BWWM Books: Redneck Rebels | A WMBW Interracial Romance Novel

I’m not exactly new to the Reverse Harem trend. A couple years ago, I published an insanely hot series of reverse harem books although at the time, I called it a menage series. Currently, all five books are available for purchase on eBook and audiobook. Since it’s been SO LONG, I decided to bring the reverse harem books trend back with my upcoming release, Redneck Rebels. If you enjoyed my book Cocky Cowboy or you liked Anaconda, Python, Mamba, etc. you will LOVE this story…

Here’s what you can expect to find:
💞3 SMOKIN’ hot & loyal alphas all bonded to one woman

💞STEAMY interracial scenes unlike any you’ve read before

💞DEVOTED beefy men with huge muscles and bigger c*cks working to end segregation in a small town

💞Symbols of hate DESTROYED by 3 hot men and 1 brilliant woman with a mission to change the past…

IMG_8793 3.JPG

Redneck Rebels

“The three of us men are kin. We share everything… especially her — Caroline Coulson, the woman we ain’t s’posed to love…”

3 alpha male country boys…

1 Black intellectual woman…

A segregated town that isn’t ready for interracial love.

Exposing town secrets & scandals threatens all four lovers in this interracial reverse harem.
Can Caroline keep the quad together, or will she have to choose between the strapping men who love her, and her career in politics?

If you’re new to this kind of romance… give it a try. If you love interracial romance and enjoy bwwm books or wmbw books, you’ll love this!

I posted the free sample below. It’s not gross, it’s female centered passion and the HEAT between these characters will blow your mind. Read the excerpt below and get excited about the upcoming release.


Romance Novel Excerpts: Redneck Rebels

Travis took his hand and pulled a hairpin from Caroline’s head. Thick black curls draped down over her chest, covering her small, perky B-cup breasts. The cop car parked beneath a magnolia tree a mile away from the town’s well. Here, it was quiet enough and isolated enough that no one would notice a dirty beat up police car parked beneath a tree with the windows up and the air conditioning blasting to stave off the summer heat. 

Caroline was naked, sweat pooling at her brown despite the air conditioning, and for the first time in weeks Travis was finally alone with her. He took his pale hand and pressed it to her sepia colored cheek, drawing her in for a kiss. Magnolias bloomed around this time of year like a storm. Their pink and purple petals fell to the ground beneath the trees, littering every inch of the sidewalk and the earth with these sweet scented reminders of the springtime. Old Town breathed with life again, and the Southern winter was finally over.

A fresh southern breeze blew across the town, past the white Evangelical Church and over the train tracks past the Black Baptist church where Caroline’s mother sang every Sunday. That woman could have been a star, people in Old Town said. Old Town was always going to be so quintessentially American. Each house hung a large American flag, the stars and stripes floating in the breeze and marking Old Town as a home for true patriots. There would always be two sides to the town. There would always be the side with large houses, old antebellum mansions with their pillars and acres and acres of old plantation land. On that side of town, sometimes the flag had the stars and bars instead of the stars and stripes. Southern pride, they said. Caroline knew different. Tufts of cotton floated on the breeze at the height of growing season, landing on the porches and cars of the townspeople. The train tracks would always be in the same place, cutting the town in two. On the other side of those train tracks, the town was different. There were no more columns or large swathes of land that stretched out for acres and acres. Small wooden houses were built not too far apart from each other and on the other side of the tracks, the houses centered around a deep well that had watered that half of the town for decades.

That morning Caroline Coulson twisted her long kinky black hair into a top bun. While the other girls in her office could get away with "messy buns”, Caroline did not share that privilege. Using stiff black hair pins, she pinned down every strand of hair lest she be accused of being unkempt. It was the first day since Buchanan’s victory as Mayor and the most important day Caroline would have in the office. The new administration would probably be making changes to the staff and getting rid of anyone unfriendly to the Buchanan leadership.

Caroline ate a small bowl of oatmeal for breakfast that morning before meeting Travis, drowning out the noise of her family members, all of them crowded into their two room house. Nobody noticed how quiet she was at breakfast. They were all busy and in a rush to get to work. Only Caleb seemed to notice. And he didn’t say anything until after he watched her put her bowl into the sink. Caleb chased after her and offered to walk Caroline to work.

"Travis is already giving me a ride," She said to her brother, reassuring him that she would make it without his help, even if the factory was past the Mayor’s office and they usually did their walk to work together.

In the car, with Travis, Caroline began to regret not leaving with her brother that morning. Travis looked at her with that worried look in his eyes.

"I hate when you look at me like that,” Caroline complained.

Travis’ eyes as blue as a prairie sky softened. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her lips. 

"I can't help it, Caroline."

"Find a way to help it. I wasn't worried about today before, but now I am with all your staring and ogling."

Travis pulled her in for another kiss. His lips were soft and Caroline swore she could smell magnolias on his skin. His cropped blonde hair was just wet from a shower and he smelled like cinnamon and Axe deodorant. Caroline straddled his lap and ran her hands over his head and his neck, burned red from the strengthened sun on his morning run before work. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her but they had already wasted enough time. These morning romps had become their morning ritual of late. They were just old friends, going for a small drive in his car. That was how it started at least. Now, they kissed and kissing lead to other things. Caroline slipped into her clothing, hoping that her bun could be twisted into its former glory. Travis stuck the last hairpin in.

"Before we leave, let's just have one more round," Travis suggested, his eyes wandering to her breasts as he helped her fix her hair one last time.

Caroline was powerless to his suggestions. He kissed her and then pushed her back up against the seats. The door handle dug into the middle of her back, but Caroline didn’t care. Travis spread her legs wide and undid the zipper to his cop uniform, pulling his hardness out again. His member was large and thick, throbbing with anticipation before he even pressed the tip up against her silky dripping entrance. 

Even if this was their third round for the morning, heat never subsided between them. Travis thrust every inch between her legs with one stroke and Caroline moaned as she accepted his firm pulsing cock between her legs. He took her hands over her head, pressing them into the window. He plunged into Caroline deeply, making love to her in the back of his police car until she screamed in pleasure and the windows fogged up. Her toes, raised in the air, traced the fog on the window and pressed up against it as he pounded her. It was a good thing no one really came to this part of town. Travis new all the good spots — chalk it up to him being the starting quarterback at their high school and having plenty of girlfriends to take out into these abandoned fields. 

Once Caroline finished in a loud, euphoric climax, Travis erupted between her legs causing her to shake and tremble as his seed filled her slippery honeypot. 

Once they finished for the third time that morning, Caroline buttoned his shirt and help him tuck it in his starched blue pants. Travis Montgomery grinned. He loved their morning ritual. And Caroline? Well he always loved her. Since they were teenagers, they had been best friends. When Caroline went to college, Travis was convinced that she would never come back. Now, he worried that Caroline was trapped in this town, like he was, and he regretted ever wishing that this smart brown-skinned beauty would come back. Old Town didn’t deserve a woman like Caroline. He kissed her forehead again, unable to resist doing so.

"You're way too pensive in the morning. Lighten up. I'm already going to have a hellish day at work," Caroline complained, smacking Travis's shoulder with a teasing expression on her face.

Travis grinned and rolled his eyes, countering her complaint with one of his own.

“I’m going to have an even more hellish day.”

“What, the Old Town hooligans going to egg another old lady’s house?”

“You know what I mean, Caroline," he said.

"Right. It's our dear mayor’s first day on the job."

"Speaking of which, I had better get you to work. You button up that shirt,” he commanded.

Caroline liked when he made demands like that. As a police officer, Travis was used to to telling people what to do. And since he became an officer, it was a welcome change. When they were kids, Caroline ran the show. It was nice that Travis grew up to be such a good leader. People really looked up to him — and not just because his daddy is the sheriff.

The truth is, Caroline had an ulterior motive for asking him to drive her to work. It wasn’t just that their morning romps were some of the few things she still looked forward to. It wasn't just because Travis was smoking hot with a perfect toned body that he diligently maintained. It wasn’t even the fact that his sky blue eyes were filled with such soul, and that his Southern manners made her feel like all hope wasn’t lost. 

There was something else that she wanted from him today. It was almost hard to admit to herself that she needed anything from Travis. When she first left for college, she was convinced that she didn't need anyone in this town, least of all Travis. Now, she needed her old friend more than ever, especially since she had taken that job in politics hoping that she would be able to make a difference in Old Town.

Travis drove Caroline from the Black side of town, the only safe place they could meet and canoodle like that, across the train tracks to the center of town where the mayor's office stood as if it were a castle. To be a mayor of a town that small may not seem to be such a big deal to you or me. But in towns like Old Town, people cling to whatever power they can find and they hold onto it as if they were despots in small foreign nations. 

Travis offered to stop at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee. Caroline declined. She'd been trying to quit coffee for sometime now with limited success. Travis stopped anyway and the smell was tempting enough that Caroline ordered a decaf. Travis was amused with her latest attempt at good health and he teased her about her “water coffee”. He noticed that Caroline didn’t seem to be her usual chipper self. She was still outspoken, true, but there was a faraway look in her eye, like she had something on her mind. It must be something going on at work. Ever since the mayor won the election, Caroline had been acting strangely.

"Are you going to bother telling me what's on your mind or will have to guess?"

"I need your help, Travis,” Caroline confessed finally. 

"I know. That's why am driving you to work."

"I need more than that. You know my opinions about Mayor Buchanan. It's a total mistake to let him assume power. We have to do something."

"Buchanan won the election fair and square, Caroline. I don't know what you expect me to do.”

“Use your daddy for help,” Caroline insisted. 

Travis continued, ”Daddy helped Buchanan's campaign. He's not going to help you out."

“Well, I know that there has been wrongdoing and I'm going to prove it no matter what it takes."

"Ever heard of the phrase you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

"I'm not trying to catch any flies. I'm trying to get rid of them,” Caroline replied stiffly. 

"You know what I mean Caroline. This town is old-fashioned. Traditional."

"You mean it's segregated and racist?"

"There you go again with that race stuff."

"It's not a race stuff, Travis. It's my life. And Buchanan is going to make that life and the lives of other people like me way worse when he assumes power."

What did you think of the free sample? Comment down below. Come over to Instagram and Facebook to learn more about the book, play fun games about the characters and read free bits and pieces…

Dark Romance Books: American Alpha Soldier (WMBW Interracial Romance Novel)

American Alpha Soldier

A dangerous love story between a former racist on the path to redemption and a black woman skyrocketing towards fame.

An alpha male soldier with a dark past…

His dream woman, desperate for a gospel music award…

Their hearts weren’t prepared for a head-on collision like this.

A white man journeys towards healing and sheds his dark past by falling in love with an African American woman.

This page-turning ultra-steamy story of atonement, true love, kinky lust, and real redemption will change the way you think about interracial love.

Hi everyone! I have been working to make some changes and re-release my book previously published as Rock Hard Soldier under a different title. Finally, the book is ready and on sale. I have to warn you that this book has very sweet romance mixed with dark themes and if you feel sensitive regarding some of the explicit content in this book, you may not enjoy it. However, the sex scenes in this book are INSANELY hot and I promise you will be scouring bars looking for the military man of your dreams to take you home…

Keep reading here to enjoy the entire first chapter FREE. 👇


Talia leaned over the table, pressing her elbows into the table and squeezing her bosom together unconsciously.

“So how much time do you have left?”

“One last tour of duty. Not sure when.”

“Exciting. So you’ve been all over the world?" She probed.

He sat back and nodded, “All over the middle east at least. Spent some time in Africa.”

“Oohh, Africa. Sounds wild.”

“It was.”

“Well, Damian, I’m glad Imogen convinced us to get together.” 

Damian smiled at the woman sitting across from him. She was the one who’d needed to be convinced. From the moment his buddy’s wife, Imogen Henderson, had brought her stunning friend Talia out for drinks, Damian had been smitten. He’d only said a few, shy words to her, but he was desperate to find out more.

Imogen, eager to play matchmaker, had convinced Talia to see Damian beyond the group setting. Their first date had started off well.

“I’m glad too.”

Talia shrugged, “Though I can’t say I agree with all this war stuff. I’m more of a pacifist.”

“A pacifist?"

Talia nodded.

“I don’t think there’s a single conflict that we can solve better with violence.”

Damian smirked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, we’re all entitled to our opinions, aren’t we.”

“Hey, no judgment,” Talia replied.

“So what about you? What do you do for a living?”

Talia shook her long, curly black hair out of her face. Her sparkly eyeshadow complemented the Ankara print on her dress. 

“I’m a singer."

“What kind of singer?”

“Gospel music. Jazz music. Anything that will pay the bills.”

“No way.”

“Yup,” Talia nodded, “It’s always been my dream to be a big star. Like Etta James. Or Billie Holiday.”

“I love Billie Holiday.”

“There's not a man I trust who doesn’t.”

Damian grinned. He liked Talia so far. A lot. She was on the thicker side, with a nice round buttocks and a set of breasts that he’d pay to suffocate between. Not like he’d be so crude as to say that to her out loud. Her skin, a reddish-brown ochre color had a deep, warm glow. Her smile lit up her face, carving out two dimples in her cheeks. 

Her patterned dress was loud and extroverted, in stark contrast to the shyness she displayed on their date. She was reserved but open at the same time, giving Damian the impression that she valued her honesty.

“So where do you sing?” 

Talia lit up once he asked her about singing.

“I started off singing in church. But then… I stopped going to church. Started getting gigs singing in bars. I put out an independent album and now my agent is working to sign me a record deal.”

“Wow. That’s…impressive?”

Talia shrugged, “Not really. It’s not like I’m rich or anything. But I hope to be some day.”

“Don’t we all,” Damian replied with a smile.

He continued to press her, “So this album, can I listen to it some time?”

“You can buy it,” Talia teased, “Lord knows I need the money.”

“I’ve never been a fan of gospel music.”

Talia clicked her teeth, “I have a feeling I’ll change your mind.”

Damian admired her confidence. She seemed to ooze it, especially when talking about singing. Hell, he could imagine she’d be a good singer too. Even her regular speaking voice was deep and sultry, with a slight rasp to it. He could just imagine how beautiful she looked with her mouth all twisted up, as high notes flew into the air. 

Talia could see him looking at her and she changed the subject again. She found Damian attractive, but she didn’t want to lead him to believe she was ready for something that she wasn’t. A man being fine wasn’t enough of a reason for her to let him in.

“Another drink?” Damian asked.

“Sure thing.”

Damian pulled a waiter aside and ordered another drink for the two of them. He leaned across the table and smiled at Talia. His blue eyes were widened with curiosity. As he smiled, Talia noted how perfectly straight his teeth were, how he smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and how his hair was a gorgeous ash brown color.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Then ask it.”

“How good are you at shootin’ pool.”

Talia smiled back.

“I’m pretty damn good.”

“Then you won’t mind if I challenge you to a game after we drink?”

“Mind?” Talia replied, “I’ll whoop you ’til next Tuesday. Won’t be much of a challenge.”

Damian chuckled.

“I love your confidence.”

Talia teased him by winking. Man, she was gorgeous. Where the hell had Dwayne Henderson been hiding a single woman like this from him for so long? It had been such a long time since Damian had been with a woman. Deployment meant there wasn’t much time for romance and when there was, it was usually brief and meaningless.

Now that he’d settled down for a while, Damian could see himself pursuing something more. And with Talia, he could definitely picture it. She was luminous, confident and charming. Her voice was magnetic too.

Their drinks came and Talia pounded hers back quickly. Damian followed suit. She stood up and sauntered towards the pool table.

“Get ready to have your ass kicked,” She teased.

Damian grinned, “Oh no missy, I ain’t about to let you whoop me.”

They grabbed cues and set the balls in the triangle. Talia leaned over the table and squinted one eye shut. She seemed to be making micro-adjustments. As she set up her shot, Damian couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to her body. Her bosom swung over the table, giant mounds of flesh that distracted him thoroughly.

When the cue cracked into the first ball, sending three solids into the holes, Damian snapped out of his reverie.

“Shit. Nice shot.”

“I know it was,” Talia replied, winking at him.

“You know,” Damian replied, “I’ve never lost a game of pool.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this,” Damian said cheekily.

“Have you always been such a flirt?”

Damian chuckled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Talia waited for him to make his shot. She was playing hard to get with him, but the truth was, she was trying to convince herself not to take things too far with Damian. In the past, most of the guys she’d dated had tried their hardest to get in the way of her career.

They’d seem OK with it up front, but when they realized just how much work Talia put into her singing and producing songs, they lost interest. Fast. If the guy was a particularly troublesome one, he’d try sabotage. Talia was wary around new guys. Damian was a bit different because Imogen had pleaded with her to give him a chance.

He was Dwayne’s buddy from Afghanistan and they worked out together three times a week. If Dwayne and Imogen vouched for him, that had to be worth something. Damian’s shot wasn’t bad. But Talia was convinced she’d still beat him.

She shot again. And missed. Badly.

“Damn it!” She swore.

Damian chuckled, “They let you sing gospel with that mouth?”

“I’m a singer, not a saint,” Talia replied, “And I really thought I had you there.”

“Guess I’m more of a challenge to beat than you thought.” 

Man, she was sharp. And Damian was finding himself more attracted to that than he expected. It wasn’t just her looks, her sharp wit or her charm. It was something more.

They played one round. Talia won. The smug look on her face didn’t bother Damian one bit.

“Round two?” He asked.

“Only after a shot of whiskey.”

“Gotcha.”

Damian was starting to feel the liquor. The slightly dizzy feeling plus the excitement he felt just being around Talia was starting to make him feel frisky. Damian ordered two shots of whiskey at the bar.

While Damian was at the bar, Talia leaned her weight on her pool cue, waiting for him to return. She knew she could beat him again. Talia was smiling so widely and so distracted that she didn’t notice the two men come up behind her.

“You usin’ this table?” One of the men grunted.

The two men were both taller than Talia. Both with protruding, globe shaped beer guts. One had black hair and the other was bald.

“Yeah. I’m waiting for someone.”

“It’s our turn,” the bald one said.

“Excuse me?”

The black haired one folded his arms and smiled smugly, “It’s our turn. So hand over the pool cue.”

Talia glared. 

“No.”

The black haired man started getting in her face when Damian returned.

“Do we have a problem here gentlemen?” He asked.

The bald one smiled, “We were just watching.”

They stood back and left Talia alone for the time being. With their arms folded, the two men stood against the wall watching. Talia tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling the men gave her. She had a sense that they hadn’t seen the last of them.

“Whiskey?” Damian offered. 

She took her shot.

“And you’re really okay?”

“Yeah. They were looking for trouble, but I don’t think they found any.”

“Good.” 

“Bottoms up,” Talia said with a smile.

Damian grinned and they tilted their heads back, consuming their shots of whiskey quickly.

“Mmm.” 

“Burns.”

“Ready for me to beat you again?” Talia teased.

“Hell yes.”

Damian was willing to let her beat him a second time. He was intoxicated just being near her. The liquor didn’t help. Damian watched as Talia leaned over to take her shot. Again, she looked perfect like this, all bent over with that look of hunger for victory beaming in her eye.

“Your staring is distracting me.”

“A man can’t help looking when he sees something nice.”

“Well try to keep it in your pants, okay?”

“No guarantees,” Damian teased. 

As Talia took her first shot, the two guys cheered and whooped in the back. Damian braced himself. He could tell they were looking for trouble from the moment he’d seen them start piling on Talia. For now, they’d held themselves back. But Damian didn’t know how long that’s last.

He took his first shot. Awful.

Damian stood up and cast a watchful eye at the men up against the wall. They were getting rowdier. At Talia’ next shot, they approached the table to whoop and cheer for her.

Talia was getting visibly uncomfortable. Damian turned to the guys and told them off.

“Why don’t y’all get away from this table.”

“It’s a free country sir. We’ll stay right where we are,” The bald one said.

It’s a date. Don’t give them the trouble they’re looking for. Damian tried to talk himself down from lashing out instantly, despite his urges.

Talia pressed her hand to Damian’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it. Ignore them.”

Damian was finding it hard. Talia was winning the game, whooping him badly. When she bent over to shoot what Damian was sure would be her last shot, the black haired man who’d been watching them waltzed over and smacked her on the ass.

Talia stood up, mouth agape. The bald headed man and the black haired man began laughing at the top of their lungs, their faces turning tomato red and beer spilling out of their pony-neck bottles.

“Did you see the look on the face of that monkey,” The black haired one laughed even harder. 

Damian couldn’t hold back any longer. He rushed towards the men. Talia grabbed his arm, trying to stop him.

“Damian! No! It’s fine.”

“To hell it is…” Damian growled. 

Damian walked over to the two men, getting into the taller one’s face. 

“Why don’t you two get away from here so I don’t have to get my hands dirty.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do to us?” The bald one grunted, cracking his knuckles.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to be left alone,” Damian replied. 

He could feel his face turning red. He could feel blood boiling in his veins and that old desire to grab onto someone and bash their face in was running strong. Damian tried to resist. 

I’ve changed. I’m not gonna let one douche bag upset me. 

The black haired guy took a step forward, refusing to back down.

“It’s a free fuckin’ country and I don’t have to do shit that a nigger lover like you tells me.”

“What did you just call me?” Damian growled.

Bald head folded his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face, “I think he spoke loud and clear. He called you a nigger lover.” 

"I already told you to watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Damian growled.

He cracked his knuckles. He knew the type that these guys were. They’d fix their mouth to say anything, thinking that no one would have the guts to stop them. But Damian had already identified their weak points. He could see that the bald headed guy had a slight limp and that the black haired one was too drunk to take a punch. He was prepared to fight them off.

“It’s a free country mother fucker,” The bald one said.

“Please Damian, let’s just get out of here,” Talia pleaded.

She didn’t want this to escalate. But Damian couldn’t stand to sit back and watch somebody spit out the n-word like it was nothing. Damian wasn’t going to listen to her. There was a time to be the bigger man, but it wasn’t now.

He stepped up to bald head and swung. Bald head dodged the first punch but he didn’t see the second coming. Damian’s fist connected with his face and Damian kicked his feet out from under him. Bald head fell, hitting his head on the pool table first. Damian landed another kick.

“Damian! Damian, you don’t have to do this!” Talia screamed.

Damian was too overcome by his fury to stop himself. Hearing the man’s words echoing in his head stung. Rage blinded him. Damian stepped over bald head. He grabbed black hair by the caller and slammed him into the pool table. He bashed his head into it again and again.

“Don’t you dare say that word,” Damian growled, “Don’t you dare say it!” 

The bartender had finally noticed something was wrong. He had called a couple bouncers who were now making their way to where Damian was standing. He slammed the black haired man’s head one last time. Damian stepped back before the bouncers and the bartender had arrived.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” Damian announced. 

Damian dropped the black haired man to the ground. He stepped over both of them and approached Talia.

“C’mon,” He replied, “Let’s get out of here.”

Talia was shaken. She followed Damian, grabbing his hand as they left the bar. The bouncers and the bar keep weren’t too perturbed. Damian had a feeling the men he’d run into were regulars — and regular troublemakers. While they expected him to leave, no one caused him more trouble. 

As Damian and Talia exited the bar, he shook his fist. Throwing a punch hurt. And he hadn’t thrown one in a while. He tried to abstain from violence wherever possible.

“Are you okay?!” Talia asked.

Damian nodded as they walked towards his car which was in a garage a few blocks away.

“Yes. I’m okay. But really I should be asking about you.”

Talia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The weather was cool enough for a light jacket, but not cold. Still, she was shaken from her experience in the bar.

“I’m… fine,” Talia replied.

Damian shook his head, “I can’t believe those assholes. I know I shouldn’t have blown up. But I couldn’t help it.”

Damian paused and then held Talia still on the sidewalk.

“It’s not okay for people to treat you like that.”

“I know,” She nodded.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Take my jacket. I don’t need it,” Damian said.

He took his jacket off and wrapped it around Talia. She fit nicely in the jacket, except for her breasts which prevented the jacket from zipping up all the way. Damian linked arms with her and they kept walking.

“Think they’ll let you back in the bar?” Talia asked.

Damian shrugged, “Probably not.”

“Y’know, I appreciate it. But you didn’t have to do all of that for me. I can handle myself.”

“I know. But why should you have to.”

Talia felt her heart flutter. She hated to admit it to herself, but she found herself painfully attracted to Damian. And while she considered herself a pacifist, there was something sexy about seeing Damian defend her. He'd meant it when he’d said those guys deserved it.

“Well thanks. I appreciate it."

“No problem,” Damian grunted.

They approached the garage.

“Second floor?”

“Yup,” Damian confirmed that she’d remembered correctly.

They walked up towards his car. Damian knew the night was almost over and he’d ended the date on a strange note. Those bastards…

Once they were outside Damian’s car, a restored 1973 Pontiac Grand Am, he stopped Talia.

“I’m sorry that things ended the way they did. I really am.”

“It’s fine, I swear,” Talia replied. 

“No. It’s not fine. When Dwayne told me that you'd actually go out with me, I wanted to make a good first impression. That… wasn’t it. You might think ‘cause I’m military that I'm here to play around. But I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking for the real thing Talia. And you’re something… something very fascinating to me.”

“Fascinating? Well that’s new.”

“Sorry,” Damian muttered, “I’ve never been too good with my words.”

He took a step closer to her, forcing Talia to lean up against the Grand Am. The old car, the hot date, Talia couldn’t wait for him to kiss her. Damian started slowly, running his hands along her hips and sitting them right above her bottom.

“You’re beautiful Talia Sherbert,” He whispered.

“Thank you.”

Damian then leaned in, slowly, calculating each motion. He kissed Talia on the lips softly. His lips pressed against hers and their eyes both snapped shut. Talia reached up to touch Damian’s face. Stubble peppering his chin rubbed against Talia’ hand as she kissed him deeply. Damian thrust his tongue into her mouth and supported her as she leaned back against the car.

When he pulled away from her, Talia’ brown eyes were wide open. She looked… pleased. 

“I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you,” Damian muttered.

“Same…”

“Well c’mon then. Let’s not wait here any longer so that those guys don’t come looking for me.”

“Good idea.”

Talia got into the passenger seat. 

“So… Night cap?” Damian asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Wanna head somewhere else?”

Talia fidgeted in her seat like she was contemplating her answer. The truth was, she didn’t want the night to be over, but she also didn’t want to go anywhere else with Damian. The bar had been enough drama for the night. Plus, she was getting more tempted by the second to invite Damian back to hers.

“Why don’t I show you my place. I can play one of my records for you,” Talia blurted out.

She’d gotten ahead of herself. But she didn’t mind. Damian was hot. Smokin’ hot. And even if nothing happened between them but a few kisses, she had a feeling it would be worth it. Plus, he said he didn’t like gospel and she was determined to change his mind.

There was a practical reason for this. Of course. 

“Fine. We’ll go to yours,” Damian muttered, trying to hide his smirk.

For a pacifist, it was clear Talia was turned on by his display. That was the thing with good girls. They always went a little crazy when they bounced up with a bad boy. 

Damian gripped the steering wheel tight and listened to Talia give him directions to hers. As a moderately successful but not-quite-famous gospel singer, she lived in a nice part of town. It wasn’t too far from Damian’s place either. On the ride home, Damian flicked on the radio. Talia changed it to the RnB station.

Alicia Keys’ song No One came on. Talia started to sing every word. It was hard to stay focused when she was singing. When Damian heard her voice for the first time, he was mesmerized. Notes came out of her mouth effortlessly. Her voice had a type of power, a deep soul to it. Soul that put Amy Winehouse to shame. She was clearly a diamond in the rough as her voice was better than most living stars Damian could name.

She even sounded better than Alicia. As Talia sang, she rocked and danced along with the music. Damian could see it written all over her face: her music brought her joy. It was hard for him not to be infected by it. When the song was over, Talia was all smiles.

“Whew! I love that song,” She said, beaming from ear to ear.

Damian was mesmerized. Drawn in by her intoxicating smile and her liquid gold voice, he couldn’t help but hope another song came that would bring Talia out of her shell and cause her to belt out another beautiful tune. But the last few songs before they arrived at her place were dull, unchallenging to her vocals. So Talia was quiet. But still gorgeous.

Of all the time Damian had spent with her, being alone with her had been the best. She’d morphed from “Imogen’s friend” into this full, complex woman and there was so much more he’d noticed about her that had nothing to do with her looks. And well, her looks were magnetic too.

Talia had noticed him looking at her. She noticed the way his eyes tried not to stray to her breasts, yet remained inexplicably pulled there. She noticed the way he gripped the steering wheel tighter when she sang and how much Damian Buckley seemed to be holding back.

Don’t hold back. She wanted to tell him. I feel it too. And I want you…

Talia was far too timid to say this all out loud. She’d wanted Damian from the second Dwayne Henderson had brought him to the bar a few months ago. All that dancing around each other and casual flirtation had finally led to a real date. And even if Damian was no stranger to her, this was all still very new.

It had been a while since Talia had poked her head up from work to notice a man, much less go on a date with one. And Damian wasn’t just a man. He had a stable career, albeit, one she disagreed with. He was athletic, spending hours in the gym with Imogen’s hubby. He had gorgeous blue eyes and a woody, leathery scent to his cologne. 

When they pulled up at her place, Talia felt nervous. If she’d jumped the gun with him, she’d feel like a fool. She still couldn’t tell how Damian felt about her. He felt strongly enough to take on two drunks in the bar, but how far did that extend? What if he was just being a gentleman? And when he found out how much she put her work above everything else, would that turn him away?

He parked the car.

“Your home is… massive.”

Heat rushed to Talia’ cheeks. She’d started off her career renting out a basement bedroom with mold so thick she’d developed permanent hay fever from it. This house was a recent upgrade, and one she was barely comfortable with.

“Thanks.”

“So… Gonna play me one of your records?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming in.”

Damian leaned over. His face was close to hers, like he was going to kiss her again.

“Trust me… I haven’t changed my mind.”

He pulled away and opened his door, stepping out. Talia exhaled. Damian barely said much, but when he did say something, Talia found herself wanting to know more. For a military guy he seemed more reserved than she expected. All the army guys that Talia had known from high school were loud douche bags. Nothing like Damian.

He was hot and he wasn’t a dick. Not in the least bit.

There was something behind his eyes that told her he’d seen a lot in life. But what was it? What was it that pulled her in, compelling her to know more, compelling her to take a risk for him?

Talia opened the door to her house and flicked on the light. She saw Damian looking around, trying to hide how awestruck he was. She’d looked the same when she’d first walked into the place and when she was first hit with the realization that she could actually afford to live in a place like this.

Crisp minimalism defined Talia’ house. She didn’t have much furniture and nearly everything inside was a stark ivory or a cool grey. Damian was surprised. Given Talia’ colorful outfits, he expected her place to be louder. 

In her living room, Talia had a white shelf, filled with records. Some of them were bargain bin jazz records from the 1960s. Others were brand new. Her Beyoncé record was propped up on the top of the shelf, against her brand new record player. Talia saw her display catch Damian’s eye.

“Everything sounds better on vinyl.”

“Oh really?” Damian replied.

Talia nodded, “If you don’t listen to records, you should start.”

Damian chuckled. He’d never met anyone as passionately into music as Talia was. Her record collection was beyond impressive.

“Got any rock’n’roll?” He teased.

“Of course!” 

Damian raised his eyebrows. Talia was full of surprises. He didn’t mean to hold onto prejudice, but he didn’t know any black women who were into rock’n’roll.

“What’d’y’got?”

Talia had everything impeccably organized. On the middle left hand side of her shelf, she flipped through her rock collection.

“Zeppelin. Beatles. Grateful Dead.”

Damian chuckled, “You listen to the Grateful Dead?”

“Why not?”

“You’re full of surprises.”

Talia ignored his request for the Grateful Dead and instead just flicked on her Beyoncé album. Pretty Hurts started to play. Damian had never heard it before. But it was an album Talia had heard a million times. As she swayed to the music, preparing herself to match Beyoncé’s notes, she felt Damian approaching behind her. He was close now. So close she could feel his warmth.

Talia turned around abruptly. Her logical brain made one last dash to save her from her impulses.

“Maybe… Maybe it’s getting late… And you should go now.”

Damian took a step closer to her.

“Is that what you want?”

Talia tried to hold true to herself. 

“Y-yes,” She whispered.

“Is that what you really want,” Damian replied, firmly.

His hands reached around her hips as he asked. He squeezed her tightly and kept his blue eyes locked to hers. His eyes were fierce, filled with the fires of his lust. He licked his lips like a lion about to pounce. Talia could feel her will getting weaker. Damian was fine. Far too fine. She’d made a mistake letting him this close.

There was no saying ‘no’ to a man like him.

“Yes… It’s what I want.”

Damian smirked, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Talia sassed.

“Because… I think you’re dripping wet. And I think what you really want is to feel my big cock sliding between your thighs. I think you want to cry my name out and sweat that gorgeous hair out ’til the sun comes up.”

“What if you’re wrong?” 

Talia knew how weak she sounded — how unconvincing. 

“I’m not.”

Damian leaned forward and kissed her. Talia wrapped her arms around him and kissed back. Damian pressed her body up against the wall. Her back tapped the wall with a gentle thud and she flung herself head first into kissing him. Screw it. His lips were baby soft. Each kiss was more tender and deeper than the last.

He was right. Talia could feel wetness pooling between her thighs as her desire for him heightened. Damian’s fingertips pressed against Talia’ skin. Fire surged through her body as he touched her. He pulled away from her for a moment and eyed her body.

“I want you…”

Talia took Damian’s hand and started leading him to her bedroom. She wanted him too, but not here.

“No,” Damian stopped her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him.

“Here,” He growled, “We’re doing it here. Take your clothes off.”

His dominance made Talia wetter. She was used to being in control. At work, she called all the shots. On the stage, she was the center of the show and the center of attention. That’s what she was used to. And in one night, Damian had upended her need to maintain control.

Talia started to pull her dress up over her head. She pulled the printed dress up over her curves and struggled to get them over her large breasts. Once she was before Damian in her underwear, she felt a mix of vulnerability and excitement. She tried to cover her body with her arms.

“No. I want to see you… every last beautiful inch.”

Talia reluctantly let her arms down to her side.

“Fuck… It makes me so hard just looking at you.”

Damian rushed her again. He planted kisses on her lips and neck as his hands ran all over her curvaceous body. He squeezed her hips and her round buttocks and pressed his chest against her breasts. He couldn’t wait to get one of those supple blackberry nipples in his mouth. 

“Mmm, take your panties off,” Damian growled.

Talia took her panties off, exposing her plump, shaved pussy. Damian reached around and unhooked her bra with one swift motion. Talia shivered as the cool air of her living room teased her nipples to hard attention.

“Perfection,” Damian muttered. 

He bent his head to Talia’ nipples and took one into his mouth. Her bosom was warm and her flesh had a gentle vanilla scent. Damian knew he’d have to be gentle with her. The gospel singer with the molasses voice had flushed skin as he touched her. When he kissed her neck, she turned her face away ever so slightly. She was nervous to be like this in front of him. 

Damian planned to change that. He led her over to the couch and bent her over the arm.

“Stay put,” He commanded.

Talia stayed still, quivering as she felt Damian kneeling between her legs. He splayed her thighs apart and dove his nose between her legs. Mmm. Damian inhaled the scent of her freshly shaven pussy and then pulled his face away. Talia had never felt so exposed before, but heat curled down her spine as Damian’s face returned between her thighs.

He spread her pussy lips apart with his fingers and began to kiss all around her thighs, diving his tongue between her pussy lips only so often.

“Mmm, you smell amazing,” He groaned.

Talia shuddered. His lips flicked across her pussy lips again. She buckled, leaning against the couch with all her might. Damian squeezed her thighs and drove his tongue between her pussy lips. He lapped at the full length of her lips, tasting every inch of Talia’ flesh.

“OHHH,” She cried out as his tongue grazed her clit.

Damian began to lick at her folds with more vigor until her knees buckled and her thighs quivered in pleasure. Talia moaned and squeezed her eyes shut as a climax drove her body to orgasm. It was true what they said about white men…

Talia had never had her pussy eaten so passionately before in her life. Damian seemed to enjoy dipping his tongue into every fold and tasting every inch of her plump pussy. When he finally pulled away, her thighs were dripping wet and she was more than ready for him to take his cock and shove it into her.

Damian stood up and fished a condom out of his pants. He stripped naked and rolled the condom onto his dick. Talia glanced backwards, catching her first glimpse of Damian’s naked body. His physique was far more formidable than she imagined. Every inch of his body was pure, cut muscle. His hours in the gym had been well spent. 

Damian’s physique wasn’t the only thing impressive about him. His hardness protruded from his body like a monument. His thickness and hardness looked like it would stretch her wide open. Talia tried to hide her surprise. Damian had been so humble, that she’d never even thought about what he’d be packing between his legs.

But he was big. Really big. She braced herself against the couch as he positioned his hardness behind her. Talia was dripping wet and eager for pure pleasure. She was here for a good time with a good guy and so far ‘good’ was just the beginning of what she felt.

Damian began to press his hardness between her thighs. Talia gripped the couch and grit her teeth as he began to press inside her. His dick head sliding past her entrance was an instant mixture of pleasure and pain. Her knees buckled again and she wriggled her ass to allow him better access to her wetness.

As he pressed into her tight wetness, Talia moaned. Damian felt her pussy gripping him like a vice as he slid between her lips. It was a tight squeeze. Talia cried out again as he pushed his dick halfway in. He gripped her voluptuous hips and thrust the rest of his dick inside her with one swift motion.

“OHHH,” Talia cried. 

“Mmm,” Damian moaned.

He began to thrust into Talia’ tight little love hole. She gasped as his hardness stretched her wide and he started to pound into her furiously. Damian was pounding her pussy hard and fast. With each stroke, Talia could feel fire rising in her chest. Her heart raced and her skin flushed as she drew close to climax.

Damian continued to pummel her, stroking her soft ass cheeks and gripping her hips as he pounded her ferociously. As a big orgasm overcame Talia, she bucked her hips back. Her pussy exploded and juices flowed all over Damian's hardness as her wetness clamped down on his cock, throbbing as the waves of orgasm washed over.

She whimpered and gasped as Damian kept pounding her, close to a finish of his own. Her long hair was stuck to her neck as Damian kept pummeling her wetness. He was getting close too, Talia could sense it. Damian let out a loud groan as he finally finished.

He grunted with his cock buried inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. Damian pulled his dick out and then took his condom off, tossing it into the trash. He returned to the couch, fully nude, as Talia lay on her back, gasping for breath.

She turned to look at Damian who smirked mischievously.

“I can see you enjoyed yourself.”

Talia nodded weakly. She could tell Damian would be eager for round two, but she needed to catch her breath. Damian walked over to her and pulled her up off the couch.

“Round two is in the bedroom…”

“You can’t be serious,” Talia said with a grin.

(She was hoping that he was.)

“Oh, I’m serious. And if you don’t get up… I’ll have to carry you there myself.”

Damian reached for her and Talia playfully swatted his hand away.

“I can get there myself.”

“Perfect. Now which way is it?”

Talia stood up and grabbed Damian by the hand, leading him to her bedroom. Her bedroom was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of her house with a giant, four poster king sized bed sitting right in the middle.

Lace white curtains framed the windows in the room, giving it a sensual and feminine look. Just like Talia. Damian leapt onto the bed first and Talia followed. She kissed and caressed his hair and then his back. She trailed kisses down his back until she came to his lower back.

The tattoo was small but it caught her attention immediately, pulling her out of the moment and turning her stomach.

It sat right there on his lower back. The six lines, twisted into a shape that represented hate, genocide and white supremacy. Talia had just made love to him and she felt sick.

With a shaky voice, she asked, “What the hell is on your back?” 

* * *

🇺🇸HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! 🇺🇸 I published this day to celebrate BBQ, cookouts, family time and all the other awesome times we have on this holiday. This BWWM military romance is not heavy on military action but you’ll find steamy hot scenes that will rile you up for an incredible holiday weekend.

The book has so many twists and turns you won’t even be able to predict from this sample. Luckily for you, the book is live NOW and you can get your copy easy as pie on any eReader platform of your choosing.

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK DIRECTLY FROM JAMILA JASPER

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK FROM AMAZON, IBOOKS, KOBO, NOOK, ETC.

Dark Romance Books | The London Brotherhood Book #1-Book#3 | BWWM Mafia Romance Novellas

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

Happy 2019 everybody! This year, I'm going to be starting off with a BANG. And a GANG. Okay, I know some of you aren't into the uber-bad boys, so you'll need to be a little patient. If you're a lady with a dark side who loves kinky sweet romance and a black woman taming a white gangster into exposing his heart of gold, you'll LOVE the story of Sierra St. James and Ollie Cook. As you may have guessed, this new release is set in London -- perfect for BWWM fans who want romance novels set in England or romance novels set in London. 

The London Brotherhood Books #1, #2 and #3 are the first three books in a LONG series that will have TEN books and completed by June of this year. Book #1-#3 are interconnected mafia romance novellas, but Book #4 will be a standalone Navy SEAL Romance novel so that the angels and good girls among you can get some love too. 

For now, I invite you to indulge in this free romance novel excerpt of a mafia romance for black women who love romantic stories, read BWWM online for free and may enjoy stories from inspiring authors like Amarie Avant or Theodora Taylor.

 If you have any questions about this series, please leave a comment below and I will answer any and all questions as soon as possible. 

Before diving into this free sample, consider checking out the trailer. Click here to watch the trailer.

Free Romance Novel Excerpts | The London Brotherhood I

Chapter One

SIERRA ST. JAMES

“He took my mate’s girl, you get me? So I ‘ad to do something about it. I pushed ‘im up against the wall and ‘e started squealing like a pig. I took my knife and I pressed it up to him. He started shaking, scared like a little girl. I leaned in and laughed. I couldn’t ‘elp it. ‘E looked so weak. How am I supposed to respect ‘im. I didn’t do nothing though. I walked away. ‘E was scared enough.”

“Do you think there was any other way to handle him, Malik?”

“‘E disrespected me, innit? I ‘ave a right to defend myself.”

“I understand. It doesn’t feel good to be threatened, does it?”

“No Miss St. James. It doesn’t. I ‘ad to teach him a lesson, innit?”

“Was there any other way you could have handled him, Malik?”

“Let me tell you something, alright? Niggas like him get mad hench and think they can talk any way they want on the estate. You can’t show them weakness, innit.” 

“I understand. But Malik, you have to remember what we discussed last time. It isn’t always the best response to jump straight to violence.”

“You think these pagans understand conversation?” 

“Well, have you tried?”

He snickered.

“Miss St. James, I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t work. I’m dealing with niggas darker than you could imagine.”

“Right.”

I paused, scribbling a note about Malik’s latest encounter in my record book, filled with accounts of tens of similar incidents, which had become progressively worse, not better throughout the course of our counseling.

“For example,” Malik continued, unprompted by any of my questions, “I’ve got bare problems on the estate. I’ve got beef. Real beef. I can’t show weakness. Last week, Butcher got my sister up against the wall with a gun to ‘er ‘ead. What do you think he’d do if I showed weakness.”

“So you’re doing this for your sister?”

“Yes. Maybe. Sort of.” 

“You think if your sister got free of her boyfriend you would feel safer?”

“Absolutely.”

For a child who raced to violence and responded emotionally to any perceived slight, I could always be surprised by Malik’s calm and rational nature that breached his estate programming during our sessions every once in a while.

“Is there anything you can do to get her away from him?”

“I could shank him.”

“Aside from that.”

Malik shook his head.

“No. He wants me to join…”

I raised an eyebrow. Malik had always been cautious with me not to reveal what I’d suspected since we started our sessions together. The brotherhood had been circling. My manager at the centre had warned us to look for the signs, underestimating the fact that our wards knew what we were doing and maintained a deep self-interest in keeping any potential gang activity far out of our sight.

Malik trusted me, and he’d just let his guard down enough for me to get information that I wanted. If the brotherhood was closing in on a new recruit, I’d have to tell someone.

“Join what?”

“Nevermind.”

“Malik, you can talk to me.”

“Oh I can, can I? So you won’t rat me out to Gemma?”

“Well—”

“You can’t lie to me. You’re too good.”

“I’m obligated to report to my superiors. That’s never been a secret.”

“Fine. Report me. But you don’t ‘ave to worry.” 

“Why?”

“Mandem can’t make Malik join a gang if ‘e don’t want to, innit?”

“Right.”

“Then nothing to worry about.”

“What sort of pressure are you under? Do you think you can withstand it?”

“Me an’ Butcher ‘ave an understanding. That’s about it. I help ‘im out, sure. But ‘e knows I’m only doing it for my sister, you get me?”

“Of course. If you need any help, Malik, that’s why we’re here.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here Malik? You don’t have to come in for counseling. What do you want from us?”

“I want to make sure my sister is alright. I don’t want to do anything that gets me killed. I don’t want to do anything dangerous. I want to be the man she needs. I want her to get away from that Irish bastard.” 

“Violence won’t solve anything with him. The brotherhood’s pockets run deep. Remember that.”

“That’s bait.”

“Right, but you just told me about how you handled things before. Something like that won’t fly when you’re dealing with dangerous, dangerous men.”

Malik smirked and put his feet up, a cocksure grin plastered across his seventeen year old face. His russet brown face was too wise for his age. He shouldn’t have had to deal with the cards he’d been dealt — seventeen, living on the estate with his sister and a crazy asshole who would have the brotherhood circling Malik like vultures if they could find any good use for him at all.

“What do you know about dangerous men?” Malik taunted me.

“I know enough to know that you don’t want to mess with them.” 

“Something’s different about you, Sierra,” Malik said, using my first name and leaning forward, his chin propped up on his hands as he stared at me, “You ain’t like the other counselors in this joint. You’ve seen things.”

“We aren’t here to talk about me.”

“I’m right though, ain’t I?”

“If I tell you something about me, will you answer my question honestly?”

“Sure, Miss.”

“I had a brother who was involved in gang activity.”

“Prison?”

“No. But you’ve had your answer, so now it’s time for you to answer my question.”

“Fair enough.”

“When they come knocking, when they come calling for you, will you tell me the truth? Can you promise me that, Malik?” 

“Fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Our session is finished today,” I announced, glancing at the old, loud clock in the corner of my office.

“Perfect.”

I rose and stuck out my hand to shake Malik’s. He lunged forward, embracing me in a tight hug. Hugging him made me realize how skinny he was for his age, how frail he was, and how a boy so young should never have his childhood on the line the way that Malik did.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

He wanted to talk more, I could sense it. One hour a week was hardly enough to push past all the barriers he had rightfully erected around people like me — people he saw as posh, people who didn’t understand the life he’d been born into on the estate.

“Do you have more to say to me?”

“Only about Butcher and what ‘e’s doing to ‘er.”

“Sure. Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t make things harder on her?”

“I’m only obligated to disclose gang related activity as it pertains to you.”

“Right. But you ‘ave morals innit. If you get all offended, maybe you’ll think about calling someone and make life harder for her.”

“I promise you, Malik. You can trust me.”

“Fine. Butcher ‘as gotten worse. It’s been harder to deal with, and I don’t know what to do about ‘im.”

“What’s happening?”

“He could really kill her, Sierra.”

I didn’t stop Malik when he called me by my first name. Accepting any bit of relatability those teens could throw my way was the only way I could relate to them. The more comfortable they felt with you, the better. That’s what I’d found out throughout the past five years. 

“What is he doing?”

“She’s terrified of him. ‘E keeps saying ‘e wants her to convert for ‘im, and ‘e’s more than willing to force her to.”

“Your sister is Muslim, right?”

“She converted for the last wasteman, I don’t see why she ought to convert for this one.”

“Butcher is a total idiot. He doesn’t get it and she’s out of her mind in love with him. She doesn’t care that he’s dangerous. That he’s a gangster. Last weekend, they got into an argument about ‘er scarf and he threatened to send her to Russia on a spaceship. ‘E’s fucked in the head.”

“Has he hit her?”

“Not recently. But she’s been behaving. It will start up again, mark my words.”

“Is he using?”

“Yes. MDMA, pills, everything ‘e can get ‘is ‘ands on.”

“He’s meaner when he isn’t using?”

“’E’s a mean bastard all the time.”

I walked towards the door of my office with Malik in tow. He held the door open for me, and we poured out into the centre. Hymns spilled out into the youth centre hallway, off-key, as usual. The choir director’s screech followed a particularly horrible note in Amazing Grace. 

“NO, NO, NO! YOU HORRIBLE IDIOTS, WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS!”

“’E’s got a bee in ‘is bonnet,” Malik muttered with a grin.

“I’ve got to pick up my things at the locker. You coming?”

“Sure thing, Miss St James.”

We walked for a few feet down the hallway before Malik tapped his hand on my shoulder.

“Miss St James?”

“Yes, Malik?”

“You mentioned your brother was involved in the gangs.”

“I did.”

“Will you tell me what happened to ‘im?”

“Will it scare you off joining if I did?”

“Probably not.”

“Right. Then I don’t see the point in bringing it up.”

At my locker, I slipped into my peacoat and changed my short heels into plain, black converse sneakers. Malik held my purse as I dressed.

“Same time next week, then?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Good. I’ll talk to Yasmin, then.”

“Keep in mind, she’s scared, and no matter what he’s done to her, she loves him.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“How can she love a pig like ‘im? ‘E’s done horrible things, and ‘e’s an absolute bastard to ‘er.”

I shrugged. 

“Human beings aren’t logical creatures. We struggle to defy our conditioning.”

“That’s all there is to it then? You grow up on the estate, you end up with a roadman?”

“We all make our own choices, but some of us are more prone to certain choices than others.” 

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, Sierra.”

“It’s complicated. People are complicated.”

“Can I ‘elp you with that?”

I handed Malik my purse, which he slung over his shoulder without a second thought. How could this child be so sweet to me, yet tell stories about the horrors he inflicted on other people, from holding them up at knife point, to selling MDMA at raves, or ganging up on teachers after school to steal money and cellphones. Malik was two people at once: a child who wanted to fit in, and be kind and loved and excepted, and a man on the verge of making the decisions that would influence his entire life.

He stood at a crossroads, and I stood with him with the power to influence his choices. The weight of his decisions kept me up at night. He wasn’t the only teen I counseled at the centre, but he was the most vulnerable — not because he was weak, but because he had a fierce sense of where he had landed in the world and he was braver than most. He was more willing to press a knife to someone’s gut or to jump into fights with fists flying madly.

Malik held the door to the centre open and the frigid London air blew stiffly through the doors, whipping my wig nearly clean off my head. I wrapped my coat tighter around my waist. The weather in London was always a bit shit this time of year. Chilly October rains left a slick wet coat on the sidewalk. Puddles formed outside the centre, stinking of hot piss and cold mud. 

Malik held my arm as I stepped around a puddle.

“Where’d you park the whip today?”

“A few blocks up. Let’s hope the meter didn’t run out.”

“I’ll sort it if it has,” Malik offered, a smile cracking across his dark, face.

“You don’t have to Malik.”

He pulled his hood up over his head, and for a moment, I saw the Malik from East London, feared by his peers at school and stalked by gang members who saw his terrifying potential. 

“No. I do. I want to thank you, Sierra.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

“No. You get it. You may be posh, but you get what it’s like so when you talk to me, you don’t look down on any of us. With Gemma, it’s hard. She’s from the North end. She doesn’t get what it’s like in my ends, you get me?”

“Gemma tries her best,” I replied, defending my coworker publicly, but in secret agreement with what Malik said. 

He was correct about Gemma. She didn’t get it. I, on the other hand, was raised like Malik. I understood how he thought the way he did, and I understood why he couldn’t see a way out of the life he’d been raised into, especially without a mother or father to guide him, and with a sister so wrapped up in her own drama that she couldn’t see the pain of the young blood she was responsible for.

“Gemma’s right peng, but she’s stupid,” Malik continued.

I stifled a chuckle, and instead chided him for his comment.

“Malik! She cares — about all of you. She’s only a bit naive.”

“A bit daft, rather.”

“Come on you,” I laughed, linking arms with Malik.

He smiled as we stepped over puddles and braced ourselves against the city cold. Businessmen raced past us, shiny suits and shinier loafers carrying them into their Beemers and Audi cars. They lived in a different London from the one that we lived in. They lived in a London of cocaine, money, riches, and relative ease. Life on an estate like the one where Malik was raised didn’t feel real to them. They lived in the London shocked by Grenfell Tower. We lived in the London where we knew it could happen to any of us, and the city council would hush it all up and cover it up with excuses and blames.

Two cities, two groups of people. The city’s diversity could feel like a myth.

As we approached my car, Malik continued to chat me up about Gemma, and the other youth counselors. Effie, the drug counselor had made a fool of herself recently since she’d shown up to a rave where a few of the teens had seen her drunk as a skunk and high off her ass on MDMA. Taking her seriously had become much more difficult after that. Nick, the athletics director, had made himself an enemy of the brotherhood recently, and according to Malik, rumor had it that one of the enforcers showed up at his house and forced him to back off their latest recruit.

Outside of my office, Malik spoke more freely than he ever had. He kept his walls up around himself, and even as we approached my car, I got the distinct sense that he might never open up to me. No matter how hard I tried to reach him, there would always be a wall between me and him which would lead to him joining the brotherhood. I could lose him the same way I’d lost my own brother. The thought settled in my stomach with unease.

You can get the extended, 10,000-word sample of this romance novel before the book launch 100% FREE by clicking here: GET FREE 10K SAMPLE NOW . The book is live now and discounted for all of 2019. Grab your discounted copy right here 👉 smarturl.it/londonbrotherhood

For a limited time only, you can join my mailing list and get the book for free. Click here to download the book FREE!

Dark Romance Books | SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

seals captive dark romance books bwwm bad boy military romance us navy seal romance novelThe first installment of the BWWM Captive Series, SEAL's Captive was nothing like what I had expected. I first published this book under the title Bringing The Heat. The only issue? There was no heat. I got everything wrong and the book was a total flop.

I could have given up, but I didn't want to. I loved the story, and I knew with some more work, I could bring you a book that you would love just as much as I did. I made big changes. I consulted with a cover designer and told her that I wanted the best look for my readers. She came up with this cover you see here. But that wasn't enough...

I had to tweak to the story so I did. I made it hotter. I added in details and I opened the story up to further exploration in Book 2 and Book 3 of the trilogy.

This is the beginning of a story that's about both love and sisterhood. Three black women are connected by a father that they barely know and his death sends the heiresses spiraling into a dark world that they'd grown up knowing nothing about. In this extraordinary world, they find men capable of loving them more than they'd ever anticipated and from the darkness that they are thrust into, they find a beacon of light...

These stories aren't "too serious" either... I made them plenty steamy with hot new locations for hanky-panky that will have you heading out to experiment with hubby TONIGHT. Don't believe me? Check out this free sample and read the available books in the trilogy. You'll have a WILD time, I promise.

Romance Novel Excerpts: SEAL's Captive | Book #1 BWWM Captive Series

DADDY'S FUNERAL

Gigi barely knew her father. She knew that he was wealthy and that her mother had been knocked up at nineteen years old by a man a decade older than her.

 

Jerome Jackson had always been a mysterious absentee figure. To Gigi, he was daddy, the person who paid for her education, the person who sent her to horseback riding camp,  he'd sent her on trips to Mallorca and Bangkok, but he'd never been there.

 

Gigi could count on her hands the number of times she'd seen him in person.

 

Gigi stood next to her two half-sisters looking down at the body of the man she barely knew. Jerome Jackson — born June 11th, 1958, died February 14th, 2017.

 

Dinah was the one who had found him. As she told it, he’d been sitting in his study with his hand clasped around a glass of whiskey.

 

Gigi stood next to the sister that she barely knew and slipped her hand into hers. Dinah was crying, but neither Gigi nor their third sister Tyra could muster up tears yet. Neither of them knew Jerome quite the way that Dinah did. Dinah was the only one who had grown up with him.

 

The funeral would start in forty-five minutes. Strangers would fill this room and gawk at her father’s body. Most of them would probably know Jerome better than Gigi ever had. Her father, the stranger.

 

Even if he had been a stranger, Jerome had ensured Gigi had the best of the best. She’d attended the best private day schools in New York and then she’d been shipped off to a New England boarding school for high school. All on her father’s dime.

 

In her community, Gigi’s life had caused whispers. Despite her expensive education, she had grown up in a small two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Her mother’s job as a public school teacher could never have afforded her all the luxuries she had growing up.

 

She’d only met and hung out with her sisters three times in the past. When Gigi was eighteen years old  — Tyra, sixteen, Dinah, fifteen — Jerome persuaded Gigi’s mother to let Gigi join him for a special summer vacation. He thought it was important for all his daughters to know each other. After much pleading, Gigi remembered her mother reluctantly allowing her to go.

 

She remembered being eighteen and standing in line at JFK, ready to meet her father in person for only the tenth time in her life. She remembered the image she had constructed of him from his letters alone and filled in by her active imagination. She remembered picturing her sisters in her head; she imagined they would all be perfect copies of her, the best friends she’d been searching for her whole life.

 

Gigi cracked a smile as she recalled that vacation. It had been far from perfect. Tyra and Dinah were nothing like her and they were used to being “only children”. Jerome hadn’t been the perfect father either on that vacation. Instead of spending time with them, he’d given them each a credit card and sent them off on their own. Gigi and her two sisters had an insane month in Paris together followed by a month in London. There had been laughter, shopping... and more fighting than ever.

 

Those were some of the best and worst memories Gigi had of Jerome. She reached out and touched his stiff hand in the coffin. Those tears finally found their way out of her eyes. Dinah squeezed her hand tightly and rested her head on Gigi’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this today,” Tyra whispered.

 

“Well. We have to.”

 

“I know,” Tyra replied, “But I think I’ll need a drink.”

 

“Don’t drink too much,” Gigi warned.

 

“Easy for you to say,” mumbled Tyra.

 

“I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

 

They walked into the other room. It felt strange having the funeral out of Jerome’s house, but that was what he requested. He'd been specific too. He wanted the viewing, the repast, and funeral in the foyer downstairs and then he’d be cremated later that week. Each of his daughters would get 1/3 of his ashes and 1/3 of his assets.

 

He might have been more absent than not, but he’d always provided financially, even in death.

 

Dinah had hired an event coordinator to manage the entire affair. They approached Jerome’s bar and each ordered a drink. Tyra ordered a stiff whiskey on the rocks (Jim Beam, just like her father drank).

 

Dinah ordered a glass of white wine. Gigi ordered cranberry juice with a splash of vodka in it. She wanted the presence of mind throughout this entire affair. She wanted to remember — even if remembering would hurt like hell.

 

She felt sad that Jerome had died but not from missing him. Heck, she’d grown used to missing him her own life. What really gnawed at Gigi’s heart was all the time she didn’t get to spend with her father. She realized all the things she didn’t know about him. She knew that he’d made millions of dollars in investment banking and investing in technology. She knew that he was a renowned womanizer who hadn’t just dated their mothers but a number of celebrities.

 

But Gigi didn’t know how he liked his coffee. She didn’t know what her father liked to do in his downtime. All she knew was that he’d worked, provided and then died. His personality would always be a mystery to her. His death was so painfully final. She downed as much of her drink as she could manage, her racing mind causing her to rethink her abstinence from alcohol.

 

“What happens next Dinah?” Tyra asked.

 

Dinah morosely took a sip of her wine before answering. By some cruel fate, the youngest of them had been completely responsible for putting all of this together. She was the only one of them who really knew Jerome. She’d grown up in this very mansion and ultimately, she’d been the one to find her father’s body. It was like Dinah was suffering just for being the only one of Jerome’s children he’d paid any mind.

 

“I meet with the estate lawyer and the accountant. You guys don’t have to stay here. Once you send me your banking information and addresses, I should be able to sort it all out.”

 

“Jesus,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“It’s a lot of money,” Gigi confirmed.

 

Dinah smiled, “I guess it is. I’m just so used to all this, you know?”

 

Tyra nodded, “Lucky you. I grew up in East L.A. Daddy provided for me but mama would have never let any of this get to my head.”

 

Dinah furrowed her brow a bit.

 

“Don’t mean any offense.”

 

“None taken. It’s just… Sometimes I wonder how daddy could have left y’all across the country. Why me?”

 

Gigi shrugged, “My mama had me at nineteen. It was a long time ago. Maybe with you he just wanted things to be different.”

 

“I guess. But it still bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you? That we didn’t grow up together?”

 

Tyra and Gigi exchanged glances. Yes, it did bother them. Of course, it did. Their father was internationally renowned and incredibly wealthy but for a reason, neither of them knew, he’d only picked the youngest of them to take care of properly.

 

To them, Jerome was a more of an idea than a person. Dinah was the only one of her sisters who had grown up with a real father.

 

“I guess it bothers me,” Tyra mumbled.

 

“Well, we have a chance to get to know each other now,” Gigi offered.

 

Dinah sighed, “But how? After this… you’ll head east and Tyra’s going to head west.”

 

“And then you’ll be the baddest bitch left in Costa Rica,” Tyra grinned.

 

The three of them laughed. It was the first time that the three of them had shared a proper laugh since they’d arrived at Jerome Jackson’s tropical mansion. This was the country that Dinah had grown up in while Gigi was away at boarding school and while Tyra had attended a private day school in California.

 

“Well, since we only have a few minutes, why don’t we just have another drink,” Dinah said.

 

They were starting to realize that like it or not, they would have an emotionally exhausting day. They ordered second rounds of their drinks as time ticked towards the start of the funeral service.

 

“Do you remember Paris?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah cracked a smile.

 

“Yes, I remember Paris. It was insane… The drinks, the shopping…”

 

“The fighting…” Tyra finished.

 

“What did we even fight over?”

 

“Everything,” Gigi smiled.

 

“It all seems so silly and so far away,” Tyra replied.

 

Dinah nodded, “Daddy barely even spent any time with us that vacation. We had no clue about anything but we ran around the streets of Paris like little African princesses.”

 

Gigi had never really thought of herself as African, but Dinah wasn’t wrong to refer to them as such. Their father, Jerome Jackson was an African immigrant who changed his name when he was eighteen years old to the alliterative, Americanized name Jerome Jackson.

 

Gigi had no clue who her father had been before he’d changed his name. Growing up in Brooklyn, she was utterly cut off from her Nigerian heritage. She never even thought about it. As far as she was concerned she was just a regular African American girl. Tyra felt the same way.

 

“Have you been to Nigeria?” Tyra asked Dinah, letting Gigi know that they were probably thinking the same thing.

 

Dinah pushed the hair from her wig out of her face and she nodded.

 

“Yeah. I went last year to daddy’s mansion in Maitama. It’s beautiful out there.”

 

“I can’t believe I’ve never gone.”

 

Dinah shrugged, “Maybe we should go there sometime. After the funeral.”

 

“If I can get time off work,” Tyra answered.

 

Gigi wondered if Tyra was serious.

 

They would each be inheriting something to the tune of $42 million dollars each. They would co-own his mansion in Costa Rica, his apartment complex in Chicago and the mansion in Maitama.

 

For the rest of their lives, they could sit back and relax. With a team of investors to manage their portfolios, accountants, and lawyers, they would never have to work again. Gigi always knew her father had money, but she didn't realize it was this much until he'd passed.

 

Once learning about the inheritance, she struggled to imagine working again and heading back to the daily grind.

 

She’d struggled in her adulthood since graduating from college and she didn’t feel ashamed about putting an end to that struggle, whether or not she earned the money to do it. Tyra was different.

 

Maybe things are easier out in California, Gigi thought to herself.

 

They sat back and they reminisced about Paris. They reminisced about the boy that Gigi had fallen for in France — a black twenty-year-old Parisian named Christophe. They reminisced about the time Dinah drank so much they had to sneak her into the apartment through the back entrance. They reminisced about how Tyra had almost had them kicked out of a nightclub because she tried to fight a loud-mouthed bully on Dinah’s behalf.

 

As they reminisced, they did everything to try to forget the fact that their father’s body was dressed up in a custom Italian designer suit only a few feet away.

 

They tried to forget the fact that this might be the last time they all saw each other. They tried to forget about all their anxieties about growing older, about love, happiness and the lot of it.

 

“Are any of you married?” Dinah asked.

 

Gigi and Tyra both shook their heads.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Do you ever want to be?” Dinah asked.

 

Tyra shrugged and Gigi nodded.

 

“I do. But I’ll need to meet the right guy. Maybe I’m getting too old though.”

 

“Nonsense!” Tyra said, “There’s no such thing as too old.”

 

Dinah replied, “Well, I don’t think I want to get married. I watched daddy go through three wives in my childhood. None of them could have kids and none of them lasted very long.”

 

They were silent again. Even if they tried, they couldn’t help but think of Jerome. The good, the bad, the ugly — they were forced to confront all of it now in his death.

 

“I never knew he was ever married.”

 

Gigi knew about her father's other children but she didn't know enough about him to know he'd had spouses.

 

“After I turned eighteen,” Dinah said, “But I still lived here after college and during vacations. So I got to see a lot of it. I wonder if any of them ever really loved him.”

 

“Are any of them coming today?” Gigi asked.

 

Dinah shook her head, “They all made excuses when I called.”

 

They were silent again as they were forced to confront another unpleasant truth. Jerome had a string of women on his arm but his actions had also made him many enemies throughout his life.

 

They talked until guests started to pull into the driveway. Black cars manned by mixed race Costa Ricans with thick dark curls and walnut brown skin pulled up and then all manner of Americans and Nigerians descended upon the Jackson mansion for Jerome’s funeral.

 

Gigi, Tyra, and Dinah waited by the door, playing the part of perfect daughters and loving sisters. They greeted everyone who came. A man gripped Gigi's hand with tears in his eyes and told her that her father was the most loving man he'd ever known. Gigi couldn't muster up tears in response, but it moved her to know that her father had impacted someone like that.

 

Maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe he just couldn't do family the traditional way, she mused.

 

The house was filled with upwards of 100 guests who all fit into the viewing room. The priest arrived somewhere in the middle of the pack and Dinah pulled him aside to discuss the proceedings. Gigi took in the room before making her way to the reserved seats in the front.

 

The room smelled like new leather and designer perfumes. Gigi had never been surrounded by so much wealth in her life. The odd venue for the funeral bothered no one. The ultra-wealthy are accustomed to eccentricity.

 

Gigi's mind wandered as she waited for the priest to begin. She'd never understood what Dinah’s life had been like until now. In Paris, she remembered thinking Dinah was clueless, some barely-black Oreo who couldn't possibly understand what she'd been through. Now, she empathized with Dinah, for having to be enveloped in such a cold, stiff world.

 

The start time of the funeral drew near. Tyra joined Gigi in the front and their eyes moved over to Dinah as they waited for her to join them. The priest stood in the front of the room waiting to officiate and Dinah stood off to the side talking to a short, gently tanned latino man.

 

When Dinah finished speaking to him, she joined the duo.

 

“Who was that?” Gigi whispered to her.

 

“Luciano.”

 

“Who?”

 

Dinah whispered, “A friend of my father’s. He helped me get everything together today before you guys arrived.”

 

“Oh. I see.”

 

Before Gigi could ask any more questions, the funeral service started. The priest began to speak about her father’s life. Gigi started to learn things that she’d never known about Jerome. She learned about his childhood in Nigeria, where he'd been the smartest of his brothers who were now all dead.

 

His parents had pegged him out for success and he'd attended Oxford for two years before dropping out to begin his enterprises.

 

Enterprise was a good word for it, Dinah thought to herself. Neither her sisters nor the guests knew as much as she did about what her father had done to make his money. Except for Luciano, of course, the bearer of her father's secrets, the guests were ignorant.

 

When it came time for Jerome’s eulogy, Luciano was the one who stepped up to the podium to speak. Gigi drew her eyes to him, hopeful that she could gain some final lasting insight into the man her father was.

 

Luciano spoke with a thick Spanish accent, but he eulogized Jerome well. He spoke about their memories together in Costa Rica and all the times that Jerome bailed him out of trouble. He spoke to the heroic image of her father that Gigi had always carried with her (whether intentionally or not).

 

The image Gigi had of her father persisted as a Nigerian man that loved laughter, liquor, and making love with equal vigor. He had been boisterous, untamable and loyal to a fault once he decided you were worthy.

 

Gigi could feel tears spilling out of her eyes involuntarily. Dinah was weeping softly and Tyra sat up stone-faced. She never allowed her grief to be on display in the room full of people. Dinah and Gigi couldn’t help it. They all gripped each other’s palms as Luciano said his final words.

 

“…And I want to say a final goodbye to you, amigo. I promise that I will carry you in my heart forever and I will make sure that nothing happens to your beautiful daughters. Adios.”

 

Luciano left the podium and Gigi watched as a single tear streamed down his face. The room was filled with people who were either weeping or looking sullenly forward. The priest continued with the rest of the service and when the collection box was passed around, people dropped $100 bills into the box as if it were nothing.

 

Everything about that day had felt utterly surreal, including the ease with which a room full of people parted with what would total up to a year’s worth of her rent.

 

Gigi made mental notes of everything going on so she could remember to tell her mother. Her mother had declined the invitation, but Gigi promised her she'd spare no details about what happened.

 

Towards the end of the service, they sang and a friend of Dinah’s played the piano. And just like that, the funeral service was finished. The gangly events co-ordinator led the guests to the other room for a small wake while Gigi and her sisters said their final goodbyes to Jerome.

 

The end drew closer. Jerome's requests would be followed and carried out by his team of assistants. Their lives would change and three regular black women who barely knew each other would become heiresses overnight. Jerome would be cremated and the ashes would be split in three and shipped priority mail to Gigi and Tyra. This was it — their last time with their father.

 

Gigi’s chest balled up like a fist as she stood above her father’s body for the last time.

 

“Goodbye,” She whispered through her tears.

 

Tyra handed her a handkerchief which she used to dab beneath her eyes. Dinah planted a kiss on their father’s forehead and Tyra just stood there staring at him. Gigi thought her head seemed like it was swimming with thoughts. There was a lot to think about and a lot to mourn.

 

When the funeral home arrived and the coffin closed for the final time, Gigi felt the fist around her heart clench even tighter. They had to go back out there and face the folks who had all come expecting to see the three of them after the funeral.

 

“I’m starting to think the next part is what’s going to be the hardest,” Gigi said.

 

Dinah sighed, “You’re right. But… We can do it. I know we can.”

 

“At least we’ve got each other for this next bit.”

 

“Let’s go then.”

 

They pushed open the doors into the next room and walked out into the…

READ THE NEXT 17,000 WORDS 100% FREEhttps://dl.bookfunnel.com/wz7aor768f

Okay, I told you this book was going to get BUCK WILD and I will 100% deliver on that promise. All you have to do is click the link to keep reading: https://amzn.to/2rrCeRu 

If you're not an Amazon customer, you can get the book on iBooks, Nook and Kobo by clicking on this link instead: smarturl.it/sealscaptive

Do you want to check out the rest of the trilogy too? Bookmark this page and come back so you can read the next two books:
Book 2 | Ex Con's Captive: smarturl.it/exconscaptive

Book 3 | Hitman's Captive (available after Dec. 21st 2018): smarturl.it/HitmansCaptive

Dark Romance Books | Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

ex con's captive dark romance books hitman mafia romance bad boy bwwm romance novelsBook 2 of the dark bad boy romance series BWWM Captive Series, makes an impact on interracial romance readers who love romantic stories and couldn't wait for the launch of one of our best contemporary romance novels. Ex Con's Captive is everything we have been waiting for after Book 1, SEAL's Captive... 

This book follows the story of the second Jackson sister, Tyra Jackson. Unlike her sister, Gigi, Tyra has had a tougher life than most. She's used her loud-mouth and her spitfire temper to shield her from all the hurt she's been exposed to in life. Her father's death leaves her an heiress but it's not a status she's comfortable with at all.

Tyra can be impulsive, which makes for an explosive dynamic between her and her captor, Leon Wilkins. The chemistry between the two is instant and volatile, with the contrast between Tyra's outspoken ways and Leon's reserved stoicism. Set far away from life in America, Ex Con's Captive will take this African American beauty all over Eastern Africa, from Nairobi to Kampala, and even through Tanzania. Get relaxed to read the FREE sample of this steamy hot August 2018 interracial romance release from bestselling Author, Jamila Jasper.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

 

 

TYRA JACKSON

Goodbye to Gigi wasn’t easy. I’d only just grown accustomed to having a sister and saying goodbye so soon had never been a part of my plan. She zoomed off in a taxi and left me standing next to Dinah.

 

“Think she’ll be okay?” I asked.

 

“Of course,” Dinah smiled, “Of course she’ll be okay. “

 

“I dunno. She’s taking it hard…”

 

Dinah smirked, “Listen, I’ve got people looking after her.”

 

I raised an eyebrow.

 

“People? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means you don’t have to worry.”

 

I didn’t get along with Dinah as well as I got along with Gigi. I found her standoffish and she spoke as if she knew everything. If she knew so damn much, why didn’t she just tell us instead of being so cryptic and speaking in code?

 

“C’mon,” Dinah said, “Let’s head inside. We still have guests.”

 

“Right…”

 

We walked back inside when one of Dinah’s staff approached her with a worried look on her face. She touched Dinah’s arm and whispered into her ear. Dinah’s expression twisted with worry and she thanked her housekeeper before returning to my side.

 

“Bad news.”

 

“How bad?”

 

I worried about my mama back in California. She’d never been without me for this long and with my younger brothers (half-brothers) off on their tour of duty, she needed me now more than ever.

 

Yup, my mama had more kids when I was sixteen years old and my brothers were just old enough to pick up guns and serve their country. 

 

“There’s a storm. We’ve just had word a hurricane is going to hit tomorrow.” 

 

“In Costa Rica?”

 

“Off the coast. It’s unusual but… not impossible.”

 

“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow morning!”

 

“Sorry Tyra. You’re welcome to stay here the night.”

 

I had no desire to stay in Dinah’s cold, Costa Rican mansion any longer than I had to. I was never close to my father and if I had to be honest, I came to collect my inheritance and meet my sisters, who I’d met only a handful of times during my life. The mansion had no life to it. The large beams and open spaces with their operatic acoustics only felt empty to me. 

 

Despite the tropical heat, the humid atmosphere within the concrete megalith chilled me to the bone. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and returned past the manicured palm trees and bougainvillea gardens to the guests. My father’s associates all imbued me with a sense of deep discomfort. When one man grabbed my hand, my palm shivered with the panic a woodland creature feels before being squeezed by an anaconda.

 

I stuck to Dinah’s side the rest of the evening. I could sense her growing frustration with me, but I couldn’t bear to mill about with the black-suited dementors whose soul-sucking interest in wealth alone was practically palpable to me. I reached for my phone, hoping to steal away for a few minutes to call my mother. No bars. Right — the hurricane.

 

Dinah had attempted an escape, but I spotted her across the room talking to a short, latino man, one of the ones who had spoken at the funeral. He had a scar across his eye and chilling anthracite eyes. 

 

“Tyra, have you met Luciano?”

 

The name rang a bell. He’d spoken and given one of my father Jerome’s eulogies.

 

“Ah, I don’t believe so.”

 

He reached out his hand, licking his lips before greeting me.

 

“Beautiful Tyra. I remember your mother.”

 

He winked. 

 

“Oh, thanks. Hi.”

 

“I’m Luciano. I’m leaving. I must get out of here before the storm hits.”

 

His thick accent belied his perfect diction.

 

“Safe drive,” I replied.

 

He chuckled, “I doubt it.”

 

He hugged Dinah and we watched him leave together. 

 

“Scary, isn’t he?” Dinah whispered.

 

“You could say so.”

 

“Harmless. I’ve known him since I was a child.”

 

I didn’t think growing up in this environment, Dinah had any clue what safety meant, but I didn’t question her. Drinking and partying continued until the wee hours of the morning. Dinah and I were the last to retire, except for the wait staff who now had the funeral of a century to clean up after. 

 

Dinah yawned as we ascended the marble staircase.

 

“Daddy would have hated this,” she mused.

 

“I guess.”

 

I didn’t know our father well enough to say otherwise.

 

“I’ve arranged a private company to take you to the airport tomorrow. You won’t miss your flight.”

 

“What about the storm?”

 

“They say it’s swung north. We’re safe.”

 

“Thank goodness.”

 

I exhaled a sigh of relief and caught another yawn from Dinah.

 

“Sleep tight. I’ll send Ana up in the morning to take your breakfast order.”

 

“Thanks, Sis.”

 

“Sorry, we didn’t get to hang out much this time.”

 

“Next time.”

 

I doubted there would be a "next time". Since we’d grown, “next time” never materialized the way it had when we were younger. 

 

Dinah went to bed, leaving me in my suite. I wandered around with my phone for a while, flipping my braids out of my face as I pressed it against the window.

 

Nothing. Nothing. I shuffled to the left. Nothing. I shuffled to the right. Ah! Yes!

 

One bar.

 

I called my mama’s number, feasting on the melody of the warbled dial tone.

 

“Hello? Who’s this?”

 

“Mama, it’s me? Can’t you see the number?”

 

“Ain’t it late?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Girl you done woke me up.”

 

“Sorry. There was a storm…”

 

“Hope…y-….safe…”

 

The line crackled.

 

“Mama what?”

 

“I hope you’re staying safe.”

 

“Yes. I’m gonna make my flight tomorrow. Signal’s really bad so I won’t call most likely.”

 

“Okay. I’ll be at the airport with Steven.”

 

My mama had been trying to force her new boyfriend Steven down my throat for the past eight months and it wasn’t going well.

 

“Steven? Why?” I huffed.

 

“He’s my man. Maybe if you had a man, you wouldn’t be worried about my man,” my mom started.

 

I rolled my eyes and ignored her as she trailed off into a rant about how I needed to get laid more so I would stop getting all “up in her business”. 

 

“I just don’t like Steven!” I interrupted.

 

“Uh huh? You just have a problem with an old lady like me getting busy six nights a week.”

 

“Mama gross!” I yelled.

 

“Well it’s true,” she mumbled.

 

Hoping to spare myself any more disturbing details about my mother’s sex life, I made an excuse and hung up the phone. My mama had been a famous super-model in London, parlaying her olive green eyes and tanned skin into an international career. She’d been in magazines, met the Versace siblings and partied until addiction yanked everything underneath her and sent her spiraling towards rock bottom.

 

Money corrupts. She’d ended up with a baby — me — a few leaked porn tapes that had excluded her from high society in Los Angeles, and a ten year battle with cocaine and heroin that had only ended once she got pregnant with me. She’d raised me well, but there were times she couldn’t shake the wild child inside of her off. Without me to look after her, I didn’t think she’d make it.

 

I needed to get back. Steven, her new man, was a former pimp. I suspected he hadn’t left the pimping behind and I needed to get back to her so I could use my inheritance to find proof of who Steven was and chase him away from my mama. She deserved better.

 

I stayed awake all night thinking about my mama, Steven, and my now deceased father. Jerome had never been a good man to her. My sisters didn’t know it, but he’d paid good money for the night he spent with my mother. He’d only cared about her once the baby was born. Up until he got a paternity test to prove I was his, he’d spent every moment denying me and calling my mama a dirty hooker when he was the one who had paid for her.

 

You could see why I didn’t tell my sisters… 

 

My mama got on my case for not getting laid but I would have stayed celibate for my whole life if it meant not ending up with a man like my daddy. 

 

My eyes burned in the morning. A knock slammed against my door. I slid out of bed and ordered a simple breakfast — local Costa Rican bread, avocado, scrambled eggs, fresh mango slices and sparkling water. While Dinah’s housekeeper prepared breakfast, I showered and prepared for my flight.

 

The tropical weather messed up my braids and I knew my mama would comment on my hair the moment I landed in Los Angeles. I took a quick shower, tied my braids up into a tight high bun and wrapped a silk scarf around my forehead to hide my less than perfect edges.

 

I couldn’t wait to get back to LA where I could wear makeup every day without melting it off. Not even my acrylics survived the weather and the French manicure on my toes were my only ties to good looks that remained. 

 

Breakfast came to me on white platters and I ate in bed. After thirty minutes, the housekeeper entered my room and informed me that Dinah hadn’t slept well and she wouldn’t be getting out of bed to say goodbye.

 

“Are you sure I can’t sneak in there?” I asked.

 

“No,” she replied, “Dinah is sleeping.”

 

“Uh. Okay.”

 

“Your driver is downstairs,” she said.

 

“So soon?”

 

“Yes. You leave early.”

 

“Oh… Okay.”

 

Discomfort knotted my stomach. 

 

“Can I at least leave her a note?” I asked.

 

“No,” the housekeeper replied firmly.

 

“Oh…”

 

“Come on,” she smiled, sensing my discomfort, “Let’s go.”

 

I followed her, tugging my suitcase behind me and deciding whether or not I should make a break for it and say goodbye to Dinah anyway. I decided against bothering her. I didn’t feel we were close enough to justify it. 

 

I followed Dinah’s dark-haired housekeeper outside to the black car with tinted windows that awaited.

 

“This is it?”

 

“Sí.”

 

The driver got out of the car and approached the housekeeper with an envelope. She took it and scurried off. I squinted in the sunlight trying to get a good look at him. The rays blinded me enough that I couldn’t quite see his face. He was pale, freckled and wore thick sunglasses that obscured much of his face.

 

He didn’t smile.

 

He opened the front door for me rather than the back. This wasn’t the custom in America, but figuring it was just cultural, I entered the car. He sternly got into the front seat and I tried to work my best Spanish on him.

 

“Buenos días.”

 

It’s impossible to live in LA without picking up a little bit of Spanish. 

 

“Buenos días,” he replied in a thick Costa Rican accent.

 

His voice surprised me as his skin tone was one usually found amongst foreigners or expatriates. However, his accent sounded natural, like he’d been raised in the jungle.

 

As we drove out of the driveway, a thicket of trees clamored together overhead. He reached for a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth, gripping the steering wheel loosely as we drove.

 

“Where are we headed?”

 

He didn’t reply.

 

“Hablas inglés?”

 

“No.”

 

“Cómo te llamas?” 

 

“Leon.”

 

“Eso es francés, no?”

 

“Si.”

 

Not much of a talker, I presumed. Too bad. I had been nervous among my father’s contemporaries but I usually charmed the pants off most people in the real world (not the wealthy world). I’d talk to cab drivers, janitors, and I knew the homeless people on my block like we were family. 

 

Maybe now, I could do something for them, I thought to myself.

 

I leaned back in the seat, resigning myself to a three-hour early morning drive without a lick of conversation. When we hit the highway, Leon started to speed. The roads wound around and after a few minutes, when I caught hold of my stomach again, I noticed we weren’t getting deeper into the city, but further away from it.

 

My heart sank. I hadn’t thought much about the envelope exchanged between Leon and Dinah’s housekeeper. The incident flashed into my mind with worry. Oh hell no… 

 

I’d watched hundreds of hours of newsreels about women being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. In that instant, that was all that flashed into my mind: being sold as a piece of meat for some sicko who would make me regret the rest of my living days.

 

I went ballistic.

 

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!” I shrieked.

 

“Señora, en español?”

 

“En fuckin’ español? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME. DONDE?”

 

“Señora, calmate!”

 

“CALM DOWN, ANSWER THE QUESTION NOW! DONDE?”

 

“Señora, cálmate!” He growled.

 

Oh, he wanted to get angry? I did what any rational person wouldn’t do. I reached over, grabbing the steering wheel and swerved the car off the road, dragging the wheel to the left and screaming as the car went flying off the edge of the road.

Phew! This story is already getting crazy. Are you ready to continue reading it right away? I won't hold you up. 

Amazon readers: https://amzn.to/2UrRwTZ

iBooks, Nook, Kobo readers: smarturl.it/exconscaptive