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Turn the page for a sample of my next story, ‘Die For You,’ A BWWM Scottish Crime Family Romance. This story follows Leith and Chevelle Mackenzie. And guess what?
The BBW Bartender,Justice, is Chevelle’s good friend.Justice’s story picks up in their storyline, since the west coast was her next stop ;) Hope you enjoy this sample.
Wait, before you turn the page.
Did you notice something?
The name dropping?
Yup. The Infamous Castle name.
Alexander Castle has taken a lengthy break from his efforts to ruin his daughter’s love life. But if you haven’t heard the name Castle, meet Avery Castle in Make Me Stay. I learned a lot about the deaf community while writing about Avery—hopefully I did her story justice. So meet Avery and Donavan if you haven’t. Also, the book was originally a standalone, but readers asked, and I caved in. Make Me Stay II completes the series.
Alright, grab Avery and Donavan after you’ve sampled Leith and Chevelle’s story. All you need is a little bit ;) “Die For You” is coming soon! FYI: The book is complete and I have a cover in the making. It is amazing!
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DIE FOR YOU
(Unedited Excerpt)
Chevelle
At the constant, pristine sound of ‘leveling up,’ one would’ve thought we were operating penny slots at a casino in Vegas. But I was only twelve-years-old; my fingers moved lightning fast. While my PlayStation 2 was lit up, Sonic ripped around on the television screen. The thirteen-year-old beside me had a crummy cigarette between gorgeous, thick lips that he’d swiped from his father. Might I add Leith wasn’t a regular white boy attempting to be cool either. No, he had that shit down. God, I was secretly in love with him. Or maybe the love was written all over my face. This was a refreshing, new feeling.
I should also add that Leith had an accent. After watching him toss a haymaker at the nose of a bully, we all learned Leith hailed from Scotland. Just one hit had humbled the rudest boy in school and crushed his nasal bone. So, I kept my opinion of how dreamy Leith sounded, and my occasional difficulty with comprehending him, to myself.
“Turn this up,” Leith ordered, breathing out a puff of smoke.
“Remote’s broken. Sound button fell off the tv so . . .” I shrugged, since we were at the age where everything ended on a nonchalant note.
Leith dragged his fingers through his thick dirty blond, perfectly disheveled hair.Would it be creepy if I reached over and did the same?His hair smelled good. He smelledgood. When he was in-the-zone, kicking ass on Resident Evil, I sniffed him.
Leith groaned. “Och! Idinnae(don’t) wanna hear yourMambeingfeckedten ways—”
I snapped. “She ain’t my mom.”
Eyes the color of a tropical ocean pinned me for an answer. I softly cleaved my tongue between my teeth, spoke too soon.
Leith pointed the cigarette at me. “Who the feck is the lass to you, Chevelle?”
That was the hardest question anyone would ever ask me. The lady and I weren’t blood related. She’d played my mother’s best friend since I could remember. When my parents took me on extravagant vacations, she was the house sitter, or she went island hopping the Bahamas with us.
But when I was nine years old, I remember sitting, frozen on the grand staircase in the richest neighborhood of Chi-Town. Tears blurred my gaze. A cop crouched down and rubbed the tears away from my eyes with the side of his hand. Then he came into focus, as did the petrified look of regret on his dark brown face. He asked me a few questions and took my hand. While escorting me to the door, he stopped to look up at a painting of quintessential black love—my parents—looming on the high ceiling.
Outside, the police officer offered for me to play with the gadgets in his police cruiser. His voice struggled to seem excited as my eyes swept over a coroner’s van near the tile water fountain. Important people in uniforms surrounded the place. While I sat in the driver’s seat of the car, the officer kneeled in the doorway. The speaker of his walkie-talkie blurted. Someone ordered him to call “Child Protective Services” as he explained the various buttons to me with a warm smile. A second after I pressed the siren, Momma’s best friend arrived.
The bitch was supposed to be my second-chance family. She insisted I call her “New Mom,” and so I did.
For the next few years, we bounced around, lived nicely even. I’ll give her that. I hadn’t traded down the lifestyle afforded to me by my once hardworking father. Later, I’d learn how we were blowing my trust fund. But that’s greedy people for you. The bigger they smile in your face,the harder you fall.
Once broke, she looked at twelve-year-old me in resignation and said she’d do me the favor not granted to herself and my mother. She dropped me off in public school in Long Beach, instead of foster care, where she met my mom. When the proverbial slumber party ended, I threatened to speak with the attorney who held my trust. It was a slap in the face to know the guy had been banging New Mom, and doctored the family will, hence my dilemma. I threatened to call 911. New Mom mentioned the tragedy surrounding my wealthy, powerful father. I wasn’t much for dwelling on a past—there were thoughts I already needed out of my head. Checkmate.
A new relationship was forged. A marriage of sorts, where we’d skipped over the “for better” and careened straight to the “for worse” part. Thus, I callously revoked New Mom’s suggested title, referring to the bitch as Lady.
“She’s not your Mam?” Leith mumbled, “I just guessed . . .”
