposite of what I’m told, just to prove a point.

No comments:

Post a Comment