Monday, October 15, 2018

The Dinosaur Dress

I pitched the Fisher Men series to an editor. Yep, I did that thing I said I would never do. I had a very good reason. It was the dinosaur dress. The dinosaur dress made me do it.

Perhaps I should start from the beginning. You see, I love being an independent author. I love that nobody gets a say in what I write or how quickly I finish it. If I go to print with a typo, It’s my typo and I own it with my human-ness. My career began with a simple notion. Life is too short to do anything less than what I love. I know, spoken like a true cancer survivor. I design my covers, and I am unapologetic about their imperfections, because it’s mine. If only one person bought my book, that is fabulous.

My goals are small, because writing is this thing I do for my soul. I shake off the stress of my life as a first responder by giving the patients of my really tough cases a rich back story, and the happily ever after I wish for them. I used to delete my novels after I wrote them because I got what I needed from them. One day with little to no guidance I hit publish on a really terrible version of my first book. Seriously, I learned all the ways not to do it. In the end, I wrote and published four books and a novella in one year. The fourth being my favorited best. My soul has a lot to say so I was already “plantsing” my next series.

I met her in my Romance Writers of America meeting. She did a presentation on pitches. I supported my sister writers, but I had no intention of ever pitching my soul to an editor. As she discussed what she was looking for I thought, oh that’s what I write. She described the heros she likes to see and I was like I know, right? I love a well-rounded beta male over an asshole alpha. She talked about her nerd fetishes which were also mine, and I thought if only I could be eight years old. If I was eight, I could grab her arm and claim her as my best friend. It’s creepy when adults try this. So I’ve been told.

The next time I saw her was at Chicago North Spring Fling. I was an attendant and a volunteer so I bumped into my secret best friend a time or two. I realize this girl crush is weird, but hey, so am I. The fact that we have never spoken doesn’t mean I couldn’t meet her for dinner sometime. The fact that I’m an introvert does. No, no. Dinner dates with my girl crush, they happen only in my head.
I sat a banquet table scrolling my phone because hello, introvert with strangers. The world of cocky-gate is unfolding at my fingertips. At this time the indie community is being beaten with new Amazon algorithms (I had a book banned for questionable content for about a week), the spotlight on page turn scammers, book stuffing, word patenting, and subpar content was slowly becoming the face of the Indie Author. My heart hurt. A voice stepped out of the darkness on our behalf. A lovely author decided to streamline the voices and represent our interests to Amazon.

I can’t disagree with the concept. The lovely author is like a pit-bull once she sinks her teeth into the kong, she isn’t going to let it go. Every organization needs a person like her. It’s the only way shit gets done. There is a reason that person is never the face of the organization though. Harsh and brash mannerisms aren’t always well received. I don’t know her personally and maybe she has a professional face I’m not aware of, but either way, I didn’t choose her. If someone is going to represent me, my work, my soul, to not only my publisher, but my readers, and the world, shouldn’t I get a say in who that person is?

Enter my girl crush in the most adorable blue dress printed with colorful dinosaurs. For the love of Joe, could this woman be any more perfect. A dinosaur dress! As she took the stage for a panel Q&A she beamed a beautiful smile that crinkled her eyes under her gorgeously large glasses. She dropped her head and giggled like the quirky characters I write. I stared at the lost member of my tribe. She is my people. That’s when it clicked, that is a woman who gets me. That beautiful smile adorns the face of someone who could adequately represent me. If my representation is inevitable, then the Independent Author in me, is making a choice. I slapped my hand on the table much to the alarm of the other authors and announced “I’m pitching my next series.” I turned my heart shaped eyes on the woman in the dinosaur dress and thought quietly, to her. To ONLY her.

I might have mildly stalked her twitter looking for a place she is doing in-person pitch appointments, because I need to do this face to face. Then the email arrives from Midwest Fiction Writers she’s taking pitches. Never mind her office is forty-five minutes from my home, I’m driving seven hours with my husband and kids to Minnesota, because who wouldn’t?
I attended her presentation on how to pitch but I didn’t pay attention. I wasn’t pitching then. I went with no notes or real plan for words. I wasn’t even sure if I’d go through with it. I mean, I thought I would. I’m a determined person but I could still bolt. I walked in with my head held high. Then I saw her.

She stood at the front of the room in her DINOSAUR DRESS. Her hands were clutching the sides of it and she swayed back and forth like a little girl in line for ice cream. I drove straight through all night. I smelled like the bad decisions one makes on road trips. It smells like Funyons and feet in case you didn’t know. Every sleepless moment was worth it. She was wearing the dinosaurs like a beacon to my soul. Later that evening when my smell multiplied with nervous sweat, I swallowed the lump on my throat and rambled incoherently to my girl crush about all the words my soul needed to speak.

She handed me her card and said, “I think you’ve got something here.” AHHHHH!
See the thing is, even if she reads it and decides it’s not for her, that’s okay. If she loves it but can’t market it, that’s okay, too. She will still be my "in my mind" best friend and we will have imaginary dinner and superhero movie dates in my head. Because at that moment she gave me everything I needed.
Stay tuned my Rebellious Readers, winter is coming.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

In the wake of cockygate

The unintended consequence

     By now we have all heard about #Cockygate. Even those outside the romance world are chiming in. Faleena Hopkins attempted to trade mark her series name “Cocky” and miraculously succeeded.
     The ramifications for allowing the trademark of a single common use word are unending. It has been an all-out war of pro-bono lawyers, collectives, memes and hashtags. It’s important and everybody needs to pay attention. I admit it’s easy to get lost in reading the fallout of outraged authors, readers, and lawyers. Who needs soap operas?
     Here is where it is taking on a life outside the courtroom. Ms. Hopkins is a self-published author. She is not the face, personality, or professional example of what the Indie community represents, but she is self-published.
     For brand-new authors like me… well, we are entering the arena with a black eye and bruised ribs. For many, entering the arena in the current climate is too daunting.
     The best way to separate yourself is talent. That’s a fabulous notion but I can tell you it’s bullshit. Nobody will ever read your books, nobody will know your name, and nobody will see your talent unless you put yourself out there.
     The way that social media platforms work is by increasing the visibility of the most interacted posts or concepts. In short if everybody else likes this, so will you, therefore we will increase this relevant to you, visibility. Before you know it, that thing you’ve seen everybody is posting is trending worldwide.
     When a conflict like #cockygate gets a lot of attention it floods our feeds, and when it is negatively associated with an Indie Author, so does the impression it leaves. I appreciate the collectives formed to separate this negative situation from the community as a whole. I appreciate the posts encouraging would be Indies to not be swayed by this negativity. I also appreciate how come together those that remain standing have been. Sadly, that necessary support, necessary education, and necessary call to action had an unintended consequence.
     It is impossible for a new author on a low budget to get traction in this climate.
     In my immediate world it started with my BFF Robin Leaf. She released an amazing book. A romance novel unlike any other I’ve read and I’ve read thousands! A roller-coaster plot with so many twists you aren’t sure who to root for and just when you think you know… you’re wrong. It has the happily ever after you thought was off the table and is satisfying on so many levels.
     Sounds amazing, right? With a review like that you want to “one-click” it right freaking now! Sadly, Robin had the misfortune of releasing the day #cockygate broke the internet. All of her release news was buried at the bottom of your feed. It’s hard to get traction on a good day.
     Enter CockTales. This is an important book. I highly recommend buying it, because it will fund the initiative to protect the English language from being trademarked. You better believe I backed my book release up a week to not be overshadowed by this (as it should be) powerhouse. If you released the same day, I’m so sorry.
     Today, I’m feeling the burn. I released book number four. It’s a huge deal for me, because it concludes my first series. I’m so stoked. I love this book! It’s the story of two players who meet in therapy. They are quirky, sexy, crazy, and oh yes, she’s pregnant. You don’t want to love either character, but slowly you can’t help it. My ARC readers were blown away by how funny it was and I truly enjoyed writing it.

     In other more prevalent news, #cockygate has gone judicial and a court hearing is scheduled tomorrow.

     Better luck next series?

Keep fighting the good fight.
I’ll have my time when this is fixed.
Rebel Nicks O’Dey

Friday, March 23, 2018

Interview with an author.

I had a local college student contact me for an assignment. She had to interview an author. I thought I'd share the Q&A with all of you.

When did you start writing?
Well, I think I’ve always been a writer. I was a National Young Author contest winner in grade school. I wrote stories in junior high and high school to pass around to my friends who enjoyed reading them. I used it as a stress relief as an adult. I kept a blog for a number of years. I published my debut novel in September of 2017.

Why self-publish rather than go with a traditional publisher?
I had a negative experience with a traditional publisher that revolved around contracts. I prefer to write on my own timeline, about the subjects I choose, and it remains a love that I share. Deadlines, expectations, and requirements can be stressful, as an Indie writer, I am my own boss.

Which book in your series do you like the most, and which do you like the least?
Oh, tough one. I like Sanity’s Side the most. That story is about two people who fall in love slowly without ever meeting. They are two truly messed up individuals with normal lives who just make love work. I appreciate two raw real people who still get to have a sunshine and rainbows ending.
My least favorite is my recently released Sanity’s Sake. It was a story that needed to be told in this series, but the two characters aggravated the snot out of me. They were riddled with misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and time and time again couldn’t get it right. Sadly, we as humans behave this way. I think everyone will find a little bit of themselves in one of the characters and not the part we want highlighted. It is additionally a virgin trope which is typically a turn off for me as a reader. I wanted to write a realistic virgin experience, not the fantasized version typically found in romance novels.

What was your inspiration for this series?
The series is about loving and living after trauma. I am retired from a career in EMS. I experienced people in their worst moments at the height of a traumatic event. My responsibility was to get them help. I was never allowed to experience the outcome. A career of day in and day out trauma, with no closure at all, is trying on the psyche. I dealt with the stress by retreating to my imagination. I gave my patients rich back stories and a happily ever after. This is how the Circle of Sanity was born. The traumatic events in the series are actual events that I gave closure to.

Do you write about your own experiences with love and sex?
 Love, yes. I am very much in love with my husband. I want every character to have their happy ending. As far as sex, sometimes that requires research. Matt and Chrissy from Sanity’s Side have genital piercings. I do not have genital or nipple piercings and neither does my husband. I spent a great deal of time in a local tattoo shop asking wildly inappropriate and personal questions. Luckily, everyone was uncomfortably forthcoming. Although I insisted I didn’t need to see, I found myself tilting my head in admiration. I left promising to never speak of this experience, but alas…

What are you working on now?
I am working on the fourth, and final book, in the series Sanity’s Edge. This is a sex and the single mom, steamy, romantic comedy. It is hysterically funny. It has moments that will make you cry, but not nearly as much as you will laugh. It will knock Sanity’s Side out of the water as my favorite. The couple meets in therapy. They are socially awkward, lack boundaries, and all respect for personal space. In short, they are loveably crazy and perfect for one another. I’m excited to share it with my readers.

What will you do when the series is complete?
Take a couple of weeks summer break. I will have released four books and a novella in eight months. The next series is The Fisher Men. It will catalog four brothers as they fall in love. They are Chrissy’s (Book 2 heroine) brothers. I am still playing with titles, so don’t pout if it changes. Book one The Fisher Men. Book two Hooked. Book three Towing the Line. Book four Sunk.

What advice would you give an aspiring author?
Write the book, save the book, and then figure things out. Most aspiring authors get so overwhelmed by the prospect of finding publishers, agents, editors, promoters, and designers they forget their first love. Write the book. Heck, write three books then jump into the world of what comes next. I also recommend local writing groups. I am a member of Romance Writers of America. If you aren’t sure where to start, there are several groups on Facebook.

What would you have done differently?
I would have taken my own advice. I would have written the entire series before releasing. I would have joined all the groups and gotten advice from the authors before me. I learned a lot by doing it wrong the first time. I might have had an easier time if I knew better.

If you could have the career of your choice and be guaranteed success, would you still choose to be a writer?
Heck no, I’d be a superhero. Anytime you can be a superhero… Be a freaking superhero! A writer is my second choice though *wink*

Friday, March 2, 2018

I may not be your cup of tea.

My books are too dark to be Romantic Comedies, too funny to be Dark Romance, too old to be new adult (although books 2 and 3 my characters start as children). I'm a little bit of everything and so there is going to be some unlikeable aspects. My point in this series is to have characters who can fall in love after a life-defining moment of darkness.

Why do I write about the lower facets of humanity? Before I published books, I worked a career in EMS. Your worst day, was my work day. I saw the vile and terrible things that humans did to one another day in and day out. I dealt with the aftermath of a fifteen year old girl who was gang raped at a party while onlookers pulled out their phones to video. One of those onlookers was her sister. I went home and hugged my own fifteen year old daughter, making sure my girls know they have a responsibility to protect one another. Before retiring to bed that night, I wrote about that broken girl. I described her stoic face, her dead eyes. The green blanket she was wrapped in while she shook violently. I wrote about her clothes being inside out, her underwear missing, and her attackers throwing her in a field from a moving van.

My story was about overcoming the darkness of that life-altering night. A superhero who despite having had the images of her unconscious body, being violated, circulate the interwebs, she would be okay. My own psyche needed her to be okay. In my version of her life she fell in love and lived happily ever after. In my imagination, she is my Chrissy. I named her after a women who also has a quiet strength she never recognizes. I named her after a woman who tells me, I am the person she pictures when asked who the strong person in her life is. A woman that doesn't see she is, too.

In my career My duty to my patients ended at the Emergency Room door. I was helpless in the prevention of their pain. I was helpless in their recovery. My imagination though, my imagination was powerful. In the book InSanity all of Jacob's patients were one day on the job for me. The adorable little girl that got into grandma's medicine, the engagement ring choker, and the smell one doesn't forget, are all actual people. That night ended with a paramedic stabbed by his patient. For the woman wandering around nearly naked, with bare feet and a baby doll, I filled in some blanks. I gave you a plausible reason for telling me your name was bad kitten. I gave you a story. Nobody saved you in real life, in my imagination you found someone to love you and take care of you, but you were too broken. I had to give your happily ever after to the neglected children we found in your home.

I realize not everyone is comfortable delving into that kind of darkness. I respect the squirm and no thanks of some readers. Please know, that some aspects of my stories stem from real life situations in which I was helpless. I changed the outcome. For the superheros that need to know life can be what you make it. Understand, that my writing about your nightmares, was therapeutic for me. I wrote my wishes for you. For my readers, these are the stories I needed to tell. Just like in real life the darkness in my stories is lifting. Sanity's Edge is still true to the intent of the series. Two people defying their circumstances to fall in love, it is done hilariously. The series will end with a laugh.

If I am not your cup of tea, I'm happy for you. I hope you never know anybody skating the lines of Sanity. I hope your love is uncomplicated. I hope you never have to survive. I hope you never have to hold someone so they don't fall apart. If you're not that lucky, I hope you find a way.


Monday, February 19, 2018

Zan, Jacob, and the Boss.

Six-month anniversary

 Jacob: The garage door won’t open?
Zan: I know (=
Jacob: Are you being evil?
Zan: In all the best ways, Baby!
Jacob: Should I leave?
Zan: Fuck no! Use the other garage.


   Confession, I’m having a mild heart attack. We may have two garages but we use one. All the tools and the car my father left me are in the second garage. I have the most amazing wife but she has boundary issues. I don’t love her in spite of them, I love her because of them. Her full heart, honesty, quirky, crazy self takes my breath away.
Slowly, the garage door opens and my heart stops. The tarp is off my Dad’s 1970 Mustang Boss 302. He bought the car so that one day he and I could restore it together. He died before I was old enough to start. She washed it. It looks shiny and new, a sweet gesture, but I don’t want her to touch it.
   “Zan, what are you doing?”
   “Giving you our anniversary present.” She links her hands behind her back swaying back and forth mischievously.
   “You needed to do that in here?”
   “Yep!” She approaches me slowly with sexy cat like prowess. “I decided to check out your car one day. I found your dads original plans for the two of you. He had already done the body work and had bought a ton of original parts. They were all in the trunk. I found a rolodex of business cards from parts dealers, friends, and other enthusiasts. Together we went through his plans and they walked me step by step through everything that needed to be done. We made a video diary. They shared stories about your dad along the way.”
I swallow hard. “You restored my Dad’s car?” It is the most beautiful and painful thing she has ever done for me. I should have been the one to restore it. How do I tell her I’m angry, when she spent all this time on a gift for me?
   “I did, but it isn’t what you think. I kept the video diary. I took everything apart and put it back where it was. You now have a step by step guide on how to restore the car, with a little help from me and antidotes from the people your dad looked up to. While you put this back together, you will learn who your dad was and all of his hopes for you. Chrissy helped me and she even spliced in photos of him in high school and college with the very guys that helped. Each video segment is two hours’ worth of work. Schedule your time accordingly.”
I have no words. This is the most thoughtful, beautiful thing, any person could do for me. I don’t need words for this. Pulling my beautiful wife to me, my fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck, I kiss her like it’s the last time. I kiss her like it’s the first time. I kiss her with all the good stuff in the middle, because she is my everything.
   Placing her hand on my chest, she nudges me back a step. “But wait, there’s more.” She smiles that evil smile again. “I bought a second Boss. It’s at our cabin. Once you know how to restore this one, you can take care of that one with our son or daughter someday. I think your dad would be honored to have his tradition carried on.”
   I’m going to break into a million pieces if I don’t devour my wife right now. Since there is a gap between us, I use it to rip her shirt off over her head, and begin working on her pants. She lets out a sexy moan and asks, “Backseat?”
   Bending over to remove her shoes and pants, I lift her. “Fuck no!” I mean, what guy hasn’t fantasized about fucking a hot woman on the hood of a jaw dropping car? If you find him, it isn’t me. I lay her across the hood her hair splayed beautifully. She looks like one of those gas station calendar cover girls. “Tell Chrissy I want sexy pictures of you on this car. You are so fucking beautiful, Baby.”
   Running my fingertips up her legs I part them as I climb. What kind of a douche would I be if I didn’t stop and say hello to her fine pussy. “Hello sweetness.” I take my time with a slow, languid, lick. I’m not sure who moans louder. When Zan and I met she thought making noise during sex was embarrassing. Not anymore. I couldn’t be happier. I swirl my tongue in her opening, grabbing her wetness, and dragging it to her clit. Her body jolts at the excitement.
   “Oh, fuck yes, Jacob!”
   Her fingers dig into my hair and her back arches at the pleasure. I always make my wife come first. Sliding two fingers in her tight pussy, I begin that beckoning call. Milking that tiny bundle of nerves with a come-hither finger flick, causes her hips to gyrate. I am a fan of the triple play. My finger ravaging her, my tongue melts her, and my free hand reaches up to pinch and flick her nipple until she howls. She doesn’t just orgasm, she explodes, coming apart under my assault on her sweet body, panting my name through labored breaths. I drop my pants yanking her closer to me, sliding into her soaking pussy, I throw my head back with the relief, the pleasure, the awe of the beautiful woman under me. “Zan Marie, I will never tire of your perfect pussy.” I kiss her hungrily. “I love you sweetheart.”
   “I love you, too. You remember how angry you were when I said I restored your Dad’s car.”
   “Well yes, but I…”
   “Tap into that, and fuck me righteously, Jacob.”
Fuck she’s perfect. I pull out, flip her over, and slam back into her in one fluid motion. Taking a hold of her hips, I slam her body back on me with each thrust. No mercy, she asked for it. The way her body contracts, releases, and orgasms repeatedly at the harshness is hot. My girl knows what she wants and never refrains from asking for it. She throws her head back with a growl and I take a hold of her hair, yanking her back to me. I whisper in her ear.
   “Come for me again baby.” I cup her pussy rolling her clit between my fingers with one hand and tweaking her nipple with the hand I’ve released from her hair. “Come right fucking now beautiful.” Her pussy clamps down on my cock with a delicious grip. Fuck. My balls tighten, and the heat from my core violently expels into the heat of her. A pleasure so intense it is dizzying. I tighten my arms around Zan to keep her from collapsing. Kissing her neck, I murmur my praise and adoration. I am the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
   Reaching into the bottom drawer of the tool chest, I pull out a moving pad blanket. Wrapping us tightly, I open the door from the garage to the hallway. The coast is clear. Running to the elevator while fumbling over a giggling Zan, I hope we can make it up to our condo unseen. Confession, it would not be the first time Zan and I were caught misbehaving in the elevator. Most of the neighbors just shake their head at us.
   Once safely inside our home, I drop the blanket and carry my wife off to the shower. I’m nowhere near finished with her yet. I plan to suck, fuck, and kiss her into an oblivion tonight. After all, it’s our anniversary.

Until next time Loves,

Jacob and Zan are from InSanity.
Book 1 in the Circle of Sanity series.
Available in eBook and paperback on Amazon

(Kindle Unlimited)

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

My Naughty Valentine

For my Valentine

Flowers, candy, stuffed animals… fuck that!
Standing in the pink and red isle of my local Target, I really have thought this through. Flowers die and stink. Candy is unhealthy, and stuffed animals are for children. I want my woman to know I plan to be here for longer than a few days. I want to take care of her and I am not her daddy. Who decided this was a good idea anyway? Greeting card companies needing some cash after Christmas created this holiday. I should leave this isle on principal, you know, stick it to the man! Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh. Sadly, I am not an asshole. If my girl wants to take pictures and flood her social media with giddy adoration, I had better be the man she wants to adore.
We haven’t been dating long enough for jewelry and if I could get away with a gift bag full of condoms and lube, I’d be all over that. Fuck! Maybe condoms and lube are just a step too far, but maybe if I bring it back a step… I grab condoms and lube anyway because, hello. I fill my basket instead with bath bombs, silk pajamas, strawberries, whip cream, cupcakes, and dial up my pizza app for todays heart shape pizza special. On my way to checkout I find a flameless candle display on an endcap. Huh, eh, what the hell I grab those too. The Valentine card I came in for just rang up to almost $120 and dammit if I didn’t forget the fucking card. I totally get that Target “look into my eye” meme, now. Once I go back for the card, the gift bag, and the thin colored paper you have to put inside the bag as punishment for not using wrapping paper I am free to pick up the pizza.

Nervously, I step inside her apartment hoping Netflix and pizza is romantic because I couldn’t get a reservation to save my life. Yes, men all across America plan their laziness. If you spring for a nice dinner, a drug store valentine gift is appropriate. If you work and go to school, like me, you can’t plan to be lazy. My lack of planning has me swallowing hard as I hand over the Target shopping spree, that I really can’t afford. “Happy Valentine’s Day Beautiful.” I kiss her cheek. The way her face lights up when she takes the bag, makes everything worth it. God, she’s beautiful.

As soon as she unwraps all the trinkets from the obligatory colored paper, her genuine smile takes on a mischievous look. Dragging me and her treasures to the bathroom, she begins stripping on the way. Fuck yeah! Perched on the edge of the bathtub, she runs the water over her hand, feeling for the perfect temperature. Over her shoulder, her heated gaze lands on me. “You are wearing entirely too many clothes.” Would you look at that, I am. I don’t need to be told twice. I tear my clothes from my body as if they were on fire. From her seat on the bathtub’s edge, she eye fucks me head to toe with a lingering stare at my cock. He likes the attention and springs to life with a hearty "Hello!" Her nipples pebble, her breath catches, and thighs clench. Fuck that’s hot. She can take a bath after I get her dirty! Yanking her up from her pedestal, I crash my lips violently on hers. Hungrily, my tongue seeks out hers and as they tangle in a sensuous dance. My fingers grip her hair pulling her deeper into my kiss. She tastes sweet and the soft curves of her body fill the hard ripples of mine. Two perfect puzzle pieces. My cock twitches pressed against her abdomen causing her to groan. The mesmerizing sound makes me heady with need. Reaching back to the Target bag on the bathroom vanity, she breaks our kiss to pull out the box of condoms. Pretty fucking happy I got those because her bedside table is too far from here. With the foil packet between her teeth, she rips open the package and sheaths me with wanton urgency. I’m not complaining.
Grabbing her wrists, I press her to the bathroom door with a thud. I didn’t slam her hard enough to hurt her but her saucer size eyes let me know it was hard enough to get her attention. She bites down on her bottom lip, and I smirk at how turned on she appears. I plant my lips on the nape of her neck, kissing, sucking, and nipping my way down to her pretty tits. Keeping her hands suspended, I pull her pearled nipple into my mouth rolling it between my teeth. Fueled by her gasping and moaning, I suck, lick, and tease her until she is begging for my cock. I step back keeping her hands bound. Running a finger down the side of her face, to her chin, over her throat, across her collar bone, I whisper. “What do you want sweet thing?”
“Please, I want to come.”
“My good girl said ‘please?’ Too bad it’s my naughty girl that gets to play today.”
Giving her nipple a little pull, pinch, and twist the way she likes it; the way she does it to herself. She moans my name and it feels amazing to hear it roll out of her mouth on a pant. I push her bound hands tighter against the door while I run a single finger down the valley between her pretty tits. I see her chest rise and fall with her labored breathing as I trace her sternum over her belly button and to her pussy. At the first touch, her hips thrust toward me, and I use my hip to push and pin her back to the door while I slide my finger down her slit. “You are so fucking wet, baby.” Tracing the slickness, I thrust two fingers deep inside her and slide them in and out a few times; drawing her wetness out. Raising my glistening fingers to her hooded eyes, I drawl innocently. “Is this all for me, baby? Are you wet for me?” She throws her head back against the door moaning in frustration. “Look at me, Beautiful.” Her stare is pure lust and it makes my cock jump again. I take my fingers, still glistening, and shove them in my mouth. Slowly, I pull them out sucking every last bit of her off of them, until they leave my lips with an audible pop. “You’re fucking delicious.”
Returning my fingers to the slick heat of her perfect pussy, I separate her lips and dive my fingers back inside. Her hands are going to go numb soon with the pressure I use to keep them glued to the door. She begins to writhe and clench. “No, no, Sweetheart, you don’t come until I say you do.” She protests on a moan, but she is too aroused to form words. I like her like this. I tilt my fingers to find that spot that makes her lose her shit, and press down massaging the bundle of nerves while my thumb rubs circles into her clit. “Don’t come, Baby.”  I pull her nipple into my mouth and she bucks off the door fucking my hand. Her muscles clamp down on my fingers. A light sheen of sweat flushes her body while she tries to maintain control. It’s getting harder for her to not come apart. It’s clear she’s holding back. Time to let her fall. “Now, Baby, come for me.” I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing all of her screams as she lets go. My hand is covered in her come but before she can ride out the last waves of her orgasm, I drop her tethered hands and pull her legs around my waist slamming my cock into her. She cries out my name and tightens around my cock. Fuck that feels good. “How would you like me to fuck you, Baby?”
“Hard. I want you to fuck me hard. I want you to tear me apart. I want to feel your cock still hammering me a week later when you’re at work.” I gladly oblige.
By the time I finally let go and fill the condom, my cock deep inside her beautiful pussy, her whole body shakes with exhaustion. Holding her spent body to me, I lift her bridal style and place her gently in the now luke warm bathtub. I run the hot water attempting to warm it again for her. Once it’s warm, I drop in a bath bomb and kiss her forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Baby. Relax while you can, because round two includes whip cream, and my face buried in that delicious pussy.” I strut out of the bathroom to prepare, and wink at her wide eyes over my shoulder.

Happy Valentines Day my naughty but nice readers.


Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Sanity's Secrets Full Novella

Sanity’s Secret
A Circle of Sanity Novella

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Rebel Nicks O'dey
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.


I hope you, my readers, enjoy this little jaunt on the dark side.
Seven secrets, and two love stories that weren’t meant to be.

Not everything is as it seems.
My books are the only things you should judge by the cover.

To My Love, who couldn’t read this one while editing. It was too disturbing. I still love you anyway.

As always, to my children who believe in me, even though more than half of them are too young to read my books.

To my best friend Veronica, from diapers to diapers, you will always be my girl!


Winding down the long driveway, barbed wire and concrete growing up from the distance, my palms sweat, and my heart races. The signs inform, rather than welcome, to the secure facility. I provide the armed guard my identification and step out of my vehicle, so it may be searched. I’ve never broken the law in my whole life, aside from speeding a time or two, but I feel like a criminal right now. My face flushes as the handsome guard opens a box of tampons in my glove box. If you’re a criminal and think tampons would be the ideal place to hide contraband, you’d be wrong.

I don’t know what I thought a pat down would be like, but having my bra pulled out and my breasts groped was a surprise, as was the palming of my pink parts. I have always covered discomfort with humor, so I winked at the guard. She was not amused.

I am not a particularly scary or threatening person, but two guards nonetheless escort me to the man in charge. His tone is clipped, his spine steel, and I am certain if a smile ever graced this man’s face, it hasn’t happened in at least three decades. He leans hard on his elbows glaring at me on the other side of the desk.

“Miss Lang, do you know what you are walking into? That man is one sick son of a bitch.” I nod. The truth is, I have no idea what I am walking into.

The sick son of a bitch (as he is called) and I went to high school together. I always thought he was handsome. It turns out, he’s a monster. He granted only one request for an interview. I didn’t make the request, my newspaper did. My boss spent three days preparing me for this task. Journalism isn’t even my day job. Why he chose me to be the lucky recipient of his prison exclusive is unfathomable. While I am clearly terrified to be here, I can’t neglect the thoughts in the back of my mind. If I nail this, journalism could become my day job.

My tablet was approved, but my stylus was replaced with one that has a round tip rather than a sharp pencil type. The handsome boy I once stared at through homeroom is now too dangerous to be near a pointy stylus. It’s surreal.

I am also permitted a recording device. After a safety briefing, I am lead to an interview room. Outside the room, I get my first look at him. He is shackled and sitting on the floor in the hallway. His forearms on his knees, his head down, and the orange of his Department of Corrections jumpsuit glaringly bright on the gray hallway. He looks broken. One could feel sorry for him, if one didn’t know the heinous manner of his crimes.

I take my seat at the cold metal table. I am not certain if it is actually cold in here, or if it is the overall impression of this place. However, goosebumps raise up my arms, and I suppress a shudder. He is lead in with small steps to accommodate his shackled ankles. Once he is seated, his hands are freed from the waist tether, and his feet are secured to the chair which is bolted to the floor. He places his cuffed wrists on the table. His gaze travels up my body pausing briefly at my neck, before locking with my eyes, a smile stretching his face. That smile used to melt my panties; now it makes my skin crawl. Has his smile changed, or has my opinion?

“Well, well, well, Veronica Lang, look at you all grown up. Is it still Lang?” He knows damn well that is my name. He asked my boss for me personally, by name. He is trying to shake me. Bob, my boss, told me he would try to manipulate and control me, but I need to keep the focus on him.
I nod curtly. “Miss Lang or Rika will be fine.” He smiles again, and I am certain the heart stopping smile that he once had is gone. He just looks sinister now.

“Okay Rika, where should we begin?”
I feign assertiveness, “First, state your name for the record.”
He glances to the recording device, and his smile drops to a scowl. “Very well, I am Liam Lancaster. Which beginning would you like to begin with, Rika?”
I hate how he says my name; it sounds like a curse. I pretend it doesn’t affect me and explain stoically, “I guess the beginning would be Zan.”

He throws his head back laughing. “Everybody thinks it started with Zan. My obsession with her isn’t a secret, but she came later.” He drops his cuffed hands to his lap, so he can lean in close. “I intend to spill lots of secrets today Rika, and the first is you. It all began with you.”

I feel my blood drain from the rest of my body to my feet, and I feel like I am plummeting to earth from a great distance. I may be sick. He raped me? I know he is a serial rohypnol rapist, but wouldn’t I know? My mind is flashing images so rapid it is almost a movie. When were we at the same place. He interrupts the racing in my head with more maniacal laughter. “Your pussy has never been blessed with my cock. I’m a sick fuck, but not sick enough to fuck my own sister.”

Chapter 1

Start at the beginning? Let’s see how well she can handle the beginning. “You see Rika, secret number one, you aren’t who you think you are.” She looks angry. She should be. It was a terrible secret to keep. “My story begins with Edward and Lydia Lancaster welcoming a baby boy into the world at Loretta Hospital. Edward was an abusive prick; Lydia was bruised and sober just long enough to give me a chance. Six weeks after I was born, she returned to work and began fucking her boss. She discovered she was pregnant and ran away. Her married boss took care of her because his wife couldn’t have children. The police reports say that Lydia died under suspicious circumstances, and her death was ruled a homicide. I know why she died; nobody leaves Edward Lancaster.”

Her stylus is racing across the tablet, but the shield prevents me from seeing what she writes. I bet she’s writing “Oh, shit!” over and over again. That’s what I would be writing. She’ll like this next part. This is the part where she enters the world. “Lydia’s baby girl was adopted by the Langs. I’m certain he never told his wife the baby they gave a home to was his. I bet he never mentioned it wasn’t just a nice thing he did for his secretary. The thing is, you’re not his. He did just adopt his secretary’s baby. You have dimples.” Her spine stiffens, and her face pales. I fucking love it. “That’s right, Rika. It is a trait you get from mother, just like me.”

I take out a cigarette, letting that revelation sink in. The drag of menthol through my lungs feels and tastes like heaven. I haven’t had a smoke in weeks, and Rika was a good little girl, capable of following instructions. “I was eighteen months old when you were adopted, and by all accounts of my hospital records, that is when my beatings began. Different doctors, different hospitals, each time with a plausible explanation, until I was old enough to splint my own bones.”

I throw my cigarette into the air, and catch it between my forearms. “There comes a point Rika, where you no longer feel pain. Burn creams become unnecessary, and sometimes you don’t even wipe away the blood.” Our nostrils are assaulted by the smell of my burning arm hair. She looks down to see the cigarette burning a trail up my forearm, illuminating all the other burn marks. She finally loses her resolve, plucking the cigarette from my arm and throwing it in the Styrofoam cup of water. I made the princess uncomfortable.

“I came to a point in my life where I was no longer scared. I didn’t cry when I was punched or kicked. I didn’t flinch at the lit cigarette heading towards me. At eight years old, I was no longer afraid. I had resolved that one day my father would kill me, and it would all end. I just needed to bide my time until then. I went to school and blended. I sat alone at lunch and recess. I was invisible, until Zan. She was always the center of attention. Even I would glance up from my sketchbook to watch her hang upside down from the monkey bars or swing really high and jump with an aerial dismount. She was full of so much life and happiness. She was foreign to me. One day, she sat next to me and asked what I was drawing.”

It’s hard to recall those early years. Zan was innocent and naïve. She was beautiful, perfect. Her life would have been so much better without me, but I loved her so much, I ruined her. “Zan and I sat together every day at lunch. She would come knocking on my door every afternoon when she finished homework, and we played together until her mother called her in for bed time. She hugged me every night before she went inside. I had never been hugged. I ate dinner with her and her mom several nights a week, too.

“I couldn’t sleep one night, so I snuck out. It wasn’t hard since my father didn’t give a shit if I was home or not. I climbed the lattice work under her bedroom window and slipped into her open window. I crawled in bed with her and she held me. It was the first time I slept freely. I had never been held or coddled. After that, I slept with her every single night.”

I haven’t slept since the night Zan locked the window all those years ago. “My father also noticed the closeness Zan and I developed. The crazy thing was he encouraged it. He would let Zan come over all the time. He planned weekend sleep overs at our house so Zan’s mom could begin dating freely. At first, I thought it was to hurt her, but he didn’t. His plan was much darker than that. One day when we were ten, my father told me it was time to teach Zan to be a woman, to know her place. He instructed me to hit her. He said if she didn’t fear me, she would never respect me. I refused, but he threated to remove her from my life if I couldn’t control and dominate her.”

Rika gasps. Fuck, I almost forgot she was here. Yes Rika, I was to learn dominant at the ripe old age of ten, while you grew up as your daddy’s princess. “My father is a man that lives by his word. He would have removed Zan from my life, but I couldn’t hit her. I made a deal with the devil, that if I hit Zan at least once a week, he would promise to do everything he could to keep her in my life. He agreed. I took Zan to a self-defense studio the next day. We took several martial arts, and every Wednesday in my back yard, we did bare knuckle sparring. Zan is lethal now because it was that or lose her.”

She sure as hell surpassed me. If you think about it, teaching a level eight gymnast how to fight, essentially creates a superhero. The last time I saw her, she laid me out and spit in my face. I deserved it. “My father was pissed at my loophole, but surmised I would be a lawyer like him one day. By age twelve, he couldn’t beat me anymore, so he pretty much ignored me. I spent all my time with Zan. Her mother still didn’t know I slept with her every night. At age twelve, our relationship changed. We were curled up in her bed when we heard strange noises. She thought someone was hurting her mother. She was scared and made me investigate with her. I knew her mother was enjoying herself, not being harmed, but how could I explain that to Zan? We snuck quietly around the living room wall to see her mother spread eagle on the couch with a man’s face between her legs. I covered Zan’s mouth and pulled her back to the stairs, whispering in her ear that I would explain in her room.”

Heat visibly rises in Rika’s cheeks. She’s shy when talking about sex. I make a mental note to be more explicit then. She looks flustered. “Did you know? At twelve did you know enough about sex to explain to Zan that her mother was fine?”
The only way my reaction could have been better was if I had a mouthful of water to spit at her. I laughed so hard my sides ached. “You see Rika, my father was a sick fuck that decided his son would never be a lousy lay. So, he brought home prostitutes frequently. He made me finger fuck them until I learned to give them orgasms. He told me his son would crave the taste of pussy and made me eat them with detailed instruction. He even had me watch when he fucked them. Sometimes, he would make me play with their nipples while he fucked them. He told me making a woman climax means I own her. So, yes Rika, at twelve years old I knew exactly what was going on. I could even explain it in detail to Zan. I was the one to teach her all about the birds and the bees. That night, we talked about kissing, and we shared our first kiss. It’s crazy to think I had eaten a woman’s pussy a dozen times before I ever had my first kiss.”

I shudder at how innocent she was, how timid and scared, and how I took it all away from her. Rika looks uncomfortable. I guess the idea of children having sex is more creepy than sexy. I wasn’t complaining at the time. “After sharing our first kiss, it became routine to lay in her bed every night making out for an hour or two before going to sleep. Soon, it progressed to my hands up her shirt, and then down her pajama bottoms. Our new routine incorporated me finger fucking her until she came, and she would return the favor by jacking me off until I finished for her. One day I licked her come off my fingers telling her how sweet her pussy tastes, and her eyes blazed with desire. So, the next night I went down on her. It took a few months of me pleasuring her every night before she developed the courage to return the favor. By the time we were fourteen, we were masters of sixty-nine, and sex alternative activities.”

I saw it. For just a moment Rika clenched her thighs. Thinking about a tongue in her pussy made her clench. I bet she hasn’t been properly fucked in some time, if at all. Poor girl.

Chapter 2

“Secret number two is that Zan is not as naïve and innocent as she keeps being made out.” It’s my fault she isn’t, and until now, I’ve kept that secret. Once this story releases, her husband is going to know, that phenomenal blow job she gives? I taught her that. They deserve it after what they did to me. We will get to that part of the story soon enough.

“The night of the party. You were there, weren’t you, Rika?” Her cheeks redden, and she nods quickly. That’s right, I do remember her. The observant little wall flower that didn’t drink a drop. “Well then, you might remember. The party was well underway when Zan and I arrived. It was the best night ever. Zan had elevated me to popular status. I started playing sports. High school was finally going to be my time to be normal, but my father showed up unexpectedly to read me the riot act. He didn’t care, not really. He only wanted to cause pain as usual. His tune changed when he saw Zan. He pulled me to the side to detail his newest way to cause me pain.”

I scrub my hands over my face and light a cigarette. This part of the story always sucks. “Son, you can’t own her or control her until you fuck her. She’s going to get drunk, her inhibitions will be lower, which makes tonight the perfect night. So, son, tonight you better poke that pussy, or we will move into my city apartment by the end of the week. You’ll never see her again.”

I take a long slow drag off the cigarette. Remembering the night that I wish wasn’t so vivid in my mind. I could do without the clarity. “I walked back to Zan, wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear. ‘I want to make love to you, Baby, can we finally take the next step tonight?’ She licked her lips, and nodded her head. She downed her cup of beer, took my hand, and pulled me running to the car. Her hands were all over me, and she was sucking my cock while I drove. Suddenly, she passed out, her head in my lap still. She was breathing, but I couldn’t wake her. Her mother would kill us both if I brought her home like this. I took her to my house instead. Stripped her down, put my t-shirt on her, and put her to bed.

“She never had alcohol before, so she was going to be very hung over. I walked to the drugstore. Thinking of everything I had heard, plus those things I googled, I grabbed Tylenol, Gatorade, bottled water, and some snack foods. Just in case, I bought condoms. I knew tonight wasn’t an option, but since she agreed, I’d need them soon. Besides, if I was to convince my father I fucked her, a used condom in the wastebasket would do the trick.”

I remember how excited I was at the prospect of making love to Zan. I was and still am deeply in love with her even though I hate her fucking guts. “I returned home to find my father in his study. He asked where I had been, so I pulled the condom box out of the bag. He commended me for my good thinking. Zan must have woken while I was gone; she was probably sick. She was naked and there was a black towel under her. She looked so beautiful. I got naked, slipped on a condom and pumped myself until I finished, staring at her tight, beautiful body. I threw the condom in the wastebasket as planned, climbed into bed with Zan, and we slept like we always do.

“In the morning, I made her drink all the water, Gatorade, and take the Tylenol. She had no recollection of coming here. She doesn’t remember taking her clothes off, or why she had a black towel. She didn’t remember telling me she was ready to make love, and I decided I wouldn’t bring it up again. Zan is a traditional girl, and she would want the moment to be special. A drunken night of debauchery is not special.”

“We spent the weekend together holed up in my room. Life was perfect for the next six weeks. After that, my life fell apart. I didn’t know why, until years later.”

Chapter 3

Secret number 3, contrary to popular belief, I didn’t rape Zan. “I was watching her gymnastics meet, when she smacked her abdomen on the beam as she fell. I stood, panicked. Zan doesn’t fall. She is mathematically precise; her brain works like a complex calculator. She excels as a gymnast because she does physics for fun. Something was wrong for her to fall like that. I make it to her to see she is unconscious and her white leotard is red with blood. It’s pooled between her legs and all over the floor. I have never been so scared in my life. She began shaking, so I put my coat over her. I tried to see her in the hospital, but I was turned away.

“This is where you come in Rika. Do you remember finding me on the bench outside the hospital?” Her eyes widen. I think she was given explicit instructions to not talk to me, or at the very least to not talk about herself. I grin at her inexperience. “I bet you do. I had my head down. I was broken with worry and anger. I had not had the ability to cry since I was four, but at that moment, with flashes of Zan unconscious and bleeding, a tear escaped a place I didn’t know existed. You sat next to me, wiped my tear and put your arms around me. Zan was the only person to ever touch me with tenderness. It was strange. I scooped you into my chest and returned the affection with harsh ferocity. You put my forehead to yours and assured me she would be okay. It was that moment that Zan walked out of the hospital and glared at us. Did you know that until Zan was in the hospital a few months ago, I thought that was why she cut me out of her life? I thought it was because of you. I was so angry with you that I stalked you. I dug up every stone in your life. I had your computers hacked. I was going to bring you down.”

“When you found out my lineage, that I was your sister, did that prevent you from harming me?” I laugh. I had almost forgotten about that lie. I like seeing her lip quiver, when her reality is ripped from her. Maybe I’m jealous, or maybe I just don’t like her. I do have to tell her the truth though.
“I was fucking with you, you are my half-sister. We share the same mother, it’s true, but your father, that is going to be a ball out of left field. A young up and coming politician was perceived as a threat by my father. He ordered our mother to fuck him on hidden video. My dad needed blackmail ammunition. Little did he know that the fucker slept with everything in a skirt, and nobody seemed to care. Not even his wife. I found the tape. It was date and time stamped. The dates align with your birth. I had to know, so I stole your hairbrush and sent it off for a DNA test.” I lock eyes with her and fake my best Maury Povich voice. “Your father is,” I drumroll my fingers on the metal table, “Our current governor. Also known as Zan’s biological father. You, Rika, are Zan’s sister, and mine. I only told you the half-lie because it could be worse. That brings me to the next secret. This one is going to get under your skin. Are you ready Rika?”

Chapter 4

“Secret number four. My cock has never been inside any woman’s vagina. I am still a virgin.” I raise my hands to stop her protests. “I know, I know, thirty-seven women disagree. I know that the media dubbed me the Rohypnol Rapist. I am a sick fuck, but I am not a rapist. I couldn’t sleep when Zan left. Sometimes, after days of not sleeping, I would feel a break with reality. I tried drugs, therapy, home remedies. I tried everything. I needed Zan to hold me. I was walking around aimlessly one night. I passed her house and the window was open. It had been locked for months. I was elated, I finally had an invitation. She was finally over her perceived notion of us.” I signal between Rika and me. “I climbed the trellis, but when I looked in her window, she was in her bed being fucked by another boy. She looked over his shoulder right at me and flipped me the bird. I ran home trying to shake the vision of his bare ass plowing into my sweet Zan. Anger pulsing in me, she set this up. All the shit my father put me through, but she had learned the newest way to hurt me.”

I reach my cuffed hands to Rika’s cheek and swipe a tear from it. I lick it slowly off my finger. “My father taught me that a woman’s tears taste almost as sweet as fine pussy.” The taste of a woman’s fear based tears, are particularly sweet.” Shaking my head to clear the distraction, I sigh audibly.

“I couldn’t stay home. I found myself by the abandoned rail yard just outside of town. A rave was thumping in a building. There is where I did ecstasy for the first time. I loved the feeling of women grinding on me on the dance floor. Their skin felt softer, their sway sexier. Ecstasy made me desire someone other than Zan. I was dragged to an abandoned rail car by a pretty girl and she was all over me. We were making out. I arched at the feel of her nails down my chest. Everything was better with X. The sounds, smells, and touches were intoxicating. She took my cock in her mouth and the sensation was indescribable. My fingers through her hair was like the finest silk. As lost as I was in the sensations of it all, I stopped her from climbing on and taking a ride. Another girl came into the rail car and began stripping. Without a word, she dropped to her belly and took over sucking my cock. So, I took the girl I came with and brought her in a straddle over my face. The second girl gave some damn good head. The more I enjoyed the blow job, the more vigorous my tongue. Soon, I had finger fucked and sucked her into collapse. When she was out cold, I flipped my little cock sucker around for the most epic sixty-nine ever. Once sated, we slept together. The key piece: I slept.”

Rika is flushed, and her thighs clenched and bouncing. I’m not going to lie, the memory of that night has me rock hard, too. “I discovered that I needed the soft curves of a woman wrapped around me to sleep. I didn’t fuck them Rika. The thirty-seven women I roofied and supposedly raped, I slept with them. Literally. I never had sex with them.”

“Wait, then why are you here? Is the punishment the same if you didn’t have sex?”

“I haven’t been tried yet. I asked to be held at Statesville, rather than the local jail. I didn’t want my father to be able to get to me. I invited you here, so you could tell your sister what was going to come out at trial. As you’ve heard, she won’t be painted in a positive light. She ought to know even if I hate her, that I am here because of her little circle. I don’t know who it was exactly, but I have my suspicions.”

“What are you talking about?”

I sneer at the recording device. “Zan’s real name is Sanity Marie Santini.” That is a well-kept secret if ever there was one. “Zan’s best friend, Chrissy, was spilling all kinds of secrets when I roofied her, but she couldn’t tell me Zan’s name because she didn’t know. I’ve known since we were kids.” Until this very moment, I never told a soul. Her little circle of friends doesn’t know. I know her, so I know. She placed power in the knowledge of her name, and then she gave me that power. Just me.

“When Zan’s mother told me that Zan’s fall off the balance beam caused a miscarriage and she accused me of rape, I had to set the record straight. I camped at her apartment door. When she arrived with her fiancée, I tried to explain. I’m a virgin, I didn’t hurt her. Her fiancée, Jacob, offered to have a DNA comparison done with the rape kit. He said they would let me know if they wanted to discuss it.” I spit the word they.” Who the fuck is he to intervene?

“As we stood in the hallway outside her apartment, it dawned on me what happened. When I came home from the drug store, he was there. She was naked. The black towel to hide her torn virginity. It was not me who violated Zan. The DNA would come back a match, and she would never believe me.
“It was exactly that moment when I felt my break with reality happen again. I tried to steal Zan. I couldn’t let her go. Not again. She beat the ever loving shit out of me just like I taught her to. When I had lost everything, I lay on the floor broken and bleeding, and she spit in my face before kicking me one last time. It was the middle finger at her bedroom window all over again.”
“You do know a familial match is not an exact match?”
“I do now, but I didn’t at the time. I learned a lot about how DNA works since coming here. Anyways, what happened next landed me here.”

Chapter 5

“Secret number five. Sanity’s Circle did the thing they accuse me of. The paramedic, Matt, who worked on me, is Jacob’s best friend. He is engaged to Zan’s best friend. The emergency room technician, Piper, is Matt’s sister. My nurse, May, is a highly respected friend of the circle. Even Megan, the girl I had recently started dating, is a friend in the circle. Megan came to the E.R. to slap me in the face. I like Megan. I thought I had a chance at a real relationship with her. She is as fucked up as I am. We fit. I can tell you all these people had access to me, but I don’t know which one plunged sodium pentothal into my I.V. port, all I know is suddenly I began spilling every fantasy I have ever had in exquisite detail. I gave specifics of the women I drugged and spouted off all the things I wanted to do to their sweet bodies.”

“What is sodium pentothal?”
“In Hollywood, they call it truth serum. It actually has effects similar to alcohol. It lowers inhibitions. I, however, am an ecstasy abuser, and was already given pain medications. My state of mind, and the myriad of drugs, left me with zero inhibitions. While Zan and Jacob were getting married in Vegas, I was being arrested and chastised in the media. Live streaming of boxes being carried out of my home by guys in FBI jackets was on all news stations. I had already been convicted.

“My father would very much like it if I were dead. He has the money to make it happen, so I thought someone should know the truth before my eminent death. The evidence removed from my home isn’t evidence against me. Naturally that means you are now in danger, so be safe. I have one last secret for you.”

Chapter 6

Secret number six. Matt had nothing to do with his brother’s death. “I don’t know if paramedic Matt was the one who drugged me. I suspect him for sure. I can tell you despite being under the impression that I raped his woman and her best friend, he treated me professionally in his ambulance. He treated the pain a normal person would feel. He stopped the bleeding, and he even splinted what could have been broken bones. I am not that kind of man. I would have killed the man who hurt my woman; I certainly would not have saved him. For that, I will give him this.”

“Matt thinks you raped Chrissy?”
I wave my hand dismissively, has she not been paying attention this far? “I roofied her for intel on Zan. I left her in a hotel room on the bed. Matt doesn’t know that. Hell, Chrissy went to the clinic in the morning, so even she doesn’t know I didn’t rape her.” I raise my eyebrow and lean in. “Matt didn’t know that I did not rape her. My bunkmate here is a good guy. He deserves to be here, but he is a good man. When he was a boy, he went to the Champagne Falls Founder’s Day Fair. He met a boy that was supposed to be playing hide and seek with his brother. He had been ditched. They were climbing and exploring together. The boy was on a metal ledge trying to gain access to the roof, but his pant leg was pierced by the broken metal rung he was climbing on. The boys were trying to free his leg when he fell upside down into a rain barrel. A woman came running to help. She yanked my bunkmate down and knocked him to the ground. She then held the boy trapped in the rain barrel down under the water until he stopped moving.”

Her shaky hand flies to her mouth and tears escape her eyes. Yes, sweet Rika, there are some sick people in this world. “When the boy was dead she hovered over my bunkmate and told him if he said a word, he would be next. He was only eight. The damage done to him at that point was irreversible. All these years, Matt thought his brother died alone because he ditched him for a girl. The truth is, he wasn’t alone. He could have been saved.”

“I remember hearing the story. It was all over the news. That was Matt BaddStone’s little brother? Who killed him?”
“Well my bunkmate saw the story all over the news, too. There next to Matt, his sister Piper, dear old dad, stood the grieving mother that drowned her own son.”
 “Before I send you on your way, you should know, my father knows you are here. He is going to do whatever he needs to do to keep you quiet. He can’t touch you here. That would be dangerous. Parked next to you in the parking lot in a black Jeep, you will find Matt’s friend, Ethan. A mutual friend told him I have information about the death of Matt’s brother. His instructions are to take you to safety. You should then give him two copies of this interview. He will give one to Matt, and one to Zan.” I turn to the recorder and tell her what I have been needing to say. “Zan, I love you. I will always love the girl who saved my childhood. For that reason, I forgive you, but I will never forget that you were prepared to believe the worst of me without explanation. For that, fuck you.

I take in everything, feeling more lost than I was before. I will look into Matt’s story, but I don’t know how much of Liam’s is true. His railroad ecstasy party happened before Zan fell on the beam. He was arrested. I went to Zan’s house the night she came home from the hospital to explain what she saw. I wanted her to know that there was nothing between Liam and me. When I arrived, I helped her mother move all of Zan’s furniture to another bedroom. If Liam climbed the trellis, he didn’t see Zan.

He claims to be a virgin, but he was treated for a sexually transmitted disease when he was twelve. The Department of Children and Family Services were called, but I can’t find an investigation anywhere. Perhaps, his father’s “sex education” went further than he chooses to remember. If he never willingly had sex, then sure, I’ll call him a virgin.

I am well aware of my lineage. Yes, I’m adopted. My biological parents were teenagers. We keep in touch. I believe he thinks everything is true, but I don’t see how I can proceed with the story. If he stole my brush and got a DNA sample, he would know. He would also know how DNA familial matches work. So, did he really not rape Zan?

The burn marks are real. I know the abuse happened. I think his break with reality happened long before he realized it. I don’t know if he is paranoid, or if I really am in danger. I’ll see what evidence the police are uncovering, maybe he didn’t fuck all those women, but he still drugged them. I’ll ask Bob how I should proceed, but first I’ll see what Ethan has to say.

Chapter 7

I’m the seventh secret. I love Liam. I try hard not to, but he melts me with his tongue. I love the honesty and acceptance he has in the depravity of his mind. His voice alone makes my panties wet. I’ve tried to date other men, but I always come back to him. Maybe it’s because he didn’t fuck me, not even when I begged him. Maybe, it’s because he is unattainable or the bad boy. Maybe it’s my desire to save the broken. My therapist will figure it out one day I am sure.

Today, I wait patiently in the Statesville parking lot. As expected, Ethan is parked next to her car. Her long brown hair blows in the breeze as she bounces down the stairs nervously looking around. I slip out of my spot following them out of the prison gates and grounds. We head down desolate back roads, and that is when I see him. Liam’s Father. He has been waiting for them. I knew where he would be, thanks to my old friend sodium pentothal. Liam’s father thinks I am one of his side chicks. He spilled the whole plan for me. Fucking amateur.

Ramming his car as hard as I can, right off the road, gives Ethan and Rika their chance to get away. If she followed Liam’s advice, she won’t resurface while this is still hot. After calling 911, I step out of my car and begin treating the driver who I just plowed off the road. He is pretty out of it, and that is a good thing.

According to the police reports, he swerved sharply and right into my vehicle. The drugs in his system back up my claims of his hallucinations. “Another car? There was no other car. No officer, I don’t believe we’ve ever met before. I certainly didn’t do… that.” Little known fact, I can blush on command. When I arrive home later that night. I did everything I set out to accomplish. Liam is going to be so proud of me.

Fresh faced and ready to take on the morning. I get all dressed up ready to see my man. Liam’s family isn’t the only one around here with money. I am a goddamned fucking princess. I get what I want. Today, I want Liam. He is escorted into the little room and shackled to the chair across the table from me. I see the confusion on his face. We don’t meet in interview rooms. We always visit in the common area. I paid more money for this room than a posh suite at a five-star hotel. The guard I paid gives a small nod before leaving the room.

“What is…” I put my finger over his lips.
“Shh.” I wait with stilled breath, until I hear it. Two knocks then one. “The cameras are off.” I slide across the top of the table like Daisy Duke over the General Lee. Straddling his lap, I crash my lips on his, so fucking hungry for his kiss. He doesn’t disappoint. His cuffed hands grasping my ass, pulling me on top of his erection.
“Oh baby, I have been waiting so long, how did you swing this.”
“Money talks, baby, you don’t need to.”

I tear open the Velcro enclosure at his chest and rub my fingers up and down the ripples of his taught abs. His body is so fucking amazing. I reach further, under his boxer briefs and gasp when I find it. Oh, how I’ve missed this man’s beautiful cock. It’s thick and heavy in my hand just like I remember it. I made sure he was in medical scrubs today. The orange jumpsuit is secured with Velcro all the way down one leg, so I can undress him while his hands are still bound. I drop to my knees licking up the beads of pre-cum at his tip. I miss the taste of him.

I suck him into my mouth wanting to please him. I need to show him how I missed him, how much I adore him. I need to fucking own him.
“Baby, I’m about to come. How much time do we have?”
“An hour.”
“Then stop. I dream every night about the taste of your pussy. I need to taste it, please.”

I stand, disrobe, and give him a moment to pleasure my nipple before I lay down on the cold metal table. “I couldn’t do anything about your wrists baby, but your legs are not shackled.” I lean up on my elbows locking eyes with him. “Time to claim what’s yours.” I don’t have to ask twice. He is licking, sucking, and finger fucking me with all the skill he’s acquired. I am lost with pleasure.

“Baby, I want to make you come so hard you forget my name, and then for the first time, I am going to slam my cock inside your pussy relentlessly. Are you up for that baby?” I push his head back down to my pussy, nodding like an unhinged bobblehead. As promised, he makes me come so hard I have tears, shaky legs, and a dizzy head. Fuck he has a wicked tongue. Before he can slam into me as promised, I sit up pushing his chest.

“No baby, I want to fuck you first. I sit him in his chair and slowly lower myself on to his cock. He is so big, it takes a minute to become fully seated, but I’m so fucking wet there isn’t a hint of friction. My body ignites at how full I feel. “Fuck Liam, you feel so fucking good.”
“So do you baby, I’m trying really hard to hang on here, but I’ve never done this before.”
“Don’t worry, Liam, if you come too soon, we can always go again. I remember how quick your turnaround is.”

With that permission he grabs my ass grinding me down hard on him. It takes several thrusts and moans, and moments of losing my mind, when he releases deep in me. I still my forehead on his shoulder. I just took the man’s virginity. It is so fucking hot. I kiss him with all the passion he just awoke in me. He takes my hair and pulls my head back licking and sucking down my neck. Taking my breast into his mouth, he reaches his cuffed hands between us to finger my clit again while he assaults my nipples. I feel my muscles tighten. “Fuck, you are going to come again aren’t you baby?”
“Yes, Liam, don’t stop!” He pinches my clit rolling it between his thumb and finger. As I teeter on the edge, I can feel him swelling again inside of me. I love how quick his recovery is. I never met a man so easy to recover. Just as I teeter on the very edge, he bites down hard on my nipple sending waves of pleasure, pain, and orgasm through me. I soak Liam’s lap and even drip on the floor.

Liam stands abruptly taking me with him. He slams my back against the concrete wall and begins to fuck me harshly, deliciously, and unforgivingly. Lifting my ass, and slamming it down on his cock hard with each thrust. His fucking is intense, and just when I think I can’t take another sensation his finger slips into my back door. I’d never had that before. After the initial shock of it, I realized he was fingering my G-spot from one side, while his cock hit it from the other. Holy Mother of George. In seconds, I was coming like a freight train and unable to hold myself up anymore.

We collapse. Liam places me tenderly on the floor. He brushes the hair from my face and kisses me passionately as he moves slowly in and out of me. For the first time, he isn’t fucking me, but making love to me. He is gentle and adoring. Telling me that he loves me, and how he wants me to be the only woman he ever has. He wants me, only me, forever. He tells me I’m the only person that believed him in the absence of proof. I am the only woman who ever loved him. I do love him. I return the sentiment kissing him, and wrapping my legs around him tighter. “I love you, Liam. I will wait for you. It will be just me and you forever, baby.”

We finish together, not the violent climax we had before, but a tender moment of coupling. Electricity surging through our bodies, binding us. I don’t know where I end, and he begins. Satisfied, elated, and spent, I curl him into my arms, holding him the way he likes to be held. His snores come quick and soft. A knock at the door shook the quiet moment. “It’s our five-minute warning, Baby. Time to get dressed.” I help him back into his orange jumpsuit and sit him in his chair, before dressing myself. “I’ll make arrangements for next week, no need to be sad.”

I kiss him lovingly, and return to my side of the table. He looks at peace and happy. I’ve never seen him so pacified. I love this man more today than I did yesterday. The door opens, and two guards enter. The one I paid immediately begins to bustle at the feet restraints.

Everything started to move in slow motion. A noise, something out of place. The other guard, I don’t remember him. Was he here the first time? A loud crack, as he hits my guard over the head with a Billy club. Falling. He is falling. I watch without processing. Sound is far away, except the thump of his body as he hits the floor, rendering him unconscious. I look at Liam, his eyes widen. Fear? Is that fear?

The second guard stabs Liam in the chest. “No!” I want to move, but I can’t. He stabs him again and again. The blood. I’m wet. Liam?  The guard yells, “Love from Dad!” As he disappears out the door, and Liam slumps in his chair.

“No!” I climb over the table and begin putting pressure on the stab wounds. “No, no, no.” I take off my shirt using it to apply pressure. I can’t see his face, I need to… “Help! We need help in here.” Quiet. It’s quiet, nobody is coming, and my guard isn’t awake. I take Liam to the floor, and elevate his legs on the chair. Reaching next to us, I yank at the guards Kevlar vest. The bulletproof material is heavy. I need pressure. The radio, I need help. I pretty much scream it into the radio. “It’s going to be okay, Baby. You stay with me.”

“He brings his cuffed hands to my face. “No baby, it isn’t going to be okay. I am not leaving this room alive. You are going to be fine.” I sob into his hands. “You need to know that I am going to die feeling loved, believed, and satisfied. I never knew that was possible. I’m not scared, Baby.”
“I’m scared!” My lips quiver with my sobs. “I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me.”
“I don’t want you to morn me. You saved me. Find a man that challenges you and live happily ever after. I want that for you, Baby, it was never meant to be me. We crossed paths, so I could have this moment. A moment that I could feel real love. Now it’s your turn. Go find someone that makes you feel what you gave me today.”
“Liam, I feel what you feel, I love you. Please don’t leave me.”
“I know you think that, but I promise there is a man that will make you feel more than this. Thank you, Baby. I needed you.”

Prison paramedics rush in and begin to take over. I never prayed before, but I am praying now. Please don’t take him from me. The panic that was in his face begins to diminish. No, no Liam don’t give up. He looked over to me smiled, and said his last words. “I love you, Megan.”


As soon as the story of Liam Lancaster’s death broke, I buried the recordings. I don’t give a fuck if Megan hates me. I am not going to destroy a girl that I’ve never met. She saved my best friend, Matt. Speaking of Matt, I am not prepared to destroy his family either. I will find a way to take care of Edward Lancaster, but I just can’t bring myself to destroy the lives of all of these other people, when even Rika isn’t sure how much is true.

Megan and I have a love hate relationship anyway. I guess she is just going to drop the love part. Piper is her best friend. I can’t imagine she wants to destroy Piper, either. Jacob is like a brother to Megan. Would she be alright to let his wife’s pre-marital sex life be broadcast on the nightly news? I’m not okay with that.

Then there are the whole governor’s illegitimate children thing. In the state of Illinois, land of corrupt politicians, I could go missing for being in possession of this recording. Liam is dead. All the women he slipped rohypnol to are at peace. I see no upside to releasing these recordings to anyone, ever. If Zan hasn’t spouted her lineage to the media, I’m not about to.

To my surprise, Megan agrees; she asked me for a copy of the recordings. She claims to just want to hear the tone and dialect in his voice. She says it like she is some lie detector expert. I am not letting these recordings go. I am not taking any chance that they get leaked.

Megan is pissed. She came at me like a battling ram. She was all elbows and feet. I managed to take her to the ground, where she sobbed. The emotions of the last few days have gotten to her. Matt told me Megan was almost Liam’s next victim. I guess I would want to know, too.

I hold her and let her sob until she regains her composure. She is the queen of composure. She is a nurse. I’ve never seen her lose it like this. He really got under her skin with the what-ifs. Should I tell her he wouldn’t have raped her? No, it’s best she just forgets about the recordings. She pulls away from me and sits on the chair at my desk. “Please Ethan, I can’t tell you why I need it, I just do.”

“I get it Megan, but no good can come of anyone listening to it.” She takes a deep breath, and the poor thing begins to hiccup.
“You know it was me Ethan, don’t you?”
“What was you?”
“I’m the one that plunged sodium pentothal in his I.V. at the hospital. I wanted everyone to know the truth.” She takes a deep breath to calm the hiccups. “I’m the reason he went to prison and ultimately ended up dead.” Her lip quivers. “If there is something on that tape to absolve me of guilt, you owe me that.”

“Let me get you some water.”

I consider what she told me. Liam did mention that his death was inevitable, that his father could get to him. It’s not Megan’s fault, and maybe she does need peace. The problem is everything else on that recording would be so much more destructive. I decide to compromise. I’ll email her the clip of Liam saying his death is inevitable.

I return to my home office with a glass of water. Megan’s gone, and so is the burned CD. Goddamn it! When will I learn? She has always been a master manipulator. Hell, Piper brags about it all the time. I bet she didn’t even have the hiccups. Fuck her. The copy she has is clipped. She will never hear what the last secret was. Matt’s family won’t be destroyed any more than it is. I don’t suspect she will want Jacob to learn of his wife’s relationship, so she will probably keep it all to herself. She better. I love Piper and Matt, but Megan’s relationship with Piper won’t save her if she travels this road.

The end, and the beginning, and somewhere in the middle.

You want to learn more about Ethan? Coming soon, Ethan meets the bride, in Sanity’s Sake. Who is the bride? #TeamMegan, #TeamPiper, or #TeamRika. Tell me who you think Ethan’s love is. I will tell you she is one lucky girl. Ethan is hot!

See you soon,
Love Rebel

Circle of Sanity Series
InSanity – Zan and Jacob
Sanity’s Side – Chrissy and Matt
Sanity’s Secrets (a Novella)
Sanity’s Sake – Ethan and the Bride
Sanity’s Edge

The Dinosaur Dress

I pitched the Fisher Men series to an editor. Yep, I did that thing I said I would never do. I had a very good reason. It was the dinosaur ...