by Jc Emery
"Come on, Mom," Michael says. "You didn't think I'd miss my niece and nephew's birthday, did you?"
My eyes fall closed for half a moment as I tell Jim I miss him--silently this time--and suck in a breath. Alex is screaming in excitement, and my boys are rushing to the house to meet their brother.
"I miss you, baby," I whisper to myself as I watch the kids flock to our newest arrival. A cool wind picks up out of nowhere and engulfs me. I revel in it, knowing that it's my man's way of saying, "Miss you, too, momma."
Wars begin, nobody knowing the devastation they'll cause. Blood will be shed, people will be lost, and when it all settles, nobody will ever be the same. There will always be violence and hate--and death. But there will also always be love.
And family.
And it never ends.
SNEAK PEEK
Rise
(Book 1 in the Mancuso Crime Family series)
Leo
Brooklyn, New York
April 2016
The streets are a fucking mess. Everywhere I turn, another customer's business has been jeopardized by the lack of follow-through in the Mancuso organization. Between that and the fact that half of the organization has jumped ship to side with Tony Vescovi, I can't get a single customer in the Ocean Hill neighborhood to pay their protection fees. Maybe I was out in California for too long and I've gotten soft, but it's hard to argue with a ninety-year-old woman who reasons that she shouldn't have to pay for a protection detail that's gotten her robbed twice in the last month. Somehow I ended up leaving her bodega short fifty bucks because she conned me into buying some ugly porcelain cat figurine. Which is how I ended up strolling the streets of Ocean Hill with Luigi--that's the porcelain cat's name, apparently--tucked under one arm.
On my way back to my car, I ignore all the places where I used to love to stop in favor of just getting the fuck back to Michael's house. I'm dying to get some legit New York pizza, and I'd kill for a cannoli right now, but I can't have my first trip back be so casual. I'm here on business, and that's how this trip needs to stay--business related. Ignoring the grumbling of my stomach, I climb into my black Mercedes and peel out like I have somewhere to be. I don't, but it's all about image. Last Brooklyn heard about me, I went on an extended vacation out west with my fiancée and only came home after she dumped my ass--an image which is detrimental to my position in the family. Add that to the rumors about my brother-in-law working with the feds, and Brooklyn's faith in me is shot. When I finally make it back to Michael's house, my mood is shot. I don't know what I expected, coming back to Brooklyn after over a year away, but this wasn't it. I worked hard to build my reputation, and if today is anything to go by, I'm going to have to start from scratch all over again. This bullshit is something we do not have time for.
I'm not even fully out of the car before I notice the woman standing on the front porch. She's young but definitely an adult. She's got a nice blouse on over a pair of jeans. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a wavy ponytail, and she looks like she's not wearing even a stitch of makeup.
"Is there something I can help you with?"
"Yeah, I'm here to see Michael."
"Is he expecting you?"
"No, but--"
I cut her off before she can go any further by saying, "Then you can't see him today. How about you give me your name and he can give you a call when his schedule clears up." I feel like a fucking secretary, but the boss made it clear before I left--he doesn't want to be disturbed. We're a little light on guys right now since Michael took out half of them in the warehouse a few days ago. We'll regroup, and soon enough we'll be back to normal. I won't have to fight with the goddamn lock like I am now. The key doesn't seem to fit all that well in the keyhole, but I play it off like I'm waiting for her answer instead of having trouble. Her dark green eyes shine in annoyance as she stares me down.
"The name is Adriana Thomas," she says, leaning in and changing the angle of the key just slightly. With the flick of her wrist, the door is open and I'm watching her invite herself into the house as if she's been here before. "And no thanks. I'll show myself in."
What the hell just happened?
ACKNOWLEGMENTS
Seven novels, a novella, a novelette, and a half a million words later, and here we are, saying goodbye to the Bayonet Scars series. After spending the last four years in these characters' heads, I'm not sure I know how to say goodbye. But I do know that you-- the reader-- have given me more than you'll ever know. So many of you have become my friends and I'd be lost without you.
Dawn, I blame these nine volumes on you and your constant encouragement to add "just one more" book. No, we're not going for an even ten. You're cut off.
Mom, this has been a crazy ride, hasn't it? From that time little baby me slid out of your vagina to the day I mentioned outlaw bikers and I swear you listened to me talk for the first time in your life, we've been through a lot. And since I'm needy and I miss you, I'm coming home (well, home-ish) and we're going to wear matching outfits and order Britt around because we're older and we can, OK?
Mandie, you're awesome and you know why. I'm not getting sappy with your salty ass.
Brenda at Star Bound Books, your covers are the reason people took notice of these books. You've been with me on this journey longer than anyone. That means the world to me.
Michele, you're a fantastic editor and a gracious friend. I love your notes in the margins and attempts at getting me to understand proper hyphen usage.
Dani, you get the first actual thank you here, and it's for not smothering me in my sleep or paying someone else to do it. I'm disorganized and perpetually late with everything, but you still seem to like me. Thank you for taking a chance on me as your first client and as your friend, I'm insanely proud to be part of your journey.
Nazarea, I only have one thing to say to you. Destiel will be canon in Season 13 or we riot.
And to everybody else who didn't get called out by name, I love you. Thank you for being a part of this strange life I get to live. Thank you all for everything. I can't believe we're saying goodbye to the Forsaken Motorcycle Club, but I'm so grateful that we've taken this ride.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Leo's calling...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a child, JC was fascinated by things that went bump in the night. As they say, some things never change. JC is known for her bad-ass anti-heroes who lure unsuspecting readers into their dark stories and refuse to leave them alone-- even once their story is finished. JC is a San Francisco Bay Area native, but has also called both Texas and Louisiana home. She just recently ditched her flip flops for winter boots and now resides in Southwestern Illinois. When she's not torturing her characters for fun, JC drops the pen name and goes by Christina. JC is the author of the Bayonet Scars series-- about an outlaw motorcycle club that starts a war with the Italian mafia. Now that she's retiring her bikers, she's seriously pondering what's next for the Mancuso crime family.