Forever.
We sleep for the rest of the day. I miss my classes, and I don’t care. I cocoon myself in his arms and under blankets, getting up only to pee and check on Dio, who has the run of the place again.
We order in meals and for the most part leave our clothes off. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other, bodies tangling in fevered passion. I don’t even worry about cooling it anymore, or my rules, and he doesn’t try to tell me that we shouldn’t be together.
We just are.
Around eight o’clock, Cliff gets a call from Ravage. "He wants both of us at the club," he tells me. "For Church."
This should alarm me, but all I care about is that we’re together. Since he doesn’t seem too concerned, I decide not to worry about it.
We shower together, Cliff lifting me and fucking me against the warm tile. Then, dressing, he and I get ready to face the club. We mount the Screamin’ Eagle and tear toward The Wet Mermaid, the wind in our ears drowning out our thoughts. I feel more connected to him than I ever have to anyone else. Maybe it’s in my head.
Or maybe the couple that makes people disappear together stays together.
The only vehicles in the parking lot are motorcycles and club-owned cars and pickups. It’s a bit unnerving that they closed down The Wet Mermaid for this meeting—that they couldn’t wait ’til after hours. Swallowing hard, I look at Cliff. He shrugs and takes my hand, wrapping my fingers in his warmth.
Stepping inside, I note the somber mood of the place. Shadows drift across the floor and stage. Cliff leads me to the bar and, without letting go of my hand, makes us drinks. We carry them into the conference room, joining the rest of the men for Church.
They sit around the heavy wooden table, Ravage at the head. The other members nod at us as we come in. I avoid Donny’s gaze. It still weirds me out that the guy who is banging my friend is the same guy who dismembered a body like it was nothing, then referred to the pieces as "Fun Size."
Cliff and I take the two empty seats near the end, and Ravage calls the meeting to order.
"We had a bit of a situation last night," he says, eyes drifting over his River Reapers. "As you may have heard."
Mark nods emphatically. He won’t look at me. The lines of his mouth are hard and I can’t tell whether he’s angry with me. The men sitting around this table are completely different from the men I’ve been working with.
“Donny. Mark.” Ravage says their names sharply. "Our Enforcer and our Treasurer gave this young lady one of our guns." Shaking his head, he rubs his temples. "Without my permission." The glare he gives Donny and Mark is full of venom. Then, his stare softens. "But they did the right thing, gentlemen—under the circumstances. Because Olivia here is just like her damn father." His flat look transfers to me. "Always wanting to handle everything on their own, these fucking Reynolds."
Cliff’s hand squeezes mine, and I’m grateful that he’s with me. I have a feeling that I’m about to be fired. Even though Mark owns the strip club on paper, it’s M/C property. Even though I’m the one who killed Eli, I still compromised the club.
Ravage’s eyes settle on Cliff. "Son, I opened my club to you. Gave you a job, a room to sleep in." He lights a cigarette. Over the red glow of the tip, he says, "The two of you dragged this club into a shit storm."
My eyes close for a second. It didn’t occur to me that they might kick Cliff out. Before he was even in. I bow my head.
"We took a vote," Ravage continues. "It was unanimous. But I want to say that this isn’t how I wanted shit to go. This should have been a long process."
My eyebrows furrow, my temple throbbing in pain. "What’s going on?"
The President nods to Cliff. "Give me that cut," he growls.
Cliff nods. "It’s okay," he says to me. Standing, he shrugs it off. He folds it in half and carries it over to Ravage. "I understand." He touches Ravage’s shoulder. "No hard feelings."
Scowling, Ravage swats his hand away. He pulls a knife from an interior pocket of his own leather vest. Then, with a surgeon’s precision, he cuts the stitches that hold the Prospect rocker to Cliff’s cut. He looks balefully up at Cliff. "Do you know what this means, son?"
One of Cliff’s eyebrows twitch, but he says nothing. Just nods.
Ravage slides two patches over to him. Squinting, I read the words MEMBER on one and SLUDGE SPECTER on the other. "Welcome, son." He stands and embraces Cliff. "Don’t fuck this up." He claps Cliff on the back.
"Guess I’m gonna have to learn how to sew." Cliff holds up the patches and his vest. The men pound on the table, laughing and insulting his manhood. Returning to his seat next to me, Cliff again takes my hand.
My shoulders relax. I figure, since Cliff didn’t get kicked out, I probably still have a job. Even then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world—as much as I love working at The Wet Mermaid.
"Olivia," Ravage says, my name almost an exasperation on his lips. He jerks his head. "Get up here."
Despite my confusion, I manage to keep my face still. The wound is still tender as fuck, plus it feels really weird when the stitches pull. I stand and cross the room to the head of the table, passing men who feel more like family than my own parents.
Maybe it’s because, despite the years that separate us, they are family.
Stopping at Ravage’s side, I brace myself for whatever’s coming. Maybe he’s going to tell me that I have to stay away from Cliff. I lift my chin. He can try.
He crosses his arms. "Your father always had big ideas for this club. Something about straddling the line between the ninety-nine and the one percent. And he wanted to change certain . . . other things. He wanted you to be a part of it."
I blink. Tilting my head, my lips part.
Ravage holds up a hand. "It is the 21st Century, for Christ’s sake. We had to take another vote, though—you know, as a formality. It was also unanimous."
Mark stands and joins us. He hands me a leather vest folded in half—small compared to the men’s.
Lips parted, I unfold it. My fingers trace the Prospect rocker that will curve just under my ribs. "How?" I’m breathless with awe. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s never happened before in any M/C, as far as I know.
"It’s your heritage," Ravage replies. "Both of you. Though it’s a hell of a lot sooner than I’d planned." He fixes Cliff and me with a look somewhere between annoyed and proud. Then he turns back to me. "Beer Can will hook you up with a ride and get you started."
I lift an eyebrow at him, trying to imagine myself riding a motorcycle. "Or I can just ride with Cliff."
Ravage looks like I’ve just kicked his elderly mother. "We all ride," he snarls, his smoke and whiskey laced voice ringing out through the room.
The other men nod in agreement, their jaws set. Their serious facial expressions are pretty comical, but it would be really disrespectful to laugh at them.
"Okay, so no room for negotiation there." I hold up the vest. "Thanks." Biting back a smile, I go back to my seat. Cliff smirks and slings an arm around my shoulders.
"This is monumental, kid," Ravage tells me across the table. "Don’t fuck it up." He gives me a single, very stern nod. I guess this is his way of asking me to please not kill anymore college students.
I lift my shoulders and, pressing my lips together, smile apologetically. "I’ll do my best."
The meeting ends shortly after. I’m not allowed to attend regular Church, but this evening was an exception. Ravage fills us in on an upcoming ride for charity in the spring, with a remark about how I’ll have plenty of time to learn how to ride before then.
Following Cliff out of the conference room, I head straight to the bar for another drink.
"Already?" he jokes, his hand resting on the small of my back.
"I’m under a lot of pressure now, okay?" I toss him a smile to let him know that I’m really not worried. If Beer Can could teach Cliff how to ride, he can totally teach me. Probably. "I wouldn’t put it past Ravage to lend me t
he biggest bike there is." I pout, sipping my vodka collins.
"That would be pretty hot, though." Cliff grins slyly. "Tiny girl on a big bike?" He grabs my hips and presses my ass against him, his erection hard through his jeans. "I’m turned on just from the thought," he growls into my ear.
I put my unfinished drink down on the bar and toss a few bills as an extra tip to the bartender. "Let’s get you home, then, so I can ride you."
On the way back to my place, I hug Cliff tight and press my thighs into the purring machine beneath me. It’s an awful lot of power to bestow on someone. I close my eyes, feeling the engine thrum through my body. This life wasn’t something that I ever thought I wanted, but now that it’s mine, I don’t ever want to give it back.
I think of my father, sifting through the murky, blurred memories that I have of him. Finally I have an explanation for why he was in and out of my life. It must have been the club. Nothing else would have kept him away from me and Mom.
Thinking of her brings a pang to my chest. Ever since the day I was taken away, I’ve tried hard not to dwell on her at all. It was better for everyone if I just pretended like Lucy and her parents were my real family—even when I was still just their foster kid. But the truth hits me hard out here on the road.
Family is about more than just how you look. A family means a whole lifestyle, a real place to belong. From my mannerisms to the things I gravitate to, it’s all ingrained in me. Nothing can change that, not even thirteen years apart.
Cliff slows as we enter the parking lot. When the motorcycle stops, I hug him tight. Then I hop down.
"Come on in and show me just how bad you are, Red Dog," I tease, backing toward the front door. I withdraw my key and turn it in the lock, grateful that I don’t have to worry about finding surprises when I come home anymore.
Cliff clears his throat as he comes in behind me. "Actually, I need to talk to you about something."
"Sure," I say, tossing my coat onto the floor. I lift my sweater off over my head. "I can multitask." A wolfish grin splits my face. I want to devour him. Ever since he’s walked into my life, I haven’t been able to get enough. It’s not just the sex, even though I’ve never had such gravity-defying orgasms before.
He catches my arm, drawing me into his embrace. "In a minute." Those lips press a kiss to the tip of my nose. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he leads me to the couch. Then he pulls me into his lap.
I straddle him, the heat from my core sparking against his hot erection pressing against me. I roll my hips, greedy.
A smile tugs at his lips. He stills my waist, though. "This is serious, babe." After a beat, he continues. "I saw your mom."
The breath catches in my throat. I sit back, my hands resting on his shoulders. "Where?" is all I can think to say.
"Prospect duty." His lips twitch to the side. "You’re in for it, Liv. They had me doing all kinds of errands. The other day, I had to bring this woman to catch a train out of New Haven."
"Bree." Her name is a prayer on my lips. Tears sting my eyes. "How did she look? What did she say?" A thousand more questions tumble through my head. I don’t know where she’s been. I wish I knew why she didn’t fight for me. I really want to know why she hasn’t tried to look me up since I turned eighteen. All of these questions burst through the surface of the placid exterior I’ve been trying to maintain. Up until now, I had no idea that it all bothered me so much.
The emotions ripping through me are overwhelming.
Using the pad of his thumb, Cliff brushes away my tears. "It’s okay," he says quietly. "And she’s okay. I mean, she had some bruises. The club obviously sent her out of state—"
I hold up a hand. "Bruises? Again?" My head throbs, and it’s not just the healing slash at my temple.
He nods. "Don’t worry. Whoever he was, he won’t be a problem anymore."
I press my lips together. Donny’s been a busy man. "Where was she going?" I hate how small my voice sounds. I don’t want to be a little girl who needs her mother. But it doesn’t matter how hard I fight it. Knowing that Bree is alive awakens something in me, a longing buried over a decade ago but easily unearthed.
Family is forever.
"I don’t know," Cliff admits. "I’m sorry, babe. I had no idea who she was up until the second she walked away."
A bitter snort erupts from my nostrils. "Sounds about right." Sighing, I snuggle into his arms. "But she looked okay, otherwise?"
"Yes." He kisses the top of my head. Strong arms wrap around me, hugging me close. Again it overwhelms me how right this is, how perfectly we fit together. I’m not ready to drop the L word or to throw a ring on it and pop out babies, but this is enough. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Except for one thing.
"I want to find her." Sitting up, I zero in on his eyes so that he knows I’m serious. I have no idea where to start. She doesn’t have a Facebook. I’ve searched for her before. Ravage has to know something, though. "They dropped all kinds of information on me about Mercy, but they couldn’t bother to tell me about Bree." My lip curls. "It’s awfully convenient."
A wry smile drags Cliffs lips to the side, his eyebrows raised as he nods in agreement. "Try not to blame them, though." He pauses, considering. "Or us. Is that how this works? Cogs in a single unit?"
“More like a pack of wolves." I run my fingers through his long black hair. "I don’t know, Cliff. I feel like there’s a whole hell of a lot more that they haven’t told me."
"You’re just a Prospect," he says. "Give it time. I’ll talk to Ravage. Or Beer Can. He’s much more forthcoming. Especially after a few beers. Is that why they call him Beer Can?"
Cheeks reddening, I snort laugh. It quickly turns into a series of giggles. My eyes close and my lips press together, belly shaking. When I finally get myself under control, I open my eyes. Cliff lifts a bushy eyebrow at me. "It’s not because of what he drinks," I manage with a straight face. "It’s because his, um . . ."
"Say no more. Please." Cliff’s face turns to stone and he glances away. "Next subject."
Cupping his chin, the short beard tickling the palm of my hand, I turn his face back to me. "You’re my in. They trust you now. Anything you find out, I have to know." I’m practically begging, but I’m desperate. If Bree is in trouble, I need to be informed so I can help her. Despite how she’s let me down, she shouldn’t be on her own. And the club doesn’t count.
Muscular arms wrap around me. "Of course, Olivia," he says in a husky voice. "I would do anything for you."
"I know," I reply, because I do.
The End
Body Count
2
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Acknowledgments
A Disturbing Prospect sat on my laptop for over a year before I hit publish.
I probably wouldn’t have published this book if it wasn’t for J.C. Hannigan, who talked me off the ledge, oh . . . 100 times? Publishing this book is one of the scarier things I’ve done, but I’m speaking my truth and nothing is stopping me. Thanks, J, for reminding me of that.
When my work wife wasn’t patiently talking me through my fears, it was my IRL husband, Mike Campbell. “Is this too far?” I’d ask. “Wait, why am I asking you?” Thank you for reinforcing my skin and helping me stay true to this book, and also for rolling with my intense late-night writing sessions.
Eternal thanks to everyone who helped me whip this book into shape, especially my critique partner and beta readers: Molli Moran, J.C. Hannigan, DeAnna Knippling, Michelle Heron, and Katy Young.
Thank you to Erica, who put me back together after I fell apart. If PTSD is a hellish journey, then you’re the guide with the bright lantern and warm Thermos (and essential oils).
Finally, thank you “Lucy” for existing. I’m so glad you keep fighting to be here.
About the Author
Elizabeth Barone is an
American novelist who writes contemporary romance and suspense starring sassy belles who chose a different path in life. Her debut novel Sade on the Wall was a quarterfinalist in the 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. She is the author of the South of Forever series and several other books.
When not writing, Elizabeth is very busy getting her latest fix of Yankee Candle, spicy Doritos chips, or whatever TV show she’s currently binging.
Elizabeth lives in northwestern Connecticut with her husband, a feisty little cat, and too many books.
Connect with Elizabeth
elizabethbarone.net
[email protected]
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SOUTH OF FOREVER SERIES
A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1) Page 18