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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 11

I don’t know why I expected her to understand. She can’t possibly feel what I do. Only when you become the monster do you understand the power that comes with taking a life. It’s still there, whispering to me.

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 7 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 8 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 9 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 10 Cliff

“So,” Lucy asks, strapping herself into the passenger seat, “what’s going on between you and my little sister?”

The way she says my little sister is so fiercely protective, I glance at her. The expression on her face is just as fierce, her brows furrowed, eyes slits that imply a threat behind the words. And I believe it.

“I thought you didn’t want to know,” I reply, treading carefully. My hands grip the steering wheel, and I wish that we could just get on with it. Asking Lucy for a refresher course on driving a car involved way more pride swallowing than I’d bargained for. It’s not that she was mean or anything. I just feel like a loser.

Lucy taps her lower lip. “I guess I don’t. But I also do.” She twists in her seat to face me. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does.” I glance around the industrial park. Too many memories here. Ironically enough, it was my father who taught me how to drive when I was fifteen. I just never got my license.

“Just promise me something,” Lucy continues. “Be . . . careful with Olivia. She’s not really the settle down and get married type.”

I snort. “And you are?”

“Of course not.” She scowls. “But you are, and Livvie breaks hearts for a living.”

Smirking, I cock my head at her. “How do you know I’m all about the hearts and flowers?”

“You kissed my fucking boo-boos when I was like three, dude.” Lucy’s green eyes pin me. “And you had the biggest crush on that girl that lived next door to you. Said you were gonna marry her someday.”

Violet. I nod, remembering. “I was a kid, Luce.”

“So you’re telling me you just want to bang my sister and leave her hanging?” The glare she skewers me with is so badass, it’s funny.

But I don’t laugh. I get the feeling this conversation is important to Lucy. It’s similar to a “What are your intentions, son?” talk with a father. I sigh. “I don’t know, Luce.” I spread my hands. “I like her, but . . .”

She lifts both eyebrows, encouraging me to continue.

There are no words to explain how I’m feeling. Olivia frustrates me, in a good way. A dangerously good way. I probably don’t need that in my life right now. My priorities should be keeping my P.O. happy and making sure the MC isn’t dragging me into the one-percent life. Wedding bells and babies are not one of those priorities. I try to picture Olivia in a white dress.

The image is so good, it shocks me.

I hurry to light a cigarette, shaking my head. “She should stay away from me, Luce,” I say softly, staring at the empty parking lot through the windshield.

“No.” The single word is forceful.

I turn to look at my cousin, confused. One minute she’s interrogating me, the next she’s upset that I want Olivia to stay away. “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” she says, “you look good together. I have a feeling about you two.”

Now I laugh. “Yeah? Because your feelings are so dead on.”

“I was right about you,” she says, her voice small.

I freeze, the laughter dying on my lips.

“No one else wanted to help me. But I knew you would protect me. You promised, remember?” She grabs my hand, giving me a gentle smile.

Nodding, I suck in a deep breath. “Luce, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“But I do. I remember everything.” Her grip on my hand tightens. “I told my parents, and they didn’t believe me. So then I told you.”

This story is too familiar. I already know how it ends. And I don’t want to talk about it, I realize. Because deep down, some part of me resents Lucy. I bow my head.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I know. And it’s okay.”

I glance up at her. The emotions swimming in her eyes must mirror mine. I swallow hard. “It’s not okay,” I force out. “Because it wasn’t an accident.”

She bites her lip. “You did what you had to do.”

“I thought I was doing it for you.” Blinking, I see a flash of the past, Lucy huddled in the corner of the kitchen, those green eyes locked on mine. Her face pale, small body shaking in shock. And me, towering over my father’s lifeless body, his blood still hot and wet on my hands. I hadn’t even hesitated. There was no question. “I liked it, Luce. I was high on it.” Even though I’m looking at the adult sitting next to me, all I can see is the little girl in the kitchen with the monster standing in front of her. “And I hurt you,” I finish, lifting the cigarette to my lips with shaking fingers.

She scoffs. “You didn’t hurt me. I was scared. And I’d never seen anything . . . like that before.” She squeezes my hand again. “Cliff, you saved me. He would’ve done it again and again. And no one else was going to stop him. I sure as fuck couldn’t.” Green eyes tug me back into the present, back from the edge.

“I shoved you into that cabinet,” I say between gritted teeth. “If the cops hadn’t come—”

Her gaze holds me. “You didn’t shove me. You were trying to keep me safe from him.” She shakes her head. “Jesus, Cliff. Why are you making yourself out to be the bad guy? I was there, too. And I know you. I know what I saw.”

I don’t know why I expected her to understand. She can’t possibly feel what I do. Only when you become the monster do you understand the power that comes with taking a life. It’s still there, whispering to me.

“It was so easy.” I finish the cigarette, flicking it out the window. “He didn’t even beg, didn’t even apologize. Sometimes I wonder if I still would’ve done it.”

“There’s no point in torturing yourself,” Lucy says. “What’s done is done. All you can do is continue being a good man. Because you are, Cliff. You doubt yourself, but I’ve never doubted who you are. You’re not the bad guy in this story.”

This conversation is just depressing. I thought Lucy was the only person in the world who understands me, but she doesn’t know me at all. It’s just another wedge between us.

I shift the car into drive. “Thanks, Luce.” One corner of my mouth lifts in what I hope is a convincing smile. “All right, kid. Teach me how to drive.”

We spend the next hour brushing me up on the basics. It’s muscle memory, really, because soon I’m zipping around the empty lot. Parallel parking is the only thing I can’t do, but I never nailed it as a teenager, either. Lucy shows me a trick for backing into spaces, assuring me that I’ll definitely pass my driver’s license test.

“As long as they forget to have you parallel park,” she says.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just being honest.” She pats my shoulder. “All right, take us home.”

It’s not the same as riding a hog, but I handle the car well enough, bringing us back to Lucy’s condo in one piece. Part of me wonders if it’s even worth getting a driver’s license. All I want to do is ride. But Lucy and even most of my new brothers agree that if I’m going to go legit, I might as well get both.

“That was smooth,” Lucy compliments me as we pull into her driveway. “So where are you taking Livvie tonight?”

I grunt. “Just work. Then maybe somewhere after. I don’t know.” I peek at her out of the corner of one eye. “Where should I take her?”

She covers a smile with her hand. “That late at night?” She lifts an eyebrow at me.

I slump back in my seat. “Straight home, I guess.”

“Good boy.” Planting a quick kiss on my cheek, she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Behave, kids.” She slides out and waves goodbye, then disappears inside.

I head to Olivia’s, 99.1 PLR’s broadcast of songs I grew up with cranking out of the speakers as I navigate the back roads to avoid being pulled over. It’s a bit unnerving, knowing that music from my childhood is now considered classic rock. The world moved on while I was inside.

I pull up in front of her apartment, the engine idling while I try to decide whether to get out and knock on the door. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but I don’t know whether we’re dating. I don’t know what we’re doing at all.

I get out anyway and jog up to the front door. A tiny meow greets me from the other side, giving me away. I knock and then back off a couple steps. I don’t want to look too eager.

The door swings open a crack. A Puerto Rican woman wearing nothing but a bathrobe peers out at me. She’s about Olivia’s age, and the look on her face is suspicious at best. “Who the fuck are you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Olivia marches up behind the other woman.

“It’s just Cliff,” she says, grinning at me.

Her roommate opens the door all the way, scowling the whole time, but she moves aside so I can come in.

Olivia hugs me with one arm, an orange furball tucked into the crook of her other arm. She lifts a hand toward her roommate. “This is Esther.”

I nod at Esther. “Nice to meet you.”

She hmphs and stalks away into her bedroom.

“Not very friendly, huh?” I nod toward Esther’s room.

“Esther? She’s just having a bad day,” Olivia says. She holds the kitten out to me. “This is Dio.”

Dio sniffs at my hand, then gives my fingers a hearty rub. Instant friendship. I scratch behind an ear.

Olivia pushes him into my arms. “Get to know each other. I just need to finish getting ready.” She disappears into her bedroom.

Standing in the middle of the kitchenette, I exchange bro looks with Dio. “That’s code for ‘I’ll be out in an hour.'” I carry him to the futon. He stretches out belly up in my lap, eyes imploring me to get rubbing. This cat is more dog than anything else. I oblige, absently scratching under his chin and stroking his tiny belly. A loud purr vibrates from him, and a laugh escapes my lips. “You got any brothers or sisters, Dio?” Lucy’s is quiet and empty during the day. I could use the company.

Olivia emerges a few minutes later. The dark jeans she’s wearing hug her curves, her cream colored sweater snug around her hips and breasts. It’s going to be really hard to just drop her off at home and then leave tonight.

“Ready?” She lifts Dio from my lap and plants a kiss on the soft spot between his eyes. “No wild parties, okay?” She releases him onto the floor, where he chases a catnip mouse that’s almost as big as he is.

Linking arms with me, she calls out “Have a good night!” to Esther and tugs me out the door.

“There’s a diner open 24/7,” she says as we walk to the car. “I figured maybe we can grab something there after work?”

My shoulders relax. I don’t have to write off the night with her, after all. “Cool.”

The drive to The Wet Mermaid is short, but the silence between us is comfortable. Familiar. I park in the back and shut off the engine, listening to it tick as the car cools. I should probably say something boyfriend-like, test the waters. But I don’t know what to say. Lucy is right—Olivia is as independent as a cat. I don’t want to scare her away.

“We’d better go in,” Olivia says, pushing open her door.

I follow her inside, but Beer Can flags me down.

“Can you start right now?” he asks, grimacing. “I’ve gotta piss.”

Nodding, I let him go. I watch Olivia set up her station, chatting with a few regulars who are already lit for the night. The smile she gives them is friendly but guarded. It’s not the same open smile that she gives me.

Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

All throughout the night, I can barely take my eyes off her. The way she tucks those wild curls behind a tiny ear. How she nods politely while strangers tell her about their troubles. Olivia is a good girl. She has no business being with someone like me.

I have to let her go.

Finally we close. My responsibilities are technically done with for the night, but I’m still her ride home, despite what I’ve decided. I help wipe down tables and put up chairs. There’s a sullen energy in the air. It’s not just me who feels it.

Several of my brothers pour themselves after-hours drinks and head to Church.

Something is up with the club, but as a Prospect, I’m not privy to it. Frowning, I watch the stragglers trickle in. Vaughn is the last one in, and he closes the door behind him with a heavy thud. My frown deepens.

“I’m all punched out.” Olivia bumps my hip with hers as she joins me. “Ready?”

I nod toward the door. “Any idea what’s going on?”

She nibbles on her lower lip. “Just club business. Why?”

Shrugging, I lean against the wall. “I don’t know. Just have a bad feeling.”

Her faces scrunches up. “So serious.” She grabs my hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and enjoy what’s left of the night before they make us mop or something.”

Lips pressed together, I follow her out to the car. The night is quiet, heavy like my thoughts. I start the engine, already regretting my decision. It’s for her own good. I have to remember that.

“Just a heads up, the diner’s food is really, really bad,” Olivia says with a laugh. “But it’s the only choice we’ve got.”

I say nothing and head toward her apartment. Part of me screams to turn around, to go to the diner like we’d planned. But what kind of man would I be if I dragged someone like Olivia into this life?

My hands clench around the steering wheel.

“Cliff,” Olivia says, puzzled. “The diner’s in the opposite direction.”

My jaw tightens. I have to keep my resolve.

“We’re not going out, are we.” It’s a statement, not a question, her voice full of dejection.

It occurs to me that she wanted this just as much as I did.

“Fuck,” I say, and swing into a side street. When I glance over at her, she’s grinning.

“You can’t say no to me.” She laughs.

“That’s half my problem,” I reply, guiding the car toward the diner. It’s an old restaurant—one that was around ages before I was put away. I don’t tell her that I’ve been to the Athenian II a million times before, that it was a popular post-prom hangout when I was in high school. It was also a good place to get food after a party in the woods got busted.

I grin. I have a lot of great memories of this place, and it seems it’s time to add one more.

When I pull into the parking lot, though, it’s immediately obvious that something isn’t right. Weeds poke up through the cracks in the pavement. The big sign outside, yellow with age and weather, is unlit. All of the windows are dark, too.

“Well, shit,” Olivia says. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I guess all of those health code violations finally caught up to them.” I laugh.

“What are we gonna do now?”

I bite back a dirty suggestion. Glancing across the street, I spot a Taco Bell.

She follows my gaze. “Oh no. We had enough of that shit in Pennsylvania.”

Tucking my upper lip into my lower one, I pout, giving her sad brown eyes.

“Don’t play the ex-con card with me. Do you even know what’s in that shit?”

I deepen the puppy face.

“I really wanted ice cream.” She sighs, eyeing the closed diner longingly. “McDonald’s over on Lakewood has ice cream . . .” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

I pretend to consider it, a corner of my mouth lifting in deep thought. “Big Mac or Crunchwrap,” I ponder out loud.

She swats me in the arm and chants “Ice cream, ice cream!”

Grinning, I maneuver the car out of the diner’s overgrown parking lot and head toward McDonald’s. It’s right on the next street over, so it really isn’t a big deal. Plus, it doesn’t interrupt our plans. Despite how much I know I should walk away, I can’t deny how I feel.

I get a Big Mac and a giant McFlurry with M&Ms for my little ice cream junkie, and we share a large fry and soda. I pull into the dim back lot behind the Taco Bell plaza and we munch in silence. Everything with her is so comfortable and easy. It can’t stay that way forever. Sooner or later, I’ll have to choose. Or she will.

Olivia is going to be a social worker. I know which choice she’ll make.

“So,” she says after she’s put away that giant ice cream. She lights two cigarettes and passes one to me.

I’m so full, I can barely move. “I should probably lay off the fast food, but it’s so good. They must put crack in it.”

She laughs. “Something like that.”

We smoke in silence for several long beats. Then she turns to me, putting a hand on my arm. She takes a deep breath.

“Cliff,” she says.

I cock my head and nod for her to go on. Amusement flickers in her eyes at the gesture, and I laugh out loud. “You can take the man out of prison, but you can’t take prison out of the man.”

She bobs her head. “Yeah, I know.” Pressing her lips together, she seems to be considering something.

“Just lay it out,” I tell her. “It’s you and me.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, “that’s kind of the thing.” She taps ash out the window. “Look, I’m sure you’re in no rush. I mean, I thought I wasn’t. But I’m kind of wondering—you know, no pressure—well . . .” Those luminous eyes latch onto mine. “What are we doing here, Cliff?”

My first inclination is to state the obvious. I know she means more than that, though. “What do you think we’re doing?” I ask, my voice gentle.

She bites her lip. “When you called me today, I guess I kind of thought you were asking me out.” She sucks in her cheeks, eyes widening. “But if I was wrong, I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing, Liv.” I sigh, tipping my head back. Suddenly the car is too hot. I shut the heat off. This is the part where I tell her we can’t be together, that twice was enough. This has to stop. But I don’t want to.

Whatever that means, I’ll figure it out, dealing with the consequences as we go.

I can’t express this to her without sounding like a total loser. I clench one hand in and out of a fist, flexing the small muscles. I’m smoking a cigarette but I need a damn stress ball.

I lick my lips. Turning toward her, I look her straight in the eyes. Let her see me. Really see me. Past the prison facade, the Prospect vest. I just have to hope she doesn’t see the monster.

“I don’t want to stop,” I tell her, my voice thick.

Something in her eyes flare, hopes fulfilled. She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward her, her lips crushing against mine. “I don’t want to, either,” she whispers into my mouth.

Then she releases me, just as quickly as the kiss was ignited. I’m left panting in the driver’s seat, hard and ready, heart thrumming. “Christ, Olivia,” I growl.

She smirks at me. “I have to be at school early in the morning. I have a meeting with my professor to set up my field work.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m a little behind.”

I close my eyes. “Because of Lewisburg?” I can’t be fucking up her life already.

“No.” She scoffs. “Because I was too busy getting laid and not making phone calls like I was supposed to.”

Fuckin’ A. My girl is a hundred times more experienced than me. The realization should make me jealous, but it only turns me on. I want her dominating me, teacher to student. I lean forward, eager to capture those lips in mine again.

She twirls a finger at me. “Uh-uh. Take me home, please.”

“Tomorrow night?” I ask, grinning. I’m so hooked on this girl, we could read The Babysitter’s Club books to each other for all I care. As long as we end up naked somewhere in between. I want to know everything about her, to learn what she likes and hates.

She taps her lips. “Maybe.”

But I catch the smile underneath the pad of her finger, and I know she’s just as hooked on me as I am on her.

Thank you for reading Chapter 11 of A Disturbing Prospect.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 10

The phone vibrates in my hand—an incoming call.

He’s actually calling me.

I take a deep breath before answering, so that I don’t sound as pleased as I feel. “Hey,” I say, my voice casual. Only my heart jackhammering in my chest betrays the emotions swirling through me. He called, he called, he called, my pulse drums out.

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 7 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 8 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 9 Olivia

I can’t help but sing while getting ready for class the next morning. Part of me feels like an asshole for kicking Cliff out, but Esther really was coming home, and I didn’t want to deal with her questions. Neither of us have ever brought a guy home before—usually I go to their places. I’ve also never slept with the same guy twice.

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.

“Jesus,” Esther says in a strange, breathy voice.

My eyes snap to her, then follow her gaze. Carved into the trunk of the car are the words HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY CUNT. Rushing to her side, I wrap an arm around her and guide her to the curb.

I guess Donny isn’t so nice after all.

As soon as I finish smoking, I run inside for an extra can of mace. I explain to Esther how to deploy it during the Uber ride to school, and also give her an extra knife. “He’s probably pissed off that you didn’t bang him in the supply closet or something,” I tell her. “So you might not ever need this stuff.” Part of me wonders whether we should have called the police and filed a report, but it’s useless. Naugy cops are assholes, and they’ll probably only say something racist to Esther, like “I’m surprised you speak English.”

Naugatuck is like that.

The driver drops us off at the student center, and we have to walk to our classes in separate buildings.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” I hand her four cigarettes and a spare lighter.

Lifting her chin, she nods. “I wish I could be tough like you,” she says. “My mother’s from the Bronx.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” I touch her arm. “You’re sweet, which is refreshing in this dirty ass world. I’m ‘hood enough for both of us.”

She laughs. “Thanks, Livvie.”

I walk to class, hoping I did the right thing by not getting the cops involved.


There isn’t much of a chance for me to think about Cliff until I finally stop for lunch. I head to the student center, not bothering with Conn Hall. Sometimes the food there is good, but the mall-style cafeteria in the student center has pizza, soup, and subs—exactly the kind of comfort food I need. It wasn’t my car that was attacked, but my nerves are still shot.

Mostly because last night might’ve been a huge mistake.

Not the sex. I’m learning quickly that sex with Cliff is better than dropping Molly. It’s the emotional side of things that has me conflicted. Even though I had to kick him out, I didn’t want him to leave. Mostly I wanted to snuggle up in his arms and fall asleep like that, which is completely preposterous. Even if Lucy said she doesn’t want to know, the rest of our family is going to be ultra weird about it.

If, that is, we actually dated.

Because we’re not.

This is all purely hypothetical.

I don’t date.

I buy three slices of pepperoni pizza, load them up with grated cheese and red pepper flakes, and carry them to an empty booth. Then I wall myself off from the crowd and would-be booth crashers, spreading out open books and notebooks across the table in front of me. It’s an aesthetic that says, “I’m binge studying while I stuff my face between classes, so fuck off.”

Really I’m just thinking about Cliff.

I’m thinking ridiculous things, like strapping a picnic basket to that motorcycle of his in the spring, or taking him to the swimming quarry when it finally gets hot enough. These are girlfriend/boyfriend thoughts, and completely against my rules. I have to be realistic and honest.

I’m graduating in just a few months. After I walk across that stage, I have to get my shit together and find a job, but that doesn’t require the same amount of focus that getting through college does. Maybe there’s room in my life for a boyfriend.

For Cliff.

Of course, there’s no way it’s going to happen. Even if he wasn’t my non-cousin, he’s got that whole lone wolf vibe going. Then there’s the club to think about.

The little I know about MCs comes from TV, trashy novels, and rumors flying around town and the rest of the Valley. We have several clubs around here, most of which are ninety-nine-percenters. But they don’t bother you as long as you don’t mess with them. Hell, when I took the job at The Wet Mermaid, I had no clue that it was run by the River Reapers. I was just looking for something in town that allowed me to go to class during the day. The tips were a huge pro, and Mark hired me on the spot.

All of the guys have been good to me, but I’ve always just been an outsider. Everything would change if Cliff and I became a thing. I’m not really sure I want to get involved, especially since part of my job is going to be taking kids from criminals’ homes. Not that the River Reapers are really into much crime. Practically everyone in this area is a drug dealer or knows one. The cops basically ignore the strip club because it’s not like we’re selling heroin. But it won’t look good on my resume if I’m a former employee of a strip club and someone’s ol’ lady.

I put down my half-finished third slice and sigh. For the first time, I notice Eli sitting across from me. I point a glare at him. “Can’t you see I’m studying?”

“Sorry,” Eli says. “You looked so deep in thought, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He nods to the books on the table. “Exam?”

Getting up, I toss my garbage into a nearby bin and put my tray in the return receptacle. “No,” I reply, sinking back into the booth. The irony of the whole thing doesn’t escape me. I rub my cheeks, and decide not to mention Cliff, considering how he deliberately rubbed last night in Eli’s face. “Just trying to catch up.”

He watches me with hooded eyes. “Late night?”

I study him too. Eli is handsome, and sweet enough to trust me with one of his cameras, I muse, noticing the zipped bag on the table. Plus, he isn’t involved in a fucking motorcycle club. My mother always told Lucy and me to make smart choices. Eli is potential boyfriend material—if I were the type of person who did that sort of thing. I smile, shaking my head. “I’ve just been busy with work and roommate shit.” I nod to the bag. “Is that for me?”

His whole face lights up. He slides it toward me. “It’s not the best, but it’ll get you through the class.”

“You’re totally saving my ass here,” I tell him. “I should’ve had one of my own weeks ago.” Patting the case, I assure him that I’ll take good care of it. “I owe you one, Eli.”

He rubs his lower lip as if considering something. The T-shirt he’s wearing hugs his biceps, and I trace the tattoos curling around the muscles with appreciation. He’s not as big as Cliff, but he’s built, and looks fun enough for a night. Maybe even more.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” His hazel eyes glint.

“Please,” I tell him. “Like I said, I owe you one.”

“This is so awkward.” He looks away, a sandy strand of hair falling into those eyes. “I’m really stuck here, though, Olivia.” His eyes meet mine.

“Okay.” I shrug. “What do you need?”

“Well, I’m actually a photographer.” Thick fingers pass me a business card over the table: Elijah Moretti Photography. “I’m supposed to be doing a shoot for So Lit Couture magazine.”

My eyes widen. “Eli, that’s huge!” So Lit Couture is another one of those online magazines that popped up in the early 2010s and took off almost overnight. It’s aimed at women my age, and their fashion predictions and advice is always dead on. They don’t have a print edition but I read it religiously on my laptop. Every college girl with a pulse does.

He nods, but his shoulders slump. “It is. Unfortunately my model has the flu, so she can’t do it. My deadline is in two days.” Eli shakes his head. “I can’t find anyone else. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially in exchange for a damn camera, but I was wondering—”

“Of course I’ll do it,” I interrupt. “A chance to be in So Lit Couture? Eli, you’re talking about giving me eternal bragging rights.”

“Well,” he says slowly, “it’s a bit more interesting than that.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but the longer the silence stretches, the more shades of red he turns. “It’s a nude shoot, isn’t it?”

The strawberry color of his cheeks and forehead is all the answer I need.

I bite my lower lip to keep from laughing. “Eli, you dirty boy!”

The flat look he gives me reminds me that he’s a professional.

I clear my throat. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s for an article about the recent boudoir trend.” He lifts a hand. “And I’d compensate you, of course.”

“I’m in,” I tell him. “I’m so in.” Grinning, I glance down at my figure. “I guess I’m done with pizza for the next couple days.”

“There is one little catch,” he adds, his voice strangely flat.

I tilt my head at him.

Leaning forward, he places both elbows on the table. “I wanted to do something different.” As he talks, his hands fly around. His excitement is contagious. “Boudoir is almost always indoors, and it just has that intimate feel to it. Whenever you see outdoor boudoir photography, it’s still pretty, but it’s lost that intimacy.” His gaze is so intense, his eyes practically penetrate into mine, making me more than a little uncomfortable.

Suddenly I understand why Cliff doesn’t like him. Eli is a little too fervid, almost unsettlingly so. When he first mentioned the shoot, I assumed it’d be in a studio or something, but the calculating wheels turning in his eyes are like warning bells.

My gut twists. Those empty eyes bore into me as if he’s etching a target onto my forehead. Shifting in my seat, I zero in on the feeling in my stomach. It’s as real as the building I’m standing in. If nothing else, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, because they’re almost always right.

He wants me, and he’s totally playing me.

Modeling for him in the woods will not end well.

I sigh. He seemed so normal, someone I might be friends with. Even though I can handle myself, there’s no sense in putting myself in that position.

“You know what, Eli,” I say, gathering my books, “I just remembered I took an extra shift at work. So unfortunately, I can’t fill in for your model.” I give him my most apologetic smile. “But check with Professor Biello. I’m sure he knows lots of models who would kill for this chance.”

The blank, burning stare that Eli gives me is confirmation that my gut is right.

“Eli?” I ask, zipping my books into my bag. I move my hand to the pouch that carries the mace. I doubt that he’d try anything right in the middle of the student center, but a girl just never knows.

But his face brightens and he nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.” He stands. “I’ve got class. I’ll see you later.”

I hold up a hand in parting, watching him go. Only when I’m sure he’s gone do I stand.


I’ve dealt with men like Eli before. It’s sort of been a theme in my life. Somewhere inside of me is a creeper magnet. Ever since first grade, men have been trying to dominate or scare me. And they almost always get away with it.

First there was Alex, my class partner. Everyone’s desks were paired in twos and, while the rest of our class worked on addition, Alex pulled his pants down and kept trying to get me to touch him. He’d grab my hand and I’d yank my arm away, hissing for him to leave me alone.

But I never told, because I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t get into trouble, too.

Eventually our teacher broke us up. I think she sensed that he was bothering me, but since I wouldn’t say either way, she took it upon herself.

That was the last time another person ever intervened.

There was Chad in third grade, who liked to slam into me during recess. I’d sit on the stone benches outside, daydreaming or reading, and Chad would tackle me. The palms of my hands were often raw from scraping against that bench.
Chad disappeared not long after. Rumors flew around saying he raped his sister in the girls’ bathroom, but this was out of the mouths of seven- and eight-year-olds, so who knows.

In seventh grade there was Jonathan feeling me up in the halls between classes, and Richard making fun of my nose and calling me a lesbian during classes. He punched me in the arm once, right in front of our Italian teacher. But because I swore in pain, I’m the one who got detention.

On and on it goes. I’m a serial victim, so Eli is no surprise. The only difference is, since graduating high school, I’ve learned how to deal with assholes like him. I’m more worried about paying for Esther’s tires.

I could be wrong, but I think the mysterious visitor and the tire slasher were Eli.
During my next class, I sit in the back crunching numbers. I’ve been putting the majority of my strip club money into repaying my student debt, with the rest going into paying bills. Some of it goes into a savings account. If I cut down on groceries and go without Netflix for a few months, I can buy Esther new tires immediately. I don’t know what to do about her keyed trunk, though.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Glancing around to make sure I’m not disturbing anyone, I peer at the screen.

It’s Cliff, who’s apparently learned how to text. I can’t hide the goofy grin that spreads across my face. My little alien has learned how to use an iPhone just for me.

Cliff: Is it cool if I pick you up from school?

Every word is in perfect English—either he hasn’t learned any of the abbreviations or slang yet, or he’s too cool to use any of it. I mentally swoon a little harder.

Still, the weather bursts my bubble. It’s cold again, and the roads were slick with melting snow, which froze over. Fucking Connecticut. I text back, matching his precise grammar.

Olivia: Are you going to fly?

The phone vibrates in my hand—an incoming call.

He’s actually calling me.

Too thrilled to notice whether anyone is annoyed with me, I practically skip out of class and into the hall.

I take a deep breath before answering, so that I don’t sound as pleased as I feel. “Hey,” I say, my voice casual. Only my heart jackhammering in my chest betrays the emotions swirling through me. He called, he called, he called, my heart drums out.

“Hey,” Cliff replies, his voice sounding as cool and smoky as usual. “Am I interrupting you?”

Just my field practice seminar lecture, which is fancy college slang for internship. I wasn’t paying attention, anyway. I bite back a giggle. “I was just doing some math.”

“Ooh,” he says, that husky voice making his grimace sound even sexier. “Fun.”

“Like having your fingernails ripped out,” I agree, leaning against a wall. “So what’s up?”

“I wanted to see you.” No bullshit. Just exactly what’s on his mind. It’s refreshing, and arousing as hell.

Suddenly I don’t care about the icy roads or the rest of my classes for the day. I know I should, since I’ve already missed so much and I need to finish up my field work hours so that I can graduate. But every cell in me wants to jump on that bike with him and escape.

Still, that would be the opposite of playing hard to get. If I’m going to pursue this boyfriend/girlfriend thing—or at least entertain the idea—I can’t just jump every time he asks me out.

I blink. He’s asking me out, and I’m about to turn him down.

“Olivia?” That low, gravelly voice sends warm shivers all the way down to my toes.

I sag against the wall. “You’re killing me,” I breathe.

“The suspense is killing me.” He laughs. “So are we on?”

Sighing, I straighten. “I can’t. I have to adult,” I say, thinking of the mountain of phone calls I need to make. Tires, field work placement, oh my. Then I really do have a shift at The Wet Mermaid.

“Hmn.” Even that tiny syllable sends vibrations of lust rippling through me. “Well, I’m working tonight. Can we do something after?”

What I like most about Cliff, I realize, is how he’s just dominating enough to be protective and sexy, without being overbearing and disgusting. He respects my boundaries and needs. Even if I’m uncertain about pursuing, there’s one thing about Cliff that I am sure about: he’ll never force himself on me. If I tell him to, he’ll walk away without looking back.

“Yes,” I say, even though I have class early in the morning. And speaking of class, I’m probably missing something important. It’s time to put my adult hat back on. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hold on. Do you need a ride into work?”

“I do,” I reply, drawing out the word, “but it’s kind of icy out.”

He chuffs. “We can take Lucy’s car, you know.”

My mind flashes to the station wagon, and my cheeks burn. “Right.” It would be so wrong to mess around with Cliff in my sister’s car. It’d also be incredibly cramped, considering how small her car is and how big he is. Heat shoots through me to my lower abdomen, every muscle inside of me clenching. There’s just something incredibly hot about a guy who’s three or four times my size but likes to cuddle after sex. Regret burrows into me from kicking him out the other night.

“I’ll pick you up at your place for 6:30. Cool?”

“Cool,” I breathe.

It takes me several minutes to de-Jello my legs and get both my heart rate and libido under control. In just three weeks, I’ve gone from hit and run to seriously considering pursuing whatever it is that Cliff and I have. The prospect is both terrifying and thrilling—mostly because I have no idea whether we’re both interested in the same things.

There’s only one way to find out, though.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 9

Twenty years without sex makes for a lot of pent up frustration.

I’d like to think I’m not stupid enough to do anything that will land me back in prison, but when it comes to Olivia, all my blood rushes out of one head and down to the other, and all my sense drains right along with it.

Stomping her foot, she tosses the cigarette into the street. “Just take me home and fuck me.”

“Get on the fucking bike, then.”

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 7 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 8 Cliff

Even though I’m taking it easy, wind whips my face as I cruise down 63, Olivia tucked against my back. Beer Can’s motorcycle lessons might’ve been rigorous, but it’s already second nature to me. Or maybe it’s just my blood, the tide finally coming in and reclaiming the shore.

Still, I’m not great with turns just yet, so I plan to just take her straight down and then back. I ease into a gas station, teeth gritted. If I dump us, I’ll never forgive myself. We make it in one piece, though, even if my turn was too wide. Beer Can promised I’ll get the hang of it, that I’ll be flying up and down the back roads with the rest of the club in no time. If I don’t, I guess they’ll realize their mistake and turn me out.

Balancing the Screamin’ Eagle between my legs, I shut the engine off. It continues to vibrate through me, my blood singing. This whole thing should be unnerving, but I’m thrilled. Every step into the club just draws me in deeper. But I’ve promised myself I’m not going to be like him. I’m already better.

Instead of climbing down, Olivia remains snuggled against my back. “That was nice,” she murmurs.

She’s so warm. The wisps of her spirit wrap around me, claiming me. This woman is going to completely undo me if I can’t have her. I want this moment to last, but she’ll think something’s up if I linger. I have to let it be exactly what it is: a ride. Nothing more, nothing less.

Untangling myself from her arms, I swing off. “Need anything?” I ask, nodding to the gas station.

She shakes her head dreamily. “I’m coming in with you, though. It’s cold.”

We walk inside together, my head still trying to catch up with my actual life. A big part of me is still inside, lying on my bunk staring at the ceiling between shifts. Not only has a motorcycle club taken me in, but they’ve also given me a beast of my own to ride. The Screamin’ Eagle is almost a decade old and club property, but it fits me like a glove. And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is riding home with me.

Well, not home home.

The gas station attendant perks up when he sees my girl. He’s cut but wiry. “Hi Olivia.” His eyes practically laser into her, ignoring me. I instantly don’t like him. His gaze is too intense, his eyes too vacant.

“Oh, hey Eli.” She smiles. “I didn’t know you live out here.” Leaning on the counter, she looks too damn familiar with him.

My fists clench inside their leather gloves.

“I just work here,” Eli says. “It’s still close enough to campus.”

My eyes hood in suspicion. If I remember correctly, Olivia’s school is in New Haven. It’s about thirty minutes from Naugy. And I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. “I need a pack of Marlboro Blacks.”

Eli sets his jaw, his sandy douchebag haircut flopping. “Yeah, in a minute,” he says, as if I’m a fly he’s trying to shoo out of the store.

I bow my head, eyes locked on his. Deliberately, I nuzzle my nose into Olivia’s hair, inhaling her scent. That dark jasmine envelopes me, damn near making me dizzy. I pull her closer into me. “Time’s up.”

Olivia cocks an eyebrow at me over her shoulder. “Cliff,” she says, almost amused, “this is Eli, from my photography class.”

The hot guy. Of course.

My lip curls into a sneer but my arms remain locked around her. If she wants this asshole, there’s nothing I can do about it—but right now, she’s out with me. “How nice,” I say. My stare never leaves his face. “Marlb Blacks. Now.”

He snuffles a laugh, eyes flicking from me to Olivia. “He your friend?”

“I’m not going to ask again.” The words are careful, measured. Dangerous. Blood pumps through me, and the familiar anticipatory thrill of a fight awakens me. I outweigh this guy by at least fifty pounds.

Olivia sighs and tips her head back, exposing her creamy, pale throat. I want to sink my teeth into her, to hear her gasp and scream as she comes. She rolls her eyes at me. “You can take the convict out of prison . . .” she intones, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s even more thrilling, knowing that she’s amused. I could beat the guy to death and she’d still be laughing. At least, that’s how it feels.

Photography douche’s eyes snap to attention. “Prison, huh?” He smirks, crossing his arms. “Is it true what they say?”

Behind that jerk facade, though, he’s practically sweating bullets. “What?” I ask, my voice low. My fingers brush Olivia’s hips. “That we’re feral when we get out?”

Olivia peers over her shoulder, eyebrows lifted, lips parted. Her wide eyes are luminous and shimmering with lust as she arches into me.

It’s my turn to smirk.

Eli tosses a pack of cigarettes at me, his entire face sagging. Something clicks in his eyes over and over, like gears in a broken windup toy. I reach for my wallet, but he holds up a hand. “They’re on me.” Cold eyes tunnel into me.

I slap money down on the counter anyway, then wrap an arm around Olivia’s waist and lead her outside.

Olivia glances at the gas station over and over as I start the bike. I’m not a one kick wonder yet, so it always takes me time to get the thing going. Which is really useless in a time like this when I’d love to rip right out of here.

The Screamin’ Eagle roars to life. Olivia hugs me as we take off back into town. Since the passenger seat is several inches higher than mine, her lips easily brush my ear.

“What was that all about?” she asks over the engine.

My shoulders stiffen. “I don’t like that guy,” I call back.

I don’t hear her sigh so much as feel it. “He’s letting me borrow one of his cameras,” she says.

“There’s something wrong with him.”

I turn onto Meadow, the short street that’s one of many hills that populate Naugy, my teeth clenched. It’s steep, and going down was a lot easier. Riding this thing takes so much concentration. There’s a lot of respect and trust involved. It’s me and this machine, working in tandem.

As we near Lucy’s, Olivia wraps her arms even tighter around me. “Are you jealous?” she purrs into my ear.

There’s a hell of a lot of implication behind her words. It gives me a headache, trying to figure out where she’s heading—whether she’s angry or pleased. She is so much goddamn work.

I say nothing as we roll quietly onto Lucy’s street. I park the motorcycle, but neither of us move. The night presses onto us, winter’s last few ounces of strength. Soon the weather will be good and I won’t have to worry about killing myself on icy streets. Tonight the pavement was dry but tomorrow it’ll be back to bumming rides from Lucy. Despite what Beer Can says, I’m not comfortable enough to ice skate. Yet.

“You are,” Olivia says softly.

“What?” I shift in her embrace and look at her over my shoulder.

Solemn brown orbs measure me. “Jealous.” Her lips curve around the word.

I hold her gaze and drop my voice. “Maybe.”

Her grip on me tightens. “Take me home.” The heat smoldering in those words blasts into me.

“Olivia.” Her name is a soft whisper of agony, a warning. “You don’t want to get involved with me.”

She huffs daintily. “Who said I wanted to date you?” Her eyes glint. “I just want to fuck you.”

My head shakes. “I can’t do that.” Nodding toward Lucy’s, I don’t vocalize my thoughts. I shouldn’t need to.

“But you can tattle on me,” Olivia says. She pulls away, the sudden loss of her warmth leaving my back cold.

I groan inwardly and light a cigarette. “I thought you only liked one-night stands.”

“Maybe I want to make an exception.”

Drawing in a breath, I start to remind her of Lucy, but she holds up a hand.

“She’s already told us she doesn’t care.” Hugging herself, she stares at me, leaving the ball in my court.

“And Eli?” The name is bitter on my tongue. I’ve known her for less than two weeks, and I’m already seething at the idea of her with another man.

The look she shoots at me says enough, but she gives it to me anyway. “So let me get this straight,” she hisses, keeping her voice down so we don’t rouse the neighbors or my cousin. “You don’t want me?”

“I didn’t say that,” I sigh. I hand her my cigarette. “I’m just saying . . .” Christ, I don’t even know what I’m saying. I should be warning her off. There’s something stretching inside of me, eager to be let out. And even though it should scare me, it doesn’t. I’m not reckless enough to do anything that will land me back in Lewisburg, but I’ve been given my freedom and the opportunity to use it to its fullest potential. I don’t want Olivia involved in that. It’s bad enough she works at The Wet Mermaid.

She watches me expectantly, waiting for me to finish.

“I’m dangerous, Olivia.” I throw the words at her.

Rolling her eyes, she takes a drag off the cigarette. “You’re such a fucking cliché, Cliff.” She shakes her head in contempt. “I’m not on my knees begging to marry you and have your babies. I’m inviting you to my apartment for sex between two consenting adults who are mature enough not to make it personal. My roommate is working and I’m horny.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You can’t bend me over a counter and then leave me hanging.”

She looks so fierce, a smile cracks my lips. “Well, when you put it that way, Ms. Reynolds . . .”

Stomping her foot, she tosses the cigarette into the street. “Just take me home and fuck me.”

“Get on the fucking bike, then,” I growl back. This woman is giving me whiplash, and I’m not sure I can take it. As she climbs back on behind me, the cold hard truth sinks in.

I like her—like her, like her.

As pathetic as this might sound, I’ve never had a real girlfriend. I mean, I’ve had girls. I wasn’t a monk in high school. From the time when I was fifteen to right before I got locked up, I always had someone. None of it was ever serious, though. We didn’t do things like go to the movies or hang around the mall like you see on the Hollywood big screen. Maybe in another life I would’ve taken those girls out. I don’t know. My parents weren’t even married, so dating wasn’t exactly a priority.

The thought of them points me down a path I don’t want to walk, so I lean into the wind and focus on getting to Olivia’s.

She guides me to an apartment complex on the edge of town. I get us as close to her door as I can, then kill the engine. Dismounting, I turn to face her. She straddles the pussy pad, watching me. I don’t wait for her to get off and go unlock her front door. Lifting her into my arms, I sweep her off the bike, cradled to my chest.

But as usual, Olivia has other ideas.

She wriggles in my arms until her legs are wrapped around my waist, her arms slung about my neck. “What are you gonna do to me?” she asks.

I blink down at her, my brow creasing slightly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Rolling her eyes, she grinds her pelvis against me. “I mean to punish me. For making you jealous.”

“This is all just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?” I carry her to the front door, pinning her there while she fumbles in her bag for her keys.

“Well, yeah.” Tender pink lips part as she laughs at me. She places the keys in the palm of my hand, and I close my fingers around them.

I press into her until my lips are a whisper from hers, her body trapped between mine and the door. “If anyone’s being punished,” I rumble, “it’s me.” My lips capture hers, pressing flesh hard enough to bruise. I wanted to go slow, but the way she’s talking to me loosens all of my knots. Through the rough denim of my jeans, I ache for her. I grind against her, those legs tightening around me.
She gasps into my mouth, and I know neither of us are into taking our time.

I jam the key into the lock, twist the knob, and shove the door open. Carrying Olivia inside, I slam the door shut with the heel of my boot. The layout of her place is open. I walk us down a short entryway, past a tiny kitchen and into the living area. Two doors oppose each other. “Which room?” I rasp between fevered kisses. She points and I follow.

This time, there’s no need to rush. We’re not stealing time in the back of a station wagon. I grin as I move us into her bedroom. The room is dark, heavy black curtains keeping out the light from the street. Her mouth works down from my lips, trailing wet heat and nips down my throat. Moaning, I dump us both onto the bed.

I yank her jacket off, tossing it to the floor. Her shirt follows it closely, my hands curling around her firm, supple breasts. I catch a nipple between my teeth, my tongue flicking at it. In response, she arches against me, crying out. The second she recovers, her fingers work at my jeans, peeling them off.

I wrench off her leggings. The sound of ripping fabric cuts through the air. I stop, panting above her on my knees. “Sorry.” I’m being too rough. Tipping my head back, I suck in a deep breath, trying to collect myself. I’m four times her size. I have to be careful with her.

But Olivia collides into me, her lips and teeth yanking at mine. “Don’t worry about it,” she breathes during a moment when our tongues aren’t interlocked. “They were from Forever 21. Can’t really expect much.”

She finishes removing my clothing, then curls her fingers around my length. Giving me a hard tug, she pulls me toward her and lies on her back. “Round two, baby,” she says.

Even if the leggings were just thin fabric, she isn’t. I enter her slowly, savoring every inch that I gain into her pulsing wet warmth. She rocks against me.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whispers breathlessly.

All of the most powerful substances in the world have nothing on the potent high she gives me.

I slide fully home, and for a moment we just look at each other. Her breasts knead my chest, her nipples still hard. Our hearts beat in tandem, and the notion of how in sync we are makes me fucking dizzy.

She lifts an eyebrow at me. “You gonna stare at me all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

Letting out a hoarse laugh, I slide out until just the tip of me is touching her. “Just remember, you asked for it,” I tell her, hesitating just one more second.

“Yes, I did,” she says in the most angelic voice.

I glide back into her in one quick thrust, eyes locked on hers, making sure she’s okay. She rolls her eyes at me and bucks right back up at me, her pace matching mine.

I give it to her, everything I’ve got, everything I’ve been holding back and dreaming of these last twenty years. Our bodies disconnect and reconnect with lightning speed, Olivia clinging to my back, thighs shuddering and mouth crying out in pleasure with every blow. It’s the kind of sex that feels so good in the moment and leaves muscles pleasantly sore the entire next day. The concept is familiar, but with Olivia it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

She rakes nails down my back, teeth grazing my shoulder. She begs for it harder, even as I’m sweating, muscles trembling, the cords in them standing out as I work to keep up. My black hair hangs in her face and she takes fistfuls of it, pulling so hard I swear it’s going to come straight out of my head.

Yet every second of it drives me closer and closer to the edge.

I can feel it building, that liquid fire that sparks somewhere in my belly and shoots through me.

“Come on, come for me, baby,” she coaxes into my ear.

“What about you?” Each word is forced, all of my energy focused into not ejaculating.

She laughs softly. “I already have, like seven times.” Fingernails dig into the tender flesh of my ass, forcing me even deeper into her. “Let it go, baby.”

She’s the one pulling the strings, because she doesn’t get halfway through her sentence before it rips through me. My head tips back, my entire body jerking. Even in the throes of my own climax, I can feel her seizing around me.

We come together and collapse into a heap on her bed. I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her, and press a kiss to her shoulder. If what I feel so far is infatuation, I’m a little afraid to see what it’ll be like to love her.

I’m addicted.

She shifts in my arms, breaking free. Standing up, she begins collecting clothing from the floor. My clothing.

“Not a cuddler, huh?” I smirk. It’s just as well. I need a cigarette. Sitting up, I stretch.

She tosses my clothes at me. “My roommate will be home any minute. Time for you to leave.”

Olivia pads out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, the shower faucet squeaks and water pounds the tub. The bathroom door shuts with a loud thump.

Holding my jeans in my hands, I wait for her to shout for me to join her in the shower, to tell me she was kidding. Several minutes fly by. Ducking my head, I close my eyes. I’ve been duped.

Thankfully, Olivia won’t ever know that I stood naked in her bedroom, waiting like a hopeful puppy. I tug on my jeans, shaking my head at myself. Dio meows from a corner, the closest thing to a cat laugh that I’ve ever seen.

“Yes, I know,” I tell him softly. “Can you blame me, though?”

He closes his eyes and buries his face in his paws.

Even though I’m not sure I deserve to, I wish things were different—that Olivia and I could eventually have the type of relationship where I stay the night. I’ll take what I can get, though.

Shrugging into my cut, I leave Olivia’s place, my skin already cold without her touch.

Thank you for reading Chapter 9 of A Disturbing Prospect!

Bring Cliff and Olivia Home

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 8

I can’t get Cliff out of my head and it needs to stop. Yes he’s hot, and he makes me laugh, but I can’t get carried away. If I sleep with him more than once, I’ll end up dating him or something.

Me and my daddy issues.

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 7 Olivia

The weekend passes in a blur of work. With each shift, I’m more and more annoyed with Cliff. Still, I’ve got to tell Lucy—as soon as I get out of class. Monday came way too quickly.

“Morning,” my roommate Esther yawns as she pads into the kitchen. Dio darts around her feet, nearly tripping her. “Ay dios mio.” The tiny cat pauses and looks up at her, his head cocked to the side.

Laughing, I finish spreading cream cheese on my bagel. “You have to admit, he’s really cute.”

Esther holds up a finger. “I admit nothing.” She continues her trek to the coffee pot.

I wink at Dio. Give her a few more weeks, and she’ll be snuggling with him on the couch. I carry my bagel and coffee to our little table. It’ll be a half hour or so before Esther is even ready to go. She stumbles toward the table and joins me, her own mug clutched in both hands.

We caffeinate in silence. It’s not that Esther is standoffish. She’s just an introvert. If she’s not at work or class, she’s in her room or on the couch, reading a book. Maybe binge-watching Netflix.

“Olivia,” she says suddenly.

My head snaps up. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to let you know,” Esther says, frowning into her mug. Her dark eyes meet mine. “Some guy came by looking for you last night.”

I roll my eyes. Fucking Cliff. My fingers curl into fists. This is the last time I ever have a one-night stand with someone I know I’m going to see again. Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I can’t believe he’s doing this shit. Whenever I next see him, I’m putting his ass in line. Better yet, I’m going to text his ass. I glance around the kitchen for my phone.

“See, I thought he was acting kinda weird.” Esther touches my hand. “Should we call the police?”

“No,” I grumble. “He’s my . . .” I bite my lip, trying to decide how to describe him to her. Definitely not “cousin.”

“Boyfriend?” Esther guesses.

“No,” I say a little too forcefully. “It’s complicated.” Great. Now I feel like a Facebook status.

I get up and hunt for my phone, leaving Esther to finish her breakfast. She’s my ride to campus, so I can’t exactly get pushy. Instead I’ve learned to get up and ready early, that way I can read for class or sneak in some Netflix while I wait for her. Our arrangement has been working for the past four years. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when we graduate. Esther’s grandparents pay for her apartment so she can stay close to home. They have all three of her younger siblings, though, and I think it’s kind of understood that once she finishes her undergrad, she has to take the kids. I don’t know the details, because she won’t talk about it and I’m not one to press.

It might sound selfish, but I’m really not looking forward to having to find my own place. Then again, I can probably crash at Lucy’s in the meantime—as long as Cliff is out of there.

I snatch my phone from within the folds of my comforter on my bed and fire off a text to him.

Olivia: You can’t just show up at my place. It’s not okay.

Placing it on my dresser, I wander my room, grabbing the textbooks that I need. It’s wild that this is it—my last semester.

I’ve thought of going on to get my Master’s, but I’m itching to get into the field. I’ve never exactly been patient. Which is why tricks like getting up early and staying occupied have kept me from falling apart every time Esther runs late. I’ve learned to give her an earlier time than necessary. Works like a charm.

By the time my bag is packed—including extra snacks—Esther is ready to go. She’s a whirlwind of hair tucked into a messy bun, leggings and UGGs, and a half-zipped backpack. We walk out to her car together, the bright winter sun piercing my vision.

It’s a surprisingly warm day for February. Spring is in the air, and it puts a bounce in my step. Things in my life are really coming together.

The ride to Southern is always quick—until we hit New Haven. Esther eases into traffic and turns up the volume on KISS 95.7. “If we’re going to inch along, we might as well have good music.”

I nod in response. The latest Beyonce song really isn’t my thing, but my roommate adores her. It’s yet another contrast between us, one more reason why we’re more acquaintances than friends. But Esther is nice, and sometimes she’ll cook for us. Usually I order takeout for our dinner. She’s the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got—besides Lucy.

The thought of Lucy reminds me that I need to tell her about Cliff. I’m not really sure how I can rat him out without giving myself away. I sigh.

“What’s the matter?” Esther asks. Route 63 dumps us out onto Whalley Avenue. She takes a left onto Blake Street, speeding into the turn before the green arrow goes out.

My lips part to tell her at least a little about Cliff. I can’t. It’s bad enough that he’s legally my cousin. Throw in the part about him being on parole, and it just all looks awful. I shake my head. “I just can’t figure out why the fuck he’d show up at our place,” I murmur.

“Maybe to win you back,” she says. “Did you fight?” She rolls to a stop at the intersection.

I glance at the gas station on the corner and realize I’m out of cigarettes. Esther will never go for it, though. I may be on time, but she’s running late.

“Something like that,” I tell her with another sigh.

Cliff has me doing all kinds of things I don’t normally—like thinking about him and sighing like a school girl. My nose scrunches. Fuck Cliff. I need to get back in the game, keep moving. I can’t let him get to me like this.

Esther hurtles onto campus and drops me off in front of my building. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way,” she says, and peels off.

Shaking my head at her, I glance around for a victim. There are always smokers around, and there’s usually someone willing to let you bum one. I’ve handed out more cigarettes than I can count. Karma has to kick in at some point.

I spot a familiar looking figure. His back is to me, his lean shoulders hunched against the wind. It’s always windy at Southern. I approach him, fur-lined black leather boots sloshing through half-melted snow. He cups a cigarette with one hand, a lighter in his other hand. The wind keeps knocking out the flame.

“Here,” I say, holding my hands out.

He glances at me and smiles. “Oh, hey.” He hands me the cigarette and lighter.

Using the wall as a partial block, I light the thing in one shot. The single drag I take instantly soothes my nerves. I pass it back to him.

“Nah.” He plucks out another from his pack. “You earned it.”

As we smoke, I peer at him. “You look familiar. Do we have class together?”

Sandy hair hangs in his eyes. He shakes the strands out of his face and nods. “Photography.”

Right. I had two elective slots, so I picked some things that I thought might be fun. Only I hadn’t counted on needing to buy a camera and a bunch of other stuff. I’d thought the school would provide them. “That’s later this morning, isn’t it?”

“Eleven-ish.” His green eyes search mine expectantly. “You don’t remember my name, do you?” He chuckles.

“Sometimes I can barely remember my own,” I say, holding out my hand. “Olivia.”

His hand takes mine, his grip warm. I notice a cross tattooed on his index finger. “Eli.” His gaze holds mine, hungry. Between that longish hair, those greenish brown eyes, and the tats, he just might be one-night stand material. He’s only in one of my classes—a class I’ll probably drop anyway.

“Are you Italian, Eli?” I drop my voice and hold his gaze. I need to get Cliff out of my system, and Eli is perfect. He’s just desperate enough that he’ll be easy. Southern is a big place and I don’t even live in New Haven, so even if he gets any odd dating ideas in his head, it’ll be simple to avoid him.

“Why?” he asks, his voice husky. “Do you like Italian food?”

I picture him in my mouth and nearly choke on my cigarette. “Only if I can eat it off of you,” I purr. His eyebrows lift, lips dropping open. Men are so easy—every single one of them. All I have to do is flirt with them a little, and they’re putty in my hands. I bet this one would eagerly follow me into an empty classroom right now, like a hungry puppy. I take another drag while I consider putting his leash on. I can probably ditch my child welfare class. I’m ahead of the reading and even before I left, it was a pretty easy course. I’ve always been a good student.

“Ah, shit. I’m late. I’ll see you later,” Eli says. He lifts a hand in parting and jogs away.

I was too slow.

It’s probably just as well. I don’t want to earn a reputation around campus. Besides, my little meatball is probably Catholic and looking to settle down with fifteen kids the second he graduates. With my luck, I’d get knocked up the one time and would have to at least humor the idea for a little while.

Besides, Italian food isn’t really my thing.

Still, I could really use the distraction. I walk to class chewing on the inside of my cheek, wishing I could get Cliff out of my head. This has never happened before. It’s ridiculous and it needs to stop. Yes, he’s sexy and he makes me laugh, but I can’t let myself get carried away. If I sleep with him more than once, I’ll end up dating him or something.

Maybe Lucy isn’t the only one with a warped sense of romance.

I stride into class promising myself two things: I’m going to tell Lucy about the club, and then I’m never going to think about Cliff again.


Esther is such a doll, she drops me off in front of Lucy’s. The street is dark and quiet, the temperature back at a proper winter freeze. I wave to Esther as she pulls away, then let myself in.

I find Lucy in the kitchen, several notebooks and her planner sprawled about the table. “Lesson planning?” I ask, pulling up a chair. I pour myself some coffee from the carafe into the extra mug she’s left out. Lucy pretty much assumes I’m coming over at this point.

“Ugh,” she replies, rubbing her temples. “I just can’t figure out how to teach these kids this Common Core math shit. They’re in first grade, for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t be this complicated for them.”

I grimace in agreement. I’ve seen some of the things she teaches, and it makes my non-math brain hurt. “Take a break.” I reach for her hand and gently pull the pen from her fingers.

She groans but complies. “What’s up with you?” she asks me over the rim of her coffee mug.

Shrugging, I give her my most innocent smile. “I think I might’ve found my next guy.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

Lucy nods for me to continue. “Don’t leave me hanging. I live vicariously through you, remember?”

“Well,” I say, leaning forward, “there’s this hot guy in my photography class.”

She holds up a hand, palm out. “Whoa, whoa, wait. You’re taking photography?”

I clear my throat. “C’mon, Luce. Leave that shit in the past, where it belongs.” I try to sound flippant. My cheeks redden in rebellion.

“You’re never gonna live that one down, Livvie.” Laughing, she tucks strands of hair behind each ear. “I can’t believe they’re trusting you with a camera.”

“I was nine,” I remind her, “and I have to buy my own. I was wondering if Dad would let me borrow one.”

Lucy snorts. “Are you high, kid? Dad’s memory still works just fine.”

“Hmn.” I tuck my chin into my hand. “I guess you’re right.” Glancing around the room, I try to figure out how to broach the subject.

Lucy suddenly grabs my hand, her eyes intent on mine. “Listen, Livvie, I want you to know . . . I know. And it’s going to be okay.”

Freezing, I blink back at her. “Do what now?”

Cliff steps into the kitchen, whistling Bush’s “Glycerine.” His taste in ‘90s music is approval-stamp worthy. He strolls to the refrigerator and peers inside.

“Do we have any leftovers, Luce?” he asks, completely ignoring my presence.

I set my mug down hard. “What do you mean, you know?” I ask Lucy. My glare is still fixed on Cliff’s back, though.

“About the strip club.” My sister’s eyes mist with worry, her eyebrows turned down. “I know you want to pay your loans off, hon, but it’s not worth selling your body.”

I swear, Cliff’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“I’m not stripping,” I tell her. “I’m bartending. The tips are good, especially if you show a little cleavage.” I point at Cliff. “He just joined the fucking River Reapers.” Even though I’m trying really hard not to, I sound like a little kid. Then again, the fucker tattled on me first.

Cliff’s shoulders stiffen.

“They sell drugs out of that bar,” I tell Lucy. “I know because I pass them to customers with their drinks.” It’s too late to clap my hand over my mouth.

Cliff joins us at the table and pours himself coffee. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he says, glancing from Lucy to me. “All our cards are on the table. Except yours, Luce. Any illegal activity you want to share with us?”

Lucy sighs, rubbing her temples. “What the hell is wrong with the two of you?” We both open our mouths, but Lucy shakes her head. “I don’t want to know about what you’re doing. I’ve got enough to do. Keep your dirty little secrets to yourselves.” She pulls a notebook toward her and bows her head.

My whole face is on fire. Cliff is pointedly not looking at me. Shoving my chair back, I stand and motion for him to follow me. I stalk outside and light a cigarette, marching back and forth along the front walk. I stomp up to him. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

He lights his own cigarette, inhaling. Seconds drip by as he unleashes a stream of smoke into the cold air. He grins down at me. “I’m just looking out for my cousin.”

I start to jab the cigarette into the air in front of him, to tell him off. I really, really want to kick him in the ankles.

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Want to go for a ride?” He nods to a motorcycle parked in front of Lucy’s. I should have noticed it when I came in, but I was too preoccupied.

“Asshole.” I give his arm a playful shove, but the hard muscle underneath his long-sleeved shirt and leather vest is totally distracting. My eyes trace the way the vest hugs his muscular torso. “You wear that thing well,” I say with a sigh. At least I can say I tried to get him out of there. Too bad Lucy is too busy with work. Then again, I’m lucky she didn’t press me to make sure I’m not really stripping.

Cliff nods. “Thanks.” It’s hard to read his face in the dark, but he sounds weird. Kind of hoarse.

“Late night?” I ask, taking another drag.

“Nah.” Looking back at the bike, he shrugs. “Just a long morning.” His eyes snap to mine. “So what’s with you and the photography guy?”

I laugh. “You were listening the whole time?” Taking a step closer to him, the corners of my lips lift in a coy smile. “Naughty boy.”

“I can show you naughty,” he says, and my heart combusts. “So,” he draws out the word as his eyes hook mine, “how about that ride?”

Thank you for reading Chapter 8 of A Disturbing Prospect!

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 7

I want a simple life. No games.

“It’s a brand new world when you realize who your father really is,” Ravage says quietly. “But you’re a better man than he was.”

I trace the insignia embroidered into the leather with a trembling hand. I need a drink.

This is my party. I might as well enjoy it.

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6 Cliff

Besides my great big surprise, The Wet Mermaid is exactly as I expected. Mark runs me through my responsibilities for the night. It’s so straightforward, anyone could do it, but I guess they need someone who looks imposing. Mark introduces the guy I’m shadowing tonight as Beer Can, then leaves us to it.
Beer Can looks me up and down, arms crossed around his round torso. Gray streaks his black hair and beard. Despite his short stature, the dude is solid. He could be a Viking warrior. “You looking to patch in?”

Most of the guys here wear leather jackets or vests with the River Reapers insignia: a sludge reaper with water snakes wrapped around it. It’s a nod to the nationally known pollution level of the Naugatuck River due to illegal chemical plant dumping. Supposedly the river is actually clean now. Back in elementary school, kids whispered stories of two-headed fish and more sinister creatures.

I give Beer Can a shrug. I’m here for a job. At least, I thought I was. It’s really fucking weird that my P.O. would hook me up with this place.

Beer Can leans in. The patch on his breast reads SGT. AT ARMS. “Between you and me, kid, you’re better off. On the outside, you need family.” He claps my shoulder twice. “Hang around, get to know everyone. You might like it.”

I glance away. I might be green, but I’ve been around long enough to know that it’s pretty rare for MCs to invite in outsiders—especially nobodies like me. Either someone is fucking with me, or these guys are desperate. Whatever it is, I want no part of it.

Beer Can leans against the door frame. “Now, most of this gig is carding kids. Don’t know what it is, but they always think they’re gonna pull one over us.” He spears me with dark eyes, face even darker despite his fair complexion. “Everyone gets IDed, even old men with oxygen tanks and walkers, got it?”

I nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of bare flesh. One of the girls swings around the pole, legs a blur. Working here is going to be a pain in the balls.

“While we’re on the list of dos and don’ts, our girls are off limits. No palming asses or stealing kisses. They’re all club property. We clear?” Beer Can may be all of 5’6″, but he’s no one to piss off. If push came to shove, it would be a close fight.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say, thinking of Olivia.

“Good.” Beer Can jerks a thumb toward the bar. “Every once in a while, fights’ll break out. Usually it’s just brothers messing around. Maybe someone had too much to drink. Sometimes it’s about a woman. We don’t run into too much trouble. Mostly it’s about flexing muscle, separating ’em. You know, kids in opposite corners.” He strokes his beard. “Though sometimes we just let ’em at it, if it’s a good match.”

I think of all the fights I’ve seen in the past two decades. “I once saw a guy get his head kicked in.”

“Not here.” Beer Can laughs.

“So no rival clubs storming in?” I keep my voice light and conversational, but I am curious. Mostly because I don’t want to get mixed up in that shit. Plus there’s Olivia to think of. I think I have to tell Lucy, which is going to be a problem because then I might have to mention the other night. But I can’t let Olivia work here. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, but even if the River Reapers aren’t outlaws, they’re still dangerous.

Then again, so am I.

Beer Can shakes his head. “None of that shit.” He claps my shoulder again. “We have fun. We ride, throw parties, sell a little coke.”

Christ. “Thought it was just Percs and shit?” I cock my head at Beer Can, who gives me a smug shrug. With every passing second, I’m more and more anxious to get Olivia out of here. She’s a college girl, for fuck’s sake. There have to be a hundred jobs at her school, yet she picks a drug warehouse fronting as a strip club.

This job is going to be temporary for both of us. There’s no way my P.O. did this knowing what’s going on here. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I’ll die before I go back into that concrete tomb.

“Relax, kid,” Beer Can says. “If I were you, I’d float on this parade while it lasts.”

Before I can ask him what the fuck that means, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing colors strides up to us. He glares down at me with hazel eyes, even though we’re about the same height. The patch on his breast reads PRESIDENT.

The President holds out his hand. “I’m Ravage. Good to finally meet you.” As we clasp, his gaze holds mine. Respect flickers in them. It takes me by surprise.

I glance from Ravage to Beer Can. Maybe it’s my time still haunting me, but this whole thing has me uneasy. I don’t know what to expect or what they expect from me. And even though I’m sure they’re great guys, I can’t believe any rational P.O. would send an ex-con to join a biker gang.

“I’m sure you’ve got questions for me,” Ravage says. “Then there are a few guys who would really love to meet you.” He jerks his head, indicating for me to follow him.

Beer Can gives me a nod and returns to his position at the door.

I follow Ravage into a sort of conference room. A huge tapestry embroidered with the club’s insignia takes up a whole wall. Various photos and items with club colors decorate the rest of the walls. Ravage sits at the head of the heavy oak table and motions for me to sit too. “Is Mark gonna be cool with this?” I ask.

Ravage smiles. “Mark is our Treasurer. He answers to me.” He jabs a thumb at his chest. “Don’t worry about him.” Leaning back in his seat, he swivels a little to the left, then a little to the right, back and forth. Just watching me.

Waiting.

My brows furrow. I want a simple life. No games. A job to come home from. Eventually a place of my own. I think of Lucy’s spare bedroom. Good thing she decorates in neutrals. Then, as if by default, I think of Olivia.

Ravage nods at me, that smile still there. He oozes understanding and respect. It’s fucking weird. “I get it, man. Fresh out—everything is surreal. But I made a promise, and I’m gonna hold up my end of the bargain. I always do.” He places both hands on the table, palms down. “Fire away, kid.”

I start with the obvious. “Why did my probation officer connect me with this job?”

Ravage shoots me a superior look. “Because no one else around here will hire a convicted felon.” He leans forward. “But we do. We have an arrangement with local law: send us your convicts, and we won’t cause any trouble. Mostly.” His smile is feline and predatory. “We also get a nice tax break, so I owe you another thank you.”

“Another?” I’m scowling so hard, my face is going to get stuck this way. I don’t believe any of his bullshit. Whatever his game is, he’s playing me.

“Relax,” he says. “We didn’t bring you here to cause trouble.” He drums thick fingers on the wood. His voice drops conspiratorially. “Everyone in this town knew what was happening to that poor little girl. It still boils my fucking blood.” Face clouding over, he looks away for a moment. “We don’t tolerate that shit.”

My face relaxes an iota. “Why are we talking about Lucy?”

Ravage straightens. His eyes meet mine, awed. “You did what none of us were able to do, son. When you went in, we took a vote. I promised to watch out for you when you got out.”

I should ask him where the fuck they all were a week ago, but I don’t. Mostly because I still don’t understand the game. Thoughts are knocking around in my head like a bunch of bumper cars. I need a cigarette, some time to sit down and make sense of this. Because it’s completely upside down.

“We can’t have shit like that in this town,” Ravage continues. “It’s wrong.”
He says this with such conviction, it surprises me. Everything I know about bikers is compounded into one rule: stay away.

“We were fractured,” he continues. “Couldn’t come to an agreement. Any decision had to be unanimous. This club was split into two, and there was nothing I could do about it. And then you came along.” Despite the light from the overhead lamp, Ravage’s eyes are hooded, shadows painting his face into an angel of death. “Killing him wasn’t against club rules, because you weren’t a member. You did us all a favor, kid, so now it’s time for us to repay you.”

The room spins as he stands. His words replay in my head, my brain trying to catch up. I must’ve been one naive kid to have missed something this big.

Ravage slides a leather vest across the table to me. My eyes snap up to his. I start to shake my head.

“It’s a brand new world when you realize who your father really is,” he says quietly. “But you’re a better man than he was.”

I trace the insignia that is embroidered into the leather with a trembling hand. Surreal doesn’t even begin to cover what’s happening right now. “I don’t even have a bike,” I tell Ravage, voice hoarse. I need a drink. Or a whole bottle. Even though I wasn’t actually manipulated, I feel used. But that’s not all.

“We have plenty,” the President says. Like it’s that simple. They can just give me a bike and I’m ordained.

As I trace the sewn on Prospect rocker, an entirely new feeling envelopes me. It brings me back to my childhood, when one-year-old Lucy giggled for me for the first time. We were at my parents’, and she’d asked for a cookie. My mother told her no, that it was too close to dinner. As soon as she left the room, though, I climbed up onto a chair and grabbed one of the soft chocolate chip cookies from its packaging. Breaking it in half, I handed one to Lucy. She tapped hers against mine and giggled, an announcement of camaraderie.

I haven’t felt anything like it in twenty years.

My eyes meet Ravage’s. He gives me a nod.

“Go ahead, son. Try it on.”

So I do.

The cut-off vest has a weight to it that isn’t just the leather. It’s brotherhood, but it’s also a major responsibility. It’s the unasked question that is heavy on my tongue. I’m afraid to voice it, because I already know the answer, and I don’t like it. It means that there’s no escaping who I am, that the very thing I hate is embedded deep in my veins. The only way to get rid of it is to spill every drop—but I don’t believe in that.

My choice is obvious: either I embrace what I am, straddle the point of no return and ride it out, or I walk away. The answer comes easy because there’s nowhere else to go. I’m not leaving Naugatuck and Lucy. There’s also Olivia to think about, but I can’t get started on that just yet. I’ve got enough to chew on.

Ravage sends me off, telling me he’ll knock my teeth out if I go back to the door—Beer Can’s got it. I’m supposed to wander around, meet my future brothers, and enjoy the party. Turns out they’re closing the place to River Reapers only.

We’re celebrating me.

What I did.

I walk straight to the bar. Olivia is chatting with a woman whose bronze skin is so deep, it’s actually black. The other woman would normally be my type: long curly hair, round eyes, supple breasts that I can grab onto and hold. If Beer Can hadn’t told me to keep away from the girls here, she’d be my new class crush. Maybe the rules change when you’re fully patched.

Olivia eyes me as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. She gives her head a tiny shake and shifts her eyes toward a purple-haired Puerto Rican woman at the other end of the bar.

I see the glances they exchange, and it’s obvious: they’re together.

Fair enough. It’s not like I can stop thinking about Olivia, anyway. Working here is going to make it even harder to stick to our arrangement.

The curly-haired woman carries two fresh drinks over to her girlfriend. They look at each other as if they’re the only two people in the world. I want that. I really do. But there isn’t a single woman in this world who would want that with me. She’d have to be irrational, and I don’t fuck with unstable chicks.

Olivia examines my vest. “That was fast.”

I slump onto a stool. “I need a drink. Anything.”

She frowns, but pours me a Jack and Coke. “Want to talk about it?”

Sipping my drink, I consider the idea. Confiding in her would be typical boyfriend/girlfriend behavior, though—strictly against our agreement. So many rules bind me now. And here I thought I’d gotten out of prison.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “Bartenders are like therapists without the pay. You talk, and I’ll keep the drinks coming.” She winks and lights a cigarette.

For the first time, I notice that everyone is smoking freely. I light one too. “We won’t get fined for this?”

Laughing, Olivia raises her cigarette in a salute. “All the time. Naugy makes a lot of money off us. We all chip in to cover it.”

I lean on the bar and drop my voice. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

She shrugs. “Why would I? I’m just the bartender.” She takes a drag, then exhales into the smoky air. “Most guys would kill to wear that, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you,” she lobs at me.

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

The overhead speakers crackle, and the music switches from modern shit I’ve never heard to nineties grunge and metal. Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun” spins, the two girls on the pole whirling with it. I watch them for ten or so seconds before I move on.

This is my party. I might as well enjoy it.

Brothers pass me beer and clasp hands with me as I make my way through. Every one of them is welcoming, some of the older ones even thanking me. I guess the younger members wouldn’t really know about what went down.

I’m not even sure I do, anymore.

They make the eighteen-year-old Cliff who saved Lucy sound like a hero. But it wasn’t like that. Not for me. It feels wrong to celebrate it. I may have protected Lucy, but the price I paid is acid eating at my soul. The man who walked out of penitentiary is not that teenager. From one second to the next, I’d transformed into something unrecognizable. A dark, insatiable creature.

Most people would be horrified if they had to do what I did. No matter how hard I try to feel otherwise, I enjoyed it.

I revel in every moment that replays in my head.

The only part that I would take back is Lucy, huddled in the corner, screaming with horrified eyes locked on me. As if I was the monster instead. Even still, there’s no doubt in me that I would do it again.

A man with red hair and a beard streaked through with a few grays claps me on the back. I read VICE PRESIDENT embroidered on his chest. “Welcome home, Cliff.” His light eyes are sincere, shimmering with joy.

If someone had told me someday I’d bring a whole club of bikers happiness, I would’ve laughed at them. I’m not laughing now.

Turns out whiskey chased with lots of beer is so much safer than tequila. “Thanks,” I reply. My shot nerves are swimming in alcoholic bliss. Apparently I’m at least ten times more sociable when I’m drunk. I make a mental note not to get too fucked up that I can’t talk to Lucy when I get home. She needs to know about Olivia.

“Everyone calls me Skid,” the Vice President says. “It’s a long story.”

Beer Can slings an arm around each of us—my waist and Skid’s shoulders. “It’s actually pretty simple. Skid here dumped his bike but wasn’t wearing anything else.” He grabs Skid’s arm and rolls up the black sleeves he’s wearing under his cut, exposing a rash of pocked, whitened flesh. It’s at least ten years’ healed, but still angry.

Both men laugh.

“You should see the rest of me,” Skid tells me.

“Don’t worry,” Beer Can assures me. “I’m teaching you how to ride tomorrow, not this asshole.”

Billy Idol pumps over the speakers, and my mood lifts even more. Even if I’m wary of joining the MC, I have to admit—at least to myself—that I’m drawn to it. The notion of cruising down Naugy back roads with so much power between my legs and a whole family of brothers around me is such a good one, I can almost overlook the drugs. Give me a week and I’ll probably be completely ambivalent about it. Knowing what I know now, this was inevitable.

I’ve finally come home.

Beer Can waves several dollar bills and staggers toward the stage, leaving me and Skid in the middle of the club.

The Vice President leans in, eyes glinting. “I got you a little something, kid.” He jerks his head for me to follow him. I stumble in his wake, suddenly more drunk than I thought I was. It’s still just a nice buzz, not anything I’m going to wake up hungover with. I follow Skid to a door that takes us into a hall. We pass customer restrooms and the dancers’ dressing rooms, then come to a flight of stairs.

It occurs to me that he might be taking me up to the roof so he can shove me off. No one knows where I am. Olivia is busy at the bar, probably pissed off at me, and Lucy is at home doing lesson prep for her students tomorrow. My fists flex. If he’s looking to punish me for what I’ve done, he’s going to get a hell of a surprise. I’m just as brawny in a fight as I’m built.

But we emerge onto a second floor. Skid gestures to the partially opened doors lining the halls. “By now you know The Wet Mermaid is also our club house. We keep rooms up here for some of the guys. Not you—you’re still a Prospect. But for tonight, we all kicked in and got you a little something.”

He pushes the first door open.

A brunette with deep olive skin is spread across a made full-sized bed. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath. My eyes trace the swell of them, the way they slope into her belly. I follow the invisible trail to her parted legs. One arm is slung across her belly, her delicate fingers slipping low. “Hey papi,” she purrs.

“Door number one,” Skid says. He nods down the hall, takes a couple of paces, and opens the next door. This one houses a red-haired white woman, equally bare except for the fiery patch of hair between her legs. “Door number two.” Skid grins. “And so on and so forth.”

I laugh. “I think you’re overestimating my libido.”

Nodding once, Skid grips my shoulder. “That’s why you’ve got to build it back up.” With his free hand, he gestures to a door. “Your choice. Enjoy.” He claps me on the bicep and wanders away.

“Christ,” I mutter. My brand new biker family has bought me a game show’s worth of prostitutes.

I pick a door at random. It feels offensive to choose based on the women’s looks.
The woman behind my door has long, wavy brown hair. Her nipples peek through the strands. “Hi honey,” she says, stroking the creamy skin of a thigh. “Come on and join me.”

Her eyes aren’t as luminous, but she still looks too much like Olivia. The animal in my pants relaxes as my heart clenches. Fuck me, but Olivia is the only woman I want.

But she doesn’t want me.

Even then, I can’t just forget about her. It’s as impossible as changing my DNA. For better or worse, she’s a part of who I am now.

“Sorry,” I tell the woman. I turn around, and close the door.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 6

He scrubs at his face with his hands. “Luce didn’t say you work at a fucking strip club.”

“That’s because Luce doesn’t know.” I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him.

Making a frustrated sound, he downs the rest of his water. He leans forward. “What else are we keeping from her?”

“We won’t tell her about the baby, either.”

catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5 Olivia

I want to shout to the world that I just had the most mindblowing sex in the back of a broken-into station wagon. Every inch of me tingles, my entire body vibrating with electric current. But Cliff and I just walk back to the bar, smoking cigarettes without speaking. It seems like we’re both on the same page, because he doesn’t mumble any lies about going out to dinner or anything. By the time we get back, the tequila is wearing off and I need another drink to celebrate.

Bursting inside, I wave to Lucy and march up to the bar. Our elderly friend is still back there, drying off clean glasses. It’s got to be like midnight, so it’s unbelievable that she’s somehow still awake.

Since I’ve already had four tequila shots, I think it’s best to just continue with my friend Jose. “Tequila Sunrise, please,” I say, leaning on the counter.

Someone pinches my arm.

Lucy stands next to me, glaring. “Where the fuck have you been?” she hisses in a low, dangerous voice.

I lift an eyebrow at her. “Getting cigarettes. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” she says, waving her phone in the air, “is that we missed our train.”

I start to argue with her, to tell her that what she’s saying is ridiculous. Then the phone slows enough that I can read the time. My mouth falls open.

“Yeah.” She crosses her arms. “So you wanna try again?”

Cliff slides onto a bar stool on the other side of Lucy. “What’s going on?”

My sister spins around on him so fast, I see stars. “I told you two that we couldn’t miss this train! There isn’t another one ’til the morning. Do you want to spend the night sleeping at the train station?”

He rubs at his face. “Aw, Luce, I’m so sorry. I think the tequila disagreed with me. I needed some air, and then Olivia said she was going to the gas station. I walked with her, but I got sick on the way. She was trying to protect my manhood.”

I nearly choke on my drink. Sugary sweet liquid trickles down my shirt. Putting the drink down, I dab it up with a cocktail napkin before Lucy sees.

My sister deflates. Somehow, she has this super soft spot for Cliff. He could tell her the world is flat and she’d believe him. I’m even more curious than ever now.

Lucy hops up onto a bar stool, then gives Cliff a one-armed hug. “Lightweight,” she says. She orders a soda, and Cliff throws me a wink when she’s not looking.

I exhale and try to enjoy my drink. The danger has passed. Lucy won’t find out, and Cliff and I will go our separate ways. It’s the best possible outcome for a one-night stand—my absolute favorite ending to a beautiful fairytale.

I lift my glass toward him in a salute, and drain it.


The next train to New Haven isn’t until seven in the morning. We close out the bar, granny still wide awake. Then we take an Uber to the Harrisburg train station. Since it’s an hour long ride, I rest my head against the window of the back seat and try to fall asleep. Cliff sits between us, with Lucy on his other side. It’s how we’ve been taking Ubers late at night. I know Lucy won’t sleep, because she doesn’t trust anyone. But I trust Cliff. We finally have a bond, and since we’ve swapped DNA, we might as well be family.

A giggle bursts from my nostrils. I glance at the others, but none of them even notice that I’m still drunk. Snuggling up into the most comfortable position possible, I close my eyes and say goodbye to Lewisburg. It’s been real.

When I wake up, we’re just pulling into the parking lot. I still really think Lucy would’ve saved money had we just driven down here, but instead of pointing that out, I touch ground and stretch my stiff legs. Cliff jumps out behind me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

“We still smoking buddies?” he asks in a low voice.

“Of course.” I hand him my pack and lighter. This time he lights two and hands me one. “What a gentleman.” I wink.

He winks back.

I smoke, trying to slow my thundering heart. I’m too tired to start analyzing what that wink means or why I’m still reacting so strongly to him. My body should be satisfied, still swimming in sweet memories. It may have been short, but that was still the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Peeking at him out of the corner of an eye, I wonder whether I’d ever really done it right before. Maybe it’s because he was an exceptionally attentive lover. Most of them aren’t.

All these thoughts just make me want to find another car to break into. Shaking them off, I toss the rest of my cigarette and follow Lucy inside. It’s time to enforce that no-clinging rule for myself.

During our overnight stay in the train station lobby, I make sure I look at him as little as possible. I don’t stop sharing my cigarettes, because that’s cruel and unusual in the smoking circle, but I do stop talking to him. Even though we sit next to each other on the train with Lucy across the aisle, I keep to myself. I ignore the heat radiating from him and those smoldering eyes, burying our night where it belongs.

In the past.


The next day is for recovery. Lucy drops me off at my apartment, and I don’t waste any time with sappy goodbyes. I’ll talk to Lucy in a couple days or so, and I’ll see Cliff at the next family reunion. Easing inside, I pull my luggage behind me, then close the door quickly. A tiny meow alerts me to Dio’s position. The orange tabby kitten comes hurtling at me, the bell on his collar jingling. I let go of my suitcase and scoop him up, nuzzling him against my face.

“Hi buddy,” I croon. “I missed you.”

He wriggles in my hand and meows again sternly.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry I left you.” Carrying him with me, I head into the kitchenette. It isn’t far. Our place may be laid out like an apartment, but I’ve seen bigger motel rooms. Dio’s probably still too little for kitty treats, so I’ve been spoiling him with something I think he likes even more.

I open the refrigerator and retrieve the container of grated cheese. Tapping out a teeny bit into my hand, I carry Dio to the counter. Then I put him down and he makes a beeline toward my fingers. His sandpaper tongue brushes against my skin as he laps up every last round white crumb. Before my roommate can see him on the counter, I place him back down on the floor.

He’s the only male I’ll ever commit to.

“Our little secret, right bud?” I leave him in the kitchen and go to put my things away. Esther is apparently at class, so once I’m unpacked, I snuggle up with Dio in my bed and turn on a Netflix movie that I promptly fall asleep to.

Even though I take such a late nap, I go to bed pretty early, too. When I wake up in the morning, I feel refreshed for the first time in the past week. Booze, good sex, and a full night of sleep will do that for a girl. I hang out ’til it’s time to dress for work, give Dio one last chin scratch, then get going.

Most of the undergrad students I know at Southern have jobs on campus, or relatively close. Not me. I stopped living on campus last year when I found an even better job right in the city I grew up in.

I catch the bus and take it downtown, then walk down a couple streets. Though it’s in a questionable area, I’ve never felt unsafe. I carry a knife and mace in my bag, and I’ve always been great at screaming “Fire!” Anyone who tries to hurt me will be very, very sorry. I’d rather die fighting than do nothing.

A squat, wide man at the door gives me a nod. I smile back in greeting, then continue my trek to the back. The place is empty at this hour, but some of the girls are hanging out and practicing. I say hi to a few on my way to Mark’s office.

Pausing in front of his half open door, I smooth my hair. Mark is that boss who always hits on everyone. He’s harmless so I never dwell on it. Besides, I’m not his type. He prefers blondes. Still, I want to be extra sweet to him because he was pretty cool about me taking off for a week. He’s always been good to me.

I push the door open, but my knees turn into water.

A man with a broad set of shoulders stands with his back to me. I’d recognize that physique anywhere. After all, two nights ago I was skin to skin with him in the back of a station wagon on a dark street. I’m intimately familiar with the muscles of that back, their hardness beneath my fingers.

I stand frozen and speechless until Mark notices me in the doorway.

“Hey kiddo,” he says, gesturing me inside. He turns to Cliff. “This is Olivia, one of my girls. Olivia, Cliff is our new bouncer.”

Cliff turns slowly in my direction. Those thick lips part, his eyes widening. I think of them locked on mine as he drove in and out of me. I feel myself clench, hot and wet, as I remember how hard and thick he was. The breath in my lungs whooshes out.

Bouncer.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I look back and forth from Mark to Cliff, trying to decide whether this is all some big joke. Maybe they know each other from high school or something, and thought this would be funny. But neither of them look amused. Mark is completely oblivious, because he’s a man in his mid-forties. Cliff looks like someone just kicked him in the nuts.

Recovering, I hold out my hand. “Bouncer, huh? It’s nice to meet you.”

His hand grasps mine. Brown eyes funnel into mine, holding me, mesmerizing. “Dancer, huh?” His words are strangled.

I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Our hands remain clasped, and I squeeze his fingers. “That wouldn’t break our agreement, would it?” I keep my eyes wide and run my tongue along my lower lip.

Cliff swallows, but doesn’t drop my gaze. “It definitely makes things a little harder,” he says with a straight face.

Coughing, I release his hand. I turn, reaching for a tissue from Mark’s desk. I pretend to blow my nose, then straighten. It’d serve him right if I keep messing with him, but he’s going to find out within the next half hour, anyway. “Come on, I’ll show you my work station.”

His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Kinda like a mix between fear and desire, like he can’t wait to see me on the pole and then take me in my dressing room, but feels guilty about it.

I lead him to the bar.

“Cold water?” I ask, tossing him a bottle. I lean on the counter and watch as he twists it open and gulps half the thing down in one shot. Beads of sweat stand out at his hairline.

He shakes his head. “You enjoy this way too much.”

“But you make it so easy.” I chuckle and grab myself a bottle of water. In the past week, I’ve made him turn a certain shade of pale at least three times. Not always on purpose, though. I couldn’t have planned this one if I’d tried. And it definitely throws a wrench in my love ’em and leave ’em routine.

Cliff sits down and runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Olivia.” He shakes his head again. “You couldn’t have given me a heads up?”

“Why?” My eyebrows scrunch together. “How the hell was I supposed to know you got a job here?”

He scrubs at his face with his hands. “Luce didn’t say you work at a fucking strip club.”

“That’s because Luce doesn’t know.” I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him.

Making a frustrated sound, he downs the rest of his water. He leans forward. “What else are we keeping from her?”

“We won’t tell her about the baby, either.” I watch him, unblinking, as my words sink in.

But he chucks the empty bottle at me. It bounces off my shoulder. “Be serious, Olivia.” He points a finger at me. “This isn’t going to work.”

I hiss out an exasperated breath through my teeth. “So, what, you think I’m just gonna walk away from my job? Fuck that, and fuck you.” I don’t remind him that I was here first, because this isn’t high school. But I am concerned. Usually my nighters are guys I’m positive I’ll never run into again, or only occasionally. No one from classes, for example, but upperclassmen I run into in the student center are fair game.

Groaning, Cliff places both hands flat on the bar. “Here’s how this is gonna go, then.” He stands up and leans toward me, towering over me. “You stay in your corner, I’ll stay in mine. Lucy doesn’t find out. We don’t talk.” He pats the pocket of his coat. The outline of a pack of cigarettes shows through. “Cool?” His eyes are nearly black.

“Sure,” I tell him. I turn away, busying myself with getting things ready for the night. It’s a ladies’ wristband special evening, so I make sure all the bottom shelf liquors are in the right place. Some of the girls who work here know jack shit about booze hierarchy. When I turn around a minute later, he’s already gone. I frown. I don’t like how I’m feeling.

Like I’ve been written off.

It’s unfair, considering I didn’t want anything more to do with him. But I hate how easily he can set the rules all the same. Maybe it’s because usually they’re my rules. Which is pretty ridiculous, considering we’re on the same page. I should be celebrating, but instead my eyes dart back to Mark’s office, where Cliff is bullshitting with him. Both of them laugh, and Mark glances my way.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. I’m about to stalk over there when music blares over the sound system, Theory of a Deadman’s “Bad Girlfriend.” Scowling, I shoot a look at the girl on the stage. It’s a terrible song, and dancing to it is a complete cliche. It doesn’t matter what I think, though, because this place brings in a lot of money. The customers tip well, even if they’re all bikers with hungry eyes.

The Wet Mermaid belongs to the River Reapers and serves as their club house. I suppose that makes me a house mouse, even though I don’t usually sleep with any of them. Every once in a while a nomad or someone from another chapter will stay for a bit, and we’ll have a little fun before he leaves. But I’ve never been a back warmer and I’m relatively unassociated.

I just work here.

The frown continues to crease the skin between my eyebrows. I can’t believe any P.O. would hook an ex-con up with a job in a known MC club house. The River Reapers aren’t really outlaws, but it’s still like pairing up Chuckie the killer doll with Chuckie Finster from Rugrats. I still don’t know what crime Cliff committed. The MC sells baby drugs like weed and pills, which is much more profitable than bouncing and all too tempting for someone who’s been in the system.

At least, I’d think so. But I’m just a peon working on her undergrad, studying social work—not a P.O. Still, it bugs me.

Biting my lip, I decide I have to go to Lucy. Cliff just can’t get involved with these guys, not if he wants a fresh start.

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How I know I’m not dead (or hallucinating all this in a coma)

There’s a timelessness to the hospital. It’s either day or night, the actual time irrelevant. Someone takes care of your every need: food, meds, fresh sad girl pajamas. Now that my mom left, it’s just me, in this room, with this stranger babysitting me, and oddly the cable TV plays everything I like.

So I’m starting to think I’m dead.

Possibly in a coma, in some ICU.

Because this is all too good to be true.

Feel like you missed something? Let me catch you up.

It’s been one week since I tried to kill myself by Elizabeth Barone November 22, 2024 I turned me off and then back on again, and it actually worked by Elizabeth Barone November 24, 2024

I’m glad you’re all caught up. Back to Saturday afternoon…

I can’t really have survived. I can’t really be in room 9010, my biggest problem that someone has to watch me poop.

PCAs are so undervalued.

My first one-to-one sitters are shadows in my memory. I’m sure I had one with me since that morning. I don’t remember them, which sucks because I tried really hard to learn everyone’s names (a skill I struggle with). Their whole job is to watch me and make sure I don’t try to kill myself again. Totally understandable, considering what I did.

It’s weird—no one will say it. My mom asked if it was okay that she’d told one of my aunts.

“It’s not a secret. It happened,” I said. “I want to talk about it. I need to talk about it. Not talking about it is partly what got me here.” I motioned to the hospital room. “Besides, you need to talk about it, too. You need support.”

Since I have a sitter, that means I’m on a psych hold. No one explicitly says this, and I don’t ever think it, but I realize it nonetheless. Someone watching me poop, having to earn back everyone’s trust—that kinda sounds like hell.

Now I’m thinking I might’ve died.

Because hell? Is psychiatric services in a Catholic hospital.

Back in 2015, the second time I’ve been on a psych hold, the doctor on that unit diagnosed me with bipolar disorder, “Because you’re an artist and a lot of artists are bipolar.” I wanted to ask her if that was in the DSM. Instead, I fawned, nodding along and agreeing to take the lamictal because I’d already realized that in order to get out of there, I needed to do exactly as they said.

I needed to get out of there immediately; I wasn’t supposed to be there.

My psych meds provider, an APRN who looked up everything in a book, had taken me off Abilify and Wellbutrin without weaning me, even though I was already having an adverse reaction, even though he knew my history with these meds. In the days since I came off, I became even more of a zombie, physically unable to move from the couch, completely unmotivated.

That? Is not me!

I might be collecting chronic illnesses like they’re Pokemon, but I’m still always creating something. Cooking, writing, inside jokes and bits to use with Mike, our family, and friends—always something. My rockstar romance series was taking off and I was working on the next book. I was also struggling.

I’d lost my job that I loved because even after cutting my shifts down to four hours a day, two or three days a week, I limped out of work. When a supervisor tried cross-training me as a cashier, I explained that I preferred to remain a merchandiser—what I’d been hired for—because it worked around my condition, gave me access to plenty of water and bathroom breaks, and allowed me to focus on just one thing, while still earning some money. They refused to listen, and the manager suggested we end my temporary holiday position early. They loved me, she said, and I could come back once I got my mystery autoimmune disorder under control.

Without that income, I’d thrown myself into writing and publishing. Mike worked full-time but they only paid him just enough to cover our rent. My book royalties took care of our electricity, internet, and groceries. I ate microwaved “baked” potatoes for breakfast and homefries for lunch while he worked, often with no meals, and we shared chicken, rice, and green beans for dinner.

My UCTD wasn’t diagnosed yet, otherwise I would’ve applied for disability immediately after losing my job that Christmas 2014. Looking back, it makes sense that I was burning out. The medications gave me a final push into hell.

We were supposed to be the crazy ones, but my experience in that Catholic psych unit was crazy. I saw an old friend get forcibly tranquilized. He’d only been walking the unit in circles, softly talking to himself. He’d been diagnosed with schizophrenia, yes, but he wasn’t violent or disturbing anyone.

So I agreed to take the lamictal, and hoped I wouldn’t be there long enough for it to work its way into my system.

Psychiatric medications help many people. That’s why I wanted to get genetic testing, to ensure I’d get the right medication, rather than continue trying meds at random (and winding up on psych holds). When the wrong meds mix with your unique chemistry, the results can be fatal.

I do everything my sitter says, leaving the door open while I pee for the first time since Friday night. It burns like hell, and I make a face. If this is heaven or a hallucination, I wouldn’t be in pain. And if this were hell, I’d have pleurisy, or something even more painful. Probably pleurisy with sciatica from an endometriosis flare. I knew those two pains intimately, and yeah, together that’d be hell. Throw in some urinary pain, too.

Once my flow is going, though, the burning disappears—as it should; this is my typical daily interstitial cystitis pain. Instead of feeling exasperated or defeated, I’m elated.

Pain lets you know you’re alive.

I must be very alive, because a couple hours later, my fingertips, the pads of my toes, and soles of my feet both burn and are tender to even the lightest pressure—classic fibromyalgia. Instead of wanting to die, I’m fucking grateful that this familiar pain is back online. It means I must be okay.

The EMT wasn’t bullshitting me, not at all.

The half-life of amitriptyline is 10 to 28 hours, so I know this is only going to get worse. I don’t care. I know damn well later I’ll be wishing I had weed and Tylenol, and still I’m just so relieved.

HGTV plays a constant loop of reruns, which makes sense since it’s a Saturday afternoon. HGTV is my guilty pleasure, the ultimate napping TV. The cadence is stable, perfect for gentle snoozing. I learned that a long time ago, and it cemented in 2020 when I started Benlysta infusions. It’s Benadryl for white women.

I doze between fresh waves of pain and coats of paint, resting while I wait.

Just as much as I needed and appreciated my mom with me all that morning, I need to see Mike. I need to look him in his eyes and apologize to him, too, for putting him through that. I need to tell him how much I love him. I can never go too long without him in my immediate vicinity because as much as I recharge and thrive on me time, there’s something that is just right and balanced when we are near.

I hate that I hurt him, that I scared him, that I deceived him when he tried to get me help that night. Even trapped in his own hell, he saw something wasn’t right and he fought for me.

Life has already been so cruel to him. If I’m given the chance, I just want to smother this man in love and goodness for the rest of our lives. We both deserve it.

Every time I hear a man’s voice with a certain depth to it, I perk up, hoping it’s Mike about to walk through the door to 9010. Except time after time, it’s not him. When we worked at the store where we met, I’d hear his voice or his laugh clear across the store, and it always sent my pulse racing in the most delicious way. I know eventually it will be him, and I fight to stay awake so I don’t miss him. The stress I put my body through and the HGTV lull me back into sleep, my survivalism in full control regardless of what my heart wants.

I’m a light sleeper, though—always have been—so even from the depths of REM, I’m listening for him.

Author’s Note

Yeah, definitely writing that memoir.

Things have to change. People with disabilities cannot drown in silence anymore. Look what happened to Robin Williams, the way the media twisted his story. We need to talk about this stuff, to own our stories, to change the way we’re doing things.

Today I’ve been discharged for almost two weeks. The change taking place within me, in my life, rippling outward is profound. By telling my story, the pressure and pain that have been in my chest for the longest time are gone. I’ve reclaimed my voice. Even though I’m physically exhausted, I feel a vitality I haven’t possessed in decades. And I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Starting with telling my story.

So it’s official: I’m writing a memoir. It’s got a title and everything now: Can’t Be Killed.

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I’ve got a lot of things cooking. Mostly I’m taking a lot of naps. Every time I fall asleep, though, I’m excited to wake up and get back to work.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 5

“You did this shit on purpose,” I say through a sandpaper laugh. “You got me drunk and now you’re taking advantage.”

“Well,” she says with a straight face, “there wasn’t a pool table.”

While I’m trying to figure that out, she stands up on the balls of her feet and grabs the back of my neck, and I lose control.

I spin her around, dropping my cigarette and pressing her against the wall. My knee parts hers, my arms caging her in. For a second I breathe in the scent of her hair. It smells dark, sweet, and euphoric. The rush pounding through me has nothing to do with the shots we did.

It’s all her.

Catch up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4 Cliff

I’m nervous as I carry the tray of shots to the table Lucy’s selected. Not because I am prey being hunted, but because I like it. Every time Olivia looks at me with those bedroom eyes, my cock twitches. It’s not just that, though.

Something inside me is stirring, like a sleeping beast in its lair. For twenty years I’ve been dead, but Olivia makes me feel alive. Wide awake and alert, ready for anything.

And I know Lucy won’t have it.

She’d be completely right, of course. Olivia is family—my cousin’s little sister. Even if she’s adopted. Even if we didn’t grow up together. I share no memories with her but we share family. Her parents are my aunt and uncle, for fuck’s sake. It’s one place I can’t go—and it’s the place I most want to be.

So the shots make me nervous. I haven’t had a drink in two decades, never mind motherfucking tequila. There’s a reason they call it To Kill Ya. Before I went in, the hardest thing I’d had was a swig of whiskey, and back then I damn near spat it out. Olivia looks at me like I’m this exotic creature, but I’m more like a kid who’s just turned twenty-one. I don’t know my tolerance level—and I don’t know what’s going to stop me from bending her over one of these tables.

I inhale through my nose. Lucy will stop me. As long as she’s with us, I can behave. I have to contain myself, because I owe Lucy big time.

We gather around the shots, my cousin eyeing them suspiciously. Olivia passes out the first round. Her tongue darts along the curve of her thumb and finger, her eyes locked on mine.

Christ, I can’t even look away.

She shakes salt onto the spot she licked, then hands it to me. I feel like a loser for not already knowing how to do this. Mimicking her, I lick my own hand, which is kind of disgusting. I’d rather lick her.

Properly salted up, we raise our glasses in a salute, limes in our other hands. Olivia bellows out a “Bottoms up!” and both women down their shots with ease, lick the salt off their hands, and pop the wedges of lime into their mouths. They watch me with matching green smiles.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, and copy them.

The tequila is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, but I’ve long mastered a stone face. I slam my empty glass down and start passing the next round.

“I guess you aren’t such an alien after all,” Lucy remarks as she salts her hand.

I cock a “Nope” eyebrow at her and raise my glass.

Olivia bumps my arm gently with hers and clinks her shot glass against mine. “To freedom,” she says. Her eyes never leave mine as she takes the shot. That velvet tongue caresses her hand, salt shining in the dingy light as it dances in her mouth. Then she sucks the lime into her mouth real slow, her lips pulsing around it.

I need some distance between us, stat.

I rush through my shot, chasing it with one of the remaining three on the tray. I wipe the salt off on my jeans and ditch the lime. Then I’m across the bar and out the door. It doesn’t take long. The bar is small.

The icy winter air is even better than a cold shower. I walk a little away from the bar’s facade, gulping in arctic air. Leaning against the bricks of another building, I tip my head back and close my eyes. The alcohol pumps through my system, a dreamy dizziness carrying me off. One shot was probably enough.

A silky voice warms me up. “Smoke?”

My eyes open. Olivia stands in front of me, a cigarette extended. One is already lit between her lips. I swallow hard and take the proffered cigarette. Before I can ask for a light, a flame flares from her hand in front of me. She holds the lighter steady until I’m lit, then pockets it.

“Now you owe me seven years of good sex,” she says with a wink. Her words aren’t even slurred. We’re not playing on fair ground. Her brows furrow. “Or I owe you. I forget which it is. Either way.” Those eyes smolder into mine. She steps forward.

I’m still leaning against the wall, so there isn’t really anywhere to go. I stop her with an arm, holding her in place. “We can’t,” I rasp while exhaling smoke into the night.

Her head tilts. “Can’t talk while smoking?” Either I’m drunk or the corners of her mouth really are curled upward.

“I know what you’re doing.” The world is blurry around me. Not the way it looks, but the way it feels. Everything is fuzzy. Beer buzzes have got nothing on tequila drunk.

“What am I doing?” She sucks on the cigarette several seconds longer than necessary. “I’m just smoking.” Her eyes drop to the hard-on in my jeans. “What are you doing?”

“Christ.” I shake my head. “I’m not doing this.”

Olivia takes another step toward me. “Why not?”

Because a thousand reasons. They all fly through my head and into the night. I rub at my chin with my free hand. “Fuck,” I rumble. I can’t think. I don’t know whether it’s her or the alcohol, but . . .

I freeze.

“You did this shit on purpose,” I say through a sandpaper laugh. “You got me drunk and now you’re trying to cart me off somewhere.”

“Well,” she says with a straight face, “there wasn’t a pool table.”

I blink at her in confusion. While I’m trying to figure it out, she stands up on the balls of her feet and grabs the back of my neck. Instantly I lose control.

I spin her around, dropping my cigarette and pressing her against the wall. My knee parts her knees, my arms caging her in. For a second I breathe in the scent of her hair. It smells dark, sweet, and euphoric. The feelings pounding through me have nothing to do with the alcohol I’ve consumed.

It’s all her.

I lean down, soaking in the scent of her skin: clean and feminine. My nose brushes her cheek and my lips hone in.

My mouth brushes hers. Even in my inebriated state, I want to enjoy every second of this. Because it will never, ever happen again. I drag my lips against hers, and she shivers. She’s immobile in my arms, not because I’m crushing her but because she’s just as earnest to enjoy the moment. We both know this is the only one we’ll ever get.

But she’s hungry, and her lips part. Teeth sink into my lower lip, and her mouth closes around me, sucking and licking. My cock twitches again, every pint of blood in my veins hurtling into it. This is a complete waste.

It’s been twenty years.

I’ll be lucky if I last five minutes.

“Fuck.” I pivot away from her, trembling with control thrashing at its cage, begging to be loosed. I stalk away several paces, my hands clenched at my sides. I don’t want to be the worst she’s ever had. I want to be the man who makes her realize she’s never truly had sex. Not until me.

This is no good at all. I really am a teenager all over again.

Her arms wrap around me, fingers plucking at the button of my jeans. “I don’t care,” she whispers into my back. “I want whatever you’ve got.”

This woman can read minds. I should be terrified, but I’m just turned on even more. It’s as if she knows me, like she’s always been lurking in the shadows.

Like we’ve just been training for this moment.

It’s a mindless, drunk thought, but it erases any shred of guilt I have remaining. I turn around and wrap my arms around her. “Lucy,” I remind her, speaking into the top of her head.

She rests her forehead against my chest. “Yeah,” she sighs. “I guess we’ll just have to be honest.”

Releasing her, I stumble back. “Are you fucking serious? Do you really think she’d go for this?”

Olivia shrugs. “Who cares? I thought you just meant she’s in there all by herself.” Her eyes dance with the unspoken dare.

“I’d rather she not find out.” I shove my hands into my pockets. This woman drives fucking holeshots around me. And I don’t even care. It’s been a week and I’m already addicted. I wonder if this happens to every man who does time. Do we just imprint on the first woman we come across on the other side? What I’m feeling for her probably isn’t even real. It’s just desperation, the primal urge to sink into something I haven’t had in a long time.

I’m only a man, but even still, I don’t want to use her like that. This woman deserves fine dinners and coffee in the morning. I’m not saying I want to put a ring on it, but it feels wrong to fuck her and duck out.

Maybe I have done my penance after all.

“Look,” Olivia says, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Luce has never interfered with my love life. Or sex life.” She grins mischievously. “She may not approve, but she doesn’t get to tell me what to do. Or you, for that matter. Just because she came down here and bought you clothes—”

I hold up a hand. “Don’t say that. This is flat out disrespectful, and you know it. We’re . . .” Family, but I can’t even say the word. This is all so fucking wrong.

She hisses a laugh. “We’re not family, if that’s what you were going to say. You’re a man, and I’m a woman. We’re two people with the same itch, the lock and key. We need each other.” Her eyes grow two sizes and her voice drops. “I need you.”

I’m too drunk. I can’t dodge her shrapnel. And she’s right: we’re both consenting adults, and we’re not related by blood. No one is committing a crime. It’s better to just get it over with while we’re still drunk. Then we can go back to what we were doing before.

We’ve been outside “smoking” for so long, I’m surprised Lucy hasn’t come looking for us. Sucking in a deep breath, I drop my shoulders, all the fight melting out of me. Not that I was putting up much of a defense. All I can do is hope that this isn’t one colossal fucking mistake.

“You’re out of cigarettes,” I say. “Let’s go get some more.”

Her eyes drop to her pocket. “No I’m not.” She fumbles out her pack. “Look, still got like ten.” She lights two at once and passes me one. “Now eight.”

I take the cigarette and walk down the street, away from the bar. She’ll figure it out and follow me. And if she doesn’t, I’ll just have to deal with this raging erection myself the old fashioned way. No harm, no foul. I’ll leave it all up to her.

Footsteps behind me tell me that fate has taken my side. Olivia catches up and tucks her hand into mine. We walk and smoke in silence, my eyes scanning the area around us, looking for a place. There’s no convenient alley, no restaurants with bathrooms. It’s mostly a residential area.

After what feels like an hour, I stop walking and turn toward Olivia. I shake my head. “This isn’t going to work.” The tequila is still floating in my veins, dragging me into the undertow. I drop my arms and pin Olivia with a concluding gaze. Maybe fate wasn’t on my side after all.

“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.

Thank you for reading Chapter 5 of A Disturbing Prospect!

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I turned me off and then back on again, and it actually worked

Just before 8 AM is my new favorite time on a Saturday. Now that I realize I’m in the ER, in the hospital, alive enough to feel the sting of florescent light in my eyes, it doesn’t even matter that my exhausted body would’ve loved to sleep in. I call my mom and Mike, have conversations I barely remember later, then I let them go with the same heartfelt words of love.

“I’m gonna puke again, so I gotta let you go.”

I’m really glad those weren’t my last words.

Feel like you’re missing something? Let me catch you up…

It’s been one week since I tried to kill myself by Elizabeth Barone November 22, 2024

I’m glad we caught up. Back to Saturday morning…

My memory here on is spotty. My mom gets to me first, and she stays with me the entire rest of the morning while I empty myself. I used to hate throwing up, but this is a good feeling, cathartic in the burn, the poison exiting my system with each round.

I keep asking for water but they won’t give it to me. I’d just puke it right back up. An IV pumps fluids into my hand—not the same vein the EMT put it in, and the already gnarly bruises on my arms tell me there was some kind of trouble—but my mouth is beyond dry, my tongue fuzzy with the sour, acidic remains of vomit. I want to floss and brush my teeth.

I can barely sit up, though, and it’s time to puke again anyway.

Somewhere around noon, the vomiting stops. Someone brings me a soup that reminds me of chicken pot pie, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Styrofoam cups clutter my tray as I guzzle ice water, and my mom stays with me the whole time. I keep apologizing to her, because this has to be a nightmare for her. Her constant presence is anchoring, the proof that I’m really actually alive in the lines on her face that weren’t there before I tried killing myself.

I doze in between all of it. They transport me from the ER trauma room to a recovery room upstairs. Mom never leaves my side.

The next time I’m awake, I’ve got a bit more energy, revitalized from the soup and catnaps. Everyone keeps asking me how I feel. My nurse—her name is also Liz—hugs me tight.

I’m moving through the stages of grief in rapid cycle, processing each feeling by just allowing it. I cry out the shock, the shaking in my hands stabilizing a bit. I can’t believe I did that to myself, that I tried to end my own life. It’s not at all what I wanted, and I’m floored that it happened. It truly felt like someone else was driving.

Two someones: trauma and amitriptyline.

I have to process quickly because for most of Saturday morning, I’m busy puking my guts out. Activated charcoal leaves zero room for anything else, just this moment of toxins flushing out of my system, back up the way they came in. It’s the ultimate undo button.

In the room, riding a fresh wave of shock and gratitude that I survived, I try to express how I’m feeling to my mom.

For the first time in a very long time, I am home.

For the longest time, I’d have these panic attacks where I’d sob to myself, “I want to go home.” After I swallowed an entire bottle of pills, I prayed to my angels Noni and Squirt, “Please take me home.” But where was home? Nowhere I could find. I stumbled and wandered, constantly seeking this home. Where? Certainly not in our dark, mold-ridden apartment. Possibly not even in Mike, my soulmate. When I first met him and he poured warmth and love into me, I thought, So this is healing. Except we kept learning the hard way that another person can’t be your everything. Home was definitely not in the three-family home that was my grandparents’ and my family’s safe haven for decades, now sold, mine only in memory.

Where was home?

In me, I’d realized upon waking that Saturday morning.

My angels brought me home, all right—home to myself.

In that moment Friday night when I realized I wanted to live, everything realigned—body, soul, and mind. I came home, my cold bones flowing with warmth and vitality.

“I turned me off and then back on again, and it actually worked,” I joked to my mother.

She gave me that mom look she’s been giving me my whole life, shook her head, and laughed.

Once I’m settled in my room, Mom leaves to meet my dad so they can get my car and things from the hotel. They’ll bring the car to Mike at his sister’s. While my parents take care of that, I fall asleep again.

author’s note

I guess I’m finally writing that memoir I’ve been threatening all these years.

Tonight I’m exhausted, in the best way. Mike and I have been slowly putting our life together. I’d say “back together,” but I think when we moved in here, we plunked down in a state of trauma, never really making this our home. Coming home from the hospital to no more mold, a vent in the bathroom, and a mini-split was the fresh start we needed to truly settle in. Last night we grabbed a few things from Dollar Tree, Target, and Stop & Shop, things like sponges, bathroom cleaner, and frozen ravioli for dinner. I can’t even express how good it feels to splurge on an Air Wick plug-in at Dollar Tree. Our home smells like a home instead of mold. It really is the little things in life.

This is directly thanks to Vanessa A., Vanessa D., and Lauren. I’m putting out the tip jar again so that if you want to, you can. It’s appreciated and not expected. In the meantime, I’m working on some stickers and other things you’ll be able to purchase to help support us.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 4

Cliff shoves me against the washing machines, his teeth digging into my lower lip as he sucks on it, his knee between my legs.

A whimper escapes my lips.

The heat in his eyes is searing, flames edging toward my skin, threatening to consume me and reduce me to ashes. And I’m not even at all scared. I want it so bad, I’m shaking.

Catch Up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 3 Olivia

“Nope. Not doing it,” I tell Lucy, crossing my arms.

The motel room is a mess. Crusty man socks litter the floor, his jeans kicked into a corner. Men, I’m learning, are slobs—especially bachelor ex-cons who just got out of prison. You’d think prison would’ve embedded like a militaristic fastidiousness in him, but it seems like they didn’t do such a great job with him.

Not that I have much room to speak. The bathroom counter is seventy-five percent mine, with makeup palettes and hairspray bottles scattered across the fake marble. It’s not dirty, though. The counter itself is clean. There isn’t even any makeup smeared in the sink—something I can’t say for my roommate back in Connecticut.

Still, Lucy insists that I gather all of Cliff’s clothing and head to a laundromat. I need to wash a few things, too, but that’s beside the point. Family or not, I’m no one’s laundress—especially a man nearly two decades older than me.

Lucy and I eyeball each other across the room, her trying to decide how stubborn I’m being and me just, well, being stubborn. But, I remind myself, our ancestors didn’t fight for us to vote and do other people’s laundry.

“You can do his laundry,” I say, both eyebrows lifted. “I’m not a maid.”

Lucy puts her hands on her hips. She looks more like my mother than my big sister. “Livvie,” she says, exasperated. “You need to do laundry anyway. And this way, I can run to the grocery store.”

She won’t say it, but we’re running out of money. We won’t be able to stay down here much longer. It doesn’t matter how handsome Prince Charming is. Lucy only gets paid monthly, and I’m a student working under the table. If I don’t show up, I don’t make money. Since I haven’t been in Connecticut for the past week, I have zero dollars to my name. Even my cigarette stash is running low—especially with Prince Charming smoking them too.

I’m not trying to be bitter or cranky. Maybe it’s having been cooped up in a motel room for almost a week straight, but my mood is pretty sour. There’s no doubt about it—I would definitely not survive prison.

Lucy gives me her big sister stare, the one that says “You better not tell Mom or I’ll kick your ass.” Now that we’re adults, it just means “Do this thing or I’ll still kick your ass.” Sometimes I don’t think younger siblings have it very fair. Not even adopted ones.

I throw up my hands. “Fine.” Stalking away, I grab my own laundry. “But I’m not picking up all of his dirty socks off the floor.”

My mood is pissy. I’m being completely unreasonable. But I can’t stop. I’m two minutes away from taking out all of my frustration on Lucy, and none of this is her fault. Maybe I’m even a little bit jealous.

I flop down on the bed. I don’t like these ugly, complicated feelings. I just want to have a good time, a couple one-night stands, and finish my degree. It’s not too much for a girl to ask.

Lucy sits down next to me, smoothing my hair the way she always has, from the moment I was dropped off at her house as a tiny, scared foster kid. “It’s okay, Livvie,” she singsongs in a soft, soothing voice.

Guilt pits in my stomach. She shouldn’t be comforting me. I’m the one who should be stroking her hair, apologizing for acting like a whiny little kid. Sitting up on my elbows, I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” A lopsided smile crosses my face. “I’m just . . .”

“I know.” She grins back. “It means a lot to me that you came here with me. It’s pretty tough of you.”

My shoulders lift and fall. “I guess.”

I really don’t want to be a burden, the poor little sister who freaks out if she’s out of her comfort zone for too long. I want to be adventurous, like the woman I slip on when I go out to bars in New Haven. The woman who flirts with Cliff so easily is only a small part of me. I’m really just ninety-percent rabbit.

Lucy slings an arm around me. “I’ll tell you what. Handle those crusty man socks, and I will buy us drinks tonight.” She tilts her head to the side. “I think Cliff can drink.”

A dark bar and Cliff. The thought sends a thrill through me, this weird fluttering in my stomach. “Huh,” I say. So that’s what butterflies actually feel like. I always thought the saying was just a made-up cliché.

“Deal?” my sister asks.

I don’t want to give in too easily. For one, I don’t want to be so cheap. Booze can’t always win me over. Well, okay, it totally can, but I have to at least appear to put up a fight. Plus I don’t want to seem too eager at the prospect of pumping aphrodisiac into the hot guy who has suddenly strolled into my life. Because no matter how often Lucy insists we’re family, Cliff is not my cousin. I didn’t grow up with him the way she did. He’s just another item on my list to tick off.

“Come on, Liv,” she pleads. “I’ll get us shots and mixers, not just beer on tap.”

I’m not playing her. Lucy would’ve bought Red Headed Sluts anyway because she hates beer. If anyone is rigging this, it’s her. That’s how the two-sister dynamic works. Both of us are equally manipulative, in a totally loving, best friends forever way.

I lift my chin. “Tequila shots.”

Lucy grimaces. “I don’t think I can do those anymore.”

“Oh please. You’re twenty-eight, not eighty-two. And even then . . .” I shake my head at her. “Who else is going to drink with me in the nursing home?”

Groaning, she tilts her head back. “Fine.” She falls back onto the bed, eyes bugged out, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth.

“You have to do at least two shots before you can keel over,” I tell her, prodding her in the ribs with a finger.

She automatically wriggles away, but a tiny giggle also escapes. It’s like we’re kids again, and she’s lunging up from her fake-dead position bellowing “I’m back alive!” It was one of my favorite games, and she’s always been happy to oblige me.

This thought makes me feel a little guilty, but not guilty enough to budge on the tequila. Someone has to get sloppy drunk with me, and since Uber is our designated driver, it might as well be Lucy.

“Fine.” She stands from the bed. “But I’m not at all responsible for my behavior tonight.”

Nodding, I stand too. “Good. Neither am I.” I toss her a wink, then I follow the trail of shed socks around the room and try to figure out how I’m going to collect them without touching them. I decide that Cliff loses ten hot points for leaving them out, another ten for sweating so much, and ten more for not doing his own laundry. This is actually helpful because he’s now hovering at seventy percent hotness, which means I don’t want to bang him so badly anymore.

Nothing like domestic bliss to put things into perspective.

“I’m beginning to understand why married people have such boring sex lives,” I remark to Lucy as I pinch a tiny corner of the sock between my fingernails. Depositing it into the dry cleaning bag provided by the motel, I sigh and steel myself for the next one.

“Finally, she comes to the dark side,” Lucy mutters.

I glance over. She’s sitting at the desk, pen in hand, making a grocery list. We have a mini fridge and a microwave, so my expectations are pretty low. “Is that why you never want to get married?”

There’s no answer because the door opens and all six-plus feet of Cliff bursts into the room. His brown eyes are actually smiling, and someone must’ve taken pity on him because his wild beard has been tamed back into a goatee. He instantly earns back twenty hot points.

“I have good news.” His gaze flits from me to Lucy, then back to me.

One of my eyebrows lifts attentively, but I’m so busy wondering why he’s telling me that I miss whatever good news he wants to share.

“That’s awesome!” Lucy flies across the room and flings herself into his arms.

He wraps her in a bear hug, an amused look on his face. “Isn’t it? You don’t need to go grocery shopping now.”

She relaxes into his embrace. “I know,” she says dreamily. “We can take the train back and eat at my place.”

Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Uh-uh, we have a deal.”

Stepping back from Cliff, Lucy presses her lips together and gives me a little nod. “Yeah, you’re right. We need to celebrate!” She hugs him again. “I’m so glad you’re coming home,” she says into his chest.

A twinge of jealousy runs through me. I want to be hugging him, celebrating his good news. It’s totally absurd. I don’t know him, and I don’t plan on it. One night is enough for me, and then it’s occasional family gatherings. No hugs or lullabies. I’m going to reintegrate him into society by fucking his brains out, then it’s back to class for me.

“And I’m glad I don’t have to do laundry now.” I toss the bag to the side, then reach for my cigarettes.

“Not so fast,” Lucy says. “It’s still gotta get done. I’m not putting his dirty clothes into my suitcase with my clean clothes.”

Cliff glances back and forth between us. He holds up his hands. They’re huge and square, perfect for massaging naked breasts. Twenty more hot points, which puts him at 110. Off the fucking charts, even with the crusty socks. Fuck me. I think I’m actually going to swoon.

“You don’t have to do that.” He smiles at me—really, for real smiles—and nods toward the bag. “Toss that over. I’ve got it.”

Lucy snorts. Both of us turn toward her. “Dude, you don’t even know how to do laundry.”

He scowls at her. “What do you think I am, a fucking rock? I can figure it out.”

My sister’s lips press together, and I can practically see the laugh throwing itself at her closed mouth, trying to break through. “What if Livvie goes with you? She’s gotta do her own anyway. And mine.” She smiles sweetly at me.

“Tequila,” I remind her.

She nods. “Have fun.”


The laundromat is empty, thank goodness. It’s going to be embarrassing enough for the guy to have to be taught how to do laundry. I show him how to load the card at the kiosk, then take him over to the machines.

“You just throw everything in,” I explain, reaching for my laundry bag. But I don’t take my own advice. Reaching for everything slowly, I pause every time I get to a lacy little thong, making sure he sees it. “Then,” I bend over slowly, “you swipe your card, set your time . . .” I straighten and pour detergent and fabric softener into their respective compartments, the liquid a slow drizzle.

When I sneak a glance at him, he’s making zero effort to conceal the fact that he’s staring at me. Suddenly it really sinks in that we’re alone. There’s an employee somewhere, probably reading a magazine or watching evening television. Porn-esque thoughts stampede through my head: Cliff shoving me against the machines, his teeth digging into my lower lip as he sucks on it, his knee between my legs.

A whimper escapes my lips.

The heat in his eyes is searing, flames edging toward my skin, threatening to consume me and reduce me to ashes. And I’m not even at all scared. I want it so bad, I’m shaking.

He takes a step toward me.

Swallowing hard, I move in. I’ve never been one to let anyone else make the first move. I reach for his shoulders, my lips already parting. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. This is going to be it, the sex that rockstars write songs about. The kind of sex I can look back on when I’m married with two-point-five kids and I’m covered in baby goo. It’ll be the lay to close my list.

I step forward. He closes the distance between us. Rising up on the balls of my feet, I take aim. He reaches behind me. My eyes flutter as I realize he’s going to lift me up onto one of the tables and take me right here.

A beep sounds.

I open my eyes. Cliff takes a step back and turns away. The washing machine begins to fill, water and soap sluicing around my clothes.

“Thanks for your help,” he says over his shoulder, already setting up his own machine.

Heart thundering in my chest, I make a beeline for the door, a cigarette already between my lips. Bad girl, bad girl, bad girl, my heartbeat punctuates my thoughts.


Two suitcases stand next to the motel room door, our clothing packed and ready to go. The plan is to hit the bar, have a few drinks, then make the overnight train back up to Connecticut. I like this plan a lot, because if I’m drunk enough, I’ll actually be able to sleep on the damn thing. Sometimes Lucy truly is brilliant.

She’s also a pain in my ass.

“We have to make sure we’re like fifteen minutes early before boarding. We can’t miss this train. I’m leaving the room keys right on the desk, so we’re fucked if we miss it. Okay?”

This is the third time she’s given us this spiel.

I just nod and continue averting my gaze from Cliff. I’m still so embarrassed. One week, and I’m forever going to be the dirty little cousin in his eyes. It’d be nice if he was completely oblivious about the whole thing, but since he’s been avoiding me too, it’s not likely.

“Why are you guys so quiet?” Lucy narrows her eyes at us. “I thought we were all excited about this drinking business.” She pins me with the super-concerned big sister look.

I want to tell her that was before I made a complete ass of myself, that I’m now thinking I should’ve waited until we had enough social lubrication to make bad decisions together, but Cliff is already judging me hardcore, and Lucy absolutely can’t know. So I just shrug. “I’m tired.”

“Good,” she says. “That means you won’t drink too much.”

On the contrary. I’m going to wash this entire day away with Jose Cuervo and enjoy every second of my hangover tomorrow. It’ll be like punishment, and it’ll take my mind off my still-present lady boner.

There’s this patronizing notion that only men need regular sexual affection. Maslow had it right, though—everyone needs sexual healing. And between my last semester, this entire bizarre trip, and now my totally disastrous attempt at seduction in the laundromat, I need some major penile therapy.

Following my sister and Cliff out to the waiting Uber, I pray that there will be one unattached man around my age in the bar who won’t mind getting freaky in the bathroom with me. I need to scratch this itch quick, and masturbation ain’t gonna do it. Sometimes, a girl just needs some cock.

The Uber drops us off at the least promising looking bar ever. Its facade is small, the bricks grimy. Even the OPEN sign in the window is flickering. Dragging my suitcase behind me, I traipse inside, hoping the interior is better.

It isn’t.

The place is so small, there isn’t even a pool table. That kills my ol’ “Hey handsome stranger, let’s play a quick game” routine, and completely eradicates my “Wanna dance?” fallback. Worst of all, there is literally no one here.

A lone woman is tending the bar. She’s old enough to be my great-grandmother and looks worse for the wear. This bar wouldn’t attract anyone, never mind handsome men in their twenties. I hope she at least makes decent drinks, though I suppose she can’t really fuck up tequila shots.

She doesn’t even smile as I lean on the bar. Pale eyes stare placidly back at me, zero fucks given whether I tip or not. It’s unnerving, but I smile anyway.

“We need six shots of tequila,” I tell her, “and open up a tab.”

Cliff makes a noise behind me, something between a throat clearing and a growl. It’s primal and vibrates through me, even if it is dubious. “I’ll just take a beer,” he says, voice rumbling.

Why, I wonder, does he have to be so goddamn sexy? Especially if I can’t have him.

I peer at him over my shoulder. “Beer? You wait twenty years and you just want a beer?”

Brown eyes challenge me to keep making fun of him. A flicker of that heat from earlier returns. “I want a lot of things,” he says in a low voice.

My eyes widen and I grip the bar to remain standing. It occurs to me that he may be fucking with me. I would, if I were him. “I really think you should do shots with me,” I whisper back. I bite my lip, wondering what I’m getting myself into. If he’s purposely toying with me, there may be a good chance I’m getting my bathroom bounce tonight. But his statement shakes me: I want a lot of things. I need to know if he’s one of those guys who get very attached very quickly. For all I know, he’s been planning his wedding for the last two decades.

“Fuck it,” he says, turning to the bartender. “Nine shots of tequila.”

She remains standing there staring at us, as if she’s booting up. Jesus Christ. I might have to climb back there and serve myself.

Suddenly she jerks away and gets to it. Cliff and I exchange glances, and I wonder if anyone else is here with her. Who the hell leaves an old lady to run a bar by herself? I glance around for Lucy, because she so needs to see this.

At first I don’t see her. She’s tucked away, sitting at a high table in a corner. Her legs are draped over her suitcase, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone. Somehow I’ve got to get her to unwind.

I need to help her get laid when we’re back in Connecticut. I know she isn’t totally devastated over her breakup, but I worry about her, living in that condo all alone. She doesn’t even have a dog.

The sound of a tray sliding over the bar brings my attention back to my mission. I turn to find a tray of nine shots, lime, and salt. Our geriatric bartender winks at me, then shuffles away.

My head whips in Cliff’s direction, but he didn’t see it. His eyes are burning into me. It’s like he already knows how this night is going to end. We’re just following a script, playing our roles. My shoulders relax with relief. He won’t be one of those clingy guys. This will be so easy.

Thank you for reading Chapter 4 of A Disturbing Prospect!

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