Quills and Daggers - A Second Chance at Love Romance: The Collective - Season 1, Episode 5

by Chris Genovese

  Quills and Daggers

  A Collective Novella

  By: Chris Genovese

  Quills and Daggers: A Collective Novella

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2017 by Chris Genovese

  Published by Erotic Mayberry Publishing

  Written by Chris Genovese

  Cover created by Riley Edwards

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  http://www.eroticmayberry.com

  To sign up for Chris’s newsletter please go to: http://eroticmayberry.com/newsletter-sign-up/

  The Collective is here…

  We’ve set the stage, created the characters, and fashioned a world full of twists and turns. Now it’s your turn to sit back and immerse yourself in this incredible series. Each episode weaves the characters and storylines of five standalone novels together to give you an epic crossover series. We’ve left you breadcrumbs, tidbits of information intertwined throughout our stories. Can you find them? Can you collect the clues we’ve left and become part of The Collective and solve the case?

  Season One –

  Featured authors in order of appearance-

  International bestselling author -Riley Edwards www.rileyedwardsromance.com

  International bestselling author - Erin Trejo – www.authorerintrejo.weebly.com/

  Best Selling author - Ellie Masters – www.elliemasters.com

  Award winning author - Elias Raven – www.eliasraven.com

  Award winning author - Chris Genovese – www.eroticmayberry.com

  Best Selling author - Carver Pike – www.carverpike.com

  Season one releases- April 4, 2017, with a two-week release schedule.

  Riley Edwards - Unbroken (part one) 4.4.17 - http://amzn.to/2m4q79L

  Erin Trejo - Iron Claw MC 4.18.17 - http://amzn.to/2mnB3C2

  Ellie Masters - Learning to Breathe 5.2.17 - http://amzn.to/2mnxbRy

  Elias Raven - Shadow & Flame - 5.16.17 - http://amzn.to/2nfHeVr

  Chris Genovese - Quills and Daggers 5.30.17 - http://amzn.to/2m4mEIa

  Riley Edwards Unbroken (part two) 6.13.17 -Pre order coming soon

  Erin Trejo -TBA - 6.27.17 - Pre order coming soon

  Ellie Masters -TBA- 7.11.17 - Pre order coming soon

  Elias Raven -TBA- 7.25.17 - Pre order coming soon

  Carver Pike - TBA - 8.1.17 - Pre order coming soon

  Connect with The Collective at

  Newsletter - http://eepurl.com/cxCJFb

  www.TheCollectiveNovels.com

  https://www.facebook.com/TheCollectiveNovels/

  Table of Contents

  Dedication/Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 – Nikki

  Chapter 2 – Ivory

  Chapter 3 – Nikki

  Chapter 4 – Ivory

  Chapter 5 – Nikki

  Chapter 6 – Ivory

  Chapter 7 – Nikki

  Chapter 8 – Ivory

  Chapter 9 – Nikki

  Chapter 10 – Ivory

  Dedication/Acknowledgements

  Before I get started here, I need to first thank the woman who has stood by my side for 16 years so far (that’s 16 years in 2017). My wife has always been there for me and has been my biggest supporter. She loves me and without that love, I wouldn’t be able to keep doing this. So I thank her for always being there and for helping me become the man I am today (because I wasn’t this man 16 years ago). I love you, babe!

  This is my first book in The Collective and I think it’s only right to acknowledge those who’ve made this all possible. First of all, the woman who came to me with the idea and who was so fucking tenacious that I couldn’t even consider telling her no. Riley Edwards is not only an awesome author, but she’s become one of my best friends. Yes, I know, I seem to have a lot of besties out there, lol. Sometimes it takes an author to know all the hardships and ups and downs that occur in this indie author world. She’s someone I know I can turn to whenever I’m feeling down or even when I have great news. She was the true driving force behind the collective.

  Ellie Masters has been a great author friend too, ever since we read “Go the Fuck to Sleep” together during one of my fanclub events. She’s so fucking hilarious and so ridiculously smart that I’m proud to be in a book series that features her work. Let me tell you, if Ellie had it her way, this collective project would have been fucking massive. I think we were all blown away by the ideas she had and where she wanted to take it. This first season was all of us wrapping our heads around the project and getting a feel for each other and each other’s ideas. I imagine, just from hearing some of the ideas rolling around in Ellie’s head, that you guys might see some wild shit in the seasons to come.

  Elias Raven is like a brother. We both started out on this indie author ride right around the same time. He was one of the authors at my first ever book release event. He’s wowed me with his video creation skills, he’s blown me away with his ability to make panties drop with the sound of his voice, and even through his ambition and personal drive to be the best, you’d be hard pressed to find a more humble guy. I’m proud to be a member of the Brat Pack with this guy.

  Erin Trejo is also an author I’ve met along the way. I remember when she first asked me to do one of her events. She seemed shy and she told me she was a fan of my work. She was one of the first authors to ever say that kind of stuff to me. It still shocks the hell out of me that an author with her skill and fan base could even give a shit about my work, lol. What I love most about Erin is her down-to-earth attitude. When we were first starting out with the collective, we were both a little confused by some of the more technical shit it entailed, simple stuff like keeping track of our notes in a shared google doc. I messaged Erin and asked, “Do you have any fucking clue what Ellie and Riley are talking about?” She said, “I was about to write you and ask the same thing. Let’s just let them tell us what we need to do, and we’ll just fucking write.” That was the best idea I’d heard and that’s pretty much how the two of us played it, lol.

  I think a special mention needs to go out to the woman who has taken on the job of being the PA for The Collective project. Michelle Thomas. Working with one author is tough enough. But working with a group of authors, with all of our egos, and all of our mood swings…now that takes a fucking champion. Michelle was practically King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone with this one. She’s handled events for The Collective all on her own, has pimped the hell out of all of us, and she continued to do more and more every day. She rocked it and I know we all love her to death.

  Thank you to my PA and she’s also Elias’s PA, our Mama Bear…Kendall Blackburn Barnett. She knows we absolutely adore her. She put so much of her personal work aside (and the work she’s bombarded with from all of the authors on our team) in order to help out so much with this project. I know I personally bounced all kinds of ideas off her. When I told her I just didn’t know if I could get the book written in time (due to the demands of my day job) she told me to cut it out. She never doubted that I’d write the book in time. She’s one hell of a motivator and I love her to pieces.

  For this project, a great group of Beta readers volunteered to help us get these books ready for publishing. Usually a Beta reader promises to read one author’s work but these ladies knew they were going to have to read ten books before thi
s was all over. My book makes book five so that just shows you how much work they’ve already put into this and how much more they’re willing to do. We love you guys and I can’t thank you enough.

  I know this dedication seems to be going on and on and on…but I can’t end it without thanking the fans. Not only do you read our work, but you spend so much of your free time sharing it and talking about it and reviewing it. We may not always comment on a post you’ve made or even see when you’ve mentioned us in a contest, but you have to know we write for one major reason…so that you’ll read it and enjoy it. Without you, none of this makes any sense. Without you, we’d each be the Marquis de Sade writing on our padded cell walls in our own shit. I don’t know why I just said that…but hopefully you know what I mean.

  Let’s get to my story. Love you all!

  Chris

  *This is a fictional story with graphic sex. Of course I know the importance of using protection. If it is not mentioned in the story it is only to prevent the slowing down of the story or interruption to the fantasy element. Have fun and be safe!*

  Chapter 1 – Nikki

  Ring around the Rosy?

  That was the tune. I was sure of it. The dark alley did little to calm my nerves and after dodging cheesy pickup lines and avoiding lousy exes, my nerves were shot. I’d left Calypso’s bar in the first place because I kept getting hassled by potential one-night-stands and I’d left Red’s bar before that because I didn’t want to have a run-in with my last boyfriend, Haven. Bikers are big badass teddy bears when you’re riding on the back of their bike but the moment you say goodbye, they can be mean spirited sons of bitches.

  Mean spirited seemed to be my lot in life. From an abusive martial arts instructor (that art didn’t teach him shit about honor or self-control) to a BDSM dominant fiancé to a drunkard biker, my love life ran the gamut when it came to bad relationships.

  Fuck.

  Apparently buying shitty shoes was another downfall of mine. I’d been walking too quickly through the alley when my heel got caught in a crack and snapped right off. As the whistling grew closer, I looked back into the darkness of the path behind me and couldn’t see anyone. Someone was definitely there. He was closer than before. I looked up to see if he was on one of the roofs or leaning out of a window. He wasn’t. Maybe it was a TV in one of the apartments.

  The tune rang out again, bouncing off walls and echoing off puddles.

  Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posy, ashes…ashes…we all fall down.

  I remembered that from when I was a kid and I swear to God it was the tune someone was whistling behind me in the dark.

  Fuck this shit.

  I yanked off both shoes and hightailed it the hell out of the alley with wet feet slapping the pavement. People died in the dark. I’d lived in several major cities and that was something you could count on. People had died in San Francisco…in the dark. I’d heard rumors of killings on these city streets. How much of it was true, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to. Growing up a child of the system taught me to keep my head above water but my ears under it. If it’s not my business, I want nothing to do with it.

  This was how I spent my night off from work, dashing through dirty water to escape a loser with a creepy whistle. He was probably only going to ask me to borrow a quarter. That was usually the case. San Fran’s a unique place, that’s for sure.

  If I hadn’t been in such a frazzled state and scared out of my wits, I probably wouldn’t have run into Del Mar’s diner, and if I hadn’t run into the diner, I surely would’ve never met Jane, and if I hadn’t met Jane, I may have never entered The Motor Quill. I’ll get to that later.

  My name’s Nikki and if nothing else great can be said about me, I’m one hell of an artist. That’s how I met the guy I almost married. Derek was a big patron of the arts and happened to see a piece I’d worked on for a gallery-owning friend. I thought being dominated might be my kink. More than that, I thought it might satisfy my sexual desires in ways most men couldn’t. I was wrong. It wasn’t right for me and I had to leave Derek. He deserved better. It seemed every man I ever dated deserved better. He did leave me a nice sum of money, kind of a payoff I guess, with the promise I’d walk away and leave it a clean slate. Rich people don’t like their secrets shared with the masses. So he kept on with his interesting life and I went back to my miserable one.

  That’s enough, Nikki. You’re beautiful, you’re wonderful, and you rock.

  I repeated my mantra a few more times for good measure. Self-esteem wasn’t my strong suit. At least I wasn’t cutting anymore. I’d slayed that demon a long time ago.

  Back to my story and the diner at the end of the dark alley.

  I stepped into the small restaurant with wet feet, leaving tracks on the tile the way a bear does in mud. I didn’t care. The sanctuary of a busy restaurant with music and bubble gum chomping waitresses was exactly what I needed to calm my nerves. I sat at a booth and focused on the door, half expecting to see some masked killer come barging through at any moment, ringing the bell above it, and throwing an axe in my direction.

  Part of my creativity stems from a vivid imagination and I could see and hear the axe whistle through the still air as it glimmered in the overhead lighting, coming right at me the way it might in a 3D movie. My breathing picked up as I struggled to keep myself from getting worked up. If the whistler did walk through the door, he’d probably only order a cup of coffee.

  He never entered.

  What if it wasn’t even a he? Girls can whistle.

  As I sat quietly watching the door, I tried to whistle and all that came out was hot air and some spit. I could see the window but nobody passed by. Whoever had been following me had either given up the chase or was out there waiting. He’d have to wait all fucking night if he wanted to get me because I was ready to sleep in this place if I had to.

  My reflection in the metal napkin holder was distorted, but even through the morphed image it was clear my long blonde hair was nappy, frizzy from the humid stickiness of the night air. The bathroom was just around the corner, but I’d seen enough movies to know that a killer could sneak in there with me, or he was probably already hiding in one of the stalls, his feet up on the toilet so he could lower them to the floor slowly and dramatically as he made his appearance.

  Two years of acting class had me always thinking in terms of artistic scenes and dramatic dialogue. Yes, I’d taken acting classes. I’d done so many things in my life, always searching for that part of me that was missing. Missing was a lazy way of explaining it. Snatched away from me at a young and innocent age was more like it.

  Phoning a friend would be the smart thing to do at a time like this. If only I had a man who could come meet me at the diner. That would be perfect. I’d yet to find a reliable lover and I had no real friends. My phone would only be good for calling the cops, and where would that get me?

  “Yes, this is Nikki Pierce. I’d like to report a man whistling.”

  That would get a laugh. I think I’d summed up the killer, probably not even a killer but some dude taking a piss in the shadows outside the bar, by describing every construction worker in every major city.

  It was then, as I sat trying to come up with someone I could call for comforting words, that I heard the woman crying in the booth behind me. It wasn’t an all-out sob. Nobody cries like that in public. But I knew, from experience, the desperate cry of a hurt woman. I looked behind me to see the woman’s face buried in her folded arms. Her sniffles and shaky breath as she whispered something to herself was a sure sign of depression.

  I got up from my booth and slid into hers, across from her, facing her. I put my elbows on the table and held my chin in my hands.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” I asked.

  She jerked up straight in her seat and stared at me with tear stained eyes. Streams of mascara ran down her cheeks and all I could think of was the cover of Stabbing Westward’s fourth album. God, what an under-appreciated band. Ch
ristopher Hall’s vocals could provide the perfect soundtrack for the night I was having. Hell, the band’s song titles were descriptions of my life. Everything I touch, I break.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “Nobody,” I answered. “A stranger, but I know what it’s like to cry alone and I know what it’s like to hurt and have nobody there to ask me if I’m okay. So I thought I’d be that person for you.”

  Her chin was pointed down at the table but she lifted her eyes up to meet mine. It was clear she didn’t trust me. Only when she shifted her gaze to my wrists did she seem to finally drop her guard. I pulled my jacket sleeves up closer to my hands to cover my scars. I didn’t like people looking at the remnants of a past I’d fought to forget, but it seemed being vulnerable myself helped her relax and open up to me. She forced a smile and wiped at her runny nose with the back of her hand.

  “Breast cancer,” she said.

  “The beast,” I replied.

  “That it definitely is. I survived it. But I think it was just too much for Darrel.”

  “Tell me he did not leave you,” I said.

  Having a man leave you in your biggest time of need is even sadder than not having a man at all. I felt drawn to the woman, before she even told me her story. If you believe in fate, this was definitely that. Fate had brought this woman and me together.

  “It’s worse than leaving me,” she said. “I caught him with a friend from work. One I brought over to the house once to have drinks. I guess I don’t blame him. She has beautiful tits and I have this…”

  She opened the dull grey sweater she wore and pointed at her chest. Braless, it was clear she had only one breast. Her shirt popped out on the right and sank in on the left.

  “Your scars are beautiful,” I said. “It gives you a depth most other women don’t have. You’ve been through the fires of hell and have escaped even stronger than before. If your man is with someone else, you should leave his ass and find someone more durable ‘cause he sounds like a pussy.”