I finally have another free chapter to share with you. If you made it to the end of Book #1, Biker’s Surrogate, I know you are on the edge of your seat about Hawk’s story and what might happen between Hawk and Juliette…
This female lead is a younger woman named after one of my Patreons and she is a plus-sized female lead.
This book is extremely dark and steamy. I know you will enjoy it once the book drops. The official release date is May 6th and every pre-order absolutely helps me out as an indie author.
Chapter #1
Juliette
The day mom died, I began planning my escape. “Take off day” has finally arrived, and there is zero room in my meticulously constructed plan for failure. The air vibrates with luck from the start. It’s one of those days where your body senses something big is going to happen.
Today will change my life because… Today is the day I’ll finally be free from my stepfather and his abuse. I have to act normal before I leave the house. I can’t act too happy or out of character. Predators can smell emotions the way sharks smell blood in the water. They have a special intuition for when their prey is edging closer to escape.
Every morning, I stick to my routine before heading to work at the front desk at the library downtown. Even though I already have my backpack ready for my escape, I still continue on like it’s a normal morning. I drive to work everyday in my own car, so that part won’t be a problem until I get to Santa Fe.
I don’t know why I have this fixation with Santa Fe, but I have been doing this manifestation ritual I found on Instagram and I know my fresh start will be out west in a city known for its galleries and culinary scene. I always liked painting. Something about growing up in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the vast Midwestern plains gave me this ability to see the beautiful in the basic.
Painting has always been my “thing” and Santa Fe is going to be my place. It’s filled with fellow artists escaping the Midwestern humdrum. Other folks like me who floated like tumbleweeds across the desert, desperate for an oasis of culture and diversity. Since our first high school college counseling meeting, I dreamed about moving to Santa Fe. Not because I gave a crap about university, but because researching the city filled me with dreams of meeting people like me. People who don’t fit in with the typical Midwestern country girls who see their whole lives laid out for them from high school and don’t have a problem with it.
Maybe it’s because I’ve always been one of a handful of black kids in my class, but I never saw myself ending up like the girls in my high school.
Just think of Santa Fe, Juliette. Let your manifestations guide you...
When I get downstairs, my stepfather is sitting at the table in the kitchen already upset.
“Good morning,” I mutter politely, although it’s the last thing I want to say to him. It hurts having to stuff my true feelings just to protect myself. I comfort myself with the reminder that I won’t be doing this much longer.
“It could be,” my stepfather says, his tone already stirring up trouble.
My back muscles tense up nervously, but I push the obvious tension out of my shoulders and try to play it cool. This is a normal morning. Just a normal morning. I walk up to the fridge and pull out something to eat. He won’t let me leave if I don’t eat even if the adrenaline surging through my body already makes it impossible. Once I have the fridge open, he moves fast. I feel his round protruding stomach as he stands behind me. Too close.
“You’re in my way,” he says, his hand purposefully touching my ass. I move aside quickly, my hands shaking as I try not to drop the orange juice and yogurt I had grabbed. It’s the only thing I think I can choke down before leaving.
He pretends like he didn’t just touch my ass while my heart continues to race out of control. Ever since mom died, he’s become worse. He’s going to rape me.
For years, I accepted the beatings. The weird moments where I caught him doing the strangest things.
I told myself my mom deserved a happy ending after dad.
But my stepfather has always been a monster.
And now, two months after she’s dead, he’s springing into action. I’m a nineteen-year-old who just lost her mother and all this monster can think of is getting his dick wet.
He showed it to me for the first time when I was twelve. I told myself for years that I was imagining it. That what he did to me was all in my head. But now that he’s escalated to touching me, all the memories are flooding back and I know that I need to get out of here.
I sit down at the table and pour myself a glass of orange juice. I zone out as I open the yogurt. Once you get out of here, you can get some real food.
“How the hell you stay thick like that with OJ and yogurt?”
My ears ring as my body reacts with total fear. This man controls my housing situation and everything about my life. For years, I didn’t understand what he was but now that I know, I want to get out of here.
I pretend I don’t hear the weird sexual innuendo behind his question when I answer, “I don’t know. Genetics.”
“Damn right,” he says, laughing creepily. “Just like genetics gave you them nice ass titties.”
I zone out and focus on spooning yogurt into my mouth. Don’t let him get to you. I’m not even wearing anything revealing. I never felt like I could get away with it, and my mom would lose her mind if she caught me dressing “like a slut”. Today, I’m wearing a giant red hoodie and wide-legged jeans for work. It’s nothing special.
“Mmm,” he says. “I love watching you eat that yogurt.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks and I know he can see them changing color. I can’t control my reaction, but I feel embarrassed. He might misinterpret my fear as desire and that could only make this worse.
“Please stop,” I grumble. “It’s weird.”
My heart leaps into my throat, making it harder to force yogurt down my throat. I don’t even want to look up at him. I never want to see him again. I never knew what my mom saw in Chiron.
“Weird? What’s weird is having you walk around my house with that fat ass getting my dick hard and leaving me unsatisfied.”
I almost choke on my yogurt but I manage to wash it down with orange juice. It’s my last day here. Once he lets me walk away, I never have to hear him say anything like this again.
This time, I can’t hold back, even if I know I should. “Do you really think that is an appropriate thing to say to your step-daughter?”
The way he looks at me makes me feel like three centipedes are crawling all over my skin under my clothes. I have to avert my gaze as he huffs and purposefully shifts his crotch with his hand. Don’t freak out. Don’t do anything that might give you away.
“You ain’t my kid,” he says, staring at me from behind a pair of hooded, hazel eyes. “Just two pairs of pretty ass lips.”
Mom was obsessed with those eyes and the fact that my stepfather is six-foot-ten-inches tall. She would often lament not having a kid with him and “missing out” on the chance to have a “football player” baby with “pretty eyes like that”. My dark brown eyes weren’t pretty or exotic enough for her. My lack of athletic ability was only one of several embarrassing things about me. It’s not like my mother didn’t love me. I just think she would have felt like more of a success if I were even eligible to be in the NFL or NBA.
“I have to go to work,” I mumble, ignoring the overtly sexual comment as much as I ignored all the previous comments.
He shrugs and temporarily the threatening tension between us dissipates. “Just make sure you’re home on time or I’ll make your ass sleep on the porch again,” my stepfather says.
He says that like he didn’t just say something completely fucked up seconds before. It feels like someone set a pile of rocks on my chest. I grab my backpack and hurry outside into my car.
That’s it, girl. You never have to see him again. Don’t even trip. Don’t even look back.
When I was sixteen and suspected how he acted towards me wasn’t normal, I started saving my money. I did research, talked to counselors and strategized what I would do if he ever hurt me or if something bad ever happened and I needed to escape.
Mom would never leave him. I knew I was on my own and right now, my cynicism prepared me for the worst case scenario.
I currently have $16,500 saved up, own my 2007 Subaru Impreza with nothing owed, and have enough of a head start that I know my stepfather won’t catch up to me.
I have to believe it. I have a foolproof plan to get to Santa Fe and plenty of money to get it done. Once I’m in my car, I start the engine and then text my best friend, Quin.
Me: I’m safe in my car. I won’t be able to message you until Santa Fe. Trust the plan. Trust the universe.
Quin: I’ll be praying for you.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and pull out of the driveway. My heart races like crazy. Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani plays from Spotify on my phone and my hands tremble with excitement as the pop song’s tempo increases and I push my Subaru to its limits.
Since this is my once in a lifetime adventure and escape, I plan to take the historic Route 66 highway West and see as much of the country as possible. I doubt there’s much I give a crap about between Dugger, Indiana and Santa Fe, but maybe I’ll get some cute selfies in front of a retro gas station or meet an influencer in the wild.
I just want my life to be more than barricading my bedroom door and feeling a deep sense of shame and sadness. I know happiness is out there. I don’t care if I’m only nineteen. I’m going to find my happily ever after and it won’t be with a loser like Chiron or anyone like him.
I perfectly visualized my Prince Charming in an elaborate manifestation ritual. He’s tall – obviously – incredibly wealthy due to his success as an entrepreneur, he has classy and masculine hobbies and most importantly, he is a handsome, dark-skinned king. In my visualization, he looks exactly like Kofi Siriboe and he dresses like Jidenna.
I turn right at the second stop sign on our street before turning into the Texaco where I fill my tank and get a couple Celsius energy drinks to help me stay awake in an emergency.
After that, I pull through the McDonalds’ drive-thru for coffee, an Egg McMuffin and a slice of apple pie for later. When I leave McDonalds for the highway, I can’t stop checking my rear view mirror for my stepfather. It’s been half an hour. If he were following me, he would have caught up to me by now and I would have resorted to plan B.
My hands shake as the speed limit changes from 30 mph to 55 mph before I take the ramp onto I-40W, the modern equivalent of the old Route 66 highway. I turn up the music to calm my nerves. The song changes to Caution by Mariah Carey. Hell yeah. I drive faster, less concerned about cops than getting the hell out of there.
Indiana can kiss my ass. I’m never going back there again. My mom should have left Indiana years ago. I don’t care how much hate she got in the South for her complexion or her ethnic background.
I would have found a way to make it work and anyway, I’ve never seen my skin color as a disadvantage anywhere.
I’m free. I’ve never driven longer than a few hours away, so I know I’ll have to stop and stretch every couple of hours on this eleven hour drive. . Once I get to Santa Fe, I’ll have plenty of time to rest and figure out my next steps, so I don’t even trip. That’s the thing about manifesting.
You just believe in the power of the universe and the universe will look after you.
I don’t fully relax until my first rest stop when I finally convince myself that my stepfather doesn’t even realize I left. The McDonalds coffee filtered straight through me and my bladder must be the size of a hot air balloon. Parking my car behind the rest stop to stay out of view, I check over my shoulder a couple times before I hustle into the bathroom. There aren’t any other cars, which doesn’t make me feel safer.
Peeing has never felt so good. I take forever to empty my bladder and then I wash my face and brush my teeth for good measure. My cheeks are red from the sun blazing through the windshield and the monotony of driving across Kansas means I need to take extreme steps to keep awake and sane. Washing my face feels good.
I text Quin a bathroom selfie before shoving my phone in my hoodie pocket and walking back outside to the parking lot. When I leave the rest stop and click the button on my keys, I don’t hear anything.
And worse. I don’t see my car.
I parked it right there. What the fuck? I glance around, assuming I just forgot where I parked it. But it’s just… gone. I walk a few steps further into the parking lot, desperately looking around. I only have seconds to react when I hear footsteps running towards me.
I turn towards the sound.
Then I see him.
He’s not alone. I scream and reach into my pocket for plan b — my pepper spray.
I hold it up and scream a series of expletives as my shaky hands struggle to force the trigger down. My reaction isn’t fast enough. The second man, who I don’t recognize, hits me hard across the head. I hear the sound of a dull object thudding against my skull before I feel it.
My shock suppresses the anguished scream that so desperately wants to escape. He’s going to kill you, Juliette.
My chances of getting out of this alive are slim, I agree.
But at least I tried to escape.
I didn’t let him hurt me without fighting back.
When I die, that has to mean something, right?
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