Breaker’s Vow (Satan's Raiders MC

Book 5) Elizabeth Knox & Lena Bourne

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/breakers-vow-satans-raiders-mc-book-5-elizabeth-kn
ox-lena-bourne/
BREAKER’S VOW
SATAN’S RAIDERS MC
BOOK FIVE

ELIZABETH KNOX
 CONTENTS
Satan’s Raiders MC Members:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author: Lena
Also By Lena Bourne
About the Author: Elizabeth
Breaker’s Vow
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Breaker’s Vow. Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Knox & Lena Bourne. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles
or reviews. For information, contact E. Knox & L. Bourne.
Editing: Kim Lubbers, Knox Publishing
Proofreading: Marybeth Higgins, Knox Publishing
Formatting: R. Epperson, Knox Publishing
Cover Designer: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations
Photographer: Golden Czermak, FuriousFotog
Created with Vellum
SATAN’S RAIDERS MC MEMBERS:

Breaker — Prez
Chains — VP
Ops — Enforcer
p. Mabel
Armor — Road Captain
p. Jada
Killer — Sgt. at Arms
Sarge — Full Patch
Brick — Full Patch
Ice — Full Patch
p. Sunny
Children: Troy, Octavia, & Hayden
Inc (in Montana)— Full Patch
p. Octavia & Zane
Children: Neo, 1 year 8 months (Inc)
Agony — Full Patch
Fury — Full Patch
p. Chloe
Archer — Prospect
 PROLOGUE

BREAKER
Some Time Ago . . .
“Celia?” Mabel squeaks out, almost sounding a mixture of surprised and nervous.
Cee, who’s by my side, turns to look at Mabel and while I can’t see the expression on her face, I
can almost guarantee it’s shock. Cee takes another step and I can actually see how she’s looking at
Mabel. Cee swallows hard and her eyes are widening, almost like someone who has something to
hide. I’ve never once called her the name Celia, and only know her as Cee, yet she seems to be
making some sort of response to it. Is Cee short for Celia?
“That’s not her name. This is Cee, my girlfriend.” I speak plain as day, hoping that if anyone
proves me wrong right now it’s going to be Cee, not Mabel. I look at my beautiful woman, the one
who’s been the first to make it past all of my walls and wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t.
The only person who does is Mabel, and it’s not what I expect.
“Her name is Celia,” Mabel states, looking at me and then glancing over at her friend.
Now everyone in the clubhouse is paying attention to what’s going on. They’re all tuned in to
what’s happening, and those who were facing away have now turned their attention to the situation at
hand.
There’s no denying that the tension in the room is thick. We’re all waiting for Cee to say anything,
but instead there’s a thick, dense quiet.
Ops steps behind his woman and puts a hand on her shoulder. “What’s your full name?” he asks
Cee.
Cee takes in a deep breath, clears her throat, and finally after a moment of intense silence speaks.
“Celia,”
I don’t know what the fuck to think right now. I’m staring at her, wondering why she wouldn’t tell
me something as simple as her full name . . . but there’s only one answer I can come up with. It’s
because she’s hiding something from me. I cock an eyebrow at her while I clench my jaw tightly. I’m
giving her an opportunity to be honest with me, and yet she doesn’t take it. Instead, she’s staying silent
which is only proving her guilt.
Mabel keeps staring at Celia, and brushes her hair behind her neck. She takes a step closer to her,
and Mabel nervously looks back at me and then at Celia. The way she’s staring makes me think she
believes I’m the bad guy in this scenario.
“What are you doing here?” Mabel asks her. I think she’s going to give Celia time to answer, but
she doesn’t. Instead, she keeps continuing. “It’s been a long time. Have you been here the whole
time?” Mabel seems to know Celia very well and we know which family Mabel is associated with . .
. so now I’m curious if Celia is associated with the Guatemalans too. I mean, I know she’s Latina, but
I’ve never asked what nationality she is.
Celia begins walking toward Mabel and Mabel pulls her into a hug, though Celia doesn’t seem so
keen on it. She holds onto Celia for a moment, but right as she’s about to let go of her friend, Celia
puts her lips against Mabel’s ear.
I can tell Celia is trying to keep her voice as low as possible, but Sarge shoots me a glare which
tells me he just heard whatever Celia said to her friend. Fuck, what is going on?
Mabel walks back over to Ops and Celia starts approaching me. “Come on babe, let’s get out of
here.” Ah, so that’s how Celia’s playing this. She wants to leave and act like this awkward as fuck
situation never happened in the first place.
I look past Celia and stare right into Mabel’s eyes. They’re glazed over, almost like she’s going to
start crying. I’m wondering why she’s this upset about what’s going on, which just proves to me even
further that something else fishy is going on.
I meet my eyes with my girlfriend’s and nod, then smile. “Sure, we can go, but first, I want to
know how you two know each other.” I’m not going to change my mind. She’s going to tell me the
truth, and there isn’t another option.
Instead of answering, Celia remains quiet. Hmm, she must be thinking about what the hell she can
come up with to get out of this.
I turn and look at Mabel, considering she’s the one who’s more likely to be honest in this
situation. “You answer. How do you two know each other?”
Celia’s staring at Mabel coldly, flaring her nostrils.
“We’ve known each other since we were little girls. Our fathers are friends.” Mabel answers, and
I look back at my girlfriend, who won’t even give me the decency of looking into my eyes.
I look back at Mabel, and then at Celia. Why the fuck would she keep that from me? Celia
would’ve had to see Mabel here at some point. For fuck’s sake, Celia’s been around me so much over
these last few weeks.
“Guatemalan?” I ask the million dollar question.
Mabel looks at Celia and I know I must be putting her in an impossible position.
I point to Celia and Mabel nods.
I inhale sharply, finally figuring out what the fuck has been happening. I’ve gone against my club,
stripping everyone of their patches when Celia’s the one responsible for all of this. I do my best to
keep my cool, but I can’t. I explode in a blind rage. “You’re the fuckin’ rat!”
Celia immediately drops to her knees and that’s all the confirmation I need to know she’s the one
responsible for all of this. “Breaker, babe, please, you don’t understand. Don’t kill me. I didn’t have a
choice. I was so torn between being an MC queen by your side and pleasing my father.”
She was torn, huh?
 “What? You were conflicted?” My voice is like pure acid as it passes through my lips. I can’t be
kind to this woman, not after what she’s done. I spit directly on her face. “A real ol’ lady would never
have that fuckin’ problem. You would stand by your man through thick and thin, no matter what fuckin’
outside influences there are. All this because of a fuckin’ bitch,” I throw my hands in the air, wanting
to do more harm than that, but I will never lay my hands on a woman in that manner. Even if she
deserves it, I won’t cross that line. “Agony, Fury, come get this piece of shit and get her out of my
sight until I figure out what the fuck to do with her.”
They do exactly as I say and pick her up. When they do, she starts screaming and cursing
violently, as if that’s going to change anything. “You won’t fucking get away with this! You don’t
know who you’re dealing with! I’m important!”
I can’t hold back anymore. I surge toward her. “You’re not as fuckin’ important as you think.
You’re not irreplaceable!”
“Bullshit, I’m not! I’m the leader of the 17’s daughter,” she yells in my face and there’s a sharp
draw of breath from behind me.
I turn back, realizing it’s Mabel. “Your father’s position can’t protect you forever, Celia. You
have no idea what he’s done and how your decision to tell your father things impacted others.”
Celia swings her head in Mabel’s direction. “You stupid, ignorant bitch. You think you’re so high
and mighty because your father is a dealer? No, you’re nobody. You shouldn’t be the one talking to me
like this. Not when you don’t even support your father’s lifestyle! You act like you don’t know what
he does, but we all know what you’ve been doing, Amabel. You’re lying to yourself because you
can’t face the truth. You can’t face the fact that your entire family made their money selling drugs. I’m
a daughter who appreciates their father. I was the first one to help him clear the streets of this trash.
I’m the one who brought him the asshole drug dealers who went against him!”
That’s it. She’s sealed her fucking fate in my book. Those people had lives. They had partners.
They had children . . . and she doesn’t give a fuck about any of it.
I pull out my gun without hesitating, knowing allowing her to live will only cause more problems.
“You! You’re the one who told him? Those dealers your father is responsible for killing were dads.
They had kids. Your father destroyed lives, and then you come along and lay in my fuckin’ bed. You
don’t deserve to fuckin’ live! You don’t get to fuckin’ breathe anymore.” My words somehow become
soft at the end, but I know why. It’s because I truly care about this woman. I don’t want to do this, but
I don’t have a choice. I pull the trigger without an ounce of hesitation, because Celia’s the type of
woman who will continue to be responsible for the death of others. Eliminating her ensures no one
else dies at her hand, and I can live with myself for doing that.

I had the club deal with Celia’s body, because I just couldn’t do it. I’ve had this woman by my side
for weeks. I’ve had her in my bed . . . and while she offered to listen to my problems, acting like she
was a safe ear for me to talk to, she was reporting everything back to her father.
I shut my eyes, hating what I had to do. I’ve never harmed any woman. I’ve never even cussed one
out, and yet I did with her because her betrayal was so horrible. She cost people their lives and then
acted like she didn’t even care about any of it. Yet, she wanted me to think she had a hard time
choosing between being by my side and being a rat for her father. No, she didn’t. She already made
the decision when she decided to keep feeding him intel.
 She was the first woman I ever trusted enough. The one woman I considered making my ol’ lady .
. . and this is where my judgement got me in the end. It put me in an impossible position and I took
away something that truly mattered to me. In hindsight, I’m not sure if I can really trust any women.
Fuck, my own relationship with my mother was a shitty one at best. I guess from the beginning, my
relationships with women haven’t been that great. The only ones that were decent were the ones with
my half-sisters, but they were all killed except for Octavia.
Fuck, they were killed because of me.
Because I was foolish enough to be deceived by someone who I thought only had good intentions.
I pick up the only thing in front of me, the stereo system to my TV and throw it as far as I can
across the room. It crashes into the bricks and breaks into pieces from the impact. I stand here in my
bedroom, breathing hard, my chest rising and falling.
She told me she wanted to meet up with my sisters to see if she could make amends with them,
and said she wanted to do it in a way that looked like a coincidence. I told her how they were going
out to the movies together for a girl’s night, and instead of being honest like she said . . . she had them
all killed, except Octavia. Octavia somehow managed to get out of it alive, and I’m so grateful she
didn’t pass away like the rest of them. I loved all of my sisters, but since they passed I’ve noticed my
relationship changing with Octavia.
A knock comes to my door and I don’t hold back my rage. “I’m not in the mood for visitors!”
Sure enough, my door comes open and I turn back to see whoever has the balls to walk in here
after I said I didn’t want any visitors. Sure enough, it’s my father.
He walks in slowly and shuts the door behind him, then approaches me, his eyes set on the stereo
system.
“I like how you changed the curtains. It looks nice,” My father says, completely avoiding what he
was just looking at.
My room is half drywall, half exposed brick and I have large windows that have been here for as
long as the building has. I had some dark blue curtains a while back, but I wanted something different,
so I ordered some blackout American flag ones which tie the room together I think. Hell, Celia helped
me pick out a lot of the shit in this room . . . and as I think about it, I grab every fucking thing she
helped me decorate it with, throwing it against the brick. My dad stands beside me and watches, not
saying a word until I’m finished.
“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, but promise me you’re not going to blame
yourself. This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known she was going to do this to you.”
I turn and look right into his eyes, wondering if he was named Ice because of how cold they can
look some days. I know it’s not. I know it’s because my father did every drug under the sun back in his
day, mostly crystal meth and cocaine.
I inhale slowly through my nose, knowing he has no idea what’s running through my mind right
now. “Dad, get the fuck out before I say some shit I’ll regret later.”
He keeps his eyes on me. “Fine, but don’t go and do anything stupid.”
He heads toward the door, opens it slowly, almost like he’s waiting for me to tell him to stop, but
I don’t. He leaves my room and shuts the door behind him, and I’m stuck with my heavy thoughts,
knowing there’s one thing I will never do ever again—trust a woman with my heart.
 CHAPTER ONE

KARA
Friday nights are always the longest. And the loudest. But they also bring in the highest tips.
Always been that way. Ever since my first job as a stripper twelve years ago, when I was fifteen
passing for eighteen. Weekdays are slow. Saturday night is OK, but not great, since Sunday is church
and God day, and even the biggest freaks like to pretend they’re not then. Can’t have huge dark bags
under your bloodshot eyes and alcohol still on the breath when you sit next to the missus in the pew,
now can you?
I used to joke about that with every stripper I ever worked with, before, after and in between sets.
It’s not funny anymore. I’m twenty-seven years old. Old being the operative word. Pretty soon I
won’t get a job at a high-end strip club like this here Silhouette no matter what—or who—I do.
Up until a few months ago, I thought I’d never have to touch another pole in my life. Funny how
quickly life can turn from one thing to another. I should be used to it by now. But then again, I never
was a fast learner.
Like for example, I should’ve left Javier the first time he slapped me. But I let it drag on because I
thought I had it made with him. Living in his high-rise three bedroom apartment that he let me
decorate with his black American Express card. He let me charge whatever I wanted on that card.
Expensive clothes and shoes, all the spa treatments I wanted, and more jewelry than I’d ever need.
Dumb little me thought a few slaps here and there, when I got too loud and obnoxious, was a fair
enough exchange. It was better than getting groped and slapped by random sleazeballs at decrepit
shithole strip clubs, at any rate.
I’d probably still be getting slapped around by Javi if he hadn’t been killed on New Year’s Eve.
Hell, I might’ve been killed at that same party, if he hadn’t busted my lip and made me bleed all over
the dress I was wearing to the party. My face was too messed up, so he couldn’t take me with him
after that.
 At least this Silhouette place I’m working at now isn’t a dump. It’s actually a very decent place,
and I haven’t seen a poor person walk through the door yet, in all the months I’ve been working here.
I’m standing by the back door, waiting for the girl currently twirling on the pole—Diamond-to be
done so I can go on for my last set. Then it’s home and bed until I get to do it all over again tomorrow
night.
I should probably be sitting down and resting—my body’s still getting re-accustomed to the
nightly workouts I force onto it now—but I’m afraid that if I sit down, my tired legs will get so stiff I
won’t be able to walk to the stage, let alone dance when my turn comes.
I need the money, because I might need to get out of town soon. If I hadn’t just rushed out of
Javier’s apartment after I found out he was dead, I might have some of that nice jewelry to sell, but I
got away with barely more than the clothes I was wearing. I was probably being over cautions that
night. But there’s no going back so there’s no reason to even think about it.
There are about fifty little square tables strewn around the main floor of Silhouette and they’re all
taken tonight. The room is awash in white and purple light over the stage, with a faint red tint coming
from the one over the bar. I like how the lights over the stage here are so bright I hardly see anyone in
the crowd. I can pretend I’m alone, just dancing for myself, and sometimes, if the lights are dark
enough, I even stop hurting as I lose myself in the music and the movements of my body.
“Wow, would you look at that crowd,” Lexus says. “It’s standing room only tonight. And it’s
packed. The tips must be good.”
“They are,” I tell her since she made it sound like a question. She smiles at me.
She’s one of the other dancers and her smile gleams almost as bright as her jet black hair. She’s
also just twenty years old and doesn’t look a day over eighteen with her perfect half-Asian
complexion and body.
“How was class?” I ask her.
She’s attending night school, studying to be lawyer and working here is her way of paying the
bills. I know everything about her and her life, and the same goes for the girl still on stage, Diamond.
I find that asking people questions about themselves is the best way to prevent them from asking you
those same questions in return. So neither Lexus or Diamond know anything about me. It’s not that I
have a reason not to trust them, but the fewer people that know who I really am these days the better.
She shrugs and smiles wider. “I almost fell asleep. But I’m learning a lot and it’s all worth it.
Although I’m gonna miss this place when I graduate and have to get a real job.”
“You won’t miss it. Just get out while the going’s good,” I say, my voice so loud, shrill and,
frankly, panicked that a man sitting at one of the tables a few feet away turns to see what’s wrong.
I smile at him and wave. When I turn back to Lexus she has a shocked expression on her pretty
face. “You’re not happy working here?”
I smile at her too. “I’m happy. Sure. I’m happy it’s a nice place and the money’s good. And that
there’s no creeps around. But at my age, I’d prefer to be sitting in the crowd handing out tips, and not
up on stage, if you know what I mean.”
Her eyes turn sad as she takes a good look at my face. They’d probably turn even sadder if she
knew I was considering leaving this high-end place to go work at one of the decrepit strip joints this
city is rife with. The experience would be bad, the money and tips probably too, but I’d be safer from
Javier’s friends, that’s for sure.
Although, as far as I know, he was just a businessman. A high-up manager at a multinational
import export company called DES Inc. I’m almost a hundred percent sure that was just a cover for
something a whole lot more illegal though.
 “You don’t look a day over twenty-one,” Lexus assures me, lifting me right out of my dark
memories. She smiles, but her eyes stay concerned. “Though if you’re unhappy here, you can easily
get a job as a hostess at some fancy restaurant or hotel or something. Or modeling. You’re pretty
enough.”
“Been there, done that, and it doens’t pay as well as stripping,” I say. “Besides, I don’t hate it
here. I love dancing.”
Luckily, Diamond has just finished with her set and is picking up the last of her tips. This
conversation was starting to turn way too personal for my tastes.
Diamond takes one final bow and steps off the stage—a wide rectangle in the very center of the
large room.
“That’s my cue,” I say. “I’m on next.”
I think Lexus asked me if she can go on before me, but the song-my song, a sped up version of I
Will Survive—is already blaring though the speakers, so I pretend to not have heard her.
The lights over the stage have changed to a rich gold that makes my dark skin glow like only
brushed gold can as I take hold of the pole.
You never forget the moves and the dances, not after performing them almost every night for over
ten years. It’s like riding a bike, or swimming, some might say. Not me, because I don’t know how to
do either of those things. No one ever bothered to teach me. But I can dance. And I can do it well.
The room is dark enough that I don’t see a lot of faces. So I just let the music guide my body. I just
lean into the beat, the melody, and the sweet lulling hum all songs possess and let it hold me.
So it’s not until the lights turn red, white and blue for my third number that I see him. Sitting in the
back of the room, alone at a table for two, the light illuminating him perfectly while everything around
him is dark.
He’s a white man, maybe early thirties. Big and buff and rugged. Just as I like them. But I like a
lot of guys, and that’s not what’s so special about this. That’s all in the way he’s looking at me.
His eyes focused on me yet soft, as though he’s completely mesmerized by my movements.
Enchanted, even.
It’s been awhile since a guy’s looked at me with this level of rapture and admiration. That might
not be because they hadn’t been looking though. It was maybe more because Javier and his jealousy
trained me well not to ever more than glance at another guy.
Well, I can look all I want now. I’m free.
Even if Javier’s goons might be out looking for me, sticking to the shadows, wondering how come
I wasn’t at that party where he died and wanting answers. But that could just be my overly paranoid
mind talking.
So I push it all out of my thoughts and focus just on the guy’s appreciative eyes washing over me. I
dance the next two numbers just for him… at least that’s how I think of it in my mind.
He’s a biker, judging from the leather cut he’s wearing over his shirt, his unshaven face and the air
of wild abandon hanging over his like a halo. He’s the exact opposite of Javier’s friends in their
expensive black suits and even blacker secrets.
After I’m done with my set, I’ll go up to him and offer him a lap dance. I might actually enjoy
giving it to this guy and he looks like he needs it. Because for all the longing in his eyes, that scowl on
his face looks permanent. I’ve never actually enjoyed giving a lap dance to anyone in my life. But I’d
enjoy wiping that scowl off his face.
Hell, I might even let him take me home.
He hasn’t stopped looking at me like I’m a goddess. And I haven’t felt like a goddess in a very
long time. Not since Javier started wooing me and he was all smiles, sweet words, flowers and
candy. Before he didn’t blink twice before using me as his punching bag and making me look like a
monster instead.
I’m due some fun. Some being worshipped. Even if it’s all just make-believe. At least this time,
I’ll know to get out on time. Before it all turns to shit.
 CHAPTER TWO

BREAKER
I don’t know why I let Ops and Mabel convince me to come out to the strip club with them. I
usually only go to strip clubs every once in a while. When I was younger I used to frequent them quite
a bit, but only because it’s one of the places I could get quick, easy pussy. These days I usually jump
on Tinder or Bumble, always stating what I’m there for: hookups or one night. I don’t want anything
more, and I damn well will never have anything else. One day I might knock up a woman just so I
have a child, but I’ll make sure I pick the woman well. I don’t have to be in love with her, or even in
a relationship. All I need is someone who I know is a decent person and would be a good person to
co-parent with in the long run.
Hell, even thinking about it shows me how crazy things have changed for me. Now, I wasn’t the
type who ever thought about just knocking a chick up and never being with her. I’ve only ever thought
about being with a woman for the long run. I thought at some point in my life I’d find the right woman
and settle down with her, make her my ol’ lady, and eventually have kids with her. Fuck, I thought that
woman was Celia, but nine months ago she showed me her true colors. I’m glad I found out sooner
rather than later. I could only imagine what my life would’ve been like if we had a child together, and
then I found out. I wouldn’t have wanted to take my child’s mother from them . . . but I would still
have made the same decision. When you go against my club—my family—you’re done. You’ve
already sealed your fate.
We’re all sitting at a square table in the back when a woman comes up and asks if we want a
drink. We all end up ordering a drink. She’s dressed in a thin red lace bra and matching panties, but
has on a pair of knee-high leather boots. She’s hot, and I like the view of her ass I’m getting. As she
walks away, I can’t tear my eyes away from her. “Ah, see,” Ops smirks at me and Mabel giggles
lightly.
“I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to have a woman who takes him to the strip club, instead
of telling him he can’t go to one,” I say to Mabel and she nods.
“Yeah, well, I like looking at women too, so it’s a win-win for the both of us. Plus, we figured we
could get you cheered up and out of the club.” I don’t understand what Mabel’s trying to say, because
it’s not like I’ve been a sourpuss at all. If anything, I’ve kept to myself a little more lately than usual,
but not in a bad way. I’m just . . . in a funk I guess. I’m not going to lie, everything that happened with
Celia is fucking with my head.
“I was perfectly fine staying there,” I tell Mabel, and she throws her head back in laughter.
“If you were ‘perfectly fine’ staying there then you wouldn’t be out here with the two of us, so
you’re welcome for inviting your grumpy ass out. Now, don’t you be putting a damper on our time
here. Watch some beautiful ladies dance and get a couple drinks in you,” Mabel’s looking right into
my eyes and then she looks over at Ops, who’s shaking his head. I’m sure he’s embarrassed that she’s
not holding her tongue, but I think it’s a good trait that Mabel speaks her mind. It’s good to have this
sort of honesty.
“All right, don’t you worry, when she brings back my drink I’m going to enjoy it.” I tell Mabel,
who I should start calling Ms. Bossy.
The whole feel of this joint is a bit different than some of the strip clubs I’ve been to, but Mabel
frequents this place quite a bit. It’s a little nicer than the usual hole in the wall strip clubs I’m
accustomed to. The chairs here are cushioned well, and not cheap plastic like other places I’m used
to. There are see-through curtains that are pulled off to the sides on the booths where private parties
are, and there’s even a VIP section in the back. Red and purple lights shine down from the ceiling, and
there’s a DJ in the back booth playing a variety of songs. Multiple women are out on smaller stages,
dancing to the beat of the music, but as the song changes a woman comes out from the back.
That’s what I’ve noticed, every time the song changes they’re on a rotation and another lady
comes onto the main stage. I’m over here wondering if these are their headliners so to speak, but who
the fuck knows. This is a nicer joint than I’m used to, which is a nice experience compared to what
I’m used to.
The woman comes back with our drinks and I slide a ten under her lace panties. She walks away
smiling, shaking her ass a little more than she was a few moments ago. I take a sip of my drink while
my eyes are pinned on her, then avert them to the blonde woman strutting her stuff. She goes up and
down the pole like it’s second nature to her, hooking her leg around it and sliding down.
I take another sip of my drink and Mabel snickers.
“What?” I ask, turning to her.
“Oh, nothing, I’m just so surprised to see you having a good time. It’s so rare, kind of crazy.”
Mabel’s toying with me, but it’s all in good fun so I don’t mind it. I haven’t gotten out in a while, and
it’s time I start getting out more.
In the back of my mind, I’m always clouded with guilt about Celia, but I have to keep reminding
myself that I didn’t do anything wrong. When it comes to who was in the wrong, it was her. She went
against me. She went against my club. She cost people their lives. All I did was trust the wrong
woman, and so many people paid dearly for it.
I sit here in the chair while Ops and Mabel are having their own conversation, my eyes pinned on
the woman dancing in front of me. A couple of more ladies come out in that time, but none of them
really capture my attention the way this one does.
She’s not my typical type, but something about the way she moves her body calls me to her.
There’s this confidence that oozes out of her with every step she takes, like she knows everyone’s
eyes are going to be glued to her. These have always been the type of women I’ve liked to be with in
the past. Her song comes on and with every movement on the pole she’s putting her entire body into it.
Everything is calculated, methodical, and you can tell it’s well thought out.
She has a deep umber brown skin tone, and her hair is as dark as night. I can’t see her eyes from
where I’m sitting, but I’m sure they’re a deep brown as well. Her lips are voluptuous and very plump
right through the center. The more I watch her, the more I wonder how those lips would feel wrapped
around my cock.
I haven’t had a good fuck in a while, a couple of weeks at least, so maybe tonight I might kill my
dry spell.
She finishes her dance and heads toward the back, and over the course of the night other women
come out onto the main stage, but she comes out for another dance on the main stage. At this point,
Mabel and Ops have left, saying it was getting late and they were tired. I call bullshit, because I saw
the way Mabel was looking at her ol’ man. My guess is they come to the strip club as a kinky sort of
thing so they’re really in the mood later on.
It's been about twenty minutes since I’ve seen the gorgeous woman I can’t keep my eyes off, and
then she comes around the corner, bee-lining it straight for me. She’s in a deep forest green outfit now,
and her breasts are pouring out the sides. God damn, they’re more than a mouthful. They’re a whole
entire meal. I lick my bottom lip as she approaches and the second she’s directly in front of me a sexy
little smirk crosses her lips.
“Want a lap dance, baby?”
“Mhm,” I nod, and she walks around me to the beat of the music one time, then pauses directly in
front of me.
She turns her head back, and I realize I’m right. She has deep brown eyes with an amber hue
running through them. They’re just as gorgeous as every other part of her. “You can look, but you
certainly can’t touch. As long as you don’t get all creepy on me, this will be a great time for you.”
I snicker at her words. “Sweetheart, it’s been a great time already watching you up there all night.
You’re only making it better,”
She begins swaying her hips to the beat of the music, rolling back and forth in front of me. I can
visibly imagine what it would be like slamming my cock into that warm, delicious pussy of hers from
this angle, and fuck it’s hard to stay focused. My dick wants to pop to life, and the DJ comes over the
sound system and tells everyone the club is closing in five minutes, so to wrap everything up.
She finishes the lap dance she’s giving me and I cock a brow. “How much?”
“Forty,”
I grab two twenties out of my wallet and hand them over to her, and she tucks them in her bra. I
don’t say another word to her, but I grab the rest of my drink and finish it off.
She licks her lips slowly and looks directly into my eyes. “Don’t be a stranger. Come back
anytime,”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. What’s your name?”
“Karamel,” Mmm, it makes so much sense now.
“I’m Breaker,”
“Breaker, got it.” Karamel says before she walks off, and with every step her ass shifts to the right
and then to the left. God damn, she has an ass I could stare at for hours.
I head outside and go over to my bike, smoking a cigarette before I head back to the clubhouse
when I notice a lot of the strippers are coming out of the back, heading up to their cars. Karamel is
amongst the group of them, and she gets in her car pretty quickly, but as she’s turning the key the thing
isn’t starting. She struggles for a couple of minutes before I decide to head on over, and once I do, she
gets out of her car.
“You happen to be any good with these things?”
“I’m not a mechanic by any means, but I can at least take a look. Pop the hood for me, will ya?” I
suggest and Karamel does as I ask.
Once the hood is popped I grab my phone and turn the flashlight on. I look over her car, check the
oil, thinking it could be something simple that the woman just didn’t do. Sometimes they’re not the
best with maintenance, but her oil is perfect. “Any idea what it could be?”
“Battery, maybe. You have a pair of jumpers, or a friend that would help you?” I motion toward
the remaining strippers who are getting ready to leave and Karamel huffs, then rolls her eyes.
“I don’t have friends here. I have co-workers,” There’s something about the tone in her voice that
tells me Karamel isn’t very trusting of others, but I don’t blame her. I’m not too trusting of others
either.
“Okay, well, I have a good friend who owns a shop not too far away from here. He can probably
come out in the next thirty minutes and tow it. Maybe by mid-day tomorrow he’ll know what the
problem is. You want me to make a call?”
Karamel is quiet for a minute, but eventually she nods. “Yeah, actually. That would be great. I’m
so used to people trying to fuck me over with shit I don’t actually need done to this ole girl. She might
be old, but she is reliable.” Karamel offers me a smile and I call up Ben.
 CHAPTER THREE

KARA
I slapped on the biggest, darkest shades I could find before leaving my apartment to pick up my
car. The sunglasses are Channel, latest collection, and one of the many useless things I grabbed in the
panic in which I left Javier’s apartment the night he died. I own the glasses courtesy of Javier’s
American Express to help me hide the black eyes and they’re doing nothing to keep the glaring
noonday sun from piercing my eyes and cutting right into my brain.
They’re too expensive to wear in the shitty neighborhood I now live in or on the bus I have to take
to get to the mechanic. Luckily, no one around here knows a knock-off from the real thing.
It’s been ages since I was up this early. In my normal life, the one I’ve been living for the past two
years, I’d be up by eight AM every morning and have coffee and breakfast ready for Javier whenever
he woke up. Then I’d spend the day shopping, keeping the apartment nice and clean, cooking and
watching TV. Like a good housewife.
I enjoyed it. Too much, because it meant I put up with the beatings.
“You’re up mighty early,” a raspy yet very loud voice asks as I walk past the swimming pool in
the center of my apartment building’s courtyard. This place must’ve been really nice back when it
was new, but it’s borderline derelict these days. The pool is empty and covered in grime and the pink
and dark purple oleander bushes have pretty much claimed back the courtyard.
The landlady, Mrs. Stokes—or Smokes, as I call her in my head, because she’s never without a
cigarette between her lips or in her hand—steps from behind one of the oleanders and adds, “I don’t
usually see you before twilight. What’s the special occasion?”
Just like the rest of this place, she’s seen better days too. But the rent is cheap and as far as
landlords go, she’s one of the better ones.
“Hi, Mrs. Stokes,” I say and smile at her. “I had some car trouble last night and I’m going to see if
they could fix it.”
 “Down at Benny’s?” she asks and laughs. Or maybe coughs. “I’m sure he fixed it. He can fix
anything.”
“I sure hope you’re right,” I say. “The last thing I need is the expense of buying a new car.”
She nods in sympathy, wishes me luck and disappears back into the bushes.
Benny, or Ben as Breaker called him, is the mechanic where they towed my car last night, and I’m
surprised Mrs. Stokes knows about him, since it’s a bus ride away.
Before I even reach the bus stop my legs are aching and my feet feel like I’m walking on broken
glass.
Achy legs and feet are the main reason I sleep clear into late afternoon these days. It’s the only
way I manage to twirl around on stage all night. I never thought twenty-seven would feel so much like
old age, but here I am. Luckily, the bus is air-conditioned and empty, and doesn’t smell too bad, like
most of them do.
At Benny’s, I have to ring the reception bell five times before a mechanic—a kid no older than
eighteen, if that—finally comes out and escorts me to the floor.
“Benny wants to talk to you before you can take your car,” the kid says before he leaves me at the
edge of the large room that reeks of motor oil, metal and rubber.
The room is dim so I take my sunglasses off and scan the room for my car. It’s already parked near
the exit, and it looks like he gave it a wash too, since its deep purple color is finally showing again. It
hasn’t rained in awhile, so the grime covering it was about half an inch thick.
The shiny, deep purple color is the main reason I bought this car, because it’s my favorite, even
though it’s a hunk of junk otherwise. But I’m hopeful the wash means they got it fixed. Now if he’d
only hurry up so I can get out of here…
Benny is talking to a tall blonde in a forest green track suit and white sneakers. Something about
her is so familiar. I think it’s her long, thick, honey blonde wavy hair. Natural as is… she never has to
curl it or do anything to it to make it look fabulous…
And before I can figure out why I know that with such certainty, she turns in my direction. She
stops talking mid-sentence as our eyes lock across the room.
And before I even decide to, I’m striding towards her, my arms open wide. “Tricia? Is that you?
Where have you been, girl? It’s been ages.”
“It’s been too long, Kara,” she says quietly voice as I wrap her in a tight hug.
“I’m so glad to finally run into a real friend,” I tell her.
I hold her at arm’s length so I can look at her again, then give her another hug.
“It is,” she whispers.
I’m not exaggerating, not even a little bit. Until just now, I didn’t even realize how lonely I’ve
been, how starved for friendship, because Javier wouldn’t let me have a social life of any kind.
Tricia and I go way back. We were in three foster homes together and ran away together twice that
many times over the years, because the foster homes were all worse than the last. For a time, each
other was all we had.
“Ladies,” Benny says and clears his throat.
“We have to catch up,” I say, ignoring him for now. “I’m buying you lunch as soon as I get my
car.”
I finally release her, but keep hold of her hand as though I’m afraid she’ll disappear again, if I
don’t, and turn to Benny. “My car’s ready, right? Were you able to fix it?”
He nods. “It was the spark plugs. They were shit so I got you a new set. But I also found some
scratches under the hood. Like someone was trying to open it by force.”
 “Scratches?” I say. “That car is all just one giant scratch.”
He chuckles and turns back to Tricia. “As for your car, I’m afraid the best I can do is tomorrow
night. Like I was saying, I don’t have the part you need. I’ll have to order it special.”
Tricia curses under her breath. “Fine, I guess. If that’s the way it has to be.”
“I’ll try to find a good used one,” he says. “Keep your costs down. Although between you and me,
I think you should trade this thing in sooner rather than later.”
He glances into the car they’re standing next to. The back seats are almost completely covered by
huge brown stains. And the smell coming from it is not pleasant at all. It’s mostly some sort of pine
detergent, but it’s hiding something very unpleasant.
“What happened in here?” he asks and chuckles. “Someone die?”
Tricia shudders, but keeps her lips fixed in a determined smile. “It was like that when I got it.
Probably why it was so cheap. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers.”
He agrees with that, then releases my car to me.
Within five minutes Tricia and I are speeding down the boulevard, the windows down, wind in
our hair, and I feel like I’m young again for the first time in a long time.
I park curbside at a tiny pizzeria with outdoor tables near my apartment, and I’m still giddy as we
sit down and order.
“Wow, I didn’t even know I missed you this much,” I say. “How have you been, Tricia?”
“I go almost exclusively by Trixie these days,” she says.
“Yeah, you still working?” I ask, meaning stripping, because Trixie is her stage name, just like
mine is Karamel. “Whatever happened to that biker guy you were with the last time we hung out…
what was his name again.”
“Hunter,” she says and leaves it at that.
“You two looked pretty serious,” I say.
“We still are,” she says and grins in a way that doesn’t brighten up her face. “But we’re not
together anymore.”
“Pity,” I say and break off a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table. “I’m thinking
bikers might be the way to go as far as boyfriends are concerned. Less bullshit, more realness. I met
one last night. Well, met might be a stretch. But I’d like to get to know
him a whole lot better, if you know what I mean?”
“So by met,
you mean you fucked?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, he just helped me with my car that wouldn’t start. A real gentleman…
almost.”
“Well, I guess him not fucking you right away could mean he really is interested in you,” she says.
“You think?” I ask, hope swelling in my chest and finding its way liberally into my voice.
“I see you haven’t changed,” she says and laughs. “Still so quick to fall in love.”
That strikes deep and hurts too, even though I know she didn’t mean it to. “Not lately, no. I just got
out of a relationship and I’m in no hurry to get back into one. I just wanna have some fun, you know?”
“Who doesn’t,” she says.
The pizza that we ordered to split arrives and I finally get a good look at her while the waiter is
fussing with the plates and cutlery and whatnot.
I was so excited when I saw her that I completely missed how washed out, tired and generally
down she looks. She’s super pale, no color in her cheeks at all, and even her usually very bright blue
eyes and the color of bluish cement.
 “Is everything alright, Trixie?” I ask once the waiter leaves, and take her hand for good measure.
She nods and takes a slice of pizza in her free hand. “It’s getting there. I’m glad we ran into each
other. I know exactly no one in LA.”
“Me either,” I say. “Even though I’ve lived here for the past five years.”
“Then we’ll hang out,” she says and bites into her pizza. “It’ll be just like old times.”
The last of these old times she’s referring to, was when we
were seventeen and living in a bad foster situation, with a man who hardly ever
showered and his wife who was hardly ever sober. One night, the old man decided
he wanted Trixie and when she fought him, he fought back. Beat her up so bad I
thought he’d killed her.
I had to smash a whiskey bottle into his face to make him stop kicking her. Then Trixie was
shipped off to a women’s shelter in Northern Cali somewhere, and I got booked for assault. I didn’t
see her often after that.
I raise my ice tea. “Here’s to old friends.”
She picks up her own glass and we toast. “And good memories.”
We drink to that.
“So where are you working?” I ask. “Is it at least a nice place?”
She laughs. “It’s a dump called The Golden Temple. So far off the beaten path it might as well not
exist. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile.”
“I’ve been thinking of doing the same,” I say. “Are they hiring?”
“Perpetually,” she says and takes another bite of her pizza. “None of the dancers stick around for
more than a week.”
“Is it that bad?” I ask, but what I actually meant was, “Why do you stay?”
“It’s alright,” she says. “The management’s good and the clients are mostly regulars that know
how to behave. It’s an easy gig.”
“I’ll come by then,” I say, deciding on the spot. “Then it will really be just like old times.
Karamel and Trixie in LA. Part 2.”
When we were fifteen, we ran away from another bad foster home and came to LA, full of dreams
of being discovered and other nonsense.
Trixie raises her glass in another toast. “Here’s to making it for longer than a month this time.”
We were discovered, but by the cops, and shipped back to foster car less than a month later.
“It’s my day off tonight,” she says. “But come by tomorrow and I’ll introduce you.”
We solidify the plan then spend the rest of the afternoon reminiscing. And by the time I drop her
off at the seedy motel she calls home these days, she seems more like the Trixie I remember. The one
that nothing and no one was ever able to keep down for long.
Today was already such a great day, and as I near Silhouette for my shift, I can’t stop hoping that
the biker from last night will be there again to make it even better.
Between his worshiping eyes on me last night and running into my oldest friend in the world, I
finally feel like things are starting to go my way again. I want them to keep on snowballing in that
direction.
 CHAPTER FOUR

BREAKER
It’s been a week since the last time I saw Karamel. For the life of me, I haven’t been able to get
this woman out of my head. Something about the way she moved her body was calling me to her,
almost in a hypnotizing manner. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I think I’m going to head back over to
Silhouette in a bit. It’s a busy night of the week and I’m certain she’s going to be working. I doubt
she’d want to pass up the tips, and I have a slight inkling like if I show up she’s going to come right up
to me.
She’s the flame and I’m a moth. I keep telling myself I only want her for sex, because I don’t want
to trust any woman I get close to . . . but there is something about her. I’d call it a gut feeling. A big
difference here is that I didn’t have a gut feeling with Celia at all. I was just a man blinded by love,
wanting nothing more than to believe she was the perfect woman for me. In some ways she was, but
when push came to shove she showed me her true colors. I stand by the fact I was one lucky son of a
bitch that I found out before we had children. Killing her after that would’ve been difficult, but I still
would’ve done it.
“You headin’ out or somethin’?” Sarge asks me, and I’ve had my eye on the door for a little while.
“Thinkin’ about it. What’s it to you?” I cross my arms and look right into my full patch’s eyes. If
he wants to tag along, he’s more than welcome.
“Just wondering, Prez, damn.” Sarge cackles. “Why are you bein’ so aggressive?”
“I’m not being aggressive. You’re just perceiving it that way.” I’m really not trying to come off
that way at all, but I’m not an idiot. Most of the things I do are going to be taken out of context. Hell, I
was trying to see if Sarge wanted to go with me, but now I’ll just go by my damn self.
“Uh huh,” Sarge comments, still acting like I am. It’s not my duty to change how people perceive
me, or to correct them if they’re wrong. It could be pretty damn simple if they just pay attention and
don’t over analyze or overthink a situation. That’s the problem with most people these days. They’re
constantly over analyzing or overthinking.
I slide off the barstool in the bar portion of our clubhouse. We have a bar that has daily hours and
for the most part we make a good bit of money from it. The food isn’t the best, but it just has to be
decent. We really make a lot of money by selling the drinks. Archer’s behind the bar manning the
joint, and Sarge is sitting a few barstools away from me.
“Well, I’m out. I’ll see you two later,” I tell the two men as I walk toward the back of the bar. I
input the keycode and head into the clubhouse portion of the space. My bike is parked out back so I
continue down the hallway and swipe my keys off the ring where they usually hang. Once I have my
keys in hand I head outside, take my helmet off the back of my bike and secure it on my head.
Within a couple of minutes I’m peeling down the alleyway, heading onto the main street. It isn’t
too long before I’m on the highway, heading to the other side of town where Silhouette is located. By
the time I get there it’s a little past nine, so I figure Karamel will already be there. I pay the fee at the
door and head inside, get a drink from the bar, and then grab a seat up close and personal.
Red and purple lights flash as music flows through the joint. It’s the kind of shit you imagine
women stripping to, and just like the last time, every time a song ends another woman comes out onto
the main stage.
I stay here for a while and I’m at the point where there’s at least been ten women who have come
out on stage, while others are dancing on the smaller stages. I think about asking someone, but I don’t
want to come across as a creeper.
Fuck, why am I even wondering where she is anyway? It’s not like she’s someone I’ve known for
a while.
I’m forced to take a deep breath and realize this woman does pique my interests. I don’t know
why she does, but, there’s only one way I can get to the bottom of it. That’s by seeing why. Maybe
she’s just fresh and new to me. Maybe the more time I see her around, the more I’m going to get
annoyed and not want to be around her. Maybe it’ll be some short sexual fling and that’s it.
A blonde woman in a glittery silver lingerie set comes up to me. “You want a lap dance, sugar?”
I don’t, but I’m sure she’ll give me some information if I pay her. “I don’t, but I have a couple
questions about someone who works here.”
“Now, sweetheart, that sounds creepy as hell.
I chuckle lightly. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“It’s not the heard time I’ve heard that shit before, but now I’m curious. What do you want to
know?”
“Karamel. I expected to see her here tonight, but she isn’t. What’s up with that?”
The blonde cocks her head to the side a bit. “That’ll cost you twenty.”
Yep, just like I thought. I fish a twenty out of my pocket and hand it to her. “I’m not sure what
happened, but she just quit. Strip clubs are revolving doors most of the time, so I never expect anyone
to stick around too long.”
“Did it seem weird, that she left like the way she did.”
“That’ll be another twenty, baby.” She motions with her hand for me to pay up, so I give her
another twenty dollar bill.
“Karamel was different than most girls I see come through here. She seemed a lot more
distrusting, didn’t want to get close to anyone. I tried being nice and so did a couple of the other girls,
but it wasn’t ever reciprocated. Like, we’d try, but she wouldn’t . . . so yeah, I guess I don’t see her
quitting like that as something weird. I figured she’d jump ship, just thought she’d stick around for a
little bit longer.”
 “Okay, thank you.” I tell her and rise. There’s no point in me being here if Karamel isn’t going to
show up. I find it weird that she left all of a sudden, but from what the blonde woman said, Karamel
seemed like she was passing through here.
I get on my bike and head back to the clubhouse. The ride isn’t too bad, and I don’t run into too
much traffic on the way back. Once I’m in front of the club I ride back behind it and park my bike in
the alley next to Chains’. I turn off my ignition, dismount, and walk back into the clubhouse. At this
hour, the bar portion is already closed, but that doesn’t mean we don’t use it after hours, so I walk
right on in.
Archer’s behind the bar, and Killer’s at one of the tables talking with Brick. I take a seat back on
the barstool I was on before and Archer gets me my usual, a scotch on the rocks. I down the whole
thing at once and inhale deeply through my nose when I’m done.
I don’t know what the fuck to do about Karamel.
Do I look for her?
Do I leave it alone and let her drift away in the wind?
I can find a piece of ass anywhere. I’ve got a pretty boy face and I know it. Fuck, I was made fun
of for most of my childhood for it.
Archer pours me another and doesn’t say a damn thing to me, but I don’t want him to. He knows
it’ll only piss me off, so I’m glad he’s not asking me questions or trying to make any light
conversation.
I take another sip of the scotch and close my eyes, and as I do, all I can see is Celia. I see the two
of us on the couch in my room. She’s throwing her head back, laughing at something I’ve said to her,
and I remember how I felt in that exact moment. It was when I thought I could spend the rest of my life
with her. Then my mind flashes to the moment I discovered she was the rat, and how furious I was
with her. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a rage like that before, and I wanted her to pay for what she did. I
knew I wasn’t going to put my hands on her, but the desire within me to end her life was unlike
anything else.
“Prez?” Sarge speaks up and I open my eyes.
“Yeah, what is it?” I try not to sound like a raging dick, but I can’t hide the fact I’m really annoyed
right now.
“I heard some shit on the streets while I was out tonight. Some shit I think you’re going to want to
hear,”
I turn my head so I’m looking right at him. “All right, so go on.”
“People are asking about the club, how we operate, who’s in it, that sort of shit.”
Red flags go up in my mind immediately. “Who? Who’s asking?”
Sarge shakes his head. “I didn’t get names, but our dealers told me people have been asking
around.”
My first thought is they’re police, or the feds. “Law enforcement?”
Sarge shakes his head once more. “No, not any sort of police or whatnot. These are average
people. Our dealers have overheard conversations at casinos, restaurants, that sort of shit. It’s not like
these people are coming right up to them for information. You know?”
My mind wanders back to when I told the club I can’t protect them from a threat I don’t see, and
I’m left wondering if this could be that same threat. I’d been getting cryptic, fucked up messages for a
while, but they stopped. Could this be the same people? Fuck, I’m not sure.
What kind of fucking Prez am I if I don’t even know who’s after us?
A lousy one.
 CHAPTER FIVE

KARA
The Golden Temple is every bit as run-down, decrepit and nasty as Trixie led me to believe it
would be. And more. A strip joint, not a strip club by any stretch of the imagination. But for some
reason, it’s also not all that bad. Trixie always had a good nose for picking places that were at least
halfway decent.
Tonight’s only my second night here but I’m already reconsidering my decision. I miss the bright
lights and pretty decor at Silhouette. And the big tippers.
I gave it three more nights there after making the decision to quit. Not because my decision to start
flying more under the radar wasn’t solid. It was because I kept waiting to see Breaker’s face in the
crowd and feel his eyes caressing my curves as I swayed and twirled to the music on stage, a golden
Goddess in his eyes.
But the only gold I saw was around the necks, wrists and in the mouths of men in black who
would show up at Silhouette every night starting Saturday. Nothing unusual on the face of it, but they
weren’t there to have a good time. Not with the way they just sat there in the back, an untouched drink
on the table in front of them, and no happy gleam in their eyes.
They did watch though. Mostly me. One night I fell and almost broke my leg, because two of them
were outside when my shift ended. I was certain they were Javier’s men, come to ask how come I’m
still alive and he’s not. But they didn’t speak to me. Didn’t even approach me. Just watched as I got
up and limped the rest of the way to my car.
That was my last night at Silhouette.
I didn’t tell anyone there why I was leaving or where I was going. I wanted to. I almost did. Just
in case Breaker came in and asked for me.
It’s better he didn’t. Better that I never see him again. My taste in men is notoriously bad. Which
means he’s bad for me in one way or another too. I just don’t know what way exactly. And now I’ll
never have to find out, because I’ll never see him again.
I park my car in the shady part of the parking lot at the side of the wide rectangular building that
houses The Golden Temple. These spaces are reserved for the employee, while the nicely lit front
part is for the customers. Since this area of town is all industrial buildings and warehouses along a
long, arrow straight dark road, the parking lot is big enough to accommodate several rigs, and tonight
two are parked here.
The men who come here and sit at the rickety tables, nursing their beers or something stronger,
and gawk at me from behind the low metal railing, splotched black after years of neglect are mostly
businessmen in cheap suits, truck drivers, and warehouse workers. Most of them have sad eyes. Not
even sad. Just empty. Hopeless. Like they have nothing to look forward to anymore. Kinda like I don’t
either.
The club is only a couple of yards from where I left my car, but it’s pitch black back here, what
light there could be blocked off by a huge dumpster. Why this place needs a dumpster this large I
don’t even want to ask.
The strongest sense that I’m being watched grips my throat as I exit my car, and makes it hard to
breathe. I trust these feelings, however weird they may be. Being a stripper on my own for most of my
life, I’ve gotten really good at sensing when a guy might want more from me that I’d ever be willing
to give him.
I glance around just in time to see a shinny black car roll by on the road, going very slowly. Two
men are inside it, both looking in my direction, and I’m pretty sure what little light there is around
here caught the weaved, thick gold chains around their necks.
I duck behind the dumpster, my heart pounding, my breaths jagged and erratic. After a couple of
seconds, I finally regain enough of my senses to look though the gap between the dumpster and wall.
The car is long gone by then. And it’s not parked in the lot either.
They could be just a couple of guys lost and looking for a way off this dead end road. All the
roads around here are long and dark. I got completely turned around looking for this place on my first
official night working here.
The back door of the club opens, light washing over me. A moment later the manager, Amir, steps
out, a lit cigarette already in his mouth. I’m still crouching by the dumpster as he notices me, his big
dark, warm eyes going wide in surprise.
“What happened? Did you fall down?” he asks, and there’s actual concern in his voice.
He’s the source of the good management Trixie was talking about. A kind man who doesn’t belong
in a backwater, seedy place like this any more than anyone else does.
He reminds me of Breaker with his basic honesty and helpfulness. Not that I want or need any
more reminding of Breaker. I’ll never see him again and that’s that. End of story.
I straighten up and smile at him. “No, I just dropped something. I should get ready for my shift.”
He holds the door open for me and I slip inside, into the long hallway that leads to main room, as
well as the private booths at the back. But my first stop is the dressing room, a cramped, small space
with a makeup table and mirrors, which also doubles as a storage area for drinks, files and some
strange boxes covered with an inch thick layer of dust.
The bass of the song playing is making the rickety plywood walls that divide up the building into
smaller compartments shake and rattle. This place started life as some sort of warehouse, I’m sure,
and the alterations that made it into a strip club leave a lot to be desired.
“You made it,” Trixie says as I enter the dressing room. Her cheeks are flushed and her face is
gleaming, meaning she probably just got off stage. “I was afraid you’d gotten lost again.”
 She has her black wig on today and she’s wearing only golden sting panties and a matching bra,
all of it glimmering in the bright light over the mirror in front of her.
I sit down at the makeup table next to her.
“I’m never getting lost again. Once I know the way, I know it,” I tell her and chuckle.
“But you kinda wish you didn’t know it, right?” she asks and smiles too. “Don’t worry. This place
might seem depressing at first glance, but it grows on you.”
I lean in close to her. “I think maybe those scary guys from the other club I worked at followed me
here too.”
I’m whispering and I’m not even sure why. No one can hear us over the loud music.
“The ones with all the gold jewelry?” Trixie asks and I nod.
“I was thinking… ” she says. “They might be Guatemalan mafia. Those are known to wear a lot of
gold around here.”
I gasp in shock and recoil slightly. The mafia? Javier was definitely involved with something like
that. He never told me jack shit about what he did for a living and would slap me if I asked too many
questions, but mafia sounds about right.
“Not that they ever come into this place,” Trixie adds quickly. “Don’t worry.”
“They might come in if they are who I think they are?”
She narrows her eyes at me questioningly. “You mean if they’re connected to that deadbeat ex of
yours? But if it is them, then they already found you. Why wouldn’t they just grab you on the spot, if
that’s their goal?”
I look at her with my mouth gaping. “You make a very good point. But then again, you always
were the brains of our little team.”
“Brains is a strong word for describing me,” she says and chuckles darkly.
I told her all about Javier. Actually, I told her all about my life for the past five years. I haven’t
had a friend in so long that it all just gushed out of me. Or maybe she’s doing that thing I usually do,
asking me questions so she doesn’t have to answer mine. Because she’s told me basically nothing
about her own life or why she’s hiding out at this place.
“No, no, I think you’re right,” I say. “Javier didn’t own a single piece of gold jewelry for one
thing. And for another, they’ve been close enough to grab me a couple of times already. Maybe these
guys have nothing to do with him.”
“But you think these guys are following you?” she asks.
“Honestly, I might just be paranoid,” I say and take my makeup palette from my bag. Time to get
ready.
“I hope so,” she says. “But you should be careful anyway. Those mafia types don’t mess around. I
hear they don’t blink an eye before killing a woman. There’s no code, not like with…”
Her voice trails off and she starts fiddling with a string of her bra that was just fine.
“Did you want to say bikers?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know what I wanted to say. You just gotta be careful.”
I scrape some purple eyeshadow onto my makeup brush and start applying it.
Tonight, I’m going out in purple first, then maybe I’ll switch to the green I wore when I gave
Breaker that fated lap dance after which it’s been impossible not to think about him. Purple will go
fine with that outfit too.
“You know what’s really funny about the whole thing?” I say. “As I was hiding from those guys
behind the dumpster I really wished that Breaker guy would just happen to roll by and save me.”
She gives me a confused sort of look. “How’s that funny?”
 “It’s funny because I met the dude for like two seconds and now I’ve been thinking about him non-
stop for a week. I’m just sitting here wishing he was my knight in shining armor, or something. How
crazy is that?”
She smiles weakly. “I won’t comment on that. But I will tell you there’s no chance any biker will
just wander in here. I doubt any of them knows this place even exists.”
“What, no biker anywhere knows this place exist?” I ask sarcastically.
“That’s right. I spent almost a month checking this place out before I got a gig here just to make
sure,” she says. “So if you want to see that guy again, which you definitely do, you’ll just have to go
back to Silhouette, there’s no other way.”
“Not with all those mafia dudes there, I won’t,” I say and start applying the makeup to my other
eye.
“That’s a good choice,” she says. “And nothing good comes from spending too much time with
bikers, anyway. You should forget that guy.”
“What do you have against him?” I ask in a light tone. “You don’t even know him.”
“Neither do you,” she says, lightly, but with a hard edge in her voice.
“How come you’re so dead set against bikers?” I ask and it comes out too pointedly. “Is it
because of your ex?”
She stands up and fixes her bra which doesn’t need fixing.
“I should go out there and see if anyone wants a private dance, or something.”
As usual she completely ignored my question because it was personal. I stare at her questioningly
via the mirror and she has trouble meeting my eyes. There’s no way she doesn’t know what I’m
thinking and what I want.
“Come on, Trixie, we used to tell each other everything,” I say anyway. Stern-like. The way my
grandmother—who I hardly remember except for the sternness in her voice—would sound.
“It’s a long story,” she mumbles.
“Is it?” I ask. “I told you mine.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be prying like this. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. But each time I
see her, she looks sadder and sadder. Whatever she’s hiding is eating her up inside, that’s plain to see.
I think maybe she needs to talk about it.
“I told someone a secret and a lot of people died because of it. And some almost died,” she says.
“If the bikers I betrayed find me, I’ll die too. And maybe that would be for the best.”
“Oh, my god, Trixie,” I blurt out. “What the hell? And here I am complaining about some men that
are probably not following me at all.”
I stand up and put my arms on her shoulders. She’s just standing there, stiff as a board, the
expression on her face making it look like she’s wearing a mask.
“We should just pack up and leave this city,” I suggest. “We could go down to Florida, or Mexico
even. Someplace warm with beaches. What do you think?”
“I should get out there, and your set’s about to start,” Trixie says in a monotone voice, slips out of
my embrace and leaves the room.
I stare at the door she left through for a good couple of minutes with my mouth open before I
realize what I’m doing.
She’s definitely not the person I remember anymore. But I’ve seen her pick herself up and climb
out victorious out of bigger and deeper slumps. I’ll help as much as I can.
It’ll be just like old times. Trixie and Karamel against the world. We don’t need men. We don’t
need handouts. We just need each other and a plan.
 And bolting out of this depressing place and landing on a beach in Mexico sounds like a really
good plan. Maybe the best I’ve ever had.
 CHAPTER SIX

BREAKER
I got a call I wasn’t expecting last night from my half-brother, Troy. I hardly speak to him, but
since our father’s gotten sober he’s reached out. He’s done it now more than ever. Troy and I don’t
see eye-to-eye on many things. Out of all the women my father knocked up, Troy’s mom was actually
something. She had a college degree, an intense career, and knew my father wasn’t the man she would
ride into the sunset with. Out of all the women he went through, I think Troy’s mom was the first one
to realize she didn’t deserve a man like my father. Then again, she’s a hot shot criminal defense
lawyer.
With that being said, Troy grew up away from the rest of us. My dad had us enrolled in the same
day care so that we could try and spend time together, but eventually Troy’s mother unenrolled him
when she found out we were there. We didn’t see much of each other again until our teenage years,
and at that point we communicated a little bit, but not much. We didn’t have much in common. He
played football, was voted the prom king, and went to a fancy private school outside of Los Angeles.
Basically, he was polar opposites with us kids who grew up at the club. We were street rats
compared to him, and his mother always knew it. It’s why she turned her nose up at us and didn’t
actively encourage him getting to know us. I think she didn’t want any of us affecting what life choices
he was going to make.
Troy and I agreed to meet in an alley on the other side of town. I’ve already arrived, so I park my
bike off to the side and lean on it, waiting for my brother to arrive. After five minutes a blacked out
SUV pulls into the alleyway, and the last time I remember he was driving a squad car around.
The SUV keeps pulling down the alley, and the lights go off, then the car. Sure enough, He comes
walking out in front of it. “When the hell did you get an upgrade?”
He smirks, and the way he smiles reminds me of our father. In some ways Troy is almost a carbon
copy of him. “When I got promoted to a detective.”
 “No shit. That’s awesome, man. Congrats.”
“Thank you. I wanted to speak to you about Octavia. I haven’t heard from her in a little bit. You
think everything is all right?” Oh, so that’s why he wants to chat, because he’s worried about our
sister?
“She’s fine. I speak to her every couple of days. You know how she gets, and her business is
really taking off so she’s been busy. You aren’t taking it personally, are you?”
He huffs lightly and grabs onto the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if she’s been avoiding me or
not.”
“Why in the fuck would she be avoiding you?”
Troy inhales sharply through his nose. “I fucked one of her friends,”
Fuck, I can’t hide the shit-eating grin crossing my lips. This is the type of crap I want to know
about. “I’ve done that a time or two. Which friend is it?”
“Shelby,”
Shelby . . . the woman my sister’s been friends with since she was three years old? “Shelby
Nicholson?”
“That would be the one.”
“What’s the big deal? Was it casual, or what?”
“It was supposed to be, but she went and caught feelings. I tried to let her down easy, man, but she
kept going on and on.”
“Yeah, so she’s probably avoiding you then. If I were you, I’d send a long text messaging to her
explaining everything. She might only be taking one side of the story right now, not taking yours into
account.”
“I don’t even blame that she is. It’s not like I’ve tried to tell her what happened. I just figured
since we were adults that Shelby would leave it between us, not try to get my sister to side with her.”
I chuckle, “Well, that’s women for you. While you’re here, you mind if I use you for your
resources.”
“Depends what it’s for.” Troy’s answering me honestly. I know he’d never give me information
just because I asked. It needs to have some sort of importance.
“There’s a woman that vanished. She’s important to me, and I’m concerned something bad could
be going on. I know the plates on her car, so I’m hoping you can point me in the direction of where I
can start looking.”
Troy keeps his eyes on mine for a few moments. “Important to you? I thought you wrote off
women.”
I lick my lips hastily. “I did . . . until her I guess. I don’t know what the fuck I’m feelin’ for her if
I’m bein’ honest, but I need to at least make sure she’s all right. Something doesn’t seem right to me.”
“Fair enough. What are her plates?” Troy asks me as we begin walking over to his SUV. I give
him the plate number and within a few moments he’s clearing his throat. “Kara Haynes, located at
16982 Santa Monica Ave, Apt 12. She’s twenty-seven, was arrested for aggravated assault when she
was seventeen. It looks like it had something to do with her foster father, but nothing came of it. The
charges were dropped shortly after she was arrested and bailed out.”
“You see anything else of importance?” I question while he scrolls on his computer.
He shakes his head. “No, she’s had a clean slate since then. Looks pretty good to me,”
“Thank you for looking,”
“No problem. So, how are you doing?” For the first time in a very long time, this isn’t something
my brother’s forcing out. It feels like he actually gives a damn.
 “I’m fine, man. How are you?”
“Are you fine? I haven’t heard from you in months. Usually I get a text or something, but not lately.
I had to call you just to hear from you.” I’m starting to think Troy was worrying about me the same
way he’s worrying about Octavia.
“I’m just a busy person, man. Running a club isn’t an easy job. It’s tedious, and it’s always
keeping me busy.”
“I know you’re telling me the truth partially, but you forget I know about a lot of shit. Octavia did
tell me a while back your girlfriend died. I’m sorry. I don’t know the circumstances, but I’m sorry,
‘cause losses like that fuck with you for a long time.” Fuck if I don’t already know that.
“Thank you,” I say, but I look up and see my brother’s eyes on me. There’s something he’s not
telling me. “What? What the fuck is going on?”
“I thought about telling you, but fuck if I’m not conflicted. I just want you to be aware. There’s this
group that’s been floating around Los Angeles. They’re not a gang, but something more. Almost like a
secret society sort of group, but what we know so far is that they’re trained killers. All we’re finding
are bodies, and not one piece of DNA evidence so far. Whoever they are, they’re good.”
“Have they ever messed up, had someone survive an attack?”
“You’re not hearing it from me because it’s an active investigation, but there’s only been a solo
occurrence where they weren’t successful. I feel like they’re going to come back and finish the job,
since they seem like the type where they don’t appreciate loose ends.”
“I appreciate the heads up, but unless they’re directly coming for me, or my club, I don’t give a
fuck.”
“That’s the thing, Breaker. There have been rumors circulating since this investigation . . . the
victim is saying that you guys are next on the list.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“I was hoping you’d have an answer for me on that.”
I shake my head, “No. You happen to know what they’re called?”
“Diablo, according to the victim.” The name already seems so fitting. When I get back to the club
later I’m going to have to speak to Chains and see if he knows anything about these people. He tends
to be the one man in my club I can always count on. He’s got listening ears, and whatever he hears, he
keeps up there.
Before I find out what’s going on with this Diablo group, I’m going to head to the address Troy
gave me. I have to see her. I have to make sure she’s okay. There’s just something in my gut telling me
this is fishy shit.
“Thanks for the heads up, and for the info.”
“No problem. Listen, be careful, but more importantly . . . don’t be a stranger. We’re getting older,
and at some point the only family we’re going to have left is each other. You’re my brother, Breaker,
and I know we’ve butt heads in the past, but that’s where I want to leave our conflicts.”
I nod, agreeing with what he’s saying. “I got you, brother. I need to get going, but I’ll reach out
soon. Again, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“No problem,” Troy says as he turns on his SUV. I head over to my bike, mount her, and then look
up Kara’s address quickly on my phone. It isn’t too far away, so I start my bike up and get on the road.
In a mere ten minutes I’m pulling up to the apartment complex Kara’s living at. It’s an older sort of
Mexican style joint, with hardly any security measures except a gate in the front. The gate isn’t even
locked, so I open it up and head onto the property, looking at the apartment numbers as I try to find
her. Hell, she might not even be home, but at least it’s a lead, and it’s a lead I need to follow.
 I end up finding apartment number twelve pretty quickly and knock on the door loudly. Something
knocks over inside the apartment, telling me she’s home. If it’s not her, it’s obviously someone else. I
knock again, and no one comes to the door. “Come on, I heard your ass inside there.” I state loudly,
and a pair of feet coming toward the door causes my heart to race. As long as I can see her, I’ll know
she’s all right. How in the hell has this woman made me give a shit about her? I have no fucking clue.
Sure enough, the door opens and I see Karamel in the flesh. Her hair’s pulled back behind her
shoulders and her eyes are widened, surely surprised I’m on her doorstep. “What are you doing
here?”
“You vanished out of no where, so I came to make sure you were okay.”
“I vanished? I didn’t vanish. I quit and found another club to work for. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I would’ve known that if I had some way to contact you, to check in and make sure you’re okay.”
I state, making it damn clear what I want from her.
“You are something else,” Karamel shakes her head.
“I am, but I’m persistent more than anything. So, here you go,” I pull my phone out of my pocket,
pull up the contacts and then hand it over to her. She types her number in my phone and hands it back.
“So, where are you working now?”
“Another strip club, it’s called the Golden Temple.” Now, I didn’t think she suddenly decided to
be a waitress or something, but I’m not going to be an ass right now. I came here to make sure she’s
okay, and it’s obvious she’s just fine.
I’m not going to let her slip past me like she did this last time. I’m going to keep in contact with
her, and I’m going to see if this attraction toward her ends up fading into smoke, or if the fire
continues to burn on.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR: LENA

Lena Bourne is a USA Today Bestselling author of many romantic suspense and mystery novels. When she’s not coming up with a new
love story or plotting the next perfect crime mystery, you can usually find her drinking coffee and catering to her elderly cat’s every
whim.

Sign up for Lena’s newsletter to receive exclusive sneak peaks at new books, special mailing-list-only offers and other goodies. Copy and
paste this link to join and get a FREE MC Romance delivered instantly:

Connect with Lena online:

Website:
Facebook:
Tik Tok:
 ALSO BY LENA BOURNE
ROMANCE BOOKS

DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE MC NEXT GENERATION SERIES

Lily’s Eagle, Book 1

Chance Taken, Book 2
Harper’s Song, Book 3
Ash, A Novella

DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE MC SERIES

Cross
Tank
Rook
Scar
Ice
Hawk
Doc
Ink
Ace
Colt
Blaze
Axle - A Novella

VIPER’S BITE MC SERIES

Outlaw’s Hope, Book 1

Outlaw’s Salvation, Book 2
Outlaw’s Redemption, Book 3
Rider’s Fall: A Viper’s Bite MC Novella
Viper’s Bite MC Boxed Set

HIS FOREVER - An Alpha Billionaire Romance Serial (Completed)

OF THE ARCHERS
Adam (of the Archers, Book 1) — Full-length, standalone BBW Military Romance

NOT LOOKING FOR LOVE - An NA Contemporary Romance Series (Completed)

MYSTERY/ROMANTIC SUSPENSE BOOKS

E&M INVESTIGATIONS SERIES

The Fall (Prequel #1)

The Fairytale Killer (Prequel #2)
Pretty Places (E&M Investigations, Book 1)
Bad Roads (E&M Investigations, Book 2)
Lazy Days (E&M Investigations, Book 3)
Ever After (E&M Investigations, Book 4)
Calm Waters (E&M Investigations, Book 5)
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR: ELIZABETH

Elizabeth is a romantic suspense author most popular for her motorcycle club and mafia books. While Elizabeth loves to write she is an
avid reader as well who reads a mixture of genres. She lives in the North-Eastern United States on a farm with her rescue animals.
When she isn't working you can find her spending time with her family, camping, or binge watching the latest trending show on Netflix.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kynäilijä
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Kynäilijä
Helppotajuinen opas kirjoitusten sepittämisessä

Author: Johannes Linnankoski

Release date: December 15, 2023 [eBook #72423]

Language: Finnish

Original publication: Porvoo: Werner Söderström, 1900

Credits: Tapio Riikonen

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KYNÄILIJÄ

***
KYNÄILIJÄ

Helppotajuinen opas kirjoitusten sepittämisessä nuorisoseuroja,

kansakoulun jatkokursseja ja itsekseen opiskelevia varten

Kirj.

VIHTORI PELTONEN

Porvoossa, Werner Söderström, 1900.

SISÄLLYS:

Alkusana.
I. Yleisiä perusteita.
II. Alustavia töitä.
III. Kokoonpano.
IV. Esittäminen.
ALKUSANA.

Aikana semmoisena, kuin nykyinen, jolloin kansan syvät rivit

heräävät omintakeiseen kansalliseen ja yhteiskunnalliseen elämään,
tarvitaan kynäilytaitoakin entistä enemmän, jopa siinä määrässä, että
miltei joka miehen tulisi olla jonkunvertainen kynäniekka.
Talonpojaltakin alkaa aika jo vaatia omaa liikekirjevaihtoa, taitoa
laatia kokousten pöytäkirjoja, sanomalehtikirjoituksia ja kaikenlaisia
asiapapereita, jopa julkisia puheita ja esitelmiä — muilla aloilla
toimivista puhumattakaan.

Mutia taito — se ei ole joka miehen. Sanomalehtimiehenä on

minulla kenties paremmin kuin millään muulla alalla ollut tilaisuus
huomata miten puutteellisella kannalla kansamme tässä suhteessa
vielä on. Mutta sen ohessa olen havainnut kuinka harras, ellen
sanoisi itsepintainen, kansanmiehen ja varsinkin sen nuorison
pyrkimys on päästä kynäilytaidon omistajaksi ja kuinka suuria
edellytyksiä kansa tässä suhteessa omaa, kun vaan pikkuinenkaan
hyväntahtoinen ohjaus tulee syrjästä avuksi sen pyrkimystä
tukemaan.

Useimmissa tapauksissa on kuitenkin ollut pakko jäädä kaikkea

ohjausta vaille, varsinkin kun mitään kansantajuista, itsekseen
opiskeleville soveliasta opasta ei tähän saakka ole kielellämme
ilmestynyt. Kun tämä puutteellisuus on tunnustettu siksi toistuvaksi,
että parissa yleisessä nuorisoseurojen kokouksessakin semmoisen
aikaansaaminen on lausuttu suotavaksi, ei ihmeteltäne jos
allekirjoittanut rohkenee täten tehdä jonkunlaisen kokeen kipeimmän
ensi tarpeen tyydyttämiseksi. Siltä kannalta tätä tekelettä
arvosteltakoonkin, tietäen että myöhempi aika on synnyttävä
paremmat opastajatkin.

Minä luotan nuorisoon, sen elpyneeseen haluun ja harrastukseen.

Sillä on nykyaikana seuransa ja yhdistyksensä, ilta- ja jatkokurssinsa
ynnä monet muut pyrkimyksensä. Ajattelen että tokko sitä
laskettanee häveliäisyyden puutteeksi, jos itse suosittelen opustani
edistysrientoisen nuorisomme kursseihin ja ehdotan oppaani
esittämää ainetta kurssiaineeksi muiden joukkoon. Ja missä seuroja
ja kursseja ei ole, siellä voi jokainen kirjasen johdolla ottaa tässä
aineessa kurssin kotonaan, oman pöytänsä ääressä. Iloni olisi suuri,
jos oppaani voisi päästä nuorisomme vaatimattomaksi toveriksi näitä
»kurssi-iltoja» istuttaessa.

Lopuksi pyydän lausua vilpittömät kiitokseni professori E.N.

Setälälle, joka hyväntahtoisilla huomautuksillaan on minua
tehtävässäni avustanut.

Tekijä.
I.

Yleisiä perusteita.

Sisällys ja muoto.

Mitä on sisällys ja mitä on muoto?

Kun talonrakentaja ryhtyy uutta rakennusta puuhaamaan, ei hän

heti ensi työksi hanki rakennusaineita. Hän ottaa kynän käteensä ja
paperiliuskan eteensä. »Tuohon tulee pirtti, tuohon keittiö, tähän
täytyy saada sali sopimaan, tähän taas haltijaväen kamari, tuolle
sijalle lastenkamari ja eteinen», tuumii hän vetäen viivoja paperille.
»Pirtin tulee olla niin pitkä ja niin leveä, salin avaruus niin ja niin»,
jatkaa hän merkiten paperille numeroita ja muutellen viivoja. — »Nyt
tiedän mitä rakennuksen tulee sisältää», päättää hän
suunnitelmansa.

»Mutta», jatkaa hän vaipuen uudestaan miettimään. »Tässä on

kyllä pohjapiirustus, mutta miltähän rakennus tulee
kokonaisuudessaan näyttämään?» Hän vetää uudelleen viivoja ja
tekee numeroita. »Pituus on niin ja niin monta metriä, korkeutta
täytyy tulla ainakin niin ja niin paljo, muuten se näyttää ladolta»,
sanoo hän. »Porrassuojan katto on liitettävä itse rakennuksen
kattoon, siten se näyttää parhaimmalta», jatkaa hän, »ja ikkunat on
tehtävä entistä korkeammat.» — »Eipä se tule olemaan muotoakaan
vailla, jos noin tekee», päättää hän tyytyväisenä.

Sama on kirjallisten esitystenkin laita. Kirjoittaja on rakentaja,

uuden rakennuksen luoja. Hänen täytyy jo ennen työhön ryhtymistä
tietää, että hänen kirjoitukseltaan tullaan vaatimaan sekä sisällystä
että muotoa.

<tb>

Mihin tämä vaatimus perustuu?

Tarjoa pienelle lapselle ruma esine, niin näet kuinka hän käy
totiseksi ja työntää sen pois luotaan. Ojenna sen sijaan hänelle sievä
leikkiase — hän hymyilee ja ottaa sen ihastellen vastaan.

Kauneuden vaisto on siis synnynnäinen, jokainen omaa sitä

jossakin määrässä. Ihminen rakastaa kaunista. Kauniin parissa hän
viihtyy; kaunis tekee häneen ylentävän, kohottavan vaikutuksen.
Siksi ihminen etsii kauneutta. Hän pyrkii sitä itse omistamaan,
vaikuttamaan sillä ympäristöönsä ja kaikissa teoissaan luomaan
kauniita muotoja.

Mutta yksin muodon kauneus ei häntä tyydytä. Hänen huomionsa

tosin ensi hetkenä kiintyy ulkopiirteisiin, s.o. muodolliseen puoleen,
mutta pian hän tunkeutuu syvemmälle: sisällystäkin tutkimaan. Ja
juuri sisällyksestä useimmiten riippuu minkä arvon hän esineelle
lopullisesti antaa.
 Sisällyksen vaatimus nimittäin perustuu ihmisen henkiseen
olemukseen. Sisällyksen etsimistä ja löytämistä tarkoittaa hänen
elämänsä ja kehityksensä, hänen työnsä ja toimensa. Sisällyksetön
elämä ja sisällyksetön työ eivät tyydytä hänen luonteensa sisintä
vaatimusta, sillä ne eivät vastaa sitä päämäärää, minkä hän tietää
niille asetetuksi.

Mutta mikä on kaunista?

Eri henkilöt ovat siitä usein eri mieltä: toinen pitää sitä rumana,
minkä toinen katsoo kauniiksi. Se mikä talonpojan mielestä on
hyvinkin siroa, ei tyydytä säätyläisen kauneudenvaatimuksia, ja päin
vastoin. Austraalialainen neekeri kaunistaa itseään tatueeraamalla,
eurooppalainen sanoo että hän siten piirtelee itsensä inhottavan
rumaksi. Mikä on kaunista?

»Makuasioista ei pidä kiistellä», sanoo latinalainen sananlasku.

Siihen vaikuttaa suuresti luonne, tottumus, henkinen kehitysaste
ynnä monet muut seikat. Mutta tästä huolimatta muodollisella
kauneudella on kuitenkin muutamia määrätyitä ehtoja ja edellytyksiä,
jotka ovat kaikille yhteisiä.

Ihminen, jolla on tavallista suurempi pää tahi tavallista pitemmät

kädet, tekee meihin epämiellyttävän vaikutuksen, s.o. loukkaa
luontaista kauneudenaistiamme. Kauneuden ensi ehto siis on että eri
osain tulee olla kokoonsa nähden keskenään suhteellisia.

Pöytä, jonka yksi jalka on suora, toinen käyrä, yksi kulmikas,

toinen pyöreä, vaikuttaa kauneudenaistiamme loukkaavasti, sitä
enemmän mitä erilaisempia toisiaan vastaavat osat ovat. Vaaditaan
siis että eri osain tulee olla muotoonsa nähden sopusointuisia
keskenään.

Mutta olkootpa eri osat kuinka sopusuhtaisia tahansa, ei niistä

synny kaunista kokonaisuutta, jos ne sattuvat väärille paikoille.
Ajatellaanpa vaan millaisen muodollisen hämmennyksen synnyttää
esim. niinkin pieni hairahdus, kuin että jonkun esineen erilaatuiset
koristeet joutuvat vaihdoksiin, toisiin paikkoihin kuin ne on tarkoitettu.
Kolmas kauneuden ehto siis on että kukin osa saa oikean,
luonnollisen paikkansa kokonaisuudessa.

Vaan eipä vielä tälläkään ehyt kokonaisuus ole taattu. Esine, jonka
eri osat eivät liity läheisesti toisiinsa, on ruma ja ehyttä kokonaisuutta
vailla. Eri osain tarkka, elimellinen toisiinsa liittyminen on siis
kauneuden neljäs pääehto.

Muodollisella kauneudella on vielä muitakin ehtoja, riippuen siitä

minkälaatuisista muodoista on kysymys. Edellämainitut neljä ovat
ne, joista etupäässä riippuu kirjallisten esitysten muodollinen
kauneus.

Mikä on sisällökästä?

Tähän kysymykseen saattaa sommitella pitkiä selityksiä, mutta

siihen saattaa vastata aivan lyhyestikin. Sokrates sanoi: »ainoastaan
se on kaunista, mikä on tarkoituksenmukaista», s.o. esineen
todellinen kauneus, sisällyksen kauneus riippuu sen
tarkoituksenmukaisuudesta.

Saamme siis ohjeen: sisällyksen arvo riippuu siitä, missä määrin

esine, työ ja teko vastaa sille ajateltua käytäntöä eli tarkoitusta.
 Onko muodolla ja sisällyksellä mitään keskinäistä yhteyttä vai
ovatko ne toisistaan riippumattomia?

Ajatellaanpa että joku laittaa itselleen vaatekaapin, jonka

ulkopiirteet ja värit ovat mitä sirointa vaatekaapin kuosia. Siinä on
siis muotoa. Sisältä hän varustaa sen tiheään asetetuilla hyllyillä
kirjakaapin tapaan. Siinä on siis sisällystäkin. Mutta se on aivan
epäkäytännöllinen vaatekaapiksi, sillä sen sisällys ei ole
sopusoinnussa muodon kanssa.

Toinen esimerkki. Erään maamme rautatieradan varrella on erittäin

kaunismuotoinen, kirkon yleviä piirteitä tarkoin jäljittelevä rakennus.
Kun juna seisahtuu lähellä olevalle pysäkille kuulee outojen
matkustajain tavallisesti huudahtavan: »siinäpä siromuotoinen
tehtaankirkko!» Mutta tuskin voi arvata heidän hämmästystään, kun
joku paikkakuntaa tunteva hymähtäen selittää: »ei se kirkko ole, se
on — viinatehtaan konttori- ja asuinrakennus».

Vaaditaan siis sisällyksen ja muodon sopusointuisuutta. Kun

sisällys ja muoto ovat keskenään sopusointuisia, syntyy siitä
kokonaisuuden tarkoituksenmukaisuus, s.o. kokonaisuuden kauneus
eli täydellisyys.

Edellämainitut kauneuden ja sopusointuisuuden vaatimukset

koskevat kaikkia inhimillisiä tehtäviä. Niinpä kaikenlaisia kirjallisia
esityksiäkin — olipa niillä kirjeen, puheen, esitelmän, kertomuksen
tai tieteellisen tutkimuksen muoto. Niiden vaikutus kuulijoihin tai
lukijoihin riippuu siitä, missä määrin esitys vastaa sisällyksen ja
muodon vaatimuksia. Sisällökäs, ehyt ja sopusuhtainen esitys tekee
tarkoitetun vaikutuksen: miellyttää ja tempaa mukaansa, jopa saa
meidät omistamaan ja toteuttamaan siinä lausuttuja ajatuksia.
Hajanainen ja sotkuinen esitys sen sijaan, vaikkapa se sisältää aivan
samat asiat, vaikuttaa päin vastoin: ikävystyttää ja väsyttää.

Onnistumisen ehdot.

Ihminen ei synny mestarina. Hän on kasvatuksen ja luontaisen

kehityksen tulos, hänen työnsä taas edellisten tulos.

Tehtävissään onnistuakseen tarvitsee ihminen ensinnäkin

perehtyä työalaansa. Lahjat ja luontaiset taipumukset ovat eri
ihmisillä erilaiset, mutta kyvykkäimmänkin tulee tarkoin tuntea työn
suorittamistavat.

Eikä tässä kyllin. Tarvitaan vielä lisäksi uutteraa, huolellista työtä ja

ankaraa itsearvostelua. Usein ihmetellään maailman suuria
kirjailijoita ja muita neroja, mutta harvoin aavistetaan että heidän
taitonsa, suurten synnynnäisten taipumusten ohessa, on ankaran
työn tulos. Paljon on heiltä vaadittu uutteraa harjoitusta, ennenkuin
he ovat kyenneet hämmästyttävää mestariteoksiaan luomaan.

Mutta jos maailman nerokkaimmilta kyvyiltä tätä vaaditaan, mitä

sitte tavallisilta, keskinkertaisilta ihmisiltä. Välttämättömiä ehtoja
kirjallisissa tehtävässä onnistuaksemme siis on: työtapojen tarkka
tunteminen, väsymätön uutteruus, ankara itsearvostelu ja
huolellisuus työn suorittamisessa. Meidän tulee olla vaateliaita
työmme suhteen: kirjoittaa ja hyljätä ja yhä uudelleen kirjoittaa,
kunnes työ tulee täysikelpoista. Meitä tulee työssämme elähdyttää
pyrkimys saada aikaan mahdollisimman hyvää, sillä paraskaan ei ole
kyllin hyvää.
 Tätä saavuttaaksemme meidän tulee antautua lämmöllä
tehtäväämme. Ainoastaan siten voimme siihen kiintyä ja
ajatuksemme syventyä tutkittavaan aineeseen. Silloin esitys syntyy
luonnollisesti eikä pakottamalla.

Jos meillä on täysi selvyys näistä vaatimuksista, on meillä

onnistumisen avain hallussamme. Me varmistumme askel
askeleelta, kunnes ehyt työ muuttuu meille vähitellen tottumukseksi,
toiseksi luonnoksi, s.o. me opimme taidon — juuri tuon, jota yleensä
ollaan taipuvaisia uskomaan synnynnäiseksi lahjaksi.
II.

Alustavia töitä.

Esitysten laatu.

Kirjalliset esitykset ovat hyvin erilaisia. Janamme ne

sisällykseensä nähden kolmeen pääryhmään: kertomuksiin,
kuvauksiin ja tutkisteluihin.

Kertomus esittää yhtäjaksoisesti tapauksia ja vaiheita elämästä.

Kun se kertoo jonkun henkilön elämänvaiheita, sanotaan sitä
elämäkerraksi (biografiaksi).

Kuvaus luo eteemme jonkun rajoitetun katseltavan: esineen,

eläimen, kasvin, seudun, kylän, kaupungin, ilmiön y.m. Kun kuvaus
esittää jonkun henkilön luonnetta ja sisäisten ominaisuuksien
kehitystä, saa se luonnekuvan (karakteristiikin) nimen.

Tutkistelma nimensä mukaisesti tutkii ja selvittelee asioita ja

olosuhteita, niiden syitä ja seurauksia, sisäistä yhteyttä j.n.e. Tähän
osastoon kuuluvat m.m. tieteelliset teokset.
 Likimainkaan kaikki esitykset eivät ole puhtaasti yhtä lajia, vaan
useinkin eri lajien rinnakkain esiintymistä. Niinpä monesti yhtyy
kertomus ja tutkistelma, kertomus ja luonnekuva. Samoin voipi
samasta aineesta tehdä useampia eriluontoisia esityksiä. Niinpä
jostakin henkilöstä, esim. Snellmanista, joko elämäkerran,
luonnekuvan tahi tutkistelman, riippuen siitä käsitteleekö esitys
hänen elämänvaiheitaan (elämäkerta), hänen luonteensa
ominaisuuksia (luonnekuva) tahi hänen vaikutustaan aikansa oloihin
(tutkistelma). Samoin voi jostakin esineestä, esim. vaatteista, tehdä
kertomuksen niiden historiasta ja kehityksestä, kuvauksen eri
kansojen ja eri aikakausien puvuista sekä kolmanneksi tutkistelman
vaatteista terveyden, kauneuden, kestävyyden y.m. kannalta
katsottuna.

Aiheen valitseminen ja rajoittaminen.

Kirjallisten esitysten aiheet voivat joko olla ennakolta määrätyitä

tahi jää niiden valitseminen kirjoittajan vapaaseen valtaan. Aihetta
valitessa on huomioon otettava kirjoittajan tiedot ja kehityskanta. On
valittava semmoinen aihe, jonka kirjoittaja voi hyvästi esittää. Niinpä
ei alottelijan sovi heti ryhtyä omintakeisia kirjoituksia laatimaan, vaan
on hänelle erittäin kehittävänä alkuasteena ennen kirjoitettujen
kyhäelmien mukaileminen. Saavutettuaan siinä jonkunlaisen
kätevyyden hän siirtyy pienempiin, selväpiirteisiin omintakeisiin
aineisiin, ensin kertomukseen, joka on itsenäisten esitysten helpoin
laji, sekä siitä vähitellen kuvauksiin ja tutkistelmiin, jotka vaativat
suurempaa taitoa. Tässä, niinkuin kaikessa muussakin, on »tyvestä
puuhun noustava», jos mieli koskaan mitään kunnollista aikaan
saada.
 Kun aihe on määrätty, on ensi tehtävä sen tarkastaminen ja
rajoittaminen. On tarkoin punnittava mitä se sisältää, muuten saattaa
heti alussa syntyä väärinkäsitys aiheen tarkoituksen suhteen tai
eksymme pintapuolisuuteen ja ydin jää löytämättä. Monet aiheet sitä
paitsi sisältävät useampia suunnan mahdollisuuksia. Niistä on aina
yksi valittava ja sille asetettava varma, määrätty päämaali.

Ainesten kerääminen.

Ainesten laatu. Kun talonrakentaja on määrännyt rakennuksen

tarkoituksen ja laatinut suunnitelmansa, on hänen ryhtyminen
rakennusaineita hankkimaan. Samoin on kirjoittajan, aiheensa
valittua ja rajoitettua, ruvettava esityksensä aineksia kokoamaan.
Sitä nimitämme ainesten keräämiseksi.

Ensi tehtävä on selvitellä millaisia aineksia kysymyksessä oleva

esitys vaatii, sillä ainekset ovat aina etsittävät tehtävän laadun
mukaan. Kertomuksen aineksia kerätessä on huomioon otettava:
aika ja paikka, henkilöt, toiminnan alku, jatkuminen ja loppu, syyt ja
seuraukset. Elämäkerrassa taas: henkilö, syntyminen, aika, paikka,
vanhemmat, kasvatus, kehitys, toiminta, kuolema ja elämäntyön
tulos. Kuvauksessa tarkataan kuvattavan aiheen ori puolia: muotoa,
sisäisiä ominaisuuksia, kokonaisvaikutusta y.m., aina aiheen laadun
mukaan. Luonnekuvauksessa kiinnitetään huomio henkilön lahjoihin
ja luontaisiin taipumuksiin, kasvatuksen vaikutukseen ja sisäisten
ominaisuuksien kehitykseen, niiden ilmenemiseen toiminnassa ja
niiden vaikutukseen kuvattavan henkilön ympäristössä.
Tntkistetmassa selvitellään asian tai tapahtuman alkuaiheita, olojen
syitä, vaikutuksia ja seurauksia, niiden oikeellisuutta, väitteitten ja
päätelmäin pätevyyttä y.m.
 Keräämistapa. Ajatellessamme ja selvitellessämme aihetta, johtuu
aineksia mieleemme, mutta muistimme ei jaksa niitä säilyttää, sitä
vähemmän kokonaisuudeksi järjestää. Siksi ne ovat kokoon
kerättävät ja muistiin merkittävät.

Keräys toimitetaan paperille. Siihen merkitsemme kaikki, mitä

asiasta tiedämme ja muistamme. Elleivät näin saadut ainekset riitä,
ryhdymme lisäaineksia hankkimaan. Niitä saamme kirjoista, joissa
muistamme käsiteltävästä aineesta jotakin puhutun. Onpa usein
tarpeen varta vasten hankkia asiaa koskevia teoksia. Toiseksi
kyselemme muiden asiantuntijain tietoja ja neuvoja. Varsin
hyödyllistä on tutustua aivan vastakkaisiin, jopa nurinkurisiinkin
mielipiteisiin. Ne vaan valaisevat asiaa sekä selventävät ja
varmentavat kirjoittajan omaa kantaa. Kolmanneksi on usein tarpeen
lyhtyä asiaa persoonallisesti tutkimaan ja tekemään havainnolta
päästäksemme täyteen selvyyteen hämäristä ja epäilyksen alaisista
kohdista. Niinpä täytyy kirjailijain joskus uhrata kokonaisia vuosia
jonkun aineen lähempään tutkimiseen, jopa tehdä sitä varten
varsinaisia tutkimusmatkoja.

Ainesten paperille merkitseminen toimitetaan lyhyesti, ainoasti

muutamalla sanalla, juuri siksi että asia siitä mieleen palautuu.
[Katso erästä myöhempää kappaletta »Ainekeräys- ja
jäsennysnäyte».] Niinkuin kivet, hirret, sammaleet y.m. vedetään
rakennuspaikalla eri läjiin, samoin erilaatuiset kirjoitusainekset
merkitään eri liuskoille tahi eri ryhmiin samalle paperille. Niin tehden
on niitä järjestämään ruvetessa helppo käsitellä.

Paperille merkitään kaikki asiaa koskevat seikat. Niinpä mieleen

johtuvat onnistuneet lauseet ja sattuvat käänteet, sillä ne eivät
tavallisesti kirjoittaessa enää uudelleen mieleen palaudu, mikä
tietenkin on esitykselle vahingoksi.

Ainesten kerääminen on erinomaisen tärkeä tehtävä, se kun on

koko esityksen perus. Siksi se on erityisellä huolella toimitettava,
saadaksemme esityksen niin asialliseksi ja sisällysrikkaaksi kuin
suinkin. On muistettava, että kun huolellinen ainesten keräys on
suoritettu, on suurin työ tehty.

Vanhaan aikaan käytettiin ainesten keräämisessä n.s. kriiaa. Se oli

8-osainen aineslista, jonka kuhunkin osaan etsittiin tarvittavat
ainekset. Nykyään ei enää kriiaa semmoisenaan käytetä, vaan
kirjoittaja kokoaa aineksia niin moneen ryhmään, kuin tarve
kulloinkin vaatii.

Ainesten tarkastaminen ja pohtiminen. Keräystyön päätyttyä ovat

ainekset ensin tarkastettavat, ennenkuin rupeamme niitä
käyttämään. On arvosteltava ainesten runsaus, s.o. kunkin aineslajin
riittäväisyys rakennuksen suuruuteen nähden. Jos huomaamme
varaston liian niukaksi, on keräystyötä jatkettava.

Mutta tarkastus ei saa supistua yksin ainesten runsauteen, vaan

sitäkin tähdellisemmin niiden laatuun. Vähäarvoiset ja asiaan
kuulumattomat ainekset ovat säälimättä hyljättävät, vaikkapa se
joskus saattaa tuntua vaikealtakin. Ellei niin tehdä, eksytään helposti
vähäpätöisyyksiin ja lasketaan ala-arvoista kelvollisen joukkoon,
joten koko laitos turmeltuu. Toiselta puolen voivat tällaiset ainekset
houkutella esittäjän »puhumaan pellon aidoista, kun pitäisi puhua
itse pellosta». Juuri tässä tulee kirjoittajan itsearvostelu
kysymykseen.
 Joskus saattaa asiaan kuuluvia kelvollisiakin aineksia keräytyä
liiaksi. Niistä täytyy vähemmän tärkeät hyljätä ja käyttää vaan sen
verran, kuin asian valaiseminen todella vaatii. Sillä ainesten
liikarunsaus on omansa hämmentämään aiheen johtavaa lankaa ja
tekemään esityksestä rungottoman ainesläjän. — Poikkeuksena
tästä ovat tieteelliset tutkimukset, joihin usein kerätään kaikki
saatavana olevat ainekset ja joiden pienillä, hajanaisillakin tiedoilla
voi olla mitä suurin merkitys sekä aikalaisille että varsinkin
myöhemmille tutkijoille.