Tonya Ink's Blog

THE DATE: Anti-Love African American Romance

Having a sister in love is a nightmare.

It should end there, but it doesn’t. Having a sister in love and thinks everyone should be, too. Barf. With a track record like mine, I’ve learned a few hard life lessons. When it comes to men, I’ve learned they fall into two categories. They’re either trying too hard at pretending not to be assh*les, or their assholes trying too hard to be assh*les. That’s it. So, when my sister convinced me to go on a blind date, I never expected him. Or to find out he wanted to be there as much as I did–which wasn’t at all. The date sets off a series of events that changed my life forever and it’s all because my sister loves love.

Published Under (Pen Name): Tonya Anders

Word Count: N/A
Genre: African American, Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre/Tropes: MC, Biker Fiction, Blind date,
Available Formats: Ebook

Status: Releasing Fall 2024

Content Warnings: 

Crude Language

Dark Humour

Stalking

Acts of Violence

Cheating (NOT between main characters)

Alcohol use

Gun Violence

Sexual Content

Binding

Breaking of the fourth wall

Mention of Sexual Assault (but none  occurs on page)

THE DATE: SNEAKY PEAKY

ONE

DALIA

“I said niggas ain’t shit and I meant it. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.” 

I’ll never again be that girl. You know, the one that throws caution or the good sense my momma gave me to the wind. The one time I did, I promise you–it wasn’t worth it. Which is why I vowed to never again allow my nose to be that wide over some dick. Mind you, the dick was mediocre at best. Kegel exercises really are that bitch. Being with that man, I called myself, expanding my horizons and trying something different. The fuckboy taught me a valuable lesson. Different ain’t fo’ me. I’ll get back to that in a minute. The shit that boy put me through had me ready to accept my fate and start loving orange.

Anyway, I’ll never again be the bitch who will allow a man to become more than what he’s earned. I’ve lived enough life and witnessed and done enough dramatic, window-busting, tear-spilling dramatic ass shit to know that’s not something I want for myself. I’m grown. Being a bitch in love works in the movies, but in real life–naw. Niggas ain’t shit and they serve their purpose and none involve being in my face for longer than it takes to nut. 

The sigh I released was heavy as I stared at nothing while thinking about my sex life or lack thereof over the last year. I can admit that yes, maybe happy, healthy, stress-free relationships exist. I can also keep it honest and say that a bitch who can catch and hold a good man is a bitch that’s been through some shit. For those that fall into love with ease–that’s special and rare.

Ask any woman you know how most niggas these days operate and they fall into a minimum of one of these categories. They are toddlers who need a momma, momma boys who can’t leave their momma’s titties alone, or fuckboys who use their dicks as weapons and spread it far and wide. The fuckboys I avoid like the plague. The toddlers are a close second. And Mamma boys eliminate themselves. They fear my vibe. My being a strong woman who expects her man to do and have as much as she does is not something they are ready for. If a man doesn’t have his own and needs, his hand held every second of the day, they know they aren’t for me. Those fuckboys though–them niggas get caught doing shady foul shit, and either lie or act bitch made when caught. The fuckboysthink their stroke game is on point, like it’s the answer to all our prayers and problems. Call me a hater if you want, but niggas are dickmitizing liars and manipulative users who have no problem using our vaginas as a battering ram to fuck us into submission. They promise us the world only to leave us swinging by their dicks, unsatisfied and wondering how you got there. I’m just not willing to end a single mother of two-point-five kids, a dog named Jelly Bean, and a big house that isn’t a home but an unhappy yet beautiful prison. Niggas ain’t shit. So they can fuck right off. Especially the fucker I left lying on his dining room floor, bleeding like a stuffed pig.

I won’t lie and say I’m above being dickmitized, because a good dick down can make me silly. A dick down that has my toes curling, makes me speak tongues, has me orgasm so hard I soak the sheets, and puts me to sleep is one I’ll hold on to despite the red flags. Now there are always consequences to a good dick down from a fuckboy. Which is why I’m trying to be a better woman and refrain. My eyes are wide open. I’ve learned these truths the hard way. Most niggas are good at hiding behind good dick and pretty lies, before ultimately showing their asses.

***

Remember, I said I was going to tell you about the fucker I called myself dating last year? Well… 

Now I know on Valentine’s Day most of the female population expect their man to buy expensive gifts and have reservations set at a high-end restaurant. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I’m not most girls. I’m a Netflix and chill kinda gal. Me being me, I wasn’t about to get all gussied up just to Netflix and chill. I thought my ass was being reasonable when I told my man I didn’t want to do anything over the top. In that nigga’s head he’d heard I didn’t want to see him–at all on Valentine’s Day. His dumb ass assuming shit is the reason I caught him fucking the ugly of some bitch on his dining room table.

So real quick, real fast listen…

There I was excited to surprise my boo thang for V-day. After I was done handling everything with business and catching a few outstanding bonds, I was ready to chill and get it in with “my man”. I’d made the effort to order and pick up from my favorite Chinese food place and even brought along my favorite movie with me, my favorite actor Denzel. Baby the way I would… Oh wee! All I’m saying is I’d never be opposed to being a sugar baby for that man. Not nevah.

Back to my story of why niggas ain’t shit. The night was all about getting mine, a full but still flat belly, and Denzel because who doesn’t love Equalizer and orgasms? Anyway, I let myself into said boo thangs house–he trusted me enough to give me the door code, so why not use it? The gag was–as soon as I crossed the threshold, my eyes narrowed because my spidey senses started tingling. The unmistakable aroma of my favorite Inks Customs candle scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and fresh sage permeated the air. I know I know… I’m supposed to love flowery crap because I’m a girl, whatever sue me. This scent is soothing, subtle, and fresh. My love for it will never falter, unlike the fuck nigga that had my pressure up. 

Anyway, where was I… 

Oh, I smelled my favorite candle, which normally wouldn’t be a problem except that the nigga hated the scent and complained anytime I lit one. My eyes narrowed further as I made my way into the space, seeing tea lights lighting the entryway that led to the dining room had me following their instructions. I can’t lie. The ambiance and low jazz had me vibing–because aww. For two point five seconds, I thought maybe he wasn’t the worst fuckboy in the history of fuckboys. That he set something up for us. I was trying hard to live in that delusion. But I knew better. His ass was a burger at a fast-food, let’s pay half–zees kind of nigga. Which was a red flag my ass ignored, because I knew he made good money. So, I let it go. 

With a shake of my head, I continued further into the house and toward the dining room. What had me quickening my pace was the unmistakable sounds coming from said dining room. My brain short-circuited, and my steps faltered. I went from Arctic chill to lava hot within seconds. Somehow, my feet kept on moving. And I’ll be damned. The scene before me as I stood in the entry of the dining room had me frozen in place–gawking at the scene playing out. 

Yes, I’m not ashamed to say I stood there watching because he who shall not be named and his ugly friend were going at it like this was going to be the last fuck of their lives. They were huffing, puffing, moaning, and groaning like they were getting paid for a prime porno spot on the Pornclubs’ website. I can’t even lie and say that I wasn’t impressed by the minute man’s stamina and also a little turned on. I’m not saying he was a one-pump chump, but I’m not–not saying he wasn’t. He had to be in a mood, sober and focused on giving me what I needed more often than not. He wasn’t. He was mostly vanilla–all missionary, but his tongue game saved him more than a few times. I chuckled at the thought of our mediocre sex life. Which, fortunately for me, hadn’t caught either of their attention. The fuckboy was focused. And she couldn’t see me. Her eyes were covered. What nearly took me out was how loudly she was squealing like a pig being led to slaughter. 

She was definitely faking.

I’d continued to watch for a good minute. I scanned the room, taking the scene. Shocked even more by what I saw because where the hell was dis nigga when we were chasing the waterfalls? What I was witnessing was hot as hell. They had my panties a little damp. Pissed or not, they put on a good show.

What had me looking at him differently was the fact that he was into that freaky shit. He had her hands bound behind her back, leaving enough space between her hands to grasp the binds and control her movements. His other hand was on the back of her neck. Have you ever heard the saying ass up, tits out? That’s exactly how she was positioned on top of the dining room table. She was ass up, belly flat on the table with one leg hoisted up to give Mr. Man room to work. It was some erotic shit. A loud grunt pulled at my attention and pushed me into no the hell this nigga ain’t playing in my face and think he was going to survive the night mode. 

I stood to my full height and watched as his face began to twist and screw up, signaling he was close while sweating like a stuffed pig. The fake moans and his dog-like grunts made me chuckle–loudly. Which had the show coming to a halt. After a little scrambling, some squealing was not sexual. Words were exchanged, fists were thrown, threats were made, and I… Well, I was taken out in cuffs.

After two hours in lock-up that night, I went home, iced my knuckles, and watched my man Denzel whoop some ass and reorder my Chinese. And my battery-operated boyfriend, Denzel, got me right. At least I can remember his name. So yeah, that night taught me a valuable lesson. It also taught me that having an attorney on retainer is not a bad thing. Because niggas ain’t shit and they will put you through it, especially if you embarrass them by whopping their asses.

PRE ORDER NOW!

Valentine’s Day, love it or hate it, either way, it’s happening. 

PRE ORDER NOW!

Immerse yourself in a collection of steamy Valentine’s Day stories from twelve authors. Featuring genres like contemporary, romantic comedy, and paranormal, these tales are sure to satisfy your craving.

Whether you’re looking for a quick read or a book to curl up with on a rainy afternoon, this collection of romantic stories is perfect for any romance lover. So grab your favorite drink, settle in, and get ready to fall in love with these twelve talented authors and their entertaining tales.

All proceeds will be donated to the National Alliance of Mental Illness. NAMI

Authors:
C.D. Gorri
April D. Berry
Becca Fogg
Calla Claire
Krys Strong
Tamara Whitlow
Tonya Ink
Rebecca Hefner
Saam King
Sheri L. Williams
P.S. Nail
Andi McClane

THE DATE: Lucifers Saints MC Next Generation Novelette Book info

Word Count: 15k
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre: MC, Biker Fiction

Content Warnings:  

Crude Language

Stalking

Acts of Violence

Cheating (NOT between main characters)

Alcohol use

Gun Violence

Sexual Content

Binding

Mention of Sexual Assault (but none  occurs on page)

Status: RELEASE 2/1/2024

THE DATE: Lucifer’s Saints MC Next GenerationSNEAKY PEAKYONE

DALIA

“A shot of whiskey and silence. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.” 

I’ll never be that girl. You know, the girl that walks into a bar, sees a hot guy and says. Fuck me, big boy. I’ll never allow myself to be that vulnerable or that stupid. I’ve been there and done that. Ask the fucker I was seeing last year around this time. But I’ll get back to that. Anyway, I’ll never be the girl who lets a man become her everything. I’ve seen how that works out, and it isn’t a good look. Okay, maybe it works out in very, very special cases. But I know the truth. I know the truth behind the pretty eyes and even prettier lies.

Men are pricks because they use their man bits as weapons. You can’t say I’m wrong. We’ve all been dickmitized in our lives at least once. Men are dickmitizing liars, which I’ve already said, but it’s worth repeating. Men are born manipulators and users who have no problem using your heart as a battering ram to beat you into submission. They promise you the world only to leave you swinging by their dicks, unsatisfied and wondering how you got there. I’m not a man-hater per se. I’m just not willing to end up with two-point-five kids, a dog named Jelly Bean, and a big house that isn’t a home but an unhappy yet beautiful prison. Men are the fucking worst. So they can fuck right off. Especially the fucker I left lying on his dining room floor, bleeding like a stuffed pig.

There I was going to surprise my whatever he was for V-day. Happily puttering along. I had my favorite Chinese food and movie because who doesn’t love Die Hard? It’s a classic. On that day, I even wore my comfy Netflix and chill outfit; sexy–I was not, but fuck sexy. I’m not about to get all gussied up for a Netflix and chill night. No thanks. I told whatever his name was that, I didn’t want to do anything. I guess he thought I meant I didn’t want to see him–at all. That slight miscommunication is why I caught him bumping uglies with some rando on his dining room table.

What got my hackles up were the lit candles and the house’s ambiance, low jazz music played through the surround sound. And for some reason, I knew. For me, that fucker had always been a burger at a fast-food joint and let’s pay half–zies kind of guy. I didn’t care, even though that should have been a warning enough. He didn’t see me, didn’t appreciate me. I know that now. He gave me a few decent orgasms. Maybe that’s why I let things slide. Maybe that is why I never called him out on his bullshit. Shaking my head. The one time I keep a guy to myself, he turns out to be a big old giant cheap-ass cheating prick. 

I got played. 

After finding them, I stood there watching because the two were going at it, like their lives depended on finding their release. I was shocked and slightly impressed by the minute man’s stamina. I’m not saying he was a one-pump chuck, but I’m not–not saying he wasn’t. Whenever I was with the prick, he was as vanilla as they come. All missionary and wham bam, thank you, ma’am. My chuckling at the thought of our abysmal sex hadn’t caught either of their attention, not his, because the asshole was focused. And well, she couldn’t see me and was too busy squealing. You know how women do when we are faking it because a guy isn’t hitting the right spot, but we want to be nice and be done. At least, that’s what I do. 

I couldn’t see her eyes because Mister, whatever his name was, had them covered, and her hands were bound behind her back. Freaky, and I liked it. If I wasn’t pissed, I probably would have watched more of the show. It was erotic as fuck. Whatever his name was, he had her bound hands in a white-knuckled grip and his other hand on the back of her neck. You ever hear the saying ass up, tits out? That’s exactly how she was positioned, her ass was up, belly flat on the table. As I said, very erotic stuff. 

I watched them, him with his face as red as a red delicious apple and sweating like a stuffed pig. Something about her fake moans and his dog-like grunts made me chuckle–loudly. Which, of course, had the show coming to a halt. Words were exchanged, fists were thrown, threats were made, and I was taken out in cuffs.

After two hours in lock-up that night, I went home and iced my hands. Bruce the Willis and I had a fantastic night in my apartment with my battery-operated boyfriend, Tom. At least I can remember his name.

•••

At twenty-two, I don’t know what I’m looking for outside of work. I love my life the way it is. I own my home and my car and have a generous retirement plan, and I answer to no one. Well, no one except for my meddling sister. Which means being willing to be set up is me placating her. It’s not my idea of a good time. But what Danika wants, Danika gets, and it has always been that way. Her big, scary biker husband, who seems to be one in a trillion, is about getting his wildflower whatever she wants. He isn’t the first man in our lives to put Danika first. Being that he’s her husband, I get it. 

Danika is blissfully happy. And I don’t begrudge her–her happiness. She went through some shit, but Danika isn’t like me. She wants all that flowery crap, and she fought for it; I broke for it, and she has the life she dreamed of. I’m happy for my soft-hearted sister. But that isn’t me. I never gad dreams of become a wife and mother. I’m not saying I don’t want to, but I don’t see it happening.

So here I am, listening to my sister go over itinerary for the date she planned for me. She is insistent that the guy needed her help in planning things. So, she took the reins in the way she does. What is life if Danika Masterson can’t meddle? 

“…sipping on a drink that costs too much and tastes like heaven on your lips. You need this…” I’ve been gritting my teeth for the last half hour listening to Dani, with the same mantra on repeat in my head. Don’t snap. She’s pregnant. Don’t upset her because if she cries, Nitro will have my ass.

“… he’s perfect for you.”

I doubt that.

I’m not saying he won’t be good for a night or two. I’m not a monk. I like sex, love it even, all it is–is stress relief. Looking down at my watch, it’s been thirty-five minutes–she’s still going. Fuck me. 

“Are you even listening to me?” The annoyance in Dani’s voice means she knows I wasn’t. But I got the gist of it, which is what I repeat.

“Umm, yes. He’s a brother who just transferred from another chapter, and he’s dreamy, just my type.” My eyes roll at the last part. “He’s twenty-five, six-four, brown eyes, and is built like… what did you say…” I chuckle humorlessly. “He’s built like a gawd.” I sigh. “He’s never been married, has no kids, has a bit of a record, and only a little drama. That drama is about his ex-girlfriend, who is a little psycho and got butt hurt from being broken up with and sicked her cop brother on the club. Instead of ridding it out, he and the club thought his coming back to Sacramento, where he is from, was an easier solution. So bye-bye, Vegas. You’ve known him for two point five seconds and think he’s perfect for me. Does that cover it?” My voice is even and matter-of-fact. 

And then the sniffling starts.

For fuck’s sake.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” I hear my brother-in-law, and I groan. 

Great, just great.

I hear shuffling, and I let out a resigned sigh. I can guarantee that Dani is now perched on Nitro’s lap, giving while he rubs her back, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. It’s their thing. I have to give it to Nitro. The man is good at understanding all the crazy that is my sister. 

“Go on the damn date. Will it kill your little ass to be nice?” Nitro growls. 

His sudden entrance into the conversation startles me, and I nearly drop my phone. I want to scream, yes… yes, it would. But I don’t 

“Well, hello to you too, brother–in–law. And you know damn well it would.” I say, exasperated.

I hear more sniffling and muffled words.

“Wildflower, come on now. I can’t make her do a damn thing.”

I want to laugh when I hear the hiccups; so damn dramatic. Through all of her dramatics, she says something I can’t understand. And I know what will happen next; I pick at my nails as my sister sniffles and explains why she’s so… upset to her man. All the while, Nitro is huffing, puffing, and growling like the love-sick biker he is. 

I’m going on this damn date. 

Damn.

Talons Secret: Lucifer’s Saints MC Sacramento Chapter

Word Count: 120k
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre/Tropes: MC, Biker Fiction, Secret Baby, Second Chance, Mafia adjacent
Available Formats: Ebook & Paperback

Content Warnings: 

Graphic violence 

Graphic threats of physical violence 

Murder 

Abuse 

Bullying 

Explicit language

Discussion of the loss of a loved one from murder

Discussion of the loss of a child

Discussion of Grief and Depression 

Discussion of suicide no suicide occurs

Parental loss 

Crude, inappropriate humor 

Sexual content, language, and situations.

Cliffhanger

Status: Re-releaseing October 18, 2023

TALON’S SECRET: Lucifer’s Saints MC SACRAMENTO CHAPTER SNEAKY PEAKY

ONE

GABRIELLA

“Knowing your worth means walking away even if you don’t want to.”

Present day

I sit across from my brother, stewing at what he asks of me. My eyes are twitchy and narrow. He sighs and rubs his hand across his freshly shaven face. He speaks again, sighing, and I want to punch him in the junk. “This is business, Gabriella, so don’t give me that look. You knew this day would come; be happy you can take your entourage. I know how you can’t leave home without them. It will be good for all of you.” He clicks his tongue at me, and my eyes shift from narrowing to a full-on glare. He fixes his face from the stern Don to my loving brother. I know what he’s trying to do.

It’s not working.

Sammy sobers up when he notices I am not falling for it. My brother returns to his Don Barone persona and looks at me with stern, unyielding brown eyes. The challenge is there, and I know better than to say anything that is not in agreement. To others, my brother is the death–La Morte. To me, he is Sammy, the brother who has cared for and protected me all my life. But at this moment, I have to respect my Don.

But I really, really don’t want to go. 

Am I a grown-ass woman pouting and acting like a petulant child? Yes. Yes, the fuck I am. But–do I care, not even a little. I am not prepared for this shit, at least not as quickly as Sam wants me to be. I know it has been seventeen years since I’ve been back there. An eternity still wouldn’t be long enough to prepare for my return. My entourage isn’t ready, especially with two missing. Well, not missing, but out on jobs. 

I’ve spent seventeen years building a box for that place and him. I have done a damn good job of keeping it closed nice and tight. And now Sammy wants me to bust that shit right the fuck open. Awesome. 

I am not a fan of that, not in the least.

When Sammy looks at me like he is now, he looks so much like our father. It is still strange to see him sitting in his chair in his office. The office our father has occupied all our lives. The place where I would play with my dolls and draw ridiculous pictures of my fantasy world. Looking around now, I know I will never see my father’s assessing and loving eyes again, which still hurts. 

I sigh and clench my eyes shut at how much it still hurts.

It’s been an interesting–few years for the family. Adjusting to the passing of our family’s beloved Don has been rough. It’s been hard on Sammy, especially. He didn’t feel ready to go from Underboss to Boss at thirty-six. Sammy and I have done our parts. He stepped up, and so did I. I became Sammy’s consigliere, as my father had wanted. My appointment in this position didn’t go over well with some, but most respected, my father and Sammy’s decision. There are still misogynistic men in the bunch. What would life be if there weren’t? But they know what would happen if they spoke out of turn. They would meet La Morte without question.

The Barone family has been in power for generations. And it has been satisfying seeing all the nay-sayers eating their words. They have witnessed how well Sam, Luca, and I have kept everything running and how well we keep the money flowing. The family will remain in Barone’s name as it should be. No one will ever dare to go against us, and we have proved time and time again just who we are. This family and territory will stay in our hands and continue to grow and flourish. 

We owe that to our father.

With Sammy stepping up as Don. He wanted to streamline things, so he restructured our responsibilities except for thatcontract. A contract Luca was kind enough to deal with. The underboss did it all in the past, so it wasn’t much of an inconvenience for him until now. Luca must remain close with Dad’s passing and our expansion and restructuring. And until today, I was happy to do what was required of me. I was living my best damn life in my ignorance-is-bliss bubble.

I know Luca can’t keep doing it with the business expansions and his other, more hands-on responsibilities. As Sammy’s left hand, I must bite the bullet and step into my role. I sigh and run my hand through my long, curly hair. I knew that this would be a part of that. Until now, I’ve done everything required without issue or question. Until now, I was happy to evade responsibility, avoiding that group like the plague. Doing it all and without a care in the world, no matter what he thinks. All for a goddamned reason, and Sammy knows it.

“I know… Sammy. And I’ll do my job. You know I will.” I reassure my brother, speaking to him not as his sister, but as his consigliere. 

Of course, I will. 

What happened seventeen years ago changed me more than I thought it would. It sent me spiraling down a dangerous path. To my father, after a while, the relationship’s ending was for the better, but to Sam, not so much. After everything, I may have gone a little wild once I could. My responsibilities and my family pulled me back in. I am glad they did. I am a better person for it, stronger, wiser, and some may even say–an even bigger bitch.

Sammy sighs and stands up from his chair. His eyes are on mine as he moves close, stands before me, and sits on the edge of his desk. Luca and Armand are sitting on the couch, just watching the exchange. Both have very different responses to what this request means to me.

“Gabriella, it’s only to rework the contract and discuss the issue. You will arrive tomorrow morning and stay for…” He stops, looking pensive before he continues. “However long you and your entourage decide. I’d like you to watch how they do things. How they handle business and, at the very least, get info on the number of hands involved. They know we are sending someone new. I’m sure with your entourage. All will be well. And maybe things can come to light.” His eyes soften, and he kneels in front of me. Sam grabs my hands and looks into my eyes. My breath stalls, and the sincerity and love in his eyes have my resolve to remain angry at him crumble. “You need to get closure and move on. You deserve happiness, Lil’ Bit.” His eyes are soft and pleading, which is not my brother’s style. We stare at each other for a moment, and his eyes convey that this must be done. And I know he is right, but I still don’t want to go. 

“My entourage…” I raise a brow at my brother and chuckle. He knows me well. I never leave home without them, for obvious reasons. He also knows it will be far more complicated than going there about business. I guess that’s why there’s no timestamp for my return. With that thought, I feel a brief flutter in my chest, as I always do when I think about him. And as I always do, I ignore it. This trip was bound to happen. It had to. It’s not just about me. It’s also about my family. So, I’ll begrudgingly pull up my big girl panties and do what I’ve got to do. I guess we will let the chips fall where they may. 

I just have to hope they don’t fall on anyone’s head and take them the fuck out.

Finding Home: Lucifer’s Saints MC Mother Chapter

Word Count: 130k
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre: MC, Biker Fiction

Content Warnings: 

Inappropriate Graphic Language

Crude Humor

Graphic Violence

Gun Violence

Abuse

Bullying

Violence Against Women

Sexual Content

Pregnancy

Alcohol and Drug use

Torture

Status: RE-RELEASE 2/1/2024

FINDING HOME: Lucifer’s Saints MC MOTHER CHAPTER SNEAKY PEAKY

ONE

BELLAMY

You could call me crazy. I would just have to kill you after. 

Stop right there. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Let me explain this shit sanely… Sanely, is that a word? Whatever. It is today. I know what you’re thinking. You want me to hurry the fuck up and get to the meat and potatoes of my story time? And to that, I say don’t worry, bish, I’m getting to it, and it’s going to be good. 

Okay, okay…. let’s get to the good part. 

Waaa wa wa waaaaaa!

Getting to the point of how this is my life. And why I won’t calm my shit until I get the answers I need. Okay, maybe I’ve been touchy lately… loopy and all over the damn place. But excitement, dread, frustration, and wonderment have been my constant moods. And now you’re confused. Hard sigh. Okay, let me explain this nonsense.

Here’s the thing. Mom knows who my father is, obviously. If she didn’t, well… that would be a different conversation. Not a bad one, just… different. Hennyways, since she’s always known who and where he is. She’s kept an eye on him. A little stalkery for my liking, but if she likes it, I love it. We don’t judge in this household. 

The problem with her stalkerish behavior is that she’s kept Blaze, my brother, and me in the dark, basically lying to us our entire lives, which is not cool. And boy did Blaze, and I let her have it. This was when Blaze and I discovered she only came clean because she needed my team. Our task is to clean up a two-decade-old fuck up. In one of her check-ins with her secret squirrel’s mother received intel about a douchebag mafia heir and the fuckery he’s been getting up to. That information led her to involve me in this secret squirrel mission. 

Since receiving the assignment, my team has been digging into places she would much rather we didn’t. And oh boy, has she hidden a lot, which has had my ass itching after uncovering the truth of what she’s kept from us.

After we uncovered the information about the mafia douche, I recognized why my mother was so touchy about the situation, which had me asking hard questions. Naturally, those questions came with more revelations than she was ready to divulge, which was too bad for the liar, liar pants on fire. Because neither Blaze nor I were going to let her off the hook easily, our relentlessness had her coming clean about our sperm donor and the life he led. 

Blaze has become my mother and my self-appointed guardian. He is a protector by nature. So, watching our mother talk about and explain her past nearly sent him over the edge. The emotions that flowed through her were almost crippling for both of us. We always knew things weren’t cut and dry regarding our sperm donor, but to hear the words. To understand what transpired was a little too much to take in logically and without wanting to rip someone’s throat out, which is why Blaze has been walking around like a bull in a China shop. The boy is big mad. 

Getting to the nitty gritty of it all. We found out that things weren’t simple between our parents. According to our mother, choices had to be made with no real time to think them through. Unfortunately for Blaze and me, she didn’t want to go into detail about the tidbit of information as to why that was. She claims she understood our father’s choices and why he made them. She says it was a mutual decision to go their separate ways despite him knowing she was pregnant. As she tells it, according to him and his reasoning, his lifestyle was too dangerous for us, so they separated amicably. This meant my mother raised us without him. No cards, no calls, no Christmas, and no birthdays. It was just the family and us against the world. Literally. And when I tell you my brother doesn’t agree with either of their decision-making skills, that is an understatement. 

But I get it. I do. That time in her life was tragically painful. She wanted to let it go, forget, and focus on raising Blaze and me. And mostly, she did that. But from hearing her talk about that time with our sperm donor, I suspect our mother still holds a lit candle for the baby abandoner. The way she speaks of him makes it obvious. I’ve always known that, or at least I felt it down to my bones on the rare occasion she would talk about him while we were growing up. It wasn’t much, and she quickly changed the subject. But, even with the limited knowledge of my mother and father’s relationship, I know this to be true. My mother is still in love with him.

I don’t understand and have had a hard time with the claim that his lifestyle was why he was not a part of our lives. I called bullshit on that and said as much. How can his lifestyle be too dangerous for us? As if we weren’t trained to be killers? Like we weren’t raised in the underbelly of society. Make it make sense? You can’t, and that is precisely my point. None of it makes sense, hence the questions that have had my ass itching. Because something ain’t smelling right.

When the thread was pulled, I went to work. Researching Daddy Dearest was enlightening. One, because it’s my job, and two, because I’m nosy as hell, but you already know that, or at least you should think it’s high on the list of my non-stabby personality traits.

I’ll keep it short and sweet. In my research, I found he has or had a wife or an ol’ lady. A term used by bikers for the women they claim. Daddio married when my mom was pregnant with Blaze and me. He stayed married to her for quite some time, only divorcing a few years ago. During their marriage, they had a few spawns. Two sons and a daughter. I could only get so far in my research before having to turn to my brother, who, as you can probably guess, was not an enthusiastic participant. Blaze, meticulous in his research, had to dig deeper than usual to find everything worth finding. When he is on a mission, he is a bloodhound and will find anything and everything, including all the hidden bits. And there were a lot of hidden and manipulated bits. Thanks, Mom. The annoyance at our mother for burying so much information so damn deep was irritating to both of us.

Blaze is a freak of nature, and I’m thankful he’s on my side. I’m pretty good at researching and finding surface-level shit. Blaze is a damn genius with a keyboard and can find even the most obscure information. Being the kind but reluctant brother he is. He indulged my curiosity. Blaze discovered that Daddio’s eldest of the non-bastards is two months older than us. The other two, like Blaze and I, are twins and are two years younger; you get the picture. And what a picture it is. I’m not judging, but damn, man, you couldn’t wrap it up. And what is it about him making twins? That shit better not be genetic because my lady bits are not prepared and shrivel up at the thought of that nonsense. 

Our research painted the picture that Daddio was a rolling stone, and our mother missed some pretty critical facts in the story she wove for my brother and me. He has treated the kids he has raised like fucking royalty. They were and are his goddamned everything. He was at every significant event in their lives. To see the truth of who our father is and what he did for them is fury-inducing. Being a glutton for punishment, I wanted to know… No! I needed to see if he ever looked for us, and he never once did. I should hate him. I should say fuck this job. But something in me says I can’t. Knows I can’t.

After our discovery, she had no choice but to tell me everything she held back. I wasn’t having any stones left unturned. I needed to know everything, even the painful bits. And cornering her was the only way to get it out of her. What I found to be very interesting is that Mister, “I don’t want my baby to be raised in this life. You’re too weak to deal with this lifestyle.” Had no issues with raising kids in that same lifestyle. He had no problem claiming and marrying that woman and raising their kids to be a part of his biker family. It didn’t take long for me to conclude that he didn’t want us. At least, that’s how I feel. Logically, I know there is more to it than that. There has to be. As the child in the situation, I still think it’s fucked up. This whole situation is fucking insane. And I know that even though my mother claims she’s told me everything. The lie detector determines that it’s a bold-faced ass lie.

Blaze and my team consider my need for all this research on him and his kids going overboard. But I really  am a glutton for punishment. If I receive side eyes and eye rolls from my brother because of the resources I’ve used, so be it. I needed this information because not only is the sperm donor critical to our team’s ability to do this job, but he is also an intricate part. No one can say a damn thing about me being prepared to do my job because this research is just that.

Another thing my brother graciously informed me of while I was being a stalker, as Sin lovingly calls me. Daddio is not just a member of a one percenter motorcycle club, but the mother fucking national President. And not only that, but they are a club deep in illegal shit, although the word on the street is that they are working toward legitimacy. That’s not even the actual issue. The issue they have that can bring their club to war isn’t even one they know, which is where we come in.

Learning about our target is my least favorite part of this. She isn’t shy about sharing more than she should on social media. Paisley, the MC princess and my apparent half-sister is an idiot, especially with her need to over-share, including sharing her location. She documents everything everywhere she goes. Sin says she does it because she’s a, and I quote, bad girl biker influencer or some dumb shit like that. I don’t much care. But from what was explained to me, it’s a real thing. To have shit strategically placed in her photos makes her money, and people love that shit. 

My sister from another miss is a beautiful girl. I’ll give her that. Princess is living her best life, and I don’t begrudge her for that. But I can definitely tell that she and I are complete and utter opposites in all ways. She’s tall, blonde, skinny, and very clears throat, melanin deficient. And she’s perky, too damn perky. 

You’d think with the club’s lifestyle and their illegal dealings. They’d stop letting Princess photograph everything everywhere she goes. I’ve tracked her movements and some of the club’s major players because of her. I’ve even gotten a good look at the clubhouse layout and grounds. It may not be a big deal to some, but with the gravity of this situation, it’s a big damn deal to have that much access. With everything she shares, I’m damned surprised she doesn’t share when she takes a shit. 

From what I can tell, they are living their best lives. They don’t seem worried about or care what anyone thinks about them or their lifestyle. And if I’m honest, it is why they need us. That girl will put herself and her father’s club in a situation by unknowingly providing information to enemies she and the club may not be prepared for. 

With everything in hand, I’m ready. Ready to meet the man who is my father. Am I nervous? Yes. Who wouldn’t be under the circumstances? My mind continues going a million miles a minute. Even after my call with my sister from another mister Gabriella. Gabby is my best friend, my rock outside my mother and team. We’ve been through some shit together. And have lived a thousand lives and have always been one another’s sounding board. So having her in my life, especially now, is priceless.

I know for a fact that she understands where I’m coming from. She has a mother’s perspective. And as a mother, she gets my need to know my sperm donor. And it also doesn’t hurt that she has ties to the club, just a different chapter. A chapter that is beholden to my sperm donors, which is not a recent development, being that I have always known her story. But now we are connected in more ways than one. Her situation is like my mother’s, but that is not my story to tell. 

I know I can’t walk in there like I own shit and demand answers. I explained to Gabby that because of what I know through research, things will not be easy because of the gravity of the situation. My sperm donor and the club may make my ability to do my job difficult, mainly because of her… our target. All Gabby said to that was that I need to make it clear to them that I’m their best bet and the only option they have to get through this without starting a damn war. She isn’t wrong, but my team, for all intents and purposes, isn’t captain save a hoe. So they are going to have to work with us. 

After speaking to Gabriella, hearing her perspective and advice calmed me down and made me see reason. She made me see that some choices are difficult. Sometimes, life’s not cut and dry or black and white. Life is messy. Hearing that made me understand my parents a little and calmed me down. 

Like it or not, I’m the estranged daughter of the President of the Mother Chapter of Lucifer’s Saints MC, and I will be the one to save their asses. Well, with the help of my team, the organization, and my mother. 

What better way to get to know him and his brood than to spend a little time with his family? And preventing the wrong people from getting the upper hand.

You’re wondering exactly what I do? If you haven’t figured it out, you haven’t been paying attention to a damn thing I’ve said. I can’t tell you everything just yet. You know the saying, I’ll have to kill you if I tell you. Well… take that for precisely what it means. I’ll give you a little since you’re here and are patient with me and my crazy rambling. I take out the trash and save the innocent. It’s as simple as that. I’m like Robin Hood and Peter Pan, with a hint of Harley Quinn wrapped in a super cozy pink blanket.

And stop judging. Just because I’m a badass doesn’t mean I can’t love pink.

Listen, Linda… Pink is LIFE!

Brick: Lucifer’s Saints MC Originals Sacramento

Word Count: 95k Novella
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre: MC, Biker Fiction

Content Warnings: 

Graphic & Physical violence

Graphic threats

Verbal Abuse 

Bullying

Murder

Explicit language

Kidnapping 

Sexual abuse (not on page) 

Violence against women 

Loss of a loved one from murder

Loss of a child 

Minor Bondage (on page)

Inappropriate humor

Sexual Content

“Oh, my” is said A LOT

Status: Re-released January 29, 2023

BRICK: Lucifer’s Saints MC Originals SacramentoSNEAKY PEAKYTWO

VERA

“Life is what you make of it, even if what you made is a mess.”

21 years old

It’s been a little over a year since I lost my family. I don’t know how I do it. How do I get up every day? How do I keep going when the voice inside my head reminds me I’m alone, and it’s my fault? The monotony of my daily life is a reminder that I’ll never be more or have more than this. I’ll never be happy or deserve to be. Each day is the same. Get up, go to work, and then go back home. No friends, no family, not even a dog. And I can’t be upset about that because I’m the reason my family was torn apart. The reason the Tomasis–are no more.

Jolted out of my thoughts when I heard the voice that made me want to take a fork and shove it in my ear. I never understand why she has to screech everything. Life would be much easier and tolerable if she would just whisper. I sigh. “Vera, you have customers at table sixteen, but I can take um if ya want?” Her winey voice is one I cannot stand in this entire building, and it makes me cringe in annoyance every time I hear it–deep breaths. Claire stares at the side of my head expectantly, swirling her damn gum around her finger. 

Gross. 

Claire is another one of the evening waitresses here at Patty’s Diner. She claims she’s the lead waitress and reminds us of this daily. In her pea brain, she thinks she has authority over all the waitresses because she sleeps with leaning Steven. The nickname is my creation because he is always creeping around, leaning around corners, and watching us work as if he has nothing else to do. The man is creepy. I’ve never been sure about what his job title is. Manager? Owner? I don’t know because his name isn’t the one that is on my check at the end of the week. Honestly, I don’t care enough to clarify. I do my job and go home. No use in making waves, no use in caring. 

Claire… well, she’s my work nemesis, the bane of my existence. From the day they hired me, she’s hated me. Taking it upon herself every night to make working here even more tiring than it already is. And I hate it. I loathe that stuck-up lazy bitch. 

Pretend like I don’t hear her. My eyes roll as she acts as if I didn’t hear the bell above the door ring. Or see that my table is now filled. She scoots closer to me with her arms crossed, a scowl on her face, and popping that god-awful bubblicous cherry cola gum. Ugh, because of her, I now despise that dang gum. Even the smell of it makes my stomach churn.

 I hate playing these stupid games with her. I turn to stare at her blankly. I honestly wish I could leave this job and do something else. Anything else. Unfortunately, I have bills to pay, and I’m the only one that can. Because I’m alone. All a-fucking-lone.

My eyes trail from Claire to my customers at table sixteen, which is no longer just a single table. The group pulled a few other tables together. The large group of men is imposing and intimidating, to put it mildly. Our other customers scramble to finish their meals. Before they even finish chewing, they signal their servers for their checks and quickly exit. It’s odd because this isn’t the first time a group like this has been here. Looking at what they are wearing, I believe these are the same men that come here all the time. Granted, not so many at once. Maybe that’s why everyone seems so skittish. 

Receive nervous glances from other waitresses, Beebe and Mona. I don’t understand why they look so nervous and distraught. Between stealing glances at me and clearing the tables, they are acting like the men in my section are here for something other than eating. Beebe looks at me, and her eyes slide over to Claires, who is still staring daggers at the side of my head. And then it clicks.

I get it. 

I’ve had no one in my section tonight, thanks to Claire. Claire has a tendency to shuffle customers around, seating them where she wants them. Even after they’ve seated themselves, more often than not, she seats the customers she knows will tip well in her section, and if she can, which she usually does, she will prevent people from sitting in mine. Again, according to her, it’s her job as the lead waitress to seat customers. 

 The group bypassed her to sit in my section, and it obviously pissed her off. The way Claire acts when they have been here in the past means they are likely very good tippers or… lovers. Who knows? I smirk to myself, realizing that’s probably why she’s staring daggers at me and offering to take my tables.

No dice, Kemosabe.

Stand and watch the men as they settle in. They are all so damn big, like huge, and from what I can tell, good-looking. I peruse the men and ignore Claire’s irritated, huffing, puffing, and glare. I feel the annoyance rolling off her. I roll my eyes and go back to what I was doing. Giving them time to settle in before I go over to take their drink orders.

Claire shifts her overly large breasts in her extremely tight top, unbuttoning a few more buttons as if the two she had undone weren’t enough. Then she flips her head down and begins fluffing her overly processed hair. I roll my eyes so hard that I fear they may stay that way. 

It’s ridiculous how she’s acting. I see her do this routine at least once daily, and it screams desperate. She is such a slut. And that’s not me being judgmental. I’ve caught her in the parking lot, bathroom, and backroom screwing customers or Steven. Honestly, the bathroom, seriously? My body shivers in disgust at the thought of getting down and dirty in the bathroom. The woman has no shame. 

I think you should be in a relationship when you’re intimate with someone. I know I sound like a prude. But that’s just how I feel and how I was raised. 

Ok, yes, maybe I’m judging. 

She is almost 30, or at least that’s how old she looks. She should look to get her life together. Not prancing around, attaching herself to men who only see her as a good-time girl. I don’t know; maybe I am wrong. And this is the life she dreamed of having. I just know that I don’t want to be that kind of girl. I want to one day find that one, my one, and become a mother and wife. I know I don’t deserve it, but a girl can dream.

I am brought out of my thoughts when Beebe and Mona walk up to the counter after clearing their tables. I don’t get why they are acting the way they are. The men are just customers like any other, coming here to eat. So I’ll do my job, and they will eat and leave. 

“Do you know who those men are?” Mona asks.

She looks at me with concern while leaning against the counter, her slight frame squeezing between Claire and way too close to me. Which caused me to drop the silverware I was rolling. I swear, when they hit the ground, the noise must have ricocheted off of every surface because it was so loud. A few of the men at the table stopped talking and looked at us with curiosity. I duck my head, and my cheeks heat when my eyes catch his. I quickly look away as he and the others continue to watch us. Merda.

After reigning in my embarrassment, I pick up the silverware. Exasperated and I shake my head in annoyance, answering her question. I don’t know who they are, never felt the need to. 

My brow furrows as I realize she’s whispering. Why is she whispering? I turn to her to ask, “Why are we whispering?” Her big brown eyes widen. Mona is the quiet one in the group. She keeps to herself, so I find it interesting that she is questioning me about customers. “I mean, they aren’t new to the diner.” I shrug at her as she stares wide-eyed at me. She looks at me as if I have two heads. We stare at each other a little longer, and I wait for her to expand on whatever has her so… whatever this is.

I never pay much attention. I mean, ok, maybe there is one guy that caught my eye a time or two. But never once has he spoken to me or me to him. I sigh, finish my task, and set the last rolled silverware in the container. I look at Mona and answer her initial question because a headshake is apparently not good enough for her. 

I sigh and rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on. “No, should I? I don’t know who those men are, not really. Other than them coming here to eat. I’ve seen them around town riding their motorcycles, looking intimidating. But I don’t really pay attention to them.” I say. Mona continues to stare at me nervously. 

Beebe is the one to speak up, “Those men are a part of Lucifers Saints Motorcycle gang. They moved into the outskirts of town a couple of years ago. I hear they took over that hotel or resort that wasn’t finished. I also hear them boys are bad news.” Beebe whispers the same as Mona. “When I say I have heard stories about them. I mean terrible ones, Vera. Those men are dangerous. I heard they off’d all the farmers who wouldn’t sell their land. I also heard they sell drugs. They have these crazy parties where they rape women, and… maybe you should just let Claire take care of them. They know her…” And that’s when I stop her. 

“Ok…” I step back from them and look at all three of them. “Have any of you seen any of this happening? Or is it just rumors you’ve heard?” I stare at them with a raised brow. I know what life is like for those that make their living on the wrong side of the law, and most often than not, men in that lifestyle aren’t all bad. It’s the rumors that make them seem worse than they are. Yes, there may be a few rotten apples that spoil the bunch, but to say they’re all bad is ridiculous. Even with my past, I know that much. Hell, everyone treats me like I’m made of glass, and I’m the girl that murdered a Don in the Italian mafia. So, who am I to judge? 

They all look at me with shock, not expecting that question from me or the bit of bite in my tone. They should know better; I never listen to or take part in their gossip, so I don’t get why they are so shocked that I’m not falling for the “he said, she said” nonsense.

Of course, this gives Claire a chance to pipe up. “I have been to their clubhouse for a few parties, and it was wild. They drink, fuck, and, oh my gosh, those men are sexy. I have been seeing their President Brick and that man...” She pauses and looks over to the table they’re sitting at. “Like Beebe said. I should take the table. You aren’t woman enough to deal with men like them.” I roll my eyes at her and shake my head slightly at how unbelievable she is. “I’m used to them, and they know me and know me well.” Claire isn’t looking at me. She’s making googly eyes at the men who continue to watch us. 

Roll my eyes and fain shock at the obvious dig being thrown my way. Little do they know. I grew up with men like them. Stepping away from the ridiculous conversation. I count the number of men in the group. I grab a stack of menus and silverware needed, and without a word, I walk away, shaking my head at how mental everyone is. They are just men, big and burly from what I can tell, good-looking men, and harmless. 

A few of their eyes track me as I make my way to their table. I could see lust and curiosity in a few of them. It’s an odd sensation to have their focus on me. In the past, I received passing glances but nothing more. I’m no slouch–I know that. So having them staring at me now sends a shiver up my spine–not in a bad way. 

Thank goodness I have the stack of menus up to my chest. I chuckle to myself; I am blessed with plenty of T&A. I don’t have a typical California girl body or look at my five-foot-four-inch height. I’m far from a stick figure with my large “D” breasts and wide hips, my full tuchus. My mother… I shake my head at the pang of sadness that hits me whenever I think about her or my father. My steps falter, but I don’t stop. My mother used to say I was built like one of those glass Coke bottles, large chest, smaller waist, and big hips. And I hated it. As I got older, I embraced my body and loving it. Because it was me, it was also my mother. My throat clogs with emotion, and my eyes burn, but I shake it off as best I can. I can’t, not here, and not now.

My green eyes have always stood out in contrast to my hair, which used to be much darker than it is now. My hair used to be black, but now because of everything, I had to change it, dying it lighter. My hair used to be much curlier, but because I my dyed it, it’s not so curly as it is wavy. I had to wear it pulled up into a high ponytail when I worked. I hate having it on my neck or face when I’m working. When I first started, there wasn’t a day I didn’t go home with some gift in my hair because I would wear it half up, but now, I know better.

I make it to the table, and all chatter stops; all the men turn their heads toward me, giving me their undivided attention. But my eyes don’t see them. My eyes were caught by the most beautiful, penetrating grey eyes I’d ever seen. 

I mean, I’ve seen him before, but not this close. Not so close that I get a glimpse of his mesmerizing eyes and the danger they promise. My breath hitches, and my body’s response to him is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I try to ignore what looking into his eyes makes me feel. As much as I want to look away, I can’t. 

I study him a little longer as I pass out the menus, still not taking my eyes completely off him. His dark hair is short on the sides and longer at the top, and it has that air-swept look. It gives off that I don’t give a damn, but I do kind of feel to it. His hair reminds me of Rob Lowe. His nose fit his face perfectly. It’s straight and has a small divot in the center that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t being a stalker like I am now. My skin heats in embarrassment, and I look away. I can’t help but look back just as quickly. His bottom lip is slightly fuller than his top but looks perfectly kissable. His jaw is firm and is covered with stubble, definitely more than a five o’clock shadow. Oh my. My eyes leave his lips and return to his eyes, and I see a slight smirk cross his lips as I stare at him unabashedly. I can’t very well help it. I may never get this chance again. 

I can feel the heat rushing to my face when he catches me staring at him. I can’t help it. He’s beautiful. Can men be beautiful because he is? Ruggedly handsome. He is big like the rest of the men, but not fluffy big, but I can rip a phone book in half big. Oh my.

Thank goodness for my naturally tan skin because I would be so embarrassed if he saw the full extent of my blush. His lip twitches in a smirk, and I quickly look away before embarrassing myself any more than I already have.

Before I say anything, one man speaks. “Well, hello there, beautiful. Why don’t you come over here and take a seat while you take me and my brothers’ orders?” He scoots his chair back and pats his lap as if I would do just that. Not likely. I hear a growl, and my brow furrows as I look around. 

Did someone literally just growl?

YOU CAN CONTINUE READING

READ ON AMAZON KINDLE

What is an ARC? ARC stands for Advanced Reader Copy and is a pre-released ebook given to a trusted reader prior to the book’s release date.

What’s in it for you? Read free books before they are released!!

But what will I have to do? You don’t have to do anything. BUT… It would be appreciated if you were to leave an honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, Bookbub, and Storybook! Amazon is the most valued platform to receive a review (the more reviews a book has on Amazon, the more Amazon will feature that book in reader searches)

Sharing is caring! If you want to tell the world about my books, I would be grateful for your help! I’d love you to share posts about my books on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, Pinterest, or your blog – particularly on launch day and during launch week.

Want to be a part of Tonya Ink’s ARC Team?

Terms and Conditions of the ARC Team

If you receive an ARC, you are asked not to share your ARC with anyone else under penalty of the law. Or be a jerky Mc jerkerton and pirate it. (More on FEDERAL PIRACY AND PRIVATEERING LAWS – 18 U.S. CODE CHAPTER 81 )

Post your review within the designated timeframe (usually four weeks). Life happens, and communication is key, if you can’t review in the specified timeframe, let me know!

No one likes a spoilsport. Please do not share major spoilers in your review.

Remember that you may receive a version of the book before final proofreading. This will not be the final version for the public. If you find errors that need to be addressed. Please… please… please let me know. I may not always catch every error, but I would rather know about them than not. No matter how small.

If you are accepted as a part to be apart of the ARC team. Once you accept the book that is confirmation that you are allowing me to use your review, either in whole or in part, for promotional purposes.

If that sounds like your cup of java… All you need to do is fill in the form below.

I’m excited and grateful for your support, and I look forward to hearing

Submit a form.

CALIX: Sin City MC Oakland

Word Count: 45k Novella
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Sub Genre: MC, Biker Fiction

Content Warnings: 

Explicit Sexual Content

Bullying

Depression

Foul Inappropriate Language

Violence

Kidnapping

Violence Against Women

Stalking

Murder

Pregnancy Loss (not on page)

Sexual Content

Status: August 19, 2023

CALIX: Sin City MC Oakland SNEAKY PEAKYPROLOGUETerran

“They say you only fall in love once. They say a bunch of dumb shit.”

It’s been hours of punishment. Me paying for my smart mouth and defiant spirit. And my body’s wrung the fuck out. Don’t know how much more I can take because this man is unrelenting. I can’t even be upset because he’s warned me more than once that he’s not one to be spoken to any kind of way. The problem is that I’m not the kind to bow down or out. Did I push him on purpose? Defy him with a smile and a sway in my hips? Hell, yes. Was it a good idea? As I lay, here tied to this bed. I can say with a resounding answer, hell no. I’ve seen the light and learned my lesson. I’ll for damn sure watch my P’s and Q’s from here on out. Because my pussy is begging for a reprieve one I don’t think it’ll get anytime soon.

At first, I thought endless orgasms. Hell yes. What woman wouldn’t want her pussy wrecked with more orgasms than she could count? Me, I’m that woman. I’m the bitch that wasn’t ready. Because endless orgasms would have been better than this.

No one warned me that the Louisiana heat was a different kind of heat. And they sure as hell didn’t warn me that Louisiana men were different kinds of men. But at this moment, do I care about any of that? Nope, not even a little. Even with every window in the room open, even with the bed soaked. Even with every alarm bell in my head going off after setting eyes on the man I call mine. I don’t care because it isn’t the heat that has my body dripping wet. It isn’t another man that makes me see a future I so desperately want. 

It’s all him. 

Even if he’s torturing me in the best way, my body is exhausted, and I feel like I want to get away. There is nowhere else I want to be. This is the best kind of exhaustion. He is the only man I would ever want or need. So I will take his punishment. Because maybe I deserve it.

“Shit. Right there, don’t stop.” I moan,  can’t decide whether I want him closer or further away. 

He chuckles into my pussy, pushing my knees further apart, pulling me back toward him as my body tries to escape the pleasure he’s giving me. The man has a way with words, if you know what I mean.

Another moan rips through me, and my body shudders as he licks, sucks, and devours my pussy. When one of his fingers enters me, I can’t help but let out a scream that has him chuckling. He doesn’t allow my swollen pussy to adjust. The sounds of my soaked pussy accepting his first and then second finger ring loud. The pace at which he fucks me with his fingers is unrelenting. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I let out another scream pleading with him, apologizing, begging him to let me cum. But he hears none of it as a third finger enters me. 

He warned me about my attitude. But I didn’t believe a damn thing he said. Most men are all talk. They claim to be something that can never live up to. They talk a big game bolster about tearing the pussy up and can barely pull one orgasm out of you. They whisper sweet nothings and promise that they can make you cum harder than you ever had in your life. And it always ends in disappointment, and an appointment with a battery-operated friend after all is said and done. But not with him, never with him.

“Oh shit, wait… wait…no. I can’t… I ca…. aww fuck,”

“You can, and you fucking will.” He growls into my pussy, pulling my clit into his mouth, sucking, and I damn near catapult off the bed. 

“Oh… shit…” My juices flow out of me like a waterfall, and I can feel it pool underneath me. His fingers continue to piston in and out of me as he bites, sucks, and laps at my pussy. And I try everything to escape him; it’s too intense. I talked a lot of shit, but this man is crazy if he thinks I can keep going like this. My pussy is so damn sensitive, and the need to cum makes me fucking feral.

His mouth leaves my pussy as his eyes meet my dazed ones. “Don’t you dare fucking try to run from me, little girl. And if you cum. You will not like the consequences.” The gravel in his voice sends a shudder through me. But he wasn’t done.

“By the end of the night. I want to be drowning in your pussy juices,” he growls.

Even through my haze, I can hear the order loud and clear. He isn’t playing with my ass. This motherfucker is trying to kill me. Death by orgasm denial, what a fucked up way to go. 

Something crosses his face as he stares up at me. His lips and chin are soaked with my juices, and for a few moments, he is still as he watches me. His fingers remain inside my needy pussy, as it spasms around them, trying to suck them in. Both my eyes and my pussy are begging him to finish what he started and let me cum. He doesn’t. His smile tells me he isn’t done with me yet, not by a long shot. His finger curls inside me and slowly pumps hitting me in the spot that will undoubtedly make me cum. When I feel an orgasm building, I get giddy for the sweet relief I will feel. But that doesn’t last long.

With his eyes on me, he smirks, knowing what he’s doing and what he is causing, pulling his finger from my pussy. A whine leaves my lips, but with a stern look from him, my mouth, which was poised to beg him to let me cum. And I let my eyes do all the begging. I need to fucking cum. 

In the position he has me, I’m spread wide and can’t get enough leverage to escape him. My hands remained tied with the silk binds to the bed. I am utterly and completely at his mercy. I’m seeing damn stars, and he isn’t even near my pussy anymore. His grip on my thighs lets me know I have no choice but to accept my fate. I can’t move or get away from him. I’m a prisoner, and my pussy is paying the price. 

He shifts, adjusting his large frame so that he is sitting on his hunches between my legs. His cock bounces between us, and I lick my lips at the sight of him. Even through my lust-filled haze, I can appreciate his body for what it is. Perfection. And as someone whose body is her temple, I know perfection. I live perfection. I strive for perfection. My life revolves around being in peak physical condition. And seeing him, feeling him, I couldn’t ask for a better equal. Someone that can handle me in all ways. Someone that isn’t afraid to take me in ways I need and want.

His smirk lets me know the games are just beginning. He rubs his engorged cock over my swollen and sensitive pussy. His eyes watch as his dick becomes coated with my wetness. And then he stops, poising himself at my entrance, only allowing his tip to enter me. He rocks ever so gently. And because I’m already so damn sensitive, the motions nearly have me cumming, and I’m not sure if I am ready for the consequences if I do. 

“Oh, no. no. No. No more. I can’t. I can’t… it’s too much,” I squirm, push, and try to pull my legs from his bruising grip as he holds my calves wide so that he can watch his dick as he toys with me. The more I try to escape him, the more he tortures my pussy until I’m sobbing and writhing underneath him. Begging and pleading with him for a reprieve. My attempts to escape him are futile. He isn’t having it. 

And then he shifts. The relief I thought I would feel once he is fully seated is short-lived as he pounds into me. His pace is unrelenting. The grip on my calves travels to my ankles as he pushes them above my head and leans into me, pushing my legs into the bed. His hands rest on either side of my head. Not for the first time since being with him. I thank my lucky stars that Sissy was adamant that I started doing yoga. Because he loves pushing my body to its limit and bending me like a fucking pretzel. 

Tilting his head, he watches my face as his rhythm remains leisurely. I try to keep control now that I have the tiniest of reprieve. But he must see something because the control he has slipped, and he slams so hard that my body jolts, and I am propelled damn near to the top of the bed. 

“Shit.”

When he feels me about to cum, he slows his pace, a-fucking-gain. Leaving my orgasm slightly out of reach, a-fucking-gain. I want to fucking cry, scream and yell at him to fucking let me cum. To tell him I’m sorry for being a brat. To beg him to forgive me. Tell him I love him and will never do that shit again. And then the tears come. I don’t know what it is or why, but they come. As he slowly pumps in and out of me, I full-on sob. It’s gut-wrenching, and I don’t understand it. Something in his eyes at the sight of my unchecked tears and pleading look tells me he understands, and this is what he wanted all along. He pulls himself up to his knees and stares down at me, his hips never stopping at their leisurely pace as he takes me in. His blue eyes dance with lust and are filled with desire as he takes me in slowly. He releases his hold on my legs, and they fall to the side of him. My feet rest on the bed as my knees spread wide to accommodate his large form. He once again leans forward. His face is above mine as he watches me wordlessly. I don’t know what this is. This new feeling he has invoked in me. 

“Oh, my love, it will never be too much. I told you about the smart mouth of yours. And I have shown you the errors of your ways. And now you know. Now you see. It can only be me. It will only be me that can make you feel this. Be this,” He whispers as if he is in awe of what his actions have invoked in me. His hips flex, and he continues his slow pace. I can feel my orgasm welling up within me. And I silently pray that he doesn’t deny me this. I need this more than I do my next breath.

I feel his release and his breath on the side of my neck as he continues his slow pace, saying how good of a girl I am for taking my punishment. He praises me. Tells me how much he loves my pussy, and how I will always be his.

I am his.

I was his.

And now, I’m not.

Because by morning, he was gone. Or so I thought.

So 2022 was an… interesting year. For those coming here to try to find the answers to the burning question. Where are the books? Before I get to that, to those just finding me and wanting to learn more about me and my author journey, know that I’m ignoring everything that happened in 2022. I’ve decided to re-virginize myself as a baby author. Yep… throw 2022 away. We don’t know her here.

Trash

Yes, you heard that right. I am re-baby-authoring myself. Because hell… why not?

Anyway, 2022 was a disaster of epic proportions. I needed to be in the right head space to put out any books, let alone the five I did and I wasn’t. And I knew it. But refused to accept it. And for that, I’m sorry to those who suffered through my hard-headed AF era. May you never DNF another book and receive a dozen book fairies. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise.

sorry

Now that we got that out of the way. What’s the plan? What am I doing with what I wrote previously? Well, to put it simply. I’m rewriting EVERYTHING. All books, except Brick, are being rewritten and edited. They are going to return to eBooks and will return to Amazon Kindle Unlimited. If you purchased the ebooks, they will be uploaded, so you won’t need to repurchase them. Paperbacks will also be available wherever paperbacks are sold. I will add my books to Ingram Spark for broader distribution.

And before you ask for dates. I’ll be honest and say that I’m working on it. I can’t rush this. I don’t want to rush this. I need to take my time because I genuinely love the characters I created and want their stories to be told right and well. So the aim is to have The Finding Series (i.e., Finding Home, Finding Forgiveness, and Finding Forever back up before Halloween and Talons books (Talon’s Secret and Talons Redemption) back up BEFORE 2024. Also, there will be no third book. Bool 2 is just going to be extended. That’s the best I can do for now.

What does the future look like once those books are back up? Well… I’m returning to the beginning and writing books for the LSMC Sacramento Originals series as I intended. The series is a segway into a lot of what happens with the next generation, so you’ll need backstories. And there is plenty to be filled in on. 

For now, that’s all I’ve got. There will be more as I go because I want to share my process and get feedback about everything I’ve got going on with my books and writing. So keep an eye out.