Author: Elizabeth Barone

“Of All the Lives I’ve Taken” | Deleted Scene from A FATAL PROSPECT

I’m no stranger to chasing after Olivia. It’s an art form we’ve perfected. I’d do anything for her. I think I’ve proved that. But I can’t imagine what could’ve happened that she can’t talk to me about. Not after everything we’ve been through.

Or maybe it isn’t enough.

No matter how many times I chase her, she keeps running. Maybe it’s time to accept that she doesn’t want to be with me.

Sometimes I get carried away and add too many scenes, scenes that I love but they don’t move the plot forward and therefore, they must go. Chop, chop!

The following is a deleted scene from A Fatal Prospect. It was originally Chapters 9 and 10, which got replaced with a scene between Olivia and Vaughn.

The following contains a sweet interaction between Cliff and Olivia, some more time with Lucy, and (CW) accidental killing of an animal.

This scene may contain spoilers from the previous books in the series. Read at your own risk!

Cliff

I collapse onto the futon acting as my living room couch, booted feet hanging over one end. Between work at the factory, shifts at The Wet Mermaid, and hanging out with Bunny so Lucy can catch some Zs, I’m beat. My eyes close and my jaw goes slack.

My phone rings.

Groaning, I tug it out of the pocket of my cut. Olivia’s face flashes on the screen. “You’re lucky you’re you,” I greet her.

“I have never felt lucky for being me.”

“If you weren’t you, I’d have hit the red button. Congratulations.” I remain on my back. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she echoes. “It’s Friday. Take me out.”

I sit up. “Like on a date?”

“Think of it as a celebratory ending to the week.”

“So a date.” I grin. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere that isn’t work and doesn’t make me look weird for dressing up.”

“Definitely a date.” I stand from the futon. “How about that comedy club?”

“Are we comedy club people?”

“We could be.”

“Let’s give it a shot.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” I tell her.

“What if we just meet there?”

I suppress a laugh. “You asked me to take you out. Take being the operative word.”

A pause stretches between us. I can’t really argue with her, because I wouldn’t want to ride on the back of someone else’s motorcycle, either. If someone told me back in January that I’d be saving up for my own motorcycle, I’d have laughed at them.

“I can meet you at Lucy’s and we can take her car,” I offer.

“But it’s a beautiful night to ride!” she exclaims through a giggle. An actual giggle.

“It’s always a beautiful night to ride.”

“I kind of want a cheeseburger.”

“I want a burger!” Lucy calls.

I chuckle. “Who knew a date could be so complicated? Tell you what, I’ll pick up burgers, we’ll eat with Lucy, and then we’ll go see a movie.”

“It’s a date,” Olivia says, and hangs up.

Olivia

“Is Cliff bringing burgers?” Lucy asks from my side. We sit on her couch, where she eavesdropped on my entire conversation with Cliff and inserted herself into my almost date.

I side-eye her. “You’re a cock block.”

She mock gasps, placing the free hand that isn’t holding Bunny on her chest. “Me?”

“Whatever,” I say, springing from the couch and sticking my tongue out at her. “I’m getting ready.”

In the shower, I exfoliate and shave, getting every inch deliciously smooth. Burger-thieving sisters or not, there will be making out in the movie theater. I sing while I scrub down and while I dry off, and also while I run cream through my curls. Maybe it’s because this week I didn’t have to take anybody’s kids away, but I’m ridiculously happy. I’m so happy, I’m dressed and ready before Cliff arrives.

I pull on my boots and jog back down the stairs, still singing. It’s one of those electropop songs that always gets stuck in my head. “I’m going out for a cigarette,” I sing out to Lucy.

She does a double take from the couch. “What is happening here?”

I shrug and open the door, then step outside. Something squishes and crunches under my foot. A soft chirp follows. I freeze.

“No,” I gasp. “No, no, no.”

The chirping from over my head swirls around me, a crescendo punctuated by each beat of my heart.

“No.”

I lift my boot, still whispering no under my breath. A tiny bird twitches on the front doormat. I stare down at it, my brain scrambling to arrange the downy white tufts and brown feathers and the still moving yellow beak, the squelch of intestines bursting from one side, the tiny legs sticking up into the air.

“No, no, no!” Tears blur my vision, a lump clogging my throat. There’s no undo button, no going back in time. I knew the birds were there, I knew there were babies. I should have been more careful.

I blink and it’s winter and Dio lies in a broken heap on my bed. A peep is a meow and there’s no going back. I fall to my knees and scoop up what’s left, tears dragging mascara down to my chin.

“No.” I sob, cradling the little bird in my hands. I know I’m not supposed to touch them, but I can’t remember if it’s because the parents will kill it or I’ll risk some disease. The tweeting over my head continues, the birds in the nest above me oblivious. Or maybe they saw it all and they’re grieving, outraged at this giant, this murderer, this killer.

The door opens and Lucy sticks her head out. “What—?” Her eyes drop down to my hands, and her hands flutter to her mouth, covering her expression.

“I didn’t see it,” I cry.

Her hands drop to her sides. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t look.” I look down at my hands then out at the road. I don’t want to look. I shouldn’t look. But I didn’t look, and here I am.

“Stay here,” she commands. Where would I go, anyway? I hope she’s calling a vet. She has to call a vet. The beak is still and the broken creature in my hands is going cold.

It’s too late.

Lucy returns, her gloved hands reaching for the bird and bagging it before I can move. I remain kneeling, my palms up toward the sky. Feathers stick to my fingers. She disappears again, and when she comes back, her hands are empty, the gloves gone.

“Let’s wash your hands.” She guides me to my feet and steers me inside, plunging my hands under warm water and squirting soap into my palms. I rub them together, mechanical function taking over. I wash them again, but the weight of that tiny baby is still there.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, rubbing my back. “Livvie?”

“I didn’t look.” I dry my hands on a towel, my gaze dropping to my feet. I check the soles of my boots. They’re clean. It’s as if nothing happened.

“We’ll just be more careful now,” she says.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, taking in the dried line of mascara and the pale tint of my skin. A motorcycle engine purrs nearer, reminding me that I need to get myself together.

“Olivia?” Lucy asks, her tone taking on a worried edge.

I turn the water back on and dip my hands underneath the stream, bowing my head. I scrub the makeup off until my skin is bare and red.

“Burger delivery,” Cliff calls from the living room.

“Olivia?” Lucy asks again.

I try to find words, to crack a joke, but it’s too soon. I take a shaky breath.

“You okay?” she asks, still rubbing my back.

Of all the lives I’ve taken, this one bears the most weight.

Cliff

I head into the kitchen, dropping the bag of burgers and fries on the table. “Olivia? Luce?” I call out. Dio hops up onto the table with a meow. “Hey buddy.” I give his head a rub. “Where is everyone?”

From behind the closed bathroom door, a faucet starts running. Otherwise, Lucy’s condo is completely still. Shrugging, I grab some plates and sit down. I don’t need to be told to dig in, not when it comes to G’s. Or any takeout, really. I glance down at what is sure to be a dad bod if I don’t reign it in a little.

“It’s not my fault,” I tell Dio, shooing him off the table. “I had to eat slop for twenty years.” I plate everyone’s orders and sit back, staring at my food. “Well, this is awkward.”

Dio meows in agreement.

The bathroom door opens and Lucy steps out, closing it behind her. “Oh. Hey!” She drops into a seat and grabs a fry from the plate in front of her. Her face is unreadable.

“Where’s Olivia?” I ask cautiously. Maybe a date was a bad idea. Olivia and I have never been conventional, and every time I try to do some kind of normal boyfriend/girlfriend thing with her, I only end up scaring her away.

My cousin looks up from her food. “Olivia?” she asks, blinking.

Shit. I lean back in my seat. “Did she, ah, leave?” I swear I saw her Street Glide in the driveway. I frown.

“No!” Lucy throws on a smile. “She’s just doing her makeup.”

I tilt my head. “Makeup?” I can’t help the smile that takes over my face.

Lucy’s eyes drop back down to her still untouched burger. “You know, just girl things . . .”

My eyes narrow in suspicion. “Everything okay?”

She opens her mouth, but whatever she’s about to say is interrupted by a wail from the baby monitor. “Be right back,” she promises, casting a worried glance at the bathroom door. Then she disappears.

I look down at Dio, who sits next to my chair, his nose up in the air sniffing the bacon. “I really wish you could talk, dude.”

He stands up on his hind legs, nose wiggling.

With a shrug, I take a bite of my burger, careful to save a few bits of bacon for the cat. Through the baby monitor, I hear Lucy soothing Bunny. The bathroom door remains closed.

I stand, slipping Dio a bite of bacon as I make my way to the bathroom. I hesitate at the door. It might really just be makeup—girl stuff. If I’ve learned anything about Olivia in the past seven months, it’s that nothing is simple about the woman I love. I raise a fist to knock, then lower it.

Dio meows at my feet, giving me away. Traitor.

I knock lightly. “Hey. Everything okay?”

The faucet stops running. There’s a muffled clatter of plastic hitting porcelain. “Damn it,” Olivia mutters.

I knock again. “You in there?”

Everything goes still.

I step back from the door, running a hand over my beard. I should probably just eat my burger. If something is wrong, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I just ignored it?

Dio meows again, lowering himself to his belly. He reaches a paw under the door, swiping. His next meow is loud, plaintive.

We’re both being shut out.

“Burgers!” Lucy calls out from behind me.

I pivot, lifting my boot to avoid the cat’s tail. My cousin drops into her chair, lifting her burger while wearing a forced smile.

“I’m just gonna head out.” I walk away from the door, planting a kiss on Lucy’s head as I pass.

Her eyes dart between me and the door. She lowers her burger. “Just give her a minute,” she whispers. “Please?”

Sighing, I return to my seat. “What happened?”

She nibbles on her lower lip. “I’m not really sure,” she hedges.

I blurt out the burning question. “Is it because I let you in on our date?”

Her lips tighten.

“Luce,” I plead.

“I don’t think so.” She sets her burger down. “I think she’s just going through a lot, and isn’t exactly coping with everything.”

“What happened?” I ask again.

The bathroom door opens and Olivia steps out, Dio winding between her legs. Lucy and I turn in our seats. The whole room holds its breath. Olivia steps past Dio and veers around the table, heading toward the front door.

“Food’s getting cold,” Lucy tries.

“I’m going for a ride,” Olivia says. She opens the door and then slips out. The door closes behind her.

I fix my cousin with a frown.

“Let’s just eat,” she says, picking up a fry.

Outside, the Street Glide roars to life. I drum my fingers on the table. I’m no stranger to chasing after Olivia. It’s an art form we’ve perfected. I’d do anything for her. I think I’ve proved that. But I can’t imagine what could’ve happened that she can’t talk to me about. Not after everything we’ve been through.

Or maybe it isn’t enough.

No matter how many times I chase her, she keeps running. Maybe it’s time to accept that she doesn’t want to be with me.

I sigh, leaning back in my seat.

“Cliff,” Lucy begins.

I hold up a hand. “Let’s . . . just eat.”

The rumble of the engine cuts out abruptly. I pick up my burger, resolving to just let her go. There’s nothing else I can do. Not when she’s shutting me out. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about Olivia. Sooner or later, it’s going to be my undoing. Probably sooner.

I can’t make her love me back.

The front door opens and Olivia steps inside. Dio bounds up to her. She scoops him up and he rubs his cheek against hers. “You’ve got bacon breath.” She carries him into the kitchen and sets him down by his bowl. “Who gave this demon bacon?”

I try not to look guilty, but Lucy gives me away.

“I was upstairs with the baby.”

Olivia shakes her head at me, but a smile tugs the corners of her mouth up. She takes the seat next to me and steals a fry from my plate, dipping it into ketchup. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, noting the way her eyes don’t quite light up.

“So what movie are we gonna see?” she asks, nudging her onion rings toward me.

I wish I’d never let Mercy go, but I can’t bring him and Bree back. All I can do is wait and see if the shadows in Olivia’s eyes recede.

A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3

Available April 28th

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Listen to the Playlist That Inspired A FATAL PROSPECT

I killed everything we were
Baby, murder was the case
-“27 Hours,” BANKS

How can I describe A Fatal Prospect‘s playlist? It’s yearning and suspenseful, angry and desperate, heartbreaking and uplifting—just like the book.

Some of my favorite songs from this playlist are: “In Too Deep,” by The Sweeplings; “City on Fire” by Tyler Hilton; “Heartbeat” by VÉRITÉ.

Have a listen, then tell me which songs you love the most!

And don’t forget to pre-order A Fatal Prospect for only $2.99! The price goes up after release day, so snag that discount now.

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A Fatal Prospect Available April 28th

Cliff has finally won Olivia’s commitment, but she won’t give him the two things he yearns for the most: her heart and a family. After all the trauma she’s been through, she’s scared to give away her heart, even if her heart has other plans. The war on the horizon strikes before they have a chance to work it out.

When a teen football player is unspeakably violated, only Olivia, Cliff, and the rest of the River Reapers MC can avenge him. A rival motorcycle club from the past is also looking for revenge just as Olivia realizes her true feelings for Cliff. When someone betrays them, they’ll pay the ultimate price, in both blood and love.

A Fatal Prospect is the third book in the River Reapers MC series, a dark romance with a body count.

Pre-order now for only $2.99! Regular price $4.99.

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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.

Catch Up

Chapter 3

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.

Thank you for reading Chapter 3 of A Fatal Prospect, Book 3 in the River Reapers MC series.

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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?”

Catch Up

Chapter 2

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.

Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of A Fatal Prospect, Book 3 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Fatal Prospect, Chapter 1

My relationship with Olivia 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. Sometimes, I think she’ll be the death of me.

Catch Up

The following is an excerpt from A Fatal Prospect. This chapter contains spoilers from the series; please read A Disturbing Prospect and A Risky Prospect first!

Chapter 1

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.

Thank you for reading Chapter 1 of A Fatal Prospect, Book 3 in the River Reapers MC series.

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Pre-Order A FATAL PROSPECT, Book 3 in the River Reapers MC Series

Earlier this summer I announced I won’t be publishing anything in 2020, so that I can spend the next few months “writing ahead.” I don’t want another flareup of my UCTD derailing my career, ever again. If that means purposely slowing things down even further, even if only temporarily, so be it.

After much thought, I’ve finally set a release date for A Fatal Prospect. I know a lot of you are really looking forward to this book. I know you wanted it to escape into during all of the madness that has been this year. I really wish I could give you this book right now. Publishing doesn’t work that way, though, especially not with a chronic illness.

There are many moving parts that you as a reader will likely never see: booking cover designs, editing, ARCs, promotion companies, advertising . . . The list goes on! It isn’t just me and my UCTD that I have to work around. I work with many other professionals, all of whom have other clients and their own lives to schedule around. When all was said and done, the date I chose is the very soonest I could comfortably schedule a release date, especially factoring in that shit happens and, when shit inevitably will happen, I’ll still be able to release this book on time without penalty.

(Yes, penalty—if I were to miss my release date, I could lose my Amazon pre-order privileges for a year!)

That date is . . .

Drum roll, please . . .

A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3
Available March 29th, 2021

(Blurb and cover reveal coming soon)

🖤🏍💀 Pre-Order Now 💀🏍🖤

A Fatal Prospect and its spinoff novella will be worth your wait, I promise!

“Better Than Her Hating Herself” | Alternate Scene from A RISKY PROSPECT

While writing A Risky Prospect, I knew how I wanted to handle the scene. I just wasn’t sure if I should. To help me decide, I wrote an alternate version.

Spoiler Alert: This alternate scene contains spoilers from A Risky Prospect. Read at your own risk!

♠

I stare after Olivia, frowning. The two shot glasses remain upside down on the bar, the remnants of tequila splattered across the wood. I’ve never known her to leave a mess behind, never mind run out without even grabbing someone to stand in for her. I’m even more shocked that she didn’t let Mark know personally.

What really trips me up, though, is the look on her face when she looked at her phone. I know technology has advanced a lot in the past twenty years, influencing the way people do almost everything, but I also know that if DCF needed her for something, they would’ve called. Not texted.

I tap a finger on the bar, torn. Do I follow her, or do I go get my brothers first?

“You’re late,” Beer Can says from beside me.

“We’ve got a problem,” I reply.

I explain as quickly as I can, then run after her, promising Beer Can I’ll text as soon as I know where she is. Just as I step outside, she flies out of the parking lot. I’ve heard the phrase “like a bat out of hell” a million times, but the people who spoke it never met Olivia.

Her hair flies out behind her, black coils highlighted by the glow from the street light. It’s an alive thing, a harbinger of revenge. She’s the embodiment of the Sludge Specter insignia on my cut and the hoodie she was wearing behind the bar. My hoodie. I watch her disappear, my bones growing colder. I feel sick to my stomach.

Something bad is going down.

I jump onto the Screamin’ Eagle, damn near flooding the thing in my rush to get it started. Thankfully I get it on the first kick, a small flash of luck in this cold, dark night.

It’ll probably never happen again.

I take off in the same direction she went, adrenaline flooding my system, flushing out the heaviness and ache in my limbs. Every muscle is coiled, my body warm as it gears up to fight.

Though light traffic crawls the streets, Olivia is nowhere in sight. It doesn’t matter, because I already know where she’s going. I head to the Mallane Lane address Vinny texted me weeks ago, my fist gripping the throttle, my head a scramble.

What will I find when I get there?

I pull up in front of the teal house. In the dim light, it looks more like mud. A single light floods one window. There isn’t even a porch light on. A Thunderbird sits in the garage, but Olivia’s Street Glide is absent.

I roll past, frowning. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she really did have a work emergency. Everything else was all in my head, some sick need to concoct excuses to be near her.

Whether she wants me or not, she’s got her hooks in me, ensuring I’ll never let her go. The only way I’ll ever get her out of my system is if I get as far from her as possible. That’ll never happen. She’s poison floating in my veins, a toxic potion for which there is no antidote. Loving her is going to kill me, and I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.

Clenching the throttle, I pull away from the teal house. Even as it fades from my mirror, adrenaline keeps pumping through me. I pull over several blocks away. If she’s handling a work emergency, she’ll answer her phone, exasperated. If she isn’t, well, I still have to figure out where she is.

With the bike rumbling between my thighs, I call her. I turn up the volume on the phone so I can hear each ring over the engine, can count how many pass. Either I’m wasting time or I’m getting fired.

Her voicemail picks up: “It’s Olivia. You know what to do.”

I end the call, torn. If she’s dealing with a work thing, she might not be able to pick up. I just can’t think of where else she might have gone, if she really is after Greg.

The phone rings in my hand. My heart stops, relief flooding me only for a second. It’s Vinny, not Olivia.

“Yeah?” I brace myself for the warning.

“You at Greg’s?” he asks, breathless.

“I rode by. What’s up?”

“I peeked at some court documents. I’ve been checking every so often, see if anything else involving our buddy pops up.”

“Okay,” I press. With no direction, the adrenaline turns to nausea.

“His wife filed for divorce,” Vinny says.

“When?”

“This morning.”

My heart stops again, this time kickstarting with a fresh wave of adrenaline. This time, it’s accompanied by fear. “I’m circling back. Meet me there.” I hang up, wishing I’d thought to grab my piece.

I turn the Screamin’ Eagle around and blip the throttle, riding in the direction I came from. My pulse races with the single thought looping through my head: I hope I’m not too late, not too late, too late.

I roll to a stop in front of the teal house, right behind the Street Glide. The front door stands open, darkness spilling from the house into the street. It’s a quiet neighborhood, the kind where parents let their kids play in the street without worrying about them getting hit. The kind of street where people don’t shrug when they hear a gunshot—they call the police.

I shut off my bike and kick the stand into place. Then, without glancing around, I stroll up the front walk and onto the porch.

I creep inside, eyes straining to make out anything in the dark. The porch serves as a sort of mudroom, opening into a living room. At least, I think it’s a living room. I make out the silhouette of a couch, walk into a coffee table. Its edge bites into my shin, the whole thing sliding back, its feet scuffing against the floor with a whine like a long, drawn out Fuuuuuck.

Which is exactly what I think, standing here in the dark, ears strained for any sign that he knows I’m here. Then again, if I wanted to be stealthy, I should’ve left the bike around the corner.

Fuck it.

“Olivia?” I shout.

A thud responds.

“Olivia?” I glance around, still not accustomed to the dark, completely unfamiliar with the layout. Another thud answers, a strange game of Marco Polo. Pulse throbbing in my throat, I move in the direction I think it came from—toward a set of stairs. The toe of my boot nudges the bottom step. I climb them two at a time.

When I get what I think is halfway up, the sound of thrashing crashes into my ears, a frenzied cacophony of elbows and feet hitting the floor—the symphony of a struggle. I fly up the remaining steps, not even thinking anymore, just moving. I burst into a spare room. Instead of a bed, there’s a desk and a dresser, closet doors standing open, half of the clothing removed. I take this all in even as my focus zeroes in on the floor, on Olivia, pinned under Greg. His fingers wrap around her neck, all of his weight forced on her throat.

“Was it like this?” he asks, over and over.

Her face is a mottled shade of purple and blue. She scratches at his hands, even as the rest of her flops underneath him.

I take two steps and hook my arm around his neck, yanking him back. He drags her with him, and she goes limp, eyes rolling in the back of her head. “Let her go!” I roar in his ear. He releases her, his gurgling nearly drowning out the thud as she hits the floor. She doesn’t move.

“Olivia!” I call, tightening my hold on him. She remains still. “Olivia!” I scream again. I shake him, punctuating each syllable. His eyes bulge, his flesh speckled with purple as I squeeze the air from him.

Her hand twitches.

“Olivia,” I beg. “Come on, babe.”

She sucks in air, head tipping back as she gulps, filling her lungs. I sigh in relief, some of the anger fading from my marrow.

“That’s it. Can you sit up?”

“Asshole,” she croaks, and I grin.

Greg thrashes, twisting out of my grip. He slips away and crouches, a barking cough exploding from his lungs.

“Slippery motherfucker,” I mutter. He lunges at me, catching me off guard and knocking me back. Most other men know when to stay down when fighting me. Not this one. There’s a strain in his eyes, his manic need to control Olivia overpowering all sense.

Because that’s what rape is about, when you boil it down: power.

His knuckles catch my cheekbone, blood spurting from a small cut in near slow motion. My shoulder blades press into the hardwood floor as his weight settles on me. He draws his fist back for another blow.

I was so busy worrying about Olivia, I didn’t even notice him slipping out of my grasp. He caught me by surprise again by recovering so quickly. It’s easy to forget what adrenaline can do, the strength that desire for control breeds.

All of this flies through my head in sync with his fist reconnecting with my face. Another catches me in the ribs. I grunt but keep still, drawing calm in with every breath. Anger won’t get me out of this hold.

“Don’t!” Olivia screams.

I crane my neck to see behind Greg. She kneels on the floor, her gun trained on Greg. Two bright red handprints encircle her neck, some of the bruise already turning purple. The sight sends an upsurge of anger through me, those red handprints encroaching my vision until they’re all I see.

I shove Greg off me, sending him careening into the dresser. This time, I don’t give him a chance to recover. I’m on him, gripping his head with one hand. I glance at the corner of the dresser, so like the coffee table downstairs that I smashed my shin into. I pull his head back, then slam it into the corner.

He cries out, hands flailing, fingers gripping my cut. They squeak against the leather.

I do it again.

His mouth opens, pleading eyes hooked on mine. But I still see those handprints, still see her marbled skin, her mouth wide and gasping but getting no air. It’s too easy to fall back in time, to imagine younger versions of them in a similar pose, my girl begging no.

So I do it again, and again, more times than I can count, but not enough, never enough for what he did to her. What he almost did tonight. His lips move in a “No” and I smile, because isn’t that what she told him? I smile and I smile and I smile.

Then I let him go. He crumples to the floor in a heap.

“Fuck,” Olivia explodes. “Is he dead?”

She rushes over and checks his pulse, her finger smearing the blood running down his neck.

I step back, chest heaving. I can’t catch my breath. I need a cigarette. My limbs shake as the adrenaline leaves my system. I lower myself to the floor, feeling utterly drained.

I should be panicking. I just killed a veteran—again. That’s a ticket straight back to the pen. I tip my head back. In a moment, I’ll make a few calls, get a cleanup crew going. Right now, I need my head and body to sync up.

“You fucking killed him,” Olivia scolds.

I look at her, gauging how angry she is. “Sorry,” I offer.

“That was my kill, Cliff. Fuck!” She turns, pacing the room, one hand curled into a fist, the other still clenched around her gun.

I wonder if she’s going to shoot me. I’m not sure which would be worse: Olivia blowing my brains out, or going back to the pen. At least I know she’s safe. What’s another federal offense?

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I gather my strength back and climb to my feet. My stomach growls, the sound cutting through the room.

She wheels on me. “So that’s it, huh? Let’s just go grab dinner. No big deal, right?” She scowls.

Part of her will always hate me for this, for taking her kill. But what was I supposed to do?

The same beast lives inside me, the one that can’t be controlled. I try to explain, to tell her how even now, all I can see are the handprints on her throat. Just like part of me will always see my father on Lucy.

Instead, I let her hate me. It’s better than her hating herself.

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“I Watch Her Take Her Power Back” | Bonus Scene from A RISKY PROSPECT

In this bonus scene, we see the pivotal scene in A Risky Prospect from Cliff’s POV.

Spoiler Alert: This bonus scene contains spoilers from A Risky Prospect. Read at your own risk!

♠

A work emergency—I don’t buy it. I give Olivia a head start, then I follow her. I keep several cars between us, just in case she really is going to work. I don’t want her to think I’m some kind of lovesick stalker, like Eli. But when she turns onto her street, I know for sure.

This has nothing to do with work.

I hang back, shutting off my headlight, and watch her go inside. Barely two minutes pass and she’s already mounting her bike again. Nothing is different—that I can see, anyway. Still, my gut tells me something is wrong.

So I follow her again.

She takes Spring Street, then turns onto Mallane Lane. I continue by. I don’t need to alarm her. She’s too focused, body bent forward, shoulders hunched.

Who lives on Mallane?

I circle back down Spring Street, taking a left onto Springdale Avenue. It’s the only other way to access Mallane. By the time I turn onto the road, her Street Glide is already cooling down in front of a teal house.

My pulse jumps in my throat.

I consider calling Ravage or even Donny, but there’s a slim chance this could be a client’s house. Even if it isn’t, I don’t want to step all over her toes again. That’s how we ended up here, this place where we don’t talk and I follow her like some kind of creep.

I thumb the throttle, two seconds away from leaving Mallane. This isn’t healthy. Olivia’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself. Bright white light flashes through a window—a strobe light. I frown. Nothing is adding up.

Something crashes on the second floor, shattering as it hits hard wood. It’s then I know. I have to get inside.

I shut off the bike and vault over it, barely registering whether I’ve moved the kickstand into place. My bike, the street, everything fades away, my focus solely on the house. I lunge up the steps, yank open the screen door. The front door is unlocked. I push it open and race inside, careening through a dark living room. The dim light from the street highlights a framed photo: Greg with his wild red hair, and a happy blonde bride.

This must be Greg’s house.

“Was it like this?” Olivia screams from upstairs.

I fly up the steps, hands tingling, fingers twitching for something to latch onto. I’m going to kill him, if she doesn’t first.

I hit the landing and turn toward the sound of her voice. Bright light spills from a bedroom into the hall, a beacon guiding me to her. I take a step toward the door. The blood pounding through my veins pulses even in my eyes. My vision becomes a tunnel of red.

Something thumps—a boot against a footboard, a desperate thrashing.

“Was it like this?” Olivia screams again, pain and fury breaking her voice.

My heart rockets into my throat. He’s got her, and he’ll kill her if I don’t get there now. I close the distance to the door and stop dead in the hall when I see her in the bedroom.

Olivia straddles Greg on the bed, their clothing littering the floor in a trail behind them. Her hands wrap around her neck, all of her weight pressed into his throat. He jerks underneath her, but she’s got him in the most vulnerable position a man can ever be in.

I stare as his face turns purple.

“Was it like this?” she shrieks again, tears running down her cheeks. She lets out a howl of pain, a growl of vengeance—a battle cry. Even as I gape in shock, my chest aches for her.

I’ll never know what it’s like to have survived what she survived, but I do know what it’s like to reach your limit, when you’ve had enough. When the phoenix of your broken soul rises, morphing into a beast whose thirst must be slaked. The evil of a man like Greg awakens that beast, and it won’t be stopped until its thirst is slaked.

So I watch her take her power back.

A part of me will always be shocked, knowing that the same hands that caressed me could do this. The rest of me will always be in awe.

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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

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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