TO BE CONTINUED.
***
Reforming Kent is the last book in the series, and it’s slated for publication on October 23rd 2020. Available to preorder now—check your local Amazon store.
Want another series to sink your teeth into? Check out my Sainthood – Boys of Lowell High trilogy on Amazon. This is a highly addictive, dark, steamy high school romance you won’t be able to put down! Turn the page to read a sample from Resurrection, the first book in the series.
An enemies-to-lovers new adult romance from USA Today bestseller Siobhan Davis.
Rogue. Troublemaker. Bad Boy. Delinquent.
Everyone thinks they know who I am, but they know nothing.
And that’s how I prefer it.
Keeping my demons under lock and key is my only survival tactic.
Until she enters my life, turning it upside down.
She thinks she can fix me. That I can reform myself and redeem my sins.
But I am beyond the point of saving.
And if she doesn’t let go, I’ll only drag her down this dark hole with me.
***
Coming October 23,2020. Preorder/download now.
A new dark romance from the USA Today bestselling author of the Rydeville Elite series.
Everything changed the night my dad died.
The night I met Saint, Galen, Caz, and Theo.
Those manipulative a-holes set out to ruin me after our hot night together, but they didn’t realize you can’t destroy something that’s already broken. And it only works if the victim cares.
Which I don’t.
Because I’ve been in hell for years, and nothing penetrates the steel walls I’ve erected.
Until The Sainthood decides I belong to them and cracks appear in my veneer. Their cruel games, harsh words, and rough touch awakens something inside me, and now, I’m in trouble.
They draw me deeper into their dangerous world, until I’m in the middle of all the violence and gang warfare, tangled up in all the secrets and lies, and there’s no turning back.
Because they own me.
And nothing has ever felt so right.
I’m exactly where I should be.
But with enemies on all sides, survival becomes a deadly game with no guarantees.
And, sometimes, saints become sinners.
***
Turn the page to read a sample
RESURRECTION SAMPLE
PROLOGUE
Spring Break before Senior Year
Sharp pain penetrates my chest cavity, aiming straight for my heart, like a thousand tiny pinpricks digging into smooth flesh.
He’s gone.
Left this world without any warning.
And I’ll never see him again.
It hurts, and the pain wants to embed deep. To burrow straight through to my soul. To inflict the worst damage imaginable. The pain pushes and pokes at soft tissue, but it’s no good. It won’t advance any further. Because I learned to lock that shit up when I was thirteen years old.
I grab the bottle of vodka from the empty passenger seat of my Lexus SUV, uncapping the lid and bringing the glass to my lips. I chug it like it’s water, feeling lost as the alcohol glides down my parched throat.
This car was the last gift he bought me, a couple months ago, as an early eighteenth birthday present. It’s an LX570 SUV with bullet-resistant glass, an explosion-mitigating floor, and a bunch of other protective features I considered way over the top.
But maybe, there was a reason for it.
The car swerves on the road as I take another mouthful of vodka. The approaching car flashes its lights, the driver angrily shaking his fist as he passes by. I shove up my middle finger, hissing under my breath, even if he’s right.
The car swerves again as I close the vodka bottle, tossing it back on the seat. I don’t care if I die, but it wouldn’t be fair to Mom to lose her loving husband and her only daughter on the same day, both from fatal car accidents. I grip the wheel tighter, my eyes stinging with tears that will never fall.
A few minutes later, the car screeches to a halt outside Darrow’s dilapidated house. I jump out, leaving the door open, and race up the overgrown driveway. I raise my fist to knock, but the door swings open before my knuckle makes contact with the worn wood.
“He’s not here,” Rita drawls, bobbing her six-month-old son on one hip while she noisily chews gum. Her gaze rakes over me from head to toe, her lips curling into a sneer at my school uniform. The white knee-length socks, black pleated skirt, white shirt, red and black tie, and red blazer edged in black trim with the school crest confirm my status as a private academy student.
Although, Rita is already aware of that.
It’s one of the reasons why she hates my fucking guts.
The other is because I’ve been screwing her precious brother for the past six months.
“Where is he?”
“I’m not Darrow’s keeper.” She sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her son emits a loud wail, his lower lip trembling as he cries out. Poor kid is probably hungry, and judging by the bulky diaper he’s wearing, I’m guessing he needs changing too. He shivers, the cool night air swirling around his naked flesh. “Shut your mouth,” Rita snaps, glaring at the innocent child, and the baby cries louder.
Bile floods my mouth, and adrenaline charges through my veins. She’s such a lousy mother, and I don’t get it. Why is it that good couples, with the disposition and means to raise kids in a loving environment, struggle to conceive while this junkie gets knocked up without even trying? Where is the justice in that? My heart aches for that kid. What kind of future awaits him with a mother like that? I know Darrow has pulled her up on her shit before, but he’s rarely home, and it’s not like he can do much.
Grabbing a hundred-dollar bill from my purse, I thrust it at her. “I know you don’t like me, and I really don’t care. But I know you know where he is. Tell me, and it’s yours.”
Her scowl deepens, and I know she wants to tell me to screw off. But she needs the money more. She snatches it from my hand like a greedy shrew. “He’s partying at Galen Lennox’s place.”
Shit.
I arch a brow, waiting for her to elaborate, but her lips pinch closed. “And where is that?” I prompt, biting back a frustrated sigh. Bitch knows I’m from Lowell, the next town over. That I don’t attend Prestwick High with my boyfriend—her brother. And even though I have a suspicion where that asshole lives, I don’t have time to waste driving aimlessly around town if I’m wrong.
She thrusts her palm out, and I grind my teeth. If it wasn’t for the baby in her arms, I’d punch her in her heavily made-up face and demand an address. But she is holding her son, so I’m forced to play nice. I slap a twenty into her hand, daring her to challenge me with a deadly look. Mood I’m in, I’ll come back and pummel her ass to dust just for shits and giggles. We enter into a silent face-off, and I keep my eyes locked on hers, refusing to back down.
She folds first, bouncing the baby up and down as he continues to cry. “Forty-one Thornton Heights.”
She moves to shut the door in my face, but I plant my foot in the doorway, stopping her from closing it. “Don’t shove it all up your nose. Buy your son some clothes and formula. I’ll be mentioning this to Darrow.”
“Fuck off, slut. Mind your own goddamned business.” She kicks my foot away, and the door slams shut.
I head back to my car, plug the address in, and set off for Galen Lennox’s place.
I know who he is.
Everyone does.
Because The Sainthood is revered around these parts.
The organization is one of the oldest criminal enterprises in the US, with chapters in most states, but the gang started in Prestwick, and it’s the largest branch with the most power.
It’s split into two levels—junior and senior. The junior chapter controls the schools and teen drug supply and generally lays down the law among their peers until the members successfully pass initiation a
nd “jump in.” Then they become members of the senior or main organization, and successors take over their crown at the junior level. Typically, the transition occurs once the members graduate high school.
All the local gangs are structured similarly, and regular crew wars are the norm. The Sainthood are known rivals of The Arrows, the crowd Darrow runs with, and I’m guessing Dar’s presence at this party is a way of pissing The Sainthood off. While Darrow has Prestwick High locked up tight, The Sainthood rules the hallways at Prestwick Academy, and they own the streets. The Arrows are small fry, and Dar despises The Sainthood because they have what he wants—control, respect, loyalty, and fear.
I could do without this tonight, but I need the distraction of sex and alcohol more, so I drive toward the nicer part of Prestwick where Galen Lennox lives.
Bile fills my mouth as I pull up in front of the familiar house. Cars, trucks, and bikes are parked haphazardly across the wide front lawn as I drive up the sweeping driveway. I pull into an empty space in front of the monstrous gray brick two-story building and kill the engine. Swiping the bottle of vodka from the passenger seat, I hop out and head toward the open front door.
Chills creep over my spine as I step foot into the gloomy hallway. A massive chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting dim light over the marble tile floor below. Mahogany stairs extend upward on either side of the lobby, the steps covered in a drab green carpet that has clearly seen better days. Cobwebs cling to the high ceilings and cornices, and a thin layer of dust obscures the pictures of ancestors covering the walls as I walk toward the sound of the thumping music.
My heels make a clacking sound as I walk through the depressive corridor decorated in dark wood panels and dull green and gold wallpaper. I remember how creeped out I was the first time I was here, but it’s worse now with the added obvious neglect. I pass a succession of tall, mahogany-stained doors, all closed with no sounds of life, so I continue toward the music.
Reaching the end of the hallway, I turn left and head straight for party central.
I step into the vast room, glancing at the vaulted ceilings adorned with expensive chandeliers and the myriad of windows draped in heavy ruby-red velvet curtains. A DJ spins tunes from an elevated dais at the end of the room, but other than that, the room is completely bare of furnishings. At one time, this was an ornately decorated ballroom, host to lavish parties that were the talk of the town, but it’s clear no one is looking after this place anymore.
A large crowd dances on worn hardwood floors while others sit in clusters on the ground at the edge of the room, talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking. I inhale the scent of weed as I walk through the space, keeping my eyes peeled for Darrow, but I don’t spot him or any of his crew.
Exiting the ballroom by the rear door, I head outside. Sounds of laughter filter through the air as I step around the outside of the property toward the back patio. My feet slam to a halt at the sight of the overgrown maze, and I allow my mind to wander back to that night. I was only a kid, which is why I didn’t recognize the address even if I remember every other detail of my last visit here.
I uncap the vodka, chugging it down my throat, welcoming the burn and latching on to it rather than letting the memory unfold.
I press on, my feet picking up pace as I round the bend and spot several of Darrow’s gang. A group of about twenty is lounging by the old pool, huddled around a makeshift bonfire, sprawled across garden chairs and loungers. The pool is empty now, save for the leaves and debris cloistered on the old blue-tiled floor.
I stop in front of the lounger Bryant Eccelston is lying on. Bryant is Darrow’s bestie and number two, and where one is the other is never far. A cute blonde is draped around his broad five-feet-eleven-inch frame. “Where is he?” I ask, drilling him with a look.
“Cute outfit.” Bryant smirks, taking a slow perusal of my body, his gaze lingering on my chest out of habit.
“Cut the crap, Bry. Where’s Darrow?”
He cocks his head to the side, and the flickering light from the bonfire highlights the deep scar running from his left eye across his temple and into his hairline. “He’s back there.” He jerks his head backward as his lips kick up ever so slightly. The blonde on his lap giggles, sending me a smug look as she wraps her arms around his neck.
Ignoring the theatrics, I walk in the direction of the pool house, swigging from the vodka bottle, willing it to hurry the fuck up and numb my pain.
The door is open, and I push inside, hearing them before I see them. It’s not a surprise. Not after Bryant’s carefully staged intervention outside.
I walk across the living area, sidestepping crumpled beer cans, stale pizza boxes, and wrinkled clothing, listening to the pants and groans emanating from the bedroom, cursing that dickhead under my breath.
I open the door with a flourish, leaning against the doorway as I watch a bimbo with brash red hair ride my boyfriend’s cock. She’s really going for it. Bouncing up and down on him like she’s on a bucking bronco. Darrow’s pelvis lifts as he grips her hips, sweat gliding across his chest, as he groans in pleasure, thrusting up inside her. She moans, throwing her head back as she succumbs to the sensation.
And I know how good it feels, because Darrow’s got a big cock and he knows how to use it.
“Hey, asshole,” I say, taking another swig of vodka as I watch them.
“Lo! Shit!” Darrow’s eyes pop wide as he finally notices me. “Don’t overreact,” he pleads, his expression turning frantic. He shoves the redhead off his cock, and she falls to the floor, hitting her temple against the side of the bedside table. He stands, his erect dick saluting me, as he steps over his fuck buddy, ignoring her cries and cusses, making a beeline for me.
“Dar,” Tempest whines, climbing to her feet. “Forget about her. Come back to bed.” She fondles one of her big tits, while her free hand rubs the bruised skin on her forehead.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, glaring at her over his shoulder.
Her lips thin, and a muscle ticks in her jaw. Then, her features smooth out, and a wicked glint shimmers in her eyes.
“Spit it out, bitch,” I say, holding up a palm to stall Darrow’s forward trajectory.
“He’s been fucking me for weeks, any chance he gets,” Tempest purrs, grinning smugly as she walks toward us.
I raise the bottle. “Good for you. It’s only taken you, what, about two years to worm your way into his bed?” She wraps her arm around Darrow from behind, but he pushes her off. “We’ve all watched your pathetic seduction attempts, but perseverance obviously pays. You should be proud.” I smirk, drinking another few mouthfuls of vodka.
“Oh, I am proud. I’m very proud, because I’m clearly a much better lay than the high-and-mighty Harlow Westbrook.”
“Shut your face, Tempest, or I’ll shut it for you,” Darrow hisses at his fuck buddy, looking like he’s seconds away from losing his shit.
“Not my fault you can’t hold on to him,” she adds, taunting me further because she’s got fluff between her ears.
Darrow loses it, slapping her across the face, and I wince as her head jerks back.
“Real classy,” I deadpan, glaring at the asshole. I’m not a fan of Tempest. I actually cannot stand her, but no one deserves to be treated like that. If he had ever dared to lift a finger to me, I would have slapped him back and then tossed his abusive ass to the curb. But Tempest will cling to him like a limpet because she has zero self-respect and even less intelligence.
“She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me. “A hole to fuck when I’m bored. It means nothing.”
The desperate look really doesn’t suit Darrow, and I’m wondering how I’ve put up with him this long. He was a means to an end, and he’s outlived his usefulness. Now, I get to walk away like the injured party, and I can keep my secrets close to my chest. It’s neater this way. Tempest has done me a favor. Not that she’ll ever hear that from my lips.
I snort, and they both pin eyes on me. “You two
dumb fucks deserve one another.” I push off the door frame. “Enjoy my sloppy seconds.” Tempest glares at me, and from the way she’s clenching her knuckles, I know she’d love to take a pop at me. “I was done slumming it anyway.”
“Lo, wait. C’mon. You know I love you.” Darrow makes a grab for me, and I promptly knee him in the nuts. He drops to the ground, cupping his dick, as he roars out in pain. I lift the vodka bottle, ready to pour it over his head, before I think better of it.
I’m not wasting good Grey Goose vodka on that cheating slimeball.
“Enjoy your ho, and lose my number.” I hold my head confidently as I walk off.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, blowing Bryant a kiss when I walk past Darrow’s crew, looking like I haven’t a care in the world.
Bryant ditches the blonde and chases after me. “You deserved to know,” he says, falling into step beside me.
I glance at him, knowing exactly why he did it. “Like I said, thanks.”
“Wait.” He grabs my elbow, stalling me. “He was never right for you anyway.”
My lips twitch. “And I suppose you are?”
“You know I am.” He runs a hand over his shaved black scalp, his hazel eyes confirming everything I’ve suspected.
“Yeah, that shit’s not happening, Bry. Go back to Blondie.” I don’t wait for his reply, shucking out of his hold and slipping through the back door into the house.
Fuck that asshole Darrow. I really needed to fuck all this shit out of my system tonight. I hug the vodka bottle to my chest. Guess Mr. Grey Goose will just have to do the job instead.
I’m halfway down the hallway toward the entrance lobby when he calls out to me. “Lo! Wait up!”
I glance over my shoulder, spotting Darrow shoving his way through the crowd at the doorway to the ballroom. Ugh. I’m not in the mood to hear his cringeworthy excuses.
I don’t have much of a morality code, but cheating is a hard pass for me.
He’s burned his bridges, and I was done with him anyway, so there’s nothing he can say that will make me change my mind.
Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Page 32