Dishearten Chapter 11

Meet the villain(?)

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.

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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 11

Hatch

It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. Growing up in the mountains, for some stupid reason, I thought the beach was always warm. It was when we visited my cousins here.

In the summer.

Obviously.

But the Atlantic Coast wind rolling off the ocean just down the marsh is frigid and persistent, finding the cut slice in my motorcycle jacket like it’s my knife to my back all over again. The fresh air that brought me clarity has been replaced by the scent of salt, rotting fish, gasoline, and mildew. Slippery icicles drip from the edge of the dock where high tide has slapped against the metal slats.

Still, my muscles stay loose, rage and focus burning the chill away.

Since getting kicked out, I’ve spent my time fuming on this dock. I should’ve left. Getting into shit like this less than six hours after I step foot onto the territory of an unknown player—full of men with unknown loyalties—has got to be one of the top ten dumbest things I’ve ever done.

But my heart still thunders at the image of Frog manhandling her. It beats like a war drum, urging me to fight the world over whatever put the fear of God in Lucy’s eyes at the sight of that syringe. Which, by the way, I’ll definitely need back if I’m somehow allowed to return to the club.

I whispered voice notes to Dash asking to get me more and to get into their CCTV system even if it doesn’t sit in a “cloud.”. King and McKennon both messaged, but I can’t listen right now, so I’ll deal with those later. My phone’s on silent now, because if the bouncer does what I think he’ll do, I won’t have much longer to wait.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop replaying Lucy’s reaction in my head.

“People get drugged all the time, kidnapped, and then they’re gone…”

I could chalk that part up to trauma over her friend getting kidnapped. My brother wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of restraint when his wife was in danger from the Wildes.

But the last part, “…all alone until they have to do something awful to get free.” Where the hell did that come from?

I don’t know, but I have every intention of finding out. And yes, I know I was supposed to stay away. But ain’t no way I’m doing that now. Not after my pretty little mystery nearly had a panic attack in my arms, and not when she has to deal with handsy bastards who don’t know how to take no for an answer.

So I wait.

The Rabbit Hole’s back exit leads into a narrow alley that opens toward a sand and cobblestone path down to the docks. The buildings rise a full two stories above the street because of the retaining wall cutting through Wander Isle, reminding me of Savannah’s waterways. It’s how I entered The Rabbit Hole from the front and somehow still needed to go down another set of stairs outside when the bouncer escorted me out at knife point.

One dim wire sconce above the back door barely lights the cramped alcove between buildings. Judging by the blackened plaster and exposed brick, there probably used to be another building squeezed in there once upon a time, but it’s long gone now.

The docks themselves are either bright as a spotlight underneath the faux gas streetlamps or pitch black where they don’t reach. Behind me, dark water winds through the marsh like spilled ink before opening into the ocean farther out, where moonlight and scattered boat lights glint across the dark abyss. This setting might be romantic in another situation, but all I see is exposure.

There are too many shadows the flickering lamps can’t reach. Too many places to hide behind fishing cabinets, crates, ropes, and barrels.

Like I am right now.

But the cold, the waiting, the worry, it’s all worth it the second the alley door slams open hard enough to smack the wall. After years of similar abuse, the exposed brick behind the handle doesn’t even shed a crumb of plaster.

Then a bumbling toad stumbles onto the porch.

“Get on outta here, man,” the bouncer calls from inside the club. “We’re closing soon, and Castle only gives you so much leeway, you know that. We can’t have you hanging around the girls while they’re heading home.”

“I’mma… paying… custhomerrr,” the nasally voice slurs back, barely recognizable as English.

“You were a paying customer. Now you’re a trespasser. Come back when you can tell the difference between dollars and beer napkins. Go on. Get.”

The bouncer sounds exhausted, but there’s an edge under it that feels awful close to my own rage. It makes me hate him a little less.

“Fuck you.”

“You know what? I’m gonna pretend you’re concussed or some shit and let that one go. Get on home and lick your wounds, before Castle gives me permission to give you new ones.”

“You… wouldn’t… dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” the executioner drawls. “I know you haven’t been around in a while, but don’t tell me you really think Castle’s always on your side. Remember that card game with Jabber you tried to cheat at? After I knocked your tooth out, Castle didn’t do shit to me. Instead, he told you to toss your gold tooth into the pot.”

I almost snort. Nice one.

The bouncer’s tone hardens. “Leave. Now.”

I think Frog tries to mutter some kind of comeback, but the door slams in his face before he gets it out. For a moment, there’s only the sound of the waves lapping at the dock and the distant hoot of an owl.

Finally, Frog stumbles down the stairs, cursing every step he trips down. He meanders down the path, not paying a lick of attention to his surroundings. Instead, he’s too busy staring at his phone while shambling farther down the dock, lazily stroking himself over his pants with a dopey grin stretched across his swollen face.

Disgusting.

The streetlamp above me will cut out soon, but with how wasted he is, I don’t bother hiding and casually lean against the metal freezer locker beside me. Judging by the ugly -ass gold-and-green speedboat tied to the slip beside it—the one labeled “Frog Prince” in giant script—I’d bet a million of Frog’s beer napkins it belongs to the asshole currently shambling my direction.

His heavy, uneven cadence makes his boots slip against the icy dock, and I roll my eyes.

Jesus, this is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel. Maybe not even be fun.

Lucy’s yelp of terror comes roaring back in my mind, her hazel -blue eyes blown wide with fear, the red marks blooming over delicate skin where his nubby fingers dared touch her…

Nah. This is gonna be the second highlight of my goddamn night.

The first, of course…