Advance Praise for

CAM GIRL

“Raeder’s best book yet. It has the grit, language, and heat you’d expect, but there’s more. Raeder has clearly dug down and bled and studied the mirror to reveal the ugliest and most beautiful parts of herself, and human nature. Cam Girl is a rich and unflinching narrative.”

—Emery Lord, author of Open Road Summer

“Cam Girl is a beautiful exploration of gender and sexuality that begs readers to question how well we know those closest to us, including ourselves. Raeder’s trademark sensual lyricism is in full effect here, but it’s the fraught yet tender relationship between Vada and Ellis that will have you glued to the pages until the oh-so-perfect ending.”

—Dahlia Adler, author of Under the Lights

Praise for

BLACK IRIS

“Intense and visceral, Black Iris is as sharp as a knife and beats with a heart that is double-edged and dangerous.”

—Lauren Blakely, New York Times bestselling author

“Provocative, seductive, and skillfully written, Black Iris stands out from the crowd.”

—K.A. Tucker, USA Today bestselling author

“Like an afternoon special on bullying gone impossibly dark, Raeder’s dizzyingly intense, drug-addicted queer teenage revenge fantasy takes its reader on a sexy, bloody journey of pure emotion that’s by turns expressed, denied, and turned back in on itself . . . A twisting timeline dancing over a year’s events makes every moment seem both immediate and angrily steeped in memory. Major themes include depression, mania, and the ways that the use and abuse of drugs affect access to the reality of self and the world’s essential nature; but the soul-searching always comes in the context of action, everyone around hit by the shrapnel of exploding feelings. This is an exhilarating ride for our inner underdog, craving a taste of what it would feel like to just get back at everyone if we were reckless enough not to care about the consequences.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Risky, brave, bold. A suspenseful powerhouse of a novel and one of the best books I’ve read this year.”

—Karina Halle, New York Times bestselling author

“Fearless, inspiring, and a story that does more than just keep you enthralled. It holds you by the damn throat.”

—Penelope Douglas, New York Times bestselling author

“Erotic, poetic, heartbreaking, captivating, and full of mind-blowing twists and turns.”

—Mia Asher, author of Easy Virtue

Praise for

UNTEACHABLE

“With an electrifying fusion of forbidden love and vivid writing, the characters glow in Technicolor. Brace yourselves to be catapulted to dizzying levels with evocative language, panty-blazing sex scenes, and emotions so intense they will linger long after the last page steals your heart.”

—Pam Godwin, New York Times bestselling author

“Unteachable is a lyrical masterpiece with a vivid story line that grabbed me from the very first page. The flawless writing and raw characters are pure perfection.”

—Brooke Cumberland, USA Today bestselling author

“Raeder’s writing is skillful and stunning. One of the most beautifully powerful stories of forbidden love that I have ever read.”

—Mia Sheridan, New York Times bestselling author

“Edgy and passionate, Unteachable shimmers with raw desire. Raeder is a captivating new voice.”

—Melody Grace, New York Times bestselling author

“A simply stunning portrayal of lies, courage, and unrequited love. Raeder has a gift for taking taboo subjects and seducing us with them in the rawest, most beautiful way.”

—S.L. Jennings, New York Times bestselling author

Thank you for downloading this Atria Books eBook.

Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Atria Books and Simon & Schuster.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

or visit us online to sign up at

eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

For all the girls I’ve lost

—WINTER—

—1—

A car crash is a work of art.

At first it’s Cubism: the hood folding, doors crumpling, windshield splitting into a mosaic of shattered light, the whole world breaking into shards of color and noise and tumbling around you like a kaleidoscope. Screeching tires and cold air and gasoline and your own scream are all just bits of debris flying around, gorgeous chaos. When the tires stop spinning and the engines die, you’re left sitting in a smashed puzzle of metal and glass, trying to figure out which way the pieces go now, why some are stuck together and won’t come apart. Why there is an eye next to a foot, steel where there should be skin.

I listened to a soft dripping and the sigh of steam. By then it had become Surrealism. My hands were puppet hands, one arm bent at a bizarre angle. A deflated airbag lay in my lap like a bloody surgery sheet. The seat belt (I buckled up, I didn’t really want to die) was some kind of medieval bondage device and I clawed at it senselessly before clicking the release button. Then I saw her.

Ellis slumped in her seat, limp against the seat belt. Red-gold hair hung in her eyes. She was utterly still.

I kicked my door open. Staggered through the electric prongs of the headlights to her side of the car. My right arm was heavy, pulling toward the ground, so I used the left to haul her out. Impressionism now: the dashboard glow dappling her pale skin cyan, black ice reflecting swirls of white starlight. My breath spiraling wildly into the sky. I cried her name as I pulled her onto the road, her legs dragging.

“Wake up, Elle. Please, please, wake up.”

You idiot, I thought. You know CPR.

I brushed her hair off her forehead¸ leaned close. No warmth on my ear. My right arm had begun to tingle and buzz and it was going to make this difficult. I took a deep breath, but before my mouth met hers she coughed and her eyelids fluttered open. Details became acutely clear, almost Pointillist: stars glittering in her eyes, ruby droplets freckling her skin. I touched her face, smearing the blood.

“Vada?” she said weakly.

“Can you move?” I couldn’t take my hand off her cheek. “Move your arms. Ellis, move your arms. Okay. Now your legs.”

She obeyed.

I grabbed her in an awkward one-armed hug but hugging wasn’t enough so I kissed her cheek, her mouth, cupped her face and stared down into it. “Are you okay? There’s so much blood.” I wiped her face again but it only got worse. “Where’s it coming from? Are you hurt?”

We both noticed my right arm at the same time. The sleeve of my hoodie ripped to tatters. The sliver of white showing through red near the elbow.

“Oh my god,” Elle whispered, her breath musky and sweet. Tequila.

I let go of her.

The other car.

His headlights made an X through ours, a crucifix of light across the blank black night. We were on a highway bridge between nowhere and eternity, the ocean glinting beyond the treetops. The other driver lay sprawled facedown on the ground. My eyes traced the path he’d taken through his windshield, the bloody stripe running over the hood of his Jeep.