New to the series? Start with Book 1, Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl. Or jump into the first generation with Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence depicted, sexual descriptions

Copyright © 2026 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI. AKA: Pls don’t steal or copy! It’s not nice and hurts authors’ feelings!

Dishearten Chapter 7

Hatch

Her eyes widen. “Y-Yes I have.”

“No…” I slowly shake my head, sounding out the word. “The stage stuff you’ve done. But you’ve never done this part before. What’d you call them? Semi-private dances? And the floor—you said it’s ‘more chatty’? That’s all you do, isn’t it? The stage and talk on the floor, where you don’t have to get this up close and personal?”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, and I know I’ve got her. Her small nod is the confirmation I don’t need.

“Okay then,” I say and rest back against the seat. I pat the spot next to me. “Let’s just talk.”

“Just… talk.” Her lips purse, eyes darting to where I patted the booth.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Just talk.”

“And you’re okay with that? You paid a lot of money.” Her brows are so furrowed her mask is bunched in the center, and her words are laced with suspicion. “Not many men would be okay with just talking, no hookah, no dance, and no touching.”

I’m not most men, I’m your goddamn fiancé. Is right on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t like the curious way she’s looking at me. The last thing I need to be is memorable, even if it’s all I want.

I cross my arms and scoot over the slightest of inches to allow her room. “I don’t know. Talking’s cheaper than therapy.”

She snorts. “Not with what you’ve paid.”

“Know the going price of therapy do you?” My question instantly makes me feel like such a prick, but the fire that flashed in her expression makes up for it.

“Do you?” she asks it with a hint of frustration, but I just answer honestly.

“I probably should.”

That makes her blink. She tilts her head, then as if she’s decided something, she steps forward to sit beside me.

I’m an asshole who refused to give her too much room, so she has to perch awkwardly on the edge of the seat to both sit facing me and without getting too close. This girl is trying so fucking hard not to touch me, it’d be laughable if it wasn’t starting to sting. I don’t even bother hiding my scowl as I glare at the careful inch between her knee and my thigh.

“What really brought you to The Rabbit Hole tonight, Hatter?”

“A girl.” Still annoyed, the word came out before I had a chance to finesse it, it’s only when she falters that I realize what I said.

“A girl?”

Read more

New to the series? Start with Book 1, Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl. Or jump into the first generation with Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence depicted, sexual descriptions

Copyright © 2026 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI. AKA: Pls don’t steal or copy! It’s not nice and hurts authors’ feelings!

Dishearten Chapter 6

Hatch

My knee bounces like it’s a rocket ship readying for take off, and I resist the urge to get up and pace the booth.

As soon as Lucy’s question dripped from her full, glossy lips, the lights went out, and the bouncer was at my side in a blink. Like literally a blink. This place is trippy as fuck, maybe something was in my Coke after all, but one minute Lucy was in front of me on stage, then bam, she’s gone and the executioner is at my side telling me to come with him.

He led me to this here booth, telling me Alice would be with me shortly and not so subtly reminding me of the “No touching” rule. After he closed the curtain behind me, I settled into the leather seats.

While the booth itself is small, the semicircle of black leather seating is big enough for three dudes half my size to sit, so I’m quite comfortable stretching out, splaying my arms across the back, and spreading my legs wide. The picture of calm—aside from the whole NASA-launch-under-my-right-knee-cap thing.

My pulse absolutely skyrockets when Lucy appears, pulling back the curtain and giving me a little smile as she steps inside. I smile back, but she doesn’t see since she’s already turned to close the curtain. Once she’s sealed us off from the world, the light above me flickers to red, bathing us in dark crimson.

My gaze lifts up to the now-red wire cage sconce. I’m sure there’s a camera hidden in there, like the rest that I saw outside. What angle does it have? Straight down would provide more damning information over customers, but I’m not sure if this Castle guy is in the business of blackmail, voyeurism, or what his schtick is. Blackmail would mean straight down with all the focus on the patron. Voyeur would be a slight angle on the dancer.

Fuck it better not be that. If there’s footage of Lucy out there in the digital ether, heads will fucking roll.

I make a mental note, adding “steal all footage of Lucy” to my to-do list, moving it up above finding out “who the fuck is Castle” and “what the fuck does he want.”

Barely resisting the urge to smile at the camera, I pretend to rest the back of my head on the seat, like I can’t wait for Alice to suck my cock. Which, would be fucking great, if I wasn’t trying to keep my distance.

Hooold up…

This was a bad idea… wasn’t it?

Shit.

I was originally hoping just to get Lucy away from that dirty, greedy frogman out there. And, of course, before that, this was meant to be a simple recon mission.

Now that I’m in this small space with her… I might be in over my head. I don’t have self-restraint on a good day, let alone with a beautiful woman who, for all intents and purposes, should be mine.

What the fuck am I doing?

Shit. Shit. Shit. And shit again.

Dash always gets onto me about my inability to think ahead when I’m too close to a situation. I’m actually strategic as fuck—my brothers know that—but he’s right that when I have a one-track mind, I do have impulse issues. And adrenaline issues. Then there’s the fact that I’m selfish, headstrong, possessive…

Jesus Christ. Hopefully I don’t fuck this up more than I already have.

I swipe one hand down my face and rub my eyes, dry from the smoke here. I’ll get this dance, maybe use the opportunity to talk to her a little, sus out this situation she’s in. Then I’ll be on my merry way to ask Dash to hack into the Rabbit Hole’s CCTV system, add cams to wherever she’s staying, and watch her from afar.

Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Easy peasy. No big deal.

I blow out a breath and return to my easy posture in an attempt to keep Lucy relaxed. The last thing dancers need is for some twitchy guy to start acting cagey

She’s not paying a lick of attention to me though, looking up at the red light. If I didn’t think there were cameras inside it before, I definitely would now. The girl’s staring at the Edison bulb like it’s a brand-new invention. Or at least, like she hasn’t seen the one above us change before.

Weird. I assumed that’s how they show a booth is taken. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.

Her posture curls in as she crosses her arms over her naked waist, idly itching her elbow. The music changes in the club, “Devil’s Den” by DEELYLE, but it’s just as loud in here, vibrating the leather under me.

Lucy exhales slowly and finally meets my eyes with a plastic grin. My right brow rises, scratching the pointed stud there against the mask covering my expression.

Fuck, the masks have gotta be unnerving for the dancers, right? Not being able to see what a patron is thinking, or anticipate what they’re gonna do? Take me, for example. Lucy doesn’t know who I am, or that I’m here to make sure she stays safe doing whatever the fuck it is she’s doing here on Wander Isle. To her, I’m just a six-foot-five stranger in this small, dark room with a five-foot-four girl in break-neck high heels—

For the first time, I realize just how imposing I am right now. Christ, I took up the entire booth as soon as I sat down like I own the goddamn place.

I slowly wind up myself up like fishing line, resting my hands on my lap and closing my legs a smidge. The effect on Lucy is instant, and her shoulders relax a fraction, making me feel like an absolute dick.

Under the scarlet haze, she looks a little nervous, more exhausted than tired. Like she had a fine night sleeping last night, but she’s stressed out over where to put her head too many times recently—or maybe I’m making shit up because I know her situation already. The thing that puts me most on edge though is that she looks ready to flee at the drop of a hat.

Who hurt you, baby?

I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking the question, and just… wait.

Finally, she inhales once. Exhales again, and the sultry smile she had on stage is back.

“One dance. And remember… ” she purrs as she prowls over. Then she bends over me, placing her hands on either side of my head and putting her mouthwatering tits within sucking distance. I don’t register she’s whispering in my ear until her breath flutters my hair curling around my ears. “No touching. That’s for VIP only, baby.”

Then she fucking licks my neck.

Well shit.

Read more

New to the series? Start with Book 1, Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl. Or jump into the first generation with Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Psst: Stick around as a paid subscriber and find a fun little poll about quicksand trauma at the end!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence depicted, sexual descriptions, misogyny, sexual harassment.

Copyright © 2025 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI. AKA: Pls don’t steal or copy! It’s not nice and hurts authors’ feelings!

Dishearten Chapter 5

Hatch

The first and last time I saw Lucy, she didn’t even know it was me. I was a stranger in a mask and as far as she knows, the stranger finished our waltz in a speakeasy, kissed her forehead, and disappeared forever. It’s for the best, though. I’m the reason she ran away. She’ll never forgive me, and I wouldn’t blame her.

Fuck that hurts to say, but “Alice” doesn’t deserve to be shackled to me. Whether I actually want what my brother has with his fiancée or not doesn’t matter. If I was selfish enough to take Lucy for myself, I’d only get her killed. That’s all I ever bring to the women I care about. I won’t let it happen again.

She lifts her chin as the pole slows to a stop, and her eyes land on me.

Holy fuck.

The lights catch on her lashes, creating shadowy dark pools underneath that suck me under. I’m fucking drowning, taking a step forward—

She blinks, and her plastered smile sweeps past me to some other lucky son of a bitch. Someone that might actually be able to grab her attention and hold it. Like she never saw me at all.

Except… that’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it? Earlier she was looking for the bouncer to rescue her. Not me. Not only am I masked, she doesn’t know I’m here to keep her safe, so she looked to the only person who could.

And he failed her. He’s still failing her.

The heckler blows another ring of smoke at Lucy, but she studiously ignores it. Renewed rage stokes a fire through my lungs again, but I try my best to stifle the flame. I won’t do her any good if I’m kicked out right now.

My gaze snaps back to Lucy—Alice.

“Aaaalright, gentlemen,” the DJ’s deep voice filters over the speaker as the music changes beat. “Alice is going home after this next song, and—wait a minute. Alice, do you have something to say?”

Lucy hops off the pole and prowls from the center stage to stage right, strong, confident steps in her high heels. When she gets to the far end where the DJ is, she bends at her waist exaggeratedly, leaving her bare ass exposed again under her skirt. She cups her hand around her mouth and peers over her shoulder as she acts like she’s telling the DJ a secret.

“Well, well, well, this is a first,” he says, chuckling in such a practiced way it’s obvious this is part of the set. “One of you caught Alice’s eye. She’s decided to give you a dance right off stage. Maybe one of you can sweeten the pot, to convince her you’re the one who’s worth her while, instead.”

The guys at the stage go absolutely fucking feral, producing more cash and chips. Lucy blows one guy in a pig mask a kiss as she goes back to the pole but her gaze doesn’t linger long enough to see him push a man in a chef’s hat to the side to get in front of him.

Frog pushes past both, leans in again, only stopped from climbing on the damn stage himself by his short stature and his total inability to lift himself up. But he can still stretch enough to nearly reach her. His hand is a hair away from snatches her ankle, making her flinch away and trip the rest of the way to the pole.

“Looks like we’ve got one who might win out. Frog really wants a dance, Alice. Frog always gets what he wants, gentlemen, so you’ll have to raise the stakes.”

Oh fuck that.

Read more

Dishearten is a spicy, dark-gray romance inspired by Alice in Wonderland, and Book 2 in the Frayed Satin Series, interconnected standalones giving classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Preorder today! Releasing June 26, 2026.

New to the series? Start with Book 1, Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl. Or jump into the first generation with Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence depicted, sexual descriptions, misogyny, sexual harassment.

Copyright © 2025 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI.

Dishearten Chapter 4

Hatch

Everything else fades away like smoke, and all that’s left is Lucy centerstage.

I’ve seen her dance plenty of times, but only through a screen. While my brother, Orion, was glued to his bride’s shadow from the day she turned eighteen, I’ve been the opposite. I learned long ago that no good comes from being around me. Especially not to women. But my father was the one who put targets on the Troisgarde daughters’ innocent backs, so the least I could do for Lucy was stay the hell away.

But I watched her. Fuck, did I watch her. Dash helped set up cameras for Orion, and every chance I could, I’d sneak peeks at the woman I refuse to keep.

I’ve never seen her dance like this before, though. Never seen her like this.

Back at Bordeaux Conservatory, my little ballerina’s style was all precision and restraint, her expressions either playing a part or aloof. Off stage was much the same. In New Orleans and Las Vegas, the Troisgarde daughters were practically famous. Hot rich girls and daughters to rumored crime families? They might as well have been royalty. But the only time Lucy wasn’t a shy, disciplined perfectionist, was around her tight circle of friends and family, holding herself apart from anyone that tried to get too close. As far as I could tell, that circle consisted of her parents, the other two Troisgarde daughters, the Bordeaux son, and their friend Benoit. Any time they weren’t around, she’d curl in on herself with a romance book and hide away from the proverbial spotlight like a skittish little bunny rabbit.

But this Lucy McKennon—Alice—is someone else entirely.

Precision and restraint are out the window, replaced by a sensual fluidity that flows over me like warm honey just from watching her. She’s not performing in an uptight costume, with a perfect bun that doesn’t have a hair out of place. Her blue skirt flares when she spins, she isn’t hitting turns perfectly, her limbs aren’t hard lines, and each count is a suggestion rather than a rule.

With this version of Lucy, the lights making her hair look almost white-blonde, and her mask, no one would know it’s her. But I sure as fuck do.

She’s feeling the beat, looking much more at home than she ever has on a stage. She twirls around, lazily untying the bows from her costume, a mix of ballet and seduction. They fall like lazy confetti, loosening her corset and blue skirt. The men are practically salivating to catch the pure white ribbons, exchanging them for anything between dollar bills and twenties. Some toss red, blue, and yellow poker chips into a bucket, the sound silent in the loud music.

She glides with the bass and melody like the music bars float from the speakers to physically wrap around her and show her the way. All the while, her sultry gaze drags over the crowd, lingering on each man, convincing them she’s dancing just for him and daring him not to fall for her.

There’s no way I can resist. She hasn’t even graced me with a glance, and I’m already hooked.

A low whistle yanks me back to the surface.

My jaw clenches at the sight

Read more

Current WIP: Preorder Dishearten: Frayed Satin Series Book 2, a spicy, dark-gray romance, second-generation legacy series of interconnected standalones that gives classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Dishearten is inspired by Alice in Wonderland, a classic story which has been adapted into a super fun ballet. Releasing June 26, 2026.

Keep reading to fall in love with Hatton Fury and Lucy McKennon.

For Frayed Satin Book 1, read Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl.

For the first generation, read Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence suggested, sexual descriptions

Copyright © 2025 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI. For more information, contact alexrivers@authorgreerrivers.com.

Dishearten Chapter 3

Lucy

Ten minutes ago

“—three of them almost lost thousands but went for Smoke instead. I’ve already ran up and down to Castle so many times… hey. You listening? Alice!”

“Ah!” I jump at Duchess’s sharp voice, yanking the ribbon around my leg too hard and wincing. “Ouch. Golly. You don’t have to shout at me.”

I relieve some of the pressure and re-tie the bow at my upper thigh. Pinched skin or not, if they’re not tied perfectly, they have a habit of unraveling on stage, and it totally throws me off.

“Obviously a good shouting was necessary. It’s not my fault Alice was in La La Land again. I said your name thrice, thank you very much. I swear it’s like you don’t even know it sometimes.”

Electric panic shocks through me out of habit, but after a month at the Rabbit Hole, I tease back easily.

“That’s because it’s not my name.” I smile, even as my heart flutters with nerves.

“Always so in character.” Duchess rolls her eyes, somehow still perfectly sweeping across her burgundy eye liner, then moving on to lip gloss.

My gold eye liner brings out the green in my hazel-blue eyes, and the one she chooses makes her blue eyes violet against her bronze skin, tinted from her nightly tanning scrub, and a stark contrast to my pasty-winter-pale and freckles. My light strawberry blonde hair would be totally out of place with her features, whereas her dark red-almost purple hair fits her to a T.

Her hair color, colorful tattoos that I totally envy, and sassy, dry humor remind me of my two best friends back home. Duchy alongside Luna and Brylie would be a force to be reckoned with.

At the thought, a lump gathers in my throat, and I swallow past it to make the joke Duchy and I have had since I settled in Wander Isle.

“I’ll give you my real name if you give me yours.”

She snorts. “Touché. Guess we’ll never know.”

Her lips smack together as she recaps the lip gloss. “I was just saying the number of Smokes tonight is more than usual. Knave also mentioned he was picking up a lot of twenties on the stage. So it’s probably a good night for Mirroring, so you can keep outta VIP still. If they’ve got the cash to throw, they’ll have it on the floor, ya know? A little shmooze, a little booze, bada bing, bada boom. God, listen to me, I sound like I’m on Dory’s rhyming bullshit. Oh, also, you got any of those protectors?” She points her dark blood-red painted toes, extending her leg in a perfect line to show off the gnarly blister spanning the entire ball of her foot. “The dogs are barking.”

“Oh, geez, that’s bad.” I peer at it and use the back of my eyeliner pencil to poke the close-to-bursting bubble, grimacing as it depresses. “Yikes.” I nod to her locker. “Slipped some through the slats last night.”

“You are an angel!” She leans back, her trim waist flexing as she picks up the bag she carelessly tossed into the bottom to check underneath. “Yes! How’d you know I’d need them?”

I shrug. “You fell out of the last turn on your final set last night. That thing’s gotta hurt. I’m surprised you didn’t leave early.”

She snorts. “Like that’d ever happen.” One manicured finger flips through the bandages like a stack of dollar bills. “This shit’s a godsend in the devil’s den. What do I owe you?”

I bite my tongue, swallowing the “no worries” I would’ve been able to say six months ago. I did the best I could to stretch my savings out , but motels, extended stays, and rentals are the types of things that cost more the less money you have.

Don’t have credit? That’ll be an extra hundred for a “security deposit.” ID obviously fake? Add a couple more twenties so they don’t rat to the cops. The guy next door “somehow” figured out how to break into your room? Too bad, there’s nothing maintenance can do about it. He’ll do it again, and if he doesn’t, the motel manager will. Guess you better move and kiss that security deposit goodbye.

So… yeah, twenty bucks a pack for blister protectors isn’t “nothing” anymore. But Duchy helps cure my aching loneliness, and she also gets a discount on my favorite vice, one I’ve had to cut back on in the past few towns I’ve lived in.

I give her a suggestive eyebrow waggle. “You know what I want, babe.”

She bursts into a cackle, the one “flaw” she has. No one comes to Wander Isle to be remembered, but whoever she’s hiding from would find her in an instant with one witch-like laugh. For better or worse, though, she only ever does it around me and her boyfriend. I don’t know how I got inside that iron-clad bubble of hers, but I’m grateful every day for a friend. At least until I have to leave again.

After six months on the run, it’s… it’s been lonely. Necessary, but lonely all the same.

“A cherry tart from the Sweet Tea Room. Got it,” Duchy says, shaking her head. “You know, if Xavier gave that answer, there’d be completely different stakes, and I’d be winning. twice.” She smirks. “If you know what I mean.”

Oh I know what she means, just not personally. She doesn’t need to know that though. Even non-judgmental Duchy wouldn’t be able to hold back her side-eye if I told her that I’m a virgin stripper. Not that it’s impossible, or even unusual in real life, but even I know it’s a played-out trope in romance books. Or maybe I’ve just read too many of them. I am a mood reader after all, and I really do love when the antihero talks her through it…

Heat rises in my cheeks. I fake a dramatic gagging to hide my embarrassment and the fact that my mind has gone straight to the damn gutter all on its own.

“Ew, X is literally like a brother to me.” Then I grin back. “But sorry, no orgasms just sweets.”

“Hey now, sweets are a close second. If I get you a tart, I can get me one too. Another win-win.” Her nose scrunches as she shimmies into her red dress. “But then Xavier will want one too. Sigh. Get an Alice a tart and the rest of The Rabbit Hole will want one too. Can’t blame them though, everyone loves eating dessert. Hey, speaking of, you gonna do it tonight? Like I said, Mirroring should be fine, but it’s up to you. I know you like the floor, but semis in booths are always a good start. Oh! Or grab you a couple and go all in on the chick. They’re the best tippers, so long as you ignore the guy. You make her feel like she’s the only one in the room for once, and he gets that girl on girl fantasy he swears he’s not watching every time he opens the porn he also swears he doesn’t watch.”

“The… what…?” I blink, trying to follow her train of thought. With her constant stream of conversation, my new friend reminds me even more of Luna, especially when Luna was hypomanic. I don’t mind it, but their high energy is hard to keep up with sometimes.

Tart… eating dessert… the rooms—

“Oh.” My cheeks heat further. There will be no denying I’m blushing now. I studiously finish the white ribbon on my thigh in a practiced bow.

“I’m not sure.” I’ve been building up my courage, but my nerves have gotten the best of me.

“No shame, but lemme tell ya, when you’re counting up at the end of the night, it’s worth it. Plus, it kinda acts like foreplay.”

“Gross,” Dee groans as she pushes open the door into the dressing room, and the music blares inside from behind her. “How the hell do you get turned on by anything in this damn place? I’d rather take a long walk off a short dock and let the pluff mud take me.”

“Please, it’s not that bad.” Her twin, Tweetie, follows in behind her, snorting. She blows a pink bubble as she closes the door, silencing the music.

Their heels clack on the hard floor as they banter before they yank them off on their way to their lockers. They just finished their set, and after being under the bright lights, we always come back in to let our bodies breathe and baby wipe down. There’s a break now, then Duchess, then Mira, then me, and I’ll be doing the same thing they are. Granted I’ll be wearing less clothes.

We’re allowed to take off as much or as little as we want onstage, but the girls that take clients to back rooms and booths have a lot more leeway than the ones who don’t. The ones who haven’t gotten the courage to entertain VIP yet—aka me—are expected to show more skin in front of everyone, while the others can save the whole show for private sessions.

With their black bottoms, suspenders, and red bow at their necks, Dee and Tweetie would look like mimes if they had shirts. Instead, their small breasts press tightly against the wide suspenders, spilling around the straps to complete the sexy costume.

Dee scowls in the mirror as she removes her platinum blonde wig and the cap beneath it, revealing her short-cropped natural hair. “The only reason it’s not ‘that bad’ is because I take a page from Castle’s playbook.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” Duchess asks idly.

“Gamify. Everything.” She holds up bills, several hundreds and twenties, smiling like the cat that got the cream before stuffing them in her safe. “And I make money doing it too. Look. Got all these just because the gullible dummies can’t guess how much money I had in my ankle clip. They assume I am my character. Embarrassing for them, really, but it’s why Tweets and I chose the Tweedles in the first place, obviously.” She smirks wryly. “The ones who couldn’t pay with money made up for it by talking. One I even got to send to Castle directly.” Then she keeps a twenty and wraps a one around it before clipping both to her ankle. “I saw Turtle came in during our set, so I’m going to try him too. We’ve played so often we’re just passing hundreds back and forth at this point. But doing it this way, I don’t even need to do privates.”

“But Castle wants us to do privates.” Tweetie winces apologetically. “He really doesn’t like it if the customers complain about us being prudes. Alice, if you don’t—”

“Please, Alice is far from a prude,” Duchess argues. “She shouldn’t have to if she isn’t comfortable. Besides, she’s better at Mirroring than the rest of us combined. The things this girl can pull out of those guys are unreal.” She turns to me. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You can stay Castle’s secret wrangling midnight ballerina for as long as you want,” she says the last with a teasing chuckle.

“Unless Castle decides you’re ready,” the disembodied voice comes from…

Read more

Current WIP: Dishearten: Frayed Satin Series Book 2, a spicy, dark-gray romance, second-generation legacy series of interconnected standalones that gives classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Dishearten is inspired by Alice in Wonderland, a classic story which has been adapted into a super fun ballet.

Keep reading to fall in love with Hatton Fury and Lucy McKennon.

For Frayed Satin Book 1, read Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl.

For the first generation, read Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Not caught up yet? Click here, and don't miss a single chapter!

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence suggested, sexual descriptions

Dishearten Chapter 2

Hatch

The door slams at my back with an unsettling finality. I don’t blame Dorman after I scared the piss out of him—literally if the acrid scent wafting up as I passed was any indication.

The dizzying paint job on the stairwell walls requires me to focus on every black carpeted step as I descend. Bass notes thump up to me, taking control of my heartbeat and rattling the industrial pipe rail under my fingers.

Once I get to the bottom, I spread open heavy, black velvet curtains, and it takes a few beats of the song blaring out of the speakers to understand what I’m looking at.

When I jumped off the Jon boat and onto Wander Isle, the first thing I clocked was that everything here is old as fuck. Salt water and storms have eaten up plaster and brick buildings to the point that they’re crumbling before your eyes, yet I didn’t see anything being repaired. The small town has all but been left to fend for itself against the elements, as if society has tried to forget the island’s existence since the day their sins fled here.

But The Rabbit Hole is a whole other world.

I just left the setting of a Southern Gothic horror movie and descended into a Vegas night club. The fact that it’s underground on a marshy island at all is a testament to the major money being spent on this place to keep it in top shape, and inside is no exception.

Ambient lighting and strobing beams dance like ribbons through the heavy, oddly sweet-scented smoke on the ceiling. There’s lush leather and velvet furniture, carpet that sinks under my shoes, and sleek woods accented by industrial metal. Cozy booths line the walls, and the ones that glow red have a black curtain drawn across them with the red neon outline of a suit of cards painted on the fabric, a door stands between each nook.

Out on the floor, more Edison lamps light small tables draped in black cloths, and surrounding each one are chairs deep enough to lounge into. Hookahs—no doubt one of the culprits of the smoky haze in the room—sit atop a few of the low tables. Every high-top is taken with a poker game that I’d need night vision goggles to see properly, their dealers dressed in white, red, and black costumes with red or black paint over their eyes in the shape of card suits. The room’s semicircle layout surrounds three separate stages, the most prominent in the middle. Each one has a pole from floor to ceiling… and a topless dancer twirling around it. And everyone is wearing masks.

Holy shit.

The Rabbit Hole is a strip club. An anonymous strip club. Anyone with something to lose can believe they’re keeping their secrets to themselves, but that’s never how it works in reality.

So what the fuck is my runaway bride doing here?

She’s a daughter in the most powerful crime syndicate in the country. Her parents had to have taught her that clubs like this siphon information for and from the rich and powerful. Hell, her family uses all of Vegas to do that very same thing. If she was wanting to stay hidden, a place meant to collect secrets isn’t the place to do it.

Unless that’s exactly why she wants to be here.

Interesting.

I mull that over as I take a stroll, scanning the room cataloguing exits, blind spots, and the masked dancers, patrons, and staff.

Center stage, a young woman with short, glossy white hair and pale skin bathed in body glitter spins around like a mirrored disco ball. As she spins on the pole, her face is placid and her eyes are bored. A far cry from my happy little bunny with a sweet tooth.

Definitely not Lucy.

My gaze drops from her as I pass by a Black woman with a platinum blond bob dressed like a sultry mime—wearing a bandit mask, red bowtie, wide-strapped suspenders sans-shirt, boy shorts, and a stunning triumphant smile. She’s sitting on the lap of a patron with a gray turtle mask covering half his face and a hookah on his table. As he hands over several bills, the edges of his lips catch in a smile that’s somewhere between knowing he lost a bet but happy to do it.

A dealer at the poker table waves in my direction, making my steps slow thinking she’s calling me over. But I bristle to a halt as a small hand glides down my back and rests on my arm.

“’Scuse me, handsome.”

A woman with long braids threaded with platinum-blond extensions appears at my side. My teeth grit and I freeze at the unwanted touch, only relaxing a fraction when she squeezes before letting go.

“Damn, so strong and hard.” She gives me a onceover and pats my chest. “Find me after Alice, and we’ll do something about that, ’kay?”

She’s only a few inches shorter than my six-foot-five thanks to her sky-high heels, but she deftly snakes around me, leaving me with a wink before continuing to the high-top. I do a double take between her and Platinum Blond at the table behind me.

They’re both dressed in the same barely-there mime costume and look like twins—same warm-brown skin, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. But the second woman’s smile is more playful than smug as she sidles up to the player in a pig mask beside the dealer.

The guy teeters on his stool as he turns around, brandishing a silver poker chip like a flag of surrender. With a perfunctory smile on her face, she steadies the drunk guy’s arm as he seemingly tries to decide which mime in his double vision to hand the chip to, and takes it herself, pocketing it in her tight boy shorts.

She and the dealer do a remarkable job helping ol’ Humpty Dumpty off the stool. Once he’s balanced, he stands at least half a foot shorter and follows her like a toddler as she weaves him through the tables to the only door guarded by a bouncer.

Now this guy is by far the most intimidating dude in here, almost my size and dressed in all black with a hood that makes him look like a fucking executioner. That alone makes him look a hell of a lot more like security than whatever the fuck the doorman was supposed to be. He gives them a simple nod and opens the door, letting them pass through to the staircase beyond.

Now where does that lead?

I frown and peer up to find a skybox with a heavily tinted picture window, providing a birds-eye view, although smoke swirls so thickly behind the glass it’s a wonder if anyone can see out. I wouldn’t have pegged the drunk guy to be worthy of VIP status, but I’d bet the Fury’s entire farm that’s where the dancers entertain the major players. Might could even be the big boss’s office.

Is Lucy up there?

The thought has me stepping closer, but the bouncer opens the door again and…

Read more

Keep reading to fall in love with Hatton Fury and Lucy McKennon.

For Frayed Satin Book 1, read Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl.

For the first generation, read Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence suggested, sexual descriptions

Dishearten Chapter 1

Hatch

“You want me to… what?” I ask the doorman, trying to keep the sharp edge of frustration out of my voice.

The short, beady-eyed guy is skinny everywhere but his belly, looking like a lab mouse in a green velour suit. His damp, pale skin is flushed high at the cheeks and his pupils are blown, both probably from whatever cloyingly sweet drug seeps from his pores. It’s probably also the reason he couldn’t look like he cared less if he tried, vaguely waving to the costume masks lining a wall previously hidden by the curtain he just drew back.

“Just wear the mask, don’t be an ass. Them’s the rules, don’t be a tool,” he hiccups. “No name is the game, and the games never change. Secrets for thee are not from he. Castle don’t need your name, not for the game. I’m not to blame, for the game stays the same.”

I blink.

He blinks back slowly.

A sole Edison bulb in a gold cage wire sconce barely illuminates the small vestibule, but my eyes zero in on its three doors—one in front of me, one at the top of a staircase, and another to my right. According to the feed on my phone, Lucy’s still behind one of these here doors and this high as a kite motherfucker is standing in my way.

It took less than fifteen minutes to get here since I skipped the ferry and bribed a fisherman to haul as much ass as his jon boat would allow. With that little amount of time, Dash wasn’t able to hack any of The Rabbit Hole’s systems—claiming there was no system at all, actually—and it has no online presence. And it turns out Harry is as loyal to the island as he is the Furys, refusing to tell me what’s inside when I texted him. But the vibes alone are familiar, and I’ve been in enough places like this to have a good guess.

Which means I have zero goddamn patience to fuck around right now.

“Dude, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask. “You’re wasting my time.”

He laughs humorlessly. “Well, there’s no time on Wander, so none to squander.” He continues on his bullshit in his thick low country drawl, hard to understand even for me thanks to the slur at the end of each word. “I like you, bo, so I think you should know. Everything’s a trick, and new blood better learn quick. Or else he dies trying using what Castle’s supplying. But first, dress up or get out. If he don’t wear a mask, then to the street he goes. No skin off my nose.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter and cross my arms.

My worn leather jacket stretches around my shoulders like a shield as I size him up, weighing my options.

I could easily take him, but starting a brawl in my first few minutes here isn’t exactly the first impression I’m trying to make. In fact, I’m not trying to make an impression at all. Best to get in, do recon, and get the hell out with Lucy none the wiser. Plus, Harry would have my hide if I fucked up his reputation on Wander.

The doorman crosses his arms too, mirroring my posture as he leans back against the door I’m guessing I want to go through. With the new posture, a bulge sticks out at his side underneath his velvet coat, revealing a holstered gun…

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It’s time for Dishearten’s Prologue: Part 2. Happy reading, and let me know in the comments and social media what you think!

Stay Mad and read spicy out there Tatters!

Love y’all byeeee,

❥• Mad Queen G

My current WIP is Dishearten: Frayed Satin Series Book 2, a spicy, dark-gray romance, second-generation legacy series of interconnected standalones that gives classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Dishearten is inspired by Alice in Wonderland, a classic story which has been adapted into a super fun, but modern ballet.

Keep reading to fall in love with Hatton Fury and Lucy McKennon, daughter of Lacey and Kian from Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

For Frayed Satin Book 1, read Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl.

For the first generation, read Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

Read Previous Chapter

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, sexual descriptions

Dishearten Prologue (Part 2)

Hatch

Kian sighs. “Severino and Talia are doing as well as can be expected.”

My brows raise, shocked he answered at all, but I’m too full of my classic Fury family guilt to give him shit about it.

“So, not too fucking well, I gather.”

He grunts. “Sev is still investigating what—or who—caused the crash. With the rideshare driver dead, and Brylie still…” he swallows thickly. “They only have forensics to go off of. And most of that was destroyed in Lake Pontchartrain.”

My jaw ticks. I shouldn’t say anything else, should leave it alone. But what kind of brother would I be if I didn’t try?

Maybe the Lucianos don’t realize how bad he’s hurting…

“You know, if y’all looped Dash in, or even just let him visit the hospital, maybe he could—”

“Do you Fury boys have a death wish?” Kian snarls. “Talia alone would slice Dashiel’s throat with a scalpel before she ever let him so much as breathe the same air as her daughter ever again.”

I suck my teeth in frustration.

That response was to be expected. At least I can tell Dash he’s been successful at flying under the radar.

“And speaking of mothers,” Kian continues. “You better hope to God my wife has mercy when she finds out you’ve been withholding information about our daughter from us.”

I clear my throat. “That’d mean you’d have to tell her about your little end of the bargain, though… wouldn’t you? How would Mrs. McKennon feel learning her husband bet away the right to protect his daughter to whoever found her first? I know I’d flip my ever-loving shit.”

Which is why I was so goddamned determined to get to her first.

At his pause, I hum. “Mhm, seems like we both have a vested interest in keeping finding Lucy to ourselves, now don’t we?”

This kind of manipulation and scheming, teetering on the cliff of danger while simultaneously poking the charging bear, it’s what I do best for my family. Our branch of the Fury family tree is split into jobs. King, my father, rules—a little on the nose, I know—Orion is the muscle, Dash is the smart strategist, and I…

I’m fucking crazy.

I rule the underground smuggling networks, collecting and maintaining seedy connections so the Furys can stay one step ahead of the Wildes. Vices, blackmail, bets—whatever it is, I never lose. Now’s no exception, which means thanks to the bet I made with Kian McKennon, I’ve got one third of the Troisgarde by the balls.

“I obviously didn’t think you’d twist the bet like this,” he growls. “But apparently that’s the Fury M.O..”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have your own cards up your sleeve,” I chuckle. “The difference is, I knew the risks—and my opponent—when I made the bet. Unfortunately, for you, that doesn’t seem to be your M.O.. In fact, all of y’all should really stop playing with such high stakes.”

The only reason we’re in this fucking mess is because my father made a drunken bet with the Troisgarde during a poker game in McKennon’s casino. If they lost, their future children would have to marry his.

King saw the future of the Wilde-Fury feud even back then. We’re in an all-out war, and he knew an alliance with the Troisgarde would be the only thing that could keep his family alive.

Roping the Troisgarde in to fight our battles was obviously a shitty deal for them. But they took it because they were all childless and jaded at the time. To them, my father was a fool who wanted non-existent stakes. McKennon and his friends? They never dreamed they were going to lose everything that mattered.

Because now the Wildes are more sadistic than ever, out to all but exterminate us and everyone we love. Whether any of us want to get married or not, my brothers and I have a duty to make sure the daughters stay safe. It’s how we were raised after all, by both King and our momma.

“Ruthie Fury,” I whisper under my breath automatically, so low McKennon can’t hear. Another day she won’t be forgotten.

“We were tricked into the pact with your father,” McKennon argues for the billionth time, exhaustion in his voice. “Obviously we never expected for those chickens to come home to roost.”

I snort. “Well, cluck, cluck, motherfuckers.”

“You shouldn’t be so cavalier,” McKennon warns. “You’re a fucking trickster like your father.”

“Ah, it’s ‘fucking’ now, is it? Weird to hear your Irish accent get thicker while your curses get more American.”

“‘Fucking’ is not an American word, you arrogant little…” he drifts off in a frustrated groan, then sighs. “Look, the terms were that whoever found her could protect her, but I made that agreement believing whoever ‘won’ would immediately use their team to extract her. How could I have possibly guessed you-you’d leave her there? Bring my daughter home or tell me where she is so I can get her myself.”

“One, I’m not telling you where she is because she left for a reason. And two, she didn’t tell you for a reason,” I interrupt, tired of the “fuck-with-my-would-be-father-in-law” game I’ve already perfected.

I pluck the cigarette I keep behind my ear and tuck it between my lips. Even without lighting it, the muscle memory alone soothes my nerves as I continue speaking around it.

“And you still haven’t told me what those reasons are. I’m not going to force her to go any-fucking-where or do any-fucking-thing she doesn’t want unless I learn what those reasons are, especially because I’m starting to think I won’t like the answers. Until then, Lucy’s safe with me, alright?” I try to take on a teasing tone. “But if you really wanna know where she is, all you gotta do is confess why she didn’t tell her own goddamn parents.”

Okay, so yeah, my annoyance definitely bled through there in the end. Oops.

The accusation gets down to the heart of why I’m being a jackass right now. When I first found out Lucy was gone, I was a wreck, thinking that the Fury feud with the Wildes had taken yet another woman my brothers and I were supposed to protect. I’d thought her parents would be just as horrified as I was after I told them. But upon hearing that Lucy’s precious cat, Dinah, the one she’d had since she was a kid, was left behind, relief filled their expressions.

Relief.

Because apparently, Lucy scampering away like a little rabbit when things get scary isn’t a new character trait. In fact, she’s done it several times before.

And it all began when she was seven years old…

I suspected whatever tightly held family secret that led to her running was the key to unlocking Lucy’s whereabouts, and I’d hoped her father would trust me enough to confide in me so I could help find her. But Kian never let anything slip. Now that I’ve found her without his fucking help, he and the secrets that kept her from me can get fucked.

Except…

Even now, I wait with bated breath, wondering if this will be the moment I find out the truth…

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Hello my dolls, my dears, my darlings, subscribers of Substack and newsletter alike! I am SO EXCITED to do something I’ve been perishing to do for years: post weekly rough draft updates on my latest work-in-progress! Fun fact, my very first book, Escaping Conviction, was on Wattpad before I self-published it! With the rollercoaster mess that is social media algorithms, the ‘zon, and force majeure contract clauses in real time, I finally got the courage to go back to my roots and share my love for my stories as I revise my books prior to publication.

My WIP

My current WIP is Dishearten, Book 2 in the Frayed Satin Series, a spicy, dark-gray romance, second-generation legacy series of interconnected standalones that gives classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Dishearten is inspired by Alice in Wonderland, a classic story which has been adapted into a super fun, but modern ballet.

Keep reading to fall in love with Hatton Fury and Lucy McKennon, daughter of Lacey and Kian from Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

For Frayed Satin Book 1, read Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl.

For the first generation, read Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

This first chapter is free for everyone! To read full versions of later chapters, consider becoming a paid subscriber! At the end of each update, I give a little insight on my process as I wrote the chapter.

PS: I am a spicy romance author who explores dark themes. My work should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. I will strive to have clearly harmful trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, and reader discretion is advised.

Happy reading! Stay Mad and read spicy out there Tatters!

Love,

❥• Mad Queen G

Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, sexual descriptions

Dishearten Prologue (Part I!)

Hatch

“You found my daughter, and you won’t tell me where she is?!”

“Thaaat’s right,” I sing, my stopped-up nose making my taunt more nasally than usual. Though, the caller on the other line is so pissed, I don’t think he notices.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Hatton Fury?!”

“Uh… duh?” I huff a laugh as I rub my tired, itchy eyes. “Come on, McKennon. That can’t be news to you. The body my brothers and I left in the New Orleans alley six months ago didn’t tip you off? Or maybe it took that poker game after Asheville.”

“Don’t remind me you cheating piece of fecking shite. You still owe me for the burns you left in my casino’s carpet.”

Oh yeah. The Irish accent is in full force. My almost-father-in-law is pissed.

“Cheating? Moi? No… couldn’t be me.” I muse lightly. “But you know… maybe you should be clearer on the house rules.”

“House rules?!” He scoffs, and I almost smile. “Everyone knows you can’t pick and choose from your own deck!”

Goddamn, riling up the King of Vegas is fun. Almost as fun as stalking his daughter is. Or was. You know, before she went missing for six very shitty, very terrifying, and very-fucking-long months.

But I finally found her.

Kian McKennon goes into a string of Irish curses, but the building pressure in my sinuses is too distracting to see if I know them. With the dingy hotel room’s brittle curtains drawn, I might as well be in a cave, not a lick of light coming in and dusty as hell.

Ignoring him, I focus on my bright as day laptop screen, fingers hovering over my nose.

“Are you listening to me?!”

“Nooope,” I sound out, popping the “p” and rubbing my watering eyes.

I’ve all but given up when the sneeze I’ve been waiting for all dadgum day finally racks through me as violently as an electric shock. I pinch my nostrils just in time to keep from scaring the skittish girl on my bed, making my ears pop so hard they squeak.

“Fuck, that felt good.” I mutter, then work my jaw and tug one earlobe with my fingers to pop them again. Unfortunately, as soon as they do, the enraged father roars back into my hearing, loud and fucking clear.

“I have had it up to here with you, Fury. Do you hear me? My wife and I will have your bloody head if you don’t cut the shite and tell me where my Laoise is!”

LEE-sha, that’s how he pronounces her given Irish name. The first time he texted it to me, I about went cross-eyed trying to figure out what he was saying. Reading texts is already difficult enough, then bring in a totally different language? Fuck that. I told him voice notes or calls only after that. He refused at first, but once I ignored him a million-and-one times, the stubborn bastard finally got the hint.

I hum to myself as I switch video feeds, triangulating the hacked satellite footage and security cams. As I try to relocate my target, my eyes begin watering again, and I nearly groan.

Hopefully, this will be my last cramped, musty-ass hotel with its zero air circulation and sealed windows. These shitholes are under the radar, but they’re a nightmare for someone in my particular predicament.

Tipping the rickety desk chair back, I stretch to fish a syringe from my bag on the floor. Once I retrieve it, I slam back on all four chair legs and bite the protective shield over the needle, spitting it with practiced ease into the nearby wastebasket with the others. My free hand pulls back my basketball shorts and rubs the skin on my thigh, readying it. I keep my face carefully blank even though the head of one of the Troisgarde families—and eternal pain in my ass—can’t see me wince through the phone.

McKennon’s still ranting about how I’m the enemy, he’ll never forgive me for scaring his daughter away, that I’m a dead man for keeping her location hidden, and blah blah-dee-fucking blah. I tune him out as I drive the needle in, silently cursing for the thousandth time that I have to do this at all.

My brother, Dash, jacked this experimental shit from the hospital he’s been “working” at. He swore up and down that I’d get used to it—both the pain and that my body would need less and less over time. But fuckin’ A, the only thing that’s changed in the past six months is the dose—going up, by the way—now at borderline lethal levels.

“You better start fecking listening, or I’ll have to trace this call and come kick your arse myself.”

“Nuh, uh, uh… that would be against the rules,” I taunt him with a sing-songy rhythm again. I resist itching where the needle went in and grind out, “I know the Troisgarde has a hard time committing to pacts, McKennon, but we both agreed to this one over the card game of your choosing. Fair and square. Finders keepers.”

“My daughter isn’t a toy to fight over on the playground, you crazy mother—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap. “Watch your goddamn tone or fuck off. I didn’t even have to tell you that I found her, but I did it as a dadgum courtesy. I could’ve kept this information to myself and let you rot with worry like I’ve had to do for months…”

I drift off as the gorgeous strawberry blonde in workout sweats reappears on my screen, and I zero in on the footage.

“But I didn’t,” I add with a murmur. “Because I’m considerate and shit.”

Lucy McKennon walks down one of Wander Isle’s many docks that serve several fishing and house boats, nibbling the cookie base of a tart she already dissected the filling out of with delicate curves and flicks of her tongue. Thanks to the complex surveillance system my brother designed, I got rock-hard watching her go through the process with a different pastry earlier. This setup has better angles than a damn NFL game. Now it does, anyway.

The satellite network Dash hacked into—don’t ask me how, he’s the genius, and I don’t fucking know—was supposed to make finding Lucy an easy task. Instead, I had to hit the streets and use my own skills to chase the pastry crumbs she left behind. It took six months of always searching a town or two too late before everything suddenly flared to life, and my screen filled with a Low Country bakery’s storefront window. One second, I’d been confused as hell, frowning at what had set the facial recognition software off, the next, the sun shifted, eliminating the glare on the glass…

And there she fucking was, enjoying a cherry tart like she was making love to the damn thing.

Relief hit me in a wave until my cock registered the way she lapped at the sweet custard. I nearly threw the computer out the two-story window to keep from coming right then and there.

In my defense, I can’t even remember the last time I got laid. But still, after searching for sweet, innocent, scared little Lucy all this time, I hate myself that once I finally found her, my first thought was to rush to her, hold her, then slip my cock in between those plush lips to teach my naughty little bunny rabbit to never ever fucking run from me again.

Those perfect, full, pink lips…

“Listen, Fury,” Kian’s rage snaps me out of the memory. “When my wife finds out you’re refusing to tell us where Laoise is, she’s going to lose her mind. You’d already be a dead man if she wasn’t thirty-thousand feet in the air after consoling the Lucianos in Boston.”

I wince.

Shit.

My voice gruff when I get the courage to speak. “H-How are they? How’s…” I blow out a breath. “How’s Brylie?”

I shouldn’t even ask about Lucy’s best friend. The Lucianos have every right to hate my family to the grave and back, despite the fact that their daughter, Brylie, was Dash’s fiancée.

Is. Is Dash’s fiancée. Hopefully.

The daughters of the Troisgarde crime syndicate, Luna Bordeaux, Lucy McKennon, and Brylie Luciano, were inseparable before the Furys came along. Inseparable and safe. But then we fucked everything up like we always do.

Now Luna is with my brother, Orion, hiding out in Appalachia from the Wildes that almost stole her from him. And at the first sign of the death and chaos the Furys cause, Lucy fled for her life and has been in the wind ever since. And Brylie…

Fuck, I don’t think Lucy even knows what happened to her best friend. She can’t, can she? Or else she’d have gone home?

Damn. I ain’t no coward, but I hope to Christ I’m not the one who has to break the news…

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Peek behind the curtain…

Okay, so full disclosure, FIRST CHAPTERS ARE HARD, Y’ALL! I rewrite them approximately 5011 times and this one has been no different. As I say in the trigger warning, this is a ROUGH DRAFT and highly subject to change. Do not get attached, my love. The prologue is currently at a whopping 5k words, and I’m already hoping to slim it down before I add part 2 next week!

Kian in Rouge is my sweetest, but trickster-iest MMC in the Tattered Curtain Series, so it was so fun and natural to have him face off with the even trickster-ier, def-not-as-sweet Hatch lol.

What do you think of their dynamic so far? Why do you think Hatch has allergies in the winter?? WHERE IN THE WORLD IS LUCY??? Let me know in the comments!

Stay Mad and read spicy out there Tatters!

Love you all byeeee,

❥• Mad Queen G

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