A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers MC, Book 1) | PREVIEW

Chapter 3: Cliff

It's been just about twenty-four hours since I got out, and only one thing is very clear: Lucy isn't happy with me.

Sitting in the coffee shop, I'm very careful to not make eye contact with Olivia or say anything that might be mistaken as flirting. My cousin is full of plans, telling me how she spent the entire train ride researching parole and all that. Since remaining in the state of Pennsylvania isn't a condition of my release, Lucy thinks we can get me transferred to a P.O. in Connecticut.

All I can think about, though, is how I've already disappointed her. I had no idea that Olivia was her sister. My cousin, I guess. They're seven years apart, which makes her seventeen years younger than me. An entire lifetime, basically. My head is spinning with everything.

"Let's set up your phone," Lucy says, scooting closer to me.

I pull the phone out of my pocket. It's one of her old ones, but completely new to me. Instead of plastic, the screen is glass, and there are almost no buttons. You can send written messages on it or play video games. There are these things called "apps" that allow you to do different things—even video chat. Lucy explains all of this to me again, showing me how to text and FaceTime her.

She also downloads an app called Uber and tells me that I'll never need to call for a taxi again. Then she downloads Facebook.

"Let's get you signed up," she says, her eyes intent on the screen.

Standing up, I leave her to it and amble toward the counter. I need gallons of coffee today. For one, it's been aeons since I've had coffee that didn't taste like water or mud. No in-between in prison. But really, I didn't sleep a wink last night. I kept waking up to every little sound, shooting straight up in bed with my fists cocked anytime someone walked past my door.

Old habits die hard.

I order another venti something or other and step to the side while the barista makes it.

"Luce gets kinda batty when she's nervous," Olivia says from my elbow.

Literally. I tower over her.

Turning, I glance down at her and nod. "She's been really helpful. Too helpful." I shove my hands into the pockets of my brand-new Levis, feeling more than a little guilty. The thermal henley is snug but hugs every muscle in my arms and abs, and the color is right, too.

Black.

Always black.

I'll never wear orange or tan again.

"Looks good on you," Olivia says, her eyes roving over me.

Those eyes.

When I was a kid, I had the biggest crush on Christina Ricci in Casper. Olivia's eyes are just as mesmerizing. A brown so warm, they're almost liquid. She's got what they'd call soulful eyes.

Then there are the dimples that pop up every time she smiles. Sweet, yet mischievous. Alluring, like a single beauty mark. Like the dark curls that cascade over her arms. There's a wildness to her but also a softness, as if she's straddling heaven and hell.

I'd like for her to straddle me.

I swallow hard. Lucy may not be happy about it, but let's get real. Olivia is the first woman I've been near in the last twenty years. I realize that she was a year old when I went in, and I look away. She's too young. And she's basically family. She is off limits. I'll probably need to tell myself this every five minutes—especially once the three of us are sharing the same motel room. In some ways, this is worse than being in seg.

"So," Olivia says, and I swear she's inching closer to me.

I lift my eyebrows at her in what I hope is a "go away, kid, you bother me" look. Seventeen years between us. Twenty-one years old. Too young. Family.