Join the Club - Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,79

lot longer than she had.

But something had happened—something that she wouldn’t discuss—and she’d been able to get out.

And we hadn’t seen her in a very long time.

Then one day, she just popped back up.

She had a man, and she was happy.

“I’m glad that she’s happy,” I said honestly.

And I was.

If anyone deserved it, it was Ellie.

She’d been through a lot.

“My dad has decided to run for mayor,” she continued, rolling her eyes.

I sighed and pulled her into my body, loving the way she felt.

It’d been two weeks, but it felt like forever.

“I don’t want to talk about your stupid father,” I said.

He’d moved away after he’d seen shit go down with Ellie and the murderer, and he never contacted us again.

We only knew half the shit we knew because Delanie and Dillan were stalkers and every once in a while decided to check up on their dear old dad.

Most of the time it was to find him struggling.

Which always made me happy.

He may not have had anything to really do with Jason’s death, but it’d been enough for me to realize that I didn’t want him around, either.

If the bastard rotted away for the rest of his life, it would be more than he deserved.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, running her hands up my side.

I hefted her up into my arms, then pressed her back against the shower.

“Let’s talk about how much I’ve missed you.”

Then I kissed her.

What’s Next?

Any Day Now

Book 8 of The KPD SWAT 2.0 Series

Chapter 1

I don’t need a pool to get you wet.

-Lawn sprinkler

Amelia

“Please, please, please, please, please.”

I looked at my friend, Avery, and wanted to say no.

A thousand times no.

But, she didn’t ask me for stuff often.

In fact, I was honestly surprised that she was doing it now.

“What’s it for again?” I asked, not wanting to hear the words yet knowing that I had to ask.

“A college class that I’m taking. Photography. We’re supposed to come up with something unique, a photoshoot. It has to be fun, expressive, and emotional. We can do whatever we want. But, it’s a huge part of my grade. And, it’s of a personal nature. I just figured, with where you worked, you might be more okay with it than everyone else… plus, I don’t think that anybody else will do it. Or… more accurately, be allowed to do it.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

I ignored the part about ‘where I worked.’

Where I worked wasn’t bad.

Really, it wasn’t.

I mean, working at a strip club as a bartender wasn’t bad.

I wore what I wanted, made good money doing it, and got the benefit of pissing my brothers and father off. Even more so than my schooling—a social worker.

They did not, I repeat, did not like the fact that I would be working with druggies—their words not mine.

They also did not like the fact that I hadn’t caved on any of their demands—i.e., finding a job that kept me safe, protected, and healthy at all times.

So, to defy them even more, I’d moved to Kilgore—where having one brother around was better than having a brother and a father—both of which were part of an MC that owned that town.

Sebastian and my father were part of one of the biggest motorcycle clubs in the country. They owned Benton, Louisiana—my hometown—and made it virtually impossible for me to live under their microscope.

In Kilgore, Texas I only had my eldest brother, Sam Mackenzie, to deal with. Also, I had James, my brother-in-law, but still better than a bossy, overprotective brother or father.

One was better than three.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

Luckily, Kilgore was close to my college, and it meant that I could go to school, work toward my master’s degree, and have the added benefit of having family around if I ever needed help.

Which, I wouldn’t.

But I liked to allow my alpha family members to think that I would have them in case I needed them.

“What do you mean by being allowed to do this?” I asked.

“Well.” Avery bit her lip, looking torn. “See…”

She looked like she didn’t want to tell me.

That’s when I knew it was bad.

“Spit it out,” I ordered as I squatted down and hefted the giant keg of beer into place.

Or, at least, I tried to. It wasn’t budging.

Mainly because I was five-foot-three, a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, and barely had time to get a run in, let alone any squats.

Meaning, the ninety-pound keg wasn’t moving by itself. At least not