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Books, Bud, and Brews: Episode 2

Welcome back to Books, Bud, and Brews. I love saying that!

What a week. This week was really hard. I had to just unplug from all the media, and I needed to rest, and regroup a little bit, and I took a morning nap, which felt amazing, and I woke up actually feeling much better, and it was an accidental nap. *chuckles* I was watching the Reading Rainbow documentary, and that actually was just the pep talk I needed.

I don’t know—it’s so strange, sometimes when I watch things, or read things, they’re exactly what I need, and it was wild. Reading Rainbow—still saving my generation’s sanity, to this day.

So, what are we talking about today? We are talking about writer burnout, which is taking us out, one by one, like dominoes, and we don’t talk about it at all. So I’m gonna talk about it.

We’re also going to talk about character trauma, and character arcs, and healing together from trauma, in romance.

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Listen on Apple PodcastsWatch on YoutubeListen on Spotifyauthor burnout

So, creative burnout. It’s a thing. It happens to writers. It happens to us a lot. It’s an issue in our community that we don’t talk about. I don’t think readers are even remotely aware. I just think readers kind of see—you guys see the after effects of burnout, right. You’ll see that the series you’re really into is not being continued anymore, or that author’s not on social media anymore. Or, you’ll see author’s kind of rescheduling releases a lot or completely cancelling different releases, different events, stuff like that. I’ve also seen authors be really up front with readers, like “Hey, I’m going through this thing right now, and I just can’t get this book out at the moment. I need a moment for myself, and I need to regroup, reset, and relax, and reevaluate things. The wonderful thing about the book community is, people are generally pretty supportive of this. Which is why I don’t understand why we don’t talk about it, because our readers are very supportive, other authors are very supportive.

We got sucked into this myth that we have to publish quickly because the algorithms on certain retailers favor that. The thing is, before those algorithms were a thing, we were lucky if we saw a book a year from our favorite authors. I mean, authors were creating pen names so they could publish more than one book in a year. The norm really was every year or so you’d get a new book from that author. Sometimes even longer. Books used to take years and years and years in between, like, series books. I mean, if you don’t have the experience of waiting for the next book in the series, and you’re just so hungry for any news, and then it comes out, and you get that first cozy-up with it—it’s the best.

So we didn’t always have this insane breakneck speed schedule. Readers were happy waiting, writers would just take their time, focus on the craft. Things would just naturally come out, and people would get to enjoy them.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with a fast release schedule, do not get me wrong. Because it can be great, there are people who literally read books *snaps fingers* within hours. You’re amazing. So no hate to people that write fast or read fast. What I’m really talking about is when we kind of get stuck in this thought that, “I have to serve this algorithm. I have to be on this schedule. I have to be very fast. I have to keep putting books out. I have to release weekly, or monthly.”

I have actually seen people trying to do weekly schedules. I’ve seen people do monthly. It’s… a lot. The authors are suffering. That’s the thing. If people were not burning out so bad, and things were just moving along, that would be fine. The problem is, all the time, authors are disappearing, never to be heard from again. Authors that were doing well—that were kicking ass in their careers, that were really just taking off, and then all of a sudden, they burn out. I’ve seen authors talk about it, to the extent where they’ll kind of explain a little about what’s going on, and then I’ve also seen authors just never come back, either.

There’s also an issue within the industry of an expectation of speed. I was just talking with some authors and other industry people about how they’re formatting books and copyediting books that aren’t even written yet. So if you can kind of break that down and digest what I just said, they are copyediting books that are not written yet. *chuckles* I don’t know how that works. He explained it, it sounds stressful for everyone on all sides of it.

I don’t know what we’re doing.

I think that we need to start saying no. I think that we need to start putting boundaries for ourselves and others, and I think we need to lose the mindset that we are all in competition with each other. This kind of competitive spirit has become toxic. It’s one thing to push yourself and to want to do better, and keep pushing forward, and it’s another to just pit all authors against each other, and constantly be working against each other. We are actually on the same side, because I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t keep up with a person who can read three to five books in a day. *laughs* Never mind one book a day. I’m just always amazed by how quickly people tell me they read my books, or other books, or how many books they read in a day. That kind of thing always blows my mind, because at this point I feel like I’m lucky to read a book a year.

So what can we do? We can talk about it. That’s all I wanted. I’ve actually been in author groups where I posted something just saying, “Hey guys, we really need to talk about this, and try to figure it out, because we really are disappearing.” We’re burning out at, I think, a pretty steady rate, and it’s kind of alarming. I’ve also experienced burnout for myself, and I don’t want that, our readers don’t want that, we don’t want that for ourselves. We want better for ourselves. We want to have businesses that are sustainable and fun, and we keep getting better at what we do, and we do cool shit together. That’s what I think. So I think we start talking about it, and we collaborate on solutions for burnout. We get more collaborative in general. You know, you’re not my competition, I’m not your competition, because they’re gonna read all of our books, and then some. *laughs* So we don’t need to worry about whose book they want to read. They’re gonna read all the books.

And we also start setting boundaries for ourselves. We really think about, “If I’m going to publish a book a month, if that’s something I am going to do, that I’m comfortable with and able to do, and I can do it in a healthy, sustainable way, then what are the boundaries I’m going to put into place for myself?” Because you can’t keep pouring out of yourself if you have nothing coming in. And if you’re constantly working late, working weekends—and I understand a lot of us don’t have the flexibility in our lives to have a steady, consistent schedule at all. I mean, I don’t have kids right now, but I do have chronic illnesses. They’re like kids, they’re always needing something, they don’t go away, they don’t go with their dad for the weekend. *chuckles* Some of us are writing nights, some of us are working around other work schedules, some of us are working around family, so it’s a lot of different things that are going on.

But say I work nine to five. I stay tight within those boundaries. Or if I can only grab time where I can, say I’m writing tonight, then it’s only gonna be for an hour, 9-10 p.m., and then I’m done, I’m going to rest or relax or do something else. It’s about boundaries.

It’s also about saying no… to people that think we can *snaps fingers* generate a book. This is where it’s going to get interesting, because we have this AI technology now. We are not meant to just vomit things out. We’re not supposed to just endlessly go go go, we are human beings. We are meant to experience, and feel, and enjoy our lives. Yes, enjoy. We are meant to enjoy, and experience—even if the circumstances around us are not ideal and perfect, we’re still meant to enjoy and feel and experience. We are not supposed to keep going and burn ourselves out.

So I think those three things are a great starting point. We talk about it, we start collaborating more, and we keep some boundaries.

reading to you

Today we are reading from A Disturbing Prospect, Book 1 in my River Reapers MC series.

A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 2

That was Chapter 2 from A Disturbing Prospect. You can go back and watch Chapter 1. The entire book is available for free everywhere ebooks are sold, and it’s also available on my website in serialized chapters, and I have signed paperbacks available.

what a character:
Healing trauma through readingFrom ex-con to leader of the MC

Last week we read Chapter 1 of A Disturbing Prospect, and Cliff got out of prison, and he is trying to figure out pretty much everything. He doesn’t have a place to stay, he doesn’t have anywhere to go, he doesn’t have a job, he doesn’t know if he has any friends or family that he’s going to be able to have as a support system, and he’s figuring everything out. His character arc is pretty awesome. I’m going to try not to spoil anything.

So when Cliff gets out of prison, he is dealing with several traumas. He’s processing so much. He has just gotten out of prison after a 20-year sentence. He’s dealing with grief, and loss. He’s also dealing with having witnessed a child hurt. He’s dealing with separation from his family. And he’s dealing with reintegration, getting back into society.

Everything is different for him. Those are the things he notices is everything is different. He is not familiar with anything anymore. The technology has changed, everything that he knew going in is pretty much horribly outdated, and there’s all this new stuff that he’s gotta figure out. So the first thing he has to figure out is, how does he find his family, so that he can maybe have a chance. Because the statistics of inmates committing another crime are really high when they first get out. Turns out there’s really no rehabilitation happening in these “rehabilitation centers.” There isn’t as much of a reintegration process that you’d think.

All of these things shape this characters as he’s—as you’re introduced to him in the story. You’re just kind of dropped into right when he gets out of prison, and he’s kind of just taking everything in, and realizing, “I’m all alone, I don’t have anyone, I don’t have anywhere to go. My only shot is finding my cousin.”

That character starts out very not sure-footed at all, really just having to pick up and really start building—and quick. He doesn’t have time or room for any trouble, anything that could potentially land him back in. He really just wants to be out, and not be there again. So this is a character that’s used to solving every problem with his fists and violence, and now he’s in a situation where he can’t do that at all anymore. He’s gotta do things the “legit way.” He’s gotta do things by the book. He’s gotta make sure he checks in with his P.O., make sure he gets a job right away, he has a place to stay—ticks off all the boxes because he does not want to go back inside.

Those survival behaviors that he had before don’t suit him anymore. He knows what he is and what he’s done, and he’s really trying to do different. After 20 years in the prison, living like that, having to fight to defend yourself, not having contact with anyone in the outside world, can he change? That’s what he wonders when he first comes out, Can he even change? Does he even have a shot at having a future, a family, falling in love…?

He can’t do it alone—we all need support—so the first thing he does is try to find his cousin and reconnect with her, because that was his best friend. But because of what happened and why he went into prison, he doesn’t necessarily know if he’s going to be able to find her, or if she’s even gonna want to talk to him. He’s very much dependent on her accepting him back into her life.

Their relationship was very, very good, they were very very close, like this, like siblings basically, except he was much older than her, so kind of more of a chibling relationship. He is really hinging everything, like, “If I can’t reconnect with this person, and she doesn’t want me, then that’s okay, I will go away… but then I’ll go away.” *chuckles* “I’ll go away… but I’ll also go away.”

So he’s in a very shitty position. It brings up issues of toxic masculinity, because he’s feeling like, “I should be the one taking care of her. I should have a job, I need to fucking get my shit together, I need to man up.” He uses those exact words. He just spent 20 years stuck in a prison with all these other men where it really is fight or die. It’s not a vacation.

So this character is dealing with all that, processing all that, and then he meets Olivia, and everything changes for both of them. They are immediately attracted to each other, and recognize something in each other. They also, because of their own individual traumas, can’t quite connect. He’s just getting out of prison and he’s like, “I gotta check all these boxes, because I’ve missed 20 years of my life. I want to have a family, I want to settle down… and I gotta do it yesterday.” Right? So he’s like ready to go, and she’s like “Uh, no.” She doesn’t want those things at all. They both have very good reasons for wanting and needing the things that they need and want.

They also complement each other at the same time. They also each have what each other needs. They have found a home and a family in each other.

Cliff immediately starts gathering his sort of support system. He’s got his cousin Lucy, he’s got Olivia, he’s also going to be having this P.O. that he can check in with, and then he will eventually have the club’s support as well.

He’s having to kind of learn everything on the fly, completely just picking it up and going. He doesn’t know what Facebook is, he doesn’t know how to use a cell phone, and he’s finding that even socially things have changed quite a bit, like in his own community. The people that he was familiar with have all faded away—the letters, the calls, the visits, those have gone. He doesn’t have any real community at all anymore. That looks completely different from what he remembers growing up.

Throughout the series, we see this character becoming less reluctant and more aware of his family history, and the generational trauma that he’s inherited. Through that understanding that he’s gaining, as he’s kind of navigating his role in the club and becoming a fully patched member, he starts to realize that he does want the club. He wants to make it what it could be. His father left a legacy that’s not so great. [Cliff] knows what he wants for it.

He goes from a person who has nothing, and has no direction, no support system—nothing—to a person who is leading. After not wanting to lead, but coming into that. Which has been so fun and so rewarding to write, and read. I know you guys love him.

His character was actually influenced by people I know in real life who did do time—throughout the years, spent a lot of time in prison, and actually were in prison longer than they were out. Through those experiences, they definitely have an interesting way of looking at life, and they have a very… amazing personality, quite honestly, because I think that it could change you. You could let it—like, Cliff worries about, is it going to change him, is he still going to be that monster that he thinks he is, he thinks he’s always going to be that person that went in and spent those 20 years in there.

It’s really easy to be that person, quite honestly. I think it’s easy to just give in and just let those things take over, and forget about what’s important, what’s within your control. I think it’s so much easier to just give in to it. Whereas, you can work and develop and evolve, and… I don’t want to say, like, “Take the lesson,” because prison is a very complicated conversation, and I don’t necessarily want to fully get into it, but I don’t think that most people start off in life thinking, “You know what I really hope? I hope I do some hard time!” *chuckles*

Most people are good people, and that’s not what they were intending at all. I think our system should reflect that, and support that, instead of supporting the chaos and trauma that come from being in prison. What I really wanted to do was highlight how very little support there is, and how very much we emphasize that prisoners should rehabilitate, but we give them very little support or opportunities to do that.

People can’t even get jobs coming out of prison. Most employers won’t hire a felon, and it doesn’t even matter if the crime wasn’t violent. In fact, recently I learned that most nursing homes won’t even let a felon recuperate in their nursing homes, even if they weren’t a violent criminal. That to me is just insane. You’re not giving people opportunities to actually come back into society. You’re completely blocking them out because of their past mistakes.

Through Cliff, I really wanted to highlight these things and draw awareness and attention to it, because it really is something that’s not mainstream at all. It’s just kind of always used as a plot device, like, “Oh, this character’s done hard time.” Well, you know, that comes with a lot of its own trauma, it comes with a lot of its own baggage, and it’s very interesting to explore, and I think it’s something worth talking about.

If you enjoyed this discussion on author burnout and character growth from prison to leader of the MC, please let me know. Please leave a comment on YouTube, you can also DM me, you can email me, or you can leave a comment on the shownotes on my blog.

Thank you so much for listening to Books, Bud, and Brews! I’m Elizabeth Barone, author of dark romance with a body count, and small town romance with a body count. You can check out all of my books, including some free books and chapters, on my website ElizabethBarone.com.

Thank you for listening to Episode 2 of Books, Bud, and Brews!

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30

It could all be over. Right now. If I let myself walk into that house, the story that’s been poisoning me ends. He never hurts anyone else. I walk away.

If only it were so simple.

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 Chapter 30Olivia

My thighs hug the Street Glide, fingers wrapped around the handlebars. She hums underneath me, vibrating down into my bones. It’s almost deep enough to stifle the scream clawing into my neck, my throat, the hinges of my jaw.

Almost.

If this was a car, I’d bang on the steering wheel. I can’t believe him. I thought it went without saying that I didn’t want the whole world to know. I trusted him.

He let me down.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Not after all the times a man has disappointed me. Especially not less than twenty-four hours after Mercy walked out on me—again. It’s the same damn thing, all over again.

Or is it?

I take a turn too fast, the bike going nearly parallel with the road. Everything speeds up and slows to a crawl at the same time. I shift my weight, restoring the balance, and ease up on the throttle. I pull over to the side of the road, heart pounding.

“What are you doing, Olivia?” I ask myself, the rumble of the engine all but drowning out my voice. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I can’t let this get to me. There are people depending on me: Esther and the girls, Cami.

Fuck Cliff.

He doesn’t get to completely unravel me.
No one does.

I open my eyes, Bad Lane coming into sharp focus. The Street Glide still purrs beneath me. I haven’t moved. I’m not dreaming. Yet I’m here.

I turn toward the teal house. Lights are on in all of the downstairs windows. Greg’s Thunderbird sits in the garage. I touch the gun at the small of my back.

It could all be over. Right now. If I let myself walk into that house, the story that’s been poisoning me ends. He never hurts anyone else. I walk away.

If only it were so simple.

Greg isn’t like Eli. There is a whole army of people who love him—literally and figuratively. He probably has dozens of Navy buddies. There there are his siblings and parents, countless friends we went to high school with. People I cut all ties with because I couldn’t stand when they said good things about him.

“I saw Greg play in New Haven last night . . .”

“Greg is such a mama’s boy. It’s sweet . . .”

“I run into Greg now and then. He’s still so funny . . .”

My stomach clenches just at the thought of the things they say. So many people walk among a monster and don’t even know it.

Still . . .

If I get rid of him, our story ends, but a whole mess of people will miss him. His sister won’t be able to go to the mall without crying, because he won’t be there to help her pick out a new record. His bandmates will have to find a new singer, someone who won’t even compare but they’ll try anyway, until the band collapses. His friends won’t have anyone to sit around a fire pit with, drinking beer and laughing until sunrise.

I’ll erase my monster, but I’ll leave a hole behind for everyone else.

I didn’t kill Eli because I wanted to. I had to. I knew, from the moment I actually looked into his eyes, that our story would end with one of us dead. It sure as fuck wasn’t going to be me.

Greg is no longer a threat. Not really, despite what my broken brain keeps insisting. He’s married, and I’m safe. Maybe he went through therapy, fixed whatever was broken inside him that made him desecrate me. He’s sorry—or at least scared enough of the River Reapers to pretend to be. He’ll stay away from me.

But I’m not so sure about Cami.

If I knew, if I could be positive that she’s safe with him, I might be able to walk away. There’s no way of knowing. Not unless I watched them around the clock.
My phone rings, the sound muffled by my saddlebag. I glance at the teal house again. I could go inside. Do it now. Put an end to the memories that keep rising no matter how much I try to shove them down. Exterminate the ceaseless tagged photos that keep popping up in my goddamn Facebook feed. Scrub away any chance of him playing at the next bar I go to.

Trade my peace of mind for everyone else’s.

I think of the silver alert, the somebody who’s missing Eli. Someone noticed he didn’t walk. Somewhere in this town, or state, or even in the country, someone cries for Eli, stares at the ceiling at night wondering what became of him.

I don’t know if I can do that to anyone else.

Even after what he did to me.

I open the saddlebag and dig inside for my phone. It keeps ringing, long after a reasonable person would’ve hung up. It’s probably Cliff, trying to apologize. I almost give up, let it go to voicemail. My fingers find it, close around it, pull it out of the darkness. Esther’s name lights up the display.

“I know, I’m on my way,” I tell her, guilt joining the nausea. “I’m okay, Es.”

“Olivia,” she sobs. “The girls are gone. Someone cut my brake line, and now the girls are gone.”

I hang up, and get the hell out of Bad Lane.

Thank you for reading Chapter 30 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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“Spill it… on her?” | Deleted scene from A Risky Prospect Keep Cliff & Olivia for Your ShelfSigned PaperbackEbook

A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29

I don’t want a gun. It’s probably hypocritical as fuck of me, but I don’t like them. I don’t trust them. My fists, on the other hand—those I can count on. They don’t malfunction, and I can reel myself in.

Most of the time.

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 Chapter 29Cliff

“You coming down, man?” Donny stands in the doorway to my room at the club house, towering over where I sit on the floor.

I blink through the darkness. I’m supposed to be bouncing the door. I should be downstairs, but I can’t make myself move. My whole body weighs twice as much, reminding me of when I was a kid and had the flu.

When I don’t answer, Donny sits beside me. “What a shit show, man. That could’ve been real bad.”

My eyes roll toward him.

He tilts his head. “A’ight, it was bad. Mark’s throwing a conniption. At least you’re not back inside.”

I’d gladly trade my freedom if it meant I’d still have Olivia.

“She’ll come around. You meant well.”

I want to be left alone, but Donny’s my brother. He’s just trying to be my friend.

“I’ve got an idea.” He shifts, then pulls a joint out of his cut. “In a few minutes, you’ll be a hundred percent.” He lights the joint, takes a hit, then holds it out to me.

I stare at it for a moment. “I’ve never smoked,” I admit.

“Never?” Donny grins. “Aw, this is gonna be fun!” He nudges it closer to me. “For real, man. You’ll feel a lot better. It’ll be like nothing happened.”

I don’t want to feel nothing. When I feel Olivia and all that comes with her, I come alive. Without her, I’m sinking to the bottom. For the longest time, I thought maybe I was kidding myself, that I’d just latched onto her while I was drowning, trying to find some kind of footing before I got swept away. Now I know that isn’t true.

I love her.

And I’ve fucked it all up.

Donny sighs and takes another hit. “You know,” he says through a cloud of smoke, “for a split second, I thought about just handing you my gun.” White teeth flash in the dark. “Sometimes I think I crave the chaos. This club’s been pretty tame since Mercy and Bastard. ‘Til you two came along.” He passes me the joint again, and this time, I take it.

“Am I gonna be able to bounce?”

He scoffs. “I cannot believe you’ve never done this before. Weren’t you eighteen when you went in?”

“My mom,” I say, pinching the joint between my thumb and forefinger. I bring it to my lips and take a long pull. The smoke curls into my lungs, spreading through my limbs, settling in my head.

For the first time tonight, it goes quiet.

“Ruth swore she’d shave my head in my sleep if she ever caught me doing any drugs. Even after she died, I couldn’t let her down.” I hand the joint to Donny.

“You always had long hair?” he asks.

“I might’ve been a little obsessed with Jim Morrison,” I admit. “Except I had black hair, like Ruth’s. I wanted to dye it blond, but Bastard never let me.”

He snorts, smoke pouring from his nostrils. “Man, I should smoke you up more often. This shit is gold.”

“You tell anyone, and I’ll beat your face in.”

Donny’s warm brown eyes go dark. All of the light drains from his face. Those dead eyes meet mine. “You really threatening an officer of your MC?”

I let my own face go flat. At least, I try. When I move the muscles, arranging my features into The Look that helped earn me the nickname Red Dog, I burst into laughter. Donny throws his head back, cackling.

“I can never smoke again,” I groan. “This shit’ll ruin my rep.”

“Don’t worry.” He claps my shoulder. “I won’t tell a soul that Mary Jane is your kryptonite.”

“And Olivia.” I look down at my hands. The sun sets outside, painting the dim room in streaks of pink and orange.

“Nah, dude. Do not go there right now. Let the weed works its magic.”

But I can’t. She’s so far under my skin, nothing will ever cleanse me of her. A thousand, thousand years can go by, and I’ll still love her, my heart long reduced to ashes.

Donny’s phone rings, the new Backstreet Boys song blaring through the room.

I give him a sidelong look. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Everyone in this club knows I have a penchant for shitty pop music.”

“I bet you’re holding out for an ESX reunion, too.” I shake my head.

“They have Spotify in prison?”

“What’s Spotify?”

He throws his head back again. “Goddamn, I love you, Red Dog. I’ve gotta take this. It’s Essie.”

I sit up straight. As far as I know, Esther is with Olivia. Or she was, anyway. Through the haze of Skywalker OG, my mind lurches through scenarios—none of them good.

“Hey, baby,” Donny greets Esther. “What’s up?”

I watch his face, see the muscles tense up, his lip curling, eyes narrowing.
“You see anybody?”

I’m on my feet, pulling on my cut. I’ve got to get to her. Now.

“Wait,” Donny says, holding up a hand. He stands, too. “It’s okay, baby. Just stay inside, keep the doors locked. We’ll be right there.” He flips his phone shut. Two minutes ago, I’d have ribbed him for still having a flip phone. Even I have a smartphone.

Everything is different now.

“You okay to ride?” he asks me.

“Fine.” Adrenaline surges through my veins, flushing out the effects of the weed. “What happened?”

“Someone slit Essie’s brake line.”

“Holy shit.” I clasp his shoulder. “You seeing red?”

“You fucking bet.” He sucks in a deep breath.

“Good thing she noticed before going anywhere. Fuck,” I growl. “Do you think this is Greg? Esther took Olivia home. They would’ve only been back for a little while.”

“Nah.” Donny grimaces. “There’s more, brother.” He rubs his hands over his face. “This fucking girl,” he mutters.

My spine stiffens. “What is it?”

“Essie dropped Olivia off at Mercy’s, for the bike.”

That fucking bike. I was supposed to take her back for it, but she kicked me out.

“Olivia was gonna meet Essie back at their place. She hasn’t showed yet.”

I stomp toward the door.

Donny clamps a hand around my arm, jerking me back. “Chill!” he barks. “Far as we know, Essie’s car has nothing to do with Olivia. This time.” He shakes his head. “She probably just took a ride to clear her head.” He leans in, eyes searching mine. “A’ight?”

I nod.

Slowly, he releases me. “Essie thinks this has to do with her folks.”

“Shit.” I’d completely forgotten about Esther’s problems.

“We’ll take Beer Can and Abraham with us. You call Vaughn, see if he found out where Josué works.”

“Where are you going?”

His eyebrow twitches. “Going to get you a gun, Cherry.”

“Cherry?”

“We’re popping all kinds of Cliff cherries tonight. Call Vaughn,” he tells me again. Then he’s gone.

I stare into the deepening darkness of the room. I don’t want a gun. It’s probably hypocritical as fuck of me, but I don’t like them. I don’t trust them. My fists, on the other hand—those I can count on. They don’t malfunction, and I can reel myself in.

Most of the time.

This isn’t the pen. I’ve got no idea what we’re walking into. And if Olivia is missing, my first stop is going to be Greg’s.

I pull out my phone and call Vaughn.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“We’ve got a situation. Did you find out where Esther’s father works?”

“I was just about to shoot a text to Donny. Josué works at Landon’s Landscaping. They’re over on Meadow Street, but they’ve got property on 63. They store all their equipment there.”

“Thanks,” I say, absorbing the information. “Hey, Vaughn, I need another favor from you.”

“Am I ever going to get out of this basement?” he jokes.

“I just need an address for Greg Byrne.”

“I dunno, Cliff. After this afternoon, there’s too much heat there. Does Ravage know you’re asking?”

“Olivia’s missing,” I lie. At least, I hope it’s a lie. “I’m gonna check a few other places first, but if she doesn’t turn up, I’ve got to know she isn’t there.”

“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize. Do you guys need me to come in?”

I pinch my eyes shut. “I just need that address.”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll text it to you.”

“Thanks.” I hang up just as Donny bursts into my room.

“You get Vaughn?” He hands me a pistol with a skinny silver barrel.

“Landon’s Landscaping.” I turn the gun over in my hands.

“It’s a Browning Buck Mark. Semiautomatic. They’re pretty fucking accurate—good for somebody like you, ain’t never shot one.”

I scoff. “I’m Bastard’s son, Donny. Of course I’ve shot a gun.”

“Then why you holding it like it’s gonna bite you?”

I take the shoulder holster he passes me and strap it on. “We going or what?”

“After you, Princess Rimfire.”

“I thought it was Cherry?” I toss back as I head downstairs. My voice sounds so calm, but my veins are burning, my hands hot, the joints loose. My phone vibrates in my pocket with a text. I tug it free and scan the address, committing it to memory.

“It’s whatever the fuck I want it to be,” Donny rumbles.

We reach the landing and Beer Can falls into step with us. Strobe lights pulse through the club, and he’s got his cut on, but I know he’s carrying, too.

“The Three Musketeers, on the case again,” he says, clapping Donny on the back.

If Olivia isn’t with Esther, there’ll be another body to bury tonight.

Thank you for reading Chapter 29 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

Continue Reading A Risky Prospect, Chapter 30 Keep Cliff & Olivia for Your ShelfSigned PaperbackEbook

A Risky Prospect, Chapter 28

I know things about him. There are also things I don’t know, like whether he is sorry, if he thinks about me, whether his wife is safe.

I don’t know those things but I do know one thing. Two, actually.

He isn’t home right now.

And I’m going to ruin his life like he ruined mine.

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 Chapter 28Olivia

I frown at the house. It’s absurd that something so innocuous looking could belong to someone like him. The exterior is teal and friendly, and he is anything but. Looking at him from the outside, I thought he’d be a good time. He smelled spicy and cool, and his pouty lips and long red hair sucked me in.

He was charming, always smiling—until he wasn’t.

He could walk out of this house right now and take me out with his Navy SEAL training. If he steps out of that front door, I don’t have a single excuse for showing up here.

But I couldn’t stop myself.

From the moment I realized he lives right up the street from me, my brain has buzzed in his direction. I’m not much of a walker, but my legs started tingling the second I pulled his house up on Google again.

They’re still tingling.

I want to cross the street, march up that front walk, and ring his doorbell. See the look of shock on his face as he registers my presence. Search his eyes for any hint of shame. I’d even take regret. Ask him the question, the one that’s burned on my tongue for over a decade. The one that I buried deep in my heart, but still surfaced anyway. Repression only works for so long.

“Why?”

I whisper the word. It slices my lips. It’s a futile question, because there’s no simple answer. The answers are the kind you get only after years of couples talk therapy. We aren’t a couple. I’m not sure we ever really were. Something about him always pulled me in, washing over me until my lungs were full of him. Even now, after all this time, here I am. I couldn’t stay away.

Even after everything he did to me.

I know things about him. His wife is a teacher. He’s building a mini bridge to the woods in their backyard. They don’t have any children. There are also things I don’t know, like whether he is sorry, if he thinks about me, whether his wife is safe. I’m good at finding things out but that last one’s locked down tight.

I don’t know those things but I do know one other thing. Two, actually.

He isn’t home right now.

And I’m going to ruin his life like he ruined mine.

The curtains in the front window move. A heart-shaped face peers out at me, her brown eyes watchful. I recognize Cami from the single wedding pic on his Facebook. Instead of turning around and going home, like I should, I take a step toward the house.

The curtains fall back into place.

I freeze in the middle of the street. I should not be here. I’m not ready to face him. I’m not brave enough to face her. The front door opens and she steps out.

“Hi,” she calls in a sweet, soft voice. “Are you okay?”

I reach behind me, touch the holster at the small of my back. The metal of the gun presses against my skin, hot from the sun and my own body. It’s not a comfortable holster, but my only other options require a jacket—Connecticut is a concealed carry state.

My mind reels for an excuse.

“I’m looking for Mercer,” I blurt, the name rolling off my tongue. “Does he live here?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. My husband and I bought this house this winter when we got married.”

I glance at the two cars in the driveway. “Is your husband home?” I already know the answer, but I need to know how likely he is to walk out that door.

“He’s sleeping,” she says with an amused smile. “He works late.”

I wonder where else Oh Vile Eye plays, what else he does for a living. “Would he know the previous owner?” I ask, still playing dumb.

“I’m not sure. Sorry,” she says again. “Can I get you something to drink? Do you want to come in?”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I could use a glass of ice cold water. Or a freezing cold bottle of vodka. “No. Thank you.” I clear my throat.

“Do you need a ride?”

I consider it. Two minutes in a car with Cami could get me the answers I need, but then she’d know where I live. He’s already too close to me.

“I work at Big Y,” I say. “Can you give me a lift?”

“Sure. Let me just grab my keys.” She ducks back inside, closing the screen door behind her.

I shift from foot to foot. I should walk away. I should stop coming here.

The door opens again and she flits down the steps, keys in hand. “I’m the Jetta.”

“I figured.” I glance at the black Thunderbird, remembering all the times I sat in that passenger seat.

I can’t believe he still has it.

Then again, that thing was his baby.I slip into the passenger side of the Jetta, the palms of my hands clammy. I have no reason to fear Cami. Still, as I buckle myself in, I check the front door of the house, the windows.

Nothing moves.

Cami starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, her maneuvering smooth. I find myself staring at her, studying the flawless skin, the way her lips naturally curve upward. Mine curve down, a permanent frown.

She’s a teacher, the kind of person who gives rides to strangers. He’s a musician, a muscle car junkie. I can’t imagine what drew them together.

“How did you two meet?” The words are out of my mouth before I can reel them in. “I love a good meet cute,” I say, recovering.

She grins. “Me too. My parents own a deli. Sometimes I help out, especially in the summer. I teach at the high school.”

I nod, give her what I hope is an encouraging smile. Big Y isn’t far.

“He’d just got out of the Navy. He comes in—in full uniform—and tells me he’s starving. So I recommend our Italian combo. He gives me this flirty smirk and says, ‘Do you come with it?’ I’m Italian,” she explains with a giggle. “Our deli’s Damato’s—my maiden name.”

That sounds like him, all right. All charm, all the time.

“So you’re happy?” I wish I’d flipped down the visor, so I could glance into the mirror, see whether my face looks horrified.

“God, yes. That was in the fall. We’ve spent every minute together ever since. Except when he’s playing. I can’t stay awake that late.” She laughs, a musical, untarnished sound.

A sharp pain settles into my chest. How is it that he can be so good to her, after scraping me hollow?

Except now I know: he’s lied to her at least once. He didn’t just get out of the Navy. He got out years ago, when we were dating. He’s been in California, pursuing his music.

I swallow bile.

“Are you all right?” she asks as she pulls into the Big Y parking lot.

“My boss’s car is here,” I manage. “He’s such an asshole.”

She frowns. “Dave? He’s always been sweet to me.”

“One of the supervisors,” I say quickly, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the ride.” I push it open and get out, hurrying toward the electronic doors. As I pass through them, I glance over my shoulder.

Cami sits in her Jetta, watching me, her eyebrows pinched together.

I wander the store for ten minutes, then check the parking lot. She’s gone. I pull out my phone. There’s a missed call from Cliff, three from Esther. No messages. I call Esther.

“Can you pick me up? I’ve got some news about your case.” I pace the front of the building, a cigarette in my other hand.

“I’ve been trying to call you,” she says in a hushed voice. “Donny said—”

“Esther, I’ve got your entire file on my phone.”

“What?”

“I texted it to you this morning. There’s a lot of information we can use.”

“Where are you?”

I skirt a woman pushing a cart brimming with groceries. “I took the bus to Big Y after work.”

“Ah, shit, your bike. I was supposed to pick you up and then bring you to get it.”
It seems like ages ago that she dropped me off at work this morning. “It’s okay. Can you come get me now?”

“Of course, but Olivia? Cliff is looking for you. The whole club is—”

“We’ll talk when I see you,” I promise. “See you soon.” I hang up, scanning the parking lot. Even though I’m pretty sure Cami went back home, part of me expects Greg to pull up in his Thunderbird.

I will Esther to hurry.

I wait twenty minutes before she pulls up.

“You sure took your time,” I mutter, getting in.

She blushes. “Donny and I were . . . when you called.” She clears her throat.

“Donny and you were what?” I tease.

Her flush deepens. “So what’s in my file?”

“Don’t you check your texts? Or do you only answer for a Donny booty call?” I can’t help it. She’s so freakin’ cute.

“Don’t you answer your phone?” she counters, pulling out of the Big Y parking lot. She heads toward The Wet Mermaid.

I hold up my hands. “I was busy.”

“Where are your groceries?”

“Oh.” My lips tug to the side. “They didn’t have what I wanted.”

“Cravings, huh? Are you pregnant?” She cackles.

My cheeks burn. “Asshole.”

“Hey, you and Cliff bone just as much as Donny and me.”

“I can’t believe you just used the word ‘bone.'”

Esther’s olive skin reddens to a tomato hue. “Why don’t you tell me what’s in my file?”

I open the pics on my phone, flipping through them for reference while I fill her in. When I get to the pregnancy part, I hesitate. “It says you emancipated yourself,” I hedge. Then I sigh. So much of womanhood involves tiptoeing around delicate subjects. I’m done not talking about things. “He raped you again.”

She nods.

“He got you pregnant.”

She nods again, face pale.

“I haven’t talked to Glace yet, because I wanted to run it by you first. If you’re willing to testify, we can contest the reunification. What he did to you is plenty of reason for the state to not give those kids back.”

“What if they say I’m not stable enough to take care of them?” she asks, voice small, cracking.

“Esther, you’re the most stable person I know. You stayed in to study more than I did, and that’s saying something.” We really were the perfect roommates. I’m going to miss her when she moves out.

“I mean . . .” She takes a deep breath. “What if they say I have PTSD or something? What if they say, because I had an abortion, I can’t have my sisters?”

I reach across the console and squeeze her shaking hand. “Even if you do have PTSD, you handle your shit. You’re more than capable of taking care of them. And who cares if you had an abortion? Any judge is going to sympathize with you. You were sixteen. Josué is a fucking monster.”

She nods, squeezes my hand back. Then she takes a deep breath. “I can do it. I’ll testify.” She pulls into the strip club’s parking lot.

“Shit.” I sigh.

“What?”

“I still need to go get my bike.” I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I’ve got way too many plates in the air. I need my bike.

“We are, I promise. Cliff wanted me to bring you straight here.”

“Why? I’m not working tonight.” I eye the row of motorcycles parked out front. “Esther, am I in trouble?” I wonder if they know about my extracurricular stalking activities.

“No,” she assures me. She swallows. “Donny filled me in a bit, but they want to talk to you.”

“Filled you in on what?”

Her lips part, then drop open, her eyes locked on something. Or someone. I follow her gaze.

Cliff races out of the club, his mouth a hard line, the tendons in his neck straining. When he reaches my side of the car, he pulls open the door. “You can’t be here,” he shouts.

“Why the hell not?” I demand.

Esther balks. “You told me to bring her here!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I can’t tell who he’s apologizing to. “We had a last-minute change of plans.” His eyes flick to me. I search them, but all I see are storm clouds.

“What’s going on?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes looking past me, through the car and Esther’s window. I turn. A Thunderbird roars into the parking lot, music blaring.

A black Thunderbird.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. Cami might be a good Samaritan, but she is a high school teacher. She must’ve seen right through me.

Pushing past Cliff, I step out of the car. Good thing I wore my gun.

“Where are you going?” Cliff reaches for my arm, but I slip past him. I take several steps toward the middle of the parking lot, directly in Greg’s path.

He slams on his brakes.

Through the windshield, I make out his expression. He’s surprised to see me.

I turn back to Cliff. “What’s going on?”

Mark pokes his head through the door to The Wet Mermaid. “Make sure we do this inside,” he calls to Cliff.

“Do what?” I glance from Cliff to Esther. “What are we doing?”

Greg climbs out of the Thunderbird. “Olivia?”

“You almost hit her,” Cliff growls. He stalks toward Greg, hands flexing in and out of fists.

“She walked out in front of me!” Greg looks past Cliff, at Mark. “What is this, man?”

Mark lifts his shoulders, spreads his hands.

“You called me,” Greg says to him. “Said we needed to talk band stuff.” His gaze flicks to me.

Cliff stalks toward him. “Don’t you fucking look at her.” He points a finger at Greg.

Greg stands, feet apart, shoulders wide. Cliff has several inches on him, but there’s no telling which way a fight would go. The Navy SEAL versus the ex-con.
I step toward Cliff. “Your parole,” I remind him. He so much as throws a fist at Greg, out here with all these potential witnesses, and he goes right back to Lewisburg.

“Olivia,” Esther calls.

I ignore her. “Did you bring this shit to the table?” I ask Cliff from between gritted teeth.

“Inside!” Ravage barks.

I gape at Cliff. “You did. You bastard.”

Finally, he looks at me. His mouth sags open as if I punched him.

Greg smirks. “Oh, Olivia. You always were trouble.”

Cliff lunges for him, his hands closing around the collar of Greg’s T-shirt. He lifts Greg a few inches off the pavement, then shoves him back, dropping him. Greg stumbles, but stays on his feet. Cliff uses the moment to draw back his fist. It blurs through the air but in frames, as if I’ve smoked some really good weed and I’m watching a buffering action movie.

I stand there, torn. I should just let him go back to prison. I trusted him with my secret. I’ve never even told Lucy. I thought he’d understand, or at least give me some space. I should’ve known he’d go running to the club.

He’s just like my father: club first, fuck everyone else.

Gritting my teeth, I yank the gun out of my holster. Pointing it into the air, I click off the safety and discharge a single shot into the sky.

Cliff’s fist connects with Greg’s jaw.

A stream of blood squirts through the air, splattering onto the pavement. Greg’s head rocks back. He stumbles, then rights himself. A second later, he launches himself at Cliff.

The whole MC pours out of the club. Beer Can and Donny grab Greg’s arms, holding him back from Cliff.

“What do you want to do?” Ravage asks him.

I lower my gun hand before I shoot all of them. “What does he want to do?” I snarl. “What about what I want? Any of you think about that?”

They all gape at me.

I wave the gun toward Greg. “Just let him go.” I pin Cliff with my eyes. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges.”

Greg spits bright red blood onto the black asphalt. “What the fuck is this, Olivia? You fucking the whole MC?”

Cliff lets out an enraged roar. He plants both hands on Greg’s chest and pushes, but Donny and Beer Can hold Greg steady. Cliff bounces back. He stands, fists curled, chest heaving.

“I’m going to kill you myself, you don’t shut your mouth,” Ravage tells Greg. He brings a cigarette to his lips. He crouches between Greg and Cliff, exhaling smoke in Greg’s face. “I’m told you raped our Prospect.”

Greg spits again. Flecks of blood land on Ravage’s cheek.

Ravage grins, the ghastly smile splitting his pale face. “The club voted. We’re going to find your band a prettier face to sing for them.”

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Greg pleads. “It was a long time ago. I got too rough. I know that now.” He wiggles the fingers of his left hand. “I’ve got a wife. I don’t want any trouble.”

I think of Cami, sitting in the teal house. Maybe she’s cooking dinner for when Greg gets home from his “business meeting,” working on lesson plans while she waits.

I want him dead. I need him dead. The statute of limitations is long past and, even then, it’s my word against his—a Navy fucking SEAL. No one’s gonna believe me, especially without any evidence. But I need to know that he’ll never hurt anyone again. I need to know that Cami will stay shiny.

But not like this.

It’s not Cliff’s battle or the MC’s.

It’s mine.

I swallow my betrayal and rage, my contempt. I put the safety back on and tuck the gun into its holster. “I let it go a long time ago,” I tell Greg, but I look at Cliff. At Ravage. At Beer Can. “It’s water under the bridge. You heard him. He’s a better person now. I just . . .” I hesitate for effect. “I just don’t want him working under the same roof as me.”

“Done,” Greg says. “Not a problem. We’ll find another venue to play.”

Ravage eyes me. “You sure this is what you want?”

“You mean, you’re asking me?” I glare at Cliff. “Yes. This is what I want. Get him out of my face.”

Donny and Beer Can look at each other, shrug, then release him.

He shakes the blood flow back into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says, but his eyes don’t meet mine. Backing toward the idling Thunderbird, he holds his hands up. “I’m sorry,” he says again. He ducks into the driver’s seat. Slamming the door shut, he throws the Thunderbird into reverse. He backs out of the parking lot, then peels out, leaving a cloud of gray smoke drifting through the air in his wake.

I round on Cliff. “How could you?” Stomping toward him, I shove him with the heels of my hands. He barely moves. I push him again, throwing all my strength into it. Again, he remains standing. Instead of catching my wrists or telling me he’s sorry, too, he just takes it. “You bastard,” I say again.

He flinches.

Stepping back, I hold my chin high. I look him in the eye. “Fuck you, Cliff. We’re done.” I look from member to member. “Fuck all of you.”

Turning on my heels, I stomp back to Esther’s car. I get in and slam the door shut behind me, strapping on my seatbelt.

I don’t even have to ask her.

She makes a U-turn and takes me away from The Wet Mermaid and Cliff.

Thank you for reading Chapter 28 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

Continue Reading A Risky Prospect, Chapter 29 Keep Cliff & Olivia for Your ShelfSigned PaperbackEbook

A Risky Prospect, Chapter 27

Ravage bangs the gavel against the edge of the table. “We vote. Do we take the piece of shit who raped Olivia to the river?” From across the table, his eyes meet mine.

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 Chapter 27Cliff

I sit on Lucy’s couch, remote in hand, court TV that I’m not watching on the screen. After Olivia gave me the cold shoulder this morning, I needed a place to crash. There was a chance Greg would be at the club house, so I couldn’t go back there.

Not yet.

I will take care of him.

Soon.

I rode around for a little while, drifting aimlessly through the streets of Naugatuck and into Waterbury. I ended up riding all the way up 69 to Pine Grove Cemetery in Waterbury. I said my hellos to my friend Devon and my mother Ruth, then headed to Lucy’s. Since she’s a teacher and everyone else on her street works nine-to-fives, it’s always quiet here during the day.

It’s the perfect place to crash and think—usually.

This time I can’t. Every time I get a little closer, Olivia shoves me away harder, farther. I don’t know how to do this, what to be for her. I don’t even know what I am to her.

I just know that she let me in on something huge, something so deep and painful, I’m amazed she’s even walking around in one piece. She needs time, and I can give her that. I’ll just step away a pace, be here when she needs me. If.

In the meantime, I’ve got to start thinking about my future.

For the past twenty years, I didn’t even think I had one. Olivia might not know what I am to her, but I know what she’s been for me: possibility, an awakening. For the first time, I understand that there can be more to life than concrete, steel, and iron. I have lost my mother and killed my father, and my aunt and uncle hate everything that I am, but I still have Lucy. She and the little niece or nephew she’s incubating are my family.

I think of Ravage, how he told me that someday I’d be President. Even Mercy—Bastard’s best friend and VP, who would’ve been next in line if he hadn’t gone to prison—said that the seat at the head of that table is my birthright. I won’t even have to take it like I thought.

The River Reapers are my family. They’re the ones who gave me a home and a place to punch in and out of every day. They’ve had my back even when I didn’t know I needed someone looking out for me. They covered for me even when I was a Prospect, helped me make Eli disappear. They gave me respect and a rocker.

The MC was once my for-now plan, but now it’s my forever plan.

If I want to be President someday, I’ve got to be as transparent as possible, even now.

I’m taking Greg to the table.

I can’t let him work under the same roof as Olivia. I’m not even sure I can let him walk around the same town, breathe the same oxygen on the same planet. I just know I can’t kill him without giving the club a heads up.

And I know they’ll back me up.

If Mercy stuck around, I know he’d approve. Hell, he’d fight me to be the one to do it. I’m glad he’s gone. The monster inside of me has reared its head, and it won’t be sated until it’s tasted Greg’s blood. I’m a killer. Might as well embrace it.

Shutting off the TV, I toss the remote onto the couch and get up. Then I ride to The Wet Mermaid.


”Want a drink?” Trish asks as I pass the bar. She holds up an empty shot glass.

I wave it off. “Thanks.”

It’s still early in the day, so most of the dancers perfect their moves without the hungry eyes of an audience on their bodies. I nod to Pru and the others, then veer into Mark’s office.

Ravage sits at the desk, his boots propped up on it. “Yeah?”

“Where’s Mark?” I pull up a chair and sit opposite him.

“Meeting with our accountant. Tax season, I guess.” He shrugs. “I’m shit with that stuff.”

“Good, because I need to run something by you before I bring it to the table.”

He swings his legs off the desk with a sigh. “What now? I thought Olivia was working the DCF angle. I’ve got Vaughn trying to get into the state’s records, see if we can dig up any dirt on Esther’s old man.”

“That’s a felony.” I light a cigarette, my eyes on his.

“I know. He’s good with that shit. He’ll clean up his tracks.”

“You ever have him look up our employees? Or associates?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “What are you getting at?”

“Greg Byrne.” His name burns up my throat, leaving an acidic aftertaste. “He have a record?”

“He was in the Navy for a short stint. Only signed up for three years. Came out right after. No issues there. Nothing that shines, either. Why?” His blue eyes laser into me.

“Olivia dated him in high school.” I lean forward. “He raped her.”

Ravage’s eyes darken to a storm gray.

“He tried approaching her last night, right before we took off.” I spread my hands on the desk, gripping the wood as if I could reach through it the way I want to break Greg’s skull.

He nods once, real slow. “Whatever you want to do, take it to the table. I’ll back you up. No one hurts a River Reaper. I don’t give a shit whether she’s patched or when it happened.”

“Call Church,” I say, sitting back. I rest my hands on my thighs, vision tunneled to the breadth of my palms, the thickness of my fingers. The solid knuckles, scarred from dozens of fights. Killer’s hands.

“That’s a felony,” Ravage reminds me.

I look up.

A snarl twists his features. “One I’m sure your brothers will be happy to make disappear.”

I nod. “Thanks.” Pushing back the chair, I stand. The heaviness of my decision pulls me down, a black gravity.

“Thank you for coming to me.” Ravage stands, too, and holds out his hand.

I clasp it. He shakes my hand once with a firm, slow pump, those glacial eyes never leaving mine. His black eyebrows bear down on his face, his mouth taught.

“Be in the Chapel in forty-five minutes,” he says, releasing his grip.

With a final nod, I turn and walk out of the office.


Ravage sits at the head of the MC’s table, the gavel resting by his hand. His whole body is curved slightly, muscles coiled and ready to pounce. “Thank you all for coming.”

I glance around at my brothers. Skid, our VP, sits on Ravage’s left, his scarred hands clasped. Our Sergeant-at-Arms and best candidate for a dwarf cosplay, Beer Can, to his right. Next to him is Donny, whose six-plus frame makes him our Enforcer, until you catch the warmth in his eyes. Across from Donny sits treasurer Mark—probably the most normal looking of all of us. The members who don’t hold offices fill the rest of the seats: Stixx, Vaughn, Abraham, and me. We’d be ten if Mercy’d stayed.

“We’ve got to vote on a serious issue,” Ravage says, “but first, Vaughn. How far did you get before I dragged you out of your mom’s basement?”

The men around the table smirk.

“Actually, I do all my hacking at Starbucks. Public Wi-Fi,” he explains, brown eyes crinkling. “I couldn’t find any of the DCF cases Donny filled me in on. Except this one. The rest of ’em have all been closed, so there wouldn’t be anything else to find. I did find this.” He pulls a folded rectangle of paper from the inside pocket of his cut. Unfolding it, he spreads it out on the table.

I lean forward, peering at it. At thirty-eight, my eyes aren’t what they used to be.

“Josué Figueroa is a registered sex offender in Arizona,” Vaughn announces. “I couldn’t scare up any details. It appears to be unrelated to any of the DCF cases.”

“The sex offender lists are a state to state thing,” Donny growls. “Connecticut might not even know about it.”

“I say we call in an anonymous tip.” Ravage holds his hand out for the sheet.

“To DCF?” Donny scowls. “Nah. They ain’t gonna do shit. I say we find out where he works, someone lets his boss know. Get his ass fired.”

The men nod around the table.

“That sounds like a plan,” I tell Donny.

He gives me a grateful chin jerk. “Thanks, brother.”

Vaughn cracks his knuckles. “Guess my work’s cut out for me tonight.”

“Talk to your ol’ lady,” Ravage tells Donny. “See if she can find out where he works. That might be faster than sending Vaughn on a wild goose chase.”

“It’ll get him out of his mom’s basement for a night, too,” Beer Can ribs. “Maybe get him laid.”

I bang on the table, a steady beat. “Let’s get Vaughn laid!”

My brothers join in, keeping time with me with hands and feet. Laughter ripples through the room, some levity to lighten the situation.

Ravage clears his throat, and the Chapel quiets. “I appreciate what we’re doing for Donny and Esther. This is outside our area of expertise, but I’m proud of all of you.” He glances at me. “Cliff has another public service for us to consider.”

I spread my hands on the table, look each of my brothers in the eye before beginning. “I don’t know how to tell you all this, so I’m just gonna say it: our live band’s gotta go. Namely, their lead singer.”

Mark frowns. “What do you mean? Business is up. Our accountant says our revenue’s tripled on the nights Oh Vile Eye plays.”

“Oh Vile Eye did something vile to our own Prospect,” Ravage growls.

“When she was in high school,” I clarify, “Olivia dated the lead singer, Greg. He raped her. I want him dead.”

A collective shock circles the table, my brothers muttering contempt.

“I never would’ve hired him if I’d known.” Mark bows his head.

Skid clasps his shoulder.

“You couldn’t have known,” I soothe. “None of you could’ve. We all know how Olivia likes to handle things herself.”

Donny snorts. “Yeah, she does.”

“I’m not asking any of you to do anything,” I say. “I’m just asking for your blessing. I need to take Greg to the river.”

Several of my brothers start talking at once.

Introduce him to the Sludge Spector,” Donny says. “Fuck yeah.”

“Slit his fucking throat,” Beer Can suggests.

“What about the band?” Mark asks.

“The river? Let me earn another X,” Stixx grumbles.

“I’ll get his address,” Vaughn says.

Ravage knocks the gavel against the edge of the table. “We vote. Do we take Greg to the river?” From across the table, his eyes meet mine. “Yea,” he votes.

I swing my gaze to Skid.

His chest rises as his lungs fill. “She’s a good bartender. A good Prospect. A good ol’ lady. And we made a promise to Mercy. Yea.”

I nod my thanks, then turn to Mark.

“This is my fault,” he says with a sigh. “I’m with you all the way. Yea.”

“Fucker should burn in his own house,” Stixx says. “The river’s too good for him.”

“Is that a nay?” I ask, shoulders tensing.

He scowls. “She’s a good girl. He should burn!”

“Stixx!” Ravage barks. “The how is up to Cliff.”

Stixx’s pale blue eyes meet mine. “Yea, brother,” he whispers, running a hand through his white blond hair. “I’m sorry.”

I lift one hand from the table. “My vote’s yea,” I growl, blood boiling. I need this done soon, before it consumes me, before I implode from the rage coursing through me.

Ravage fixes cold eyes on Abraham. “You with us this time, or is there gonna be a problem again?”

“Yes,” Abraham says without hesitation.

I frown, but before I can ask, the vote continues.

“Yea,” echoes Donny. “It’ll be like old times.”

“That girl sure does leave a trail of bodies behind her,” Skid says.

“Beer Can?” Ravage asks the stocky Sergeant-at-Arms.

The light illuminates the gray’s in Beer Can’s beard and at his temples. He shakes his head slowly, fingers absently stroking his beard. “I’ve known Olivia since she was a baby,” he says, voice breaking. “She’s like a granddaughter to me. I’ve always loved Mercy.” His brown eyes meet mine, aching and pleading. “Do it. Yea.”

Ravage clutches the gavel so tightly, I wait for it to snap. “We’ll help Oh Vile Eye find a new singer,” he says, then slams the head of the gavel onto the table, the decision made.

My shoulders straighten. My jaw squares.

Now it’s only a matter of when.

Thank you for reading Chapter 27 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 26

With this file, I literally hold Esther and her sisters’ future in my hands. Not just their futures—their sovereignty.

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 Chapter 26Olivia

“Hey there, Rogue One.” Glace gives me an exaggerated wink and hands me a case folder.

I stand from the chair in Diane’s office, making a mental note to ask Cliff if he’s even seen any of the Star Wars movies. I almost roll my eyes at myself. I really just filed away something to say to my boyfriend later. “New client?” I ask Glace, hoping she can’t tell that there’s something very wrong with me.

“New to you. This one’s a bit of a rough case. I want you to familiarize yourself with that folder.”

“So, no home visits today?” I study her face. “Have I lost some kind of privileges?”

“No.” Glace scoffs. “Before yesterday, my plan was to ease you into this one. I think you’re ready now.” She motions to Diane’s door. “Walk with me.”

I trail her through the office, then out into the sunshine. The air smells like spring—that fresh, pastel green scent, clean and open. Glace leads me down the sidewalk lining the parking lot, far past the entrance of the building.

“This one’s rough,” she reminds me. “I just got it. The foster family made a complaint about the way the case was being handled. Whatever it was, it was bad. Diane yanked the worker who was on the case off. I don’t know any of the details.”

I’m beginning to think that the sky is the limit in this job. So far, there’s no cap to the awful things that can happen to a child. “Where’s the social worker?”

She shrugs. “I think they suspended her.”

“Shit.” Anything concerning the state usually takes ages. So it really must’ve been bad. “You said ‘foster family.’ Two parents. Any other children?”

“Grandparents,” she says. “Four children, three of them are with us.”

I’m afraid to ask. “Where’s the fourth?” He or she is probably dead. I can’t let myself get worked up if that’s what happened. I’ve got to find a way to detach myself enough so that I don’t keep yelling at people.

“Adult child. She emancipated herself at sixteen. She’s the one who made the complaint.”

I stop walking. “She?” Flipping open the folder, I scan the briefing. The children are Cierra and Abril Figueroa and Ximena Jiminez.

I have to disclose. It’s a conflict of interest that I know one of the people involved in the case. If I say nothing, I could lose my job. Hell, that’s probably what got the last case worker suspended. If Esther’s social worker knew the family somehow—knew Esther’s parents, maybe—she would’ve immediately been taken off the case. I frown.

Maybe the worker started the reunification process on purpose.

“We’re supposed to start some kind of permanency plan after eighteen months of foster care, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s impressive that you know that.” Glace gives me a thumbs up. “Maybe you are gonna work out.”

“I didn’t drink my way through college.” I tap my temple.

I don’t tell her that I did sleep my way through the men’s dorms.

“Everything you need to know about the case is in that folder.”

“I’ll get started now.” I continue walking, heading toward a grassy area on the far end of the building.

“Out here? You can sit at my cubicle, you know.”

“Gonna take a smoke break.” I wave her off, keeping my gait as casual as possible. I wish I could call Esther right now. I have her entire future in my hands. This has to be the first time the universe hasn’t thrown a fuck you in my face. I need to use this power for good.

I’m not telling Glace a damn thing.

I’m going to help Esther keep those kids.

I sit under the tree and take out my phone. I scan the parking lot. There’s no one around. I take pictures of every page in the folder. There’s a good chance I’ll have to give it back to Glace, and I’ll definitely need these later. I text copies of the pics to Esther, then drop them into iCloud.

Can’t be too careful.

Then I spend the next thirty minutes smoking and reading, soaking up every detail of the girls’ and Esther’s lives. Their mother, Toci, married Josué when she found out she was pregnant with Esther. When Esther was five, someone anonymously told DCF that Josué was sexually abusing her. DCF placed her with Toci’s parents, Salome and León Aguirre.

Toci was “distraught,” according to the report. She divorced Josué and went through counseling, and DCF gave Esther back. When Esther was seven, Toci discovered she was pregnant again—with Josué’s child.

Cierra.

Another anonymous complaint was made, raising suspicions of neglect and more sexual abuse. The girls were taken again and placed with Esther’s grandparents. Within six months, Toci got them back. As soon as her followup home visits with DCF ended, she and Josué took the girls to Arizona, where Josué had family. They stayed for almost a year before moving back to Naugatuck.

The cycle continued: another baby, another state intervention. Toci and Josué were smart. Every time they got those kids back, they moved out of state just long enough to fall off child services’ radar.

Then, out of nowhere, Toci took all three of their girls and left Josué. For almost a year, she lived with a friend. She couldn’t stay away from Josué long. She went back to him, pregnant with Ximena.

A fourth complaint was made. Naugatuck High’s school social worker reported that Josué raped sixteen-year-old Esther again.

Esther took a pregnancy test. It was positive. With the help of the school social worker, she emancipated herself. She was never a ward of the state again. There’s no mention of what became of the pregnancy.

The little girls were taken away again, but yet again, Toci got them back.

This case now is the fifth complaint, the fifth time the state has taken those kids.

And they’re going to reunify them.

Again.

I don’t understand how the state could justify this. Because Toci and Josué aren’t struggling with substance abuse problems or mental illness—something a social worker could sympathize with. They’re not people trying to get their lives together for their children’s sake. They’re evil, twisted people who know how to work the system to get away with the things they do.

They’re poison, and the system can’t touch them. Not with its checklists.

I lower the folder into my lap, the hand holding my cigarette shaking. My other hand curls into a fist, my nails digging into the flesh of my palm.

There’s got to be something I can do. If the prior social worker knew Toci and Josué and tried helping them, maybe Glace and I can overturn the reunification plan and file a motion to grant legal guardianship to Esther. There’s plenty of evidence right here in this folder, if anyone had bothered to read it before me.

And Glace.

Glace is on our side.

I’m going to make this right.

Thank you for reading Chapter 26 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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A Risky Prospect, Chapter 25

I unzip the button of my jeans, kick off my boots. “You should shut those eggs off.”

“Why?” Cliff glances down at the spatula as if coming out of a stupor.

I put my hands at my hips and tug off my jeans, dropping them to the floor. “Because I’m going back to bed.”

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 Chapter 25Olivia

I wake up wedged between the wall and Cliff. At least, what I think is Cliff. I roll over and find a body pillow and comforter instead. I sit up, the look in his eyes when I told him about Greg replaying. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

I’ve got to get to Greg before Cliff kills him.

That’s my kill.

I yank on the first clothes I find: a pair of ripped skinny jeans on the floor that should probably be washed, a wrinkled white T-shirt. I can’t find a bra, and there’s no time. I shove my feet into my boots.

The alarm on my phone blares—my 6 a.m. wakeup call.

“Son of a bitch,” I hiss. I can’t get to Cliff, kill Greg myself, and get to work on time. Given the choice between keeping my job and keeping Cliff out of prison, I choose him. I can’t let him go back in there.

I rock back on my heels. I choose him. I turn the words over in my head, trying to decipher them. I don’t know what it means. I don’t have time to work it out, either. I grab the keys to my Street Glide from the dresser and yank open my bedroom door.

The scent of coffee curls into my nostrils, beckoning me. It’s a small ass apartment, so I don’t even have to take a step to see Cliff standing at my stove.

Making eggs.

I drop the keys onto the carpet.

He turns, spatula in the air above the pan, mid-flip. “Morning,” he rasps.

I go weak in the knees. Like, literally. He stands there barefoot, no shirt, just those dark wash jeans. A tingle zips through my core. I’m hot, panties soaked.

I glance at Esther’s door—shut. I think she’s home. I don’t remember, because the second Cliff tucked me into bed, I went out like a light that desperately needs a new bulb.

“Morning,” I say, and bend down to pick up the keys. I turn to just the right angle so that Cliff can watch my ass. The crown of my head points toward the carpet, and my hair falls, a thick curtain of dark curls. I close my fingers around the keys, ass in the air, lips tilted up. I just can’t help myself. Not with that sight at my stove.

“Morning,” Cliff says again, his voice even grittier than usual. My nipples harden against the cotton of my tee.

On my way back up, I do the hair flip—the one curly girls learn to do, the one that finishes it off after you’ve scrunched it upside down. It’s also the same move strippers use. Different context. I’ve perfected it over the years, and thank goodness for that.

I’m not sure who to thank for my curls, since both Bree and Mercy have straight hair.

I reach into my room and put the keys back on the dresser. Then I unzip the button of my jeans, kick off my boots. “You should shut those eggs off.”

“Why?” Cliff glances down at the spatula and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. He flips the eggs in the pan.

I put my hands at my hips, curl my fingers over the waistband of the jeans, and tug them off, dropping them to the floor. I shove them aside. “Because I’m going back to bed.” I give him what I hope is a naughty grin, then turn my back to him. I pull the T-shirt over my head and drop it onto the floor, then walk into the bedroom.

A second later, I hear the knob of the stove click to the off position.

I lie on the bed on my side, facing the door. My breasts lean toward the mattress—gravity at work—but my nipples point toward Cliff, my true north. He pads into the room, pausing at the door when he sees me. His eyes trace my form, starting at the points of my toes, drifting up along my calves, thighs.

He smirks. “You forgot to take your panties off.”

“Come take them off yourself.” I pat the bed next to me.

He closes the door behind him. For a moment, he just stands there, the corners of his mouth lifted. His gaze hovers on the lace of my thong for a heartbeat, then skims up, looping around my bellybutton, settling on my breasts. Without even touching me, he’s setting my skin alight, dousing each electrified nerve with water.

His silky black hair falls over his shoulders, brushing just past his nipples. My fingers twitch, needing to wrap it around my hand. He likes when I pull his hair.

“Are you coming?”

That smirk returns. “Not yet. Just appreciating the view for a moment.”

“I do have to go to work soon, you know.”

“We’ve got three hours.” Still, he unbuckles the leather belt on his jeans. I almost tell him to leave it all on—I’ll just ride him through the zipper hole. But I kind of like the languid, tender vibe that’s so real, I’m wrapped up in it. He drops the jeans to the floor and steps out of them bared to me.

He slides into bed beside me, on his side facing me. His hand slips through the waistband of my thong and cups my hip, his fingers gripping my cheek. I shiver under the heat of his touch.

His eyes flick down to my hard nipples. “Cold?”

“No.” But I snuggle closer, my belly flush with the heat of his length.

His hand wanders down to my thigh, pulling my leg over his, pressing him even tighter against my skin. He threads an arm under my head, his hand holding the back of my neck. His other hand slips between us and takes my breast. Those luscious, full lips of his enfold mine, his tongue running along my bottom lip. I tug him even closer to me with the leg hooked over him. I need all of him connected to me, every inch of his skin bound to mine.

“I’m right here,” he whispers against my lips.

I kiss him back, tasting first the coffee with a hint of chocolate, then the sweet spice underneath that’s all him. He runs his thumb back and forth against my nipple, drawing a spiral out from the center, slowly moving farther and farther away, rambling down, down. His fingers skim my ribs, exquisite bumps breaking out across my skin. Down, down he continues, the pads of his fingers running along the lace, dipping underneath the fabric.

He traces shapes across my lower abdomen—at least, I think they’re shapes until I realize that one of them is the letter L.

I break the kiss. “What are you writing?”

A grin breaks out across his face—the mischievous one that always gives him away. “My name.”

Before I can even come up with a response, his hand dips lower, tracing an achingly slow C around the hidden nub. My back arches, leg tightening around him. He twitches against me, the skin of his length and crown impossibly hot. I shift my hips, sliding up on the bed until his crown rests against my center.

I slip back and forth, leaving a trail up and down his shaft. His lips move against mine, tongue prodding into my mouth. Again I taste coffee. I moan into his mouth, a contented sigh.

“Hmn?” he moans back. He clamps a hand around my ass, pressing us tighter together.

I pull my lips from his, leaving just a fraction of space between us. “I was just thinking about how nice it is to wake up to Cliff, coffee, and cock.”

“The three Cs.” He trails a hand down between my cheeks, his fingers resting just at my entrance. He spreads me apart, sliding himself between his fingers and my lips.

“Four, if you count my clit.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

“Olivia,” he groans.

“It’s true, though.”

“Not that. I need to be inside you.” His words come out even huskier than usual, each syllable exhaled through his strained control.

“Oh.” I could spend all morning like this, tangled up with him, our need growing more and more urgent. I do have to get ready for work. After yesterday, I can’t afford to be late.

I slide up and down, angling my hips until he slips right into me, his head resting just inside me. He wraps his arms around me and I wrap my legs around him. Inch by inch, he eases into me, each gain sending a sweet pang of relief through me. I hook my ankles together and squeeze, sending him in deeper. Once he’s fully buried in me, I sigh.

Our eyes meet.

“Olivia,” he says again, his voice full of things I don’t want him to say.

So I seal his mouth with mine and push him down until he’s flat on his back. I move my knees to either side, digging them into the mattress. Drawing my hips back, I keep our chests together and his mouth shut, my tongue exploring his mouth as if I’ve never been there before. Then I move against him, sliding back down until he’s immersed in me once more.

We find a rhythm, muscle memory taking over, senses gone. Every time I’m with Cliff, I lose myself in him—something I’ve never done before with anyone else. I don’t disappear. I become part of something bigger.

Us.

I tell him what I’m thinking with my body. I lace my fingers through his and put all of my focus into kissing him. It feels different this time, this kiss. He kisses me back with abandon, his mouth saying the things I won’t let him speak. No matter how much I don’t want to hear it, he finds ways to tell me.

It’s the way he stayed with me last night when he could’ve ridden back to the strip club. It’s how his eyes hold all of the light in the world when he looks at me, as if he sees me, unclouded by everything I’ve endured. It’s how he strokes my back, holding me both tightly and carefully. It’s the coffee and eggs, the graduation party, the motorcycle riding lessons.

He doesn’t just think he loves me.

He loves me.

The realization steals my breath. I plummet, shattering into billions of stars. Cliff splinters with me. The remaining fragments swirl, suspended in space and time. It’s the big bang, the moment everything changes between us. The closing of one door and the beginning of something new, something I don’t know what to make of.

Because I think, if I try, I might be able to love him too. In my own twisted way, anyway.

I roll off him and fall onto my back, chest heaving. My lungs feel tight and loose at the same time, like I’ve just been born and I’m only now learning how to breathe.

“Damn,” Cliff rumbles. The sound reverberates through my bones, vibrating through me. I want to lean closer to him, spend some time floating in this.

I have to go to work.

So instead of snuggling into his side, I slide off the bed.

“I’m grabbing a shower before Esther gets up,” I say. “Lock up behind you.”

Before he can argue or offer to give me a ride in, I force myself to walk—not run—into the bathroom. I’ll get a ride from Esther back to Mercy’s for my bike.

Right now, I need to think.

Thank you for reading Chapter 25 of A Risky Prospect, Book 2 in the River Reapers MC series.

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Read A Disturbing Prospect for free

Whatever Cliff did to earn a life sentence, it must’ve been bad. That’s what Olivia thinks on her way to pick him up on his release day. But the ruggedly handsome ex-con with the gentle eyes can’t be all that bad, not when those killer hands touch Olivia like they were made for her. When their paths cross again, she realizes he might mean much more to her than just a one night stand in the back of a stranger’s car.

Olivia’s mother is missing, and Cliff is the key to finding her. Because the president of the local biker club they both work for has all the answers, and as Olivia gets closer to new prospect Cliff, she gets closer to finding her mother.

The club is the family Olivia’s sought her whole life, on the surface. The more entangled she becomes with Cliff and the club, the more she discovers that his life sentence and the club’s disturbing history have everything to do with her mother’s disappearance, and she never should’ve fallen for him in the first place.

A Disturbing Prospect is a slow burn, touch her and die, dark romance, and the first book in the River Reapers MC series.

A Disturbing Prospect Serial 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 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 11 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 12 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 13 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 14 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 15 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 16 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 17 A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 18 Watch on YouTube

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Kinsley thinks she’s “just a hairdresser” expanding her services by apprenticing under her award-winning big sister, but she, her cosmetology business, and a whole bunch of townies are actually gonna save the day. And you can be one of those townies!

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Books, Bud, and Brews: Episode 1

Welcome to Books, Bud, and Brews with Elizabeth Barone, where we are hanging out, smoking up, and catching up. Today we’re discussing what makes reading so healing. I’ll read to you from my dark romance, A Disturbing Prospect. And we’ll talk favorite strains for leisure, pain management, and creativity.

Please subscribe and give this video a like if you’re watching on YouTube!

Listen on iTunesWatch on YoutubeListen on SpotifyIntro

Welcome to the first episode of Books, Bud, and Brews! I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, and after a lot of false starts, I’m so excited to finally stop telling myself no and just do it. I want this show to feel like you’re chillin’ with your bestie, smoking up and shooting the shit. But I’m also not gonna pretend like nothing is happening and everything is normal, because everything is not normal. We are going to dive into some deeper topics, so I won’t be ignoring what’s going on, and I’ll also work to strike a balance between going deep and staying cozy. I’ll look to you to tell me how deep you want me to go.

This week I’ve been running through Sleeve of Hearts revisions! After over a year of working on this book, I can finally, finally see the end in sight. I ended up going old school and printed out a hard copy and revising that way. There really is something to doing things the old fashioned way sometimes. It really does something to your brain, like flips a switch. So stay tuned for more on that series soon, because things are a-moving!

Why Reading is So Healing

We talk a lot in the community about reading being healing, but have you ever thought about why?

I truly believe books find you when you need them most. It’s so weird, so many times in my life, when I was going through something and turned to a book to escape, I ended up finding exactly what I needed in that book, even if the plot wasn’t relevant to my life. Like this past summer, I ended up reading several books back to back that all were exactly what I needed, in different ways. It was amazing, because I’d been going through a dry reading spell, and then out of nowhere I just blew through three or four in a row that were all incredible, and all of them gave me something.

I’ll link to those books in the show notes.

3 books you slept on in 2024

I really do believe the right books find you right when you need them.

Reading also helps you slow down and focus your brain. It’s really, really good for anxiety. When you’re absorbing each word—reading is very cerebral, and it’s the only entertainment where the audience controls the flow of time. When you’re watching a movie, that 90 minutes goes by. But when you’re reading, you can really slow down, savor every word. Some of us (hi) are reading the same words and paragraphs over and over. But it slows you down. It’s good stuff.

It also gives you an escape from reality. Your reality doesn’t even necessarily have to be traumatic for you to need an escape. It could just be the monotony of everyday life, and reading gives you a break from that. Or when you’re going through something, it can be an escape from some really hard times.

Or like, when I’m reading horror, it can help you realize maybe things aren’t so bad. Like, things are difficult in my life… but at least it’s not zombies.

Reading is also a safe way to work through trauma and other complicated feelings. So many dark romance authors say they wrote their books because they experienced those things. Writing it gave them a safe space to process that in a sort of sandbox. And the author creates that space for themselves—but also the reader. Tehre’s a lot of controversy about trigger warnings, btu they’re useful int wo ways.

Trigger and content warnings can tell you what topics you migt want to avoid. They can also help you find a book to safely process specific things.

It’s really amazing that auhtors can create those spaces for ourselves and our readers. We end up processing together. I really want to explore that more, going forward in my own career.

Because, research shows that writing creatively actually heals trauma. When you’re involving all five senses to write and process your trauma, it has a similar effect to that of EMDR. We’re definitely going to be talking about that more in future episodes, because I’m very excited about this.

Reading to You

Today I’m reading from the first book in my dark romance series, A Disturbing Prospect.

A Disturbing Prospect, Chapter 1 My Favorite bud

Where I live, in Connecticut, cannabis is legal medically and recreationally. It can be a bit hard to find informaiton, though. Dispensaries use different names than what we’re used to. It can become a sort of trial and error situation, and while it can be frustrating, it can also be fun.

Different strains have different effects, uses, and side effects. It can take some experimenting to find strains that work best for you.

For pain, I really like Hauntrica and Emerald Fire. Hauntrica is one that’s in the dispensaries, I believe only on the medical side. I’m not sure what its street name is. It’s so good for pain, though quite drying. I’ve found that all the best strains for pain tend to be drying.

I also really like Emerald Fire. I actually only just tried it a few months ago, and it’s now probably my all-time favorite. It’s also not hard to find, so I’ll hopefully be keeping it in rotation from here on. It’s a really good one to keep on hand for those bad pain days.

Indicas tend to be better for pain, I think because they have a higher THC content. Don’t quote me on that. There are some sativas that I like for pain, like Sour Diesel and Gelato. But I tend to stick to indicas for pain.

Now for leisure, that’s a whole different mood. You want to kick back, watch a movie, maybe laugh a little. Gelato and Sour Diesel are really good for that, while also keeping you alert and energized. They’re not gonna put you in couch lock. My other favorite, Skywalker, though, that’ll make you feel like a cartoon character blown back into a wall by a fan. That one, you throw on a movie and probably take a nap. But for reading and stuff like that where I want to be focused and really get into my book, I love Gelato and Sour D.

They’re also my picks for creativity. Again, they’re sativas and so they’re energizing, with serious creative vibes. You’ll really get into that zone with these two strains. You’ll be able to concentrate and the ideas will flow.

There are so many strains out there but I really am a simple girl. I have my handful of favorites and I’m good to go.

What strains are your favorite? Please let us know. It can be really difficult for people to get proper information, and in the 420 community, we are all about sharing, so don’t gatekeep!

I’m so exicted for what’s ahead in this podcast. I’ve got lots of ideas for segments, and I’m curious what you’re interested in. Please take a moment and take this quick poll to help me create better episodes for you.

Thank you for listening to Episode 1 of Books, Bud, and Brews!

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