The Scary Road to Conceiving Evil – a guest post by Jenna Fox

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Today I have a spooky guest post from Jenna Fox, the author of Conceiving Evil. But first, here’s a bit about the book:

Like everyone else after the economic crash, Abby Torrance was struggling financially. But then Dorian Lincoln, a political and business icon, sweeps her off her feet and into a life of promise. He’s a man who has enough power to change the world for the better, a man who can give hope to the masses, a man who can give Abby a baby.

But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and Abby is having strange dreams that seem both a warning and a prophecy.

How can she give the evil undertones of her dreams any notice when she’s busy focusing on conceiving?


Dammit to hell. I can’t even enjoy a movie.

The nighttime air bit at my skin as thoughts of him chomped at my brain. He’d polluted me like a poison that spread throughout my mind and body, seizing every thought, leaving no rest. I loved horror movies and yet I couldn’t recall a single scene. Jimmie kept glancing at me, concern etching his face all the way through the ninety-minute show.

Soon Jimmie and I walked out of the theater, my hand resting in the crook of his elbow. Bitterness raged inside, heating my face against the breeze when I saw the limo roll toward us. He found me like he always said he would, but three fucking hours late.

I knew I wasn’t Dorian’s top priority, and I’d made some progress at keeping my jealousy under control, but no woman wanted to be shoved to the side every time it was convenient for a man. I tightened my grip on Jimmie’s sleeve and pulled him along just as the driver stepped into our path. I gave the chauffeur a shotgun-glare as he motioned me to the car. “Miss Torrance, Mr. Lincoln is waiting.”

My heart skipped ten beats, I couldn’t tear my eyes away when the dark window lowered and Dorian tousled his ebony hair with his fingers. He wasn’t in his usual attire, a business suit. Tonight he presented himself in casual wear. His sharp, handsome features were expressionless.

I closed my eyes, digging deep for the strength to tell him to get lost for standing me up, but I knew the words would never make it past my lips. I was a fool to entertain the thought. One look from those black eyes sifted me like wheat. Dorian practically owned me. That man was my tempter and my savior wrapped into one.

I met him at the lowest point of my life, after my mother died of cancer. The three jobs I was working to keep my head above water and pay off her medical bills were about to do me in physically. While I was waiting tables at the country club, Dorian swooped in from out of nowhere and rescued me like an injured bird. His amazing sixth sense alerted him that life was too much for me, and he offered me a strong shoulder to cry on. The floodgates opened and I unloaded my personal problems. Dorian Lincoln promised those problems would disappear with a simple acceptance of his proposition: give him power over my body, something Bianca wouldn’t allow.

Lifting my palm to Jimmie’s cheek, I smiled. “Thanks for the movie. I’ll call you next week.”

“He’s a prick. You deserve better, Abby!” Jimmie yelled, as I eased myself inside the limo.

Dorian opened a small refrigerator under the seat, his hands cupping the base of a champagne glass. “You’ve wasted no time finding another way of entertaining yourself this evening.”

“You wasted no time in standing me up,” I scoffed.

When I left his office that afternoon, Dorian said he wanted me for some “quality time.” Eight-thirty rolled around before I realized he was a no-show. The food got cold and eventually the long stemmed candles I lit for dinner burned out, along with my patience.

“Meetings… clients,” he said.

Top secret meetings and clients were always the excuse. The coldness in his voice was a sword to my heart, a reminder of my temporary ranking in his life. I held on tight to his promise of our relationship becoming more when the time was right.

His stony expression broke into a devious grin. “You look beautiful in that dress and your enthusiasm is charming. But watching you masturbate will reimburse me, Miss Torrance.”

My stomach dropped and quivered as I pressed my thighs together. He was going to punish me.

I tugged at the straps of the red shoes he’d bought me, eyeing him as he sipped from the flute and moved his gaze toward the window. Overtaken by the need to be the object of his fascination, I almost begged him to turn those onyx eyes back on me. His attention was the only thing that kept me from going under.

“Dorian, please I-”

My words were cut off with the sharp turn of his head. Relief came in a warm caress, but suspicion moved in with a lift of his brow. The small amount of light coming through the tinted windows deepened the masculine angles of his face, lending them a sternness that echoed in his voice.

“No other men. I thought I was quite clear about that when we discussed the terms of our agreement, three months ago.”

“Jimmie is just a friend.”

“Jimmie is a man. A distraction.”

“A distraction from being pissed. I don’t like being stood up.”

I sounded so offended, but I had no right. Closing my eyes I regrouped, reminding myself that I freely agreed to make myself available to him. Dorian kept up his end of the arrangement. He took care of me, changed my life for the better. My phone stopped ringing from creditors, he gave me a great job at his company, and I had food on the table in a fabulous apartment. He seemed to know my every need before I voiced them. I could push aside my hostility and take his punishment and occasional negligence.

“You are mine, all mine.” he announced.

His words, saturated with power and ownership, sustained my hungry heart. I could hold out as long as it took, accepting the way things had to be until Bianca was more emotionally stable, and Dorian could ask her for a divorce. I had waited longer on losers, lazy assholes who wouldn’t work in a pie factory. This time I had struck gold.

Reaching over, I grabbed the seat when Dorian impatiently knocked on the divider and the limo picked up speed.

About the Author

JennaFoxJenna Fox is a civilized hillbilly, mother, author and wife residing in Eastern Tennessee. She enjoys reading and jotting down poetry in her spare time. Besides juggling a busy family life, Fox reviews and critiques for other authors and crafts her own dark erotic tales. Stories always feature a mysterious alpha male with unexpected twists to shock the reader. She believes in HFN and HEA endings, although not always in a romantic or conventional way.

Her work is born from real life experiences, an overactive imagination and a consuming caffeine addiction. Sometimes she finds herself writing sex scenes on fast food napkins and store receipts while waiting in traffic, but she’s always guilty of keeping her mind in the gutter. Fox is a listener of hard rock music and a watcher of classic slasher films. In short, she’s a writer, a storyteller, able to make a boo-boo all better with just one kiss and a proud, world class expert at screwing up recipes and scaring away closet monsters. She believes in ghosts and God and is absolutely convinced chocolate soothes the savage beast.

Connect with Jenna online at Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Goodreads, on her Amazon author page, or at her blog,

A Spooky Story

I hope you enjoy this true story about an experience that changed my life and, in an inexplicable way, inspired Conceiving Evil. Some may find it alarming or frightening, and I won’t be using any cool metaphors, fancy similes, or perfect grammar. I’ll be using the words of a fourteen year old country girl from the hills of Tennessee.

That girl is me.

This happened during a time when an actor was the President and there was music on MTV. Martha Quinn was the VJ and Rocky IV was on the big screen. There was no internet or home computers. Telephones still had a cord and a seatbelt was your momma’s arm.

The mercury was unusually high that day in October 1985; even the flies were sweating. I was fourteen years old and walking on air because my aunt, Diana, was going to take me to the church revival in her brand new Grand Prix.

Momma didn’t go to church with us that night, I forgot the reason why, but Momma never ever allowed me to skip church. So I teased up my hair and sprayed it with an extra layer of Aqua Net because I wanted to look my best in front of the preacher’s good-looking son. If I recall correctly, his name was Steve.

As soon as I got inside the car, my aunt looked at me and narrowed her brown eyes. “Girl, you don’t need all that make-up.”

I hated when she scolded me for wearing make-up. The Pentecostal church frowned on the use of cosmetics, but I didn’t care. The Pentecostal church frowned upon wearing your skirts above the ankle, but I didn’t care about that either. My hemline touched just above the knees.

Now Aunt Diana was like a mother to me. She was the kind of woman who stayed “prayed up and fasted up.” In Pentecostal terms that means she spent a lot of time in prayer and wouldn’t eat for days and days. Those things were supposed to bring you closer to God.

We got to church a little late. Preacher Clevinger was already red-faced, giving his sermon behind the pulpit and people were praying and singing and everything was in full swing. I took a seat beside my aunt and she started praying too.

I’ll admit, I wasn’t praying. Praying was the last thing on my mind. Where was that good-looking Steve?

After an hour or more of praying and singing, things died down. A woman I’d never seen before wandered into the church. Nobody knew her name. She came out of nowhere, just right off the street, wearing an old flower-print dress with disheveled hair. She didn’t sit down, she just kept walking toward the front of the church, not stopping until she reached the altar and got down on her haunches like a dog and started to bark and growl.

The preacher and some church elders, along with my aunt, started praying with the woman. The woman barked and growled some more. The congregation fell silent and then you could hear people in the pews whispering to each other that the woman was demon possessed.

I had heard of people being possessed by the Devil, but thought it was mostly something on television. I probably wouldn’t have believed a word of it if I hadn’t witnessed it myself. Over an hour of fervent prayer with the woman went by, and the congregation thinned until the only people remaining were the preacher, my aunt, and myself.

Yes, I was afraid. Not of her, but of what was inside of her. She continued the growling and the barking and saying all that stuff.

Her skin wasn’t lacerated and green like that girl’s in The Exorcist. She wasn’t talking in a gravelly voice and turning her head at impossible angles. She was calm. Eerily calm. And she knew everybody’s name and what they’d done that day before church. She even told my aunt that she was taking too much Valium. My aunt had never taken Valium.

I’d had enough of the creepiness and went outside. The Devil was a liar and everybody knew it. Three more hours went by as I sat on those concrete steps of the Church of God. The good-looking preacher’s son had taken off with another girl and night had fallen.

Finally my aunt, the preacher and the church elders came outside with the demon-possessed lady. She looked like a different person, her eyes weren’t dark anymore and she was smiling. She told us that her name was Anna and she didn’t feel like killing herself anymore. Preacher Clevinger said that all seven of those entities were gone.

I was so happy. Happy that the woman had been freed, and that I had a really cool story to tell Momma and my friends at school. Now we could leave and I could listen to Tears for Fears on that new Grand Prix’s stereo system.

On the way home, my aunt and I talked about the incident and what a liar the Devil was. He came to kill, steal, and destroy. He walks to and fro, up and down, in and out of the earth seeking whom he may devour. Yes he does, honey. What a bastard.

He’s a liar and I didn’t believe a word he said about my aunt and those pills. Not until we got back home and I stooped down and helped her pick up the tissues and chewing gum wrappers, and a little brown bottle of Valium that had spilled out of her purse.

Do you believe?


Jenna’s got a huge giveaway for followers on her Bewitching Book Tour. Here’s what you could win:

  • 1 ebook copy of Conceiving Evil by Jenna Fox
  • 1 ebook copy of The Dead Lands by Dylan J. Morgan
  • 1 signed paperback of Cursed Desires by C.E. Black
  • 1 ebook copy of Then Death Spoke by LB Shaw
  • 3 ebook copies of The Psychic Trilogy by Lola White (Demon’s Bond, Family Ties and Monster’s Chains)
  • 3 ebook copies of the Fifty Shades of Naughty Trilogy By Edward Naughty
  • 3 ebook copies of Edward Naughty’s Best of Year 1 Collection
  • 1 signed paperback of Fantasy Encounter with a Dom by Suzy Ayers
  • 1 ebook copy (winner’s choice) by E.R. Pierce

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  • Jenna Fox

    Yes, there is a lot that can’t be explained. As the story stated, I was fourteen years old when it happened, and the memories of that day will always be with me. My beloved aunt has since passed away, but I never mentioned finding the pills until I wrote the story over 25 years later. I didn’t want to embarrass her. :(
    I believe there is a another world, a supernatural world our naked eyes can’t see. Perhaps those on the other side are watching us. <3
    Happy Halloween