Category: Excerpts

River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “Something Real”

I sneak peeks at her, memorizing her the way her triangular eyes just light everything up, just shoot pure blissful sparks. Given everything I know about her, I don’t know how someone could radiate so much light, but she does. It radiates from her skin, shining through her. She is light itself.

“Something Real”
A River Reapers MC Short Story

Vaughn

The phone slips in my hands, tumbling onto the floor. At least it’s carpeted. I don’t get sweaty hands—at least, I didn’t ’til now. ‘Til her.

I swipe the phone from the floor, my thumb ready to hit the answer button as soon as I’m upright and don’t look like I’m losing my shit. Except I accidentally accept the call, giving her a full view of my idiocy.

“Hey,” she says, her gentle blue eyes gazing up at me.

My heart stops in my chest.

I’m a programmer. I’m a hacker. I’m a biker, for fuck’s sake—one who runs with a club slowly but surely gaining the wrong kind of reputation.

Depending on whose side you’re on, I guess. My point is, I don’t get sweaty hands. I’m the one the MC calls in when they need dirt on someone.

That’s how we met.

“Cami,” I greet her, trying to play it cool but I know I’m failing. I lift the phone from the floor, giving her a head-on view of my face. I avoid looking at my own reflection. I don’t want to know how deep the shadows under my eyes are or how bad my permanent five o’ clock shadow is. Being quarantined here has not been kind to me.

The problem is, the only other place to look is at her. And damn, I could stare at her forever. I really could. But that’s fucking creepy.

I settle for the eye of the camera. My eyes, on the other hand, have other ideas. I sneak peeks at her, memorizing her the way her triangular eyes just light everything up, just shoot pure blissful sparks. Given everything I know about her, I don’t know how someone could radiate so much light, but she does. It radiates from her skin, shining through her. She is light itself.

“Hey,” she says again, her voice soft, her smile shy. “How are you?”

I could answer her question in so many ways. I could tell her the truth, that every day I’m trapped inside these four walls is another reminder of just how much I have to lose. I could tell her how, every time I leave the house for a short run or supplies, anxiety cramps my muscles, making my limbs heavy and my pulse race. I could tell her how the one woman I love more than anything is not safe if I make one little mistake.

But that’s not really first date material.

And this isn’t really a date.

I clear my throat. “You know,” I say, brushing aside the question. “Hanging in there. You?”

I have never, ever been smooth. I mean, I can talk my way into a woman’s bed. That’s easy. When it comes to being real, though, I’m fumbling and confused. That’s how Cami makes me feel—she makes me want the pain of being awkward, just so that I can have something real.

Even though we are two people who should not be together.

THE END

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles: “Zoom This”

With the pandemic going and everything shut down, we don’t have much club business to attend to. But it’s important that we all stay connected—or so I thought. It turns out, getting a multigenerational MC onto a Zoom call is like herding kittens, if the kittens were all wearing leather and itching to go for a ride that doesn’t require staying six feet apart.

“Zoom This”
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.

Olivia

Ravage’s chin appears on the screen of my phone, a closeup constellation of black and silver stubble that I definitely didn’t need to see. On instinct, I pull my phone away from my face, but his chin remains.

“Hello?” He dips his chin, skin folding at the creases of his neck. “You all there?”

“It’s just you and me so far, Pres,” I tell him, casting a glance at Cliff beside me. I nudge him with my elbow, but he remains still as a statue on the couch. He sits with his phone damn near pressed to his forehead, dark eyes blinking slowly at it, as if it were a bomb. “You on?” I ask.

“I’m here,” Ravage says. “Olivia? I can’t see you.”

“Move the screen away from your chin,” I suggest.

“Screen?”

“Cliff?” I ask, turning toward him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he glares at his phone.

My phone pings as another River Reaper enters the Zoom call.

“Yo,” Vaughn says. “Can you guys hear and see me? I’ve got Ravage’s chin, Olivia’s boobs, and Cliff’s a black screen.”

I yank my phone back up to face level. “Asshole.”

He holds up his hands. “Not my fault.”

“I don’t know how to move the screen,” Ravage says.

I close my eyes. My President, who rides a motorcycle with the ease of a stuntman, runs a sort of straight MC with an iron fist, and has dental work done without novocaine, can’t figure out how to hold his phone away from his face.

I’ve never been so embarrassed.

“Do you want me to tell him, or do you want to do it?” I ask Vaughn.

“I’m kind of enjoying this,” he says. “I finished Netflix a week ago.”

“I’m a black screen?” Cliff asks. His eyebrows scrunch together. Confused is my favorite look on him. It isn’t often that I get to see him unsure of himself. It’s endearing.

He mumbles a string of curses, and I bite my lip to keep from climbing into his lap and kissing his lips while laughing at him.

Social media and anything technology are so not his things.

“Here,” I say, holding out my hand.

He leans away from me. “I’ve got it.”

“Sure you do.” I turn back to my phone. As if it can sense my attention, it pings multiple times.

Beer Can, Donny, and Abraham’s faces appear in the neat row at the top of the screen. I peer at them, soaking in every detail of their home lives. It isn’t often, if ever, that I get to see any of them in their natural habitats.

Through his grainy connection, Beer Can sits in a broken-in corduroy recliner, wearing his usual Black Sabbath T-shirt under his cut. His salt and pepper hair sticks out in tufts at the sides. “You there?”

I swallow a snort. I could turn this into a drinking game; every time someone asks if we can see or hear them, take a shot. “We’re here.”

Donny stares dubiously back at us.

“You okay, man?”

He shakes his head once. “Women,” he mutters. “Why did I never realize how many women I live with?”

Punctuating his point, a shriek pierces the background.

I turn my volume down.

Pings chime as the rest of the club filters in. Both Mercy and Mark have black screens but sound, Skid has sound but his camera is pointed at the ceiling, and Abraham just looks wasted.

The little boxes of River Reapers rotate, cycling through some algorithm or other. Vaughn slides to the main strip, and for the first time I realize he’s sitting in a bedroom, with windows, A Perfect Circle playing softly in the background.

“Holy shit,” I say, nudging Cliff.

“I got this,” he insists.

“Yeah, yeah. Look at Vaughn.”

He squints at his phone. “I can’t see anybody.”

“You could just let me help you, you know.”

“Everybody here?” Ravage’s chin asks.

“I think we’re waiting for Stixx,” Mark says.

“Come on, kids. I figured this out. Surely you can, too,” my President says.

I chuckle. “Yeah, your chin’s doing great.”

Vaughn laughs through a hit of a joint, smoke pouring from his nose.

“What do you mean?” Ravage asks, but the two of us can’t stop.

“What is so fucking funny?” Cliff grumbles.

“They’re laughing at the old people,” Beer Can says.

Tears spill from my eyes, mascara bleeding into them. My eyes sting but I can’t stop laughing.

“Ravage,” Vaughn struggles to say, “just hold your phone away from your face!”

Suddenly the rest of my President’s face comes into view, his glacial eyes unamused. “Are you done?”

“Not my fault,” I gasp.

A final ping goes off as Stixx joins the call. “‘Sup,” he says as apology, his pale complexion even more washed out than usual. Dark circles underline his eyes.

“Why can’t we just go to the club house?” Cliff growls, dropping his phone into his lap.

“Because then we wouldn’t be social distancing,” I remind him.

“Fuck social distancing. Fuck Zoom.”

I swallow another laughing fit. “Can you just let me help you?”

“Let’s get started,” Ravage says.

“Give us a minute.” Setting my phone down, I turn to my ex-con, one of the few men who respects me, one of the few I trust. He’s more than earned it.

“I got it,” he insists.

Lucy sighs from her end of the couch. “You so don’t ‘got it,'” she chides. “Just let Olivia help you.”

“I’m not old,” he says.

“No one said you were, you big baby.” Lucy tosses him a wink.

A growl rumbles low in his throat.

“Can we get started?” Ravage begs. “My phone is dying.”

“That’s because it’s a dinosaur,” Vaughn says, “just like all you old fuckers.”

Ravage rubs his temples. “Why?” he mutters. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” He glares at the screen, and I don’t even have to ask who he’s sending it to.

It’s me, and Vaughn.

This was our idea.

With the pandemic going and everything shut down, we don’t have much club business to attend to. But it’s important that we all stay connected—or so I thought. It turns out, getting a multigenerational MC onto a Zoom call is like herding kittens, if the kittens were all wearing leather and itching to go for a ride that doesn’t require staying six feet apart.

I turn to Cliff again. Suddenly it dawns on me while he’s so frustrated by this Zoom call. It isn’t the tech. It’s the quarantine—it reminds him of prison.

Gently I take the phone from his hands. “Hey,” I say softly.

“Yeah.” His dark eyes meet mine, and in them I see decades of solitude and pain.

“You’re not alone,” I whisper. “Not anymore. And never again.” Pressing a few buttons, I get his camera working. Then I lean into him, sweeping my lips across his. “I’m right here.”

His warm lips open to me, softening under my touch. We meld, ignite, burn, each slow kiss easing the pain.

“All right, lovebirds,” Ravage says. “Are we all ready now?”

Pulling away, I grin at Cliff. He smiles back, the storm clearing from his eyes.

“Yes,” I say, cuddling into his lap. “We’re ready.”

THE END

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River Reapers MC Quarantine Chronicles

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River Reapers MC Series

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Birthday: A River Reapers MC Short Story

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This short takes place toward the end of A Risky Prospect (River Reapers MC, Book 2), and contains some spoilers. Please read A Risky Prospect first!

Cliff

“Shit, fuck,” Lucy says, waddling into the kitchen with one hand on her belly and the other on her back. She isn’t due for another month, but she looks like she’s gonna pop any second. “Cliff!”

“What’s wrong?” I glance up from the parenting magazine I’ve been flipping through while waiting for her. “Isn’t your ultrasound at one? We’ve got time.”

“I know that,” she snaps. She pulls her long red hair up into a messy bun, reminding me a little of Olivia.

“Then what?” Maybe I should be alarmed, but ever since Olivia killed Greg and we got back together, I’ve been calm as fuck. The danger’s over. We can probably live the rest of our lives in peace.

Except my cousin glares down at me, her hands on her hips.

“What?” I repeat, feeling a little like squirming. “What did I do?”

“You forgot Olivia’s birthday!”

Shit, fuck indeed.

I blink up at her, head spinning. I don’t know how this happened. I can’t even blame it on the honeymoon phase I’ve been in. Olivia’s birthday should’ve been my first priority.

“Hey,” I accuse. “You forgot, too.”

“This isn’t about me!” Her hands fly as she tells me off. “You’re the boyfriend. It’s tomorrow, by the way.”

I open my mouth to argue but her glare deepens. By now I know better than to argue with pregnant Lucy. In her regular form she’s terrifying when she’s pissed. Between all the hormones and a bladder-crushing, rib-kicking Bunny, Lucy is on a whole new level of rampage.

“I know it’s tomorrow,” I mutter. “And you know, my birthday passed when we were in Lewisburg and neither one of you noticed.” I fake a pout.

“Wipe that off your face. You’re a guy. No one cares about your birthday.”

Feigning offense, I turn in my seat. “Gee thanks, Luce.”
“Olivia loves her birthday,” she continues. “I usually take her out drinking, and then she picks up some guy. But I can’t be a wingman like this!” Her lips tremble. “Cliff, you have to get her laid.”

“I think I can manage that.” I smirk.

“Not laid! I mean, she’ll love that, but you have to take her out. It’s got to be flashy. Olivia loves flashy. But not too flashy. Don’t propose,” she says, holding up a warning finger.

“I’m not gonna propose,” I mutter. “But what do you want me to do? If I go all out, she’ll freak out. You remember what happened when I asked her to move in with me.”

“Fuck,” she wails, and tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re right!”

“Don’t worry,” I soothe. I stand from the chair and take her into my arms. Her tears leave splotches on my gray T-shirt. “I’ll figure something out. It’ll be special but not too special.”

“Okay.” She sniffles. “We have to go. We’re gonna be late!” She pulls away, her face dry. Before I can say anything else, she’s out the door.

I stand in the kitchen, shaking my head. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. I know she’s serious about this, though. I just have no idea what I’m going to do.

#

By the time I drop Lucy back at her place and ride my motorcycle back to mine, I still don’t know. If I do anything overly romantic, Olivia will freak. I have to tread lightly.
I pace my small apartment, roaming from room to room as if something will give me a clue. Lucy says Olivia loves her birthday, but she hasn’t dropped so much as a hint. Then again, she’s had a lot going on, too. Between playing politics at her new job, nights bartending at The Wet Mermaid, and therapy, she’s barely had time for anything else. What she needs isn’t flashy.

A plan begins unfolding in my mind. It’s a risk, but if I can pull it off, it’ll be worth it. I start making calls. There’s no time to waste.

#

This year Olivia’s birthday falls on a Sunday, which is lucky for me. I pull into Lucy’s driveway in the morning, balancing the Screamin’ Eagle while I shut off the engine and shove the kickstand into place. The porch light is still on, which means Olivia hasn’t come out for her morning cigarette yet. I use my key and let myself in.

“Some fucking birthday,” Olivia says from the kitchen. “I can’t believe you guys forgot.” She stands with her back to me, her hands on her hips.

Lucy faces her and me. A ghost of a smile crosses her lips.
“We didn’t forget,” I say, closing the door behind me. I stroll down the hall and into the kitchen.

Olivia turns, her hands falling to her sides as she sees me. “What are you guys doing?”

“You,” I say, stepping closer to her and placing my hands on the small of her back, “and Lucy have somewhere to be.”

Her head tips back, her lips curling in curiosity. I lean down and place a quick kiss on them. Reaching into my cut, I pull out a small envelope and hand it to her.

Eyes dancing, she slides a finger under the flap and teases the envelope open. Slowly she slides out the printed card stock. “A massage? Really?” She stands on the balls of her feet and throws her arm around my neck.

“And a facial,” I say, meeting her halfway. I let her take my lips, smiling against her mouth as she peppers me with kisses.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says between each kiss.

“It’s a girls’ day. You two better get going,” I tell her.

“Wait, right now?” She shakes her head. “We have Church.”

“It’s been cancelled. Go get pampered.” I smack her ass lightly and she lets out a little gasp.

“You expect me to believe Ravage cancelled? Yeah, right.”

“You got me. I got him to postpone to tonight. So once you’re all rubbed and relaxed, you have to come by the club house.”

“I’d rather you rub and relax me,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. Lucy groans.

I take the card from Olivia and turn it over. “Here’s your itinerary.”

“Facial, one-hour massage, Church. Got it,” she says, and kisses me again. “We’d better go, Luce. It’s gonna be tight.” She makes a face, but I can tell she’s pleased. She throws her arms around my neck again. “See you tonight,” she says into my ear, and I know she doesn’t mean Church. If the rest of my plan goes well, neither of us will be sitting at that table.

Olivia

I stretch across the couch in the recovery area, balancing my glass of water on my stomach. “That was amazing,” I exclaim, drawing out the last word. “I don’t want to move.”

Lucy lies on her side on the couch across from me, her water on the coffee table between us. “Me either. I’ve heard of pregnancy massages, but I thought it was just some exorbitant bullshit. I wish I’d done this sooner.”

“I wish I could sneak in a hot stones session. I bet those feel amazing.” I lie in my puddle of bliss for another few seconds, closing my eyes.

“Duty calls,” Lucy chides.

I crack an eye open. She stands over me, her hands on her hips. “Huh?”

“You’ve got Church.” She reaches for my glass of water.

I wrap my fingers tighter around it. “I thought you didn’t approve of my club activities.”

“Since when have you cared what I think? Now up, up. We can come back another time.”

“Yeah, right. Did you see the pricing?” Grimacing, I surrender my glass of water and haul myself up.

She gives me a look.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She lifts a shoulder, but a subtle smile plays on her lips.

“What?” I insist.

“I know you have your thing about relationships,” she says, “but you don’t have to be like me.”

“I’m not like you,” I say, pointing at her belly. “One hundred percent not pregnant over here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a hand. “I just mean, you don’t have to be allergic to commitment. Especially when you’ve found one of the rare good ones.”

“I thought you didn’t approve of Cliff and me, either.”

She shrugs again. “I mean, it’s a little awkward. But it’s nothing that you can’t work through. You’ve said so yourself: you’re not really family.”

“No, Luce. I didn’t mean it like that. You are my family.”

“And Cliff is mine. I see how much he . . . cares for you. Trust me when I say, women have no problem throwing themselves at him, and he has no problem taking them to his bed. Even as an eight-year-old, I picked up on that. But when it comes to you, he doesn’t see anyone else. He can’t. You’ve bewitched him.” She chuckles. “Just . . . think about it.”

“Think about what?” I ask stubbornly. I already know how good Cliff is for me. He’s proven his loyalty over and over again. But it isn’t loyalty I need.

“Just think about it,” she repeats, grabbing her keys from the coffee table. She tosses them to me, and I miss them. They clink against the marble floor.

Grumbling, I bend over and retrieve them. “All right, Miss Daisy. Let’s get you home.”

I wish I was going home, too.

“Actually,” she says, “we have one more stop to make.”

I cock my head at her. “Luce, I’m gonna be late.”

“Then take me with you. We’ll just stop on the way to the strip club.”

I scoff. “You’re just gonna hang out in the bar?”

“We’re getting ice cream, so I’ll be totally happy.” She bats big green eyes at me.

“I hope your kid gets those eyes and uses them against you,” I say, turning and walking out of the spa.

#

I lead Lucy through the club house, past the dark stages and desolate tables. “Park it here,” I tell her, sitting her at one of the few tables that have normal chairs. “Hopefully I won’t be long.”

“I’m fine here,” she says through a mouthful of ice cream.
“Where did you even get a spoon?”

“I keep one in my purse.” She dips it into the half gallon again. “Want some?”

“That is all you.” I turn in a slow circle, realizing I didn’t see any other bikes outside. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“You’re on time for once,” she jokes. “You’ve thrown off the whole universe.”

I take the seat across from her. “Give me that spoon.”

“Uh-uh.” She pops it into her mouth. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out another and passes it to me.

I take a bite of ice cream, my brow furrowing. I can’t believe all these guys are late. They must’ve gone out for a ride without me. Figures. Even though they say they’re all for having a woman in their club, I bet they do this shit all the time.

The roar of motorcycles approaches, confirming my theory.

“They’re dead men walking,” I mutter, shoving my spoon into the ice cream again. “It’s my birthday, for fuck’s sake. They couldn’t be sexist another day?”

Lucy gives me a quizzical look.

“They rode without me!”

The door opens and a dozen people pour in. Donny walks in with Esther, her arms wrapped around a cake box inside a paper bag. Ravage and Shannon enter behind them, carrying several gift bags. The entire club is here. Abraham even brought his boyfriend, Rui.

“They didn’t ride without you,” Lucy says. She grabs the ice cream lid and snaps it into place.

Someone turns on music. Cliff strolls in last, a bottle of tequila in each hand. But it isn’t the tequila that makes me smile.

“I guess I’m going for a ride after all.”

#

I hug Cliff’s back, my thighs wrapped around his. The Screamin’ Eagle vibrates beneath us, conspiring with the tequila thrumming through my veins. I grind against the seat.

“Hurry,” I call into his ear.

With a twist of the throttle, he zips us forward. The dark night envelopes me, the streetlights bringing back flashes of the party. The speech Shannon gave, speaking about me as if she was an adoring mother. The shots Esther kept feeding me. The rounds of pool that Beer Can let me win. The way Cliff watched it all from the sidelines, letting me enjoy myself without hovering.

Lucy’s words repeat in my head: He doesn’t see anyone else. He can’t.

We pull into the parking lot for his building, Cliff evading cracks and potholes that could tip us over. It’s a good thing I didn’t drive myself. Lucy insisted she had to live vicariously through me and kept bringing me shots, too. I can barely stand.

But I can definitely manage a bed.

Cliff swings off the Screamin’ Eagle and extends an arm to me. Placing my hand in his, I climb down. My feet never touch the ground. He lifts me into his arms, curling me protectively into his chest. Part of me wants to fight it, but it feels too natural. I like it when he takes care of me.

Besides, I don’t think I can walk straight.

I shift until we’re eye level. “Thank you,” I tell him. “I had a really good day.”

“Good.” He swallows, his eyes intent on mine.

I keep pushing him away, yet he knew my birthday and planned all this. I don’t even know his. “When is your birthday?”

“February eighteenth.”

“So just a few days after we . . .”

“Fucked in a stranger’s station wagon. Yep.” He gives me a smug look.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I touch his face and he turns serious. “We could’ve done something.”

“We did. Besides, I had everything I could’ve asked for. I’d just gotten out, my cousin didn’t hate me like I thought she did, I met this stubborn, determined, beautiful woman who lit my bed on fire . . .” He winks. “You’ll never be able to top that birthday.”

But I will, or I’ll die trying.

I don’t say so, though. Instead I guide his lips to mine, my hand sliding down from his face, caressing his neck, his shoulder. Down, down I move, bringing my hand to rest at his hip. I skim his waistband, cupping his erection through his jeans.

“Let’s get upstairs,” he growls into my mouth.

“Do you think Lucy will be okay getting home?” I ask as he carries me inside.

“I had Esther drive her and Donny followed them.” He takes me up the stairs, my arms wrapped around his neck. As he climbs each step, his hard cock rubs against my thigh through his jeans.

Once inside, he sits on the couch and I straddle him. “Are we christening the couch tonight?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.

In answer he slips his hands under my shirt, beneath my bra, cupping my breasts. I wrench my tank top up and he leans forward, sucking a nipple between his lips. I pop open the button of his jeans and wrap my hand around him. With my nipple still in his mouth, he lifts me up just enough so that I can kick off my boots and peel off my lace leggings. As I take them off, I hear a low rip.

He freezes, face comically apologetic with my tit in his mouth.

“They were cheap,” I say, tossing them to the floor. I move my panties to the side and rub his head against me. His eyelids flutter closed, the ripped clothing forgotten. At this rate, I’m going to need a whole new wardrobe.

His hands grip my hips, dark eyes only slits as he watches me. I run him up and down my center, shivering as I reach my clit. His head tips back, exposing his throat. Bending forward, I nip at the tender skin, sealing it with a kiss. He lets out a low groan.

“God, Olivia,” he whispers, sending delicious icy tingles down my spine. His fingers dance along my ribs.

“‘Olivia,’ what?” I tease, gripping him. I take his head slow inch by inch, grinding against his shaft.

Pleasure rumbles in his throat, his face slack with bliss. With great effort, he opens his eyes enough to peer down at me. “You gonna make me beg?”

I give him a coy shrug. “It’s my birthday.”

“Then I should be doing the teasing.” Without disconnecting us, he flips us around, laying me down the length of the couch. He positions his knees at the sides of my thighs, still just barely inside me. I start to pout, a reminder that it’s my birthday on my lips. Then he uses his fingers to spread me wide and rubs his thumb against my clit, and I forget about complaining.

Shifting, Cliff plants a foot on the floor, giving me more room on the couch. My legs fall open. He slides deeper into me, still massaging me. Impatient, I reach for him, my hands framing each side of his face. I bring his lips to mine, coaxing him closer to me.

“Please?”

“Who’s begging now?” With a smirk, he obliges, lowering himself onto me. He reaches underneath me, placing his palms flat on my back. In one swift thrust, he plunges all the way in, hitting that spot deep inside me. I cry out, clinging to his back, wrapping my legs around his waist. The angle changes and he withdraws, then slams into me again, his shaft grazing my clit on his way back in. I make another involuntary sound, nails digging into his back.

From the moment we first connected, sex with Cliff has been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s a vast, blinding starlight rush through veins, nerves, and synapses. I don’t believe in love or soulmates, but if I did, this is how it’d feel.

He rolls his hips, still buried inside me, and it’s enough. I spasm from my core outward, body going slack with surrender. A second later I feel his heat spill inside me. He grazes kisses along my collarbone and I keep shattering in his arms, arms that hold me together.

THE END

Read the River Reapers MC Series

Book 1: A Disturbing Prospect

Until now, Olivia has survived by sticking to two simple rules: love ’em then leave ’em, and live out loud. But her odds—which were pretty good—change when Cliff walks out of prison and into her life. With his long dark hair, gentle eyes, and secrets, she’s dying to unlock him.

Cliff is a survivor, too, and he needs Olivia’s help learning how to live again. But his past catches up with him when he joins the local biker club, the River Reapers. A lifetime membership comes with its own baggage.

Olivia should stay far, far away from him. She shouldn’t get skin to skin with him in the back of someone else’s car, but she does. She definitely shouldn’t get to know the man behind the mugshot, but for the first time in a long parade of one-night stands, she wants to. And she shouldn’t fall for him, but she does. Except their entwined pasts may doom their love before it even begins.

Read A Disturbing Prospect Now

Chapter 1
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Book 2: A Risky Prospect

Brash social worker Olivia has been through her own personal hell and come out the other side, tattered but determined to make things better in her corrupt town—no matter the cost. Her roommate’s current situation is the perfect place to start.

When ex-con Cliff’s wild ol’ lady Olivia comes to him and the River Reapers for help, he’s on board. His vigilante motorcycle club can get the job done, and it’ll help convince Olivia to take the next step in their relationship.

But when Olivia’s traumatic past walks through the club’s doors, there’s no stopping her from doing whatever it takes to settle her own score. Even if it means crossing a line that Cliff might not be able to pull her back from.

Read A Risky Prospect Now

Chapter 1
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Novella: Her Mercy

Twenty years ago, Mercy and Bree chose loyalty over love. Now they can do it all over—if he can find her.

War veteran Mercy has an ache in his bones that the MC he built with his best friend doesn’t quite soothe. When beautiful runaway Bree shows up at the club house, both his physical and emotional pain begin to lift.

Despite their substantial age gap, Bree and Mercy find the home they’ve always been looking for in each other. But Bree is buckling under the weight of her own secrets, and they were never far behind her to begin with. When they catch up to her, she runs. Again.

When he finally catches up with her twenty years later, he’s only got one shot to prove to her they belong together.

Her Mercy is a second chance romance that spans decades of heartache, and births the beginning of the River Reapers MC series.

This novella can be read as a standalone.

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Chapter 1
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Her Mercy, Chapter 1

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Same old Claudine, with “cunt” tattooed down between her tits. Another reason I hate her, but not the reason. “I must’ve got off the wrong stop.” I turn back toward the train.

Somewhere in Connecticut, Ravage is laughing at me.

Catch Up

Her Mercy is a River Reapers MC novella. This book can be read as a standalone, or pairs well with A Disturbing Prospect and A Risky Prospect.

Part 1: The Drifter

Chapter 1

Bree
Now

I breathe a sigh of relief as the train pulls out of the station. He didn’t come after me. I didn’t really expect him to, considering I kind of just dropped that bomb on him and walked away. Typical me. Still, there was a slim chance he’d chase me, but he didn’t.

No one is chasing me now.

I lean back against the seat and watch through the window as New Haven, Connecticut fades away. It occurs to me that I don’t really have a reason to run. Ravage thought it might be best until things cool off, but I could’ve told him to go fuck himself. Instead, I took his money and let his Prospect collect me and drop me off.

It doesn’t take a psychoanalyst to figure out why I keep running from this state.

By now I should be tired of running. The truth is, I find it thrilling. Leaving not only gives me a clean slate, but also an opportunity. There are fifty states in this country and millions of people—ample places and faces to get to know.

I always end up back here.

Not this time.

This time will be different.

This time, I’ll stay away.

The train rolls into Norfolk, Virginia thirteen hours later. The conductor on the loudspeaker pronounces it “No Fuck,” informing us that this is the last stop. I peer out the window, scanning the dusty parking lot for my ride and new roommate. There are too many people milling around, so I grab my bag and get off the train.

I step to the side so I’m not blocking the other passengers getting off and shield my eyes with a hand. I wish I’d thought to grab his sunglasses. They were some silly designer frames, but they’d come in handy right about now.

I’ve got no idea what this woman is supposed to look like, and I don’t have a cell phone, either. If she doesn’t show, I’ll have to figure something else out. I don’t panic because I always do.

“Bree?”

I wrinkle my nose at the woman in front of me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid around.” She winks.

Same old Claudine, with the word “cunt” tattooed down between her tits, her dark hair streaked through with red. “I must’ve got off the wrong stop,” I mutter, turning back toward the train.

Somewhere in Connecticut, Ravage is laughing his ass off.

“Oh, come on, Bree. It’s all water under the bridge.” She grabs my bag, spinning me around. “Besides, you look beat. And hungry. You always got bitchy when you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m even more bitchy when you’re around.” I smooth my paisley skirt across my thighs. It’s threadbare, but I’ll wear it ’til it dies.

“So let’s even you out, then. You look like you could use a burger. Three, maybe.” She eyes the way my skirt hangs on my hips, how my ankles barely fill my boots.

I sigh. I am hungry. There’s nowhere else for me to go, anyway, at least not right now. “Fine,” I relent, “but you’re buying.”

I follow her to a beat up Subaru, watching her bony ass in that tight little skirt. I can’t believe Ravage shacked me up with her. I’d just as soon be on the streets again. Which is probably where I’ll go, the second my stomach is full.

I expect her to take me to a restaurant, somewhere I can just slip out when we’re done. Instead, she drives the half hour to Hampton, where she pulls into a cute condo complex.

“Home sweet home,” she sings.

I flinch. This can’t possibly be her place. It looks so normal. I glare at the townhouse, crossing my arms.

“Oh, stop. Some of us get our lives together. Even a backwarmer like me.” She pushes open the driver’s side door and gets out, grabbing my bag from the backseat. Without another word, she marches inside, leaving the front door open.

Backwarmer. I sniff. More like homewrecker.

My stomach growls, reminding me what I came here for. As soon as I finish eating, I’m out of here. I follow her in, closing the door behind me out of habit. Immediately I wish I’d left it open. It’s too loud in here, the walls painted an angry red. Blue armchairs, accent tables, and a coffee table try to anchor it, but the red and purple throw rugs only amplify it. Scarves in reds, blues, and purples cover the wall behind the blue couch.

I rub my temples.

The outside might look normal, but the interior looks like Claudine threw up everywhere.

I wrap my arms around myself, longing for the eggshell walls of state housing.

The kitchen isn’t much better. The walls are still red, accented with more blue and a little golden yellow along the backsplash. I climb onto a stool at the counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area, and wrap my legs around its rungs.

Claudine dances around the kitchen, singing Bon Jovi while cooking. Another reason I hate her, but not the reason. She puts a plate of three cheeseburgers down in front of me, then sits across from me, her placemat empty. She folds her hands.

I pick up a burger, and grease drips between my fingers. The sensation makes me want to wipe my hands, but there’s no napkin holder on the table. I sink my teeth into the bun. Spices flood my senses, my mouth watering around the food. It’s good.

Fucking Claudine.

Of course she can cook.

While I’m chewing my second bite, she leans forward.

“What?” I ask with my mouth full. She doesn’t deserve manners, even if this might be the best burger I’ve ever had.

“I thought you’d wanna know,” she begins, her eyes intent on mine.

I take another bite, mostly so I don’t have to answer her. Almost one burger down. Two to go. Then I can go, too.

“Mercy’s getting out,” she says, and just like that, my day is ruined.

Thank you for reading Chapter 1 of Her Mercy, a River Reapers MC prequel novella.

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A Recap of A Disturbing Prospect

There’s a lot of stuff happening in these River Reapers MC books, and it’s been over a year since I published A Disturbing Prospect, so you’re bound to forget something. Shoutout to Molli Moran for suggesting I put a recap in the beginning of A Risky Prospect; I decided to do it as a blog post instead, that way it doesn’t take up any space in the book. (Per Amazon’s TOS, bonus content can only take up no more than 10 percent of your ebook.)

Before You Read

Take a look at potential triggers, and check out the glossary of biker terms. There’s also a handy character list.

Previously on the River Reapers MC series…

Cliff was released from prison, but didn’t have anywhere to go. Thanks to terrible prison wages, he’d earned exactly enough for his cab and one night in a shitty motel. There was only one person he could call, but it was a long shot: his cousin Lucy. Would she even remember him? And if she did, would she want to talk to him?

It turned out that not only did Lucy remember him, but she was still grateful for what he did for her. She immediately offered to come down to Pennsylvania from Connecticut and pick him up. She planned on going by herself, but her adopted younger sister Olivia insisted on tagging along. She could use the break from her mundane life as a college student. In just a few months, she’d be graduating and officially a social worker. She had to live it up while she still could. Not too much, though—they almost missed their train!

When Olivia and Cliff meet, they’re instantly attracted to each other.

And then suddenly we’re in Lewisburg, and the Escalade pulls up in front of the entrance to a Days Inn. A man paces out front, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. Long brown hair that’s nearly black frames his face, and he’s got a beard, so I can’t really make out his features. But he’s big.

Not in a heavy way. He’s tall and broad. Even with that bulky hand-me-down coat, I can tell he’s built. It’s like I’m psychic and imagined him into being. Biting my lip, I stifle a giggle. For all I know, he’s really ugly and has a beer gut.

It really has been too long since I’ve gotten laid.

Lucy pays the Uber guy, we grab our luggage, and then my sister and I are standing in front of the motel with Cliff.

“They kicked you out?” she asks him.

He looks up, and depthless brown eyes meet hers. Despite the massive amounts of fur on his face, he’s handsome.

Hot, even.

There’s a scar next to his eyebrow that’s more like a pocked hole. It looks like someone bludgeoned him with a big rock. They probably did. But the rest of his face is intact—no teardrop tattoos or anything like that. His eyes are surprisingly soft and kind. When he smiles at Lucy, it lights up his whole face.

Olivia, Cliff, and Lucy spend a few days in Lewisburg while Cliff gets himself transferred to a probationary officer in Connecticut. Then they’re on the road again—or at least, they should be.

To celebrate, they go out for drinks. Olivia and Cliff have a few shots too many and get skin to skin in the back of someone else’s station wagon. Olivia swears to herself that it’ll never happen again. After all, they’re practically cousins.

But Cliff can’t shake lively, lovely Olivia from his head. It’s been 20 years since he set eyes on a woman, so maybe he’s just crushing on the idea of her. Or maybe it’s something more.

Cliff’s new P.O. sets him up with a job, and on his first day, he realizes he and Olivia have even more in common: they’re both working for a motorcycle club. Neither of them want the other there, and they both keep trying to change each other’s mind.

“They sell drugs, Olivia. This is just a front.” And fuck knows what else they do. I don’t say that, though. “This isn’t a good place for you.”

The relaxed woman in front of me morphs before my eyes. Her eyelids droop so that only slits of her pupils, irises, and whites are showing. Her lip curls. Nostrils flaring, she stabs the cigarette into the air in front of me. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, Livvie—”

“And you don’t get to call me that.” She sucks in a long drag. “The only way this is going to work, Cliff, is if you do you and I do me. We agreed: family reunions. That means you don’t stomp around acting like my fucking daddy.”

I rub my temples. “So you don’t mind working in a place that sells coke?”

The dirty look she tosses me is simultaneously condescending. “What the fuck do you think I do behind this bar? Pour beer for shit tips?”

Oh, Olivia. I look down at my drink, at the cigarette in my hands. I need something a lot stronger. It’s only my first shift and everything is spiraling out of what little equilibrium I had. “You’ll go down with them,” I say. “Do you want that?”

She rolls her eyes. “I want to pay off my student loans. The most I can possibly hope to make is $40,000 a year in this fucking state. I’ll be lucky if I can land a job with DCF. I don’t want to start off in debt right out of the gate.”

“What is it you’re going for?” I pictured her as doing something more adventurous, not sitting in a goddamn state office all day.

Stubbing out her cigarette, she settles those brown eyes on mine. “I want to be a social worker. I wanna help kids in the system.” The unsaid remainder of that sentence hangs between us: So they don’t end up like you.

“Don’t you think,” I say slowly, “that it’ll be a little hard to get a nice state job if you’re convicted of selling drugs?”

“Fuck you,” she lobs at me.

Grinning, I stand. “You already did.” I walk away, the whiskey soaking into me. Not in an out of control way. My veins swim, limbs relaxed. This head is clear.

But Olivia has even bigger problems. A guy from her photography class just won’t take no for an answer. She lets him down gently, but something about him seems off.

Meanwhile, Cliff learns that his father Bastard was the MC’s President. His mother Ruth shielded him from the MC until she died, so he was naive to much of who and what Bastard was.

Until he caught Bastard molesting Lucy.

Cliff killed Bastard and went to prison for his murder. The MC’s current President Ravage explains that he and some of the other members wanted to kill Bastard themselves, but club protocol meant they had to vote. Unfortunately, the vote was split right down the middle, meaning none of the members could take any action against Bastard. Cliff, Ravage explains, did them a favor, so if he wants to join the MC, he’s welcome to be a Prospect.

It’s a lot to take in, but Cliff ultimately decided to become a Prospect because, apart from Lucy, he has no family. The MC could be his family, if he lets it.

Olivia starts noticing odd things: first her roommate Esther’s car gets keyed, then someone tries to kill her kitten. She approaches Donny, the MC’s Enforcer, for a gun—just in case. She’s been hurt by too many men in the past, and it can’t hurt to err on the side of caution.

It all comes to a head when her classmate Eli makes a copy of her apartment key and breaks in. Thankfully, she’s prepared, but she wasn’t prepared to fight him. After a close call, she takes Eli out with a shot to the hand and then to the head. The only thing she didn’t prepare for was the aftermath. She can’t call the cops. Instead, she calls Cliff.

Cliff calls the MC, and with Enforcer Donny and Sergeant-at-Arms Beer Can, he dismembers and disposes of the body. Eli can’t hurt Olivia anymore, but she’s still in a state of shock. It shouldn’t feel so good to take a life. Cliff knows exactly what she means.

MC President Ravage is both irritated with and proud of both Cliff and Olivia for the way they handled things. He reveals to Olivia that her father was Cliff’s father’s Vice President. The club is her birthright, too, if she wants it. The MC offers her a position as a Prospect, and patches Cliff in as a full member.

All that’s left is for Olivia and Cliff to decide whether they should be together. Neither of them can deny the pull they feel toward each other. Besides, the couple that hides a body together stays together, right? They decide to give it a go, for now…

The story continues in A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1

It’s the day I’ve been working toward for the past four years. In just a couple hours, I’ll officially be a social worker. I should be enjoying a quickie with my biker boyfriend before I walk across the graduation stage, but my roommate’s knock interrupts us. The look on her face tells me I might not be making it to the ceremony.

“I need your help, Olivia. I need the club’s help,” she adds, and I know I won’t be making it at all.

You’re reading Chapter 1 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

catch up

author’s note

The following excerpt is NSFW; blush at your own risk! This excerpt may also contain triggers; please see the complete list of triggers for A Risky Prospect.

Olivia

The fabric of my dress tears as Cliff yanks the top down to free my breasts. The ripping sound cuts through the air, loud enough that I swear everyone in the vicinity probably heard it. The vicinity being the River Reapers’ club house.

I always wanted sex so good, clothing had to be ripped. It’s a shame that my graduation dress is collateral damage.

Cliff thrusts into me, oblivious to the heat spreading through my cheeks. He wraps one hand around my breast, his other hand caressing my ribs, crossing my stomach, traveling down, down, down, until the pad of his thumb rests on my favorite nerve. As he gives it one quick stroke—like he’s plucking a note on a guitar, checking to make sure it’s tuned properly—my back arches and I forget that the whole club can hear us, that we just ripped my graduation dress. I fade into him, as in sync with another person as I’ll ever be.

There’s something about him that absorbs me without erasing me. We orbit each other, a symbiotic relationship. Especially when his hands are on me and he’s inside of me.

My hips match his pace, his hand rubbing over my nipple, giving my breast just the right amount of squeeze, drawing me closer and closer to the edge. Without me ever saying so, Cliff instinctively knows the key to me coming with him is his giant hands on my chest. He’s attentive like that.

I’m close, so close I feel like I’m dying. Every woman knows this agony: when you’re right on the edge but not quite there yet. I’m burning alive from the inside out with his match igniting me.

“Close?” he asks, voice rough. It’s always deep and smoky, a rasp that sends shivers through me and makes me wet.

I nod, forgoing words to focus all of my concentration into the final rub he gives me before moving both hands to my breasts. I moan. As long as he keeps doing that, I’ll be more than close. This one’s gonna be one of those firework shows, the kind that leaves me slightly dizzy, staring at the ceiling.

Except the sharp rap of knuckles on Cliff’s door yanks me right out of my happy place and reminds me of why I can’t focus in the first place.

“Olivia!” my roommate, Esther, calls. “We’re gonna be late. Vamonos!”

It’s the day I’ve been working toward for the past four years. In just a couple hours, I’ll officially be a social worker. Esther, too.

“Oh, shit,” Cliff says. He pulls out, but just as his crown brushes my clit, he shudders and lets go. The hot pulse takes me with him, a mini spark instead of the fireworks I’d hoped for, but I’ll take it.

I lay back with a smile.

“Shit,” he growls. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is my fault.”

“I’m the one who grabbed your ass,” he says as he pads away from the bed and ducks into the bathroom.

I sit up on my elbows. “I’m the one who wasn’t wearing any panties.”

Esther pounds harder. “Let’s go,” she calls, drawing out the two words. To think, a few months ago, my bookish roommate was the one dragging her ass, making me play time games so neither of us were ever late. Now she’s in a rush.

I glance down at my ruined dress and sigh. It’s not too big a deal, considering no one’s going to see it under my gown anyway. But still. I kinda liked it.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Cliff says, handing me a washcloth.

“I should punish you by just wearing my gown and nothing else.” I clean up as quickly as possible, then start hunting through his dresser for something else to wear. I don’t stay overnight with him in the club house often, but this winter I learned to keep extra clothing stashed in as many places as possible.

A girl never knows when she’s going to get dirty.

Or bloody.

I slip out of the remains of my dress and tug on the romper.

Cliff groans.

“What?”

Instead of telling me, he closes the space between us and touches my hard nipples through the fabric. “You’re killing me,” he whispers, and I’m immediately wet again.

“I’m leaving!” Esther threatens.

“I liked her better when she was quiet,” I tell Cliff, grabbing my clutch bag. “Donny is a bad influence.”

He chuckles. “And vice versa. Donny was as cold as ice. I saw him smile the other day, and Esther wasn’t even in the room.”

“Please kill me if I ever change for a guy.”

His eyes drop from mine as he picks up his keys. He shrugs into his cut without a word. I wish I could have a moment to run my fingers over the stitching where the arms would be on a normal leather jacket, feel the silky patches and rocker that make him a member of the River Reapers. That make him a Sludge Specter. I pull the door open and come face to face with Esther.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She gives me a look—a death glare that is all Esther and zero percent Donny—and flounces away in her cornflower blue sundress and white canvas sneakers, the color and the dress complimenting and accentuating her long, dark legs.

I roll my eyes at my pale legs, mottled with scars and bruises. There’s also the scar at my hairline.

Cliff catches my hand, drawing me in for a kiss. His warm lips touch mine for a full second, then he pulls back. “See you there,” he says.

Nodding, I leave Cliff’s room and the other club rooms, heading toward the stairs that’ll take me down into The Wet Mermaid, the MC’s strip club and my place of employment. For now, anyway. After graduation, it’ll be a whirlwind of state job interviews and shopping for business casual.

I make my way through the club, my brothers in leather nodding at me and raising their glasses. Girls spin on the poles, and Vaughn mixes drinks behind the bar. Good thing it’s not anyone else. I don’t know where Mark—my boss and the MC’s treasurer—finds some of these girls. They can’t tell top shelf vodka from bottom.

As I exit the club, the heat hits me like a wall, humidity wrapping around me and wrecking what was left of my hair. Gotta love New England weather—it always jumps straight from winter into summer.

I spot Esther’s car, but she’s not in it. Glancing around, I scan the parking lot. Two minutes ago she couldn’t hold her horses, and now she’s nowhere to be found. Typical fucking Esther. Scowling, I grab a cigarette from my clutch and light up. At this rate, Cliff and Donny will be at the campus before we are.

A sob cuts through the thick air, and I whip around. I know that voice. I’ve heard my roommate cry at Finding Dory. I follow the sound, my fingers closed around the handle of the knife in my clutch. I don’t go anywhere without it.

Rounding the corner of the building, I nearly crash into Esther, who’s sagged against the wall, her ass on the ground, knees drawn to her chest. Her shoulders shake and her limp hand loosely holds her phone. Her face is dry, but her chest rises and falls in rapid breaths. She gasps for air, and I drop to my knees in front of her, taking her hands.

“Esther? What’s wrong?”

Thank you for reading Chapter 1 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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