High Velocity

High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G, #4
by Freya Barker
Release Date: May 13th 2025
Cover Designer: Freya Barker Images: Jean Woodfin - JW Photography
Model: Brandon Thyfault
Genre: Romantic Suspense

They say it becomes second nature at some point, but the fact is about fifteen percent of the body I was born with is missing, which isn’t that easy to adjust to. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself coming out of the shower, I’m still startled at my own reflection. This mental image I have of my former intact body persists, and I’m shocked each time to find part of it gone. Even in my dreams, I still have my right leg.

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USA Today bestselling author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

With forty-plus books already published, she continues to create characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy.

Recipient of the ReadFREE.ly 2019 Best Book We've Read All Year Award for "Covering Ollie, the 2015 RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for Best First Book, “Slim To None”, Finalist for the 2017 Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, and Finalist for the 2020 Kindle Book Award with “When Hope Ends”, Freya spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!

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High Density
High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G, #3
by Freya Barker
Release Date: February 17th 2025
Genre: Romantic Suspense

When I get to her place, I dig through the back seat of my truck to find something cleaner to wear than the clothes I have on now. I dig up a sports bag that must’ve been in there for a couple of months, since I haven’t been to the gym in at least that long. But at least it holds a pair of clean socks, a shirt, and some sweats that smell better than the jeans I have on. I didn’t realize how foul I reeked until the beautiful aroma from the pizza was overwhelmed by the smell of cow shit. No way I can eat smelling like this. Using Janey’s bathroom—which is permeated by her scent—is the worst kind of torture. I briefly contemplate polishing one off in the shower, but decide against it. Instead, I turn the faucet to cold for a few minutes before I step out. Janey is on her couch, her feet tucked under her as she’s watching the news on TV. The pizza and iced teas, along with a couple of plates and napkins, are waiting on the coffee table. “Unless you want to sit at the table?” she asks when I walk in. “Not particularly.” I drop down beside her. “You could’ve started without me,” I suggest. “You weren’t that long,” she returns, reaching to flip open the pizza box. My stomach rumbles loudly as she loads three pieces on a plate and hands it to me, before serving herself. I was wrong; sitting next to Janey as she moans through her first tastes of a cheesy bratwurst pizza has to be the worst kind of torture by far.