Haven, Tennessee is the last place on earth I ever thought I would find smut-loving readers like myself, but I’ve been proven wrong. This quiet unsuspecting small town tucked away in the Smoky Mountains thrives on the dirty stuff. When I arrived, I half thought I’d be run out of town.
I’m happy that hasn’t been the case yet.
I laugh softly. “You need any help?”
I hear a muffled laugh from a newly made friend before a stack of books is plopped down on the freshly polished wood countertop of my brand-new bookstore.
“No, honey. This is nothing. I’ll be right back, there’s more.”
My mouth gaps open a little considering there must be fifteen books in this pile.
“Damn. How many more can you read in a weekend?”
I watch as Dolly disappears into the multiple rows of shelves probably to help her friend get the dirtiest of my books.
Yep. Dead Tree Asylum is one-hundred percent all mine.
I smile fondly at the name which is a little morbid but no less true. It seemed perfect when I thought it up in the shower months ago after a particularly hard day with my mother. Growing up I saw her as my tree of life in my tiny little world. When my dad split and she met my stepdad, one by one her leaves fell off. She turned into a husk of a woman, ruined by the crimes of her new criminal husband. She became a dead tree, inside and out, by the time he went to prison the first time.
After that, I saw books as my escape, my shelter. My asylum.
And here it is in brick and mortar. A dream turned reality and it belongs to me. Every dirty, smutty corner of it. No leaching stepdad nor an alcoholic mother here to ruin it for me.
I cringe at the sour thoughts I have toward my family, but the truth is a coldhearted bitch sometimes.
It took me a long time to realize I needed to go after my dreams if I wanted them to be more than just ideas.
And it’s just like I pictured. Non-fiction and horror dominate the far-left corner complete with a sitting area with lamps and free coffee.
Shelves of romantic fantasies take up the front to center rows for those who like bite with their dirty sex scenes. And in the front windows, everyone walking down the street gets a nice eye full of some collectible Edgar Allen Poe alongside some V.C. Andrews.
But the middle to back rows is where my heart lies in spicy romance–kinky reverse harems and mafia bad boy book boyfriends. Yes. Please! I have plenty of those from some of my favorite authors and others I can’t wait to try.
Much to the disdain of the local pastor, let me tell you.
A wolfish grin pulls over my lips as to how many of those spicy tales his wife took home with her last Monday.
He can thank me later.
A tiny bell over the door jingles as the mailman wheels in a fresh load of boxes. I sign for them and start unpacking the first of about fifteen just as Dolly pokes her dark head around the corner.
“Holy crap! Come to momma! Did my order just come in?”
Hopeful eyes swing to me and I reach out to hug my friend. A couple of weeks back she came in with a list as long as my leg. I’m still in shock. Some girls buy fancy coffee, but not Dolly. At least for the time I’ve known her. I barely opened Dead Tree Asylum before she was through the door telling me it was about time someone with good taste came to town.
She’s been here almost every day since.
I laugh loving how excited she is over books. “I think so. Let’s see.”
Dolly is a biker chick through and through, sweet to a point, a bourbon lover, and someone you would never suspect of being a serial smut binge reader.
“Here lemme help ya, honey.”
I stand back as she whips out several new copies of the latest series from my–now our– favorite romance author. The saucy tale-spinner teamed up with others to write a series based on a kinky sex club. Swoon! One woman, three men. All the ladies of Haven can’t seem to get enough. Which I can safely assume is due to Dolly.
We both marvel over the sexy covers. “Did you finally take Elliot up on his offer to build you all the bookshelves you want?” I ask, taking the stack of books she passes over.
I pull chairs up for both of us and narrowly miss a hard side-eye. At fifty-five Dolly makes getting older look appealing. With jet black hair I’m sure she dies and smooth smokey eyes, there’s not a man in town who hasn’t tried to claim this chick as their ol’ lady. Elliot “Chains” Evans is just one of many trying to win her hand from what she’s shared.
But Dolly is a special breed of woman and lets everyone know she’s not into strings and attachments. Maybe that’s why she loves reading so much.
“No gracias, as you would say, amiga. His bookshelves are hitched to wedding bells. I know how to use a saw and screwdriver myself. Besides, all the boys at the compound fall over themselves to make sure I have what I need.”
I get a wink and she’s right back to hauling out more books from their boxes.
Boys meaning the Dirty Sinners crew. Haven’s very own motorcycle gang I had no idea Reaper was president of until Dolly sat me down over spiked coffee and cupcakes about a week after arriving.
She props an elbow on the table and pins me with a hard momma bear look. “Now it’s your turn. Have you given my idea any thought?”
Ugh. I push to my feet and start sorting out the other boxes.
“I don’t know. What if no one shows up?” I get knots in my stomach just thinking about cupcakes and coffee going stale while I get stood up by the whole town.
“A book club is no big deal. I’d make sure the place was packed every time.” She cocks a perfectly defined brow at me, looking every bit as confident as she sounds with her sweet southern drawl and no-nonsense attitude.
“You’re focusing on all the wrong things,” she presses on. “Five copies of each book aren’t nearly enough, honey. Not having enough books for all the horny ladies in this town, now that’s a problem.”
A smile slides over my face at the idea of a fight breaking out in my reading corner over books. Hair pulling, bitch slapping, and ripped books. I cringe at the last thought and make a mental note to get more copies of a few books that are hot sellers.
“So, what do you think?”
“I hear you. I really do. I’ll think about it, okay?” But truth be told even with all the instant success of Dead Tree Asylum, I’m not sure the small-town setting is right for me. I came here for all the wrong reasons and though the book sales are great, maybe I should have kept driving and made my way to New Orleans. I liked the vibe and Kaila was there with her men.
She told me I was a fool to walk away from Reaper and repeats her opinion during our weekly calls without fail. Like I’ve forgotten after hearing it a thousand times.
“I know a book club will make you feel like you’re putin’ down deeper roots than this store. And I get that probably scares the crap outta you.”
My hand hovers over a new pile of books.
Dolly’s words slice deep. It’s not that I don’t want roots. But what if Haven isn’t for me? A deeper voice says what if, when I get the courage to approach him, Reaper rejects me? Could I stay here?
I school my expression and clear my tone of the fear restricting my airways. “Uhm, what makes you think I’m scared?”
“I see it in your face, honey. You might as well paint your heart in your eyes. The second the idea of doing anything that makes you feel like you belong you get this weird look in ’em.”
She wraps a warm, comforting hand over mine.
“Not judgin’. I had the same feeling about Haven a long time ago, too. Give it time.”
She looks pointedly at the chain around my neck and the ring hanging between my cleavage. There’s no hiding the emblem on it matches the Sinner’s skull and chains. She hasn’t pressed me for how I’ve come by it and I haven’t offered. But I can tell she has questions.
“Here’s a little advice. Take it or leave it okay.”
I nod.
“Don’t let something that happened in your past ruin something good for you in the here and now. Take it from someone twice your age who has lived through it.” She gives a tiny nod as if to say and that is that.
“And now I’ve done my good deed for the day. Less talkin’ and more book shoppin’.”
Dolly’s words whirl through my head as I rip open another box and she does the same.
To a degree she’s right. I only signed a six-month lease on the place because I am scared. Scared of seeing him though the truth is I came here because of Reaper. Stupid as it sounds and truly, a decision I might regret.
Not because of the town, but because he’s more than just a bad boy I remember from a fun night of celebrating. But because he’s exactly what I swore off a long time ago. A biker. And worse. The leader of his motorcycle gang.
From the second I crossed city limits all I’ve heard is Reaper’s name on everyone’s lips. The prodigal son has returned…the new president…he’s changed…darker…
The list goes on and with every new item added to it, the more I want to throw my boxes of books in the car and hit top speeds getting out of town.
Yet here I stand.
When I cooked up the bright idea to search out the little town he mentioned years ago, I had no idea I drove straight into my worst nightmare.
It’s funny though. With all this inner turmoil, I’ve yet to see the man since arriving in Haven.
I either hide when he walks into a place or chicken out at the last minute thinking I can just drive out to his biker compound. But the second I see the high walls and the guarded gate I pull a U-turn.
You would think two months is enough time for me to work up the nerve, but nope. I cling to my bookshelves and books hoping he’ll somehow discover me here in my tiny little nook, whisk me to the back of my store, and take me up against a bookcase.
I laugh at my cowardice.
My attention falls back on Dolly as she cracks open a fairly worn copy of a reverse harem romance I recommended a couple of weeks back. Apparently, she’s done with the unpacking part of helping me.
“Did I tell you about what happens on page one-oh-eight of this one?” She kicks back in her chair and shakes the paperback in my direction. “Honey, that shit ain’t natural. But it was fun to try and imagine. I like it when she stabs him and then he still saves her. Here, let me read this line to you.”
I eye the dark red cover. Oh, God. “Do you carry that around with you?” I hold back my laugh, cutting in before she can read that line.
“Uh, yeah.”
Good Lord, I’ve created a monster. “I know exactly what happens. I read that one. Twice.” I put a hand over hers and hand to God we both blush.
“Dolly!” A sweet voice calls from the back of the store.
“Oh, shit. I forgot about Angel. Poor girl. I left her in the middle of the dark mafia reverse harem aisle. She’s probably freaking out. Gotta go. I love filthifying my friends with new favorite authors.”
As the mother hen type with the Sinners and anyone else she comes across she likes, Dolly takes my face between her palms and looks me dead in the eyes. “Think about the book club? I want your answer in two days. Got it? I’m not gonna let you hide.”
No one tells Dolly no.
“Promise,” I reassure her.
An hour later Dolly and Angel–a Dirty Sinners club candy–walk out with at least a weekend’s worth of books and the promise to be back Monday. God, I need to restock already.
At this rate that woman will have half the town’s female population hooked on alien and mafia smut.
I smile feeling oddly accomplished. Love. Is love. Is love. Spreading it in the form of books puts a bit of spring in my step. Maybe Dolly is right. I should give Haven a little longer to grow on me. At least here I don’t have a stepdad wanting to use my storage space as a drug drop-off or a mother bleeding me dry emotionally.
I inhale the clean mountain air and love the scent of wood fire drifting in the early afternoon fog as I lock up and head for Rosie’s diner not too far down the street. Some pie and coffee for lunch sound perfect after such a huge book sale.
The good thing about small towns versus the city I’m used to is no traffic. I start across the quiet street. Halfway there a roar of motors forces my knees to lock in place.
Bikers rumble down the road and I barely move out of the way from getting my toes crushed as they roll by. The hard eyes of their road captain pierce my skull and shivers of dread scrape down my spine.
I’m a freaking delicate flower by any means, but right this second, I wish I had someone or something between me and the Chaos Riders.
Fucking pigs on wheels.
When the last of the bikers are past me, I head for the far side of the street but my path is cut off as they start to ride a circle around me, cutting off any chance of escape. I turn to backtrack to my store, but another bike swoops in, cutting off the last source of escape.
My chest clenches and the fear of my teenage years grips my muscles.
Inhale.
Exhale.
This is not the same. I’m not a kid needing to fight off trashy men looking to rape a girl.
The president of the Haven’s rival MC gang swerves and stops an inch from where I stand. He’s so close I can see the beer stains on his shirt. My nostrils will carry the stench of his sweat for hours. I back up but yelp when his buddy revs his motor from behind.
The Chaos Riders are a gang of assholes from the next town over. Peril, Tennessee is about as welcoming as it sounds. No one ventures over there unless they want trouble.
That’s why it’s surprising to see them here. Dolly has filled me in on the local unspoken rules. At the top of that list is no Chaos Riders in Haven without permission from the Sinners.
“Go the hell away, Clint.” I shoot daggers his way and force bravado into my spine and act like I’m not trembling on the inside. I try to keep walking but my attempt at getting away is short-lived. I stumble back and lose my step when one of his goons tries to use my foot as a speedbump.
Gurgling acid bubbles in my stomach. Worse yet, it hits my tongue just saying the asshole’s name.
I cast around to see if anyone is watching, but there’s not a soul in sight.
Shit.
Clint “Mayhem” Rainer is the epitome of what his name implies. I know I have a personal problem with motorcycle gangs and hey, that’s on me. Sure. I accept that. But in the case of assface with the stained wife beater and dirt-covered jeans revving his Harley I’m right on the money. And I’m not alone. He thrives on the fear his club instills and likes to get his hands dirty as often as he can. From what Dolly has shared, he came up during all the 90s rivalry with the Dirty Sinners and takes his hatred of the Haven’s gang seriously.
But to me, all biker gangs are the same no matter how hard Dolly professes the Sinners are different.
My heart lurches and thumps wildly. I grab for the mace in my bag, but the slick layer of sweat coating my palms makes gripping anything nearly impossible.
They continue riding in a circle around me. One step forward and I’ll be riding bitch or one step back and I’d be road kill under the wheel of another.
I can’t see past the cuts of the Riders but I can hear the rumble of louder motors coming from the north.
Maybe I won’t die today after all. They’’ get busy fighting each other and I can slink away unseen. As plans go, it’s as good as they get on the fly.
I whirl and sure enough. Over Mayhem’s shoulder, the Dirty Sinners pour into town.
Instead of feeling safe though, my gut clenches, and my knees turn to noodles. What if they start shooting? I have nothing to protect me. I’m out in the open, surrounded by one MC while another rides up, murder in their eyes.
Oh shit.
Could tonight get any worse?
I left upstate New York to get away from my stepdad’s gang. No way did I mean to land right smack in the middle of a town with two others.
Apparently, my new hometown doesn’t think as I do. But in my defense, no one from Haven grew up looking over their shoulder wondering when the rough gang their stepdad led would roll up looking to harass everyone in their way. He and his motley crew of criminals ran guns, dealt drugs, and trafficked people. Anything that would put green in their pockets.
Just like the Chaos Riders. And no doubt the Sinners.
I shudder with disgust.
The Sinners come in hot. The second I see the flash of a gun barrel I hit the pavement and hug my knees. I dare to turn my head just in time to see a few Chaos Riders burn rubber in the opposite direction.
Ire boils in my veins and replaces the sickening feeling of disgust sitting in my belly.
You know what, I’m done playing the weakling.
I gather my fear, shove it down and force myself to my feet. I shove my hair from my face and steel my spine with the same level of grit that helped me drive my skinny teenage knee into the nutsack of a thirty-year-old years ago.
I was never anyone’s toy then and I am not starting today.
I shove my hand in my purse, raise the black canister tucked in a side pocket, and fuck picking which of the assholes to aim for or hoping the Sinners are here to save me.
Arm raised outward, I press the little red button and soak the nearest biker in nasty pepper spray.
Thank God there isn’t too much wind today or I would be rolling on the ground right alongside the dude with the acid green mohawk. Metal crashes to the cement and I cringe.
Oops. That’s gonna cost thousands to repair. And I don’t feel an ounce of remorse.
“You cry like a good baby,” I hurl before hiking my long skirt to my knees and lunging over the squirming biker grabbing at his face.
I haul ass and don’t look back when I hear fists meeting flesh. Grunts and manly cries chase me across the street, but I don’t care who is beating who right now. All I need is my safe space.
“Arabelle.” A deep, tightly coiled voice strikes my ears.
The sound of my name on his lips almost has me stopping.
Keys in hand, the thumping tread of heavy motorcycle boots chases me into the back room of my bookstore. I barely manage to get behind the closed door before the sound of wood crashing against the back wall fills the room. I turn to see a set of familiar black-as-coal eyes.
“Reaper.” The blood in my veins hit molten lava heat levels in a flash. I’m suddenly so hot I can’t think and forget trying to breathe.
He’s across the room in three long strides. Hands are in my hair and hard, unforgiving lips crash over mine.
