Tag: her mercy

Post a Review of HER MERCY (Pretty Please)

If you’ve read Her Mercy, please post a review! Reviews are for readers, not authors, but they do help me out quite a bit.

There are quite a few myths about reviews—sorry, 50 or more reviews don’t trigger Amazon marketing—so here’s how they actually help.

  • They help other readers decide if my book is The One for them
  • They show other readers that my book has actually been read by real people
  • They help me determine what is working and what I need to improve

If you could post a review for Her Mercy, whether you loved or hated it, I’d really appreciate it!

Not sure how to post a review? Here are some tips!

  • Say what you liked and didn’t like about the book
  • Tell people what your favorite and least favorite parts were
  • Let people know if it was too spicy, not spicy enough, or just right
  • Mention whether it met your expectations for a biker romance

Where to post your review:

Thank you so much!

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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River Reapers MC Series

Book 1: A Disturbing Prospect

Book 2: A Risky Prospect

Book 2.5: Her Mercy

Book 3: A Fatal Prospect

Standalone Contemporary Romance

The Stairs Between Us

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Target is currently carrying the first and last in series. Like with Walmart, I have no control over which titles they choose to carry. Hopefully they’ll carry the rest soon!

The River Reapers MC Series is Now Available at Target and Walmart!

Did I die and go to heaven? The River Reapers MC series is now available at Target and Walmart!

You could say the River Reapers are taking over. This series is opening more doors for me than I ever dreamed!

Buy the River Reapers MC series at Target
A Disturbing Prospect | A Fatal Prospect

Buy the River Reapers MC series at Walmart
A Disturbing Prospect | A Risky Prospect | Her Mercy

 

You can also get The Stairs Between Us at Walmart!

I don’t know when they’ll be adding my other titles. Hopefully soon! 🤞🏼

(Looking for the series reading order? Click here!)

Quite a few people asked me how this happened and, the short answer is, I don’t exactly know, but I set myself up for success.

The long answer is, a few years ago, I stopped using CreateSpace (now KDP Select) to print and distribute paperbacks, and switched to IngramSpark. I was trying to get my books into Barnes & Noble and other book stores, and one of the managers at my local BN told me I needed to get my books into the Ingram catalog, because most stores order exclusively through Ingram. That’s everyone from small indie booksellers to big box stores.

(Shoutout to Robin M. for not only giving me this crucial tip, but also supporting me over the years and having me at the store! I can’t wait to come back.)

I’ve been in the Ingram catalog for quite a while now, but neither Target nor Walmart have ever carried my paperbacks before. (For a little while, when Walmart and Kobo were partnered, you could read my ebook editions through their app. Their partnership seems to have ended, though I’m not sure why.)

My theory is that someone on their merchandising teams saw my books in the Ingram catalog and ordered them. This whole thing started with Target carrying A Fatal Prospect, so I’m wondering if these big box stores are positioning themselves to cater to the growing dark romance community. Dark romance is exploding, in case you haven’t noticed.

However it happened, it’s really cool, and definitely an author achievement I’ve unlocked.

Thank you so much to all my readers for all your support over the years, and thank you to all the stores, big and small, who are supporting indie authors!

The Real Story That Inspired Bryce’s Story in A FATAL PROSPECT

TW: Sexual assault of a minor.

In 2016, players from a high school basketball team sexually assaulted one of their teammates while at a conference. Three players were found guilty, only one of which was actually found guilty of rape. They all basically got away with a slap on the wrist.

This was about a year before I wrote A Disturbing Prospect.

This story haunted me. Based on news articles and tweets, it sounded like the school—or at least staff involved with the team—tried covering the whole thing up. The coach rushed the survivor to the hospital for emergency surgery, but didn’t report the incident. The superintendent cancelled the remainder of the basketball season, but didn’t publicly address why. According to the Times Free Press, “the judge initially refused to disclose the verdict or to allow reporters to cover the trial, claiming that it could harm the now-guilty defendants, who were juveniles at the time of their arrest.”

Our society is too often more concerned about protecting rapists instead of supporting victims. Even if a rapist is found guilty and convicted, the sentencing is often the bare minimum, with an emphasis on the negative effect it’d have on them, rather than the lifelong trauma they brought onto their victim.

This boils my blood. Here we had a young athlete, who had just as promising a future as the boys who held him down and sodomized him with a pool stick. He should’ve been supported and protected.

When I wrote A Disturbing Prospect, I knew where I wanted to take the series, but I wasn’t sure if my readers would be into a book/series like it. I wrote it as a book that could stand on its own if my readers weren’t feeling it, but could easily be built on if I got the green light. I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this series, if they let me. As soon as I realized my readers not only loved it but also wanted more ASAP, I started writing A Risky Prospect.

I wanted to incorporate a story like what happened to the teen in Tennessee because I wanted to bring awareness to how rape affects boys and men, and how rampant sexual assault is in sports. I created the character Bryce to represent all of the boys who’ve survived sexual violence in silence.

I needed to know what happened to the basketball player. He was never named and I wanted to give him the help and support he deserved.

Originally, Bryce’s story was part of A Risky Prospect. I wrote about 20,000 words of that first draft before I realized I needed to tell Olivia’s story first, to establish why she wanted to help Bryce so badly. I moved Esther’s story to A Risky Prospect because it tied in well with Olivia’s. Both of them grew up with absentee mothers who were neglectful at best. (Bree’s story is told in Her Mercy to explain why she wasn’t able to be present for Olivia; she’s a victim, too.) Those relationships played a huge part in the violence they both suffered.

Once I established those storylines, I was able to move Bryce’s front and center in A Fatal Prospect. I wanted to write this storyline as realistically as possible, while also giving Bryce the support he deserved.

From a young age, I learned that I couldn’t trust authority figures to protect or even support me. I drew on these experiences and the news to flesh out how the school, town, and police department handled what was done to Bryce. Then I let the River Reapers take over his case.

Since outlaws inherently don’t trust authorities, either, it was actually easy to write from the club’s point of view. Olivia, Cliff, and the MC make an effort to work with police, but there’s a lot of mistrust there and the police can’t legally take the case any further without the proper physical evidence. The club knows they want to support survivors like Olivia, Esther, and Bryce, and this is a sort of test run for them so they can eventually branch out and protect survivors as a service.

They’re completely new at this and they have to make mistakes before they can finesse their system. Unfortunately, their internal issues and historic rivalries don’t give them the time they need to reach any level of efficiency. The shit hits the fan and the club is thrown into reactive mode.

Bryce represents the innocence that is stolen when a person rapes someone. He’s a boy and, according to society, supposed to be strong—especially since he’s a football player. Pink is a soft color, and I gave him pink hair to remind readers that he’s still a victim, and all victims deserve justice.

Read the River Reapers MC Series

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Photo by Liz Weddon on Unsplash

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

Thank you so much for reading the River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles! “A Sense of Purpose” may be the last in this miniseries, but there are more RRMC stories coming your way.

Get the official newsletter to stay in the loop. You’ll also immediately receive the standalone spinoff novella, Her Mercy.

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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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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles

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River Reapers MC Series

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “Shelter in Place”

No one ever rang my bell. My apartment was damn near a no-fly zone, and I liked it that way. Keeping my head tilted, I listened for signs of life outside the door. It had to be a mistake.

“Shelter in Place”
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.

This short is NSFW-ish.

Beer Can

When the virus hit Connecticut, my old ass was stretched out in my recliner, filling in a Sudoku puzzle with good ol’ fashioned pencil and paper. I don’t fuck around with that app shit. I know there’s no truth to the whole 5G thing, but there are a lot of downsides to technology. I’ve never been a slave to anything; I refuse to be glued to my cell phone all day.

The governor came on to urge everyone to stay at home, and right as I rolled my eyes, my doorbell rang.

I sat up in the recliner, frowning. No one ever rang my bell. My apartment was damn near a no-fly zone, and I liked it that way. Keeping my head tilted, I listened for signs of life outside the door. It had to be a mistake.

But no. The ding-dong of a second ring rilled my apartment. Setting the puzzle aside, I worked my way out of the well worn chair—too broken-in to get out of easily, but perfectly formed for my body and nice long naps.

Yeah, some badass biker, I know.

“Hold on,” I called out, making my way to the front door. I unlocked the top and bottom locks, and swung it open. There was no one there. The bell rang again, and I headed toward the back porch. Unlocking the sliding glass door, I pushed aside the blinds and shoved it open. “Pru?” I gaped at the dancer from The Wet Mermaid standing on my deck.

“Special delivery,” she said, thrusting a box toward me.

“What’s this?” I stared at the box, making no move to take it from her.

“Mark ordered some merch but it came to my place by mistake.”

“Your place?” I blinked at her. “Why in the world would it come to your place?”

Steely blue eyes met mine. She shook the box at me.

“You . . . and Mark?” My eyebrows furrowed. Pru was young enough to be my granddaughter, if I had kids. I was also pretty sure she was exclusively into women. The name of her band was Cervical Caves, for Christ’s sake.

This old man couldn’t keep up.

“It was a one-time thing,” she said, inching closer with the box. “Mark said to drop it off at your place, since you’re closer to me.”

“Oh, it’s none of my business,” I said too late. “But what does he want me to do with this?”

The sliding glass door of the adjoining apartment scraped open. My neighbor and the street gossip, Mrs. Henry, poked her head out.

“You know what, dear, you better just come in.” I ushered Pru inside, giving Mrs. Henry a harsh look before closing up.

Pru set the box down on my kitchen table. We stood there, eyeing each other, unsure of how to act outside of the workplace.

Five weeks later, we still don’t really know how to act.

I sprawl in my recliner, Pru curled against me. We’re still connected, neither of us making any attempt to move.

“This is a one-time thing,” she says, for the thousandth time.

“Sure.” I stroke her back, soaking in her presence. Even though I used to appreciate the peace of living alone without visitors, I’m not sure I could’ve survived the last month without her. I’m still not sure how we went from sorting hoodies by size to kissing to undressing to fucking more times a day than I can count. Suddenly I’m like a teenager again, and I’m still unclear on Pru’s sexuality.

But maybe it’s as fluid as quarantine time, I don’t know. I’m just glad she chose to shelter in place with me.

THE END

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “More Than I Can Hold”

“When I’m dead and gone, I want to matter,” I say, my turn for confessions. This pandemic has turned me inward, put me more in tune with my emotions. Rather than cower from it, I’ve leaned into it.

“More Than I Can Hold”
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.

This short is NSFW.

Ravage

She lies with her head pillowed on my chest, strands of blonde streaked with gray and brown trailing across my skin. When she turns, her hair slips from my chest, leaving me cold in its wake.

“I feel trapped,” she admits with a sigh.

I can’t remember the last time Shannon was ever so still. We’ve been following social distancing protocol for weeks—before the governor even started signing executive orders. Many of Shannon’s clients have health issues, and some of our staff at The Wet Mermaid, too. Then there’s Olivia, living with her sister and newborn niece. If there’s one thing I can be proud of about myself, it’s that I take care of my family. I’d take a bullet for any of them—even if it was one of their fingers poised on the trigger.

Shannon would, too—that’s why she’s so restless.

“You’re not trapped,” I assure her, gathering her into my arms. I pull her into my chest, pressing her breasts to my skin, relishing the sensation. I’m not a religious or spiritual man, so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, but even the briefest of skin to skin contact with her is heaven. “You’re doing everything right,” I murmur into her ear, and kiss her lobe.

“I’m lying in bed while a skeleton version of my staff runs the house,” she says, brown eyes blinking rapidly.

I thumb away her tears. “Everyone is safe. That’s what matters—not how much you’re doing.”

Even as I say the words, I feel her frustration. While the virus sweeps through our state and country, with thousands of people dying, thousands more struggle financially. The Wet Mermaid—as much as people around town think it’s disgusting—gives Shannon’s clients, my club, and all of the staff we’ve accumulated over the years a living. The governor doesn’t see strip clubs as essential businesses, though, and as much as I’d like to strangle him for his lack of action and weird decisions, I know he’s right about that. A bar full of barely clothed women and horny patrons is hardly a safe environment.

Still, I worry, because that’s what I do. It makes me reconsider our business practices. We should be running something that will always be needed—like a grocery store.

I snort.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Harris?” Shannon’s fingers flutter back and forth between my nipples, and immediately my cock hardens.

Even after all these years, she’s the only woman I want, the only person I want to spend my life with.

I just have one regret.

“I’m picturing a bunch of bikers wearing grocery clerk vests,” I say, and haul her on top of me. I find her slick and ready against my shaft, and with slight rolls of each of our hips, we’re connected.

Her hair cascades over her breasts and I push it aside, closing my hands around her soft pink flesh. “Are you still thinking about bikers?” she asks.

“Nope.” I thrust up into her, watching her belly shudder with each stroke. I can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the possibilities gone and buried.

“Hey,” she says, stretching a hand out and cupping my face. “Where are you?”

“Sometimes I wish we had children,” I blurt, locking eyes with her. “Call me greedy, but I want more with you. I want a legacy.”

“Todd.” She stops moving, her brown eyes soft. “We’ve built a legacy. Olivia is as much ours as she is Mercy and Bree’s. And Cliff—we helped shape him, too. We have Shannon’s Place, the MC, The Wet Mermaid . . . And we have us. That’s enough for me. It’s everything.”

“When I’m dead and gone, I want to matter,” I say, my turn for confessions. This pandemic has turned me inward, put me more in tune with my emotions. Rather than cower from it, I’ve leaned into it.

“You matter to me,” Shannon says, leaning forward until our chests touch. She captures my lips with hers, wrapping them in her warmth. “You matter to your family—and it’s a big ass family.”

I laugh into her mouth. “It sure is.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her there on top of me, every inch of us connected, my awareness stretching, encompassing every single one of them—my family. I never knew it was possible to hold so much love in my heart, certainly not for a nobody who served in the military, did time, and took over his club when shit hit the fan. Yet this life turned on a dime and gave me things I learned to appreciate. I’ll never take them for granted again.

THE END

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles

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River Reapers MC Series

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “One Way or Another”

I’m not afraid of anything. I’m Abraham, member of the River Reapers MC. I haven’t earned my Sludge Specter patch yet, but I’ve proven my worth through the years. I’m the only one who voted nay who stayed. That should count for something.

“One Way or Another”
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.

Abraham

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I tell him, with an adamant shake of my head. “You’re not going.”

Rui tilts his head, giving me his look. The look—the one that says “Silly boy.” Usually it’s accompanied by a smirk, but this time, there’s a hint of annoyance. “My shift starts in twenty minutes,” he says with a placating smile. “I’ve got to go, Abe.”

I consider my options. I could lift him over my shoulder, handcuff his ass to the bed, and be done with it. I could sweet talk him into staying, using kisses and nuzzles to melt away his decision. Or I could tell him exactly how I feel—expressing feelings, with my words.

I don’t do that shit, though. I never have. I learned early on that feeling anything could get someone like me killed, or at least beat up in every schoolyard, bathroom, cafeteria . . . Name it, I’ve had my ass handed to me in that spot. Then I discovered lifting, protein, good hair products, and the art of keeping my feelings to myself, and everything changed.

Things with Rui are different, though. Things are finally good for me—for the most part. I’m with a man who loves me, and my MC accepts that. At least, on the surface. Not a single one of them have ever said or done anything to make me think otherwise, but I know they don’t approve of me. It’s all because of that God damn vote.

If I’d known that a nay from decades ago would haunt my ass into the future, I’d have just voted yea. At the time, though, I truly believed that Mercy and Ravage were making a run for President and VP. We all believed that, because it was easier to swallow than the truth.

Kind of like right now.

“Baby, please don’t make this any harder than it is,” Rui says. He straightens his N95 mask, which obscures most of his face from me, except for his gentle brown eyes. Those eyes plead with me to understand.

I can’t.

“You’re being reckless,” I say, my volume increasing. I’ve never been able to control how loud I am, especially when I’m emotional. There are too many emotions boiling over right now.

“I’m going where I’m needed,” he soothes.

“You’re going to get sick.” I slash a hand through the air. “Don’t you watch the news?” I flick a glance toward the TV, which I haven’t turned off since this whole thing started.

Rui sighs. “Are you afraid something is going to happen to me?”

I burn at the word “afraid.” I’m not afraid of anything. I’m Abraham, member of the River Reapers MC. I haven’t earned my Sludge Specter patch yet, but I’ve proven my worth through the years. I’m the only one who voted nay who stayed. That should count for something.

“Baby,” Rui croons. “The hospital still has plenty of PPE. We’re not short. We’re testing everyone who comes into the ED. Our caseload is low, compared to the rest of the state. I’m in the safest place.”

“The safest place is here,” I said, “or on the maternity floor, or anywhere else. Not the fucking ICU, Rui. Why would you volunteer to go straight into the shit?”

“Because I’m a nurse,” he says, his soft tone only amplifying my gruff shouts. “I don’t want to look back and say I played it safe. I want to tell our kids—maybe even our grandkids—that I did something, that I mattered.”

“Kids?” I repeat.

“Kids.” His eyes crinkle, and I figure he’s smiling.

I’m not.

“I don’t want kids, Rui. I want us both to be safe. I want us to matter more to you than what people think.”

He blinks. “It’s not about what people think. It’s about what I think of myself. I can’t sleep at night, knowing every day at work I’m spared. It’s not fair.”

“You’re per diem,” I insist. “You’re not obligated to do anything.”

He sighs. “Abe, we’ve been going around and around this for days. Maybe you’re worried that you don’t matter, but this isn’t about you. This is about the difference I can make. Now let me go. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift ahead of me, and this mask is already making me tired.”

I realize I’m standing in front of the door, my limbs spread like tentacles. All of the tension drains from my body. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” I whisper. “Without you, I don’t even know if I’m real.”

“You’re real,” he assures me. He steps into me, and my arms wind around him of their own accord.

“I think the quarantine is getting to me.”

“I think you’re scared and you just don’t want to admit it.” He moves my hair out of my face and, standing on the balls of his feet, presses a kiss to my collarbone. “I’m scared too, Abe. But I’m not going to just freeze. This is my way of fighting back.”

I nod, tell him I understand. I just wish I had a way to fight back. I let him go, watching him walk out of our apartment and hoping he hasn’t made a deadly mistake. He’s probably right, that my own insecurities are getting to me.

I love my club.

Even though they all hate me, even though they don’t bother to hide their suspicions. One vote and all trust is lost. I made a mistake. It’s time to prove to my brothers that I can be trusted, that even though I loved Bastard, I was wrong about him. Once this pandemic is done and over with, we can finally move on—one way or another.

I grin into the gloom.

I will fix this.

THE END

Get More

River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles

Get a FREE short every Monday, plus immediately receive the standalone spinoff novella, Her Mercy.

Click here!

River Reapers MC Series

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Read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited | Order a Signed Paperback

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