Not Your Bitch (Revenge and Interracial Romance)

By Asia Marquis

Her mother's got a new fiance; it's Destiny's cheating ex!

Destiny, the first person in her poor black family to go to college, is coming home. Harvard wasn't the escape from her past she thought it might be.

Her homecoming is a surprise to her mom, who has something to admit: Since the two last spoke, Vera has gotten engaged!

At first Destiny is excited, but when she realizes her mom's fiance is her cheating billionaire ex-boyfriend, things get sticky.

They only get stickier when she meets up with an old friend who reveals that her ex might be more than a nuisance. He might be a murderer! With more mysteries piling up, will Destiny's life ever make sense?

This story has it all: Steamy interracial romance, mysteries, and murder!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Midnight Climax Bundles
• Release date: Aug 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310281815

Asia Marquis

Black. Thick. Proud. These are the words that describe Asia Marquis. Asia is a saucy woman from Detroit who writes multicultural stories that any woman could enjoy. With a special interest in interracial romance, most of her books focus on white billionaires falling in love with and seducing big, beautiful black women. She knows that every black woman needs that sort of delicious romance in her life. A strong man that will take care of her every need! Outside of writing fiction, Asia is passionate about cooking, dancing, and dog training. She runs a side business training guard dogs, and loves every second she gets to spend with her German Shepherd, Rex. She has a daughter who is 13 now, and any boy that's looking to cause trouble can be ready to have Rex in their face! Asia is a fierce mama who won't take nonsense from hormonal teenagers! Asia was a ballet dancer all through middle and high school, and even played the Black Swan in Swan Lake.

Book preview

Not Your Bitch

Revenge and Interracial Romance

Asia Marquis

This book has been published by the Midnight Climax group.

Dalia Daudelin for hardcore erotica.

Cat Calloway for kinky and fetish erotic romance.

Harley Harper for romance.

Selena Savage for impregnation.

Tommy Twist for gay romance and erotica.

Asia Marquis for interracial romance and erotica.

Veronica Violet for hardcore erotica.

Wren Winter for paranormal romance and erotica.

Viivi James for pagan and new age nonfiction.

Alex Carter for science fiction and fantasy.

Karlee Keaton for self help and nonfiction.

Marina Morrow for historical romance.

Midnight Climax Bundles for discounted bulk purchases.

About Midnight Climax

Midnight Climax is passionate about writing sex. Not just erotica, not just romance… sex. The kind of sex that leaves you feeling a little dirty and really horny. Modern sex, for modern women.

If you're a woman that isn't afraid of her fantasies, Midnight Climax writes for you. If you're married but like to explore your kinks and fetishes in a safe way, Midnight Climax writes for your.

We write entertainment for dirty minds, and we know you're going to cum from our stories.

Http://MidnightClimaxPublishing.com

@DaliaDaudelin on Twitter

Click here to join the mailing list!

Copyright © 2015 Midnight Climax Publishing. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All characters are over 18, all sex is consensual and legal.

Chapter 1

These past few weeks, I have done nothing but question my decisions. The decision to hop on a plane, fly all the way from Harvard to my hometown, and visit my mom without any warning? Probably my worst one yet.

Sigh. There's no turning back now. I'm in the back seat of a black taxi being driven by a huge Hispanic man with a weird growth on his forehead, and he has Mom's address in his GPS. When did taxis stop being yellow? He had to honk at me before I realized that's what he was.

Listening to the radio play music from the 90s doesn't help my mood. It just makes me relive memories of my childhood, of this quiet town that somehow turned into a bustling up-and-coming city almost overnight.

What used to be woods and lakes has turned into gated communities outside of the major hub of business. Sure, the lakes are still there. So are some trees, but they're all sanitized. Cleaned up, trimmed, shaped. The muck at the bottom of the lakes has been cleaned out, and the owls in the trees forced to find a new home.

I heard, before I stopped talking to my mom, that some rich old white man came to the area and gentrified it. Brought in new business, reinvigorated the fishing community, destroyed everything I remember of the area. Mom said he was a savior, but all I see is someone murdering this land.

The kids living in Bedford now will never experience getting lost in the woods for a day like I did. No one even called the police, they knew I'd be found. I was a wanderer, always have been. Times were different then, though. Even with talk of Satanic Ritual Abuse, the world was safer.

Now, these kids will never have to figure out how to amuse themselves in a town with one general store and not much else along the lines of entertainment. Most people didn't even have TVs back then. Just books, even though our library was pitiful.

As we pass the library, I notice it's been renovated. It's bigger now, and the garden out front that used to grow tomatoes for locals to take as they like now just has marigolds and some other colorful flowers. I wonder who takes care of the hungry in the community? As the town grows richer, do the poor end up worse off than before?

I hate the thought. There were years where Mom and Dad relied on those tomatoes and the corn and wheat our neighbors grew. It was the surplus that others had that fed us and kept us alive. We didn't have much, but we had community. It was more like an extended family.

I've never seen that kind of community in the big cities I've visited, especially not at Harvard. I can feel the coldness of industry seeping into Bedford. It makes me sadder than my broken life.

My plan in coming home was to combat a loneliness that has plagued me since Dad's death, but now I feel even worse.

Mom doesn't even know I'm coming home. What if she's mad at me? What if she's sick, or... what if she died in the last couple of months? I haven't called her in so long, anything could have happened. With a deep hole growing in my stomach, I hunch over and try to catch my breath. I should have called someone to see if things were okay.

I'm just causing trouble. I hate doing this.

Still, if she is alive, I know Mom will be happy to see me. She's been so lonely since Dad died, and I figured we could both visit his grave together.

My roots are here, and I need to tap into them to grow again. I've been emotionally stunted ever since his death, pushing everyone away. At least, that's what my therapist said the one time I actually went to see him.

Maybe... maybe there's a chance that I can learn to let people in again. Maybe the history I have with these people, whoever is left, will be enough to melt away the ice that's surrounded my heart for so long.

I hope so. I really hope so.

We pass my old high school. It somehow looks even worse than it did back then. Some of the blue windows are now plain, making the school look mismatched and ugly.

My last year there, I pushed everyone away. I was grieving. We all grieve in different ways. Still, I can't blame a bunch of hormonal teenagers for not having the energy to deal with me while I was so miserable. It hurts, but I can't blame them.

My hope when I left was that I would meet new people and recreate the full life that I lost here, but Harvard didn't give me that. No one there has the time to help some mopey black girl figure out her issues.

My friends here, when they were still my friends, would have helped. They tried to when I was at my worst. Every day, they were there. At the funeral, they were there.

And, being the terrible person that I am, I pushed them away. I was too occupied with reliving the death of my father, watching him be pulled out of the lake where he spent every morning fishing. He was barely human. Bloated, blue, covered in lake-things.

I received my Harvard acceptance letter the next day. He never even got to see me succeed where no one else in our poor, black family has ever even attempted to go. I whisk away a tear and spend a little more time remembering him.

He would have been so upset to learn I've failed two classes this past semester and I'm thinking of dropping out. I was so excited to major in history of Africa, especially in its diaspora around the world. Some time after I started my junior year, though, a deep depression set in.

I'm wallowing in it now, I think as I sigh. The Hispanic driver looks back at me, more annoyed than worried at my state. I can't say I blame him. This entire long drive from the airport has been me either crying or silent.