Category: Excerpts

She’s a criminal when it comes to sex

The following is a NSFW excerpt from A Disturbing Prospect.

🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶

“Hold on,” she says, glancing up and down the street. There’s a dangerous look in her eyes, one that simultaneously draws me in and makes me pause. This woman might look harmless, but she’s a criminal when it comes to sex. She grabs my hand and tugs me forward, trying car doors as we walk.

She’s dead serious.

“Olivia, what the fuck are you doing?” I mutter. “I’m on parole. You know that, right?”

She tosses me a challenging look. “Is your probation officer here right now?”

“No, but—”

“Relax,” she says, pulling the door of a station wagon open. “We’re not technically breaking in if it isn’t locked.”

There are so many technicalities wrapped up in this night.

She climbs into the back seat, shedding clothing. “It’s roomy in here,” she purrs, beckoning me inside.

With one more glance at the street, I climb in after her, shutting the door behind me.

Our breath steams up the windows. She peels off garments, flinging them onto the passenger seat. Within seconds, she’s naked.

“Your turn.”

So much for savoring this.

I yank off my jeans, shirt, and coat. My cock stands at full attention. Olivia regards me with an amused expression on her face. Heat flushes my cheeks. “What?”

“You were commando?” she asks, crawling into my lap.

I laugh. “I ran out before, and didn’t get a chance to change after we did laundry.”

Olivia smiles back. A wisp of hair falls into her eyes. I brush it back gently, my eyes roving over her face. Suddenly we’re shy teenagers who thought they were ready but don’t really know what to do next.

My hands drop to her hips, fingers caressing the soft flesh. “You really want this?”

She nods. Her arms encircle my neck, those eyes locked on mine. It could be a trick of the light, but she looks truly happy. Maybe she’s one of those people who really, really like sex. Whatever the reason, I’m honored to be the one to make her feel good—in multiple ways.

Soft lips tug at mine, her tongue flitting across my bottom lip. She sucks me between her teeth while her hands trail to my shoulders. The heat radiating from her warm center is so inviting.

My tongue plunges into her mouth, a growl escaping my lips. I should be gentle with her, but I don’t want to. I want to consume her until I’m completely intoxicated, neither of us able to walk.

Her legs wrap around my waist, her hips thrusting her soft wetness against me. Fingers from one hand pluck at my nipples, while her other hand wraps around me.

In just a few seconds, I’m going to throw back the bars of the cage. “One more time,” I growl into her mouth. “Do you really want this?”

She rubs the head of me against her slit in response.

Her slick wetness makes me come completely undone. In one motion, I twist our bodies until she’s flat on her back. Her legs wrap around me, and I lower myself until I’m throbbing at her entrance. Olivia gives me a final nod, and I slide in.

Her warmth envelopes me, and I almost come halfway through my first thrust. “I’m not going to last long,” I choke out.

“Shh,” she soothes into my ear. “It’s okay. Just give me all you’ve got, baby.” Her arms lock around my neck and she clings to me with her whole body. I sheath myself in her, embedded deep inside.

Slowly, I slide out, until just the tip of me is in her. I caress the side of her breast and each rib with my fingers as I make my way down to her. I want this to be just as good for her as it is for me.

Stroking her with my fingers, I plunge into her again with slow precision. With each thrust, I get more into a rhythm, two knuckles grinding against her. She shivers underneath me, tiny moans tumbling from her lips. Hard nipples rub against my chest, a complete parallel to her soft breasts pressed to my pecs. Our hearts pound against each other, blood boiling, edging us closer and closer.

My cock surges, the fire of the orgasm blowing through me.

“Fuck,” I growl into her ear. “No.”

She gasps, shouting out. “Just fuck me,” she pants, and I do. I plow into her, rubbing her, begging her. This will all be for nothing if I can’t take her with me.

Olivia arches into me, her back coming straight off the floor. A moan ripples through the station wagon, her nails raking down my back. “Yes, baby, yes,” she breathes as she shivers against me.

The last twenty years rush out of me, pulsing into her. I feel her tighten and expand around me, driving us both into the abyss.

It’s the best I’ve ever had.

I collapse, rolling to the side so I don’t crush her. A stream of hot liquid gushes down my thigh. Resting on my back, I stare at the ceiling, my breath ragged. Beside me, she exhales and turns onto her side.

“Wow,” she says, grinning. “Thank you.” She dips her chin. Our eyes meet for a second, then she reaches into the front seat for her cigarettes. The flash of bare skin exposes a twin stream running down her leg.

My heart just about stops.

“Fuck,” I say, scrambling to sit up. “We need to get to a store. We didn’t—I mean, I didn’t—”

She glances over her shoulder. Now she really does look amused. “Relax,” she says, handing me a cigarette. “I’m on the pill.”

I fall back, relief rushing through me. I smoke in silence, and decide I’ve had enough thrills in one night to last me a lifetime. From here on out, I’m keeping my head down and playing it straight.

This can never, ever happen again.

A Disturbing Prospect

Whose secret is more disturbing, his or hers?

Olivia

Someone’s slashed my tires less than a week after I screwed ex-con Cliff back into society. I knew it was a bad idea, but with his dark hair, gentle eyes, and disturbing secrets, I was dying to unlock him. As much as I don’t want to believe it was him, he’s a killer, so what’s a little stalking? With a whole biker club at my back, normally all I’d have to do is say the word, but he just became their latest Prospect.

I’ll just have to handle it myself.

Cliff

After two decades in prison, I might as well be on another planet. Everything is different now, including me. I’ve fallen for the first woman I met, and I’ll do anything to prove to her that I’ve changed, too. There aren’t many prospects for a felon, so I have no choice but to take the first job I’m offered. Becoming a Prospect for my father’s MC comes with all kinds of strings, especially since I’m the one who killed him.

And now, thanks to Olivia, I’ve got one more body to bury.

A Disturbing Prospect is the first book in the River Reapers MC series, a dark romance with a body count. Some content may be disturbing to some readers.

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“It’s Blood I Want” | Excerpt From A FATAL PROSPECT

I take the weight that’s pitted in my belly, wrap it in a kerosene-soaked blanket, and drop a match in. This pain has to have a purpose. I can’t let anything like this happen to Bree, or Bryce, or anyone else, ever again.

Even though the air is crisp and cool, sweat soaks through the back of my shirt, the fabric sticking uncomfortably as I crouch in the back of the van. My pulse thumps in my throat in time with the swirl of fury in my heart.

Abraham signals a right turn, and Vaughn plants a hand on the metal wall for balance. Mimicking him, I place my palms on the floor. Lucky Stixx gets to ride up front, where there are actual seatbelts. I didn’t even say goodbye to Cliff.

We pull onto Bristol Street, a spur off of Platts Mill Road. The old Platt Brothers factory is just a short walk over.

“Let’s creep up on them, watch for a minute,” I tell the men with me, passing around the ski masks.

“Rui’s gonna fucking kill me if I get arrested,” Abraham says, but yanks his mask on anyway.

We jump out of the van, closing doors gently so the sound doesn’t echo over to the factory. The night presses down on us, lit only by the orange glow of old street lights. Out here, I can make out some of the stars.

“Let’s get this over with,” Abraham says.

“Olivia, you take point. This is your kill,” Stixx tells me.

“Now, now,” I remind him with an exaggerated wink he probably can’t see. “Ravage said no blood.”

Yet it’s blood I want.

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I’m Breaking All of My Rules for Him | A DISTURBING PROSPECT Snippet

Cliff has me breaking all kinds of rules.

I throw on sweats and my high top Nikes, then toss my hair into a frizzy bun. With such wild curly hair, I’ll never have one of those cute messy buns that straight-haired girls rock. But I’ve managed to make it my own.

I’m supposed to work tonight, but I’ll come home and shower first. Still, just in case, I wing my eyeliner and dab on mascara. Looking at my reflection, I shake my head at myself. The odds of me running into Cliff today are pretty low. This is totally absurd. After another moment, I shrug and add lip gloss.

My hand is on my bedroom door knob when I hear a door slam. Frenzied shrieks and Spanish gush from my roommate’s mouth. I throw my door open and Esther barrels into my room.

Between high school and my roommate, my Spanish is pretty good, but she’s talking way too fast. Tears streak her cheeks, and she clutches her phone in her hand. I lead her to my bed and sit her down. After bringing her an ice cold glass of water, I calm her enough to talk.

“My car,” she gasps, her hands shaking. “Someone slit my tires.”

I bolt up straight. Eyes narrowing, I stomp toward the front door as if I can still catch the motherfucker. Right outside our front door, Esther’s car slumps pathetically. All four tires have long gashes in them. My jaw hangs open even as fury rips through me. Esther is a nice person—someone so quiet, she wouldn’t disturb a librarian. Cutting tires is never random, always personal. This doesn’t make sense.

I light a cigarette and Esther joins me outside. Red rims her eyes and blots her nose.

“Who would do this?” she whispers, hugging herself.

I shake my head. “No one followed you home?”

“Not that I saw.” She holds her hand out for my cigarette. I give it to her and light another for myself. Taking a drag, she grimaces. “I haven’t smoked since high school.” Still, she visibly relaxes. Once a smoker, always a smoker.

“Anyone you might have . . . annoyed?” I can’t imagine Esther ever pissing anyone off enough to make them want to slit her tires, but I have to cover all the bases.

Her head swivels from side to side. “No. Last night was actually a really good tips night.” Dainty eyebrows knit together. “Donny even asked me out.”

My eyes narrow. “Who’s Donny?”

Lips softening into a smile, Esther practically swoons. “This guy at work. He’s one of the chefs. I’ve been waiting for him to make a move forever.” She sucks on the cigarette, still smiling.

“He’s nice to you?” I’m losing hope. Walking around the car, I examine it again.

“Very,” Esther says. “He’s one of the ones who hold doors open and all that. He’s even brought me gifts—little things like chocolate. He brought me a rose last night.”

I blink at her.

Rolling her eyes, she puts her hands on her hips. “Valentine’s Day?”

I halt in my tracks, groaning. “Fuck,” I mutter.

Esther rushes to my side. “Did you think of something?”

“No.” I sigh, lighting another cigarette. “I kind of did something last night, without realizing what day it was.” Wrinkling my nose, I hope Cliff didn’t think it was all supposed to be some romantic bullshit. Or, even worse, that I was so desperate for a Valentine, I begged him to come home with me. I rub my temples. God, I’m pathetic.

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The River Reapers Go to Walmart

The River Reapers MC series is now available at Target and Walmart! In honor of this exciting news, I wrote a new short featuring the whole MC.

The following is unedited and non-canonical, written purely for fun.

© 2021 Elizabeth Barone. All rights reserved.

Cliff

The last time I was in a Walmart, it was 1997 and I bought a CD. Now they still sell CDs, but no one buys them. Or so Lucy is saying.

“They’re mostly there for decoration,” she tells me, and I almost can’t tell if she’s busting my balls or dead serious.

“People buy the vinyl, though,” Olivia adds. “You should be familiar with vinyl, old man.”

I forget to be offended, because the bicycle shorts she’s wearing hug her ass in all the right places. “You know those shorts are straight up ‘90s, right?”

She does a slow twirl, hands up. “Let’s go already. I need things.” She links arms with Lucy and they start toward the entrance, leaving me to push my niece in her stroller.

“See how they ditch us?” I tell Bunny. The guttural rip of nine motorcycle engines drowns out the baby’s coo. My entire club floods the parking lot, pulling into the spots next to Lucy’s car.

“Look who rolled up in a cage,” Donny calls out. Esther hops off the back of his bike and steals the stroller from me, rushing to catch up with Olivia and Lucy.

I chuckle. “Your girl just stole my niece. You better knock her up quick before she takes that baby home.”

He claps me on the back. “I’m doing my best, brother.”

“Let’s make this quick,” Ravage, our President, instructs everyone. “I wanna be setting up at the Mermaid within the hour.”

That gets everyone moving.

Even though I only need a couple things, I grab a cart because the girls are already in the baby department, and between the three of them, we’re gonna need it. Donny and I hustle to catch up with them, weaving through the Sunday afternoon crowd.

I toss a package of boxer briefs in, and Donny laughs at me.

“You buy your panties at Wally World?” He grabs a pack, too, one size up, and we stare at each other for a beat.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Abraham blows past us, Vaughn balanced on the front of the cart. They head toward the grocery section.

“Margarita mixes,” Donny explains.

“For the benefit?”

He nods, checking out the socks. “They never have the ones I need.”

“What’re you gentlemen up to?” Stixx wheels a cart full of plants and potting soil into the men’s department.

“How did you already hit the plant section?” I retrace my mental map of the store. It’s changed a lot since I went inside, but it hasn’t changed that much.

“I cut through the front,” he says.

I find Olivia in the pet section, a cat tree tucked awkwardly under one arm and a bag of cat food balanced on her hip. I take them from her and add them to the cart.

“Thanks.” She peeks up at me, suddenly shy.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Aw, look at this bowtie!” Esther holds up a cat collar. “Que lindo.”

“Don’t do that to my dude,” I plead as they exchange calculating glances. “Get him a little biker vest or something. He’s not the professor type.”

“I had a tuxedo cat when I was little,” Esther says. “My mom kicked out my dad for a minute and was feeling normal. Then he came back and the cat disappeared.”

Donny tucks her into his side, running his hand up and down her arm.

“Damn,” I say, pushing my hair back from my face. “Did any of us have normal childhoods?”

“That’s why I’m not having kids,” Olivia says. “Trauma just pays it forward.”

“Don’t tell Leigh that,” Lucy says, joining us with Bunny.

I take the box of diapers she balanced on the stroller and throw it into the cart. “Are we good?”

“Nah,” Donny says. “We need deodorant.”

“We?”

“Bro, I could smell you before I even pulled in.”

“I need face wash,” Olivia says, and the girls take off again.

I glance into the cart, calculating. “Good thing I got a good job.”

Donny laughs, clapping me on the back. “Feels good, providing, doesn’t it?”

It actually does, but I don’t admit it. I just shake my head, and we follow the girls through the toys and books section. I stop to check out an endcap of CDs.

“Last time I was here, I got a CD. It was the last thing I bought before I went inside.”

“Which CD? Wait, let me guess.” Donny sizes me up. “It’s gotta be Deftones or Nick Cave.”

“Mariah Carey,” I admit. “I had the biggest crush on her.”

“And now you’re dating Mariah Scary.” He slaps his thigh.

I smirk. “Still hot.”

Ravage turns out of the book aisle, his arms full of titles. “What?” He gives us a hard look.

“Thought we were here for the benefit, Pres,” Donny says, eyeing the books.

“Nothing better than a book in one hand and a drink in the other,” Ravage says.

“I’ve got some prizes for the kids,” Beer Can says, joining us with a cart full of toys.

“Go easy on me,” Mark begs. “Treasury ain’t infinite, boys.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been waving around those fat stacks last night,” Vaughn says, pulling up with a cart full of drink mixes and Super Soakers.

“That was for the deposit,” our Treasurer grumbles, “and I wasn’t waving them around.”

“We ready?” Ravage glances from cart to cart.

“Not quite.” Olivia dumps an armful of toiletries into my cart, Lucy right behind her with her own load, followed by Esther.

Donny and I exchange glances.

“I take it back,” he mutters.

“Wait up,” Skid calls, Mercy trailing behind them. Their cart overflows with summer-themed decorations.

Mark rubs his temples.

“It’s for the kids,” Ravage says.

“For the kids,” Mercy echoes.

“And the books?” Mark eyes Ravage’s stack.

“Romance, Pres?” Olivia ribs. “No wonder Shannon puts up with you.”

“It’s not just sex,” Ravage objects. “There’s some good shit in these. I just read one where these two very lost, very fucked up people meet, and even though they’re completely different, they find a home in each other.”

Instead of the usual teasing, the men nod. Donny wraps another arm around Esther, kissing the top of her head. And, to my surprise, Olivia leans into me.

I place a palm at the small of her back, drawing her in. Over the top of her head, I take in these messed up people who are as different as night and day, yet we do normal shit like family trips to Walmart.

“All right, let’s get out of here,” Mark says, pointing us toward checkout.
Olivia straightens. “Shit. I almost forgot.”

Before any of us can stop them, she, Lucy, and Esther take off again.

We might never leave.

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The Only Thing That Can Catch Me | A FATAL PROSPECT Snippet

Somewhere between this breath and the next, his lips find mine. I breathe him in, his oxygen infiltrating my lungs until the tingling in my hands disappears. Clothing falls to the floor, and I don’t know who’s removing what. He lays me down on my bed and comes to rest between my knees. The moonlight filtering through the blinds highlights his cheekbones, his nose, the quiet worship in his eyes.

He wraps his body around mine, his hands cradling my back, his thighs hugging mine. I spread for him, hugging him with my legs. There’s a brush of fingers at my center, a slow caress of his head against mine. Then he’s inside me, sliding in deep, fingers curling into my shoulder blades. His lips zero in on mine again, and all I can do is hang on as I fall into him.

He’s the only thing that can catch me.

The heat of him thaws my icy limbs, his kisses mobilizing my lips, each thrust of his hips sending ripples of warmth through my nerves. I soar, hovering between the fall and a crash, and for a moment I hang in suspension. But he moves his hands from underneath me, captures my hands in his, holding them above our heads, flush against the mattress. His tether keeps me steady, and I let go.

In the fall there’s a kaleidoscope rush, a sudden cutoff of air as I gasp. I tumble through forever, and all of my insecurities and doubts disappear for a sweet moment. I cling to him, taking him with me. In this suspension my heartbeat is crystal clear in my ears, an ebb and flow as he pumps into me. He spasms inside of me, and together we are full.

Hot tears fall from my eyes. There’s no going back. I can’t rebuild the dam he’s broken, but the damage isn’t damning. It’s a permanent door, marked with his name on the plate.

My lips move with the words, but there’s no sound.

He pulls out, rolling to the side and gathering me into him. I lie curled against him, my pulse amplified in the dark. I want to speak, to put a name to this, but my voice catches in my throat and I’m frozen again, always the rabbit girl.

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A FATAL PROSPECT, Chapter 3

I knew it’d be a little awkward for everyone. I just didn’t think it’d be weird for me.

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel, A Fatal Prospect, and may not reflect the final product.

This excerpt contains spoilers from the series; please read A Disturbing Prospect and A Risky Prospect first!

Catch Up: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Cliff

“Whiskey and babies,” Stixx says, joining me. “Nothing about that can possibly go wrong.”

“We’ll just keep her away from the bar,” I quip. I give him a once over. His blond hair is pulled back into a half up, half down man bun. Beard wax holds his otherwise unruly beard in place. A black short-sleeved button-down leaves most of his tattoos exposed.

Nothing could cover all of the ink he has. Dude’s face is the only thing untouched. Right now, he isn’t even wearing his cut. He looks like a hipster.

“What’s with the getup?” I ask, instead of what I really want to know: What the fuck are you doing here? I hadn’t expected to see any of the guys here. It’s our clubhouse, of course, but it’s a baby shower. The only reason Ravage is here is because Shannon helped Olivia put it together.

His beard twitches as he lifts one corner of his mouth. “I’m toning it down.”

“Toning it down?” This from the man who gleefully burned down a house just a couple months ago—and not for the first time.

His eyes dart toward a booth in the corner. I follow his line of vision to where Lucy sits with her parents.

I glance from Lucy back to Stixx, then back to Lucy. “Huh?”

I’m the picture of eloquence right now.

“We’re just friends,” he assures me. “For now.”

“Friends?” I peer at him. I cannot remember a single time when Lucy and Stixx were even in the same room.

“We ran into each other at Big Y.”

I wait for more. He doesn’t give it to me. “And?” I prompt.

“She asked me if I’m a River Reaper.”

Again, I wait for him to continue. Several beats pass. His pale blue eyes dart back to Lucy. I clear my throat. “She recognized your cut?”

He nods. “We were in the wipes aisle.”

“You were buying wipes?”

His gaze slides back to me. “Dude, if you’re still using toilet paper, you’re not living.”

Stixx just gave me hygiene advice. Between the converted strip club and this doppelgänger, I’m starting to think I stepped into The Twilight Zone. “So what, you traded tips?”

“I have sensitive skin. Baby Leigh has sensitive skin. I told Lucy to try the water wipes.”

She did not mention this. I need a cigarette. “So now you’re friends.”

“For now. She invited me. I figured the cut and tattoos were too much.” He ducks his head. “I don’t know how to dress for her.”

The rest of his earlier statement hits me. I gape at him. “For now?”

“She’s nice. And she’s pretty.” He straightens and looks me in the eye. “But I know she’s your family. I wanted to make a good impression . . . on both of you.”

I glance around The Wet Mermaid at my two families and all of Lucy’s friends. I knew it’d be a little awkward for everyone. I just didn’t think it’d be weird for me.

“Do I have your blessing, if I pursue her?” Stixx asks.

“I don’t know, brother.” I run a hand through my still damp hair. “She’s been through a lot.”

He nods. “Bastard.”

I forgot the whole club knows Lucy’s history. It’s not just my history, it’s club history. My father Bastard was President until his brothers found out what he was doing to Lucy. “She needs a fresh start,” I say carefully.

“Baby daddy not in the picture?”

“Far from it.” My hand goes to the pocket in my cut where I keep my cigarettes. If this wasn’t a baby shower, I’d light up.

Stixx is my brother, but I don’t want him dating Lucy. I want to keep her as far from the club as possible. If I’d known Stixx has a thing for her, I never would’ve backed up Olivia on throwing this at the clubhouse. But Lucy is a grown woman, and I am not her keeper. She probably doesn’t even feel the same way he does.

“You don’t need my blessing,” I tell Stixx.

“But if I hurt her, you’ll kill me. I’ll hold myself to that.” With a quick bow of his head, he turns and heads toward Lucy’s table.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

My aunt and uncle eye Stixx with open disdain, while Lucy beckons him to sit down. A smile tugs at my lips. Maybe it’ll happen, maybe it won’t, but it’ll be fun to watch her parents squirm for a little while.

A hand clasps my shoulder. The thick fingers, void of any tattoos and decorated only with a wedding band, give him away.

“Hey, Pres.” I pat his hand. “Any word?”

A few weeks ago, I made small talk before asking about Olivia’s parents, out of respect. Ravage isn’t an iPhone; you can’t push his button, tell him what you want, and then put him back in your pocket. But every time I cross another day off my calendar, my nerves coil tighter. Something is wrong. Either Mercy didn’t find Bree, or trouble found them.

“Not yet.” Ravage’s shoulders slump, only for a second. Then the hard muscle contracts back into place.

“Should we be worried?” I watch his face. No one knows Mercy better than he does.

He blinks, ice blue eyes distant. The black stubble on his face is flecked with more gray than the last time I saw him—just a few days ago. “I don’t know,” he says finally. He turns to me. “She never asks, you know.”

She doesn’t ask him about hers, and I never ask about mine.

Ruth’s death still weighs on me. I might never know why she stayed with Bastard for so long, when he clearly didn’t love her. Ravage might be able to give me those answers, but maybe the past is better left buried. Learning the truth won’t bring her back.

I glance over at the bar, where Olivia is showing Trish how to make the shower’s signature drink, a Rob Roy. Even though this isn’t the first time she’s had to show this to Trish, she doesn’t even look fazed. Her face is closed, disconnected, somewhere else.

I don’t know what Esther told her, but it can’t be good.

Biker Romance with a Body Count

A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3

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A FATAL PROSPECT, Chapter 2

Memories crawl up, clogging my throat with a thick, fuzzy burn. Even though there are no hands chaining my neck, for a moment, I struggle to draw air. I shove it all back down into its box. “Why are you telling me this?”

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel, A Fatal Prospect, and may not reflect the final product. This excerpt contains spoilers from the series; please read A Disturbing Prospect and A Risky Prospect first!

Read Chapter 1 »

Trigger Warning: Mention of sexual assault of a minor. Reader discretion advised.

Olivia

“What’s going on?” I stand in the hall with Esther, peering into the office where Cierra and her friend sit.

“I’m so sorry to do this here,” she says, “since it’s Lucy’s day and all, but they just told us this morning.”

“Told you what?” Music pours into the hall, and I hover between playing host and hearing out my best friend.

She drops her voice, and I have to lean in close to hear her whispering.

“Cierra told Bryce that you can help with his situation. She doesn’t know exactly what you and the club did for us, but she’s smart enough to know Toci and Josué didn’t just take off,” she says, referring to her sexually abusive parents.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Bryce is her friend, in there?” I nod toward the office, where dark haired Cierra touches her forehead to the boy’s.

“He’s on the football team at their high school. There was an incident in February . . .”

His cotton candy pink hair looks too soft and fluffy for a football player, but I bite my tongue. “What incident?”

“Some of the football players went to the National Conference in February. It’s a clinic where they improve their skills. Alumni from the high school mentor their team’s current players. Technically it was a school field trip, but only specific athletes went. Not the whole team.”

I shrug. Football is boring. Lately it’s all Cliff can talk about. Every damn week, he can’t wait to see his Raiders play. Blah, blah, fucking blah.

“It was chaperoned,” she adds.

“Okay,” I prompt, twirling a finger in the air.

“Some of the mentors assaulted Bryce.”

“You mean like a hazing thing?” Men. I roll my eyes. They can’t do anything without violence. Every year there’s a story about some college frat who got his ass beat in some caveman ritual.

“No.” She swallows. “Bryce said they held him down on a pool table and . . . raped him with cue sticks.”

My entire body stiffens. I want a shot from the bar more than anything now, but I stay composed. “What did the school do?”

She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a tight line.

“No one reported it?”

“Bryce went to the chaperones, but they told him they couldn’t do anything since they didn’t see it happen. None of the other teammates saw anything—supposedly.” Her nostrils flare.

My stomach clenches. “Wasn’t there . . . damage?”

“They took him to the hospital out there. They didn’t even call his mom. He called her himself. He had to have surgery. Every student had to bring in a form giving the coach and chaperones permission to make medical decisions during the trip—as a precaution. It’s not unheard of.” Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “It was bad, Olivia. He was really hurt.”

Memories crawl up, clogging my throat with a thick, fuzzy burn. Even though there are no hands chaining my neck, for a moment, I struggle to draw air. I shove it all back down into its box. “Why are you telling me this?”

“His mom went to the coach when he got home, who gave her the same bullshit line: Didn’t see anything. She went to the principal, who took the coach’s side. She filed a police report, and the police said the hospital’s medical report wasn’t enough because no one would talk.” She sucks in a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Bryce finished out the year from home, and came back after summer break, but the boys who did this to him have been stalking him around town to keep him quiet.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask again. My throat is so dry. I glance into the office, at the teenagers huddled together.

“The club can help Bryce the way you helped us.” Her brown eyes search mine. “Right?”

I jolt upright. “Are you asking me to have my club make a bunch of eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds disappear?”

“I’m asking you, Cliff, and Donny to ask your club to look into it. Maybe you guys can put some pressure on the police department. Just look at him.”

I do. Through the doorway, his blue eyes meet mine, pleading.

“He’s all alone, Olivia. All his friends and teammates ditched him. Cierra met him through cheerleading. I think she’s his only friend. He could use friends like you and the River Reapers.”

I close my eyes. My club barely made it through what we did for Esther, and then what I did for myself. Esther’s parents and my ex had it coming. I wouldn’t change a thing. We’re supposed to be on the straight and narrow now, though—or at least as legit as a club can be, selling guns and drugs.

“Livvie, I know this is hard for you. You’re the only one who can help him. You and the club. Please? For me?” She pauses, letting the music fill in the silence between us. “For Cierra?” she tries. “For Bunny?”

My eyes snap open. Someday too soon, my niece is going to be a student at that same high school. I can’t make the whole world safer, but I can at least try to help this boy. I can make sure this never happens again.

“We’ll take it to the table,” I tell her. “But no promises.” I return to the party, my blood boiling even as I try not to think of what they did to that sweet pink-haired boy.

Read Chapter 3 »

Romance with a Body Count

A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3

Available April 28th, 2021

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A FATAL PROSPECT, Chapter 1

The distance between us is complicated. She doesn’t want to move in with me, she doesn’t want to get married, and she definitely doesn’t want to have my babies. She won’t even let me tell her I love her.

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel, A Fatal Prospect, and may not reflect the final product. This excerpt contains spoilers from the series; please read A Disturbing Prospect and A Risky Prospect first!

Cliff

“You’re on Bunny duty, Cliff,” Olivia tells me as I set down the final box of decorations. I turn to find my cousin Lucy holding out her baby to me.

“Leigh,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Olivia. “Her name is Leigh.” She passes the baby Olivia nicknamed Bunny to me, and I cradle her in the crook of my arm.

“Easiest job in the house,” I say. I’d never pass up on some uninterrupted Bunny time. It’s a regular game my cousin and I play. Where we used to fight over turns playing Crash Bandicoot, now we fight over who gets to hold Bunny. Lucy always wins, of course.

Nothing has changed between us.

“I can’t believe you two talked me into a biker Sip and See,” Lucy says, climbing onto a chair. She wraps crepe streamers around the stripper pole, and I bite back a laugh.

I can’t believe it, either.

I catch Olivia’s eye from where she sets up the bar. She smirks. “Please. I wasn’t about to let you sip tea. Whiskey’s so much better, and we’ve got plenty of that.”

“I told you to save it for your own baby,” Lucy says.

“Not gonna happen,” Olivia says. “And don’t even start with that ‘you’ll change your mind’ bullshit again. I’d be a horrible mother.”

I swallow her statement. It lodges in my chest, wedging the rift between us even wider. Babies are a touchy subject between us, close behind marriage and Olivia’s PTSD.

Bunny fusses. I look down at her, and I can’t help but smile. “Hey,” I soothe. She’s existed for just about two weeks, yet she brings out the very best in me. I might never have my own children, so for me, Bunny is it.

“I’m gonna spoil you,” I confess, rocking her. I swear she smiles. “I’ll even buy your first motorcycle.”

“Over my dead body.”

I turn. Lucy holds out the tiny outfit she debated over for the last week, rolling her eyes at me but smiling. “I’ll work on her,” I tell Bunny.

“It might not take long.” She holds out her arms. “Olivia talked me into a biker baby debut. The two of you could talk me into anything. Give me my baby.”

“I can change her,” I say, not ready to give up my niece.

“I need you to hang up the rest of the streamers,” Olivia says, joining us.

She barely looks at the baby. I’ve seen her hold Bunny twice, and both times were at the hospital.

“Sucks being tall, doesn’t it?” Lucy teases, and I relinquish the baby, immediately missing her.

“She smiled at me.” I grab a roll of streamers and tape, and get to work.

“We’ve been through this. It’s gas.” Lucy lays Bunny down and starts working her out of her tiny onesie.

My chest aches.

Olivia loves Bunny—Leigh. I know she does. She’s the one who gave her that nickname while Lucy was pregnant. But once Lucy brought Bunny home, everything changed between Olivia and me.

The distance between us is complicated. She doesn’t want to move in with me, she doesn’t want to get married, and she definitely doesn’t want to have my babies. She won’t even let me tell her I love her.

It’s not just that.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I still see her on top of Greg, those fingers, currently stacking delicate shot glasses, wrapped around his throat. There’s no doubt in my mind that she had to do it. I still wish I didn’t have to see it.

I guess that’s how Lucy must feel about me.

I finish up the streamers, my hands tingling, the muscles and nerves remembering what I want to forget. I made my father pay for his sins against Lucy with my bare hands. No regrets, that’s how I live. Olivia, too.

It still changes you.

There are times when I can’t look at her. The monster in me sees the monster in her. It stops me cold in my tracks. Our entire relationship is probably built on that thread that runs through us both. It makes sense that we can’t have the things I want so badly.

Our world is no place for a child.

It’s not her fault at all.

I just don’t know what to do about it.

“It’s time,” Olivia calls, putting the final touches on the gifts table. Right on cue, the door swings open, and Donny and Esther shuffle inside with their herd of kids. Esther’s three little sisters come with a plus-one, an older teen boy I’ve never seen before. Esther’s oldest little sister, Cierra, breaks off from the group with him and they dip their heads together. Cierra points to Olivia, and my eyebrows furrow.

“Who’s he?” I ask Donny.

His jaw tightens. “Cierra’s seventeen-year-old ‘friend.’ She’s fourteen, for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t ready for this shit.”

“She’s in high school, brother,” I say, clapping him on the back. “It was bound to happen.”

“I ain’t a fan.” Donny eyes the boy. “They’re attached at the hip, and I swear, if they attach anywhere else, I’ll kill him.” His dark eyes meet mine, softening as his threat dies.

Donny fell in love with Esther and didn’t skip a beat when she got guardianship of her little sisters. They’ve all been through a lot and, teen boyfriends aside, I’m glad things are getting back to normal for them.

More guests pour in, mostly teachers Lucy works with at the elementary school. I spot her chatting with friends, rocking Bunny in her arms. Motherhood looks good on Lucy. She reminds me of my mother, dedicated and tender.

I’ll probably never know the truth behind Ruth’s death.

It’s a loss I feel every day, but especially today when she should be here. She’d love Bunny. She’d love Olivia.

I glance around for my woman, but she’s gone. So are Cierra, the boy, and Esther.

“Olivia will fill you in later,” Donny says, gripping my arm.

“Fill me in on what?” Before I can get an answer out of him, music fills the clubhouse.

Read Chapter 2 »

Romance with a Body Count

A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3

Available April 28th, 2021

Cover Reveal April 14th

Bloggers: Click here for ARCs

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “A Sense of Purpose”

But I’m a romantic at heart; I want someone riding behind me. Or better yet, beside me, the way Cliff has Olivia. I look at them and the world makes more sense, in the way that the MC used to frame things for me.

They’re our future.

“A Sense of Purpose”
A River Reapers MC Short Story

Author’s Note: Have you been wondering how the River Reapers would handle social distancing? I have! So I wrote a few very short stories, just for fun, just for you and me. The following is unedited, so please excuse any typos or errors. Please also be aware that it may contain spoilers for the series.

Mark

I’m the only one in the club who isn’t attached in some way. I put my dark and silent phone to the side, our second Zoom meeting over. With everyone homebound, the rules for Church changed a little—enough for me to see the rules changed for me, too.

Pru is now with Beer Can.

It’s cool—we were never exclusive or anything like that. It was just for fun. But Beer Can, really? It’s like looking at Beauty and the Beast.

I know, I know. I’m bitter, and I sound it. I guess deep down I kind of hoped that my occasional nights with Pru might turn into something more. My everything is comprised of the MC and my family, and my work at the strip club, in no particular order. The lines between them are blurred. The MC gave me The Wet Mermaid. Before, I had the management experience but not the purpose, not the means. Now I have it all. But I’m a romantic at heart; I want someone riding behind me. Or better yet, beside me, the way Cliff has Olivia. I look at them and the world makes more sense, in the way that the MC used to frame things for me.

They’re our future.

I stand in the middle of the empty strip club, the stage and bar dark. I’ve been coming down here a few times a week, just to check in, make sure everything is okay. Everything is always just fine. Without this place, without my club, I’m at loose ends. I have no purpose. I drift through my house and the club house, untethered, unattached. I’m pushing fifty and I have no wife, no children of my own, no one to fill my days when I’m not needed. This pandemic has made it clear that I’m not needed.

Strip clubs, after all, are hardly essential businesses.

Arguably, anyway.

For me, The Wet Mermaid is essential. It’s a moot point now. Pushing my hand through dirty blond hair streaked with gray, I give the club one last looking over. Not a chair is out of place. For the first time in years, I’m caught up on sales and use tax filings. The stage gleams. I’m like a mother whose children have all flown the nest.

I need a purpose. At the least, I’ll take a hobby. I can’t remember the last time I had anything like that. Years and years ago, I played co-ed softball. It was just for fun, when I was young—really just a way to occupy myself, to stay out of trouble for my mother’s sake. Then I met Ravage and discovered riding, and I didn’t need to fill my time anymore. I just fell into place.

Rapping on the door yanks me out of my thoughts. “We’re closed,” I call out even as I make my way over. Through the glass I see her, her dark hair not dark enough to hide the bruise blooming around her eye. My eyes drop down to her fist, also bruised and a little bloody. A medical grade mask hides her mouth and nose.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I mutter, unlocking the door. “Are you okay?” I ask her.

She pushes past me, out of the sunlight and into the cool exterior of the strip club. Her wild eyes appraise the bar, settling back on me as if she already knows she’s safe here. “Pru told me to come here,” she says through the mask. “Is . . . Shannon around?”

I nod as understanding dawns. She’s another stray. This is usually Shannon’s territory. My gaze dwells on her mask. I didn’t wear one; I hadn’t planned on coming into contact with anyone. I came straight here and I planned on going straight home. I can’t exactly turn her away, though.

“She’s not,” I say. “I’m Mark. What’s your name?”

She hesitates. “I . . . Pru told me to ask for Shannon.”

I hold back a frown. I don’t know why Pru gave her this address instead of Shannon’s Haven, but she’s here now and that’s what I’ve got to focus on. I pull down a couple of chairs and seat myself, hoping she’ll feel more comfortable with me sitting. “Usually Shannon’s at the shelter—Shannon’s Haven,” I explain. “This is, uh . . .” I wave a hand around. “A strip club.”

“Pru works here,” she says, nodding. “I know. She says you can hook me up with a job here, too.”

“Me?” I peer at her a little more closely. Doesn’t she realize we’re in the middle of a pandemic? No one is working. The dark circles under her eyes tell the story of a woman who’s been living in hell for quite some time. When she runs a hand through her hair, I catch a wide shock of white buried underneath all that silky black.

“You’re Mark, right?” She lifts green eyes to mine, an emerald green that shocks me, freezing me in place.

I nod, because I can’t form words.

“Pru told me to ask for Shannon . . . and Mark.” She licks her lips. “I just didn’t know if I could trust you.”

I nod again. I’ve given jobs to more wary women than I can count. Even the men who work here—our bouncers—are refugees of some sort. The Wet Mermaid is a safe haven of its own accord.

She remains standing in front of me, this mystery women. My eyes drop to her knuckles again, and I jerk my chin toward them.

“I’m guessing he won’t be a problem anymore.”

“No,” she says. “He won’t.” She tilts her head, watching me, waiting.
I push my hand through my hair, thinking. “Well,” I say after a few moments, “we’re closed, for the time being.”

Her shoulders droop.

I stare at the mask.

“A nurse in the ER gave this to me.” She holds up her left hand, exposing splinted fingers to me. “I . . . He didn’t keep a TV or anything in the house. I kinda just got the crash course.”

“Okay,” I say, and words start falling from between my lips before I can think about what I’m saying. “You can stay here. I’ll go get your paperwork. We’ll furlough you so you can collect. I’ll check in and train you to be a cocktail server . . .”

“No,” she says, lifting those intense green eyes to mine. “I used to be a dancer—a competitive dancer. He took that away when we got married. I want to dance again. Give me the stage.”

The word “married” barely registers. Her determination, the resolve in her eyes, her knuckles—all of it enthralls me.

I’m a goner.

THE END

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “The Sound of Waves”

I’m sick to death of rides. On the back of his motorcycle, I feel a little like a dog hanging out the window, hungry for any taste of the outside world. He’s trying, though, and I don’t want to crush him. Not when he rode miles to find me, after twenty years in prison.

“The Sound of Waves”
A River Reapers MC Short Story

Author’s Note: Have you been wondering how the River Reapers would handle social distancing? I have! So I wrote a few very short stories, just for fun, just for you and me. The following is unedited, so please excuse any typos or errors. Please also be aware that it may contain spoilers for the series.

Bree

I stand in the bedroom that used to be Olivia’s nursery, back before everything blew up. I find myself in here every morning, mug of coffee in hand, one of Mercy’s shirts grazing my thighs. This tiny house once felt like home, and now it’s my prison. I’m surrounded by memories and what could have been.

I hate this house.

“Morning,” Mercy says from the doorway.

I turn, the soft fabric swishing around my breasts, rubbing against my belly—achingly empty. I don’t know if it’s being back here, or the near isolation, but all I can think about is how different things could be if Mercy and I made different choices.

“Morning,” I reply, and my low, slow tone gives me away completely.
He fixes intuitive brown eyes on me—eyes that I swear also belong to Olivia, even though that’s impossible. “Want to go for a ride today?”

I’m sick to death of rides. On the back of his motorcycle, I feel a little like a dog hanging out the window, hungry for any taste of the outside world. He’s trying, though, and I don’t want to crush him. Not when he rode miles to find me, after twenty years in prison.

“Or,” he says, stepping closer, “we could go to the park. Get some sandwiches or some other takeout, enjoy nature.” He slides his hands along my hips, and I melt into him immediately, holding my mug out and steady.

“I’ll take that,” he murmurs, plucking the mug from my hands. He sets it down—I never see where—and pulls me into him. The motion hitches his shirt up over my hips, and he sucks in a deep, appreciative breath.

“After all this time,” he says, gazing deep into my eyes, “you are still all I want, Bree. I’d walk through fire for you. I hope you know that.”

I nod and smile, because he has. Yet my heart clouds, because in this pair, I’m the runner. Part of me is still running. Part of me will always run.

I passed that trait to Olivia. Everything bad in me, I gave to her.

I sigh, leaning my forehead against his shoulder. Tears burn my eyes, spilling out before I even have the chance to shove the emotions down again. This social distancing is really getting to me.

“Oh, none of that.” He lifts my chin and uses his thumbs to brush fat teardrops away.

“I hate this house,” I sob, feeling like a two-year-old who hasn’t had a nap.
It’s only eight in the morning.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, enfolding me in his arms, holding all of my pieces together.

“I want to go to Marshall’s.” It flies out of my mouth, completely illogical, irrelevant, and impossible. Most stores are closed, unless they sell essential items. I don’t even need anything at Marshall’s.

“Ah,” Mercy says. He rubs his beard, more salt now than pepper. As his fingers move, the morning light breathes life into the faded letters on his knuckles: B-R-E-E, one on each finger.

“This is the only prison tattoo I allowed myself,” he told me once, a few weeks ago. His other hand has R-R-M-C—another prison tattoo, another constant reminder of what could have been.

“You need retail therapy,” he says now.

“No.” I pull away, shaking my head, aiming my hands for my coffee. “We don’t have any money to spend.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t look.” He lifts me into his arms, sweeping me off the floor.

“Hey!” I stretch out a hand one last time, watching my coffee shrink away as he carries me into our bedroom. “No fair.” He deposits me onto the bed, then stretches out beside me.

“Here.” He hands me my phone, twirling a finger in the air. “Pull up Amazon.”

“It’s not the same.” I set the phone aside, turning so that we’re lying facing each other.

“Right.” He sighs. “Maybe we could go to Target later, stroll through the dollar aisle.”

I chuckle. “I do find good things there.”

He holds up a hand, indicating the newly decorated bedroom. Right before the pandemic hit, I dropped more money than I care to admit—all on breathing life into this house.

It still feels like a prison.

“Maybe when this is over, we can move,” I muse. “Go to the coast.”

It’ll never happen. As much as we’ve sacrificed, as much as he’s suffered under the oath, Mercy will never walk away from his club. Since I won’t walk away from him, I’m stuck here, too.

Foolishly, I once thought that by letting DCF take my daughter, they’d save her from me and the club. Yet here we all are, back in this town, still tied to the River Reapers MC.

I frown. Until now, I never realized how much I resented the club.

“Sure,” Mercy drawls. “We could go to Maine.”

This is a new game. I move closer to him, closing my eyes and resting my head on his chest. “We could move to a small coastal town,” I murmur, each beat of his heart a soothing crash against my ears. I pretend it’s the sound of waves.

THE END

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