Tag: biker romance

“Take Me to Church” | River Reapers MC Miniseries: Part 3

Olivia’s hand slips into mine and pulls my palm to her, up under her shirt. “I just want to forget, for a bit,” she says.

There’s nothing else to say. I close my fingers around her breast, the softness of it light in my hand, giving it just the right pressure she likes. Her hands clasp my face, my beard brushing against her fingers. It’s getting long, longer than I’ve ever let it get. Not counting prison.

Author’s Note

You asked for more Olivia and Cliff, very very nicely, so here it is! This miniseries runs for 12 weeks (and you don’t need to have read the books to follow along). So grab a snack and drink, kick back, and enjoy.

‼️ This week’s episode is NSFW. Read at your own risk! ‼️

Catch Up: Part 1 | Part 2

Part 3: “Take Me to Church”

Cliff

Around the table, my brothers—the other members of the MC—stare blankly at Olivia.

“What’d you say her name was?” Beer Can asks, the crow’s feet at his eyes more pronounced as he squints at her.

Olivia’s lips part, then close. “I… She didn’t say.”

Skid scoffs. “You dragged us all out here for a woman whose name you didn’t even get? What is this?” he asks Ravage.

Olivia bites her lip.

I rush to defend her, even though I’ve got nothing. “Tommie said she’d recognize the boyfriend if she saw him, right?” When Olivia nods, I surge forward. “So then let’s have her over, see if she recognizes anyone.”

“That’s if this isn’t total bullshit,” Skid says. “Are we really gonna waste club time on some slag from the streets?”

Olivia bristles at the term, shoulders tightening. Her eyes narrow at Skid. “Wanna try that again?”

“You heard me,” he snarls. “Slag.”

She shoves her seat back, his hits the wall as he rises, and I slam him back against the sheetrock.

“Watch your manners,” I growl, my arm pressed against his throat.

He snarls in response.

“That’s enough, Red Dog,” Ravage says, and I release him immediately.

For now.

He lifts a scarred arm, his mottled hand rubbing at his throat, eyeing me with hateful blues.

“I found newspaper articles about it,” Vaughn says from behind his battered laptop. “Her name was Liane Paige.”

Mark shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Not for me, either,” Beer Can says.

“How ‘bout you, Skid?” I ask.

“This is bullshit, Prez,” he says to Ravage. “Are we really going off the whims of a little girl and some slag?” He stares straight at Olivia when he says it. I reach for the collar of his shirt, but Ravage yanks me back.

“Enough. Olivia, you’ve got a barbecue to plan.” He bangs the gavel, dismissing us.

No one moves.

“Did I stutter?” His ice blue eyes appraise us.

Vaughn shuts his laptop. “Someone’s cranky,” he mutters as he stands.

“Hold it,” Olivia says.

I know that look on her face. The one that says she knows better, even if just a smidge. The one that says, “Gotcha.” I know that look because it’s almost the same one she gave me that first night.

Almost.

That night, the corners of her mouth curled up just a bit, with just the slightest hint of mischief, her eyelids heavy. Then she broke into someone’s station wagon and pulled me in behind her, losing clothes as we slid into the back.

The look she’s giving Ravage now has none of the lust. Instead there’s that fire in her eyes that I’ve come to love.

And fear.

Just a little.

“Come on in,” she calls through the closed double doors, doors that club legend says came from an actual local church. They’re old and wood and heavy, so they could’ve.

A woman slips inside, the same woman from the other day.

“We don’t allow outsiders,” Mercy says, his voice warm but tinged with warning. Don’t push it, he seems to be telling his daughter. But of course she won’t listen to him. Not with the strain between them. He turns to Skid and Ravage. “She’ll go. No harm—”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Olivia says, clasping Tommie’s hand. “Do you recognize anyone?”

Tommie lowers her sunglasses, staring from face to face. She skips right over Vaughn, does a double take at me.

I clench my fists under the table so no one sees. It’s what I thought. Bastard must’ve been her mother’s boyfriend. That’s why Ravage didn’t want to do this. Once again, he was protecting my father.

Dead since I went away to prison a lifetime ago, yet he’s still calling all the shots.

I’m sick of cleaning up Bastard’s messes. I’m tired of drying little girls’ tears. Tommie’s too old for his tastes but he still ruined her life. He took her mother.

Yet one more thing I’ll never forgive him for.

Tommie lifts a hand, points a finger. I follow its direction, positive I’ll see myself at the other end of it.

Him. He looks just like his father. He’s the one. That’s what she’ll say any second now.

But when I see who she’s pointing at, my chest spasms like the wind’s been knocked out of me.

Judging by the looks on everyone else’s faces, we’re all just as shocked.

Alone in the room we held Church, I lift Olivia onto the table. “That was hot,” I say, kissing her neck. “The way you had Tommie outside, waiting for the right moment.” My lips move against her skin, kissing up to her chin.

She wraps her legs around my waist. “I can’t believe it, though,” she says. “The mom’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” I touch my forehead to hers, each of us leaning against the other. We breathe in and out, cells recovering after the shock.

Olivia’s hand slips into mine and pulls my palm to her, up under her shirt. “I just want to forget, for a bit,” she says.

There’s nothing else to say. I close my fingers around her breast, the softness of it light in my hand, giving it just the right pressure she likes. Her hands clasp my face, my beard brushing against her fingers. It’s getting long, longer than I’ve ever let it get. Not counting prison.

Her soft lips push mine open, and I forget those hellish years, forget the last thirty minutes. I hitch her skirt up to her waist, push aside her lacy thong, finding her soaked. She nods, emphatic, unbuckling my belt, freeing me. Her fingers squeeze the base of my cock, rolling over the head, notching me to her. Then I push in, sweetly slow, the hot wetness of her sucking me in an inch at a time. She’s quicksand and I’m drowning in her, buried to the hilt, breathing in her oxygen.

She lies back so I can hit it deep, my head reaching the end of her. When I withdraw, my shaft is coated in her. I run a finger along her leaking lips, soaking the pad of it in creamy desire. I bring my fingers to my lips, but she grabs my wrist, sucking me into her mouth, tasting herself.

I come hard, shooting into her, rolling my hips against her in an attempt to bring her with me.

“Come on me while you fuck me with your fingers,” she says, all doe eyes as she lifts her tiny tank, exposing her belly. I shoot onto her, white pearls dotting her skin even as I thrust two fingers into her, pinching her clit while I fuck her. She matches my pace, grinding hard against me, crying out as she squeezes her eyes shut. I feel her clench around my fingers, her thighs shaking, her body going limp.

I grin, feeling proud of myself as she slumps back onto the table, droplets soaking into the wood.

Ravage would kill us if he knew what we just did, but fuck him.

Olivia’s eyes meet mine, her thoughts seeming to sync with mine. She sighs, and I help her sit up. “What do we do now?” she asks, and I know she’s not talking about the mess on the table.

She’s talking about Tommie, Tommie’s mother Liane, and the mysterious boyfriend—Ravage.

To Be Continued…

Read Part 4

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

“Mother ” | River Reapers MC Miniseries: Part 2

I did a lot of hard things without my mother. It made me stronger in some ways, emptier in others. Lonelier.

Author’s Note

You asked for more Olivia and Cliff, very very nicely, so here it is! This miniseries runs for 12 weeks (and you don’t need to have read the books to follow along). So grab a snack and drink, kick back, and enjoy. 🖤

Catch Up: Part 1

Part 2: “Mother”

Olivia

Not too long ago, I was this woman. Wondering where my mother was, looking to the club for answers. I worked as a bartender under Shannon, Ravage’s wife, and she became a sort of surrogate. My childhood memories were a blur, yet I’d washed up on their doorstep the same way Bree had, so many years before, pregnant with me.

I didn’t like the answers I got then, and I’ve got a feeling Tommie won’t like whatever answers she got now.

“Are the police involved?” I ask, hesitant, wary. I don’t need any more run-ins with the PD. None of us do.

“Define ‘involved,’” she mutters.

I don’t press her. I go to the bar, pour us some coffee. With my mug steaming between my hands, I wait for her to tell her story, in her own time, at her own pace.

“She went missing,” she says finally. “I came home from school one day and no Mom in the kitchen. Chocolate chip cookies on the counter.” She gives me a rueful smile. “She was always baking things.”

Bree never baked. She liked to get baked.

“I called the police,” Tommie continues. “They told me she must’ve just run out to the store for something. But I knew something was wrong. She never left me alone. It was annoying—I was fourteen,” she explains, shaking her head.

Bree left me alone all the time. It never even occurred to me to call the police until a few days passed.

“Anyway, they found her a few weeks later.”

I wish I could stand, smile, send her on her way—case closed, she doesn’t need me. The creases at her eyes tighten, and I know this story is far from over, with no happy ending.

“Gunshot, to the head, execution style,” she says softly. “They found her on the side of Route 8, dumped off the Mixmaster.”

I gasp. I can’t help myself. The Mixmaster is the interchange between Route 8 and I-84, smack in the middle of an urban area. I imagine Tommie’s mother tumbling down from the highway, landing on the riverbank, her body broken.

“You don’t just…” My voice trails off as I catch myself, rearrange my face back into something professional, but it’s too late. Tommie’s already seen my shock.

“The police ruled it as a robbery,” she says, meeting my shocked gaze with a steadiness that holds, then wavers. “I never believed that.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” I say quietly. I shouldn’t have said so, not when my club’s involved somehow and I don’t know the details yet.

Protect the club—that’s the first rule of being a member of the River Reapers MC.

That’s why I need to cut to the chase.

But Tommie lost her mother, making her a victim—a survivor. I can’t push her too quickly, or I’ll lose her. Even worse, I could do irreparable damage.

“Did you bring your concerns to the police?” I ask gently.

She scoffs. “I was fourteen. They weren’t listening. I told them my mother’d been dating this guy—real dangerous dude. She never left me alone with him.”

I swallow, thinking of Bree’s boyfriends over the years, the way they eyed me, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Thankfully she had enough sense to never leave me alone with them.

“Who was he?” I ask. “Was he in the club?”

“I’d know him if I saw him.” She leans forward. “That’s why I’m here.”

“For a lineup?” I can’t see how Ravage will ever okay that. Especially not for an outsider. Especially not a dead one.

“I was hoping I could talk to him. Maybe he knows what really happened,” she says, her gaze intense, feverish.

I wish Shannon hadn’t sent Tommie to me, that she’d gotten the details herself. I don’t have this kind of pull with Ravage—only Shannon does, and usually it’s for one of her girls. Protection, errands, things like that.

“I can’t exactly call Church and start bossing a bunch of bikers around,” I say to Tommie, rising. This is the part where I kick her out, tell her I’m really sorry about her mom, but I can’t help her—we can’t help her.

Except helping people is my job. It’s what I thought I’d do, anyway, working within the system to take care of strays like me. I grew up in a foster home, with parents who never adopted me. They just collected a paycheck and told me they’d adopted me. The system, in all its broken glory, was more than okay with that—it kept the money flowing.

Tommie isn’t a kid, though. She’s a grown woman, sniffing around dangerous places for answers. I should shut her down, send her packing in such a way, she never comes back.

Except who would help her, then? Certainly not the police.

I open my mouth, still not sure what to tell her, when Cliff answers for me.

“Bossing around bikers is what Olivia does best,” he says from over by the bar. He leans against the doorway, giving me a knowing smile.

I start to argue, remind him I’m already on thin ice with Ravage. We both are. Then Tommie engulfs me in a hug scented with leather, perfume, and cigarettes—she even smells like Bree, the rush slamming into me, yanking me back to childhood, the way I’d burrow into my mother’s closet while she was gone, mainlining the remnants she left behind. It comforted me, that stale perfume and old leather, in ways she never could.

I know too well what it’s like growing up without a mother.

So I find myself hugging Tommie in return, a quick pat to the back, pulling away with a smile and promise that I’ll talk to my president, that we will. I grab Cliff’s hand and pull all six-four feet of him to me, warding off another hug from Tommie, keeping away another flashback. He squeezes my hand, his presence alone reassuring as I swap phone numbers with Tommie and promise to text her the moment I have news.

Then she’s gone, the wisps of her scent lingering, my head spinning with memories and feelings. Mostly, the sense of abandonment, of emptiness.

I did a lot of hard things without my mother. It made me stronger in some ways, emptier in others. Lonelier.

“I didn’t mean to interfere,” Cliff says, bringing me back to the here and now.

“Oh.” I wave him off. “It’s okay.”

He pauses, head tilted slightly.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, usually you yell at me for things like this.”

Smiling, I rise onto the tips of my toes and kiss him. “I figure Ravage’ll do enough of that for the both of us.”

“Ravage?” he repeats.

I nod. “Since it was your idea, you can tell our president to call Church.”

Tipping his head back, he groans.

“Better catch him while he’s still in a good mood.” I shoulder my bag and kiss him goodbye. “I’ve got a cookout to plan.”

Then I make myself scarce before I get roped into anything else.

To Be Continued…

Read Part 3

Photo by JP Valery on Unsplash

“Echoes from the Past” | River Reapers MC Miniseries: Part 1

She even reminds me of Bree, with the smoker’s pulls around her mouth and that haunted survivor look in her eyes, the one we all seem to share—and recognize immediately.

Note from the Author

You asked for more Olivia and Cliff, very very nicely, so here it is! This miniseries runs for 12 weeks (and you don’t need to have read the books to follow along). So grab a snack and drink, kick back, and enjoy. 🖤

Olivia

History repeats. That’s all I can think as I sit across from Ravage and he tells me it’s my “duty” to throw the club’s big Fourth of July party. I give him a skeptical look through slitted eyes because I’m pretty sure he’s messing with me. He made me throw the club’s big Halloween party, and we all know how that ended.

Okay, it actually turned out great, but that’s not the point.

“I’m not a prospect anymore,” I remind him. “I’m not even your bartender anymore. Can’t you foist this on someone else?”

“We don’t have any prospects right now,” he reminds me in his gravelly voice, “and you’re the lowest man on the totem pole, so to speak,” he adds.

I groan. “I’m a full-time social worker. I don’t have time to organize something this big.”

The River Reapers MC cookout for the Fourth of July is the party of the year. Bikers from other clubs come out in droves. A couple hundred people crowd Ravage and Shannon’s backyard. It’s not no little Halloween haunted house that goes up for an evening. It’s an all-day affair that carries late into the night, often the next morning and day.

“You did great. You can handle this.”

His father-knows-best attitude drives me crazy—and it’s why I love him so much. He’s been looking out for me my whole life, even when I didn’t know I had a guardian angel in the form of a grizzled biker. I’d do anything for him because he’s done everything for me. He’s been a father to me while my biological father cowers and my real dad was in prison.

That’s the only reason I don’t slouch out of his office like a teenager who’s been told to go clean their room.

“And Olivia?” he calls as I reach the hall.

“Yes?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“The hotdogs. They have to be Deutschmacher—”

“I know, I know. I’ll get you your ‘douchey’ hotdogs,” I tease, purposely mispronouncing the only brand he’ll eat. The man is a picky toddler.

“Thank you,” he says, and the hint of a smile plays on his lips. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him smile, not in a happy way, so I hightail it out of there before those icy blue eyes pierce me.

I don’t make it far before I run into the other man who’s done everything for me.

“There you are.” Cliff bends down to kiss me, his beard grazing my cheek, his hands brushing my hips as he pulls me into an embrace. “I heard the boss wanted to see you. Everything cool?”

I chuckle darkly. “Define ‘cool.’ He’s making me plan the Fourth bash.”

“Damn. What’d you do to deserve that?” he jokes.

“Apparently too good a job on the Halloween thing.” Shrugging, I loop my arms around his neck and lean into him. “Maybe you can help me de-stress a little…” I say it suggestively, let it hang between us. I’ve been trying—and failing—to keep it casual between us. We’ve been everything but, not with the things we’ve done together.

Things most couples never dream think of—like disposing of rapists.

“I’d love to,” he says, with that tender emphasis he keeps putting on the L-word.

I know how he feels. It’s obvious. What isn’t so obvious is how I feel, and how to keep my heart safe after everything I’ve been through.

“There’s someone else who wants to see you, though,” he continues.

“Who?”

He leads me out of The Wet Mermaid’s employees-only area and onto the strip club and bar’s main floor. At this time of morning, it should be empty—a couple stragglers from last night’s drinking, if anything. But a small figure in a too-big hoodie sits huddled at a table.

At first I think they must be a kid—a teenager, maybe. As I approach, she lifts her head and the hood falls away. I see crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and I put her in her forties, just a few years older than my mother.

She even reminds me of Bree, with the smoker’s pulls around her mouth, the perpetual terrors life’s rained down on her displayed for all to see by the elevens on her brow. She’s got that haunted survivor look in her eyes, the one we all seem to share—and recognize immediately.

It gives “it takes one to know one” a whole new meaning.

“What is this?” I whisper to Cliff as we draw closer.

She stands. “Shannon told me I could… She said to ask for Olivia.”

I throw on my social worker face, the one that says “I’ve seen everything and I’m listening.” Except I’m pretty sure most social workers haven’t seen half the shit I have.

I drop into the chair opposite her and motion for her to sit, too. Cliff makes himself scarce, probably sensing she’s nervous to talk in front of a man. He’s empathetic like that.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Tommie,” she says. Chipped and clipped fingernails shred a napkin. “Shannon said maybe you could help…”

I’m gaining quite the reputation. If it keeps going this way, I’ll have to set up a hotline or something, the way Shannon’s Haven has a private number that rape and domestic violence victims can use to contact her shelter.

That is, anyway, if Ravage doesn’t take me to the river for all the trouble I keep bringing to his front door.

This one isn’t my fault, though—I can honestly say that. I start to tell her that she’s got the wrong place, that I can’t bring another body to the club, that I’m so sorry for what happened to her, but I can’t afford to be involved with another murder. Then she says something really interesting, something that makes me shut up and listen.

“My mother went missing in the nineties, and I think your club had something to do with it.”

Like I said, history repeats.

To Be Continued…

Read Part 2

Photo by Drew Beamer on Unsplash

A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1

After 20 years in prison, I’m finally free, but I’ll never be free from what I did. There’s only one person who can help me now that I’m out. Assuming she forgives me for what I did to save her. First I have to find her.

Cliff

The second the sun touches my skin on the other side of the barbed wire chain link fence, I am truly free. It doesn’t matter that I have to meet with my probation officer, or that I don’t exactly have any place to go. All that’s important is I’m not rotting within those cement walls anymore.

My twenty years are finally up.

The taxi idles, puffs of exhaust eddying into the cold February air. The dead of winter is a shitty time to be homeless, but even that thought doesn’t dampen my spirits. Prison wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t like being outside. Inside, I was just a caged animal throwing myself at the bars, bruising and bloodying myself in defiance. I was in segregation more times than I can count, and I’m lucky I got out five years early.

I’d kiss the fucking ground if the guy behind the wheel wasn’t already eyeing me warily.

I slide into the backseat, warmth from the heater enveloping me. A sigh nearly escapes my lips. It’s been so long since I was really, truly warm.

Through the rearview mirror, the taxi driver continues to question my sanity. He isn’t prejudiced. “Where to, sir?” he asks, his voice void of any accent. He could be from Anywhere, America. Actually, the United States could’ve sunk into the bowels of hell while I was inside, for all I know. Maybe this accent is the new norm.

I squint at him, trying to decide whether I’ve lost my fucking mind or if this is really the way things are now. He even looks racially ambiguous, with a broad hooked nose, green eyes, and olive skin.

The newspapers I managed to get my hands on were always old, and the old men hogged the lone fucking TV all day. I have no clue what’s going on in the world. Or where I’m going.

Maybe he takes pity on me, because his eyes soften and he clears his throat. “How long have you been in, sir?”

I really wish he’d stop with the sir, but it’s better than what I’ve been called. What I am. Who. “Twenty years,” I tell him.

He nods real slow, then he rubs his chin, the stubble not quite poking through yet. It’s too early in the day. It’s another difference between us. My goatee is scratchy. I didn’t have time to shave this morning.

“Well,” he says finally. “We have a woman president.”

This I knew. I start to tell him that I haven’t been living in a fucking hole, but that would not be true. “Isn’t that something,” I reply.

He shoves the taxi into drive and pulls away from the only home I’ve ever known. I’ve been inside longer than I’d been alive when I went in.

A sliver of panic creeps in. I don’t know how to cook or how to drive a car. It seems ridiculous, pathetic. And I still don’t know where I’m going. I have no one on the outside. At least, I don’t think so.

During the first year, I had visitors. Then they trickled into phone calls, faded into letters, until finally, nothing. I don’t blame them. Twenty years is a long time, and Pennsylvania isn’t exactly close to home.

The taxi driver takes me to a Days Inn. I don’t even bother looking through the glass as we drive through the small town. There’s not a damn thing here.

I use most of the only cash I have left to buy a room for the night, and when I leave the lobby to find my room, the taxi is already gone. Blinking into the winter gloom, it starts to sink in that I don’t have any friends, inside or out.

I’m a goddamn statistic.

But the room has a shower that doesn’t run cold after two minutes, and I take a half hour to revel in my first real taste of freedom. The hot water sluices over hard muscle I’ve been careful to build and maintain. My own mother probably wouldn’t recognize me.

After I step out, I clear the mirror with a hand and take a good look. It’s been a while since I looked at my reflection in something other than a mirror that more closely resembled a dented paper towel dispenser. In the pen, everything is constructed with safety in mind, carefully evaluated to ensure that even the simplest of tools can’t be converted into deadly weapons.

But anything can be a weapon.

Anything.

Even my bare hands.

The goatee doesn’t surprise me. It’s familiar and has kept my face warm for two decades. It’s the crow’s feet at the corners of my brown eyes that make me pause. I’m only thirty-eight, but even though I don’t feel it, I look it. Maybe even five years older.

A frown creases my forehead.

It really shouldn’t matter. I’m not entering any beauty pageants anytime soon. And any woman who might be interested would be quick to run in the opposite direction the second she heard about my record.

She’d be careless not to.

I drape the towel over the hook on the back of the door and stalk out bare as the day I was born. There’s no one here to see me, and I’m not too keen on the idea of changing back into those clothes. They were donated to the prison. Never were mine. The clothes I wore the day I was cuffed are long gone, tucked into some forgotten evidence bin or maybe even burned, since the case was pretty quickly closed.

There was no point in pleading innocence.

I sit on the bed and eye the phone. I might have one friend out there. It’s a long shot, really. But maybe not that long.

Snatching the phone from its cradle, I pause. Try to remember how to call someone whose number you don’t have. I have no fucking idea. I slam the receiver down, wishing I had a pack of cigarettes. Or even one cigarette would do.

I’m about to throw back on those moldy old clothes when I remember. I can call the front desk, ask them. For a second, I feel even more pathetic. I’m like an old man with dementia. I’m lucky I don’t need help wiping my ass.

The outside is so much different than I pictured.

The closer I got to my parole hearing, the more convinced I was that there would be some kind of process. A sort of easing into things for the post-release inmate. When I mentioned it to my C.O., motherfucker laughed at me and handed me a booklet. The morning of my release, he handed me some cash—my total earnings. Twenty years of pennies on the hour, and I can’t even afford a second night at a shithole motel.

I need to make that call, because it’s the only chance I have.

Otherwise, I’ll be right back in within hours of walking out.

Sucking in a breath between my teeth, I pick up the phone again and call the front desk.

A chipper female voice answers—a young voice. “Days Inn front desk. How can I help you?”

“Hey there, sweetheart,” I drawl. My voice is smoked whiskey, smooth but with a bite. “I need to look someone up in Connecticut.”

She draws in a breath, then hesitates. “You’re serious?” Her voice lilts, amused.

I lay it on thick, dropping my voice several octaves—still sweet, but low enough to drop panties. “Yeah, baby. I really need your help.”

A giggle caresses my ear before she can collect herself. She’s definitely young.

I close my eyes for a moment, the memory of another small laugh pricking at me. The anger rises up quickly, fire shooting through my veins. I struggle to stuff it down, to shove the lid on it before it can backdraft, blowing me straight out of the room and right back into Lewisburg Pen.

“What’s the name?” she asks, completely oblivious to the man burning on the other end.

Sucking in a deep breath, I manage to slow it for a moment. “Lucy Demmel.” Saying her name only makes it worse. The panic shoves its way in. I wonder if she’s even alive. If she’s healthy. Safe. Or if she’s just another statistic, too. I jump up from the bed. Pace the room. Wait.

The receptionist spells out our last name, and the sound of tapping reaches my ears. It’s a weird tapping, though—a computer keyboard.

I frown. “Aren’t you going to patch me through?”

She laughs. “I’m looking her up on Facebook. Hold on.”

My eyebrows furrow. Facebook? Before I can ask what the fuck that is, my angel lets out a triumphant “Ah-ha!” and rattles off a number to me. I fumble for the pen and notepad in the drawer, ask her to repeat it, and jot it down.

“Are you sure that’s really her?” I need to know, because I can’t take the disappointment.

“Lucy Demmel,” she says, as if she’s reading. “Twenty-eight, lives in Naugatuck, Connecticut. Went to Naugatuck High School. She’s in a relationship—”

“Wait.” I take another deep breath. “How do you know all this?” The age is right. The town, too. “Never mind,” I say, even as my angel laughs at me. Flat out laughs. Not just amused. She’s almost hysterical. “How does she look?”

The laughter dies. “You’re not, like, a stalker . . . are you?”

I sigh. “She’s my cousin. Same last name. Come on. What does she look like?”

She makes a skeptical sound, like a hmph. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given you her number. Oh shit. Am I going to get fired? Please don’t get me fired. I can’t keep a job—”

Christ. I’ve always been a magnet for headcases. “Shh, baby. I’m not a stalker. She really is my cousin. Check my room records. My last name is Demmel. But don’t call me Clifford, or I’ll . . .” The threat dies on my lips, because it’s not an idle one. I blink, and wonder how long it’ll take for the prison effect to wear off. How long before I’m normal again. I don’t even know who I am anymore, or what normal is.

“She has long red hair. Kinda wavy, like. Real sad green eyes. And . . .” Her pause stretches, almost endless. “A beauty mark or mole thing right near her eyebrow.”

I almost cry with relief. That’s my Lucy.

“Her last post: ‘Strength isn’t keeping your tears locked up when you’re sad, it’s saying no to a marriage proposal from the sexiest, sweetest man alive, even when everyone expects you to say yes. Fuck that shit.'” She snorts. “What?” She whisper-reads it again.

That fucked up sense of humor is Lucy, all the way. I rattle off the phone number back at my angel to make sure I got it right, then hang up.

I pick up the phone again and dial the number. It rings, the connection crackly but real. I almost lose my shit. I don’t know what I’m going to say. Or if she even remembers me. She was so little. Maybe she blocked the whole thing out.

A loud male voice booms into my ear. “PLEASE DIAL THE NUMERAL ONE BEFORE THE AREA CODE. This is a recording.”

I hang up, muttering a “No shit.” Clearing my throat, I try again—this time dialing one. I vaguely remember needing to do that before I went in.

This time, the call goes through. It rings five times, and then my heart stops.
“Hey, you’ve reached Lucy. You know what to do, dontcha?”

The disappointment shoots into me. My shoulders slump and I almost drop the phone onto the floor.

“Please leave a message after the tone. When you are finished recording, hang up, or press one for more options.”

A shrill beep pierces my ears, and I nearly drop the phone again.

“Shit. No, wait. Sorry, Luce.” I pause. Suddenly I really have no idea what to say. “Uh, yeah. Luce, this is Cliff. I don’t know if you remember me. It’s been ages since I got a letter from you. I assumed your parents shut that shit down real fast. Sorry. Well, I guess you’re not eight anymore, so it’s okay to swear around you.”

I’m babbling. Taking a deep breath, I try to make words that won’t freak her out.

“Luce, I know this is asking a lot. And do you even go by Luce anymore? Or do you prefer Lucy?” I rake my free hand through my hair. I’m fucking this up. Majorly. I let out a low, frustrated sound. “Okay, look, I’m at the Days Inn in Lewisburg. Fucking Pennsylvania, Luce. I’m just gonna lay it all out here: I have no money, nowhere to go, and I have to stick around at least long enough to see my parole officer. So maybe . . .”

Suddenly I realize how desperate I sound. But I am.

“Sorry to bother you, Luce—Lucy. Just forget it.”

I hang up.

Dressing, I decide I’m better off spending my time finding a job. If I’m going to get out of this ass crack of a town, I’m gonna need cash—fast. There’s got to be a diner or something looking for suckers who don’t mind bussing tables for minimum wage. And maybe they’ll even overlook my record.

The odds of me finding a job are even lower than finding Lucy. I figure my angel at the front desk can’t possibly save me twice, but maybe she can. Maybe she’s from around here and knows of a place that will hire without asking questions. Or she can at least point me to the closest drug dealer so I can start selling too.

I really will be a statistic if I don’t get my shit together.

My hand is on the door knob when the phone rings. I freeze, then turn in slow motion toward the nightstand where the phone rests. But it keeps ringing, and I have to accept that I’m not imagining it.

I dart across the room and grab it, pressing it to my ear. “Yeah. Lucy?”

“Cliff,” she sobs. “Is it really you?”

A relieved sigh escapes my lips. “It’s me,” I say with a smile. She sounds so different, yet I’d know that voice anywhere.

“You’re really out? I can’t believe it. I thought you had another five years.”
“Yeah, I got lucky. Overcrowding and good behavior.” Mostly. Plus I had a lawyer that was really good at talking judges into dreamland.

“Cliff, holy shit. Where are you? I mean, I know where, but when are you coming home?” She’s talking so fast, I can barely understand her. I love every second of it.

I hate to disappoint her. Even after all these years. “Luce . . .”

I can almost hear her shoulders slump. “You’re not coming home?”

“Not likely. At least, not anytime soon. I’m broke, kid. And I—”

“I’ll PayPal you some money,” she says, and now she’s really talking fast. I strain to understand her, the words like a foreign language. At least her accent is Connecticut.

I let her finish, again wishing I had a cigarette. Something to calm my nerves.

“Cliff? You there?”

Swallowing past the dry lump in my throat, I tell her I am. “I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about, Luce.”

“Okay, just give me your email address.”

She’s going to think I’m an alien, that the games we played when she was a kid were real. “I don’t have one.”

She barks out a laugh. “What? Oh. No Wi-Fi in prison.”

“Wi-Fi?” My head starts to throb.

“Um . . . Like AOL, but wireless.” She laughs again. “Wow, this is so funny. You’re like a newborn.”

It’s good that she can be so positive about this—about anything.

“All right, let me think.” She hums a little. “No email address, and I’m guessing you don’t have a bank account either. Jesus, prison is inhumane. Well, there’s only one solution.”

I shrug, because seeing as how I can barely grasp this Wi-Fi stuff, I’m probably going to be blown away by whatever she comes up with.

“Cliff, text me your address.”

The throbbing between my eyes intensifies. “Luce, I don’t—”

“Fuck,” she yells. “You probably don’t even know what a cell phone is.”

“I know what a cell phone is,” I shoot back.

“Yeah, the clunky TV-remote-looking ones from the early 2000s,” she jokes.

Both of my eyebrows lift. “Everything is different now, huh?” My voice is low, but not that flirtatious purr I used on the girl at the front desk. I sound sad. I need to man the fuck up.

“It is,” she agrees. “But don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you, reintroduce you to the wild. And teach you how to play Pokémon GO.”

“I know how to play Pokémon,” I grumble.

She laughs again. “This is way different, trust me. It uses GPS and—”

“Okay, mercy. My head hurts.”

Her giggle, however, is a soothing mother’s stroke across my forehead. It reminds me of better times. “I’m gonna come down there, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her. I’m supposed to be a man. It should be me taking care of her, not the other way around.

She snorts. “Dude,” she says, “trust me. You need a guide. And I’m currently on vacation, licking my wounds.”

I suddenly remember what the receptionist read to me. “You got married?”

“No,” she says, almost sadly. “It’s against my rules.”

“What are you, a nun?” For a second, it feels like I’ve gone back twenty years in time, like we’re just kids busting each other’s balls.

“Nuns,” she says, “don’t have one-night stands.”

I nearly choke. “I don’t ever want to know about your sex life.”

“You sure? You don’t want to live vicariously? Must’ve been awfully lonely in prison.” I can practically hear her smirking.

“No,” I tell her firmly. A few seconds pass. My voice softens. “Hey, Luce? Thanks.”

Her voice is so small when she finally responds. “No, Cliff, thank you.”

I shake my head, wondering if other people have these kinds of conversations. Sighing, I let her direct the conversation for a few. She rattles off times and schedules, then promises to be at my room before checkout time.

“Please set a wakeup call,” she begs.

“Yeah, yeah.” I smile, though. “Hey, Luce? What’s Facebook?”

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

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River Reapers MC Halloween Special: Part II

We’re seen as bad and dirty because we prefer another way of life. We live for freedom and family, and not the cultish, biblical, nationalist bullshit so many people spout. It’s about the freedom of the road in front of you and the one at your back. It’s about the freedom to ride as a woman alongside men, as equals. They don’t like that I’m not a possession. They don’t like that I wear what I want and fuck who I want, just like my brothers do.

While you wait for the next book in the River Reapers MC series, here’s a special treat. This spooky short story can be read as a standalone whether you’re new to the MC or a longtime member (trigger- and spoiler-free)!

Part II

Cliff

I’ve got one hour to get rid of a rat and get into costume, and my bike won’t start.

It’s my fault. I put it off too long. It’s just that this rat is my brother, someone like family even though I barely know him; being away for so long stripped me of that privilege. If we let him live, he’ll just cause more problems. It’d be stupid to let him hang around. One rat could bring down our entire club.

I’m not going anywhere if I can’t get my bike started, though. And if I’m late to this party, nothing will make it up to Olivia. She’s stressed the fuck out, scared that she’ll fail Shannon and Ravage. My job is to wear the dumb costume and host by her side, pretending we’re the cool couple who opens up our home to a town that doesn’t trust us on a good day. Shannon’s Haven is one of the positive things our club does that people actually see, and it’s what keeps the town from driving us out. It’s what keeps the police from raiding us. Because of all the people Shannon saves, we’re untouchable.

Another motorcycle pulls into the gas station, and I exhale in relief when I recognize the rider.

“You good, brother?” Donny calls out as he swings off his bike.

“Won’t start.” I throw up my hands. “Battery’s good and I just filled the fucking tank. I’m late,” I add.

“You take care of Ravage’s rat problem?” he asks, inspecting the bike.

“Not yet.”

“Better get on that.” He flips the kill switch back to off. “There ya go. Must’ve bumped it.”

I whistle. “I’m a fucking wreck.”

“If this is you on Halloween, I gotta see what you’ll be like on your wedding day.”

I look away. “It’ll never happen, brother.”

“Oh, I got a good feeling it will.” He claps me on the shoulder. “As long as you take care of that rat.”

“Why’s it gotta be me?” I ask him. “That’s usually your department.”

He chuckles. “Not in this case. That fucker’s chewed through everything in the dry storage, and he’s evaded all my traps.” His dark eyes meet mine. “Mercy said he heard you made friends with the rats in Lewisburg seg.” He holds a straight face for a moment, then busts out laughing.

“Fuck you,” I say, but I laugh too, only for a second. “It just seems cruel, to kill a guy who’s just trying to eat.”

“That guy bites one of the kids tonight, you’ll be singing a different tune.”

“My buddy doesn’t bite. I’ve hand-fed him cheese, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s exactly why you gotta be the one to take him out. Fucker don’t trust no one else.” He pats me on the back again. “Clock’s ticking.” Turning, he goes into the gas station.

I ride over to the Mermaid and slip in among the chaos of a dozen club girls setting up. From somewhere I hear Pru delegating Olivia’s orders, and I grin with pride. Despite what Olivia thinks, my girl is running this; Shannon will be more than proud when she and Ravage walk in tonight, fresh from their mini getaway.

I close myself in the storage room, flipping on the light and standing still. A few seconds of silence pass, then I hear the telltale squeaking. A fat rat streaks out from the shadows, standing on his hind legs, nose sniffing the air.

This rat does not have any disease. He’s the cutest, friendliest little dude I’ve ever met. Maybe that makes me dirty and weird, the guy who makes friends with the lowest of the low. But it wasn’t that long ago that guys like him and me were equals, scraping by with whatever crumbs we could find, hiding in the shadows and biding our time. If I could, I’d take him home with me, but I’m pretty sure my landlord wouldn’t see him as a pet.

“Hey, buddy.” I hold out a hunk of cheese in my hand and, like usual, he comes right up to me. While he nibbles away, I scoop him into a rescue box and secure him. He scrabbles around inside, his squeaks accusing. “I know it, man.”

Swinging open the door, I pass him to the wildlife removal agent that I had meet me here. He’s a friend of Mark’s, so this’ll never get back to OSHA.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell the rat.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the agent tells me. “We relocate all our catches, unless there’s a reason not to.”

He carries the box to his van and I wish the little guy good luck. Then I go change, before I’m really late.

Olivia

I stand in the guest bedroom, staring into the framed mirror leaning against the wall. Even this spare room has Shannon all over it, cozy and dreamy with just the right touch of gloom. I’m so out of place in this costume.

I should’ve added this to the list. I don’t know what Lucy was thinking, giving us these relics from her years with her baby daddy. She probably thought it was hilarious, and normally I would, too, but tonight’s not the night. We’re trying to show the town we are the good guys, even if our methods are a little—okay, a lot—questionable. This just feels like we’re rubbing it all in everyone’s faces.

The whole town knows what Cliff did. It’s why our business slowed when he got out—and our clientele is always down for a drink and lap dance. It’s why people give us dirty looks when they see us in public. The benefit rides we do every month help, but only so much. That’s why the Halloween bash is so important. It’s a yearly way for us to change how the town sees us. They can’t hate the club that shelters half the town’s women when their own men drink too much.

People hate us because we’re up front about who we are; all of us have committed crimes. The only difference is, none of our men have ever beaten a woman. The only woman we’ve ever touched was Esther’s mother, and she had it coming. We’re seen as bad and dirty because we prefer another way of life. We live for freedom and family, and not the cultish, biblical, nationalist bullshit so many people spout. It’s about the freedom of the road in front of you and the one at your back. It’s about the freedom to ride as a woman alongside men, as equals. They don’t like that I’m not a possession. They don’t like that I wear what I want and fuck who I want, just like my brothers do.

And they definitely don’t like what Cliff did to his own father.

They didn’t like what Bastard was doing to Lucy, either, but every one of them looked the other way.

Taking a deep breath, I smooth my sexy police uniform. At least the handcuffs will be fun, later—if Cliff actually shows up.

He’s vowed never to wear orange again, and I’d hope that means not even for me—on Halloween or any other circumstances. He’ll probably just come in his standard hoodie and T-shirt, proudly wearing his cut over all of it. Even though I don’t blame him, I’m a little bummed that we won’t be in matching costumes. I know it’s one of those dumb, sickeningly cute things that dumb, sickeningly stupid people do, but just for once I want to be those people so deliriously in love, they dress up together. We have so few normal things. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I secretly enjoy when we do them.

“Let it go,” I tell myself. “It ain’t happening.”

I slip on my thigh-high boots just as the doorbell rings. I hear Esther open the front door below, letting in the first wave of ticket holders. Their gasps of delight at the fog machine and spooky music drift up to me, and I smile. If nothing else, I did a damn good job of arranging all of Ravage’s Halloween decorations. It’s not what it usually looks like, but that’s because I’m not Shannon. I’m me.

And I did it my way.

Joining everyone downstairs, I realize I am a little worried Cliff didn’t show. It’s not like him, and the last time he disappeared, I let Stixx set a building on fire when we found him. I get a little crazy when my baby’s in trouble. He, on the other hand, becomes totally unhinged if anyone even breathes wrong in my direction. I’ve seen him go from sweet and sensitive to protectively violent in zero seconds flat. I’ve never seen him blow me off. Even when we were broken up, he showed up for me.

I’m torn between concern and scorn when the door opens and he steps inside, his face blank while I take in what he’s wearing. He’s dressed in an orange jumpsuit, with “inmate” stamped across his back. With his long black hair down and the scar on his face, I can see the angry, lonely man he must’ve been when he was inside. He had every right to be. It destroys me a little every time I think about him ever being unloved and secluded, this sweet man who’s helped me shower when I was too shellshocked to move, and cuddles our tiny niece while singing to her—after changing her diaper, and no one even asked.

I’m supposed to say something, to lighten the moment somehow, but I’m struck speechless by how much it must’ve taken him to put on his “costume.” Even if he doesn’t talk about it, I know that being in prison for two decades did a number on him. He pretends he’s okay just so that Lucy, I, and everyone else don’t worry about him. I also know when he doesn’t sleep at night because he’s dreaming of Lewisburg again.

So I don’t crack a joke. I just close the distance between us, throw my arms around his neck, and pour everything I’m feeling into the kiss I breathe into his lips. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. “You didn’t have to do this.”

His palms cup my ass. “You have handcuffs,” he says with a grin, appreciating my sexy cop costume. “I definitely had to do this.”

“Get a room,” Esther says with a wink. A second later, Donny grabs her ass, and it looks like a pair of Converses are making out, because each of them is wearing a giant shoe.

The girls—vampire Cierra, witchy Abril, and the cutest ghost ever, Ximena—pretend to be disgusted, but they wear matching smiles. It’s so good to see them happy.

Lucy and Stixx shuffle in, with Bunny in the costume I ordered her months ago. I told them they had to match her, and holy shit, they actually did it. She’s wearing tiny boxing gloves and a matching red headband and shorts, with a white onesie. A spot of red still stains one of her legs. Stixx is dressed as her coach, and Lucy is a ring girl.

“I didn’t think you’d actually go for it!” I laugh. “I fucking love you guys.”

No one else in our club is sharing a theme. Beer Can is a dwarf from Lord of the Rings. Mark has a pair of vampire fangs in one of his pockets. Skid is dressed as one of the Men in Black. Vaughn and Cami came separately, but they’re both Boba Fett. Abraham must’ve lost a bet with Vaughn, because he’s wearing a rainbow tutu and a scowl.

Bree and Mercy come late, but their cheeks are flushed and she’s wearing the same witch costume she’s been rocking since I was a kid. Occasionally he steals her hat and pretends he’s her wizard.

Dozens of people come through the house, and between the ticket sales and baskets raffle, I’m pretty sure we’ve made at least what Shannon pulls in every year. I sneak into the kitchen for a celebratory drink, finally feeling like I can let loose.

The back door opens and Shannon steps inside. “Honey, we’re home.” She engulfs me in a hug, her witch costume almost identical to my mom’s.

They’re so similar, yet one stayed and the other left. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Any time. Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes misting a little. “It was good to spend some time together. I missed him, crazy as that sounds.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, peering through the passthrough at all of my family together.

Ravage steps in through the back door, and I hug him hello. His face is painted as a skull.

“Seriously?” I tease. “How’s this any different from every other day? You did a good job, though.”

“You did good, kid,” he says, one arm still around me. “I knew everything would be safe in your hands. Both of your hands,” he adds as Cliff ducks into the kitchen.

Ravage steps away and Cliff’s arms take his place. It’s almost as if I’ve been passed from father to groom. Ravage and Shannon stand arm in arm, smiling over at us. A dreadful sort of deja vu locks my limbs for a moment, and then the Halloween playlist changes tracks and the ghoulish laughter grounds me in the moment. I have the whole night to look forward to, hours in Cliff’s arms, surrounded by the kids’ laughter and the wash of voices as everyone talks at once. I lean back into him, content.

I ignore the way everyone is looking back at me, because if I look too closely, I’d realize none of this is real.

The End

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She’s a criminal when it comes to sex

The following is a NSFW excerpt from A Disturbing Prospect.

🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶

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

She’s dead serious.

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

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

“No, but—”

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

There are so many technicalities wrapped up in this night.

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

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

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

“Your turn.”

So much for savoring this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” I growl into her ear. “No.”

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

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

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

It’s the best I’ve ever had.

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

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

My heart just about stops.

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

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

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

This can never, ever happen again.

A Disturbing Prospect

Whose secret is more disturbing, his or hers?

Olivia

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

I’ll just have to handle it myself.

Cliff

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

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

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

Available everywhere books are sold!

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River Reapers MC Halloween Special: Part I

While you wait for the next book in the River Reapers MC series, here’s a special treat. This spooky short story can be read as a standalone whether you’re new to the MC or a longtime member (trigger- and spoiler-free)!

Before You Read…

Guess everyone’s costumes! Just save the image, then draw to match each character to a costume. Then tag me on Instagram with your guesses!

Part I

Olivia

“We’re throwing a Halloween party, and Olivia’s organizing,” Ravage, the President of the River Reapers MC says, casting me the quickest of glances. “We’ve also got a bit of a rat problem—”

“Back up a sec.” He’s not getting off that easy. It’s bad enough I have to clean up after their drunk asses as their bartender. It’s bad enough they pranked the shit out of me as their Prospect. These pains in my ass want me to plan their Halloween bash? The one that requires tickets, because so many people come, from all over?

“It’s not a big deal.” Ravage leans back in his chair at the head of the table, stretching lazily like he didn’t just hand me his baby.

This is the party. He and Shannon host a haunted house at their place every year, with music, food, and booze back at The Wet Mermaid, the MC’s strip club. It goes well into two in the morning, sometimes later, depending on how the police department feels about us at the time. All the proceeds from the ticket sales and raffles go to Shannon’s Haven, a shelter for survivors of rape and domestic violence. This is the fundraiser that sponsors everything Shannon does for another year. And Ravage is just giving it to me?

I’m one of Shannon’s strays, in a way. I washed up here every time my mother Bree disappeared, because before DCF got their hands on me, I belonged to the club. They were my family. Because of Ravage’s record, they weren’t allowed to foster or adopt me, so I was ripped from their leather-clad arms and placed with even worse people. As soon as I turned eighteen, I came back to the Mermaid for a job, and I’ve been family again ever since.

Now I’m one of the River Reapers, for real. Me—the little girl without a family. Now I’ve got more family than I can handle. Just like a standard suburban family, they drive me crazy.

I’d do anything for them, anyway.

“Is this one of those things where you surprise me with a little responsibility now because later you’re gonna drop the whole thing in my lap?” I slide a smirk over to Cliff. He knows exactly what I’m talking about, even if neither of us knows exactly where our complicated relationship stands.

“Sure seems like it,” Cliff agrees.

That’s just how Ravage rolls. He has his secret, all-knowing, father-knows-best agenda, and nine times out of ten, the fucker’s right. That’s what makes it infuriating. He knows what the ten of us sitting with him at this table are capable of before we even do. I always think he’s insane, and he always proves me wrong. Like the time he taught seven-year-old me how to shoot a gun. Way fucked up, but it saved my life later.

I know he loves me like I was his own daughter, but sometimes it’s so creepy, the way he just knows things. I bet the fucker even knows when he’s gonna die, and everything he’s doing is just to prepare us for that day.

Which is why I narrow my eyes at him.

“You love Halloween, and there’s no way Shannon just agreed to put all of her funding in my hands.”

“Actually, it was her idea.” His ice blue eyes are firm. “She wants to go away for a few days, and I want you to run everything so smoothly, she doesn’t feel guilty.”

In that case, I can do this. Shannon’s been like a mother to me over the years, in ways I never even realized. The least I can do is take over so she can take a break.

“Then I only have one question,” I say, lifting my chin.

“Yeah?”

“Can we still do the haunted house at your place?”

Cliff

I stretch fake spider webbing across the front bushes, my memories as real as the October chill in the air. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed around the club. My mother made sure that I was kept in the dark. Halloween was the only exception, and that was only because Bastard took me to the haunted house and straight back home. I gotta give Ruth props, because I had no fucking clue my old man was the President of a biker club. He came home for dinner every night just like all my friends’ dads. Until I found Ruth in the tub, I had no idea we weren’t like every other family.

A lot of the time, I’m angry. I try to hide it, but it comes out anyway. I’m Frankenstein, a big dumb brute barely holding it together.

I stick the little plastic spiders into place, envisioning the yard lit up by strobe lights like it used to be. This is the house that goes overboard every year, the house everyone wants to see. Shannon’s decor is already dreamy boho goth, so all it needs on the inside is a few fake spiderwebs and some mood music. Halloween is when it’s cool to show off the animal skulls she collects.

Olivia pokes her head out the front door. “You almost done with that? I’ve got another job for you.”

“All done.”

She steps onto the porch and I join her, wrapping an arm around her to keep away the chill. For a brief moment, her warmth seeps into me, and I close my eyes. Peace is so fleeting for us. Even before we met, our lives were a mess of chaos and hurt. She’s the home I’ve been aching for, but she has yet to invite me in. Not all the way, anyway. After all she’s been through, she guards her heart, and I can’t blame her. It’s my job to prove to her that she can trust me, time after time.

“What do you need?” I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in. Just her nearness sets my senses on fire, my hands longing to touch her.

But she pulls away, stopping me with a serious face. “I need you to get our costumes.”

I blink. “Costumes?”

“We’re the hosts. We have to dress up.”

“I’d rather get us undressed.” I settle my hands on her hips, drawing her back in.

“Yeah well, no one’s getting any ’til I’ve outdone every party Ravage and Shannon have ever thrown.”

“Tall order.” I stroke her cheek. “You’re doing great, you know.”

“I’ll do even better if you get us some cool matching costumes.”

I chuckle. “The day before Halloween? No problem.”

“That’s the spirit.” She unties her nest of curls and shakes them out, wafting the warm, slightly spicy scent of her shampoo my way.

“Anything I should avoid?”

She drops her hair, smirking. “Hmm. No bikers.”

I laugh. “Can’t make it easy for me, huh?”

“No photographers.”

“Is that even a costume?”

“Definitely no rockstars.”

I sober. She’s listing all the real-life monsters we’ve buried. “Probably no football players, then.”

“Definitely not. I’ll wear anything else. I’ll even go as a half-naked maid.”

“You promise?” I’m not usually a fantasy guy, but the thought of Olivia half naked in any form gets me instantly hard.

She gives my ass a swat. “Only if you go get those costumes.”

“I’m on it.”

Before I go, I pull her in for a kiss. I don’t give a fuck how much a hurry she’s in. Every moment could be our last. Too many people want us dead. There’s always time for kisses.

“Be safe,” she murmurs just as our lips touch. I nuzzle across hers, savoring the slow sweet burn. Darting my tongue against her lower lip, I tease her open. The inside of her mouth is hot and sweet, and the glide of our tongues is too quick. I capture her face in my hands for just a moment longer, feel her body slow and melt into me, tell her I love her with my tongue instead of the words she won’t let me speak.

Then, just as she surrenders, I break away with a wink.

“No one’s getting lucky ’til I get costumes,” I remind her. Her eyes flash, her face so comically disappointed, I chuckle. I kiss her hand, then hop off the porch. Just before I turn the engine of my motorcycle, I hear her mutter a single word.

“Gremlin.”

Every single store is sold out of costumes. I knew it’d be slim pickings, but they’re all cleaned out. There’s no time to order anything, either, so I’m screwed. I might as well not even go back to the house, not empty-handed.

There’s only one person who might be able to help me with this. Before I can call her, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

<< Ravage: Don’t forget to take care of our rat problem. >>

Fuck. I tip my head back. I didn’t forget—no way I could. I just wish I didn’t have to be the one to handle it.

<< Ravage: I mean it. There’s a rat in the clubhouse and I’m counting on you to get rid of him, son. This could earn you a new patch. >>

This is exactly “one of those things” Olivia was talking about in Church. Sometimes Ravage drops little jobs on us, all while making this face like he knows something the rest of us don’t. He’s never had me do anything like this, though.

But he left this to me, right after putting Olivia on party duty, and if I want to stay in this club, I better make it happen. It’ll never leave the table. It won’t violate my parole. It shouldn’t bother me. But it’s brutal and cold, and despite the time I did in max, it’s not my style.

<< Ravage: Take care of it before the party tomorrow night. >>

Every kill is a stain on my soul, a soul I wasn’t even sure I possessed until I met Olivia. When I stood outside that motel and she offered me a cigarette, she lit up the parts of me that were dark for two decades, maybe longer. I want to give her a good, clean life, but there’s no such thing in this life we lead.

If nothing else, I can at least give her a costume.

I call my cousin Lucy. I’m ten years older than her but she’s the one always saving my ass. She picks up right away.

“You must be psychic,” she says, breathless.

My pitch for last-minute help dies on my lips. “Huh?”

“I need you to get over here, right now.”

I don’t think. I don’t ask questions. I just go.

Olivia

I fall back onto Shannon’s chaise lounge, enveloped by the emerald velvet and pile of throw pillows. The house is decorated, her cats are fed, and everything at Shannon’s Haven is running right on schedule. Tomorrow there’ll be late-afternoon trick-or-treating for the kids, then the haunted house will kick off the party over at the Mermaid.

Esther tosses the last goody bag into the box and stretches out on the floor. “You did it, girl.”

“Thanks to you.” No way I could’ve put together two dozen goody bags and care packages, while decorating and making sure the menu’s all set. Not by myself. I’m never alone, though, not with Esther. She comes with an army of little sisters eager to help, because even teenagers love free candy.

“Any time. I’m really excited about this party. I always heard about it, but thought it’d be all bad stuff, like drugs and violence.”

“That’s the afterparty,” I say, kidding. Biker family parties are just like any other family gathering. There’s booze and weed, of course, but no one would even think of lighting up in front of the little ones. The liquor is kept out of reach and the party stays family-friendly ’til the babies are all in bed.

I missed a lot of Halloweens after I went into the system, but I remember slow dancing on a slightly drunk Beer Can’s feet, eating plates of food made by Mark’s flavor of the week, and going home with my own care package for Bree. In each box, there’s a new set of clothes for each mother and child, plus all the fixings for a spaghetti night, and some necessities like deodorant and toothpaste. This year, I had Esther add one more thing: a fall wreath made by her little sisters. Bree and I never had decorations. I figure the wreaths will brighten up everyone’s doors, even if only a little.

Esther’s fourteen-year-old sister, Cierra, unplugs the hot glue gun she’s been in charge of for the past few hours. “Can we go to the movies now?”

“You good here?” Esther asks me.

I nod, too tired to speak.

“All right, we’re out, then.” She collects Cierra, Abril, and little Ximena, and then the house is silent.

The quiet hits me hard. Somewhere, a grandfather clock ticks, but other than that, there isn’t a sound. With Esther and the girls gone and nothing left to do, I’m trapped by all of my insecurities. Esther says Shannon would be proud, but I can’t help but feel like I’ll never measure up. Shannon gives without even a second thought. She makes so many lives better, never once complaining. I don’t know how she does it without collapsing. If anyone deserves a to get away, it’s her. I picture her and Ravage strolling down the Maine beach, and smile.

My smile drops when I think of the way Ravage looked at me. He had that gleam in his eye, that calculating one that tells me someday I’ll be running Shannon’s Haven, whether I think I’ve got it in me or not. His faith in me scares me more than anything else, because I can’t bear the thought of letting down the two people who’ve looked out for me my whole life every time Bree couldn’t. Shannon gave me a job as a bartender when I wasn’t even old enough to drink or confident enough to hold a man’s stare. She taught me how to be boldly me, just by showing me how to mix drinks I’d never heard of and banter with customers I’d never met.

Ravage is always saying things like “This club is your birthright,” because Cliff and I are second generation; we were supposed to be River Reapers but then we got taken away by two sides of the same system. I owe Ravage and Shannon everything, but I’ve always had my own plans, and I don’t know how those fit into who they want me to be.

After coming up in the system, I swore I’d become the kind of social worker I needed as a kid. I can’t take care of my clients and run Shannon’s Haven at the same time. If that’s truly what Ravage wants, I’ll let someone down no matter which way I go.

I’m good at my job, even if I break the rules at times; I’m good at my job because I’m willing to bend them. The one time I asked for help, my social worker was too busy to do even the bare minimum for me. The system needs people like me, foster kid alumni who wanna be the change or whatever. No one else cares enough.

But no one else cares enough about rape and domestic violence survivors, either. It’s the broken people who save other broken people. The problem is, I can’t save everyone, no matter how hard I try.

“It’s me,” Cliff calls as he steps inside.

I sit up, letting my worries fall away for a moment. Just hearing his voice eases the tension in me. Cliff is a constant reminder that I am enough. I know he loves me, even if it terrifies me to hear him say it. Hopefully he knows how I feel about him.

He bends to kiss me hello, and I rise onto my knees, stretching out the kiss. When he breaks away, I sigh happily.

“Did you get the costumes?” I ask, peeking at the big paper bag he holds in one hand.

It’s then that I notice the blood staining his hands and face.

“What happened?” I ask, standing.

In our world, there’s always blood. Every life we save is paid for with another life. Each monster we remove deserved it, but the lines in Cliff’s face tell the story of the toll it takes. It weighs heavier on his soul than it does mine. Looking at the stains on his skin, I know exactly why they called him Red Dog in prison. He’s a terrifying sight with his towering frame, broad shoulders, and dark hair, blood dried into his beard and under his fingernails. His name might be Clifford, and he might be a gentle giant with me, but he’s no docile puppy.

He glances down at his hands. “It’s not real,” he says quickly. “Lucy was doing this Halloween photo shoot with Bunny and it got out of hand.”

I sag back into the chaise, relieved. There’ll be no bodies to bury tonight. He sits beside me, pulling up a video. I watch my adoptive sister scrub her baby, covered in fake blood, in the sink. “I swear I didn’t mean to Carrie prom my baby,” she says in the video, and I snort softly.

“Lucy and Pinterest fail, in the same sentence? My eyes must be lying.” I fight another wave of yawns. “Please tell me you got costumes,” I murmur.

“I did,” he says, “but you’re not gonna like them.”

Cracking an eye open, I take in what he’s holding up. He’s right.

To be continued…

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Catch Up on the River Reapers MC Series

Book 1 | Book 2 | Novella | Book 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet it’s blood I want.

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

Cliff has me breaking all kinds of rules.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My eyes narrow. “Who’s Donny?”

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

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

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

I blink at her.

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

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

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

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

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A FATAL PROSPECT Cover Reveal

It’s finally A Fatal Prospect cover reveal day!

I wanted this cover to have an “us against the world, we’re going to war” feel, since everything is about to be turned upside down for Cliff and Olivia. I’ve been working with cover designer Natasha Snow for a few years now, and one of my favorite things about working with her is how I can give her a general idea and she runs with it.

See what I mean? 😍😍😍

Our enemies of past and present are uniting to put us in our graves. Not even death would destroy our love, but death isn’t the only thing that’s fatal…

Cliff

I’ve finally got Olivia, but she can’t give me the two things I want most: three words so I know I’m not in this alone, and a family so I can redeem all the horrible things I’ve done. My past is still chasing me, and the only way I can let it go is if I stop running and face it. I can’t allow the monster in my blood to take over, but it’s rising to the surface and I can’t fight it much longer.

Olivia

After all I’ve been through, I’m never giving away my heart, even if my heart has other plans. War strikes before Cliff and I get a chance to figure it out. When a teen football player is unspeakably violated, only my club can avenge him. A rival motorcycle club from the past is also looking for revenge, just as I realize my true feelings for Cliff.

When someone betrays us, we’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. Some content may be disturbing to some readers.

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A Fatal Prospect releases April 28th! Pre-order your copy now!

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Catch Up on the River Reapers MC Series

A Disturbing Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 1

Our violent pasts brought us together. One night entwined us forever. We’re not falling in love, we’re just hanging onto each other while everything falls apart.

Read now for only $0.99!

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/adisturbingprospect

A Risky Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 2

If we can’t keep each other from the dark, we’ll have to be each other’s light, even if our revenge blackens everything we love.

Read now!

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/ariskyprospect

Her Mercy
River Reapers MC, Spinoff Novella

The last time Bree ran away, she put Mercy in prison. Now he’s got to find her and convince her they belong together so they can both be free.

Read now for FREE!

Download: https://BookHip.com/MRDJJFQ