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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-Winning, USA Today Bestselling Author Morgan Jane Mitchell captured the hearts of readers with her electrifying Biker Romance series, “Asphalt Gods’ MC,” a riveting blend of dark romance and the gritty world of motorcycle clubs. Known for her ability to weave complex characters and thrilling narratives, Morgan Jane has established herself as a master of dark, motorcycle-themed romance in her series Royal Bastard’s MC: Nashville, TN.
Her storytelling prowess extends into the realm of the supernatural with her acclaimed post-apocalyptic fantasy novel, “Sanguis City.” This action-packed series, featuring an enthralling mix of vampires, witches, demons, and zombies, artfully combines elements of paranormal romance, dystopia, urban fantasy, and erotica.
Morgan Jane’s artistic brilliance shines through her diverse narrative themes, capturing the essence of human emotions and the depths of imaginative fantasy throughout the many genres she writes. Her commitment to crafting immersive worlds is evident on every page, ensuring a deeply engaging experience for her readers. Off the page, Morgan Jane is a connoisseur of adventure, fine food, and art, balanced by her appreciation for the simple pleasures of life.
KASSIUS: A PLAYBOY'S LAIR PREQUEL
BY S.R. WATSON & RYAN STACKS
PROLOGUE
KASSIUS
As the rain pelts down in rhythmic chaos, I stand outside a quaint diner, seeking shelter under an inadequate awning. My eyes fixate on her - Vivienne, the waitress who once shared the same private school halls with me—the place where cliques and hierarchies were forged. She weaves through the tables with practiced ease, balancing plates, and coffee pots as if the raindrops are an inconsequential nuisance. A subtle smile plays on her lips as she waits on each customer.
As the droplets cascade down, they blur the glass, distorting the warm and inviting ambiance on the inside. The diner’s neon sign flickers intermittently, casting a soft glow of fluorescent lights onto the wet pavement. It’s surreal how time has etched its mark on both of us. Her red hair cascades down her frail frame, her sunken eyes hint at fatigue. My, how the beauty queen has fallen—much like her family’s fortune. Her father’s embezzlement scandal occupied the headlines for at least a solid month. Ironic that I’d be standing here in the rain-soaked present, with the epitome of good looks, rich, and what other men aspire to be. Vivienne, with her polished exterior and mocking laughter, was the architect of my daily torment—all because my family could not afford the school I was given the privilege to attend. I was the scholarship kid, and she reminded me every day that I didn’t belong. She reveled in her ability to belittle me. She had a talent for sniffing out vulnerability, like a predator sensing fear. The taunts were relentless—my worn-out shoes, the hand-me-down clothes that were always a size too big, my distinct lack of a car to park in the student lot. Each inadequacy became fodder for her cruelty.
A twist of fate led me to this side of the Bronx to check out some real estate I may want to flip. My assistant has already left to head back to the hotel, but I stayed behind. This little diner was only a couple blocks away from the property, so I thought I’d grab a cup of coffee and look around the neighborhood a bit before summoning my driver to take me back to the hotel, too. I have an early flight in the morning, and I know I should abort this trip for coffee now that I’ve seen Vivienne, but she’s not that lucky. A smirk forms on my lips at the devious thoughts suddenly running rampant.
I push open the door with a renewed purpose. The scent of coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air, momentarily overpowering the musty aroma of rain-soaked clothes. Vivienne’s gaze meets mine, a flicker of interest registering in her eyes, but an absence of recognition. I don’t wait to be seated.Instead, I stroll over and take a booth in her section. The hum of conversation and clinking of dishes sets the stage for this impending reunion.
I steal furtive glances as she tends to other customers. The once hostile adversary has transformed into a woman she would have ridiculed in the past. She finally approaches, a notepad in hand and a pen tucked behind her ear.
“Evening, Sir. Can I interest you in our dinner special?” she asks with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
The formality surprises me. Either she genuinely doesn’t recognize me, or she is pretending not to. I expected to feel more animosity, but surprisingly, all I feel is the need to play chess. And she is the unsuspecting opponent. I hold her gaze, noticing for the first time a hint of a bruise hidden beneath the thin veneer of makeup. The foundation attempts to conceal blue and purple hues in mixed stages of healing. However, the sight is not a deterrent—it encourages the opposite.
“You’re a long way from your pretentious Brownstone in Chelsea,” I volley. “Oh, that’s right. Your family lost everything when your father embezzled millions from his shareholders.”
“What? Who are you?” She takes a closer look—recognition finally dawning on her. “Kassius?”
“Don’t you mean “reject” or “scholarship kid”?” I challenge.
“That was so long, almost a decade ago. Don’t tell me that you’re still holding on to that,” she says, switching her weight to the other hip.
“Look at me and then look at yourself. Does it look like I’m still holding on to your feeble mind games? Looks like the tables have turned. I’m simply here for a cup of coffee.”
“Can I get you anything else besides coffee?” She forces out. I applaud her restraint. I know she wants to say more.
“So, are you working here because daddy can no longer afford you the life you’re used to? Does that make you a reject now? Just curious about how it feels to become the very thing you thought was so beneath you—poor.”
Fuck you, asshat. You don’t know anything about me or my family. I left the comfort of my parents’ millions long before my father’s downfall. So, what? You come into some money and now you think you’re all mightier than thou? You come into my place of work and do the very shit you’re accusing me of. You’re on your high horse looking down on me for being “poor”. We were teenagers back then, and now you’re a grown ass man still butt hurt from the high school bull shit. Pathetic. Well, you can fuck right off in your expensive tailored suit and condescending attitude. We don’t serve your kind here,” she yells, before throwing the glass of water in my face. I wipe away the droplets with a smile.
There she is. The firecracker, I was sure, still existed under that mask. Check — not checkmate yet, but it’s inevitable. She’s gained the attention of everyone in the diner with that performance. A gray-haired man comes running out from the back, apologizing to me profusely. I wipe my face once more with the towel he hands me before standing.
“This woman should be fired,” I suggest as I head out the door. The raised voices between him and Vivienne as I leave don’t bode well for her. I summon my driver and call my assistant. Thankfully, the rain has stopped.
As predicted, a distraught Vivienne storms out of the diner. “Guess your boss took my advice, huh?”
She looks up through her tears. “Fuck you! You got your revenge … now go.”
“Far from it, my fallen beauty queen. You haven’t seen the last of me … I will make sure of it.”
George, my driver, picks this moment to pull up to the curb. He gets out to open my door. She has no idea how entangled she is in my web. I’m actually elated to let the games begin.
“You’re sick, you know that?”
