Killian (West Bend Saints 4)

"Everyone gets shy when they get on stage. You know, mommy used to get on stage all the time, and even after I did it a whole bunch of times, I still got butterflies in my stomach."

Mia sniffles her response. "You did?"

"Totally. But do you want to know what?”

"What?"

"Let's go in my room. I have something for you."

"Okay."

I pass Elias, who's carrying Noah in one hand and a washcloth covered in green paint in the other. "Ben painted his face."

"In the last two minutes?" I ask, incredulous. "Where did he get face paint?"

Elias shakes his head. "He went into the playroom and climbed up the shelf on the wall to pull them off the top."

"Ben! How many times have we told you not to climb the shelves?!" Thank goodness we bolted the wall shelf units to the wall when we got them, because apparently our son is part monkey.

"Five minutes, River," Elias reminds me. "If we don't leave soon, there won't be any parking."

"Got it." I rush off to our bedroom carrying Mia on my hip and deposit her in front of my vanity, which is pretty much guaranteed to stop her tears, since one of her favorite things to do is sit at my vanity and put on my makeup. Reaching into my jewelry box, I pull out one of my necklaces, a simple silver piece with a locket. "This is a magic necklace."

Mia cocks her head to the side and looks at me. "Really?"

"Promise. Mommy used to wear this when I went to auditions."

"What are auditions?"

"Before I got to act in movies, I'd have to go try out being in the movie first to see if the director liked me in the part."

"What's a director?"

"You know how Ms. Baker tells you guys where to go on stage and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"That's what a director does."

Mia sniffles her response.

"This necklace gives you bravery," I tell her, slipping it around her neck. "That's why I'm giving it to you to wear tonight."

"Trees don't wear necklaces."

"Let's tuck it into your costume. That way no one sees it. If you get nervous during the play, your dad and I will be right there in the audience and I'll be right there next to your heart."

"Okay."

I wrap my arms around her. "Now, in the car, I want you to show us all how you're going to shake your arms in the play."

"They're tree branches, mommy."

"Excuse me – shake your tree branches." I wrap my arms around her. "You're going to do great."

During the play, Elias reaches for my hand, his face beaming. "She's doing awesome,” he whispers.

"I knew she would."

He squeezes my hand. "I love you."

I squeeze his hand back, my silent version of 'I love you', watching as Mia sways back and forth on the stage with her best friends in rhythm with the song the class is singing.

Sitting here with Elias and our three children, watching my kindergartener perform in a class play, is a place I never in a million years would have thought I'd end up, if you'd have asked me years ago. Ten years ago, I was a spoiled (I'll admit it) Hollywood movie star who didn't think I could ever have stability or happiness… or love.

When I left Hollywood, I was running away from my life. The thing is, I didn't realize that it was the exact opposite – I ended up running straight toward it.

This life, the one that I've created with Elias and our children, is full of chaos and imperfection. And it's the most beautiful thing imaginable.

Continue on for Silas, Book Two in the West Bend Saints Series!

Silas (West Bend Saints, Book #2)

Synopsis

Tempest

Call me Robin Hood.

I’m a grifter. A con artist.

I don’t just steal from the rich. I take from the worst of the worst, the people who deserve to be hustled.

I have two rules - keep moving and never fall in love.

I only ever thought about breaking them for one boy. And that boy just walked right back into my life, a ghost from the past. Silas Saint.

Now he’s a man. Arrogant and sexy as f**k, he’s sure as hell not the person I fell in love with, a lifetime ago.

But when he touches me, it’s enough to make me forget my own name. He makes me want to break all my rules.

Silas

I’ve been fighting as long as I could remember. Sh**, I think I came out of the womb swinging. I even tried to go legit until trouble sent me out of Las Vegas and back to West Bend.

I never expected a different kind of trouble to come waltzing back into my life, all curves and tattoos and sass. Tempest Wilde.

Any idea what “tempest” means? A violent f**cking windstorm. That’s s**t I don’t need.

I loved her once, a lifetime ago. Before I knew better.

Love is for suckers, and I’m sure as hell not a sucker.

But the way she looks at me? It makes me want to give her everything I have.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

All quotations used in this book are part of public domain works and/or translated copies existing in public domain. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book. Trademarks have been used without permission.

This book contains mature content, including graphic sex, language, and violence. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

The town of West Bend, Colorado does not exist. It’s a fictional place inspired by a town that is meaningful to me.

For my darling Emma, always and forever.

For my husband, who knows that when I say I want a date night, it means I've written myself into a corner and need him to bail me out...and does it anyway.

For the authors and readers I've met along the way who have become dear friends, especially Jordan and Joanna. I can't possibly express my gratitude for your support...and your willingness to tell me like it is.

For Sabrina’s Sirens. You are the best and I am so thankful for your tireless efforts!

And, of course, for all of my readers. When I wrote my first novel, I had no idea anyone would read it, let alone that I would write five novels! It's because of your support and kindness that I'm blessed to be able to continue writing. Thank you.

Tempest

Tonight, I'm going to steal half a million dollars.

Well, let me qualify that. I won't take possession of the money tonight - but tonight is when the magic happens. It's when I seal the deal. And steal isn't really the right word for it. The man standing beside me, the one who's trying to impress me with every fiber of his scummy little being, is going to give it to me. He's going to insist I take it from him.

He's going to thank me for the privilege of taking his money.

And then I'm going to walk away.

My crew will take a cut from the proceeds - split four ways - and the rest goes to the person who actually deserves it - this scumbag's victim. Then we'll get the hell out of Vegas - separately, of course. I've been here for a month anyway. That's long enough, in my book. I get restless. I've always been a wanderer.

You have to be when you do what I do, when you were raised the way I was raised.

I'm a grifter. A con artist.

A hustler. A thief.

It sounds worse than it is.

People think they know what being a grifter means. They think that grifters con little old ladies out of their life savings and take hard-working folks' retirements away from them. They think I'm some kind of gold digger or black widow, marrying rich men for money and then waiting until they die to collect.

Peop

le couldn't be more wrong about me.

They don't know my story. Not at all.

I'm not the bad guy here. Or bad girl, rather. The real bad guys - the actual cons - are the bankers, the dirty hedge fund managers, the fat cat CEOs who play with their employees like they're chess pieces. Don't even get me started on the politicians, the leaders of countries, the ones who make decisions that affect good people based on whose lobby has the most money and the greatest influence.

They make what I do look like child's play.

Me? I'm one of the good girls.

I'm like Robin Hood. I take from the assholes, the people who deserve to be cheated - and I redistribute to the people who deserve it, the ones who have been victimized.

I believe in karma - retribution for past misdeeds.

But, sometimes, karma needs an extra nudge in the right direction.

I give it that nudge.

And nudging karma is exactly why I'm standing here now.

Silas

Sometimes time itself slows down, comes to a standstill, like someone pushed a giant pause button on the entire universe. It usually happens at the important times: births, deaths, things like that.

And times like now.

I sat in the back room, on a half-rusted metal chair, staring at the concrete floor splotched with who knows how many years' worth of grime, the surface wearing away in irregularly shaped patches. Everything faded into the background - the men in the room talking around me, the noise from the gathering crowd outside, the ones who were bloodthirsty, waiting for a fight.

I'd always been good at blocking shit out, detaching myself from everything around me and just zoning.

It's how I survived my childhood.

That, and I fought. Even when I was a kid. It's in your nature, my mother used to say. You kicked your way out of the womb.

This fight, though...this was different. This was fucking personal.

"Yo, Saint." The voice shook me out of my thoughts. "Saint. Are you listening?"

Trigg squatted down in front of me, his expression dark. He was one of the fighters I'd known when I was on the circuit here in Vegas, before I'd gone back to West Bend. "Where's your fucking head?" he asked.

Trigg thought I was distracted by what had happened with Abel. But that’s not what was on my mind.

I wasn't supposed to fight tonight. Abel was. He'd called me when I was out in Hollywood with Elias and River, and asked a favor. It was an easy favor; it should have been no big deal. He wanted me to come down and be in his corner at his fight. I had been outside the circuit for the past few months and he trusted me. After the stuff that had gone down with me and Coker, the shit that sent me back to West Bend a few months back, he knew I'd be there in a heartbeat.

I was supposed to be in Abel’s position tonight, in his corner, supporting him. Instead, Abel was in the hospital, after being mowed down in a hit and run.

The bullshit part of it was that I knew who had done it. Hell, we all knew who was responsible. We might not know who the driver himself was, but we damn well knew who had hired him. It was Roy Coker, my ex-promoter. Everyone knew what kind of guy he was, the lengths he would go to in order to make sure his fighters won.

Or lost, depending on what bets were being run and what the odds were.

Coker had tried to get me to take a dive before, so I knew firsthand what would happen when you were in his way, when you didn’t do what you were told.

In my case, the outcome hadn’t been great.

Of course, I’d never been good at doing what I was told, either.

"Yeah, man," I said. "My head is right where it needs to be."

Trigg squatted down low and made eye contact with me, his gaze intense. "You’ve got this," he said. "Rush is a fucking beast. But you're better."

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