RENEW
Lachlan
“How can I be sure Damian has authorized you to sign the contract on his behalf?” Leander asks as he watches Lark read through the paperwork laid out on the coffee table of the basement pub of his home.
Lark shrugs, not looking up as she flips to the last page and picks up the waiting pen. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Have I ever given you a reason not to?”
Leander laughs but still shifts his attention to me as though I might give him a hint of reassurance. When I don’t, he looks even more delighted. Blimmin’ nutjob. He loves chaos almost as much as he loves money, two concepts that don’t seem compatible, and yet he makes it work.
Lark signs the final page of the Covaci contract and slides it across the coffee table. Leander leans back in his chair and feckin’ beams at the both of us. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s actually happy for me. I’m not sure he has that capacity to feel genuinely happy for anyone but himself, but he at least looks the part. Or maybe it’s not so much the end of my tenure with Leviathan that has him looking so pleased. It could just be Lark, who has been the source of his admiration ever since the muffin incident.
Plus she’s also just given him a six-pack of beer.
“It’s from my brother-in-law’s craft brewery. Buckeye Brewery pale ale,” she says as she passes him one of the glass bottles. “An apology for drugging you with muffins.”
Leander smiles as he motions to the other bottles in a bid for us to take one. “Don’t apologize. I like to be surprised.” He reads the label with an appreciative nod and pops the cap. “Speaking of surprises, I never thought I’d see the day, but Lachlan Kane is officially retired. That deserves a toast.”
Lark passes me a beer and grabs one for herself. When they’re open, we raise our bottles in the air.
“To you, Lark, for sorting out this asshole.”
“Asshat,” she says.
“Yeah, somehow that works better. Asshat,” Leander says with a sage nod. “To me, for finding these Kane boys and taking them home. Best decision I ever made was not killing them.”
I roll my eyes and Leander laughs before he gives me a slap to the shoulder. But the teasing light in his grin fades to something that seems real, at least as much as a man like Leander Mayes can manage. “And to you, Lachlan. You raised those boys and started your business and managed to somehow find the perfect wife despite being an asshat. You’ve done good. I’m going to miss you around here, kid.”
I nod, an unexpected pang of gratitude and nostalgia hitting my chest as I raise my bottle. “Sláinte.”
We clink the necks of our bottles and take a long sip of the honey-brown liquid.
“So,” Leander says after downing a third of his beer. “What’s your first plan for retirement, Lachlan? Gonna take up gardening, maybe? Throw pickles at neighborhood children and yell at them to get off your lawn?”
I grin and drape an arm across the couch behind Lark as I settle into my seat. “We’re going away for the weekend.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Cape Cod,” Lark says at the same time as I tell him it’s none of his business.
“Don’t even think about showing up there asking me to do some batshit-crazy job.” I shake my head as Leander gives me a devious grin before he takes another long pull from his bottle. “I am retired.”
Leander waves me off and sways a little on his seat as he turns his attention to Lark. “Speaking of jobs, got anything new lined up for me yet?”
A smile sneaks across Lark’s lips as Leander sets his beer down on the coffee table and gives the bottle a long, befuddled look. “Maybe let’s talk about it after you have a little nap.”
“Ahh shhhhit.”
Leander’s body swings in an unsteady circle before he passes out in a heap on the floor. We stare down at him where he lies crumpled between the sofa and the coffee table, a gentle snore already rumbling from his throat.
“Lark …”
“Hmm?”
“Didn’t we have a talk about this …?”
“I don’t think so, no,” she says. She rises from the couch and dusts off her jeans before flashing me a brilliant smile. “Not that I recall.”
“That’s funny. Because I remember saying something about letting me know before you drugged my feckin’ psycho boss next time,” I say as I stand and fold my arms across my chest. “He looks pretty drugged to me, duchess.”
“You told me to let you know if I gave him drugged muffins. I gave him drugged beer.”
I shake my head. But any attempt I have at stoicism falters as Lark approaches.
She folds her hands around my wrists. I drop my arms at her command and let her close in on me, her eyes fused to my lips. “Take me home,” Lark says as she rises on her tiptoes. One of her hands wraps around the back of my neck to draw my lips close to hers. “Since you’re officially retired, I think we should celebrate.”
My hand threads into Lark’s hair. I breathe in her scent of sweet citrus and let my lips graze hers when I whisper, “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“I can’t tell you that. It would ruin the surprise.”
Lark presses her lips to mine. My tongue sweeps across hers and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss. I’m carried away by my insatiable need for her that only grows more intense with each day that passes. I forget where I am and the world that spins around us as I lift her in my arms.
At least until Leander snorts a rumbling snore on the floor.
I set Lark on her feet with a disappointed sigh. “Christ Jesus. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Deal,” she says. She presses a kiss to my cheek before she steps away. With a devious little grin, Lark shrugs on her jacket and grabs my hand.
We leave Leander untouched as we head upstairs and out the door. A message dings on my phone as we slide into the Charger, a text from Rowan. I start up the car and let it warm up as I tap out a reply. I feel Lark’s eyes on me as I pocket my phone and shift the car into drive.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, just Rowan asking about Christmas morning, if we want to do their place or ours.”
“Maybe ours for Bentley, since he’s still feeling sorry for himself. He’s really milking this ‘injured savior’ bit.” Lark fiddles with the hem of her jacket, unspoken words hanging in the air. “Do you think Fionn will come?”
Even though I knew that was what she was going to ask, it still feels as though she’s reached around my heart and squeezed. “I don’t know,” I reply as I keep my focus on the winding driveway. When I don’t glance her way, Lark lays her hand over mine where it rests on the gear shift. “I hope so.”
“Me too.”
We don’t talk much for the rest of the drive home. Though it would normally be a comforting quiet with Lark, my heart beats too quickly for me to feel relaxed. It only gets worse when we park. I try to take a deep breath as I walk over to the passenger side to open her door. With every step we take, I think she’s going to notice the way I hold her hand just a little too tightly, or the way I can’t seem to stop biting my bottom lip. But if she does catch on to those details, she never says so. She’s seemingly content to walk up the stairs side by side in silence. By the time we get to the landing, I’m nearly vibrating with nerves and anticipation.
“I got you something,” I say. I barely give us time to greet Bentley and take off our jackets before I tug Lark along to the living room. She looks at me with scrutiny and I shrug. “Early birthday present.”
“My birthday is in February. We haven’t even made it to Christmas yet.”
“Extra early.”
Lark’s gaze pans across the room before it lands on me. “Where?”
“Gotta figure that out for yourself, duchess.”
“Do I get a clue?”
I tap my finger against my lips to draw out her suffering before I finally say, “What kind of conduit is universal?”
A crease appears between Lark’s brows. She pivots on her heel, her focus roaming toward the kitchen until her expression suddenly clears. With the most feckin’ adorable grin, she grasps my arms and bounces on her toes. “Water. Constantine.”
And then she’s gone.
I trail in her wake as Lark heads to the Constantine poster and lifts it from the wall to reveal a safe. The smile she beams my way lights up every dark crevice in my heart.
“I don’t need to pry out an eyeball to open it?” she says as she spins the dial.
“Appears not.”
“What’s the code?”
“Go with the theme.”
I watch as Lark thinks on this for a minute then tries a few options. Her frustration mounts when nothing seems to work. It’s a valiant effort, and she seems determined to keep going until she finally lets out a dejected sigh and looks to where I stand with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. “Give up yet?”
“No,” she says with a scoff. She tries three more combinations before her shoulders fall. “Yes.”
I saunter up behind her, only stopping when my body is flush with her back. With a lingering kiss to Lark’s neck, I reach over her shoulder to spin the lock. “Well, well. Look who’s more up on their Constantine trivia now. Three, three, nine, three. The number on the back of Chas Kramer’s taxi.”
With the final number in place, I unlock the safe and stand back.
“Don’t gloat yet, Batman. I …”
Lark trails off as she opens the door, revealing her trophies. The snow globe. The coaster. The maracas were trickier to salvage, so I made her a new pouch from cowhide for the teeth of the broken one. There are a few other things I found hidden in the apartment, like a bookmark made of charred fabric and a beaded bracelet made of bone. And behind all those trophies, there’s something she’s never seen before.
“What’s this?” she asks as she pulls a cube of clear resin from the safe. She twists it side to side, examining the heart suspended in gold wire, frozen in time.
“That’s maybe the wrong question.”
“Who is this?”
“Dr. Louis Campbell.”
Lark stiffens. She stares at that heart. She doesn’t take her eyes from it, not even when they well with tears that she struggles to blink into submission. Her pain stokes the rage that lingers like venom in my veins. But there’s satisfaction too, in the hope that this trophy will give her some measure of closure to questions that have haunted her sleepless nights.
“Are you serious …?”
I nod.
Lark’s lip wobbles, and for a moment I wonder if this was the wrong thing to do. But when she looks at me, a smile breaks through the pain that creases her brow and floods her eyes with tears.
“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten,” she squeaks out. She feckin’ sobs as she wraps her arms around the cube and hugs it to her chest. Relief washes over me as I pull her into my embrace. Her body trembles as she lets go of at least some of this pain that’s haunted her for so many years. And I know this isn’t just something she wanted. It was something she needed.
When we finally separate, I pull the box from her arms and set it on the coffee table so I can take her shoulders and turn her away. “There’s one more thing,” I whisper as I nudge her toward the safe.
“More …?”
“You heard me.”
With a wary glance over her shoulder, Lark focuses on the items left inside, where I know there’s a manila envelope with her name on it. She keeps her back to me as she opens it. There’s a gasp as she withdraws the documents and reads the itinerary for a prebooked honeymoon trip to Indonesia I printed earlier today.
And then she flips to the divorce papers.
“What the fuck is this …?”
When I say nothing, she turns to face me, and finds me down on one knee.
A fresh wave of tears cascades down Lark’s cheeks in shining rivulets. She can’t seem to land on furious, or elated, or purely overwhelmed, but they all seem to combine when she says, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Proposing, by the looks of things,” I say with a glance at the diamond band I hold between us.
Lark looks around us as though the explanation can be found on the sofa, or out the window, or on the floor. Her gaze lingers on Bentley, who looks as confounded as she does. Then her eyes land on the papers that waver in her unsteady hands. I’m pretty sure a feckin’ eternity passes before her attention returns to me. “Why?”
“Because you never really had a choice in this marriage.”
Lark shakes her head. Her lips press into a tight line and her brow furrows. And I’m feckin’ terrified. I’m terrified to let her go. But I made a promise to protect her. From anyone, even herself. Even me. And the only way I can do that is to be sure she can live the life she wants. Otherwise, I’m not a protector. I’m a cage.
Lark’s expression is so hard and so pained that I can’t tell what she’s really feeling, but I know I need to keep going.
“You made this vow to save me. My brother. Your best friend. But I want you to choose the future you want, Lark. You can dissolve this marriage. Or we can do things another way. Maybe we start over and pretend we’d first met at Rowan’s place. Or we can stay married, have the honeymoon we talked about. You said it would be Indonesia, if this were real.” I take a steadying breath, but my throat burns when I swallow. It’s so hard to keep my eyes on her as I break open my heart to let her look inside. “This is real to me, Lark. I know I promised I wouldn’t let you go, but I was wrong. Because this decision is more important than me keeping my word. And for what it’s worth, I hope you choose me, in whatever way that needs to be. I’m asking you to stay with me. But I want you to choose what’s right for you.”
Lark holds my eyes.
And she doesn’t look away. Not as she tosses the itinerary over her shoulder, a move that incinerates my heart in a beat of panic. Not as she holds the divorce papers up and rips them apart, one after the next until each one is torn. Then she points at me with a trembling hand.
“I am madly in love with you, Lachlan Kane,” she says, jabbing her finger in my direction as though punctuating each word. “And I am also just madly mad. Don’t you ever give me divorce papers again.”
“I promise, duchess.” A burst of hope and relief and joy floods my chest. They are feelings I thought I’d never have, a life I never thought I’d live. Not until I made the choice to let Lark in. “I love you, Lark Kane.”
Lark’s anger dissolves. Her smile ignites. It’s the most beautiful she’s ever been, her happiness an unstoppable dawn.
“Good, you ‘feckin’ catastrophe,’” she says, and then she crashes into my arms. “Because I choose you.”
I slip the ring above the set on her finger.
And I choose her, like I have every day since I found the bottom of the chasm between us and decided to do whatever it took to claw my way into her light. I choose her like I will every day to come.
I kiss my wife. And I choose love.
EPILOGUE
MAGIC TRICK
Rose
My grandma used to say that the best magic tricks are performed by the ones who believe.
It’s true. I see it all the time at Silveria Circus. The best magicians are always the ones who understand that the true magic at the heart of a trick is possibility.
Maybe that’s why no one looks my way now. Because I believed in magic too.
Abe Mead lies dead on the factory floor. That fucker. Wouldn’t mind having another shot at killing him if I could. Maybe I’d have done a few things a little differently.
I pull my attention away from his cooling body. I don’t want him to take another second of my time.
So I put all my focus on something beautiful instead. Lachlan and Lark. They hold each other in a crushing embrace. They sway like two trees that have twisted together and weathered storms side by side. Maybe this will be the last big one. A thunderstorm that leaves clean air and vibrant colors behind. I’d like to think the weather will always be fair for them now, the skies always clear. I think that’s what I’ll choose to believe.
I glance down at my shirt. There’s almost nothing to show for everything that’s happened. Just a small hole in the flannel fabric on my side, right beneath my ribs. There’s no more than a few drops of crimson to stain my shirt. A little trick. Nothing to see.
But I can feel it.
It burns right there, while the rest of me feels cold. No one notices when I lie down on the floor.
Lachlan and Lark are still wrapped together when a door flies open somewhere nearby. Running footsteps echo against machines and concrete walls.
“Rose,” Fionn calls out. There’s panic in his voice. He repeats my name over and over. It sounds like it’s growing more distant. Not coming closer.
It feels like the first time I flew through the metal cage on my motorcycle. The terrifying roar of the engine. The flip of my stomach when I realized I didn’t know which way was up. I just pulled back on that throttle and sped through the sphere until everything else faded away except the headlight in front of me.
“She’s here,” Lark calls back when I don’t answer, but she sounds far away too. “Oh my God—”
“Christ Jesus. Fionn, help—”
The world doesn’t go dark. It goes bright white. In the final moment before the light washes the shadows away, I see Fionn in the distance. And I know he’s my home. My person.
My love.
Maybe magic is real after all.
BONUS CHAPTER
STRAPPED
LARK
Funny thing about marriage.
Sometimes I look at my husband and think, I can’t imagine having loved anyone as much as Lachlan Kane.
And other times, I just want to make him suffer.
In a loving way, of course. Most of the time.
Like now.
I watch from the hammock as Lachlan checks his gear and lays his wet suit out to dry in the sun on the porch of our beach hut. I give him a saccharine smile as he bends to place a kiss on my forehead and then heads inside, leaving the door open. He can’t see the way my eyes narrow behind my sunglasses, or the way my smile turns menacing as I roll out of the hammock and follow behind him.
“How was your dive?” I ask as he picks up his wedding band from the dresser and slides it onto his finger where the tattoo of a gold star is recently healed, the pale yellow and black lines vibrant.
“Good. Saw a couple of manta rays. Lots of fish. A ribbon eel. Really cool.”
“Cool, yeah. Cool.” Lachlan gives me a suspicious glance over his shoulder, but my waiting smile is flawless. I lay a reassuring hand on his arm. “Why don’t you get in the shower? I’ll join you in a sec.”
Lachlan’s eyes sweep down my body, lingering on my bikini top, dropping to my navel and the waistband of my jean shorts, trailing an electric current down my bare legs. A slow, ravenous smirk spreads on his lips.
“Sounds like a good idea to me, duchess,” he says as he runs a hand over my hair and presses a kiss to my forehead. “See you in a minute.”
My smile becomes lethal when he turns his back. As soon as I hear the water turn on, I get to work.
By the time I enter the bathroom, the steam has started to gather at the ceiling and across the surface of the mirror. Lachlan stands beneath the spray of water with his head bent, his eyes closed. Water sluices down his thick bands of corded muscle and inked skin. An ache fills my core as I take a moment to just watch.
“You gonna get in, or are you just gonna stand out there and admire my Keanu-ish hotness all afternoon?” he asks without opening his eyes.
I roll my eyes and unbutton my shorts to slide them over my hips. “You’re way hotter than Keanu.”
“I know.”
Lachlan’s self-satisfied smile turns heated when I pull the string at my back and let the bikini top fall to the floor. He pushes the glass door open and offers me a hand to step inside, and as soon as I take it he wraps me in a wet embrace.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear as he runs a hand down my back, following the contour of my spine. His palm stops at my ass and he presses me closer, his length hard against my stomach. “Maybe we should extend our stay here. It’s good to see you so relaxed.” My breath catches as he bites the junction between my neck and shoulder. He soothes it with a kiss. “I take back what I said that one time about beaches being boring. It’s a hell of a lot more fun when I get to fuck my wife morning, noon, and night.”
Lachlan kisses a line that follows my collarbone and then down to my right breast. He sucks my nipple and my hand twines into his hair to grip the short strands. I press him to my chest and he groans. “Maybe we should stay a little longer. I’m not ready to go home.”
Lachlan moans his agreement into my flesh before he kisses his way to my other breast, teasing my nipple into a firm peak. Before he can kiss his way lower, I pull away and let my hands trail down his chest and the rippling muscle of his abs to anchor to his tapered waist. I keep my eyes on his as I slowly drop to my knees. He blows out a long breath as I take his erection in a firm grip and spit on the tip.
“You sure you won’t get bored?” I ask with feigned innocence. I blink up at him as I stroke his length then run my tongue along the underside of his erection. He shudders when I skate the crown across my lips.
“One hundred percent sure.” His hand threads into my hair and my lips envelop the crown of his erection. I suck hard on his cock and let him free of my mouth with an audible pop. “Lark … Christ Jesus.”
I work his erection. My motion is slow, my grip firm. I cup his balls and take him deep. I swallow his length. My tears mix with the water that pelts my face every time he hits the back of my throat. I moan around his flesh, let the vibration push him closer to the edge, closer and closer until he’s shuddering and cursing and chanting my name like a prayer. I feel every muscle in his body tensing. I hear his impending release in the desperation that colors every whispered word.
And in the moment before he’s ready to fill my throat, I let go of my husband and back out of his reach.
Lachlan’s confusion meets my waiting smirk. He’s trembling with the release I just denied him. His eyes scour my face, his brow creased with worry. “Did I do something wrong?”
I drag the back of my hand across my lips and open the shower door. “Dry yourself off and come out,” I say as I step out and tug my robe off the hanger to drape it over my arm. I don’t bother with a towel. I nod to his watch where it sits on the counter. “Give me five minutes exactly. Not a single one more or less.”
I shut the shower door and leave the bathroom with the sound of Lachlan’s confusion following on my heels.
When Lachlan exits the bathroom a few moments later with a towel wrapped around his waist and a wary look on his face, I’m waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What’s going on?” he asks as his eyes dart from me to the bed and back again. “What is this?”
I pat the surface of the bed, stirring the torn strips of paper that litter the surface. “Come and have a look.”
The crease between Lachlan’s brows deepens and then he approaches, stopping next to me. He picks up a piece of paper but sets it back down when he can’t glean anything from the few words typed on it. When he takes a second strip, a deep blush flames in his tanned cheeks. He meets my eyes and I slide the shoulder of my robe down to reveal a black leather bra strap.
“You know,” I say as I pull the tie on my robe, “every time you take off that wedding band, I feel compelled to get vengeance for those divorce papers you gave me as a ‘present.’”
Lachlan’s throat bobs with a swallow. “I was trying to give you a choice.”
I shrug.
“I … I tattooed it on my finger,” he says as he holds up his hand as though I’m seeing his ink for the first time. “I don’t want to lose the band in the ocean.”
“And yet, I don’t really care.” I give Lachlan a sardonic smile as I pull the other shoulder down to reveal the leather and lace bra that I made myself. It’s not perfect, not like it would be if Lachlan had made it, but he stares at my chest as though it’s a beautiful work of art.
I stand, letting the robe fall to my feet to reveal the rest of my work. Lace panties. Leather straps. And a glittery black dildo attached to the harness I’m wearing.
Lachlan’s eyes turn black with desire.
“Like I said. Never again. And now I’m going to fuck you on those papers. I’m going to fuck you until you never forget who you belong to. Get on the goddamned bed.”
Lachlan holds my eyes for a long moment before his hand moves to the bunched fabric where the towel folds at his waist. He tugs it free and lets the towel drop to the floor. His erection twitches as his eyes drop to the dildo, feral need consuming his gaze.
Lachlan moves toward the bed with predatory grace, his steps slow and purposeful. He passes close enough to me that I can feel his body heat, his eyes not leaving mine, not even as he places his fists on the mattress.
“What does red mean?” I ask as his first knee presses down on strips of torn paper.
“Stop.”
“Yellow means?”
“Slow down.”
I watch as the mattress dips beneath the weight of Lachlan’s muscular body. He positions himself on all fours in the center of the bed, his back tense, a shudder rolling through his powerful frame. I smile as I pick up a small bottle of lube and crack open the lid. “Green means?”
“Fuck me until I’m spraying my cum all over these feckin’ papers.”
I run my palm across Lachlan’s ass before I give it a sharp slap. “Such a good boy,” I coo as I tilt the bottle of lube to let the first thick drops land on his ass crack. With my hands on his smooth skin, I separate his ass cheeks and maneuver my hips to drag the tip of the dildo through the viscous liquid. “Are you sure you’re a good boy, though?” With one hand, I grip the toy and press it to the puckered hole, massaging the tight ring of muscle, circling it until the lube spreads and I feel him start to relax.
“Yes,” he hisses.
“Really? Or are you my fucking whore?”
I press the tip of the dildo to the pleated hole, keeping the pressure on until it slips past the resistance. Lachlan cries out with the sensation, dropping his head to his arm as I move with him, keeping the end of the dildo lodged in his ass. He takes a few deep breaths and I caress the thick planes of muscle that bracket his spine.
“Color?” I ask.
“Feckin’ hell,” he whispers.
“Last time I checked, that wasn’t a color—”
“Green, fuck. Green.”
I flip my wet hair from my eyes and keep my gaze on the sight before me as I push the toy deeper into Lachlan’s ass. My back arches as I keep the pressure on, steadily moving forward until I’m stretching and filling him, my powerful, lethal husband reduced to shuddering, unraveling, animalistic need.
“Don’t forget the part about you screaming my name as you spray your cum on these bullshit papers,” I whisper.
And then I pick up a rhythm of thrusts.
Slow and steady at first. Long strokes. I pull out all the way to the tip of the dildo, then push back in until I fill him completely. Lachlan growls with pleasure. Moans as I pick up a faster cadence. Shudders when I scrape my nails down his back and slap his ass. And just watching what I do to him stokes an ache deep in my belly. I seize the power of every rocking motion and I know that I’m the one pushing him to the brink of madness. That there are billions of people in the world but I am the only person he trusts to throw him off that cliff and still give him a safe place to land. I know it in every thrust of my hips. Every tremble in his arms. Every curse and unsteady exhalation. I revel in every moment of pulling Lachlan Kane apart.
Sweat coats Lachlan’s skin in a glistening film. He grips the sheets with bleached knuckles. Torn papers rustle on the bed as I thrust with a quickening pace.
I drape my body over Lachlan’s back and reach around his hip to grip his cock. He hisses with pleasure as I coat my palm with the pre-cum gathered at the tip and stroke his length.
“Come for me, baby,” I whisper in his ear. “Say my name loud enough that the whole damn island knows whose whore you are.”
A gravelly moan escapes Lachlan’s lips as I ramp up the pace of my thrusts and pump his erection. “Christ, Lark. Lark,” he grits out. And he says it again. And again. And again. My pace is unrelenting. I’m merciless. I want him mindless with pleasure. I want him to be ruined. To know my name is the only word he can remember.
And my name is the only thing Lachlan says as he comes.
His spine locks. His cock pulses in my hand. Ropes of cum spray across the bedding. Across ripped paper. Across words like divorce, and irreconcilable, and final decree. They’re all stained with the proof that we are unbroken. My husband and I chose a different path. We choose it every day.
I wrap my arm around Lachlan’s waist and press my cheek to his back where I can hear his heartbeat riot through muscle and bone. And he lays a hand on mine, holding me close. It’s a long moment before I start to slide my touch away and pull out. I take my time, reveling in every shudder and shiver he makes as I slip free.
The second the dildo leaves his ass, Lachlan flips me over and I laugh as he pins me beneath his knees. He fumbles with the buckle for the harness as though he’s desperate for a taste of my pussy. When it’s finally undone, he tosses it to the floor and then pulls the lace panties aside as he settles between my legs.
“Your turn,” he whispers, and with a devious grin and a dark wink, he feasts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, to YOU, dear reader, for spending some of your time with Lachlan and Lark, and their friends and family, and curmudgeonly Bentley (I promise he’s living his BEST fictional dog life!). I hope you enjoyed the crazy journey. The experience of writing Leather & Lark was unlike any book I’ve written so far. Much like Lark and Lachlan’s story, life is full of joy and heartbreak and love and perseverance. This book was both incredibly challenging and rewarding in equal measure, and I hope you love it.
Huge, enormous, endless thanks to Kim Whalen from the Whalen Agency. You’ve changed my life in ways that are still difficult for me to fathom. I absolutely love working with you and I’m so grateful for everything you have done and continue to do for me. Thank you also to Mary Pender and Orly Greenberg at UTA; I’m so excited to see what comes next for these stories! Thank you for helping to open these characters to a whole new world.
To Molly Stern, Sierra Stovall, Hayley Wagreich, Andrew Rein, and the entire team at Zando, thank you for taking a chance on my work and not only asking me to jump on the pirate ship, but then making the pirate ship into a superyacht, and now we’re zooming around the seven seas! Next stop: SPACE.
In the UK, huge thanks to the team at Little, Brown UK, particularly Ellie Russell and Becky West, who have been so wonderful to work with and who were some of the very first folks in the publishing industry to rally behind the Ruinous Love series. Thank you also to Glenn Tavennec from Éditions du Seuil for being such a huge supporter of me and these characters. And I will always be so grateful to András Kepets in Hungary, who set in place the first domino that brought these partnerships to life.
Big thanks to Najla and the team at Qamber Designs, who created the stunning covers for all three books in this series. It has been an absolute pleasure to work with everyone on that team—they did an amazing job bringing the essence of these stories to life! To my lifesaver PA and graphics wizard, Val Downs. Thank you for keeping me afloat whenever I fall off the pirate ship, HAHA. You keep the sails up and I’m so thankful to work with you.
I am enormously grateful to the amazing ARC readers and social media supporters of Butcher & Blackbird for taking time out of their day to read, promote, and talk about these stories, and their willingness to come on these crazy journeys with me. It means the world to me that you love the characters as much as I do, and that you take the time to let me know. I absolutely love your drawings, edits, videos, messages, and comments. Being on this adventure with you makes the carpal tunnel worthwhile, AHAHA.
Super special thanks to Arley and Jess, who so kindly vibe-check things for me when I’m in the “I want to BURN THIS” phase of writing. You save my sanity and for that I’m enormously grateful. I love you ladies. And to Kristie, huge thanks for the gift of “multiple deleter,” but most of all, thank you for your love and support.
To T. Thomason, who when I said, “I have a crazy idea,” was like, “Sign me the fuck up!” As I write this, our wild little plan is still under construction. Please know that I am so thankful for your friendship and your willingness to entertain such a weird and fun idea out of the blue!
I have been so lucky to become friends with some incredibly talented authors on this writing journey, and their help and guidance has been so critical for me, particularly during this series. To Avina St. Graves, thank you for letting me include a little snippet of Death’s Obsession. Lachlan loved it, haha! And thank you for being my deadline buddy. I could not have survived without you (for reals). “I’m going to wax my legs to feel something other than stress” should be on a shirt. To Abby Jimenez, thank you for your sage advice (and the bottle of moonshine in the sketchy alley, it went down a treat). And Lauren Biel, who is always up for a batshit-crazy brainstorming session, I’ll get that boxcar romance out of you yet!
Last but certainly not least, to my amazing boys: my husband, Daniel, and son, Hayden. Daniel, thank you for always taking the time to help me make sense of the glittery brain soup, and for your patience, love, and support. Definitely also the wine and the olive and cheese plates—those really saved my soul. I love you, my boys. (Hayden, when you asked how old you’d need to be before you could read this, the answer is 245.)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times and USA TODAY best-selling author and TikTok sensation with works sold worldwide in over fifteen languages to date, Brynne Weaver has traveled the world, taken in more stray animals than her husband would probably prefer, and nurtured her love for dark comedies, horror, and romance in both literature and film. During all her adventures, the constant thread in Brynne’s life has been writing. With eight published works and counting, Brynne has made her mark in the literary world by blending irreverent dark comedy, swoon-worthy romance, and riveting suspense to create genre-breaking, addictive stories for readers to escape into.
Instagram: @brynne_weaver
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Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/21299126.Brynne_Weaver