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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 45

“You have to tell him.”

“Fine,” she says, her tone a little too sweet. “I’ll tell him as soon as you tell Cliff you love him and want to move in with him.”

Catch Up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 41 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 42 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 43 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 44 Chapter 45Olivia

Instead of calling Lucy, I decide to pop in. It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen her face. I’m kind of surprised she hasn’t called or stopped by to yell at me for going AWOL.

When I get to her place, I see Cliff’s Screamin’ Eagle in her driveway. Making a face, I pull in next to him. I can’t seem to shake him lately. He’s always where I am. I know we work together and we have the same circle of friends, but still. He needs to get his own Lucy.

I’m sweating in these damn skinny jeans. I hurry to the front door and let myself in.

I burst into the air conditioning, the cold air rushing over my hot skin. It’s too early for this heat in June, but tell that to New England. There’s no such thing as moderation or easing into things here.

Lucy sits on the couch, her legs crossed, a mug of tea in one hand. Tea—like it’s thirty degrees out instead of ninety. “Hey,” she says, grabbing a throw pillow and plopping it into her lap.

Cliff straightens in his seat next to her, then stands. “I’m gonna step outside.” He kisses the top of her head. Then, with barely a nod, he eases past me.

I feel the ghost of his hands on my hips—they way he’d touch me before, when we were us. Sometimes he’d put a whole hand on the small of my back. Even though he doesn’t touch me, my body leans toward him, just a fraction. He slips out the door and part of me goes with him.

I sit in the seat he just occupied, my body reveling in the heat he left behind.

“What’s up?” Lucy asks, leaning forward and setting her mug on the coffee table.

“So much.” I grab a throw pillow and hug it. “But mostly I needed to see your face. I can’t believe it’s been weeks! I suck.”

She shakes her head. “It goes both ways. I’ve been . . . quiet.” She looks down.

“You all right?” I study her. She still looks like Lucy, but there’s something different. Even though she’s still pale from winter, there’s a sort of sheen on her skin.

Her mouth opens, then closes. She nods, reaching for the tea. “So what do you need?”

I scoff. “Like I only reach out when I need something. Wow, Luce.”

She gives me a look, the one that says she’s been around and knows me.

“Okay, fine. I don’t really need it. I just . . .” I sigh, glancing at the door. I hope Cliff has a nice leisurely smoke. “We broke up.”

Her eyebrows shoot upward. “What?! Cliff did not mention that.”

“Oh.” I frown. They looked like they were talking about something serious. My shoulders fall. I’d kinda hoped it was about me, that he misses me as much as I miss him. “Anyway,” I say, recovering, “Esther moved in with Donny. I’ve got to either stay there, maybe find a roommate, or maybe move in with my awesome sister who has a spare bedroom.” I give her pearly whites.

“You’re so subtle, Livvie.” She shakes her head at me.

“It’ll only be for a little while,” I say quickly. “I just don’t really love the idea of living alone.”

Her eyes flick toward the front windows.

“I’m not moving in with him just because I don’t want to live alone.”

“That’s my girl,” she says, patting my knee. Then she tilts her head to the side. “You’re bringing Dio with you, right?”

“Of course.” I pull a shocked face. “I’d never leave my baby.”

“I figured.” She pauses for a moment. “How do you think he’d do with a human baby?” Her green eyes search mine, and her throat works as she swallows.

I glance down at the throw pillow in her lap, and it all comes together. How cranky she was during our trip to Lewisburg. How oddly quiet she’s been. How she didn’t even bat an eye when Cliff and I told her we were together. I count back through all the times we’ve been together, how many times I’ve actually seen her drink alcohol.

“Damn,” I breathe, gauging her face. I can’t tell whether she’s excited or devastated. “Does What’s-His-Name know?”

She tosses the throw pillow aside, revealing her baby bump. “No,” she says with a sigh. “Speaking of daddies, Cliff said yours took off.” She pins me with her green eyes. “You okay?”

“We are so not avoiding the subject. Also, please don’t ever refer to my father as my ‘daddy’ ever again.” I try not to think about the fact that Cliff told Lucy about Mercy. I will not get started on what that means. I won’t. “When are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not sure I’m going to.”

“Lucy,” I gasp. “You have to tell him!”

She rolls her eyes. “If I tell him, he’s going to want to get married. I already said no once.” She places both hands on the bump. “I can’t break his heart twice.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to crush his heart when he finds out twenty years from now that you had a secret baby?” I scold.

She blinks at me, eyebrows slightly lifted.

“Yeah, that’s right. I can be all big sisterly, too. You have to tell him.”

“Fine,” she says, her tone a little too sweet. “I’ll tell him as soon as you tell Cliff you love him and want to move in with him.”

I scowl. “Never gonna happen.”

“Then I guess we know where we stand.” She reaches for her tea, wrapping both hands around the mug. “Pretty soon I won’t be able to reach anything,” she mutters.

“Do you know what you’re carrying around in there?” I glance at her stomach and try not to shudder.

A baby.

Lucy is having a baby.

Thank whatever god is out there it isn’t me.

“A girl,” she replies, her tone awed, but with an edge to it. “It’s like karma.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean now I’ve got this little girl to keep safe in this world.” She winces. “It’s so awful.”

“It is,” I agree, “but I’ll kill anyone who so much as looks at her wrong.”

“Why is it that I believe you when you say that?” She grins.

The door opens and Cliff strolls in, singing the words to a Silversun Pickups song. He stops when he sees us. He closes the door softly, then stands there, looking a little lost. “All good?” he asks Lucy.

He won’t even look at me.

I swallow back tears.

“Yes,” she says. “Auntie Livvie is gonna move in here.”

I groan. “No,” I tell her.

“You’re not moving in?”

“I’m not an auntie. She can call me Olivia or whatever.”

Lucy sighs. “Come on. ‘Auntie Livvie and Uncle Cliff’ sounds so cute—like a unit.”

“Well, we aren’t a unit.” I stand, avoiding looking at Cliff. It doesn’t matter, because it’s not like he’s looking at me. We’re definitely over.

“So when are you moving in?” Lucy asks, standing too.

“I can start bringing stuff by whenever.” I inch toward the door. Cliff steps away, giving me a wide berth. “My rent is paid for June, so.” Lifting a hand, I give the most awkward wave. Then I seize the door knob. “I’m gonna go start packing.” Pulling the door open, I see myself out before either of them can say anything else.

Or not say anything at all.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I trudge to my Street Glide. I know I broke up with him, but still. I didn’t expect to miss him so much. Especially since we’re apparently back to barely speaking.

I ride home, pushing the speed limit, my tears drying in the wind almost as quickly as they fall. When I get home, I’m curling up in bed with Dio and Netflix, so I can cry my eyes out.

Thank you for reading Chapter 45 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 44

“I don’t think you can ever beat trauma. It’s always going to be part of you. It’s a daily battle. You just have to do the best you can. You are, Olivia. You’re doing the best you can. You’re doing enough.”

Catch Up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 41 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 42 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 43 Chapter 44Olivia

I turn in a slow circle in the empty living room, my face turned up to the ceiling, eyes closed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave the living room furniture?” Esther asks.

I stop, wobbling a little. Opening my eyes, I take in the neat stack of boxes—the last of my roommate’s belongings. Without her things, the apartment is basically my bedroom.

“Olivia?” She crosses the room, stretches a hand out toward me. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” I can’t smile, so I don’t. I stare around the room again. When I replied to her ad for a roommate, I never thought we’d be friends. We’re just so different—Esther bouncing from book to book, me bouncing from boy to boy. Now I can’t imagine living apart from her.

“You know we’re still gonna see each other, right, silly?” she teases, throwing her arms around me in a hug.

Donny strides into the apartment and grabs a box. “Holy shit, woman. What’s in this thing? Rocks?”

She smiles sweetly at him, her arms still around me. “That one’s just books.”

He shakes his head at her, but warmth shimmers in his eyes. Hoisting the box, he carries it out to the U-Haul.

“Well, if you have to go, at least you’re going with him,” I mutter.

“Oh, Olivia.” She kisses my cheek. “How long has it been since you and Cliff boned?”

I exhale, shoulders tightening.

“Too long, then. You guys will make up. You’ll see. Then this place won’t be so empty.” With hearts practically bouncing in her eyes, she releases me.

“I liked you better when you were bossy.” I cross my arms.

“Please. You know I’m right. Cliff loves you,” she croons.

“That’s the problem.”

“Problem? Since when is someone loving you a problem? Cliff would do anything for you. He has. If I hadn’t already snatched up Donny, I’d be throwing myself at that black-haired beauty.”

I snort. “Esther, we both know you never throw yourself at anyone.”

“It’s so much more fun when they’re chasing me.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Seriously, though. Maybe you should let it go.”

“I can’t.” I almost flop down onto the couch before I remember there isn’t one anymore.

She sighs. “He made a mistake. He meant well. He really did. Dude would kill for you.”

“I know.” Now that she technically doesn’t live here anymore, I wonder if I can get away with smoking inside. My cigarettes are in my bedroom, though, and I don’t want it to look like I’m walking away from her. I lean against a wall.

“You know, so what’s the problem?” she asks.

“Me. I’m the problem. I don’t do relationships for a reason.”

“We’ve become pretty tight. You’re close with your sister. What’s the difference?”

I scoff. “I haven’t talked to Lucy since graduation.” Which is my own fault. I dig my teeth into my lower lip. “I’m not equipped for any relationship.”

“Yet we love you anyway.” Esther joins me at the wall, leaning against it so we’re face to face. “Why not just let us love you as you are?”

I look away, at the scuffed paint on the wall, at the carpet in bad need of a steaming—anywhere but straight into her eyes. “How do you do it, Es?”

She tilts her head. “How do I do what?”

“Let people in. You and I, we’ve been through something similar. How did you just bounce back? How are you so . . . optimistic?”

Her lips twist to the side. Several moments pass, her eyes distant as she thinks. “I don’t really think of myself as optimistic,” she says. “I was a sunny kid, but I guess once you’re touched by that kind of darkness, there’s no going back. But, there are so many things I have in my life that keep me hopeful: the girls, Donny, even you. You gave me a gift that I didn’t even know I needed. I’m not saying murder is always the solution, but . . .” She grins mischievously. “It sure helped me.”

She pushes off from the wall and pads over to the stack of boxes. Running her fingers along them, she sighs. “I don’t think you can ever beat trauma. It’s always going to be part of you. It’s a daily battle. You just have to do the best you can. You are, Olivia. You’re doing the best you can. You’re doing enough.”

I frown. “Am I? Because I let him walk out into the world. I let him get married. How many other women has he hurt?”

“Are you responsible for what he does?” She twists her ponytail around her hand. “Was I responsible for Josué? Is it my fault he got my sisters, too?”

“No,” I tell her, my voice stern. “It’s not your fault.”

“Then it can’t be your fault, either, Olivia.”

“At some point, someone has to say enough.”

She nods. “I get that. Do what you’ve gotta do. But don’t let go of the people who love you. Let Cliff move in here.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not? Don’t you deserve some happiness?”

I hug myself. “Why does happiness have to equate shacking up with some guy?”

“‘Some guy.'” She scoffs. “Cliff is not just ‘some guy.’ He’s the guy. Dude popped out of thin air and dropped into your life. Don’t let him get away. I’ve seen that shitty bartender eyeing him.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mention of Trish. There’s no way Cliff would ever go for her. She’s not his type. Pru, on the other hand, is more his type. Not that I really know what his type is.

“You’re way overthinking this,” Esther chides. “Just invite him over, bang his brains out, and move on. Makeup sex is the best.”

“How would you know? When have you and Donny ever broken up?”

“Sometimes we pretend, just for the makeup sex.”

I groan. “Why did I ask?”

“You already know what you want,” she says. “You’re just afraid to take it.”

“I’m not afraid,” I balk. “I just don’t want to be in a relationship.”

“Olivia.” Esther laughs. “Have you forgotten that I’ve lived with you for the past four years? If you’re not hung up on Cliff, go grab yourself a one-nighter.” She crosses her arms and lifts a dainty eyebrow at me.

Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the living room and into my bedroom.

“Ha! I didn’t think so,” she calls.

I snatch my cigarettes from the dresser and stalk back into the living room. Lighting up, I eye her, exhaling.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She lifts her chin in triumph. “You can’t move on from Cliff any more than he can move on from you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Quit kidding yourself, and start living the life that’s right in front of you.” She grins, eyes all big and all but splooping hearts.

“Bossy, mushy, and nosy,” I mutter.

“You know I love you.” She throws her arms around me again.

The door opens and Donny sticks his head in. “You good?”

“Yeah, we’re about done here.” Esther winks at him, not bothering to hide it from me. She hefts a box and inches toward the door. “Think about what I said.”

“Not so fast.” Donny takes the box from her. “These books are almost too heavy for me. Take that last one. It’s light.” Kissing the top of her head, he leaves us alone again.

She picks up the last box in the pile, labeled DELICATES. “See you later.” Leaning over, she kisses me on the cheek. Then she flounces out of what was our apartment.

I guess now it’s mine.

I don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Probably not with Cliff. I’m not going to ask him to move in with me, like it’ll solve all my issues. I’m going to do what I should’ve done weeks ago.

I’m going to call Lucy, beg her forgiveness for being the worst sister in the history of the world, and ask if I can move into her spare bedroom.

For now.

Thank you for reading Chapter 44 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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Winter’s getting on my nerves, literally

Every time my lupus flares, it does so with a chef’s special, a new or worsened symptom I already had that becomes the showstopper. 2020 gave me flare a la pleurisy; 2025 is serving peripheral neuropathy. Bon appetit.

I almost made it through this winter without prednisone—almost! It’s okay, though, because it’s still another winter I’m on less steroids, another winter without chemo entirely. For me, that’s a major win. Go Benlysta!

Peripheral neuropathy is hard to manage, I’m finding. Mine presents mostly as fiery pain in my hands and feet, with tenderness in my fingertips that defies all reason, the same treatment in my toes, swelling too, and pins and needles, and coldness. It also causes balance issues. It really makes me miss amitriptyline—but not enough to die.

Since my labs are okay, I’m managing it with a course of steroids, round-the-clock Tylenol, Motrin 800, and medical cannabis, and lots of rest. I’ve also recently cut out carbs almost entirely, which weirdly has made a huge difference in my overall pain and energy levels (until winter really got going here). I’m not allergic to gluten, so I’m not sure why this works, and I’m not asking any questions, either. I’m just saying no to the carbs.

It’s frustrating because things change so fast for me, especially during the colder months. I’d just gotten into a groove, after having just gotten into another groove interrupted by renovations, and the only thing I’ve found to be true with chronic illness—especially when it’s a dynamic disability you’re dealing with—is that the game is constantly changing, and I’ve gotta be ready to trade the system I just created for myself for a whole new system. Or go into flare survival mode, a place that I simultaneously appreciate and hate.

It forces me to focus on what’s really essential. It also makes me look forward to when the flare will pass. Even pleurisy didn’t last forever; I’ll never forget the moment I realized I could take a full breath without excruciating pain. I still get twinges of chest pain, but usually only when I’ve overdone it or I’m too cold.

This will pass, too.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 43

Olivia makes the best coffee. I don’t know if it’s because she blindly throws grounds in and hopes for the best, and some kind of coffee god has blessed her, or she’s just had a lot of practice at it. But it’s her coffee I crave when I’m tired. When I need comfort.

catch up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 41 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 42 Chapter 43Cliff

I wobble into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid, barely keeping the Screamin’ Eagle upright. I pull into my usual spot at the end of the line of bikes, between Abraham and Olivia.

Olivia.

Her name is a sigh in my mind. Every time I come in, I’m torn between hoping she’s working and hoping she isn’t. The strip club is a skeleton crew, though—it’s always the same people working. We’re not a big MC, and Mark likes to keep it family only.

I forgot to stop for a coffee on my way from the factory job my P.O. got me a few weeks ago, so looks like I’m getting one from the bar. From Olivia.

I consider getting back on the bike and stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts down the street. It’s a shit idea. Balancing a hot coffee while riding is challenging enough. This exhausted, I’d be lucky if I didn’t spill it all over myself.

Might as well suck it up.

I head inside. I’m slammed with bass the second I step inside. I don’t get this obsession people have with bass these days. The vocalist sounds like Maynard James Keenan, but the band is not Tool. Neither is it A Perfect Circle. It’s probably another one of his side projects. I’ve missed twenty years’ worth of music. I’ve got no fucking clue.

I dig it, but the bass is too much. My bones shake. I scan the club and spot Mark, nodding along to it. I skewer him with a glare he doesn’t see.

It’s probably a good thing Olivia and I aren’t talking, because if I gave her my thoughts on the bass, she’d call me an old man.

I drag my feet to the bar and lean on it. Olivia stands at the other end, making a tray of drinks. The guy sitting across from her says something, and she laughs, throwing her head back.

Jealousy snakes through my ribs, winding around them and yanking hard.

I shouldn’t feel this way. For one, it’s completely normal for Olivia the bartender to flirt with strangers. That’s how she makes her tips. For two, she isn’t mine anymore.

But her cheeks turn pink as she laughs, and the guy gives her a wink. I grit my teeth.

She turns my way and I pull my face into a blank slate. The smile drops from her lips when she sees me. She makes her way down anyway, her tongue flicking across her lower lip—something she does when she’s nervous. Usually it’s accompanied by a lot of talking.

I’m a little relieved that I still affect her. I’d rather make her feel other things when she sees me, though.

“Hey.” Her hair is sleek and straight, completely unlike its usual curly chaos. “You look tired,” she blurts.

Even though I shouldn’t read too much into anything, I’m even more relieved that she’s babbling. At least she isn’t ignoring me.

I could take this one of two ways. I could turn on the charm, try to win her back. Or I could just be straight with her. Since I’m too tired to flirt, and I doubt it’d work on her anyway, I decide to avoid playing games.

“I am.” I nod to the industrial coffee maker. “That thing on?”

“It can be.” She gives me a curious look, then turns and starts making a pot. “Late night last night?” Her voice is casual, but I hear what she’s really asking. She dumps in coffee grounds, barely measuring. I hope it’s because she’s eyeballing it, not some sort of evil plot.

I guess no one told her. I kind of want to see how she’d react if I was seeing someone, but that’d be cruel. I want to win her back, not drive her away. So I tell her the truth.

“I took a second job.”

She flips on the machine and grabs a mug. Setting it down, she turns and faces me again. “Why?”

I give her a look. “Needed something to occupy my time.”

Her lips form an O. “Why not just get Tinder?”

“Tinder?” I wrinkle my brow.

She hits the pause button on the coffeemaker and fills the mug. She holds it out to me, carefully offering me the handle. My fingers brush hers, and heat floods me.

It isn’t the coffee.

She pulls away, inspecting her hand as if I spilled coffee on it. Blinking, she shakes her head. “It’s a dating app. Well, more like a booty call app.”

I lift an eyebrow at her.

“Tinder,” she reminds me.

I shake my head, taking a sip of the coffee. Olivia makes the best coffee. I don’t know if it’s because she blindly throws grounds in and hopes for the best, and some kind of coffee god has blessed her, or she’s just had a lot of practice at it. But it’s her coffee I crave when I’m tired. When I need comfort.

“Not interested in that.” I cock my head at her. Is she really that dense? Or maybe she’s testing me. Even when I’m well rested, I’m no match for her. Right now, I don’t have a chance in hell.

“So, a second job,” she presses.

I nod toward the ceiling, indicating the club house upstairs. “I’ve gotta get my own place.”

“Dorm rules getting you down?” Her eyes dance. For a moment, we’re us again. Neither of us mentions that this subject is what tripped us in the first place.

“It’s small. Don’t get me wrong,” I add quickly. “It’s still bigger than my cell. But I need a place of my own.” Especially if Lucy needs my help. I can’t babysit above a strip club. I don’t mention that because it doesn’t look like Olivia knows yet. “I also need my own bike,” I say, veering the subject a bit.

She laughs. “Me too. Got pulled over a few weeks ago and just about pissed myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She looks away, eyes dark.

Without thinking, I reach across the bar and wrap my hand around hers. It’s such a pointless gesture. Holding her hand isn’t going to make everything that hurts her go away.

But she places her other hand on top of mine, smiling sadly. “At least some good came out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Finn,” she says.

“The cop?” Putting the coffee down, I slip my other hand over hers.

“Yeah. I think he’ll come in handy. I mean, I think we can make use of him. He feels guilty. It just sucks for me, because . . .” She shrugs.

“He looks just like Greg,” I finish.

She nods, sighing. “So many things would be different if I wasn’t broken.” Her eyes meet mine for a second, then drop.

I frown. She’s not broken, she’s brilliant—all of her pieces shine. I want to tell her this, show her what I see. But I can’t. I can’t use words to change her mind about us. I have to let it be.

She pulls her hands away, and the moment’s over. “Want me to top you off?” She nods at my half empty mug.

“Olivia,” I begin, frantically gathering the things I want to say, the things she needs to hear.

She fills my mug. “Good luck with the new job,” she says. Then she turns, leaving my end of the bar.

It’s just as well. It’s time for me to get to the door. Still, as I walk away, I glance over my shoulder. I catch her watching me, and hope masses in my chest again, a tumor that just won’t die.

There it is, the real reason I took a second job at the factory. Hell, I’m considering picking up extra shifts. I don’t sleep anyway. Every time I have a spare second, my mind drifts to her. I can’t flush her out of me.

I don’t think I ever will.

Thank you for reading Chapter 43 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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I think of all the ways our parents already disapprove of him. This morning, when Lucy filled me in on what she was doing, she made me promise not to tell them. I’m twenty-one and yet apparently still have to swear to sister secrecy. Other than that, she didn’t tell me much. Just that her cousin Cliff needed some help because he just got out of prison. And then those cherry red lips of hers clamped shut.

It’s weird, because Lucy and I tell each other everything.

You’re listening to an author reading of A Disturbing Prospect, Book 1 in the River Reapers MC series, a dark romance.

What You Can Expect18-year age gapforbidden romance (“legally” cousins, not biologically related)exciting adventurevigilante justice (the MC avenges survivors by taking their rapists “to the river”)vengeancefamily sagaspicy romance (explicit sex on page, sorry prudes)sex positiveantiheroine is quite possibly crazier than our antiheroblack cat, golden retrieverCatch Up A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 | Audiobook  Listen NowWatch on YouTube

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Thank you for watching Elizabeth Barone read Chapter 2 from her dark biker romance, A Disturbing Prospect.

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A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 | Audiobook 🎧

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

My twenty years are finally up.

You’re listening to an author reading of A Disturbing Prospect, Book 1 in the River Reapers MC series, a dark romance.

What You Can Expect18-year age gapforbidden romance (“legally” cousins, not biologically related)exciting adventurevigilante justice (the MC avenges survivors by taking their rapists “to the river”)vengeancefamily sagaspicy romance (explicit sex on page, sorry prudes)sex positiveantiheroine is quite possibly crazier than our antiheroblack cat, golden retrieverListen NowWatch on YouTube

Read along with the transcript!

Thank you for watching Elizabeth Barone read Chapter 1 from her dark biker romance, A Disturbing Prospect.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 42

I push the door open and peer inside. The sparse light from the window illuminates a woman hunched over a coffee table. She snorts a line of pills.

“Put the gun away,” I tell Finn. “She’s more worried about getting high.” I step inside. “What are the kids’ names?” I ask him.

“No idea.”

I throw him a sharp look. “This is your case.”

Catch Up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 41 Chapter 42Olivia

“Come on, slowpoke,” Harrison calls over his shoulder.

I pause halfway up the driveway and make a face at him. “Why couldn’t you park in the parking lot?” I say through gritted teeth. Instead, he had to park down on the street, forcing us to climb this hill.

Well, me. Mr. Spry is already almost at the top. It’s like he’s the one in his twenties and I’m in my . . . whatever age bracket he’s in. It’s hard to tell. Despite his blondish white hair and beard, Harrison is as tan and muscular as a thirty- or forty-year-old.

“Oh, quit your whining,” he chides. “You’re young. You ride a motorcycle. I thought you liked thrills?”

The only thrill I like is the one that happens when I’m rolling around in a bed with someone, but I probably shouldn’t say that. It might be the truth but it could be interpreted as sexual harassment. Not that I’d ever jump into bed with this guy. He’s a pain in the ass.

“I’m coming,” I grumble, and silently vow to start doing cardio at the gym. I’ve got a cushy state job now, plus I’m still bartending for the MC. I can afford it.

I crest the top and wipe the sweat that’s somehow broken out above my lip. Between the heat and this unexpected climb of Mount freakin’ Everest, I’m going to be lucky if my deodorant holds out.

Harrison and I stand at the edge of a huge complex of “townhouses” in Waterbury. I’ve always referred to them as the Gayridge apartments. I’m not sure what they’re formally called. Bree used to have a boyfriend who lived here, so I spent a lot of time roaming around outside.

I never climbed this damned hill, though.

I glance down toward the packy, wondering if I can talk Harrison into buying me some tequila after we finish this home visit. He’s been taking me on nothing but home visits these past couple weeks. It’s like he and Diane don’t trust me to do anything else. At this point, I’m a pro. I could repeat the checklist in my sleep.

I’m getting bored, and I’m afraid of what might happen if it keeps going that way. I glance at Harrison again and nearly choke. I’m not that bored.

“All right, back down we go,” he says, and starts jogging. Jogging!

I gape at his back. “What do you mean, ‘back down’?”

“Exercise is good for you. Especially you. You’re way too tense.” He zips down the hill. I look for something to throw at him.

“So we don’t have a home visit here?”

“Nope!”

With a sigh, I traipse after him. At least going down is way easier than up. Still, it takes some concentration. The road winds all over the place, and cars fly up and down the thing like it’s the Autobahn. I consider pushing Harrison into traffic, but don’t because the club probably wouldn’t back me up on this one. I’d back me up.

This old asshole is torturing me.

I find him at the bottom, leaning against his beat up Buick and smoking a cigarette. At least this is something we can agree on. I light up, too, and hop up onto the trunk. “Thought you were all about the healthy shit?”

“This is my one vice,” he says. “I just love a good leisurely smoke.”

Maybe he’s all right, after all.

“So what is on the agenda today?” I ask.

“I make this run every Wednesday,” he tells me. “Makes up for the cigarettes.”

I roll my eyes. “You realize that makes zero sense, right?”

“Shut it, Millennial. You know nothing. I’m sixty-two and there’s not a single cell of cancer in me. I think I’m doing something right. You, on the other hand . . .” He shakes his head at me. “You need more cardio. We’re going to do this every Monday and Friday, from now on.”

I laugh. “Yeah okay, Gramps.”

“Gramps?” He scowls. “I’m young enough to be your father. Gramps.” He mutters to himself, something about disrespect.

I smoke in silence, thinking about my father.

It’s been over a week since Mercy left, and no one’s heard a thing.

He’s not the only biker who’s MIA, either.

“So what are we doing now?” I flick my finished cigarette into the road.

“Well, as soon as I get the call, we’re heading to Naugatuck. Gotta remove a pair of siblings.” Bowing his head, he shakes it. “This is the part of the job I hate. Think you can handle it?”

“Why do you hate it? Isn’t taking kids from shitty parents a good thing?”

He scoffs. “God, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

I think of my first case, the mother who didn’t actually deserve to lose her kids—Renee. “I’m guessing Diane didn’t fill you in on my first day.”

He waves a hand at me. “I prefer to form my own opinion of people. It’s also part of the job. Lot of the time, the report says one thing, but the truth is entirely different. Besides,” he says, opening the driver’s door. He gets in smoothly, not a single sign of osteoarthritis or anything. I wonder if he drinks the blood of infants. “Even the shittiest of parents make for a hard case. Until you watch police take a crying child from their home, you ain’t seen nothing.”

“I didn’t cry.” I hop down from the car and get in.

“What’s that?” Starting the engine, he pulls the Buick through a U-turn and heads back toward Reidville Drive.

“I was a foster kid.”

“Ah.” He chuckles. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” I frown at him.

“Ex-foster kid, came up in the system, wants to make a difference. That about cover it?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it is it’s a cliché. It’s also naive. This is the system. There’s no making a difference. There’s just checking off boxes and moving through the assembly line.”

I cross my arms. “I got my first client to cooperate. Glace said she’d been working on her for months.” I sound sullen. I don’t have a damn thing to prove to this guy.

“Good for you.” He swings the Buick onto a side road, the one that connects to the on ramp for I-84 W. The Buick hits a pothole and the whole thing shudders.

I clench the sides of my seat. “Yeah, good for me. Good for the mom and her kid, too.”

“Check in with them sometime. Bet you anything the mom’s not cooperating anymore. People will say whatever it takes to keep their kids. Even the shitty parents. They don’t want the shame associated with the whole thing. What they do is a completely different story.”

“You’re just disillusioned because you lived through Nixon and Reagan.”

“And you’ve been coddled because you had Obama holding your hand,” he shoots back.

“I’m not an idiot,” I tell him. The fact that I even have to say it probably means that I am naive. My lip curls. I need to stop arguing with this guy.

“All’s I’m saying,” he continues, merging onto 8 S, “is don’t get disappointed when shit doesn’t go your way with this gig. The only difference you’re gonna make is you’ll be a friendlier face when you take these kids away.”

I roll my eyes, but say nothing. Right now, while I ride around in this musty Buick, Esther is packing to move in with Donny and her sisters. Even if I only manage to make things better here and there, I’ve still outplayed the system. Everyone wins when people get happy endings.

If only I could have one, too.

Harrison pulls up in front of another complex, this one in Naugatuck. These actually resemble townhouses, rather than the multi-story Gayridge buildings where apartments are crammed in, the price jacked up. These are single story brick duplexes. They’re actually kind of cute. If I was going to move in with Cliff, I’d consider renting one.

Cliff.

Lately, he doesn’t show up at The Wet Mermaid until after seven. I don’t know where he is the rest of the day, and he leaves as soon as we’re closed and cleaned up. We’ve barely even spoken lately.

It’s all my fault, technically.

I’m still mad at him, but I miss him. It’s sick, really. How can I want to be with him but at the same time, not want to be with him? I know he meant well when he went after Greg. It’s probably for the best that we’re done. From the beginning, we were born to die.

My parents will be thrilled.

A police car pulls up behind Harrison and me, its lights off.

“Here’s our guy,” he says, getting out.

I never understood why DCF needs a police officer to take a child. I didn’t cry when they took me from Bree, but that was because I thought I was in trouble. Any time I’d done something wrong, she’d tell me “Don’t cry about it, Livvie. Just own up to it.”

I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to be owning up to.

I get out and follow Harrison to the police car. Through the windshield, I see the guy’s face. My hands go numb.

Finn.

This town is just too damn small.

He climbs out of his car and gives me a nod, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge me. He shakes hands with Harrison.

“I shouldn’t even really need you,” Harrison tells him. “Just look pretty. Come on, Olivia.”

I guess I won’t be looking pretty.

Casting another glance at Finn, I follow Harrison to a door adorned with a Christmas wreath. I arch an eyebrow at it.

“Wait ’til you see the inside,” he says, and knocks.

Finn stands in the yard with a hand on his hip.

The door opens. A pale, thin face peers out, the eyes surrounded by smudges. The face is all wrong, sunken in odd spots, as if some of the bone disintegrated.

Drugs—heavy ones.

I sigh. It’s another Bree.

“Yeah?” the woman asks. She glances behind us, her eyes widening. “Oh, shit.” She tries to slam the door in Harrison’s face, but he sticks a foot inside.

“Now, now, let’s not make this difficult,” he says.

The woman disappears into the dark apartment.

Finn steps onto the porch, drawing his gun.

“Put that thing away,” Harrison says.

“Ma’am,” Finn calls, ignoring him. “Do you have any weapons I should know about?”

“No,” she snarls.

I push the door open and peer inside. The sparse light from the window illuminates a figure hunched over a coffee table. She finishes crushing a line of pills. I look away, scanning the room for the kids. A light underlines a door in the hall. Maybe the kids’ room.

“Put it away,” I tell Finn. “She’s more worried about getting high.” I step inside, Harrison at my heels. “What are their names?” I ask him.

“No idea.”

I throw him a sharp look. “This is your case.”

“So? Do you have any idea how many cases I’ve got?”

I look at his empty hands. “Where’s their file?”

He scoffs. “You’re so cute.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Come on out, kids.”

Finn stands beside the woman, shaking his head at her. “Ma’am,” he tries. “Can I call anyone for you?”

My chest tightens. I know he isn’t Greg, but this whole time, I’ve still hated him just as much. It’s jarring to see him so full of empathy. Maybe he got the dose that was supposed to go to his brother.

“No,” she slurs, leaning back against the couch.

The bedroom door opens and two young children creep out. A girl who looks barely six puts an arm around a toddler boy. His diaper sags, brown streaking his legs.

“Jesus,” I whisper. “Where are they gonna go?” I ask Harrison.

“Come on,” he coaxes them. “Follow me.” He shepherds the children outside.

“Wait,” I call, but he ignores me. “Do you have a car seat?” I ask the mother.

She slumps back, eyes heavy.

Finn shakes his head at me. “I’ll have one of the guys bring me one from the station.”

“Better hurry,” I mutter. I wouldn’t put it past Harrison to buckle the baby into the backseat.

Finn gets on his radio and asks for an ambulance and a car seat. With one last look at the mother, I turn and walk away.

There’s one thing I can credit Bree with: she never used in front of me. It was always behind closed doors, with some boyfriend in her bed. Or she’d disappear for days. I knew what she was doing, of course, but only in an abstract way.

I wonder if Mercy caught up with Bree and, if so, what he found. If she’s the same woman he fell in love with, or if she’s still the woman he left. If he hadn’t gone in for the MC, he would’ve raised me. That I’m sure of.

But he’s left me again, which makes him no better than Bree. I will never, ever have kids. I’d rather not live with disappointing them. Considering what I came from, there’s no alternative.

That’s why it’s better that Cliff and I are done. If I’m not with him, I can’t repeat history. No one else gets hurt.

I know that, but it doesn’t explain the tightness in my chest, or the ache in my heart.

Thank you for reading Chapter 42 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 41

As I head out the door, I hear them whispering.

“Did he and Olivia break up?”

Wish I knew the answer to that.

Catch Up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40 Chapter 41Cliff

I wake up with the blanket twisted around me, my arms empty. The room comes into focus slowly, as if I’d spent the night drinking instead of digging a six-foot deep hole. Every muscle throbs, especially my back.

I take a shower so hot, my skin is red and angry when I step out. But at least my muscles are looser.

I pick my way through the club house, then slog down the stairs. It’s still so early, everyone is sleeping, the strip club locked up tight for the day. Bikers are kind of like vampires.

As I near the landing, I hear voices—Pru’s smoky velvet, Trish’s perky lilt.

“Just talk to him,” Trish insists. “He won’t bite.”

“I know,” Pru says with a sigh.

“What are you so afraid of?” Glasses clink as the blonde bartender lifts what sounds like one of the trays for the dishwasher.

I don’t want to intrude on their conversation, but I really need a coffee. Preferably Irish. I clear my throat and approach the bar.

Both women look up at me, Pru from under dark waves, her hair still teased up from last night. Trish smiles, her face void of any makeup. Combined with the floral printed dress she’s wearing, she looks sweet. I could almost pretend she never said she’d ride my Red Dog.

I smirk at the memory. “Morning, ladies.” My voice is smokier than usual from the late night.

“What can I do you for?” Trish asks with a wink.

Nope. No pretending here.

“Feel like making me an Irish coffee?” I stand between where Pru sits and an empty stool, and lean on the bar.

“Sure thing,” Trish coos.

Pru eyes me. “Rough night?”

“About as rough as yours.” I nod to the bruise on her thigh. “How’d that happen?”

Despite her dark hair and cool complexion, pink tinges her cheeks. “I haven’t banged myself up this bad since my very first night on the pole.” She nods toward the stage. “New shoes. I slipped.”

“Which is why,” Trish says, passing me a coffee in a to go cup, “you should sing instead of dance.”

I take a sip, nodding appreciatively. Trish might suck as a bartender, but she makes a damn good cup of coffee. Or maybe it’s the whiskey.”You sing?” I ask Pru.

She shoots Trish a glare.

“She’s actually really good.” Trish slings a towel over her shoulder. “I told her she should ask Mark about Cervical Caves taking Oh Vile Eye’s spot.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Cervical Caves?”

Pru purses her lips, but holds my curious gaze.

“I’m not knocking it,” I tell her, chuckling. I hold up my coffee in a salute and step away from the bar. “See you later.”

As I head out the door, I hear them whispering.

“Did he and Olivia break up?”

Wish I knew the answer to that.

It’s impossible for a newbie like me to hold a coffee while riding a bike, so I smoke a couple cigarettes while I finish it. Then I take the Screamin’ Eagle over to Lucy’s. Halfway there I realize it’s a weekday and she’s more than likely at work. I pull into her driveway, considering my options. I could go back to The Wet Mermaid and back to bed. I could let myself into Lucy’s and crash on her couch.

Or I could find some way to occupy myself.

The problem is, I’ve got nothing to do, nowhere to be. For twenty years, I got up at the ass crack of dawn. I did my job. I reported to the dining hall for meals. Then I went to bed before lights out so I could get enough sleep. Since coming home, I’ve had something to do every day. This is the first time that there’s nothing.

Without Olivia, Lucy, or the club, I’ve got nothing.

If Lucy decides to keep her baby, I’ll be Uncle Cliff. I can help her out during the day while she works. Save her some money on daycare. But even then, eventually that baby will be old enough for school.

Then what?

I need more. I need something that’s just mine, something I can turn to on days like this when I’m kicking my heels.

But I’ve got no idea what that is.

The realization sends me reeling. I stagger off the bike, stumble my way to Lucy’s door. With numb hands, I unlock it and push my way inside. I sit down on the couch, hard.

I don’t want to be the guy watching court TV on his days off, ricocheting around until someone needs me. I need Olivia, but I’m not even sure she needs me. I’m not even sure we’re a “we” anymore.

I’m just a reaper, haunting the town I grew up in, hovering somewhere between life and death.

I need more than this half life.

I need to build a real life. I don’t really know how—I don’t have many marketable skills, unless you count killing and burying people. And for twenty years, I worked in a machine tools shop. I don’t know if any factories around here will hire an ex-con, but I’ve got to try.

At the very least, I need a bike that I can call my own, one that isn’t a lender from the club. I need a place of my own, too. Living in the club house is convenient, but it isn’t mine. I’ve never had anything of my own. If I can find a second job—maybe a first shift piecing together tools in a factory—maybe I can make a life of my own.

I love the club. I love Lucy. And—god help me—I love Olivia. But I need something that’s all mine, something that’s constant no matter what.

And there’s only one person who can help me find that something.

Thank you for reading Chapter 41 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 40

I survived.

I still don’t know how. Back then, I didn’t have a gun. All I had was my voice, and with his hands squeezing the air from my body, it wasn’t much.

I want him dead so badly, a sweet metallic taste fills my mouth.

Catch Up A Risky Prospect, Chapter 1 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 2 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 3 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 4 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 5 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 6 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 7 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 8 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 9 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 10 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 11 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 12 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 13 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 14 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 15 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 16 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 17 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 18 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 19 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 20 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 21 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 22 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 23 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 24 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 31 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 32 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 33 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 34 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 35 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 36 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 37 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 38 A Risky Prospect, Chapter 39 Chapter 40Olivia

I roll from my side onto my stomach, fluffing the pillow under my head. Even though I’m exhausted, my heart is racing. The flutter against my sternum is constant, no matter how many times I do a round of slow breathing on an app on my phone. My entire body is poised—for what, I don’t know. I should be passed out cold right now.

Yet the time on my phone reads 3:08 a.m.

Then 3:15 a.m.

4:02.

I download an audiobook and pop in headphones. Despite the narrator’s soothing voice, my heart maintains its fast beat. I turn onto my other side, pulling a body pillow close. I listen for what feels like twenty minutes. Just as I slide into velvet slumber, another shot of adrenaline floods my system.

I don’t want it, yet it seems I’ve got a constant supply tonight. Or this morning. Whatever.

If I could bottle this shit and sell it, I’d be rich.

I pause the audiobook and kill the app, then download solitaire. I play game after game, hoping to bore myself into sleep. I need to get some rest. Ever since Eli, I’ve been sleeping like shit, but this is a whole new level for me.

A creak echoes through the apartment, sounding a lot like a footstep. I didn’t hear Esther’s door open. I stretch out a hand, patting around for Dio. My palm finds his fuzzy head. He makes a short rrr sound, a sort of sleepy half purr. Then he tucks his head back into his paws and goes back to sleep.

I tilt my head, ears straining for the shift of weight in the kitchen, or the groan in the floor next to the bathroom. Nothing happens.

Still, I reach for the gun on my nightstand and touch its cool metal. The sensation against my fingertips is reassuring.

Rolling away from my nightstand, I curl myself into a comma. Maybe if I sleep like a cat, I’ll sleep just as peacefully. But when I close my eyes, I see Eli stepping through the front door to my apartment. I hear him calling my name, his voice joined by Greg’s.

Olivia.

Eli and Greg stand in front of me, their arms crossed, eyes cold. Other figures step in beside them, forming a circle around me—every man and boy who has hurt me. I reach for the gun on my nightstand but I’m standing in a dark room. Their faces spin around me, faster, their eyes and mouths blurring together.

I lurch out of bed, falling to the floor. My hands and knees absorb the shock, my palms slick against the carpet. Dio meows, hopping down from the bed. He bonks his little head against my thigh, as if to say “It’s all right. I’m with you.”

I pull him into my arms and sit back against the bed. Then I bury my face in his fur and sob, tears soaking his hair. Yet he stays with me until I’m empty and exhausted.

He rolls over in my arms, orange fur alight in the rising sun. I rub his belly, here in this room but also buried in the past. I’ve heard of trauma survivors unable to remember the event, only to be triggered by something—a new trauma, a situation similar to the event, or something else. It all rushes back, every bad memory.

So much for forgetting.

Grabbing my phone, I Google symptoms of PTSD, then hop from article to article about rape survivors and trauma. Learning the terms for the things I do and the memories rushing back at me helps. I feel less upside down, more in control. I repeat the facts to myself like a mantra.

I forgot what Greg did to me because my brain—in all its misguided gray matter—was trying to protect me.

I remembered again when Esther told me about her history.

I can’t stop thinking about every bad thing that he did to me because my brain is processing it all.

Sometimes I lash out at the people around me because I feel so mixed up inside, it spews out, like shaking up a bottle of soda, pointing it at someone I love, and twisting the cap off.

What I’m experiencing is normal for someone who survived the things I survived.

I’m normal.

And I survived.

I still don’t know how. Back then, I didn’t have a gun. He outweighed me by at least seventy-five pounds. All I had was my voice, and with his hands around my neck, squeezing the air from my body, it wasn’t much.

I want him dead so badly, a sweet metallic taste fills my mouth. I almost wish I’d just let Cliff kill him at the club house. I don’t know if that would be enough, though.

It has to be me.

Someday, somehow, I will reclaim my life by taking his.

I fall asleep with Dio in my arms, but my alarm goes off a minute later. At least, it seems like it was only sixty seconds. I stumble through the apartment and get ready for another day of work, another day of pretending to be normal. At least I’ll be able to get Esther some news about the girls. With her parents out of the picture, she should have legal guardianship of them in no time.

I find her in the kitchen making coffee.

“Want a ride in?” she asks between yawns.

“Why are you awake?” I moan. “You have the privilege of sleeping in, yet here you are, throwing it away.” I give her my sternest look.

“I’m not throwing it away,” she insists, flipping on the coffee maker. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us.” I take mugs down from the cabinet and set them on the counter.

“Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Same reason you didn’t,” I reply.

“Stubborn,” we say in unison.

She laughs. “At first I thought it was because I’m feeling guilty about offing Toci. I’m not, though.”

I nod. “I get that.” I lean against the counter. “So what kept you awake?”

“I feel so restless,” she says. “Like, the girls are gonna be okay, so I don’t have to worry about them anymore. But now I have this degree and—no offense—I don’t think I wanna work for DCF.”

“None taken.” The coffee maker gurgles, liquid splashing and sizzling on the burner. I wait for the final drip, then fill our mugs.

“I think I’m gonna get my Master’s,” Esther says. “Become a licensed clinical social worker. Maybe work in a school. I know I want to work with kids, but I also know I don’t want to work with them after they’ve already been taken away. I want to help them as the shit is hitting the fan, you know? Schools need trauma screening training. I can help with that.”

“I think that suits you,” I tell her.

“I just hope Donny’s cool with it,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll probably enroll in an online program, but I don’t know how it’s all going to work.”

“You’ll have a lot on your plate,” I agree, “but I think you can do it.”

“I’m gonna find out.” She sips her coffee. “Now get in the shower. Clock’s ticking. I need you in work on time so you can text me intel on our case.”

“For someone so quiet and sweet on the outside, you sure are bossy.” But I head toward the bathroom anyway, clutching my mug for moral support. I wish I hadn’t gone into a career that requires getting up with the sun.

I pause in the hall, wanting to offer her some kind of reassurance. We both know real life doesn’t always have a happy ending, so I don’t. Instead I just hope that I can give her good news.


As soon as I walk into the building, Diane waves me into her office. She closes the door behind me, then settles into her chair with a sigh.

“Sit,” she says, voice hard.

My spine stiffens, the muscles in my neck tightening. I sink into the chair across from her. I thought I covered our tracks, but there’s a good chance I missed something. I’m not a professional, after all.

“God, I’m exhausted, and it’s only eight.” She pins me with an exasperated look. “You should’ve told me you had a connection to the Figueroa case.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it’d be an issue,” I lie. “What happens now?”

Diane scoffs. “You are the least of my concerns. Turns out Glace has a personal connection to the case, too. She’s friends with the children’s mother.” She rolls her eyes. “She bypassed protocol and pursued reunification. If your friend hadn’t filed a complaint, we probably never would’ve known.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is as dry as a bone. “What does this mean?”

“It means Glace is officially off the case. I’ve suspended her, but my hands are tied if headquarters decides to fire her.”

“And me?”

She scoffs. “You may have left out your relationship with Esther, but you didn’t take it any further than that. I have no reason to suspend you. However,” she says, giving me a stern look, “you’re off the case.”

I sit back in my seat, relieved. “Can I ask what’s going to happen with the case now?”

“It’s being handed to another worker,” she says, rubbing her temples. “After last night, the state has no choice but to move forward with a permanency plan.”

My shoulders tense up again. “Which is?”

“We’ll continue trying to contact birth mom and dad, but it looks like they’ve skipped town—again.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure they’re aware they’ve committed a federal offense. We’ve probably seen the last of them. Your friend should get a date for her guardianship hearing soon.”

I exhale, relieved. “In the interest of full disclosure, I’m texting her as soon as I walk out of this room.”

“I figured.” Diane smiles. “These kids get a happy ending, which doesn’t always happen. It’s racked up a lot of paperwork, but I’m glad for them. Now,” she says, shifting folders on her desk. “I’m pairing you with Harrison. He’s a Boomer, so he’ll kick your ass if you pull any more stunts. In a case like last night, protocol is to call your superior, not hold your friend’s hand. Consider yourself verbally warned.”

“Thank you,” I say. It could’ve been so much worse, but I have no intention of playing by the rules. I just have to make sure I don’t get caught.

Knuckles rap on Diane’s door. A man with blond hair streaked through with silver sticks his head in. His beard and hair slicked back into a short ponytail make him look like a biker. His high cheekbones make him look like an actor.

“You must be Olivia,” he says, flicking a glance at me. “Let’s go. Got a nasty house to visit.” Without another word, he strolls away, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

“You heard the man,” Diane says.

At least I have good news for Esther.

Thank you for reading Chapter 40 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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Books, Bud, and Brews: Episode 3 Delayed

This week’s episode of Books, Bud, and Brews is delayed due to renovations in my apartment building.

I’m hoping they’ll finish up quickly and then I can batch record episodes so this doesn’t happen again. The funny thing is, before I started this, I thought to myself, Maybe I should record a few episodes ahead, just in case, and then I told myself I was just finding yet another reason to not start. Lesson learned!

I’ll be back soon with a breakdown of Olivia’s post-traumatic growth and character arc in the River Reapers MC series, my personal author burnout story, and more reading to you from A Disturbing Prospect.

In the meantime, stay lit!

Catch Up Books, Bud, and Brews: Episode 1 January 24, 2025 Books, Bud, and Brews: Episode 2 February 3, 2025 Read A Disturbing Prospect Read A Disturbing Prospect for free