Tag: vigilantes

A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5

The heat radiating from his eyes will burn me alive. My heart races faster, and I’m not sure if it’s from exhilaration or fear. Because as much as I’m dreading what I think he’s going to say, it feels nice to be wanted.

Even if I can’t give him what he wants.

“Where are you planning on going when Esther moves out?”

Here we go.

catch up

Chapter 5

Olivia

“I’ll see you tonight,” I promise Esther. “Call me if . . .”

I don’t finish. Esther doesn’t need me. What she needs is the relief that comes with her family’s safety. She doesn’t need me to hold her hand. She needs me to get her some answers. I won’t be able to do anything for her until Monday, when I start my new job with the Waterbury Department of Children and Families.

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing my hand. “And I do need you, chica. You keep me calm and focused just by being here. So thank you.”

I leave my hand in hers, too stunned to say anything. Being wanted sends a spark of warmth through me. I squeeze her hand back, then release it. “Let’s go,” I say to Cliff, hurrying past him and out of the club house.

On to the next emergency—my biographic title.

“Hey,” Cliff calls after me.

Shoulders tightening, I dangle between pretending not to hear him and riding off, or actually dealing with him right now. Except I’m not dressed for riding, so it’s either go back into the club house and grab my gear, or warm the seat behind him.

Smoothing away my emotions, I turn around. “How pissed is Lucy?” I ask, hoping that’s all he wants to talk about.

He grimaces. “Pretty pissed. Want a ride?”

I try not to mirror the look on his face. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I just need a little distance right now. Plus, I’ll use any excuse to take out the Street Glide.

“I get it,” he says when I don’t answer right away. “Why ride with me when you can ride your own?” His grin lights up his face. There’s nothing but affection there.

I nod, even though that’s not it. I really need to clear my head.

“Go get changed,” he says. “I’ll wait for you.”

I take a step back toward the club house. “That’s okay. One of us should get to Lucy before she explodes.”

“I’m not really looking forward to facing Livid Lucy and your parents on my own,” he admits.

No matter how muddled my head is, I can’t subject him to that kind of torture. “You’re right. It’s safer if we stick together.” I laugh, and his face softens as he reaches for me.

“I want to talk to you about something.” He places a hand on each side of my waist and pulls me into him, and I nearly dissolve in his arms.

I swallow. “We should go.”

“It’ll take two minutes. I’ll ask, you’ll say yes, and then we’ll handle your parents and Lucy.”

The heat radiating from his body, from his eyes—it will burn me alive. My heart races faster and faster, and I’m not sure if it’s from exhilaration or fear. Because as much as I’m dreading what I think he’s going to say, it feels nice to be wanted.

Even if I can’t give him what he wants.

“Where are you planning on going when Esther moves out?”

Here we go.

I shrug as if I haven’t put any thought into it. “Not sure I’m going anywhere. I mean, my salary with DCF should cover rent.” Barely. “I’ll probably keep my bartending job to fill in the gaps.”

“What if you didn’t have to?” The corners of his lips lift, brown eyes pools that I could dive into. Drown in. He’s the water and I’m the stone.

“I like bartending. Besides, it’s a way out of Prospect pranks.” I roll my eyes, but my smile is fond. Along with club dues, Prospects—potential members of the MC—get the grunt work. That’s how it is. But I swear the guys are giving me the extra special treatment, because there’s no way that regular Prospects have to do things like buy hemorrhoid cream and magnum condoms. Then there was the time they sent me to pick something up, and there was nothing at the address they gave me—not even a building.

It’s like having a gang of older brothers. Their brand of torture is harmless, but it’s a huge pain in my ass. Not to mention a waste of gas. If I’m too busy with work and bartending for them, they can’t send me wandering all over the state. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.

“Just wait ’til you find out what they’ve got planned next,” Cliff says, kissing the tip of my nose. His hands slide up and down my waist. A hot breeze moves my skirt around my thighs. All I want to do is drag him upstairs with me. I have to get undressed anyway.

He kisses the side of my neck, just under my ear, and I’m melting into him again. My neck arches back, exposing my throat. Leaning down, he licks the slope from my chin to the hollow of my collar bone. His lips rest in the space, notching in as if they were made to fit my body.

“Let me take over Esther’s half of your rent.” His lips move against my skin as he speaks, and my knees go weak.

Traitors.

“Cliff,” I moan. “We have to go.” Putting a hand on each side of his chest, I push him away, even though I don’t really want to. I want to take him upstairs with me, let this fantasy envelope me for another little while.

It doesn’t work that way. Things with Cliff need to stay easy if I’m going to remain intact. No tangling up our lives until he’s so deep inside me, I’ll never get him out. A man almost ruined me once before. I’ll never let it happen again.

“I’ll be down in five,” I tell him, tone firm. Without looking back at him, I head into The Wet Mermaid.


The Street Glide hums between my thighs, a constant vibrating purr that reverberates through my bones. This thing is power. It’s the crash of ocean against land, the crush of a flower in a hand, the punishing whip of a sandstorm across the desert.

It already feels like an extension of me.

I push it faster, leaning forward into the wind. My hair lashes out behind me in a stream. If it were possible to do so without getting sand in my mouth, I’d be smiling. I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time—and the most free.

Cliff draws even with me, throwing an annoyed glance my way. I lift one shoulder. He motions for me to slow down and pull over, his hands and fingers in black leather gloves.

I roll my eyes. We’re just getting to the good part. I’m not exactly sure where we are, as far as town lines go, but I do remember that the road curves ahead, snaking wildly this way and that. It’s a fun stretch to drive in a car. I’m dying to find out how it is on the Harley.

Cliff makes a more fervid motion. His message is clear, but I pretend not to understand. Lifting a hand in a wave, I take off. For a second, I swear I hear a sigh behind me, but that’s impossible. My engine is too loud.

The first curve begins. I don’t slow, but I do lean into the turn just like Cliff taught me. The Harley leans so far, if I glance to my right, the road is only inches from my face. My heart thrusts blood through my veins, and despite the wind, I do smile. Pitted gray gravel blurs past me. A black spot could be an ant or a droplet of grease. I pretend it’s the former, that I’m some Greek goddess looking down on my Earth.

Taking it all in.

As the turn ends, I right the bike. Being vertical again makes blood rush from my head and I feel slightly faint. Dizzy. My hands go numb, my legs heavy. I let my body go limp on the bike, tipping my head back. The air rushes up my neck, a cold caress. I’m a little tempted to let go of the handlebars, but I know Cliff is right behind me and I’m sure my little stunt already gave him a heart attack.

I’ll hear all about it later.

For now I just ride, uniting my body with the machine between my legs, leaning into curves, pushing myself closer to the road every time. It’s an edge that I’m riding—too far and I’ll get myself a nice tattoo of road rash up and down that half of my body. Maybe even wreck myself entirely. It’s the line I’m straddling that gives me a high. Every time I sit upright again, every time adrenaline flushes my system, I feel invincible.

I decide I’m going to name the bike Até, after the Greek goddess of mischief. She’s another part of me, like we were made for each other. It feels like I have to put barely any effort into this. Then again, both Ravage and Donny have said several times that I ride like my father.

Mercy—the first man who taught me how to ride.

Not for the first time, I wonder how different things would’ve been for me if he’d stayed out of prison. If Bree had stayed put. I would have a family much different from the one that adopted me. Even though I wouldn’t trade Lucy for anything, being adopted has its complications.

Mainly, Cliff.

As I cross the Middlebury line, heading south on Route 63, he appears at my side. We’re doing a slower 40 mph, so I actually hear him when he shouts over to me.

“Are you trying to scratch up that Harley?” His silky black hair flies out behind him, and the urge to run my fingers through it makes my hands twitch. I’m always wet after our rides, and today is no different.

Yet this damned ceremony is the only thing Lucy and Cliff have been able to talk about for weeks.

I’m glad we missed it. My adoptive parents have no idea about my second life, but they will soon enough. They’ve done a lot for me over the years, and have always treated me as their own, but I haven’t told them about Cliff yet. It’s bound to cause an argument.

This is my life, not theirs. It’s not even Lucy’s or Cliff’s. Even though I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do with this life yet, I want the freedom to figure it out. Patting the Street Glide, I slow down as I veer off Route 63 and onto Park Road, toward the restaurant.

At the restaurant, we back our bikes into spaces side by side. I kick down the stand but don’t move. I’m not looking forward to telling my parents that I’m banging the nephew who ruined their lives—according to them.

Never mind what Cliff’s father was doing to their daughter.

I’ve never known two people more in denial.

Cliff pulls me into his arms—thick, muscular limbs that wrap around me. He presses full lips to mine, the metal of his septum piercing cool against my skin. Another change he’s made lately. Yet here I am, still the same.

“It’s going to be okay, Olivia.”

The way he says my name sends warm tingles down my spine. Again I’m overcome by the urge to hop back on our bikes, go to my place, and ride him. But then I’d have to deal with his questions.

I’m not sure who I’d rather face right now—him or my parents.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

I lead him to Elena’s, an expensive Italian restaurant that my parents are obsessed with. They didn’t ask where I’d rather have my graduation brunch, same way they didn’t ask where Lucy wanted hers. Nora and Collin always assume that they know best, end of story.

I step inside, Cliff at my back, both of us still wearing our cuts, jeans, and riding boots despite the humidity. Better to sweat than to get third degree burns from the bikes.

The cold air is a welcome caress. I glance around for my parents and Lucy and, spotting them at a table in the back, ignore the hostess.

“Come on,” I say in a low voice. I weave past the tables, trusting that Cliff is following me and not heading for the hills.

It’s funny, the things that send us running.

For me, it’s the prospect of moving in with him. The unspoken feelings he carries in his eyes.

For him, it’s my parents. The history they share, long before Nora and Collin welcomed me into their home.

Mom smiles when she sees me, her face freezing and falling when she spots Cliff on my heels. Dad follows her gaze, his mouth hardening into a thin line.

“Hey, guys,” Lucy says, rising from her seat and giving us hugs. It’s good to know she’s on my side, no matter how pissed off she is at us for making her wait.

“We only reserved a table for four,” Mom sniffs.

I’m in for a long day.

Thank you for reading Chapter 5 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4

Olivia is the kind of woman who doesn’t have many friends. She keeps to herself, staying loyal to the few friends and family she does have. Esther has been an angel in my Olivia’s life. When my girl has nightmares about Eli and I’m not there to soothe her back to sleep, Esther climbs into bed with her and holds her close. No questions asked.

To think that someone hurt this quiet woman who so sweetly holds Donny’s heart and tames Olivia’s sends a fresh surge of fire through my veins.

Catch Up

Chapter 4

Cliff

I squeeze my hands into fists so tightly, my knuckles hurt. I see my father looking at Lucy a little too long, can hear her cries late at night. He’s dead, he’s gone, and Lucy is safe, but these little girls aren’t.

Donny’s fingers move like dancers through Esther’s hair, stroking and comforting. It’s weird, reconciling this tender man with the one who just a few months ago helped me disassemble a body. Then again, it’s weird compartmentalizing myself, my own hands that have taken lives and given love. He glances at me, brown eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

“DCF says they’ve done everything they’re supposed to,” Esther says with a sob. “My mom went to all of her parenting classes and therapy sessions. And my . . . He can’t pass the psychosexual evaluation, but he has a job and their apartment is a two bedroom.” Esther lowers her legs, crossing them and then letting her hands rest in her lap.

“What’s a psychosexual evaluation?” I ask, but I think I already know. My hands itch for something to do. A cigarette to smoke. A rapist to choke. Anything.

“It’s a test for sex offenders,” Olivia explains bitterly. “Tells the clinician how much of a risk they are, if they’ll sexually assault someone again. It’s also supposed to tell the clinician what kind of treatment they need.” Olivia practically spits the word. “Treatment.” Shaking her head, she paces the small room. “If he can’t pass the psychosexual eval, isn’t that a fail?”

“That’s what I thought,” Esther says with a shrug. “But their social worker is working toward reunification.”

“Reunification?” I repeat.

“Means they’re slowly going to give the kids back to Esther’s parents,” Olivia explains, still pacing.

“I was supposed to take care of them,” Esther whispers. Tears slide down her cheeks.

I rub at the strip of hair on my chin, every muscle and nerve in my body on fire. Olivia is the kind of woman who doesn’t have many friends. She keeps to herself, staying loyal to the few friends and family she does have. Esther has been an angel in my Olivia’s life. When my girl has nightmares about Eli and I’m not there to soothe her back to sleep, Esther climbs into bed with her and holds her close. No questions asked.

To think that someone hurt this quiet woman who so sweetly holds Donny’s heart and tames Olivia’s sends a fresh surge of fire through my veins.

“We’ll take care of them,” I say, giving Donny a weighted look. He nods.

“‘We’ the club, or ‘we’ the three?” Olivia asks. She’s finally stopped pacing but her arms are wrapped so tightly around herself, there’ll probably be bruises later.

Esther holds up a hand. “We need to handle things my way. At least, we have to try.”

“What do you want to do?” Donny asks, sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around her.

Glancing at the digital display on the alarm on the nightstand, she takes a deep breath. “Well, I’ve officially graduated. I guess my first step is to meet with the social worker.” Her lip curls. “She was supposed to get TPR moving ages ago. I need to find out what’s up with that.”

“TPR?” I prod.

“Termination of parental rights.”

“We can put pressure on her,” I offer. “Just get me an address.”

Her lips part, probably to tell me to let her handle it, but Olivia speaks over all of us.

“We’ve got this, Cliff. We’re both in the system now, remember? We’re the good guys.” She sits next to Esther and squeezes her hand. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

I don’t trust the system. Everyone in this town looked the other way when my father was hurting Lucy. They’ve obviously been doing the same for Esther’s parents. Before I can say so, my phone rings.

I pull it out of my back pocket, wincing when I see who it is. “Yeah,” I answer, swallowing.

“Where the hell are you two?” Lucy demands, enough heat in her voice to let me know that she’s been stuck with her parents at the ceremony, and she’s pissed.

“Lucy,” I mouth to Olivia.

Our time’s run out.

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

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3

I ask anyway.

Against my better judgement.

Because I know this story. The details might be different, but the structure is all the same. College was my ticket out, too. Still, I have to hear her say it. I can’t jump to conclusions. Not everyone’s story is like mine.

catch up

Chapter 3

Olivia

Cliff watches me for a long moment. I hold his gaze, realizing that he tied his hair back from his face. The sight of that ponytail sends a rocket of heat to my center—completely inappropriate timing, I know.

What I love most about myself is that I can feel like utter, terrible, absolute shit death, and still be thinking about the next time I’m gonna have sex. I’m a gremlin like that. I’m the same with food. I can always eat. I’ve got a healthy appetite and I love that about me.

What I don’t love is the way Cliff is looking at me: all soft brown eyes, so dark they’re almost black, brows furrowed just enough to put a slight crease in the middle.

Despite the fact that shit just hit the fan for Esther—his brother’s old lady—he’s looking at me with a tenderness that pools in those eyes, so transparent I can see straight through it.

I frown, too.

That’s not supposed to happen.

“I’m taking her inside,” Donny says.

I use Esther as an excuse to break away from Cliff, although I still feel his eyes on me. Taking one of her arms, I hoist her to her feet, Donny supporting her other side.

Once we get her sitting in Donny’s room upstairs, I run back down to get her a shot of vodka. The bottle comes with me, just in case. Mark can yell at me later. Handing her the shot, I sit next to her, tucking my legs underneath me.

She holds the shot between two fingers, staring through it. Both men stare at me. I occupy myself by rubbing her back.

Donny kneels in front of her, each big hand clasping one of her knees. “What happened, baby?” he asks, voice calm on the surface but steely underneath. There’s a reason he’s the club Enforcer.

She downs the shot, shuddering as the sharp vodka slides down her throat. I hold the bottle out to her, but she shakes her head. “Maybe in a minute.” She sucks in a deep breath. “That call I got,” she says, looking at me, “was my grandma.”

I nod, trying to be patient. This isn’t some drama queen. It’s Esther.

“The kids,” she breathes, closing her eyes and holding out the shot glass.

I bite my lip as I pour her another one. For the past four years, her grandparents have been fostering her younger siblings. There’s some sort of unspoken agreement that when she graduates, she’s supposed to become their guardian. I don’t know much more than that.

She throws the vodka back, closing her fingers around the empty glass. Her hand curls so tightly around it, I’m a little concerned it’s going to bust. “They’re going to give them back,” she whispers. “My grandma didn’t want to wait ’til after the ceremony to tell me.”

Donny gives her a stricken look. “I’m sorry, Essie.”

“That’s good, right?” I ask, glancing from her to Donny.

She laughs, a bitter sound from those sweet lips. “It was all I could do to get DCF to take them out of there.” Her hand tightens.

Gently, I pry her fingers from the glass and take it away. “Doesn’t that mean that your parents got their shit together?”

“Damn, Olivia. You of all people should know people never change.”

I think of Bree, of all the men she paraded in and out of our apartments. Suppressing a shudder, I shove down the memories. Esther knows more about my past than I know about hers. That’s because, all throughout college, she plied me with Netflix and wine, and I gave up little pieces here and there. All this time, she’s sat next to me on that couch, being my friend, when I’ve done shit for her.

“The system is bullshit,” she continues.

“Yeah,” I agree. Before Cliff’s aunt and uncle adopted me, I bounced from family to family. No happy memories. I don’t want to press Esther, but we’re both social workers now. If anyone can figure this out, it’s us. “Look, I know I’ve been a shitty friend, but let me help. What exactly did DCF tell your grandma?”

“You’ve been a wonderful friend.” She pats my knee. “Especially if you give me that bottle.”

I hand it over.

“Essie, there’s still some time, if you want to walk,” Donny says.

Between chugs of vodka, she gives Donny a dirty look.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “A’ight.” Standing, he nods to Cliff. “Let’s step out, have a smoke.”

“It’s okay,” Esther says. “He can stay.” She closes her eyes again and sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you guys. I just don’t want to talk about it.” She swallows.

“If you’re gonna fight for these kids, you better get used to it,” I say.

Cliff nudges me with his elbow. “Jesus, Olivia.”

“What? It’s true.”

“She’s right.” She draws her knees to her chest, her dress pooling around her waist. She keeps the bottle in her lap. “When DCF finally took the girls out of there, they hadn’t eaten outside of school in weeks. Cierra tried to make ramen for herself and Abril. She didn’t know what to do for the baby. She ended up burning herself. Ximena’s diaper hadn’t been changed in a few days.” She shakes her head.

“Where was your mom?” I ask.

She snorts. “Bitch was right there the whole time. Just didn’t feel like it.”

“And your dad?”

Her face pales by several shades. “My father,” she says, her voice cracking. Her eyes dart toward Donny, then close. He places a hand on top of her head, his mouth a tight line.

“College was my ticket out,” she says, a pleading edge to her voice.

My hands go numb, dread pitting in my stomach. I don’t want to hear this. “Your ticket out of what?” I ask anyway.

Against my better judgement.

Because I know this story. The details might be different, but the structure is all the same. College was my ticket out, too. Still, I have to hear her say it. I can’t jump to conclusions. Not everyone’s story is like mine.

“I can’t say it.” She takes another drink from the bottle.

I want to ask her to pass it over, but I don’t. “You have to,” I hear myself say. “You keep it a secret, you give him power. Shine your light on the truth—on what he did to you.”

I’m a hypocrite.

“My sisters, and me. All the time. He’d leave for a little while, and things would be okay. My mom would slack off, but I’d pick up the pieces. She always let him come back, though. She’s just as much of a monster as he is.” Her lips tremble.

I think of Bree’s boyfriends again. Statistically speaking, they should’ve been the biggest threat to me. They never touched me. Most of them barely even acknowledged my existence. They were too busy getting high with my mom.

I lick my dry lips. “Your father sexually abused you and your sisters?” With each word I speak, my blood boils a little higher.

Esther nods. “Not the bab—Ximena. I mean, she’s five now. She isn’t his—his words, not mine. That’s why he let her be.” Her voice rises with each word, the tears flowing faster.

My stomach curdles. I want to dart into the bathroom, slam the door shut behind me.

“Jesus Christ,” Cliff says, reminding me that Esther and I aren’t alone.

I have to get my shit together. If not for Esther, then for Cliff. It’s bad enough that he looks at me so tenderly.

I don’t need him to look at me the way he’s looking at Esther. Like he feels sorry for her. He can never, ever look at me that way.

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

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2

“There’s something going on with the girls,” I tell Donny.

He slides me a dark look. “If it’s those two, I don’t wanna know.”

With what I’m planning for tonight, I’ve got enough on my mind. But it’s Olivia. She’s my girl. If something’s going on with her, I’ve got her back, no questions asked.

And something’s wrong.

catch up

Chapter 2

Cliff

“Everything good?” I lean into Mark’s office, gripping the doorway.

He nods from his desk. “Don’t you worry your pretty, grizzled—” He glances up and the words cut off. “Face,” he finishes, blinking at me.

I run a hand over where my beard used to be. Now there’s just a chin strap—a short beard accenting my jawline. I even let Abraham trim my hair—a little bit. Just enough to keep it healthy.

He whistles. “Tell me she didn’t make you do that.”

“Yeah right.”

Olivia likes my beard, as long as I don’t let my mustache get too out of control. She says it pokes her in the nose when we kiss. I’ve let it all grow out so long, I don’t know any different.

Today is a special occasion, though.

More than just Olivia’s graduation.

“Well, you look good, son,” Mark says, eyeing my black jeans, black T-shirt, and the cut I hardly ever take off. That piece of leather marks me as a River Reaper until the day I die. “Just don’t change anything else, or I won’t recognize you.”

“You worry about tonight, and I’ll worry about my face.” I fish out a cigarette and light up, then hold out the pack to him.

He waves it away. “We’re all set. The band playing, Oh Vile Eye, will be here to set up around four. Bar’s stocked. Caterer starts setting up at three. I think that’s everything. I’ve never thrown a graduation party before.”

“How about the cake?” I suck in a long hit of nicotine.

“Beer Can was all over that. Let’s just hope it says ‘Congratulations, Olivia,’ and everything’s spelled right. He was a little lit when he put in the order.”

“It’s gotta have Esther’s name on it, too, brother,” I say, glancing into the club behind me. “Donny’ll slit all our balls off if we forget her.”

“I’ll check on it.” He lifts the phone out of its cradle, then puts it back down. “You good for this afternoon?”

I bow my head, moving it back and forth to work the kinks out of my neck. “No, but there’s no helping it. I’ve done all I can.”

“Including making yourself look like a twelve-year-old boy.” He laughs, getting even louder as I thumb the strip running down from my lower lip to my chin.

A hand clasps my shoulder. “We’re out of here,” Donny says.

“A’ight.” I point my cigarette at Mark. “Check that icing.” Turning, I fall into step with Donny.

“That soul patch is making you bossy,” Mark calls after me.

I shake my head and make my way through the club, Donny at my elbow. “You got plans after?” I ask him. We break through the doors and into the heat. It’s going to be a bitch riding in this weather.

“Nah,” he says, striding toward our bikes. He straddles his and straps his helmet on. “Essie’s having lunch with her grandparents, and I ain’t ready for that shit yet.”

“I hear you.” I hold my helmet in my hands, bike between my legs. I’m not ready to meet the parents, either. Meeting Olivia’s means facing my aunt and uncle for the first time in twenty years. I’ll have Lucy there as a buffer, but that won’t make things much easier. While I was away, they adopted Olivia, and that complicates our already tense relationship now.

“Why are the girls still here?” Donny nods toward Esther’s car.

I follow his gaze. It’s empty. No sign of Olivia or Esther. “No idea.”

Dismounting, I pull my phone from my pocket. I glare at it before typing in my password with a thumb. Ever since the last update, the thing’s been acting like a Y2K crash test dummy. Texts show up out of order. Calls don’t go through—either in or out. For a smartphone, it’s pretty fucking useless.

I punch in Olivia’s number and hit the call button.

“Walking fuckin’ phone book, right here.” Donny grins.

“Faster than scrolling through,” I tell him. Olivia’s phone rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. “Jesus Christ.”

Donny and I exchange glances.

“Should we go to the campus? Or just say ‘fuck it’ and have a beer?”

“Esther was in a hurry,” I say.

“I know,” he agrees, “which is why I kinda don’t wanna know.” He gives me a pointed look.

“Amen to that, brother.”

With those two, it could be anything. Especially Olivia. I reach for my beard, then remember it’s gone. I grab another cigarette instead.

I hold the flame to the end, inhaling. As the flame goes out, movement from the other side of the building catches my eye.

“Over there.”

I approach at an angle, giving me a wide enough view to spot Olivia kneeling in front of Esther.

“Shit!” Donny takes off toward them.

I follow, scanning the parking lot and watching Donny’s back. It’s empty except for River Reapers’ bikes—typical for ten in the morning at The Wet Mermaid. My shoulders drop a half notch, my hackles still up. Call it prison sense, but something doesn’t feel right.

Maybe it’s the weight of the air, or the crows cawing from a nearby telephone line. Maybe it’s the knot in my stomach that tightens every time I think of seeing my aunt and uncle.

Maybe it’s flat out paranoia.

I approach slowly, flanking Olivia as Donny kneels next to her. She slides over, giving them some space.

“What happened?” I ask, dropping my voice.

She reaches for the cigarette I’ve forgotten about. Putting it between her lips, she takes a long drag.

“Plans have changed,” she says.

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

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Does horror belong in romance?

The infamous Butcher & Blackbird ice cream scene broke the internet. In the scene, our hero Rowan accidentally eats ice cream made from human semen. A little later, they find the maker of this confectionery nightmare eating it on purpose. The ice cream only has a brief cameo, but it ignited an age old debate. Should romance be gory?

In mainstream romance, we focus on the cute moments in life packaged in prose revised to Hallmark perfection. If there are any corpses, they’re reduced to a more palatable mention.

Sometimes that escape from reality is desperately needed. We slip into picturesque struggling towns that won’t really go under, and even if someone dies, their death serves as some kind of lesson for our main characters. We will never, ever see our hero eat cum ice cream. The only thing he’s eating is our heroine’s pussy. 😈

Or our other hero’s cock. Whatever works!

I love when dark romance marries romance with horror. It’s a personal gripe of mine that the dark romance section is packed with titles that contain little to no romance. Often they’re actually vengeance stories, our heroine getting her just desserts. I love these stories, too; it’s so healing to read a badass woman killing rapists. But when I pick up any romance, it’s because I’m in the mood for romance, ya know?

That’s why I loved Butcher & Blackbird so much. Brynne Weaver balanced revenge with a slow burn love story and plenty of gore for the triumvirate of dark romance. There’s a running bit where our hero busts our heroine’s balls for always doing a bad job gouging out the left eye of her victims. At first she’s annoyed by this wry observation. Then it becomes an inside joke, evolving as their relationship does.

The semen ice cream scene is such a brief one, yet clearly made an impression because people are still talking about it. It doesn’t read like the shock value I too often see in dark romance. It’s set up like a comedy bit, which is a smart move on Weaver’s part because comedy and horror are closely related. There’s a reason why Jordan Peele of the Key and Peele comedic duo went on to become a horror king: both genres are all about timing. The creme de cum serves as an opportunity for the reader to feel Sloane’s and Rowan’s shock. As horror fans, we’ve seen a lot of cannibalism, so the usual stuff won’t work for us. Weaver gets that. When Rowan takes a bite, we’re not just grossed out, we’re laughing in horror because omfg, he for real ate it, and most of us can recall the taste and texture of both ice cream and semen, so we’re both horrified for him and laughing in relief that it isn’t us.

In case you can’t tell, I’ve got a bit of a writing crush on her.

The scene is about as skippable as spicy bits; you can skim if you’d prefer and you won’t miss much, other than the two main characters bonding over this tragedy.

I want to see more dark romance like this: books that blend all the feels of horror with the rush of falling in love. The weirdo who made the ice cream isn’t what really scares our MCs. It’s the notion of giving away their heart to the other person, and that’s what they really have to vanquish to get their HEA.

What are your favorite romances that blend in horror elements? Tell us the title and author, please!

Photo by American Heritage Chocolate on Unsplash

Butcher & Blackbird puts the “cream” in ice cream, and the romance in dark romance

The tears in Sloane’s eyes shift and shine as they gather at her lash line. “I am not unlovable.” She jabs her bloody finger in my direction, punctuating every word. “I am very fucking lovable.”

Again and again, certain books come to me when I need them most. I’m a survivor of sexual assault. I couldn’t even start processing the things that were done to me until a different traumatic event occurred in 2015 and my therapist diagnosed me with complex PTSD. The other day, I ran into one of my abusers (almost literally), and it sent me into a bit of a spiral. I processed it over a few days, going through all sorts of emotions. Then I needed a distraction—a safe distraction.

This is why trigger warnings are so important. I get that for some readers, a list of TWs can look like spoilers and, for others, triggers are more like tropes, in that they purposely look for books featuring specific triggers—reading certain triggers can help some survivors process traumatic events. For some survivors, though, those lists are lifelines.

I’ve long struggled to find my place in dark romance, as both a reader and writer. I’ve read romances marketed as lighthearted rom-coms that opened with graphic rape scenes or contained disturbing plot twists that you’d need therapy for IRL. These triggers can be so validating in some readers’ healing journeys, while detrimental to others. This is why I believe trigger warnings are necessary; readers who don’t need them can ignore them, and readers who do need them can utilize them.

I can’t tell author Brynne Weaver how much I appreciate her not only having a content warnings section on her website, but also for writing spicy romance that is always consensual. For me, this is imperative whether I’m reading dark or light romance. I’m super cautious about the books I read, and having an extensive list of CWs helped me decide to give Butcher & Blackbird a shot. (So did this blog post and this Amazon review.)

I’m seeing a trend that’s fascinating me. [In some dark romances] we get strong, vulnerable, and resilient women who take the abuses and transgressions of life and channel them to move on and become these [badass] warrior women who fight for the voiceless victimized who cannot speak [nor] stand for themselves. While viewed by many as just smut, these types of books have the potential to do incredible collective trauma healing work surround women’s issues of SA, assault, and violence. So read all the smut you love, because you may be healing the traumas of yourself, your community, and your ancestors!

Amazon reader

(I really want to talk more about how healing dark romance is, but this is supposed to be a review, so I’ll stay on topic!)

So I went in, cautiously, eyes wide open for the two TWs I might have an issue with due to my own history, poised to skip or put the book aside altogether, if need be. I didn’t have to do either of those things.

Butcher & Blackbird is funny. I was chuckling just reading the excerpt (Chapter 1). Weaver is flawless in her balance of dark subjects with perfectly timed humor and well-written gore. I’ve read a lot of dark romances that lean heavily on shock value but with very little substance, and with more smut than romance; they’d be more appropriately filed in horror. Butcher & Blackbird isn’t like that. There’s heart and warmth to it. There’s real romance—actual swoony moments that had me forgetting about the bodies that needed hiding. Moments that had me tearily “Aw”- and “Oh”-ing out loud the same I would if I were reading cute small town romance. Just with lobotomies.

I point to the not-so-good doctor, whose blood trickles down his face in drying streaks. “Left eye hole. Always a little gouge-y.”

Maybe it’s because my IRL “book boyfriend” is a man who knows how to love a traumatized woman, but I have such a love for this trope in dark romance. Rowan doesn’t need push around Sloane for us to know he’s ✨tortured✨. He doesn’t swing his dick around to tell us he’s strong. He takes Sloane pretending not to know who he is in stride. He gives her space and time, patiently and intentionally earning her trust. When it comes to sex, he’s giving, cognizant of her need for safety but also not afraid to dick her down. Their dynamic reminds me a lot of my own, IRL, and gave me another safe space that I desperately needed, while also giving me an escape from the real world.

In the end, Rowan and Sloane come together to heal from their pasts—another aspect of dark romance that I have big love for. After all, we’re talking romance; love can and does conquer all. The ending had me smiling so big, and I loved that Weaver didn’t just dump us off—she gave us an epilogue that connected to the next book in the series, plus a bonus epilogue that gave us a sweet happily ever after that was so very fitting to these characters.

I loved this book so much, I could go on and on—I loved and strongly related to Sloane being a lone wolf with one best friend, and as a horror fan I really enjoyed the gore and almost episodic serial killer segments. I know Weaver didn’t write this book for me, per se, but man, it really felt like it. It was just what I needed, reminding me that no matter the things I’ve been through, the beauty I have in my life far outweighs the ugly.

“You have never been unlovable. You were just waiting for someone who will love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be. I can do that, if you’ll let me.” I press my lips to hers and taste salt and blood but pull away before the kiss deepens. “I fucking adore you, Sloane Sutherland. I wanted you from that first day at Briscoe’s. I have loved you for years. I’m not stopping. Not ever.”

Check it Out

If you liked A Disturbing Prospect, you’ll like Butcher & Blackbird. Like Olivia and Cliff, the lead couple punishes abusers together, the romance is an achingly sweet slow burn, and the story is fast-paced with plenty of thrills and delicious darkness.

“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

“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.

Read A Fatal Prospect Now

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My Favorite Revenge Quotes, Part I

Revenge is my favorite trope, no matter what the genre. It’s got to be justified, which is a whole other blog post, but as long as I can empathize with the antihero/heroine, I’m here for it.

Many of my favorite stories have revenge as a theme or element. My love for vigilante justice goes all the way back to watching The Crow while sleeping over my cousin’s. The aesthetic of the movie and graphic novel make my goth heart happy, but the concept of the crow choosing someone to bring back for revenge, for one night only, gives me warm tingles all the way down to my toes.

Here are some of my favorite revenge quotes. Follow me on Instagram for more!

“I’m a fighter. I believe in the eye-for-an-eye business. I’m no cheek turner. I got no respect for a man who won’t hit back. You kill my dog, you better hide your cat.”

-Muhammad Ali

“Revenge is a confession of pain.”

-Latin Proverb

“We should forgive our enemies, but not before they’re hanged.”

-Heinrich Heine

“When seeking revenge, dig two graves—one for yourself.”

-Douglas Horton

“An eye for an eye is never enough. Never, never, never.”

-Adrian Phoenix

Follow me on Instagram for more!

Photo by Tingey Injury Law Firm on Unsplash

Trigger Warnings for A FATAL PROSPECT

Here are the potential triggers for A Fatal Prospect.

  • Drug and Alcohol Use: Some characters use drugs and drink alcohol.
  • Childhood Sexual Assault: Several characters have a history of being molested as children.
  • Guns and Violence: My vigilante bikers use guns to fight the bad guys, as well as other violent means of taking out the trash.
  • PTSD: Multiple characters experience flashbacks, anxiety, anger, and other symptoms of PTSD.
  • Sexual Assault of a Minor: A character under the age of 18 is sexually assaulted (off page).

This book will break you. Have tissues ready.
(I promise, Cliff and Olivia get their HEA in the fourth and final book!)

If you feel that you won’t be safe reading A Fatal Prospect, please don’t risk your health. As a rape survivor and someone with PTSD, I wish many books came with a list of trigger warnings. No book is worth your well-being.

Please also note that I don’t necessarily condone or endorse the themes contained in this book. I do, however, wish it was legal to kill rapists.

If you’ve read A Fatal Prospect and feel that I may have missed something, please email me at elizabethbaronebooks@gmail.com.


A Fatal Prospect
River Reapers MC, Book 3

Cover Reveal: April 14th
Release Day: April 28th
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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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Catch Up on the River Reapers MC Series

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