snippet – Elizabeth Barone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet it’s blood I want.

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

Cliff has me breaking all kinds of rules.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My eyes narrow. “Who’s Donny?”

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

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

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

I blink at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s the only thing that can catch me.

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

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

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

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

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

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Bastards Break Rules (An Exclusive Snippet from MORE THAN A BASTARD)

Bastard

There is something festering inside me. It’s been eating away at me for as long as I can remember, no matter how hard I pretend it isn’t there, no matter how far I shove it down. I’ve spent decades building a cage around it, reinforcing steel with concrete and barbed wire. Yet deep in the night, when only echoes are awake, I can hear it scraping away at my defenses. It is coming for me, and it will destroy everything I love.

That’s why I sit at this salvaged table, gavel in hand. Because if the monster is going to get me, then I’m not going down without a fight. I’m leaving a future for my son, for the only good thing I’ve ever done. If there is a monster inside me, then he is my salvation. And I will do whatever it takes to save him from myself.

I bang the gavel against the table, my grip firm. “Calling the first meeting of the River Reapers MC to order,” I say through a grin.

Mercy grins back from my right. “Hear, hear.”

Mercy and I have been through everything together. We were in that dusty motherfucking theater, and neither of us came back whole. The problem is, I was never whole to begin with. Not even Mercy knows why. It’s the one thing I’ve never been able to tell him.

“Am I supposed to take notes?” our Treasurer Mark asks, a pen cap clamped between his teeth.

“Hell if I know. I’ve never done this before.” I look around the table at the five men Mercy and I gathered. The seven of us couldn’t be more different, but we all have one thing in common.

We love the freedom that comes with riding.

“I’ll take notes. We all know you can’t spell for shit,” Donny says. He’s our only black member. It’s practically unheard of, even though it’s 1991. It’s almost the new millennium, for fuck’s sake. White bikers aren’t supposed to mix with women or black people, but fuck that. If I’m going to build a better tomorrow and save my soul, save my son, then I’m going to break all of the rules.

Thank you for reading this snippet from More Than a Bastard, a River Reapers MC spinoff novella—coming soon! Join the River Reapers MC email list to make sure you get the latest news. You’ll also get the free spinoff novella Her Mercy. Click here!

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash