A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1)

by Elizabeth Barone

  It occurs to me that he might be taking me up to the roof so he can shove me off. No one knows where I am. Olivia is busy at the bar, probably pissed off at me, and Lucy is at home doing lesson prep for her students tomorrow. My fists flex. If he’s looking to punish me for what I’ve done, he’s going to get a hell of a surprise. I’m just as brawny in a fight as I’m built.

  But we emerge onto a second floor. Skid gestures to the partially opened doors lining the halls. "By now you know The Wet Mermaid is also our club house. We keep rooms up here for some of the guys. Not you—you’re still a Prospect. But for tonight, we all kicked in and got you a little something."

  He pushes the first door open.

  A brunette with deep olive skin is spread across a made full-sized bed. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath. My eyes trace the swell of them, the way they slope into her belly. I follow the invisible trail to her parted legs. One arm is slung across her belly, her delicate fingers slipping low. "Hey papi," she purrs.

  "Door number one," Skid says. He nods down the hall, takes a couple of paces, and opens the next door. This one houses a red-haired white woman, equally bare except for the fiery patch of hair between her legs. "Door number two." Skid grins. "And so on and so forth."

  I laugh. "I think you’re overestimating my libido."

  Nodding once, Skid grips my shoulder. "That’s why you’ve got to build it back up." With his free hand, he gestures to a door. "Your choice. Enjoy.” He claps me on the bicep and wanders away.

  "Christ," I mutter. My brand new biker family has bought me a game show’s worth of prostitutes.

  I pick a door at random. It feels offensive to choose based on the women’s looks.

  The woman behind my door has long, wavy brown hair. Her nipples peek through the strands. "Hi honey," she says, stroking the creamy skin of a thigh. "Come on and join me."

  Her eyes aren’t as luminous, but she still looks too much like Olivia. The animal in my pants relaxes as my heart clenches. Fuck me, but Olivia is the only woman I want.

  But she doesn’t want me.

  Even then, I can’t just forget about her. It’s as impossible as changing my DNA. For better or worse, she’s a part of who I am now.

  “Sorry,” I tell the woman. I turn around, and close the door.

  8

  Olivia

  The weekend passes in a blur of work. With each shift, I’m more and more annoyed with Cliff. Still, I’ve got to tell Lucy—as soon as I get out of class. Monday came way too quickly.

  "Morning," my roommate Esther yawns as she pads into the kitchen. Dio darts around her feet, nearly tripping her. "Ay dios mio." The tiny cat pauses and looks up at her, his head cocked to the side.

  Laughing, I finish spreading cream cheese on my bagel. "You have to admit, he’s really cute."

  Esther holds up a finger. "I admit nothing." She continues her trek to the coffee pot.

  I wink at Dio. Give her a few more weeks, and she’ll be snuggling with him on the couch. I carry my bagel and coffee to our little table. It’ll be a half hour or so before Esther is even ready to go. She stumbles toward the table and joins me, her own mug clutched in both hands.

  We caffeinate in silence. It’s not that Esther is standoffish. She’s just an introvert. If she’s not at work or class, she’s in her room or on the couch, reading a book. Maybe binge-watching Netflix.

  "Olivia," she says suddenly.

  My head snaps up. "Yeah?"

  "I just wanted to let you know," Esther says, frowning into her mug. Her dark eyes meet mine. "Some guy came by looking for you last night."

  I roll my eyes. Fucking Cliff. My fingers curl into fists. This is the last time I ever have a one-night stand with someone I know I’m going to see again. Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I can’t believe he’s doing this shit. Whenever I next see him, I’m putting his ass in line. Better yet, I’m going to text his ass. I glance around the kitchen for my phone.

  "See, I thought he was acting kinda weird." Esther touches my hand. "Should we call the police?"

  "No," I grumble. "He’s my . . ." I bite my lip, trying to decide how to describe him to her. Definitely not "cousin."

  "Boyfriend?" Esther guesses.

  "No," I say a little too forcibly. "It’s complicated." Great. Now I feel like a Facebook status.

  I get up and hunt for my phone, leaving Esther to finish her breakfast. She’s my ride to campus, so I can’t exactly get pushy. Instead I’ve learned to get up and ready early, that way I can read for class or sneak in some Netflix while I wait for her. Our arrangement has been working for the past four years. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when we graduate. Esther’s grandparents pay for her apartment so she can stay close to home. They have all three of her younger siblings, though, and I think it’s kind of understood that once she finishes her undergrad, she has to take the kids. I don’t know the details, because she won’t talk about it and I’m not one to press.

  It might sound selfish, but I’m really not looking forward to having to find my own place. Then again, I can probably crash at Lucy’s in the meantime—as long as Cliff is out of there.

  I snatch my phone from within the folds of my comforter on my bed and fire off a text to him. "You can’t just show up at my place. It’s not okay." Placing it on my dresser, I wander my room, grabbing the textbooks that I need. It's wild that this is it—my last semester.

  I’ve thought of going on to get my Master’s, but I’m itching to get into the field. I’ve never exactly been patient. Which is why tricks like getting up early and staying occupied have kept me from falling apart every time Esther runs late. I’ve learned to give her an earlier time than necessary. Works like a charm.

  By the time my bag is packed—including extra snacks—Esther is ready to go. She’s a whirlwind of hair tucked into a messy bun, leggings and UGGs, and a half-zipped backpack. We walk out to her car together, the bright winter sun piercing my vision.

  It’s a surprisingly warm day for February. Spring is in the air, and it puts a bounce in my step. Things in my life are really coming together.

  The ride to Southern is always quick—until we hit New Haven. Esther eases into traffic and turns up the volume on KISS 95.7. "If we’re going to inch along, we might as well have good music."

  I nod in response. The latest Beyonce song really isn’t my thing, but my roommate adores her. It’s yet another contrast between us, one more reason why we’re more acquaintances than friends. But Esther is nice, and sometimes she’ll cook for us. Usually I order takeout for our dinner. She’s the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got—besides Lucy.

  The thought of Lucy reminds me that I need to tell her about Cliff. I’m not really sure how I can rat him out without giving myself away. I sigh.

  "What’s the matter?" Esther asks. Route 63 dumps us out onto Whalley Avenue. She takes a left onto Blake Street, speeding into the turn before the green arrow goes out.

  My lips part to tell her at least a little about Cliff. I can’t. It’s bad enough that he’s legally my cousin. Throw in the part about him being on parole, and it just all looks awful. I shake my head. "I just can’t figure out why the fuck he’d show up at our place," I murmur.

  "Maybe to win you back," she says. "Did you fight?" She rolls to a stop at the intersection.

  I glance at the gas station on the corner and realize I’m out of cigarettes. Esther will never go for it, though. I may be on time, but she’s running late. "Something like that," I tell her with another sigh.

  Cliff has me doing all kinds of things I don’t normally—like thinking about him and sighing like a school girl. My nose scrunches. Fuck Cliff. I need to get back in the game, keep moving. I can’t let him get to me like this.

  Esther hurtles onto campus and drops me off in front of my building. "I’ll text you when I’m on my way," she says, and peels off.

  Shaking my head at her, I glance around for a victim. There are always smokers around, and the
re’s usually someone willing to let you bum one. I’ve handed out more cigarettes than I can count. Karma has to kick in at some point.

  I spot a familiar looking figure. His back is to me, his lean shoulders hunched against the wind. It’s always windy at Southern. I approach him, fur-lined black leather boots sloshing through half-melted snow. He cups a cigarette with one hand, a lighter in his other hand. The wind keeps knocking out the flame.

  "Here," I say, holding my hands out.

  He glances at me and smiles. "Oh, hey." He hands me the cigarette and lighter.

  Using the wall as a partial block, I light the thing in one shot. The single drag I take instantly soothes my nerves. I pass it back to him.

  "Nah." He plucks out another from his pack. "You earned it."

  As we smoke, I peer at him. "You look familiar. Do we have class together?"

  Sandy hair hangs in his eyes. He shakes the strands out of his face and nods. "Photography."

  Right. I had two elective slots, so I picked some things that I thought might be fun. Only I hadn’t counted on needing to buy a camera and a bunch of other stuff. I’d thought the school would provide them. "That’s later this morning, isn’t it?"

  "Eleven-ish." His green eyes search mine expectantly. "You don’t remember my name, do you?" He chuckles.

  "Sometimes I can barely remember my own," I say, holding out my hand. "Olivia."

  His hand takes mine, his grip warm. I notice a cross tattooed on his index finger. "Eli." His gaze holds mine, hungry. Between that longish hair, those greenish brown eyes, and the tats, he just might be one-night stand material. He’s only in one of my classes—a class I’ll probably drop anyway.

  "Are you Italian, Eli?" I drop my voice and hold his gaze. I need to get Cliff out of my system, and Eli is perfect. He’s just desperate enough that he’ll be easy. Southern is a big place and I don’t live even live in New Haven, so even if he gets any odd dating ideas in his head, it’ll be simple to avoid him.

  "Why?" he asks, his voice husky. "Do you like Italian food?"

  I picture him in my mouth and nearly choke on my cigarette. "Only if I can eat it off of you," I purr. His eyebrows lift, lips dropping open. Men are so easy—every single one of them. All I have to do is flirt with them a little, and they’re putty in my hands. I bet this one would eagerly follow me into an empty classroom right now, like a hungry puppy. I take another drag while I consider putting his leash on. I can probably ditch my child welfare class. I’m ahead of the reading and even before I left, it was a pretty easy course. I’ve always been a good student.

  "Ah, shit. I’m late. I’ll see you later," Eli says. He lifts a hand in parting and jogs away.

  I was too slow.

  It’s probably just as well. I don’t want to earn a reputation around campus. Besides, my little meatball is probably Catholic and looking to settle down with fifteen kids the second he graduates. With my luck, I’d get knocked up the one time and would have to at least humor the idea for a little while.

  Besides, Italian food isn’t really my thing.

  Still, I could really use the distraction. I walk to class chewing on the inside of my cheek, wishing I could get Cliff out of my head. This has never happened before. It’s ridiculous and it needs to stop. Yes, he’s sexy and he makes me laugh, but I can’t let myself get carried away. If I sleep with him more than once, I’ll end up dating him or something.

  Maybe Lucy isn’t the only one with a warped sense of romance.

  I stride into class promising myself two things: I’m going to tell Lucy about the club, and then I’m never going to think about Cliff again.

  Esther is such a doll, she drops me off in front of Lucy’s. The street is dark and quiet, the temperature back at a proper winter freeze. I wave to Esther as she pulls away, then let myself in.

  I find Lucy in the kitchen, several notebooks and her planner sprawled about the table. "Lesson planning?" I ask, pulling up a chair. I pour myself some coffee from the carafe into the extra mug she’s left out. Lucy pretty much assumes I’m coming over at this point.

  "Ugh," she replies, rubbing her temples. "I just can’t figure out how to teach these kids this Common Core math shit. They’re in first grade, for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t be this complicated for them."

  I grimace in agreement. I’ve seen some of the things she teaches, and it makes my non-math brain hurt. "Take a break." I reach for her hand and gently pull the pen from her fingers.

  She groans but complies. "What’s up with you?" she asks me over the rim of her coffee mug.

  Shrugging, I give her my most innocent smile. "I think I might’ve found my next guy." I wiggle my eyebrows.

  Lucy nods for me to continue. "Don’t leave me hanging. I live vicariously through you, remember?"

  "Well," I say, leaning forward, "there’s this hot guy in my photography class."

  She holds up a hand, palm out. "Whoa, whoa, wait. You’re taking photography?"

  I clear my throat. "C’mon, Luce. Leave that shit in the past, where it belongs." I try to sound flippant. My cheeks redden in rebellion.

  "You’re never gonna live that one down, Livvie." Laughing, she tucks strands of hair behind each ear. "I can’t believe they’re trusting you with a camera."

  "I was nine," I remind her, "and I have to buy my own. I was wondering if Dad would let me borrow one."

  Lucy snorts. "Are you high, kid? Dad’s memory still works just fine."

  "Hmn." I tuck my chin into my hand. "I guess you’re right." Glancing around the room, I try to figure out how to broach the subject.

  Lucy suddenly grabs my hand, her eyes intent on mine. "Listen, Livvie, I want you to know . . . I know. And it’s going to be okay."

  Freezing, I blink back at her. "Do what now?"

  Cliff steps into the kitchen, whistling Bush’s “Glycerine.” His taste in ‘90s music is approval-stamp worthy. He strolls to the refrigerator and peers inside. "Do we have any leftovers, Luce?" he asks, completely ignoring my presence.

  I set my mug down hard. "What do you mean, you know?" I ask Lucy. My glare is still fixed on Cliff’s back, though.

  "About the strip club." My sister’s eyes mist with worry, her eyebrows turned down. "I know you want to pay your loans off, hon, but it’s not worth selling your body."

  I swear, Cliff’s shoulders shake with laughter.

  "I’m not stripping," I tell her. "I’m bartending. The tips are good, especially if you show a little cleavage." I point at Cliff. "He just joined the fucking River Reapers." Even though I’m trying really hard not to, I sound like a little kid. Then again, the fucker tattled on me first.

  Cliff’s shoulders stiffen.

  "They sell drugs out of that bar," I tell Lucy. "I know because I pass them to customers with their drinks." It’s too late to clap my hand over my mouth.

  Cliff joins us at the table and pours himself coffee. "Well, isn’t this nice," he says, glancing from Lucy to me. "All our cards are on the table. Except yours, Luce. Any illegal activity you want to share with us?"

  Lucy sighs, rubbing her temples. "What the hell is wrong with the two of you?" We both open our mouths, but Lucy shakes her head. "I don’t want to know about what you’re doing. I’ve got enough to do. Keep your dirty little secrets to yourselves." She pulls a notebook toward her and bows her head.

  My whole face is on fire. Cliff is pointedly not looking at me. Shoving my chair back, I stand and motion for him to follow me. I stalk outside and light a cigarette, marching back and forth along the front walk. I stomp up to him. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

  He lights his own cigarette, inhaling. Seconds drip by as he unleashes a stream of smoke into the cold air. He grins down at me. “I’m just looking out for my cousin.”

  I start to jab the cigarette into the air in front of him, to tell him off. I really, really want to kick him in the ankles.

  He shakes his head, still smiling. "Want to go for a ride?" He nods to a motorcycle parke
d in front of Lucy’s. I should have noticed it when I came in, but I was too preoccupied.

  "Asshole." I give his arm a playful shove, but the hard muscle underneath his long-sleeved shirt and leather vest is totally distracting. My eyes trace the way the vest hugs his muscular torso. "You wear that thing well," I say with a sigh. At least I can say I tried to get him out of there. Too bad Lucy is too busy with work. Then again, I’m lucky she didn’t press me to make sure I’m not really stripping.

  Cliff nods. "Thanks." It’s hard to read his face in the dark, but he sounds weird. Kind of hoarse.

  "Late night?" I ask, taking another drag.

  "Nah." Looking back at the bike, he shrugs. "Just a long morning." His eyes snap to mine. "So what’s with you and the photography guy?"

  I laugh. "You were listening the whole time?" Taking a step closer to him, the corners of my lips lift in a coy smile. "Naughty boy."

  "I can show you naughty," he says, and my heart combusts. "So," he draws out the word as his eyes hook mine, "how about that ride?"

  9

  Cliff

  Even though I’m taking it easy, wind whips my face as I cruise down 63, Olivia tucked against my back. Beer Can’s motorcycle lessons might’ve been rigorous, but it’s already second nature to me. Or maybe it’s just my blood, the tide finally coming in and reclaiming the shore.

  Still, I’m not great with turns just yet, so I plan to just take her straight down and then back. I ease into a gas station, teeth gritted. If I dump us, I’ll never forgive myself. We make it in one piece, though, even if my turn was too wide. Beer Can promised I’ll get the hang of it, that I’ll be flying up and down the back roads with the rest of the club in no time. If I don’t, I guess they’ll realize their mistake and turn me out.