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  • Writer's pictureAuthor K.L. Hall

Bound in the Arms of a Thug Sneak Peek

© K.L. Hall and, 2024. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to K.L. Hall and with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.

This is an unedited snippet.

Kendyl Parker

Four and a half hours later, the city lights of Chicago welcomed me back. It had been years since I’d returned, but my muscle memory took over as I easily made my way around the city. Soon enough, I parked in front of Cy’s apartment, my heart thumping as the morning sun rose. I left the car running as Cree slept, looking over my shoulder every few seconds as I stood on the stoop. My knuckles trembled against the door. When it swung open, revealing an elderly Hispanic woman with kind eyes, I felt relief and curiosity. The woman’s silver hair framed her face, and her tired but warm eyes held a lifetime of stories.

“¿En qué puedo ayudarte?” the woman asked, her voice warm yet cautious since it was so early in the morning. 

I paused with confusion etched in my brow, unsure how to respond. Truthfully, I had no clue what she said. We stared each other down before I broke away to look back at my car. 

“You look like you’ve been through a storm,” she said, returning my attention to her. 

I hesitated, remembering my busted lip, then blurted out my question. “I apologize for showing up here so late… er, uh, early. Do you… did you know the man who–who lived here before you?”

The woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ah, sí. A good man. He doesn’t live here anymore, but he still visits. Once a month, like clockwork. Helps fix things around the place.”

I squinted, unsure if we were talking about the same man. I’d never known Cy to be the Mr. Fix-It type. “Are you sure? He’s about six-foot-two and has dark eyes and dreads.” 

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Ah, sí, sí. He’s got a motorcycle.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Yes! Sí, sí. That’s him! Would you know where I could find him? Does he still live around here?”

She wagged her head. “Are you family?”

I glanced back at the car, catching a glimpse of Cree before turning back to face her. “Something like that.” 

She looked me up and down before peering at my car. “I think he’s across the city in the new Oak Creek subdivision.” 

         “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so much. Again, I’m so sorry to wake you up so early! Gracias!”

         “De nada. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The name of the subdivision echoed in my thoughts—a breadcrumb leading me to him. Back inside the car, I did a quick Google search for the subdivision and got an address for the model home in the area. After another twenty-minute drive, I crept through the neighborhood, the streets lined with new, modest townhouses and blooming lawns. And then I saw it—the unmistakable silhouette of a motorcycle—his motorcycle—parked in front of a brand-new house.

“Found you,” I whispered. 

I cut the engine, my palms sweaty on the steering wheel. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Cree still slept in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the drama about to unfold. I stepped out and walked to the back passenger seat to grab him. I cradled him in my arms as my footsteps echoed on the pavement. The dewy morning air smelled of fresh grass as I approached the house. My heart pounded. The green front door loomed before me—a threshold to my past and perhaps my future. As I raised my hand to knock, I wondered what awaited me on the other side. What if he doesn’t recognize me? I wonder how much he’s changed. Have time and circumstance transformed him into someone unrecognizable? I’d been rehearsing what I’d say to him for most of the six-and-a-half-hour drive, but all my words escaped me in the heat of the moment. 

I took a deep breath, my knuckles brushing against the wood as I knocked. The door opened, and there he stood—the man who had once loved me and had never raised his hand in anger. Our eyes met, and in that charged moment, the past collided with the present. It’d been four years since I’d laid eyes on Cy, and now it was time to confront the truth—the tangled threads of love, betrayal, and the sleeping toddler in my arms that bound us together.

Coming June 19th!

Read Good Girls Always Got a Thing for the Thugs (Book One) here:

1 comment

1 Comment

Jun 15


I was hooked from the first paragraph!

Mmmmm M o r e pleezz!

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