Rolling with my Stepbrothers: A

Reverse Harem Romance Sylvie Haas

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Rolling with my Stepbrothers

A Reverse Harem Romance

 Part of the

Eggplant County Roller Derby series

Sylvie Haas
 Copyright

Rolling with my Stepbrothers Copyright © 2024 by Sylvie Haas

All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as
permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover design: Bookin’ It Designs
Editing: Bossy B-word Editing Services
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-963987-00-3
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-963987-01-0
 Contents

Blurb
1. One
Commando
2. Two
Cheri
3. Three
Cheri
4. Four
Stonewall
5. Five
Taz
6. Six
Cheri
7. Seven
Cheri
8. Eight
Stonewall
9. Nine
 Commando
10. Ten
Cheri
11. Eleven
Taz
12. Twelve
Cheri
13. Thirteen
Stonewall
14. Fourteen
Cheri
15. Fifteen
Taz
16. Sixteen
Cheri
17. Epilogue
Cheri
More from Sylvie Haas
About the Author
 Blurb

Whatever you do… Don’t get pregnant!

That was 1 of the 3 simple pieces of advice my pregnant friend gave me. The other two gems… Go on the all-expenses-paid
trip to your mother’s destination island wedding, and hook up with a hot cabana boy.
It couldn’t be simpler.
To give myself credit… I attended the exotic wedding.
It’s the other two pieces of advice that got complicated. I didn’t hook up with a cabana boy. I hooked up with my brand-new
older stepbrothers. Don’t judge… They agreed to a no-strings-attached, experience-building fling. The deal seemed flawless at
the time.
And, yep, you guessed it… I’m pregnant.
With my grumbly brothers’ adamant claims that they don’t want a relationship, can my sunshiny personality help me find the
bright side of my situation?
If you love dirty-talking stepbrothers who have over-the-top ideas of how to please their sister, and like to call her naughty
names, you’ll join them for a fling, too! But whatever you do… Don’t get pregnant! ;)
 One

Commando

“Nothing like sliding into my favorite booth at my favorite diner.” I don’t bother looking at the menu the waitress set down. The
thought of a double cheeseburger, extra pickles, and steak fries have my tastebuds eager for civilian food. The diner’s changed
over the years, but the burgers and the name, Keep Yer Belly Full, remain the same.
Taz offers a fist bump. “A big hell yeah to freedom.”
“Same, bro. I love fighting for it, but I’m overdue for sleeping in and not having a schedule.”
“You’ll get tired of it before our leave is over.”
“That last undercover op got to me.” I drag a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, deciding not to belabor the point.
Taz was there, he knows. It’s the first time I’ve considered getting out of the military, and with my reenlistment date rapidly
approaching, the possibility is unnerving.
Serving my country with honor has been my life goal. No distractions allowed.
What would Taz and our other brother, Stonewall think if I got out?
“Don’t bring that shit home with you.” Taz nods at something behind me. “Get that ray of sunshine in your head instead.”
I turn, unsure what he’s referring to. My mind is instantly cleared when my eyes land on one of the other waitresses. A smile
that’s as wide as it is bright red. Long brown silky hair. A petite figure that would have been underserved by the frumpy
uniforms the waitresses used to wear. Her denim short-shorts offer a full view of her toned legs. What does she do to stay in
shape? I’ve heard waitressing is exhausting.
I’m consciously advising myself to let go of the crude thoughts about giving her a workout, and how good those thighs would
feel wrapped around me, and that I should stop staring. I’m also ignoring myself.
The patrons at the table she’s serving break out in laughter. She does too.
It’s the biggest, heartiest laugh, and then she snorts. Unabashedly. My dick is instantly hard.
Chances are it was already headed that way, but it’s the fact that she snorted, no apologies, just pure joy, that takes a
sledgehammer to my hardened heart. There is good in the world. And apparently, I want to fuck it.
She responds to a woman at the table. “No kids for me. I can’t be trusted with keeping another human alive. I barely manage
myself.”
She snorts again and pre-cum spurts from my tip. What’s gotten into me? I shift while watching her walk to the register. My
jeans aren’t tight, but there’s not enough room for a full-fledged erection.
She turns. Our eyes lock. I’m busted.
“You boys ready to order?” Our waitress snaps me back to reality. How did I not notice she’d returned? Her belly is big
enough she rests her notepad on it.
I stutter to place my order, the effects of that young waitress leaving me shell-shocked. Not wanting to come across as a perv
staring at someone who has to be more than ten years younger than me, I direct my attention to Avery, politely addressing her by
the name I learn from her nametag, and complete the same order I’ve been placing since the diner opened.
Now that I’ve acknowledged her, I notice that she doesn’t look old enough to be pregnant. Or have I hit that point where
young adults look like kids? That would make my reaction to the other waitress even less appropriate.
I have enough sense not to ask either of their ages. My brothers and I haven’t spent much time in mainstream society the last
thirteen years, and they were a hard set of years. Maybe we should sit a tour out, and get in touch with the people we serve.
The president of our motorcycle club, aptly nicknamed Prez, comes in and detours in our direction.
Taz makes room for him, and Avery adds his order to our tab. The MC is full of fellow military so they understand our
schedules. Prez is older than me and also single. His whole life is dedicated to the MC now that he’s out of the military. Is that
my path? All MC?
My gaze shifts back to the waitress who makes me feel things I’d written off. Things that need to stay written off. I’m not the
family-guy type, no matter how much I want to put a baby in her.
And she’s happy. I could learn from her.
No. That wouldn’t be fair to her.
My internal discussion makes me feel psychotic. Physically angling my head away, I look out the window. She’s at an
entirely different place in life than I am. She deserves to live it without my burdens.
The tapping of Avery’s pen on her notepad draws me back. Avery has a gleam in her eye. “Are you guys single?”
“Whoa!” I hold both hands up in front of my chest. “Not interested.”
Taz brings his fist to his mouth and coughs the word, “Asshole.”
I force my eyes from Avery’s belly to her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean because of that.” I awkwardly motion toward her
elephant-sized midsection. “I’m single, but I’m not dating.”
She rubs a hand over her belly, triggering my brain to think of how little Miss Snorts-A-Lot would look pregnant. Fuck. I fail
to stop myself from scanning the restaurant for her, but she’s gone.
Avery tears a piece of paper out of her notepad and sets it on the table with a pen. “Don’t worry. I’ve had enough of men to
fill me up for a while. I saw you looking at Cheri, and it’s entirely possible that I saw her looking at you two earlier. If you
want me to pass your number on, I will.”
My fingers twitch. I ball my fists, pressing them into my thighs. “Do you realize how old we are?”
Taz sets his hand over the paper and pen. Adrenaline courses through me, sparking possessiveness. What right do I have to
tell him no?
Avery drags a finger over her belly. “Boys our age do this and run. You look like you have your shit together. Cheri’s a hard
worker, the best baker in town—cherry desserts are her specialty—and she fills in as a waitress for extra cash. Works here and
at Sugar D’s Donut Shop. It would do her good to have some fun if you know what I mean.”
Fun… cherry… I shouldn’t be having these thoughts.
Prez wrings his hands. “Fun? Don’t look at me unless Cheri wants to get married. My twin brother and I just found out we
have to get wifed-up or Grandma rewrites her will.”
The mention of his grandma reminds me that our dad flew into town to scatter his mom’s ashes. I steal a glance at Cheri,
who’s returned, and let her sunshine blast the thoughts of death from my mind.
“I think marriage would be a deal breaker for Cheri, which brings us to you.” Avery winks at Taz, stroking his ego, and he
sits taller. Avery has no idea how easy it is to flatter him. I love my little brother, but he never passes up a chance to have fun. I
don’t know how he compartmentalizes his life so easily.
Taz scribbles his info down, then slides the pen and paper toward me, raising an eyebrow. It might ruin me to see him with
Cheri, but I’ve sworn off distractions. I shake my head.
“You want to think about it?” Avery asks me.
“Like I said, I don’t date.”
“When the right woman comes along, don’t be afraid to let your guard down, big guy.” Avery picks the pen and paper up,
shoves them in her apron pocket, and walks away.
What does this pregnant teenager think she’s doing, matchmaking thirty-somethings with her barely-out-of-the-cradle friend?
And why am I considering walking over to Snorts-A-Lot and showing her how hard she’s making me? Absolutely not. I don’t
date. And I certainly don’t fuck a teenager just because she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
 Two

Cheri

The mischievous smile on Avery’s face as she enters the break room causes my hand to stop midway to grabbing my coat. “I’ve
got to get to roller derby practice, but what are you up to?”
She hands a small paper to me while biting her lower lip.
I read what appears to be a name and phone number, but the name is Taz. Not a good sign. Avery needs someone stable, not
someone nicknamed after a devil. “What’s this?”
“A favor.” I try to hand it back to her, but she cradles her belly with both hands.
“What kind of favor?” I shrug my coat on, still holding the paper.
“I saw you staring at the guys who rolled in on the motorcycles. I also saw them staring at you. It’s my last day of work and I
wanted to do something nice for you.”
Was I that obvious? Is this why she was at their table so long? She was talking to them about me? The world sways a little
before I gather my thoughts, but they’re too fleeting to stay in my grasp. A strange feeling works its way through me. It’s light
and giddy and tingly.
“Avery…” I draw out her name. She’s been on my case about working too hard. She’s not wrong, but her pregnancy is proof
of how quickly life can take a detour. That’s why I’m using my time to bake my heart out while saving up money so I can move
out of my mom’s house. Living on my own seems scary, but I need to learn to take care of myself.
And not just financially. My mom and I have possibly gotten too used to hanging out with each other. Someday I might want
to get married, and I don’t want to be worried Mom will take it too hard.
“Taz is the smiley one with the five-o’clock shadow and a shit-ton of casual-sexy.” She taps the paper that’s still in my hand.
“And I don’t want to jump to incorrect conclusions, so I’ll let you know that the guy who came in last is looking for a wife. I
told him you weren’t interested.”
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, with too much excitement.
She raises her shoulders. “Should I have left the wife option open?” She motions over her shoulder. “I’ll let him know.”
I grab her hand. “No! I don’t have time to date… or get married.”
“You need to do something other than work.”
“I love my work.”
The back door flies open. My mother parades in looking way too happy, which is saying a lot coming from me.
“Cheri.” My mom draws out my name with her fake French accent, and wraps her arms around my shoulders.
“Is everything okay? I need to get to roller derby practice.” I hoist the strap of my gear bag over my shoulder when she lets
go.
She reaches into her Gucci-knock-off purse, pulls out a small packet of papers, and slaps them at my hand that’s holding the
phone number. I reposition the paper Avery gave me so I can see what my mom added.
Airline tickets? I’m processing that they contain my name when she says, “I’m getting married! We bought your flight, paid
for your room, and all of your food is covered.”
“To who… you don’t… how?” I’m certain that she said she’s getting married, but she’s not dating. I would know. I live with
her. When neither of us is working, we play Scrabble and binge Netflix.
 As that thought highlights the stagnation of my life, I’m grateful that Avery got a guy’s number for me. My entire life revolves
around work, derby, and hanging out with my mom. I’m twenty—not a teenager anymore. I need to grow. And maybe, I need a
man, or at least a good time with one.
Still confused, I turn my attention back to my mom who is absolutely glowing. She says, “It’s shocking, but I met the perfect
man. One thing led to another and he’s whisking me away for my dream wedding. I’ll still make time for you sweetie, but I’ve
wanted a man in my life, and I found him.”
This is getting sadder by the minute. Skeptical of how she went from meeting a guy to having a destination wedding, I ask,
“When did you meet him?”
“Yesterday. It’s crazy. But it’s love at first sight, and we’re not getting any younger. He’s here on vacation to visit his sons.”
She squeezes my hands. “Please be happy for me. And please be on your flight tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” My question comes out in a shriek. I lower my voice to address the other problem. “How can you afford this?”
“He’s filthy rich, but that’s not why I’m marrying him. He’s the kindest man, and good in—”
“Stop, Mom. I have work and roller derby. I can’t just leave.” I try to shove the plane ticket back at her, but she doesn’t take
it.
Avery clears her throat. “I could fill in for you.”
I’d forgotten she was there. “I couldn’t ask that.”
“You didn’t. I offered because that’s what friends are for. I can delay my last day one more week. And I’ll talk to the girls at
Sugar D’s. We’ll make sure your shifts are covered.”
Avery’s already sending a text message, so I return my attention to my mom. “Why the rush?”
“The resort had a last-minute wedding cancellation. They’re booked out a year in advance. Cheri, this has to be the universe
telling me it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m happy for you.” At least I’m trying to be. I paste on a smile and hope it looks sincere.
“So, it’s a go? Surely you can miss a few roller derby practices,” Mom says.
“No.” I can’t ditch them on a whim. Plus, Avery hasn’t been able to participate in months and Angel is out with a suspicious
ankle injury.
“She means yes. Everyone misses once in a while,” Avery says.
“Great! We can talk when you get home.” Mom exits so quickly, my head is spinning.
Avery plucks the packet from my hands, leaving me staring at Taz’s number. Could I be so lucky? All I have to do is put
myself out there and the universe will handle the rest? My mom seems to think so. I’m not so sure. I’m happy, not lucky.
Avery gasps. “This place looks incredible.”
I angle my head to see the paper my mom printed about the location. A luxury resort with private hot tubs on every balcony
and a crystal blue and aquamarine ocean on one side. The other side gets the ornate pool and cabana view.
I haven’t made it halfway down the list of amenities when Avery says, “Plan B. Wait to call Taz. Go on this all-expenses-
paid vacation to support your mother and hook up with a cabana boy first.”
“Plan B. It sounds perfect.” As long as I don’t leave my coworkers in a bind, I’m going. Maybe I’ll even consider the
cabana-boy thing. I’ll happily accept this stroke of luck.
“It is, Cheri. Don’t pass up an opportunity like this. Go have fun.”
“There has to be a catch.”
“Do you want me to make one up? Fine. One word of caution regarding the cabana-boy hookup. Whatever you do… don’t get
pregnant. It’s a vacation fling. What happens on the island stays on the island. All of that good stuff. Focus on fun.”
I can’t believe this fell in my lap. I can’t believe my mom is getting married.
Avery cocks her head to the side. “Do it for me.” She takes Taz’s number from my hand and tucks it into the papers. “I’ll let
him know that you won’t be calling right away.”
“Or should I be the one to let him know I’ll be gone for a few days?”
“No. Erase him from your brain. Don’t let anything stop you from letting loose, and please, so I can live vicariously, come
back with a better first-time story for yourself than I have.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” A challenge I’m willing to take.
 Three

Cheri

I consider myself a happy person. I laugh freely. I love my jobs. And I have the best friends—my coworkers and teammates.
I’m successfully crafting the life I want.
But after the whirlwind of Avery getting Taz’s number for me, the panty-melting gaze from the guy sitting with Taz, and my
mother’s surprise wedding, doubt crept in. By the time I’d made it from the diner to roller derby practice, I was questioning
everything.
Should I skip the last-minute trip and be responsible? Or did my desire to stay home have more to do with Taz’s rugged
jawline, muscles, and sex appeal? His phone number was the only one on the paper but the other man in his booth, the older
one I’d caught staring, would serve as an acceptable alternative.
With my head still spinning, I’d done the only rational thing I could think of, and went to roller derby practice to hash out my
existence.
My teammates agreed… Take the trip! There would be time to sort out the other options when I got home.
Two plane flights later, after a whole lot of flying over the ocean to get to the private island, it’s good to have my feet on the
ground again. However, it’s not so wonderful to have rain drenching me as I hurry across the tarmac.
Thankfully the limo driver says it’s fine if I get the seats wet.
And in no time at all, he drives me to the resort where the bellhop delivers my bags to my room and makes sure I don’t need
anything. How could I? There’s a basket of snacks and he showed me the drinks in the fridge. There are fluffy towels and plush
blue-and-white bedding. A partially private balcony. And a gorgeous view of the ocean.
The sounds of crashing waves wash away my concerns.
Avery was right. I need this. I need to experience life.
The rain stops and the light breeze brings the salty air to my nose. I lean over the balcony rail, looking side to side and
below. No one’s in sight. Feeling bold, I step into the sheltered part of my balcony with the hot tub. I peel my wet clothes off
my body and wrap myself in the luxurious white robe.
I won’t judge my mother for marrying a sugar daddy as long as she’s happy. She’s one lucky woman to marry into this kind of
money. I correct my thinking. He’s one lucky guy to marry a woman as amazing as my mom.
Grabbing the folding drying rack that’s tucked into a corner, I place it on the balcony and drape my drenched clothes over the
dowels.
I leave the sliding door open when I head inside. What do I do with myself? No mom to play Scrabble with. No derby
practice. No work schedule. Who am I and what do I want?
It’s a short-lived problem since I called ahead to make special arrangements to prepare cake pops for my mom. They’re her
favorite. But the kitchen space won’t be available for another hour.
I stand in the middle of the room admiring the mermaid décor, truly at a loss for what to do. I grab my phone and turn music
on. For a fleeting moment, I consider dancing, but when I lift my arms and sway my hips, it hits me that I’m tired.
Wow! Am I always tired and don’t know it? I love my life. I love being on the go. But maybe I need a change.
With only six hours until the wedding, I unpack my bags to make sure the rain didn’t get inside. All good.
A lightness washes over me. Avery’s right. I should live my life while I can.
 There’s no telling what will happen, when I’ll have unexpected responsibilities pop up, or whether I’ll wake up one day to
discover I’ve become a withered old hag, working my fingers to the bone, and I’ve let my life pass me by.
With my arms wide, I spin, carefree, then throw myself onto the bed, face first. If this is how the upper-class lives, I’ll have
to take tips from Mom on how to snag a rich guy.
In the meantime, after lounging, I get dressed and head to my comfort place, the kitchen, where I do what I do best—bake.

With the cake pops prepared, I return to the room.

Craving the luxurious feel of the robe on my body again, I strip down and put it on. That’s all I need until it’s time to get
ready for the wedding.
When I step onto my balcony, I realize the breeze has picked up. My wet shirt has been whipped around and barely hangs
onto the drying rack. My leggings have tangled on the dowels. My white socks and red bra have blown around the wooden
posts of the balcony railing. Close call. I snatch them up.
A quick inventory… Uh oh! My bright red panties are nowhere to be seen.
Shit. I check inside the hot tub, scan the room…nothing. Rushing to the rail, I lean over. In a heartbeat, against the white
wooden deck and brown-and-green dune grasses, the splash of bright red fabric takes no time to recognize.
My panties have blown onto someone’s first-floor balcony. Once I quell the panic, I take it as good news. My panties are
caught on the corner post. I should be able to approach from the beach, reach through the plants that offer a bit of privacy along
the balcony’s edge, and reclaim the escapees.
Grabbing my keycard as I rush through the room, I’m out the door in a flash.
 Four

Stonewall

With only an hour before the wedding, Commando, Taz, Dad, and I have the driver take us from the cliff overlooking the ocean
back to our rooms.
Grandma made it widely known she wanted her ashes scattered in the mountains, mingled with the majestic beauty. But with
Dad’s unexpected wedding, he decided we’d bring a portion of her ashes to the island and spread the remainder of them from
the cliff overlooking the ocean to honor her younger days when she spent all of her free time on the beach.
A weight is lifted from my shoulders that we’ve finally finished toting Grandma around in an urn and sprinkling her ashes. I
just want to be done.
Her death hit me hard. All the lives I’ve taken in my military days—those people had loved ones too. Thinking like that is
dangerous. I shift my thoughts to when we were younger and she was always there for us. Not being able to make it back in
time to say goodbye shook me.
We’re here for Dad though, so that’s good. Though none of us ever thought a wedding would get thrown into the mix.
Everything that’s happening right now casts shadows on the already dark part of my soul. Are all of our missions blotting out
the positives in life and dragging me down?
It only takes a few minutes to throw my board shorts on. And even though my hair’s longer than the typical military cut, since
we were running undercover ops, it doesn’t take much to run my fingers through it and get it back in place. We’re going to be
standing on a windy beach anyway.
Embracing the time I have left to relax, I step on to the wooden deck outside of my room. Something bright red catches my
attention. With each inch I move closer, I absorb another detail. The fabric is silky. It has a lacy edge. It’s lightweight. And
when I lift the small piece of fabric, the shape becomes undeniable.
I’m holding somebody’s panties. If I’d met someone, I might consider this an invitation. But no, I’ve been with my dad,
brothers, and dead grandma’s ashes.
I glance around, finding no one, then reel my hopes in. My brothers are probably pranking me, trying to get me to break free
from my nickname for once.
Clinging to the hint of fun the panties offer, fully knowing I won’t do anything about it, I shove them in my pocket and watch
the waves.
I’m scanning the beach, watching a few surfers, when I catch sight of a woman in white walking down the beach, but not by
the water. Up by the dunes. Her dark hair trails behind her in the breeze. Her path is oddly close to the decks. Does she not
understand privacy?
Or… My dick gets hard. Is she the owner of the panties in my pocket?
She’s scanning the dunes, so I duck into the room, wanting to observe her for a moment longer. I’m pretty sure the resort’s
robes are meant for indoor use. But hey, I gotta give it to her. Be yourself.
It’s something I don’t have much experience with since I joined the military when I was twenty years old. I barely stepped
out of my family’s shadow when I took on a military family. My brothers joined at the same time.
The dark-haired beauty shifts her attention from the dunes to the top floor, points, and appears to be counting rooms. The
wind picks up and catches the edge of her robe, throwing it open, exposing one long leg, with a sinful tuft of hair covering her
pussy.
She isn’t wearing panties. My heart quickens. Could she be the owner of the bright red silk? The odds were slim when I
originally had the thought, but they just improved dramatically.
In a nonchalant move, she grabs the edge of her robe and holds it closed.
Seemingly satisfied with counting the upper rooms, she lowers her attention to the first floor, to my room, or rather the space
outside of my room.
She hasn’t noticed me since I’ve retreated further, hanging near the edge. I’m fascinated by her, and desperately trying to
think of something clever to say. All that comes to mind is, Surely you can spare this pair of panties.
Better to keep that to myself. I’m reclusive, not a perv. Although the panties in my pocket call that into question.
The first floor is elevated a few feet above the beach and the dune grasses offer a buffer above that, obscuring my line of
sight as she approaches.
Then suddenly she’s crawling on the dune toward my deck, and my suspicions are confirmed. I chuckle quietly with the
knowledge that this beauty’s pussy has been in the panties I’m harboring.
I feel guilty for keeping them, but what am I supposed to do? Wave them in the air and say, Are these yours?
It’s a sad fucking day when I decide that I’m even more set on keeping the panties now that I see who they belong to. My dark
heart needs a glimmer of hope. She can give up a pair of panties for the team. I’ve given up years for my country.
The woman extends a hand forward, parting the grasses at the edge of my deck, and mutters something I can’t make out. But
it’s damn cute.
I’m torn. Offering her panties seems like the right thing to do, but I love the idea of considering them a sacrifice. I make
sacrifices all the time in service to the country. No hype, no news stories, just confidential missions. That helps me feel slightly
less selfish about what I’m choosing to do.
I step outside. “Can I help you?”
“Oh! Sorry!” Her head pops above the grasses like a meerkat. She grips the top of the rail and stares up at me.
Am I so in need of a woman that I can’t focus on the moment at hand? All I can think about are her manicured fingernails
gripping my cock while her plump red lips drag back and forth over it.
She wipes wisps of hair from her face as she stands, struggling to keep her robe closed. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
“Perhaps you can help me.” She points up. “I’m on the third floor and the wind blew my panties down. I saw them right
about here, but now they’re gone.”
My fist tightens around her panties as realization sets in. She could be one of the brides getting married here, which would
mean I’m holding a married, or soon-to-be-married woman’s panties. Fuck!
“Wait… Are my panties in your pocket?”
“No,” I answer too quickly and immediately realize I’m gripping them so hard, my forearm is in pain. I relax my fist and
glance down. Shit! Red lace is sticking out. I yank it down, hoping she didn’t see it.
Too late. “What the hell is wrong with you? Give them back.” She thrusts her hand at me.
I’m not only trained to perform under pressure, but I’ve spent years face to face with national threats, never once losing
composure. But staring at this ray of sunshine who has enough energy to make up for her small size, I’m incapacitated.
It’s terrifying.
“You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know what you plan to do with them. Enjoy.” She turns around, scurries off
the dune, and marches down the beach, leaving me to wonder what just happened.
I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t turn me in to security.
 Five

Taz

Yesterday, my brothers and I were ready to kick back and have a BBQ with Dad at our mountain home in the Cherry Ridge
foothills. Today, we’re standing on the beach on a private island, lined up as groomsmen for our dad’s wedding.
I’m at a loss for how a lifelong commitment can transpire this fast.
We haven’t had time to talk to him about the woman he’s marrying since we had to scatter grandma’s ashes, pack, and get on
an airplane. Plus, he didn’t want us trying to talk him out of the first seemingly irrational thing he’s ever done.
He arranged a brief meeting with his fiancée, and she seems great, but we haven’t met our future stepsister. She was busy
making some kind of special treat for her mom. That’s cool, I suppose. Does that mean we should be doing something for Dad?
Nah.
That seems like girly shit anyway, and Dad’s entire focus is on his future bride. This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long
time. Mom got sick and died when I was little. I have very little memory of her. My older brothers remember more, but that
was ages ago, and he’s been single for way too long. We’re all glad to see him happy again.
A small band plays reggae versions of wedding music. It’s an intimate affair since no one else is invited. And at our
stepmom’s request, we’re all in beachwear. One point to her. I’ll take boardshorts over a penguin suit any day. Of course,
riding gear is my preference when I’m not on a mission.
Worn, white, wooden planks delineate the path from the bride’s private staging area to the altar.
We’re positioned for a perfect sunset backdrop, and the photographer’s already taking pictures.
A woman steps out from behind the privacy screens. The tiny red bikini top leaves more breast uncovered than covered. It’s
hard for me to see anything else. Then her toned leg makes an appearance through the slip in the matching wrap-around skirt.
Fuck.
My eyes trail upward to her dark hair that the wind insists on blowing over her face.
Her red lipstick matches her bathing suit. She tucks a hair behind her ear and her huge smile falters. Her mouth drops open.
And she stutter-steps as we recognize each other.
It’s Cheri from the diner. No. Fucking. Way. Am I hallucinating?
I elbow Stonewall, but remember that he wasn’t at the diner. I lean forward to catch Commando’s attention. Keeping my
voice down, I urgently whisper, “Is that Cheri?”
His expression serves as confirmation.
Stonewall says, “How do you know her name?”
“She works at Keep Yer Belly Full.” I wrap one hand around the other fist. If Dad expects us to be chill about him marrying a
woman he’s only known for one day, it can’t be that weird that I want to fuck my stepsister.
Dad clears his throat. He doesn’t seem to have heard what we’re saying, just wants us to be respectful.
Cheri has regained her composure and made it down the wooden walkway. As she reaches the altar, her gaze wanders
between the three of us and our dad.
She takes her place on the bride’s side and hones in on Stonewall. He fidgets, shoving his hand in his pocket, and her gaze
follows.
The music shifts to a reggae Bridal March. I glance at the bride, then back at my brothers.
Stonewall whispers, “I’ve got her panties in my pocket.”
 Six

Cheri

Timing is critical as the photographer arranges us in front of the gorgeous sunset. Dutifully stepping into place beside my mom,
I smile. Will the photos reveal the chaos in my mind?
I can’t figure out if this is perfect or a complete nightmare.
There’s not a cabana boy or any male on this island as swoon-worthy as my three stepbrothers. Can ‘what happens on the
island, stays on the island’ apply to people who are returning to Peach Bottom Valley as my new family? I’m pretty sure Avery
would say yes. Time to pivot on the fabulous plan she laid out.
The photographer has our parents step to the side so he can take pictures of the siblings. My heart races and my feet wiggle,
burying themselves in the sand as I stare straight ahead, trying to ignore the three gorgeous men I’m contemplating a fling with.
Standing close to my mother and touching her was fine. Touching my stepbrothers is the starting point for a ridiculous number
of fantasies that have already clogged my gray matter.
“Three of them and one of you.” The photographer rubs his chin. “Let’s start with the three brothers in back and little sis in
front.”
When I fail to engage my feet, the photographer points. “You, right here.”
My legs grow wobbly and a knot forms in my core. “Yes, sir.”
A tortured groan, I believe from Taz, comes from behind me. The sound tips the scales. Who needs a cabana boy when I have
these three? Or at least Taz. Who knew how important Avery getting his number would turn out to be?
I glance over my shoulder and my eyes catch on his chest as he takes in a deep breath. The intensity of his gaze paralyzes me
when I finally look up that far.
He brushes a finger against the back of my hand. Whatever witty comment I planned on saying is gone. He says, “Yes, sir?
Are you always so polite?”
“Yes, sir.” Alarms go off in my brain. The sand under my feet, the whisps of hair streaking across my face, and the lingering
touch of his skin on mine… every sensation lights up my body with desire.
A flash causes me to blink and reflexively turn to the photographer. “Great shot, looking up to your new big brother. How
about you guys pick her up so she’s laying across the three of you?”
Taz’s voice is too low for the photographer to hear. “You want to lay across my front?”
He tucks his finger around my hand and guides it to his hips. My eyes go wide. Taz’s erection is huge. Would I be better off
finding a cabana boy for my first time?
Next thing I know, hands are all over my body, my feet are out from under me, and my brothers have done as the
photographer asked.
“That’s adorable,” Mom says, so I presume Taz’s arousal is no longer evident. Or it will be one of those things no one
notices until we’re looking at the photographs with Aunt Edna. I make a mental note to go with mom to review the proofs.
Aside from being conscious of every single point of contact from fingertips pressing into my skin to my backside spanning
the three hottest men I’ve ever met, I compose myself and survive the remainder of the family photos.
And with only three days on this island, I can’t waste any time approaching my new brothers about my plan.
Pose. Smile. Rethink my sanity. Repeat.
 Seven

Cheri

Because our parents didn’t have time to invite extended family and friends, they opened their reception in the party palapa to
everyone at the resort. The dance music started while we were taking photos.
By the time we walk over, people are swaying and twerking on the dance floor in a way that indicates they found the open
bar. Others have lined up at the buffet, and many are already seated at the tables.
“Have fun,” Mom says to us as she drags my new stepdad onto the dance floor. She drapes her hands around her new
husband’s neck, presses her body tightly against his, and they sway, oblivious to the fast beat of the music.
My brothers and I have lined up near the dance floor, like it’s hot lava and none of us are ready to take the next step.
Stonewall plops into a seat at the nearby table.
“What are you waiting for? Come dance.” My mom motions toward us then returns her attention to my new stepdad. That’s
going to take some getting used to. I don’t know anything about him. I’m dumbfounded that I was worried about meeting a guy
someday and leaving her alone. I sure didn’t see this coming.
I shriek as Taz grabs my hand, then spins me onto the dance floor. My free hand landing on his bare chest is the only thing that
stops my torso from slamming into his. Bummer.
My assumption that we’d dance like most of the other couples, with hands in the air, is wrong. His hands wrap around my
waist, pulling my hips into his. Somehow that makes it impossible for me to breathe.
Angling my head to the side, I use a giant concrete tiki statue as a focal point and mentally talk myself through breaths. In.
Out. In. Out.
“Feel free to move your hands.” His comment makes me painfully aware of how awkwardly my arms are squished between
us.
“I was catching the beat.” The profoundly lame excuse gives me a second to reposition.
I opt for my hands on his shoulders. Big mistake. I’ve now measured the width of his shoulders, and the muscular curve of
them. Where’s that tiki statue? Dang it. Taz turned us and I can’t see it.
“No need to be nervous,” he says with all the calm charm he looks like he’d possess.
“I’m not nervous.” Another excellently lame lie. “It’s just weird how fast our parents went from meeting to marrying. And
now I’m touching my stepbrother’s nearly naked body.” Oh shit, that’s not what I meant to focus on, or say.
Taz laughs and tightens his embrace, which flattens my breasts against his chest. I seriously need somewhere else to put my
hands, but I’m not wrapping them around his neck. Shoulders will have to do.
He says, “Must be destiny.”
“What?”
“Our nearly naked bodies touching. Were you going to call?”
Call? I laser-beam focus on the tiki statue as we turn again. Right, it was his phone number Avery got for me. A nervous
laugh escapes me. “Did you want me to?”
“I don’t give my number out too often.”
I meet his gaze for the first time. Not my best choice, but his deep green eyes lock me in. “So why give it to a pregnant
waitress who says she’s getting it for a friend?”
 “Because she told me which friend.”
“Oh.”
Can he feel my heart pounding?
“Your smile and laugh had already won me over. That’s what I need… when I’m on leave.” His tone shifts after his pause,
like he catches himself. Is that how he delicately underscores that anything that came from me calling him would have been
temporary?
“Don’t hog your sister,” a male voice calls out from a few feet away. It’s my new stepdad. “Let your brothers get to know
Cheri too.”
“We’re not done,” Taz whispers.
I almost collapse as he steps away. Whether my motivations are right or wrong, I can’t tell anymore. We happen to be next to
where Stonewall is sitting. I extend a hand and wonder if he’s still harboring my panties. “Shall we?”
His hands ball into fists. “No.”
I’m pretty sure I visibly flinch but my embarrassment is short lived as Commando takes my hand. He’s taller and thicker than
Taz. I’m slightly more prepared this time and position my hands on his waist as we sway to the music. It turns out that’s not a
great choice either. He’s thicker, but he’s solid muscle. No amount of staring at tiki statues can help. It might be making matters
worse as I’m wondering if his body is as hard as the statue. And not just his body, my mind wanders to particular parts.
“I didn’t mean anything by not giving you my number when your friend asked.” His defensive comment breaks into my
thoughts. It’s cute that he thought about that.
“You didn’t want me to have your number?” I say playfully.
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” It’s prudent to leave out that his dismissal didn’t stop me from fantasizing about him.
“It’s just that we’re not home for long.”
“Taz mentioned that you’re on leave.”
“Yeah, so it didn’t seem right.”
Are the island breeze and reggae music getting to me, or is the whole scenario of having ridiculously hot stepbrothers
breaking my brain? Avery said to have a good time. I go for it.
I say, “So you’re not the one-night-stand type?”
He coughs. “Is that all you want?”
I’m not sure what I want. Before I can sort it out, he continues, “I’m sorry. You’re my stepsister. We shouldn’t—”
“I was also a total stranger to you up until thirty minutes ago. Don’t make a big deal of it. I’m twenty—more than old enough
to…” What am I about to say? I temper the rest of my statement. “…have fun.”
Taz is sitting next to Stonewall. “Is our stepsister a little tease?”
Was I supposed to hear that? Excitement bubbles through me. Why do I like being called a tease? Isn’t that sexist? I scramble
for sanity. “If a guy said he wanted to have fun, would you call him a tease?”
Taz smiles. “Does he plan on making good on his insinuations?”
“Knock it off.” Commando stills and glares at Taz.
“With the right person, yes.” Am I hypothetically answering for myself?
“Then being a tease is a good thing.”
What just happened? Why are my nipples beading so hard I fear I might poke Commando? And the tingles dancing over my
body, they’re settling between my legs.
The song ends and a band member says they’re going on break. Commando pulls away before the recorded music is piped
through the PA system. The song is slow. Not a great distraction.
I still can’t get a read on Stonewall. That makes me want to dance with him even more. This time, I don’t give him a choice. I
take his huge hand, lift it, and when I realize it will be impossible to move him, I grab his other hand and pretend he’s dancing
with me.
He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t relax.
His dark green eyes meet mine briefly, but long enough for me to see a brokenness. I squeeze his hands.
Commando and Taz look surprised that Stonewall’s cooperating. I’m grateful they don’t interrupt.
 Eight

Stonewall

Cheri’s tiny hands holding mine, and her sweet smile, lift my spirits more than anything has in years. She’s a bright ray of
sunshine on this festive night. And here I am, refusing to stand up and dance with her.
My problems are bigger than I thought. I’d realized I was having a harder time than my brothers separating missions and life,
but I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until I was forced to participate in what should have been a joyous occasion.
Taz razzes me. “You’re missing out.”
Watching them dance with her, holding her body close, I want it too. So why can’t I take my turn? I’m stuck in this mental
hell. Is this my sign that I have to get help? Shouldn’t I be able to enjoy happy moments with my family?
Taz grabs her hand and leads her away from me. What the hell is he doing? Commando and I follow them around the end of
the building where the wooden walkway gives way to sand. The rhythmic sounds of waves are louder than the music.
Moonlight creates a new intimacy.
Taz slowly lets go of her hand, and what I thought was irritation, suddenly reveals itself as jealousy. I need to get a handle on
that shit. It shouldn’t bother me if they decide to do something. The look in Taz’s eyes makes it clear what he wants.
“She’s our sister,” Commando says. Cheri stumbles backward as he steps between her and Taz.
“Step.” Taz doesn’t back down.
I grab their shoulders. “Knock it off, guys.”
It happens so fast, I barely have time to register the feel of Cheri’s hand in my pocket as she extracts her panties. So much for
me trying to defend her.
“I knew it!” she proclaims.
We all turn to stare at our little sister dangling her red panties in triumph. The moonlight hits them perfectly, ensuring we see
her victory.
“I didn’t know you were my stepsister,” I say as if stealing a stranger’s panties is more acceptable.
She looks down, then smiles widely, and without missing a beat, stuffs them back in my pocket. “I don’t have anywhere to
put them.”
I’ll never admit how much it thrills me that she gave me her panties this time.
“I’d be happy to take a pair for the team.” Taz reaches for my pocket, and I slap his arm away.
She waves a hand between us. “Sort that out later. I have a proposition.”
“We should get back to the reception.” Commando steps away.
“Wait!” Cheri lunges, grabbing his arm, and I’m conscious of every microsecond her hands stay on his body. He places his
other hand on hers. More torture for me.
Cheri pulls away slowly as she continues, “Can I be completely open with all of you?”
I grumble, torn between the way my burdens feel less when I’m around her and remembering she’s now my sister. That’s
what I need to keep in mind—she’s a silly little sister, acting her age, which all adds up to her being decidedly off limits.
But I can learn from her. I can remember what it was like to be young and full of life. And I need to get that back. I can’t be
my best self on missions if I can’t be my best self otherwise. When we get home, I’ll call a doctor. I won’t bring it up with my
brothers. I don’t need their grief, or their worry.
 “Openness is good.” Commando speaks over Taz, keeping the comment honorable.
“I was going to hook up with a cabana boy so I would have a memorable first time—”
“Stop.” Taz thrusts his hand out, his fingers finding out how soft her lips are. This is not a reason to be jealous. It’s a reason
to kick my brother’s ass and remind him she’s our much younger stepsister.
He continues, “You were going to lose your virginity with a total stranger?”
He seems offended, and worried, but he seems to have forgotten that aside from the fact that we’re now related by our
parents’ marriage, we’re pretty much strangers as well.
She grabs his wrist, moving his fingers from her lips. I can breathe again. I’m on the virtual edge of my seat to hear her
response. Is this need to protect her a big-brother reaction? There’s a tightness in my throat and my pants. Not cool.
“I wouldn’t exactly be losing anything. I’d know exactly where—”
“Stop,” Taz says again, but she bats his hand away before he can touch her lips. Good girl.
“Fine, you’re not losing anything. But why would you want to have sex with a stranger who doesn’t care about you?”
“I want to be able to walk away, no strings attached.”
My balls pump a little seed into my board shorts. Has my cock not heard any of my rationalizations about her being our little
sister? The possessiveness is getting harder to hold back. It’s not just protecting her; I want to claim her. I want her to be mine,
and to be full of my baby. Am I losing all sanity? I’d make a terrible, broody-ass father.
Commando shoots me a concerned glance. Neither of us likes the path Taz is on with her. The problem is that I want to kick
Taz off the fucking path so I can walk it.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a boyfriend.”
Dammit Taz.
“I don’t really have time with my schedule, which is why Avery got your number for me.”
“So I can teach you how to have sex?”
She shrugs. “Teach? What is there to learn?” She makes a circle with a thumb and forefinger of one hand and pokes her other
pointer finger through the loop. “It’s pretty obvious. Anyway, Avery’s been begging me to date. She thinks I need to have some
fun in my life.”
“And by fun, you mean sex.”
“I suppose so. And since it would be weird for us to date, you’re the perfect candidate.”
Taz’s mouth drops open. He’s actually speechless.
But I’m not. “You can’t have sex with him.”
“What are you going to do, tell our parents?” Taz challenges.
Our dad would be disgusted that we even had a conversation about this, and I can’t imagine what her mother would think.
Yet, the flames of desire refuse to be extinguished. Even if she’s too young. Even if she’s our sister now. Even if— Fuck! If I
stay here one second longer, I’m going to give her a memorable first time myself.
Taz interrupts my internal debate. “Feel free to leave.”
I do, with Cheri over my shoulder, kicking and screaming.
 Nine

Commando

Stonewall storms away with Cheri. It would have been less of a shock if Taz did it. I’ve been silently reminding myself how
young she looked at the diner. How I don’t date. How she’s not a piece of meat thrown to the wolves.
I can’t believe that Stonewall got her before Taz did. Shame washes over me for wishing I’d beat both of them to her.
But Stonewall’s reputation re-inserts itself when he marches straight to the party palapa, deposits her in the middle of the
dance floor, then grabs Taz and me by the arms and pulls us aside.
“She’s our sister, and she’s… barely an adult.”
“No one says you have to be involved,” Taz says.
“That’s the problem.” Stonewall’s jaw flexes.
“It isn’t, though. Just look away, my man. Not your problem.”
“I want her.” Stonewall’s words leave Taz and me stunned.
“She seems game. What do you think? We all take her at once or line up?” Taz raises his hand for a high five. Neither of us
accepts.
“It’s her first time,” I say.
“And if we don’t do it, a cabana boy gets the participation ribbon.” Taz scans the dance floor. We follow his gaze.
She’s at the edge of it, not in the center where Stone left her. Was she going to follow us? Her hands are in front of her chest
while she bounces to the beat, smiling at the guy less than a foot in front of her moving in sync with her. The look on his face
says too much.
He wants to inch those scraps of fabric off of her tits as much as I do.
A server walks past them with a tray of treats. They must be the cake pops our dad said Cheri was making. She looks thrilled
and grabs a stick, turning the round treat upward, and taking the whole big ball in her mouth.
I choke on my saliva. The guy dancing with her does too. He stops dancing, takes her hand, and guides her off the dance
floor.
“Am I going to shoot that mother fucker down on my own, or are we in for Cheri as a team?” Taz says.
“I’m in,” Stone and I say simultaneously as we stride, side by side toward the poor teenage boy who won’t have any idea
what a wrong move he made.
I take one last, extra-large step, thrust an arm out, and shove him away from our sister. He catches his balance and opens his
mouth to say something but promptly clamps his lips shut.
Taz rips the stick of the cake pop out of Cheri’s mouth and she slaps a hand over her lips, coughing through the food. We give
her a second to swallow, and she says, “I almost choked.”
“You want to choke on balls, just let us know.”
I groan. Taz needs to learn to dial it back.
Cheri lights up, looking at him expectantly. “So, you’re going to do it?”
On second thought, Taz might be onto something.
He raises a hand and motions toward Stone and me. “We are. The three of us. It’s all or none.” He grabs an entire tray of
drinks from one of the roving waiters. He’s going for it.
 Cheri takes one of the glasses and smiles.
I’m not sure if it’s a drink or a fruit basket in a cup. A lemon wedge, cherries, leaves, and ice cubes leave little room for
liquid, but I can smell the bourbon. “How old are you?”
A laugh bursts out of Cheri. “Old enough for my new brothers to offer an all-or-none proposition.” She hurries the glass to
her lips, slurps, and catches a cherry between her teeth. An intact stem leaves a second cherry dangling from her lips when she
pulls the cup away.
I wrap my fingers around hers, intent on sliding the beverage from her hand but a shockwave passes through me at our
contact. Stonewall clears his throat. Shaking off the impact of my fingers on hers, I return the cup to the tray. There are so many
things wrong with this situation.
The sexual tension between us is palpable.
Taz hands the tray of drinks to Stonewall, leans forward, and bites the dangling cherry. Add that to the list of ‘wrong’, and
while I had planned on us having a bigger conversation before doing anything, I can’t figure out if I want him to move in for the
kiss or make room for me. He pulls back, the stem remaining in his teeth.
She sucks her cherry into her mouth and darts her tongue out to catch the drip on her lips. I wrestle with my thoughts. Anger
ravages me that we’re too old for her. We need to compose ourselves and respect our stepsister.
And yet she’s handing us a fantasy on a cherry-lined platter. I can’t look away. I can’t walk away. Do I need to speak up and
protect her? Or do we go through with this and protect her from guys who are actual scumbags?
Cheri plucks the stem from his lips and says, “You stole my cherry.” Then she pops the stem in into her mouth.
She’s quiet. We’re staring. Moonlight streaks between Taz and myself as the three of us have practically backed her to the
wall.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Stonewall speaks up. I understand where he’s coming from but I like where Taz and Cheri are
taking this. Taz has always been able to cut loose in a way Stone and I couldn’t. He’s no worse for his decisions.
Has my inability to compartmentalize held me back from joy? Should I accept the permission Cheri is granting? My morality
and my most basic human instincts are at war with each other.
My morality tries to point out everything that’s wrong, like wanting to ride her bare.
I’m so busy sorting shit in my head that I’m surprised when she opens her mouth, reaches in with her fingertips, and pulls out
a knotted cherry stem.
I’m ruined. All three of us cough and sputter. Stonewall bobbles the tray, then sets it on a nearby table, helping himself to two
drinks in rapid succession.
With feral intensity, Taz brings his hands up, balls his fists, then presses them into the wall on either side of her. The corded
muscles in his neck flex. She gasps and bumps backward into the wooden wall of the building.
Taz’s voice goes several octaves lower as he growls out, “If I touch you, I own you. Do you understand, Cheri?”
Cheri’s look of surprise morphs into a smile. Holy shit.
I shift my attention to check in with Stonewall. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, stretching his head side to side. She’s
affecting all of us. But just because there’s safety in numbers, doesn’t mean we should all jump off the cliff.
 Ten

Cheri

Taz’s face is shadowed as he cages me with his arms and body. I can’t make out his expression, but his words are clear.
Am I actually feeling sexual attraction radiating from his body? Maybe it’s just me. I’m so fucking turned on right now.
He slowly inches closer but leaves a hint of space between us. With each inhale, I think my chest is going to touch his, but I
swear he’s making sure it doesn’t. Not until I agree. Consent is good.
But the tease is driving me crazy. I want this moment to go on forever. There’s so much anticipation. There’s also too much
dampness between my legs. I want to tease him back.
I take an exaggerated, out-of-sync breath, thrusting my chest at him. My pebbled nipples and barely covered breasts flatten
against his hard body.
He huffs, suppressing a laugh, and pushes away. Dammit, I wanted to break him. I wanted him to be so overcome with
passion that he would ravish me with the wild abandon portrayed on historical romance novel covers.
And as much as all of my pink parts tingle at the thought of being owned, isn’t that a step backward in women’s
empowerment? Great, now I’m thinking too much, officially killing the mood. Why make this complicated? All I have to do is
give in.
He lowers his lips and whispers in my ear. “Even naughty girls have to answer. Do you understand?”
His words speak to a side of me I’m not familiar with. A naughty girl? Why does that excite me? Yes, I want to throw caution
to the wind. Go crazy on the island. I want a glimpse of letting go. Thoughts of my mom agreeing to marry a guy after knowing
him a single day taunt me, but I can’t have Mom in my head right now, no matter how bold her move was.
I ask, “Do you like naughty girls?”
“I like spanking their naughty little asses. I like watching their bright red lips drag back and forth around my cock. And I like
fucking naughty little cherry pussies most of all.”
Did my stepdad talk to my mom like this? No. No. No. Bad thoughts.
I can’t believe what Taz is saying in front of our brothers. Have they shared a girl before, or watched each other? I’m
determined to get out of my head and channel the experience Avery wants me to have, although I’m not sure I’ll be comfortable
divulging many details. It’s all so surreal.
I want to be naughty. I didn’t imagine my first time involving an audience, or being outside where we could be caught, or
with my stepbrothers. That combination certainly fits the naughty bill.
“Does that scare you? Do I scare you?” Taz asks.
He does. Like walking on hot coals while knife-swallowing for the first time. But I only have a few days before it’s back to
the grind. I have a feeling this experience will be worth every bit of terror racing through my veins.
“Touch me.” I manage to get the words out a split second before my vocal cords freeze up.
His exhale warms the side of my cheek. “Are you sure?”
I can’t speak anymore. I need him to take over. I try another approach and move my hand forward, dragging my fingers across
his thigh, and then cup my palm over the crotch of his swimming trunks.
Cherry-flavored desserts are my expertise, not manhood, but it doesn’t take long to figure out that his cock is rock-hard, and
that I am the cause. Happy tingles explode inside me. It’s a heady feeling. I rotate my hand, then rub up and down.
 He grabs my wrist and presses my hand into his body. “Stop.”
Fear races through me. “Am I doing it wrong?”
His grip around my hand tightens. “You’re doing everything right.”
“Then why do you want me to stop?”
“There’s no way I’m going to let you get me off first.”
“Does it matter?” I ask. I really don’t know, but it seems like it shouldn’t.
“It does to me.” He moves my hand to his chest.
Did he mean to put it on his heart? Am I making something out of nothing? Good lord, am I swooning?
I have to get on top of this before I scare them off. I try to pull my hand away, but he traps my palm on the contour of his pec.
I opt for words instead. “Let’s not get carried away with this island fling. You’re just making sure I have a good first time… or
three. No need to get all righteous about this ominous thing called sex that everybody thinks is some sign of importance. We all
get our happy endings and go our separate ways.”
Commando cuts me off. “We’re just protecting our little sister. But you’re right. It needs to be a one-off, an island fling, a
good time to be had by all. Then, we’ll never speak of this again.”
I could kiss him for stopping my verbal diarrhea. But kissing… that would feel too intimate… right up in his face. No. Save
that for kissing the bride and— Shit! I’m doing it again—making this into something. How can I be a naughty girl and dial this
back at the same time?
“Right, let’s fuck and flee.” Not amazing, but it satisfies the non-committal checkbox.
Stonewall shifts uncomfortably. Taz angles his head. “Are you in or out, man?”
Stonewall rubs a hand over his face, paces away a few steps, then returns. “You’re twenty, right?”
“Yes.”
“We’re more than ten years older than her,” he grumbles.
As if that matters.
“And you have experience,” I argue, “which is exactly what I want.”
Taz shifts a leg between mine and presses upward. My breath hitches as he grinds into my sex. Addressing his brother, he
continues, “I’m about to pop this naughty tease’s cherry, so if you don’t want to be guilty by association, get the fuck out.”
Stonewall’s head falls backward for a second before he says, “I can’t touch her, but I can’t leave either.”
Trying to draw him in—because for some reason I want all three of them—I attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t be such a
grump. If you’re going to watch, what’s a little touch?” I reach over and brush my fingers over his rock-hard abs. I love my
bold, naughty persona.
He flinches and steps back. “There’s a huge difference.”
I fail to see the distinction, but it seems to matter to him, so I shrug and offer, “You can always change your mind.”
“So we’re all in on this?” Taz asks. He’s anxious to get started, the only one who has been all-in from the get-go.
“We go through with this, then never speak of it again.” Commando’s caught up on it being a secret.
Since he’s reiterating his main point, I repeat my new favorite saying. “What happens on the island, stays on the island.”
Taz laughs, but the other two don’t. Commando says, “No strings attached. We’re protecting you from a bad first experience.
Making sure you understand sex should be a good thing. Your happiness should always come first.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Combined with my sex grinding on
Taz’s leg, the orgasm that’s building rises to dangerous heights. I reach out to Commando, grab his arm, and pull him closer. He
reads my cue, leans in, and kisses me while Taz’s hands seem to cover every part of my bikini-clad body. He yanks the little
triangles of fabric to the side and massages my breast.
But the kiss is undoing me. Commando’s lips and tongue mesh with mine. So perfect. So hungry. So intimate. I wasn’t going
to kiss them. Now I don’t want to stop.
Taz firmly presses me into the wall. Both men are distinctly taller than me. Every move of Taz’s leg, every one of his
touches, and Commando’s kiss leaves me helpless. The only question in my mind is how Stonewall can stand there and just
watch.
The sounds of my cries exaggerate the moment, throwing me over the edge of surrender as I give into everything the men are
offering. My body writhes against the two of them. I’m no longer able to hold a kiss or any coherency as I fall apart.
Every time I think I can catch my breath, the orgasm digs deeper. It’s stronger than I’ve ever given myself, and at some point,
morphs into bliss, where I exist in perfection.
I’ve lost track of time and space when a single thought makes its way into my brain. Sex is all it’s cracked up to be. At least I
think it will be. I haven’t even had sex yet.
Commando has leaned away. He’s brushing my cheek with his finger. Taz has given me room to breathe. I dip my fingers into
the sides of my bikini bottom and push it down.
“I was going to take you back to my room,” Taz grunts.
“This naughty little slut can’t wait.” Crap. I said that out loud. I called myself a slut. Well, I am at my mother’s wedding
reception, getting orgasms from two of my new stepbrothers while the third one watches… If the shoe fits.
“My naughty little slut is getting ahead of herself,” Taz says, dropping his board shorts as I step out of my bottoms.
Stonewall steps away. He brings both of his hands on top of his head as he paces. Why does that make me want him even
more? He wouldn’t have stayed if he truly thought this was wrong, would he? No, it’s something else. That guarded look I saw
earlier—something’s broken inside of him.
Taz takes my hand and wraps my fingers around his shaft, which had felt large through his suit, but he’s huge. I think about my
vibrator. I feel so full when I’m riding it.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His command is a breathy whisper.
I want to be his naughty slut. Have I not made that clear? As I rub my hand up and down his shaft, trail my fingers over his
slick tip, and spiral my finger through the wetness, I listen for the tiny catches in his breath to learn what he likes. Apparently,
everything.
I’ve never felt so free to explore. Go big or go home. Or in this case… Go big and go home in a few days. I slow-stroke his
shaft, moan, and crane my neck. “I want to be your naughty slut.”
His cock surges in my hand, startling me. My hand flies off, but I make the best of it and bring my fingers to my lips, dragging
my tongue over the saltiness of his pre-cum, locking my eyes with his as I do so. I’m about to drop to my knees and give myself
a full taste of what he has to offer, but he pins me to the wall.
“I had no idea how much I’d enjoy having a stepslut.”
Stepslut? That probably shouldn’t make me happy. It’s degrading. It’s wrong in so many ways. And it whips my insides into a
wanton frenzy. What happens on the island, stays on the island. I need that tattooed on my brain.
Even as I repeat it like a mantra, I know it’s not true. I’m going to hold onto this experience forever. This little stepslut is
already ruined.
He rolls his hips into me. “I’m going to fuck you right here the way a virgin stepslut deserves.”
My sex tingles so hard I almost orgasm on the spot. I throw my arms around his neck. “I’m ready.”
There’s a pause as if he wasn’t expecting me to be good with that. The Peach Bottom Valley version of me worries that I
might overstep, but the wild, island version, affectionately termed stepslut is too sexually charged to care. In fact, being free,
embracing what feels so natural, is the most empowered thing I’ve ever done.
He repositions, cupping his hands below my ass, lifts me, and aligns his cock with my soaking wet entrance. “If you tell me
to stop, I will. Otherwise, it’s time to pop my stepslut’s little cherry.”
“Fuck me,” I say, proud of my shamelessness.
He slides in slowly at first, and I rock my hips to adjust to him. I’ve never been so wet or so stretched. It burns. It feels good.
My world is in chaos. And I’m officially no longer a virgin.
We could stop. That’s the dumbest thought to ever cross my mind. I rock my hips faster, egging him on. He matches my
motion, one of his arms wrapped around my back, protecting me from the hard wall. His muscular body pounds into me from
the front and his cock strips every shred of cherry from my body.
I want to come. I need to come. I want him inside of me forever.
His breaths against my cheek shift to my mouth, offering demanding kisses.
I’m about to lose control.
“I’m going to come,” I say against his lips.
He growls, which speaks to the slut in me, and my fingernails dig into his bare back. His growl intensifies, his cock swells
inside me, and I shatter into a million pieces. My entire consciousness becomes one with him. His seeds pumps into me, filling
me, overflowing. How the hell do I leave this on the island?
 Eleven

Taz

Cheri doesn’t realize that I’m awake. We’re lying face to face, and her head is curled down a little. She’s staring at Stonewall,
who’s sleeping in a chair across the room. He won’t get in bed with us.
I try to breathe in her scent, but it’s so mingled with sex, it takes me a second to parse out the sweet, addictive hints that
belong to her.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest that makes the edge of her dark nipple play peek-a-boo with the edge of the sheet.
I wonder what she’s thinking.
My little stepslut has lived up to her nickname. The last two days, Commando and I have done everything under the sun with
and to Cheri, and it’s been pure freedom. Stonewall is still keeping his distance but is never too far away. Somehow, it doesn’t
feel weird.
Even though he’s always been the strong, silent type, I thought he’d cave in by now. Every time Commando and I give Cheri
an orgasm, he ends up either heading to his room or to the bathroom to take a shower. We all know he is beating off. I still can’t
figure out why he doesn’t just let her take care of that for him.
Commando’s sleeping behind Cheri. His arm is draped over her waist, his fingers on her belly. She’s been so adamant that
what happens on the island stays on the island, but let’s face it, unprotected sex this many times? She could be pregnant.
My brain short-circuits at the thought. Not because I could potentially be tied down with a kid, but because every time I think
about my future, Cheri is in it. She fills me with a sense of freedom. There’s that word again, but the definition keeps morphing.
I’ve always wanted to live life to the fullest. How can I do that if I don’t pursue all avenues, like being a dad?
Stonewall stirs in his chair, his unflinching gaze landing on Cheri. I’ve noted the way Cheri stares at him while we fuck. She
wants him. She never asks. She must sense what we learned years ago: He needs his space.
I shift my hand to Cheri’s pussy and wiggle my finger in her dark curls. “Does my stepslut need breakfast or an orgasm to
start the day?”
“I had too much dessert last night, my stomach’s a little off. But option two sounds grand.”
She keeps her eyes on Stonewall. God, she’s a little tease, shifting one leg over my hip to open herself. The sheet falls away
and Stonewall’s got the best fucking view in the house. I slide my finger onto her clit, watching her nipples bead and her body
shake as I work her into a frenzy.
“You want him to watch that pussy come on my finger.”
“Yes. I’m such a naughty girl. I want to tease him.”
“He may not say it, but he wants you.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to torture him by carrying out sex acts in front of him.”
She’s playing coy. I love it when she does that. I wish it would work; I think Stonewall needs a little Cheri sunshine in his
life. Can we break him before we get back on our flights home today?
“He tortures himself,” I answer. “You’re just making it more bearable.”
“Do you think he’s…” Her breaths become more erratic as she tries to speak. “Do you think he wishes his finger was
touching me?”
“I know he does.”
 “What about his mouth? Do you think he’s ever had his mouth on a pussy before?”
I can’t believe she’s saying these things, but this is why I love my stepslut. Fuck, my hand stills. Love? At least I didn’t say it
out loud. I pretend to reposition, although I don’t really change anything, and get back in motion. “He’s been with women.”
“So he just doesn’t like me?”
“I think he likes you too much.” I lower my voice to be sure she’s the only one who can hear it, even though the words I’m
speaking are true. That’s why he holds back. He’s afraid to love and lose.
Louder, I say, “He doesn’t have to like you to want to stick his dick in you.”
Her pussy clamps on my finger and her body writhes as she cries out. A sharp tap is distinctly out of place. I split my
attention between making sure she’s satisfied and the source of the sound that happens again.
Commando’s still sound asleep. Stonewall hears it though. His head is turned to the sliding glass doors where we’ve failed
to close the curtain.
“Oh shit, cover her,” he says, jumping up, hurriedly making his way to the patio door. Cheri slaps her leg down, squeezing
around my hand. Not sure if that’s because of the orgasm or the distraction.
Commando wasn’t asleep after all. He makes quick work of positioning the sheet over Cheri. I leave my hand in place,
wanting to make sure she gets her full finish, as I angle my head to look over my shoulder.
Fuck. Dad’s standing on the dune outside of our deck.
“Stay down,” I say to Cheri.
Stonewall charges onto the deck, opening the door as little as possible and closing it firmly.
Dad now has his hands on our deck rail as he peers past Stonewall. The glass on our door isn’t too thick and I’m able to
make out the conversation.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Stone skips past explanations of why all of us are in my room, putting the focus on Dad.
“Have you seen Cheri? Her mom’s looking for her and she’s not in her… Oh.” Dad catches on to the fact that we have a
woman in the room. Hopefully that’s all he realizes. I can’t move or Cheri will be exposed, but Commando hops up, adjusts the
sheet at the end of the bed, then proceeds to sit on the edge, further blocking Dad’s view of his new stepdaughter.
Stone asks, “What’s her mom need her for this early?”
“Her mom’s moving in with me and wants to sell their house. Of course, Cheri will be welcome under my roof as my
daughter.” His voice falters.
“Of course,” Stonewall agrees. “Always take care of family.”
Dad cocks his head to the side, shifting his gaze into the room once again, then back at Stonewall. “Tell her to get in touch
with her mom.” He walks away.
Stonewall re-enters and pulls the curtains closed. Cheri jumps up and grabs her phone. “Oh shit. Mom texted three times this
morning. She knows I’m always awake early.”
I set my hand on her back and caress up and down.
“You’re on vacation. She doesn’t know anything.”
Stonewall says. “I don’t know. I think Dad saw her.”
Cheri frowns. “He didn’t say anything.”
Commando explains, “No. He would leave the burden on us, expect us to be honorable.”
“And you are. We had an agreement—what happens on the island…” Cheri pulls her shorts and top on.
Stone’s face is pale. “He doesn’t know that.”
Commando kicks a chair, shoving it across the tile floor with a horrific scraping sound. “He doesn’t need to know anything.”
I glance at Cheri’s exposed flat belly as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. That might not be possible.
 Twelve

Cheri

Baking and decorating cakes isn’t nearly as fun when my tummy’s upset, which is happening a lot lately. I load the piping bag
and methodically add a basketweave pattern to the next dessert.
My time on the island was unmatched, but there’s nothing like the comfort of your own home when you need to heave into the
porcelain throne. I’m keeping it pristine these days since my stomach decides to upend itself every morning and evening.
Thankfully, I’ve only had two incidents at work, but I’m keeping that bathroom pristine as well.
But what I’d thought at first was just the side effect of too many desserts, then airsickness on the flight home, has lasted too
long. Giving delusion a chance, I hoped I’d gotten food poisoning or picked up a bug while traveling. Those things happen.
But with no other symptoms, like fever or diarrhea, which I would not usually look forward to, I’m forced to admit the only
other symptom… tender nipples. Reality is edging out delusion.
This naughty little stepslut failed to follow the mantra: what happens on the island, stays on the island.
That’s now my least favorite saying.
A pregnancy test is waiting for me at home. I chose to put off taking it until after tonight’s roller derby bout.
I’ve kept my new brothers at bay, reminding them that we are completely platonic now, and even limited those interactions.
I’ve swapped tables with another waitress to avoid interacting with them twice.
The other times they came to the diner, I was in the back, baking, and kept myself busy, not bothering to say hi. But today I’m
carpooling with Beatrix to a roller derby bout and she’s early.
“Your brothers just came in.”
Crap. I grab a piping bag and fill it with icing, hurriedly practicing making roses. “That’s nice.”
“Just thought you might want to say hi.”
“They’re just my brothers.”
“Yeah, they’re family.”
I didn’t tell Beatrix about our island tryst, and I keep up the ruse now. I don’t want to go there. “I don’t even know them. I
mean, our parents got married. And other than seeing them in here, I wouldn’t recognize them on the street.”
I give up on the icing piles that look more like white poop than roses, and grab my gear for practice. “Let’s go.”
Beatrix eyes me suspiciously but drops the conversation and follows me out the back door. We have a team meeting an hour
before our bout, then our warmup time.
Avery shows up while we’re practicing a move called, Eating the Baby. I love the irreverence of roller derby, but now I’m
afraid panic sets on my face every time someone says the world baby. All I can think about is the pregnancy test I’m gonna take
later.
Since Avery’s out with the Nine Month Injury, she’s running the swag table.
“You don’t look so good,” Beatrix says. Perhaps my worry about reacting to the word baby is as obvious as I feared.
“I’m fine,” I say in a way that conveys I’m absolutely not fine. I have to skate to the front of the pack to run our move, which
is a welcomed escape.
The second we end up next to each other, she says, “I’m going to be open with you.”
Coach has us regroup to practice making a wall. I try to skate away from Beatrix, but she grabs my waist, ensuring we stay
side by side.
“You haven’t been the same since you got back. Avery pointed it out to me, and she’s right. Are you sure you’re up for the
bout tonight?”
I scowl, even though she’s just watching out for me, and for the team. “I’ve been at practice this week. I earned my spot.”
Candy, a teammate, challenges us from behind, pivoting around the end. Beatrix widens her stance in a Snowplow,
eliminating a legal pass.
We skate another lap and try the move again. She continues, “I don’t question you belonging on the team. I’m worried about
your relationship with your mom. Are you worried her marriage will affect your relationship with her?”
Candy slams into us, hitting me as hard as Beatrix’s comment. I hold tight against Candy’s assault. Not so much against the
verbal one. “I was going to move out anyway. I don’t need my mom. I’m an adult.”
And there goes the verbal diarrhea. And the lies by omission.
“It’s okay to admit you’re afraid. It’s a lot of change at once.” Beatrix keeps pressing.
If only she knew what I was really afraid of.
 Thirteen

Stonewall

I lower my kickstand, hop off my motorcycle, and feel like I’m making a huge mistake heading in to watch Cheri’s derby team
compete.
I’ve been dealing with a load of conflicted feelings since she shined her way into my life. I haven’t told anyone, but I started
going to a psychiatrist. Supposedly it’s cool to take care of your mental health these days, but it feels so shameful not to be able
to handle myself.
Not being able to let Cheri in, even though I wanted to, served as my wake-up call.
If I hadn’t come straight from an appointment, I wouldn’t have come at all, but the doctor is encouraging me to do fun things
and my brothers said this would be fun.
Taz insisted we cheer our sister on at the roller derby bout. The gray concrete walls of the event center where the Hot
Rollers compete are about as welcoming as she’s been since we got home.
I’d thought that keeping my hands off of her would keep me from feeling things. It didn’t. If I’d admitted what I felt and let my
guard down, would it have made a difference?
So far, the therapist is teaching me that I can’t know how alternate versions of the past would play out, and to forgive myself
for things like not being there when Grandma passed away. Grandma often spoke proudly of my military service, and I can
focus on that.
The therapist instructed me to sit with my emotions, name them, feel them in my body, and acknowledge imagery I associate
with them.
Right now, walking through the doors of the event center, paying to cheer my stepsister on, I’m dying to tell her that she’s
changed my life. I’m struggling to name my feeling anything other than love, but my skills are limited. And her orgasm face is
the predominant image.
Is it possible to fail at therapy?
My brothers and I blend into the mix as other members of our motorcycle club arrive. With a few of them hooking up with
Cheri’s teammates, we’ve all grown interested in the sport.
We’re in a muti-use facility and the track is marked on the floor with tape. A cord is under one of the pieces of tape, making
it easier for the skaters to feel if they’ve gone out of bounds.
Climbing the pull-out bleachers, we settle at the top, thinking it will give us the best view. Our sister, AKA Cherry Bomb,
skates around the track in tiny little spandex shorts that cover the beautiful pussy I’ve watched come so many times.
If I’m not willing to commit to her, I don’t have any right to feel jealous over the guys I see watching her.
What good did it do to resist her? I roll my shoulders. Nothing stayed on the island. My brothers and I are a wreck. And
Cheri refusing to talk to us strikes me as nothing more than a façade, indicating that she’s in the same boat. I should know.
Resistance is my go-to move.
The bout started without me even realizing. All I’m doing is staring at her.
Do we all think we can lie to ourselves? If I’m to trust the exercise my therapist gave me, I’m head over heels for the ray of
sunshine now known as my little sister. Her happiness shines through the cracks in my heartwall, lighting up my entire chest
cavity that had gone dark so long ago.
 There is good in the world. She’s living proof. Although she’s fierce on the track, bumping other players, and putting on a
mean face.
Just knowing her has given me hope that I can be a better man, if I learn to enjoy life. I don’t have to suffer just because other
people do. How can I be the best protector and savior on missions if I haven’t taken care of myself? How can I be the best
possible man for my loved ones if I’m withdrawn?
Feelings are swallowing me up like quicksand. I stand, prepared to head outside, but as the bleachers creak under me on my
way down, I’m reminded of safety and breaking points. Derby girls get hurt. I sit on the front row. My elbows rest on my thighs.
My fists ball in front of my mouth. I’m closer to her.
I’m surprised that I can breathe again. Is that all I needed? Closeness?
Should I have gotten it out of my system on the island? Would it have helped? Now that we’re home, my brothers don’t seem
to be faring any better. Commando and Taz squeeze onto the front row with me.
“This is better than up top,” Taz says. “How are you guys dealing with this?”
I swear her cheeks are rosier and her tits fuller every time I see her.
While we all stare straight ahead, Commando says, “We promised not to talk about it.”
We fall silent, sitting side by side, worlds apart, yet bound by experiences that have changed my life forever. It reminds me
of my first rescue mission, storming a secret prison, taking down the enemy, and freeing the prisoners of war. It changed me.
Freeing women and children laid the foundation for the wall I’ve kept my heart behind.
But Cheri… Her happiness shines right over my wall and through the cracks.
When she catches me staring at her, I cast my eyes down quickly and flip through the program. There she is on the page…
complete with elbow and knee pads… Cherry Bomb. I can’t escape the way I feel when I look at her.
My therapist would point out this is the perfect time to do the exercise. “I’m in love with her.”
“What?” Commando says, angling his face toward me.
Fuck! I said it out loud.
Based on his and Taz’s expressions, they both heard exactly what I said. Time to do more than sit and label feelings. I nod
slowly and exaggeratedly. “I’m going to tell her.”
“You didn’t even—”
“Shhh.” I hold up a finger and cut Taz off. “Not here.”
Telling my brothers, even accidentally, a weight has been lifted. The problem is that I’m not sure if it’s being held over my
head. For now, I appreciate the lightness in my chest.
I smile. It feels weird. I close the program and watch the skaters. Damn, they get rough. I think of how sweet and innocent
Cheri is off the track. The lightness of her laughter. Her sassiness when she crawled over the dune looking for her panties and
let me keep them in my pocket.
She’s the exact opposite of me, even with the help of therapy. I curse myself for wanting something with her. She deserves a
man who can cater to her lightness.
I have to take some deep breaths to calm myself when she gets elbowed. And when she swings those sweet hips wide to
bump another skater, I catch the flash of determination in her eyes.
Next thing I know, she catches an elbow in the face and falls backward. I’ve lost control of my body. I’m off the bench. I
don’t feel my feet on the ground as I run to her, scooping her into my arms.
“Are you okay, sweetness?” I ask, when she’s cradled against my chest. She feels so fucking perfect there, despite her knee
pad cutting into my arm, her elbow pad into my chest, and her askew helmet.
But what I mostly notice is the way she stares up at me with a recognition that there’s something more. We’ve locked eyes
before and toyed with this feeling, but always in private.
Now, we’re in public.
“You should put me down,” she says cautiously.
“I need to take you home.” I might be losing it. I swear that she smells different. It’s not the sweat. She and my brothers
heated things up plenty of times.
“We can’t do this.”
“Cheri—” A sharp elbow into my gut is all it takes to enforce her point. I’m pulled back to the moment. She practically
jumps out of my arms. I hold onto her waist, steadying her on the skates.
She raises her fists and triumphantly escapes back onto the track. The crowd goes wild.
I’m glad that she’s okay, too, but I can’t bear the thought of everyone staring at her.
Taking a walk of shame back to the stands, I try to label the rejection as part of the show. Quicksand lures me deeper with
each step. The muck fills in the cracks in the wall around my heart. She deserves more than I can offer.
Detouring to the exit, I rush outside. I don’t ever want that vulnerability again. Letting her in hurt; it showed me how weak I
can be. I can’t do my job if I’m worried about her. How could I have been so fucking dense?
The parking lot beside the stadium is a sad and lonely place. The occasional roar of the crowd tears at my heart. If I’m going
to go on, I have to remind myself how to block everything.
I head back inside, grab a bucket of popcorn from the concession stand, and return to the front row with my brothers. We
watch the bout in silence for several minutes until Commando says, “We’re going to talk to her afterward.”
“I misspoke earlier. Do it without me.”
“You fucking inspired us.”
“Go for it.” My words are terse and definitive. “She gut-punched me, and not just figuratively. The girl knows how to throw
an elbow.”
Taz scoffs. “What did you expect after scooping her up like that in front of everyone?”
He’s right, but so am I. There’s no way I can leave her at home and focus on a mission.
“We just need to talk to her in private,” Commando says, as if that will solve everything.
I let the conversation drop off, but when the bout’s over, Taz rushes to her. “We need a minute with you.”
She glances from one of us to the next. She looks like she’s going to say no, but she doesn’t. “I have to change. Meet me by
that door.”
We hang out where she points, watching the skaters pair up with family and friends. It strikes me how different they all are
now that the bout is over.
As one group after another files out, it becomes more and more obvious we’ve been stood up.
Avery, the pregnant waitress from the diner, is packing up the swag table. She calls over to us, “Waiting on Cheri?”
Commando answers, “She said to meet her here. Can you see if she’s still in the locker room?”
Avery motions at the nearly empty space. Three people are peeling the boundary tape off the floor and rolling the cord onto a
spool. If I was allowing myself to feel, I’d be impressed with the system of taping a cord to the floor to establish the track.
Keeps the whole thing mobile. But I’m not allowing any feelings. It would be too risky.
She says, “You can check, just call out before you go in.”
I head to the exit while Commando carries out the formality. I’ve got my bike revved and am rolling out when he and Taz
come out, alone.
 Fourteen

Cheri

The plus sign on the first pregnancy test was faintly visible if I squinted just right. Not what I’d consider a definitive answer
even though the information sheet said that the darkness of the vertical line doesn’t matter.
But two days later, in a torrential downpour, I grab another test on my way home from work. Should I take a hint from the
universe that a storm is unleashing in my life?
The run into and out of the store is enough to leave me drenched, reminding me of the day I arrived at the island resort. If not
for me trying to dry my clothes, Stonewall wouldn’t have had the chance to steal my panties. What irony that he stopped there.
At home, I strip out of my wet clothes, toss them on the bathroom counter, and take the test stick out of the package. I stare at
my flat, naked belly, finding it hard to believe that it likely contains a more permanent storm than the one outside.
Minutes after peeing on the stick, I’m staring at the bright and clear plus sign, no squinting required, and I long for the
security offered by Stonewall’s arms. If I’m honest, I’m thrilled that he finally decided to touch me. Possibly a precursor to
admitting feelings? I’m not so thrilled that he did it in the middle of my bout, and in front of everybody.
My phone buzzes. The guys are probably mad that I ditched them. I’ll own what a dick move that was, but they didn’t leave
me any choice, showing up where they weren’t invited, and Stonewall nearly causing a scene. I toss the stick in the trash and
check the text message.
Beatrix: At the hospital. Avery’s in labor.
What a week. Stonewall finally cracks. I confirm the pregnancy. Avery’s having her baby. Shit’s getting real.
I dry off and get dressed, finding it humorous that I’ll probably end up drenched again, but I want to be there for her. I also
put on my lucky panties, just in case she needs a little extra help.
As I get ready, I can’t help but think about my own pregnancy. How difficult will it be to keep that situation from getting
weird since the baby daddy is also one of my stepbrothers? I won’t let anyone pressure me or Commando or Taz into having a
relationship just because of the baby. Nobody’s getting trapped.
If they’re not interested, I can do the single-mom thing with Avery. It’s supposed to be a happy thought but it’s tinged with
sadness. Does that mean I want a relationship with the dad?
Since things are getting real, I have to be real with myself. As I drive to the hospital, I consider that I wouldn’t have had
unprotected sex with them if they hadn’t sparked something in me. It’s too elusive to explain, but I feel something more than
brotherly love for them. I’m just not sure it’s an eternity level of more.
I love this baby so much already. Avery’s dedication to getting her life in order and avoiding her ex makes sense now. The
mama bear instinct kicks in quickly.
I get to the hospital and Avery’s brothers are in the waiting room, even more wet than me. They look like they played in the
rain. Mammoth says, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not exactly.”
He looks confused by my non-committal answer. Not a ghost, just a maternity ward—a little close to home for me suddenly.
One of the other brothers turns his attention to his phone.
I clarify, “No ghosts, just a lot on my mind.”
“Anything we can help you with?” Mammoth is the nicest guy, but I’m not about to share that one of his fellow MC members
is a baby daddy and doesn’t know it.
I shake my head. “Can I go see Avery?”
He nods. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
I find Avery’s room and Beatrix is on the phone. “I won’t let her go anywhere.”
Avery swats Beatrix, who fumbles the phone. I rush to Avery, who clearly isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Are you
having a contraction? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Both women act way too controlled all of a sudden. Beatrix says, “I’m just excited you’re here.”
Avery speaks at the same time. “I’m fine right now. It will be obvious when a contraction starts.”
We make small talk. Avery’s contractions are a wake-up call for me. I hate seeing my friend in pain, but the promise of
getting to meet her baby, of seeing what my future holds, fills me with excitement.
“What’s on your mind, why are you so fidgety?” Beatrix asks.
I need to tell someone, and I figure Beatrix and Avery are as good of confidants as any. If anyone will understand, they will.
“Nobody knows, so you have to keep this a secret.”
They both agree, so I take a deep breath and continue.
“I’m pregnant and we’ll have to do DNA testing to figure out if Commando or Taz is the father.”
Avery grimaces and when I turn my attention to Beatrix, she’s staring at my still-flat belly.
“This is starting to seem contagious within our roller derby team.” Beatrix steps away from us and holds her hand up
defensively before returning to Avery’s bedside. “Just kidding. Maybe they won’t care who the father is. They’ll both want to
be in your life.”
“We were all pretty clear that we didn’t want strings attached. Someone will be happy to be off the hook.” I shrug, not
wanting to make this awkward in front of Avery. Her baby daddy is into dangerous stuff and she made a conscious choice to
protect her child from him.
Avery squeezes my hand. “Worst-case scenario, at least we’ve got each other.”
Not for the first time, I’m blown away by her strength. “How have you kept it together, Avery? I’m terrified. I’ve barely
learned to support myself, and now I’m going to have to take care of another human. What if I can’t do it?”
“You’ve been paying rent to your mom, covering all of your own bills, and you know how to cook and clean. You’ll be fine.”
Her logic overshadows my panic. I know she’s right. Financially, I’m already making ends meet. I have basic domestic
survival skills. But somehow, her platitude offers no comfort.
There’s a knock on the open door and Commando, Stonewall, and Taz file in. They stand beside each other, just inside the
doorway. Am I the only one who thinks they’ve made a blockade, so I can’t escape?
They’re just here to see… Wait? Why would they come see their friend’s little sister give birth?
Their expressions tell me this is more than a congratulatory visit. I think back to Beatrix’s words when I arrived. I won’t let
her go anywhere. She meant me, not Avery.
“What’s going on?” I glare at Beatrix, not wanting to disturb Avery in her rest between contractions.
“The guys say you haven’t been returning their messages, and you ditched them after the bout.”
“So?”
“Cheri, we all know,” Commando says.
My body turns in slow motion to face him. I grab the hem of my shirt to stop my hands from going to my belly. “We all know
what?”
“Let’s talk in private.” Commando steps closer and extends a hand.
I reach for Beatrix instead. She takes my hand, pats it, and says, “Go.”
She’s peeling my fingers from hers when Avery gets another contraction. I’m such a terrible friend. I release Beatrix so she
can resume the support-partner role.
The least I can do is get the guys out.
I turn to my friends. “I’ll be right back.”
They barely acknowledge me. Beatrix continues talking Avery through the contraction. They don’t need me, and my mess
isn’t helping anything. Whatever caused Taz, Commando, and Stonewall to show up here, I need to get this over with and find
out what they think they know.
They can’t possibly know I’m pregnant, can they?
I allow the trio to guide me down the hall and we end up in a supply closet. I guess it’s the most privacy I can expect in a
hospital. When the door closes behind us, Taz breaks the ice. “I guess there’s no better place for this conversation than the
maternity ward.”
 Fifteen

Taz

I reach into my jacket pocket where I have a pregnancy test. My brothers and I decided it would be a good way to show her we
aren’t afraid of a positive result. And we also don’t want to play any games, like she’s been doing by avoiding us.
I hand her the package. “We want to know.”
She stares at the box. I wait. Denial can be huge.
“Have you taken one already?” Commando asks.
She nods slowly, and whispers, “It was positive. One of you is going to be a father.”
I hope it’s me, but I can see Commando hopes the same thing, so I don’t say a word, other than to offer unwavering support.
“We’re here for you, Cheri.” I extend my arms, and she steps into my embrace, looking up at me.
“How did you know?”
“Mostly I just sensed it. I guess there are some things you just know, like I know that I love you, Cheri.”
She looks skeptical of my declaration. “We had amazing sex, but we barely know each other. How can you love me?”
Commando speaks for both of us when he says, “It was confusing when I came into the diner that day and Avery played
matchmaker. Even more confusing when we found out you’re our stepsister. And there’s the seventeen-year age gap. And you
being adamant about not having a relationship with us. But we don’t want what happens on the island to stay on the island. We
want a life with you.”
“You can’t know that,” she argues.
I add, “You don’t get to say what we can and can’t know. I’ve been with other women, not that I want to think about them
right now, but I know how they made me feel. It’s why I’m still single. I’ve never once felt like I do with you.”
My brothers and I have each other’s back, for a common cause: to make her ours, to make it clear that she belongs to us, to
all of us.
Even Stonewall speaks up. “Love is the only explanation for why I couldn’t contain myself during your derby bout. I need
you, Cheri, and I’m sorry I held back. I had to get my shit together, but I can admit that now. I’m still working on it, but that’s
because of you. You make me want more out of life.”
Commando says, “Whether you want us or not, please tell us we’re Daddies. Say it again, for real.”
She’s wide-eyed as she gulps and nods. “Well, one of you is. I really thought I couldn’t get pregnant.”
I say, “My sweet, innocent little stepslut, we coated you inside and out with baby batter. What did you expect would
happen?” Before she can take offense or misunderstand my intent, I continue. “Having a baby with you will be the best thing
that’s ever happened to me, to any of us.” I don’t mind speaking for my brothers in this case, because I know they agree.
She nibbles on her lower lip. “Full disclosure… I would never have unprotected sex with someone I didn’t think I could be
forever bound to.”
It’s her first admission that doesn’t hold resistance. Happiness blasts through me.
“You mean that?” I bend to kiss her lips tenderly. When I pull away, I say, “Even if the baby’s not mine, I want you in my life
forever. And I’m damn sure going to keep trying to give you a baby.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Commando tucks a finger under her chin and angles her head up to him. “Say you’ll move in with us. We’re here for you.
We’re all going to start our military out-processing as soon as our leave is over.”
She gasps. To be honest, I’m also surprised my brothers and I could make that decision, but we talked about it before we
came.
“You don’t have to give up your jobs for me! I don’t want you to regret any of this.”
Stonewall says, “The only thing I regret is that there’s no chance you’re pregnant with my baby.”
I add, “We’re a package deal. We would destroy each other if you only chose one or two.”
She nods slowly, studying the three of us. “So you all are okay with this, a relationship between the four of us?”
“We do everything together, even share our little stepslut.”
Cheri turns to Stonewall. “Really?”
“I’ve already waited too long,” Stonewall declares, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms around his neck,
and their lips meet. He lifts her a little higher and reaches underneath her ass to unbutton his pants. “I’m going to take you right
now.”
“What if someone walks in?”
Commando tests the door. “There’s not a lock, but I’ll hold the handle.”
I step behind my stepslut, eager to share her with Stonewall for the first time. I tuck my fingers into her panties and pull them
to the side, giving my fingers ample contact to rub through her wetness. “Want me to hold these out of the way?”
“Don’t rip them, they’re my lucky pair.”
“Lucky for us.” I nuzzle my lips against her neck, rub my free hand over her arm, down her body, and settle on her clit while
Stonewall sinks his cock into her
Cheri says, “We need to make this fast, I want to be there for Avery.”
“Trust me, sweetness, I’m not going to last long in your perfect pussy.”
I flick my stepslut’s clit while my brother fucks her. We’re merciless, driving her cries to a peak in under a minute. I love
making her come and hope I can do it at least twice before Stone climaxes, but I’m all too familiar with how tightly her pussy
milks a cock.
Sure enough, when her body spams, her breaths fall ragged, and bliss takes over, Stone doesn’t stand a chance. He roars out
his release, ensuring the four of us are in this together.
 Sixteen

Cheri

After my storage-room quickie, bonding me forever to my stepbrothers, because they now know I’m carrying a baby that
belongs to one of them, Beatrix and I help Avery through her labor while the guys wait in the lobby. I can’t believe I have three
guys to myself and Avery has none.
When I have the honor of heading to the waiting room to make the announcement, Mammoth and Avery’s other two brothers
leap up. They’re protective of their little sister, which brings joy to my heart, knowing none of us will ever let her feel alone.
And it’s unstated, but we’ll protect her and the baby from her ex, should he ever resurface.
“Is everything okay?” Mammoth asks, anxiously.
“Avery did great,” I quickly reassure him, “and she’s now a mama to a beautiful baby girl.”
“And Beatrix?” It’s an odd question for Mammoth to ask, but I’ve noticed him giving her a little more attention than a guy
normally gives his little sister’s best friend.
“She’s going to be the best Auntie ever.” I give him a wink.
He stares at me for a second, then smirks. “You think so?”
“I hope we get to find out.”
Between Avery’s brothers and mine, the waiting room is pretty full of bikers. I say, “Come on. You can meet the baby now.”
Truth be told, I’m just eager to hold the little one again, to feel the baby in my arms, and to see how my brothers react to an
infant. There’s still a tiny bit of worry inside of me that they’ll wig out when there’s an actual crying, pooping human dependent
on us.
When we enter the room, I step close to Avery and ask, “May I?”
She hands the little pink bundle to me.
“You look so fucking beautiful holding a baby,” Taz says.
Stonewall steps in front of me and places his giant hand behind the baby’s head. “It’s so tiny.”
“Considering that Avery had to squeeze this out of her body, I think she would beg to differ.”
He grimaces. “Fair enough. I can’t wait until you’re holding ours.”
Ours. My heart melts. There’s no chance the baby I’m pregnant with belongs to Stonewall, but he’s all in.
He wraps his arms around me, gently sandwiching the baby between us, and our two brothers flank us on either side.
We’re going to be okay.
 Epilogue

Cheri

“Only an apron? You need what I have in my pocket.” Stone says as he enters the kitchen. I’m not wearing anything but an
apron, which allows him to rub his hand over my bare ass.
“I need to get the cake in the oven, not play with your pockets.” I’m certain he wants me to find out that he has a boner. Not
helpful right now.
We don’t have a lot of time before our parents show up for our big reveal. We’re going to tell them everything, or almost
everything, today.
As big as my belly’s gotten in the last few months, we can’t hold off much longer. And they have to be suspicious of why all
three brothers out-processed from the military. The timing for them to have to decide if they were going to re-up couldn’t have
been better.
He says, “I presume you’re going to get dressed before our parents arrive. I have useful.”
“Really?” I reach a hand backward and he helps me get it in his pocket. Silky fabric greets my fingers. I pull it out and
dangle the new panties to the side. They have a special section for a growing belly. Cute. I love that he’s coming to grips with
his mental struggles and can have fun with the memory of our first encounter.
“Thank you. I love them, but I don’t have anywhere to put them.” I reach backward, letting him return them to his pocket,
enjoying the little trip down memory lane.
“I don’t see any cherries.” Stonewall kisses my neck as he peeks over my shoulder while I resume mixing the cake batter.
“It’s not like all of the recipes I make have to contain cherries,” I huff, rolling my eyes.
“Really? The baker whose signature is cherries doesn’t have to include cherries?”
“It seems I’ve branched out.”
He takes my hand, dips my fingers into the chocolate batter, then licks them clean. “I’m not gonna complain if it tastes like
this. What’s it called?”
“Better Than Sex Cake…”
“Ouch.” He laughs then says, “You guys better come in here.”
“What’s up?” Commando enters and Taz follows.
“Our sweet little cherry has found a new type of desert to specialize in.”
Taz takes the bait. “Yeah? What is it?”
They move closer, looking into my stainless-steel mixing bowl. Stone prompts me, “Tell them.”
I return to mixing and as deadpan as possible, say, “It’s called Better Than Sex Cake.”
A sharp slap lands on my ass. I startle, and the spoon skitters across the counter, flinging batter. I grin at Commando. “You
should have warned me you were going to do that.”
Taz drags a finger through the stray batter and tastes it. “You should have warned us that our sex wasn’t good enough.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t good enough.”
“If there’s something better than sex, we’re not getting it right.”
I grab a new spoon. “It won’t be better than sex if you keep messing me up.”
“Challenge accepted.” Stonewall steps directly behind me. He drags the tie of my apron over my bare ass, making me shiver.
He lets go and by the sounds, he’s unfastening his zipper, then shucking his pants down.
Taz picks up the spoon I lost hold of and moves closer. I don’t know what he plans to do, so I say, “You need to wash that.”
He licks the spoon clean then taps his hand. “Don’t need to wash it for what I’m going to do.”
He smacks my ass with it. I’m ready this time.
Stonewall shoves him away. “Get that thing out of here before you do some damage.”
I say, “If you distract me, I won’t get the cake made.”
Commando jokes, “Looks like we won’t be having cake, then. I’m going to rail you right here, right now.”
“You have all of the ingredients out. Where’s the recipe?” Taz says.
“On my phone.”
Commando strips, his erection standing tall, then points to the floor. “On your knees.”
“What do you think?” I look to Stonewall.
“As long as he means that I’ll fuck from behind while you take his cock, I’m in. Taz can finish the cake.”
Works for me. My growing belly doesn’t get in the way like that.
Taz reaches around, slapping me on the ass with the spatula one more time. Stonewall grabs it from him and throws it across
the room. “I told you to keep that away from my dick.”
Taz smirks then grabs my phone. Is he really going to finish the cake?
I drop to my knees, then onto all fours. Stonewall fills my pussy with his thick shaft from behind, his hands firmly gripping
my hips as Commando and I lock eyes. I’ll never get tired of how hungry they look when they want me. They seem insatiable,
but they’re always satisfied when we finish, at least for a few minutes.
Commando taps his cock on my lips and lets me swirl my tongue around the tip.
“Hold on—” Taz cuts into our moment, and a blob of whipped topping promptly lands on Commando’s shaft.
“What the—?” Commando starts to object, but my tongue lapping at the sweetness shuts him up. I make a show of dragging
my tongue all over Commando’s cock, slurping loudly from every angle.
Stonewall laughs as he slowly pistons behind me. I’m sure I have the white cream on my face but that’s not all I’m gonna
have on my face before this is over.
Commando fists my hair, guiding my head onto his shaft. He and I keep eye contact until he shifts his gaze to our brother so
they can sync up, maximizing their use of me, their little stepslut.
I fucking love being full of them; their cocks, their love, and their baby.
They’re speeding up. My breaths escalate, and suddenly, something cool lands on my lower back. In my periphery, Taz has
abandoned the recipe, is on his knees beside me, lapping what I assume is whipped topping off my skin.
He pauses his licking to say, “There’s no way I can put a cake together while they’re pounding you.”
The cake will have to wait. I’m losing track of myself, drawing dangerously close to release. Stonewall’s cock stretches me.
He’s getting close to release too. Commando’s hitting the back of my throat and his eyes have fallen shut. I’m expecting him to
feed me his cum any second.
All I have to do is exist… and surrender. I’m almost there. My body tingles. My focus is shot. We’re one beautiful mix of
naked bodies. My orgasm teeters on the edge.
Then warmth splats against my side.
Taz blows his load and that knocks me over the edge. I gag on Commando’s shaft as my mouth fills with his salty release. I
swallow the best I can, but the liquid drools down my chin. I can’t coordinate my body as wave after wave of pleasure rocks
me.
Stonewall’s pace slows and he says, “I love hearing you choke on cum, little stepslut.” Then he unloads inside of my pussy.
We’re a sticky, sweaty mess, all in need of a shower and probably a nap, but there’s no time to linger. Our parents will be
here in fifteen minutes.
In a group effort, we manage to salvage the cake and get cleaned up. We’re good together like that.
As soon as our parents arrive, my mom enters and heads straight to the kitchen, scanning, then turning the oven light on so she
can peek in. “I can always count on you to make something yummy. What is it today?”
“A chocolate cake.” I simplify the answer.
“Chocolate cherry?”
“No cherries in this one.”
She turns to me and pauses. “It doesn’t hurt to try new things. I’m proud of you.”
I sense that she knows why I live with my brothers, which makes that part of our reveal seem less ominous. The other part
still has my heart beating quickly.
I guide her to the living room where the guys have already sat their father down. Mom sits beside him, and he steals a kiss.
It’s good to see her this happy.
My predetermined seat is between Commando and Stonewall. Taz wanted to stand. He stops behind me and says, “Dad,
Mom, we have something we need to tell you.”
 My mom’s eyes light up and she gives me a wink.
He continues, “Cheri and the three of us are in a relationship… and we’d like your blessing.”
The room is silent and my mom looks like she’s about to bust.
Finally, their dad says, “It’s about time you admitted it.”
Mom adds, “We figured that’s why you were so serious when you asked us to come over. We were going to act offended…”
My stepdad resumes, “But, well, that didn’t work. We’re too happy for you.”
“You knew?” Stonewall asks.
He looks at Mom, then back at Stone. “That day on the island, when I was trying to get your attention by throwing pebbles at
your window…”
We wait.
“You boys were all in one room, despite insisting that you all have separate rooms… and she was in your bed.”
“There’s no way you saw her,” Commando says.
Their dad points at my bare feet. “I’ve never seen anyone else paint their toenails white with a cherry on each big toe. Her
foot was visible.”
Mom squeezes his hand. “We figured you needed time to explore. If it became something, we would be here for you. If it
didn’t, we didn’t want you to feel any pressure.”
He adds, “But we can’t be happier.”
“Oh my god, seriously, Mom? Why didn’t you say something?” I’m dumbfounded.
“We didn’t think it was our place. But since you seem to think I should have…” She looks at her husband and grins. “When
are you going to tell us the due date?”
“What? No! You can’t know that.”
“Oh, Cheri…” Her fake French accent is back. “You’ve never been so radiant. It’s just a guess. I wouldn’t want to overstep.”
Commando says, “They already know, apparently, so let’s make this official. Yes, we’re having a baby.”
Mom tugs her hand from my stepdad’s, then holds it out expectantly. “That’s twenty dollars.”
My brothers and I stare in confusion.
Taz moves to the end of the couch. “Twenty dollars for what?”
“We made a bet.”
“On whether I was pregnant or not?”
Mom smiles. “You’ll always be my little girl, and now I’m happy you’ll experience that same joy.”
I can’t believe her. Apparently, neither can my brothers. I glance from one to the next and we break out in laughter.
Stonewall says, “We’ll take good care of both of them.”
“And that means taking care of yourself,” I say, leaning to kiss him.
He surprises me by pulling me onto his lap and wrapping his arms around me. “I love you. I’ll always be here for you.”
“I love you too,” I say.
Commando and Taz aren’t going to be left out as they join in. I faintly hear my mom say, “Guess we’ll have cake next time.
We’ll see ourselves out.”
I’m overcome with happiness that we are finally free to be ourselves and have the support of our family. I’ve got big changes
coming up, not being able to continue with the Hot Rollers, and not needing to work.
I’ve realized the most important thing of all. I don’t have to live on my own to take care of myself. Sometimes taking care of
yourself means relying on the ones you love.
And we live happily ever after!
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 More from Sylvie Haas

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 About the Author

Why Choose one hero when you deserve them all!

Sylvie Haas obsesses over dirty-talking heroes who fall hard and fast for the woman of their dreams.
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oath in heaven. He calmly and bravely heard the voice of doubt and
fear all around him; but he had an oath in heaven, and there was not
power enough on earth to make this honest boatman,
backwoodsman, and broad-handed splitter of rails evade or violate
that sacred oath. He had not been schooled in the ethics of slavery;
his plain life had favored his love of truth. He had not been taught
that treason and perjury were the proof of honor and honesty. His
moral training was against his saying one thing when he meant
another. The trust which Abraham Lincoln had in himself and in the
people was surprising and grand, but it was also enlightened and
well-founded. He knew the American people better than they knew
themselves, and his truth was based upon this knowledge.
Fellow citizens, the fourteenth day of April, 1865, of which this is
the eleventh anniversary, is now and will ever remain a memorable
day in the annals of this republic. It was on the evening of this day,
while a fierce and sanguinary rebellion was in the last stages of its
desolating power; while its armies were broken and scattered before
the invincible armies of Grant and Sherman; while a great nation,
torn and rent by war, was already beginning to raise to the skies loud
anthems of joy at the dawn of peace, it was startled, amazed, and
overwhelmed by the crowning crime of slavery—the assassination of
Abraham Lincoln. It was a new crime, a pure act of malice. No
purpose of the rebellion was to be served by it. It was the simple
gratification of a hell-black spirit of revenge. But it has done good
after all. It has filled the country with a deeper abhorrence of slavery
and a deeper love for the great liberator.
Had Abraham Lincoln died from any of the numerous ills to
which flesh is heir; had he reached that good old age of which his
vigorous constitution and his temperate habits gave promise; had he
been permitted to see the end of his great work; had the solemn
curtain of death come down but gradually—we should still have been
smitten with a heavy grief, and treasured his name lovingly. But
dying as he did die, by the red hand of violence, killed, assassinated,
taken off without warning, not because of personal hate—for no man
who knew Abraham Lincoln could hate him—but because of his
fidelity to union and liberty, he is doubly dear to us, and his memory
will be precious forever.
Fellow citizens, I end as I begun, with congratulations. We have
done a good work for our race to-day. In doing honor to the memory
of our friend and liberator, we have been doing highest honors to
ourselves and those who come after us; we have been fastening
ourselves to a name and fame imperishable and immortal; we have
also been defending ourselves from a blighting scandal. When now it
shall be said that the colored man is soulless, that he has no
appreciation of benefits or benefactors; when the foul reproach of
ingratitude is hurled at us, and it is attempted to scourge us beyond
the range of human brotherhood, we may calmly point to the
monument we have this day erected to the memory of Abraham
Lincoln.

west india emancipation.

Extract from a speech delivered by Frederick Douglass in Elmira,
N. Y., August 1, 1880, at a great meeting of colored people, met to
celebrate West India emancipation, and where he was received with
marked respect and approval by the president of the day and the
immense crowd there assembled. It is placed in this book partly as a
grateful tribute to the noble transatlantic men and women through
whose unwearied exertions the system of negro slavery was finally
abolished in all the British Isles.
 A. Lincoln
Mr. President:—I thank you very sincerely for this cordial
greeting. I hear in your speech something like a welcome home after
a long absence. More years of my life and labors have been spent in
this than in any other State of the Union. Anywhere within a hundred
miles of the goodly city of Rochester, I feel myself at home and
among friends. Within that circumference, there resides a people
which have no superiors in point of enlightenment, liberality, and
civilization. Allow me to thank you also, for your generous words of
sympathy and approval. In respect to this important support to a
public man, I have been unusually fortunate. My forty years of work
in the cause of the oppressed and enslaved, has been well noted,
well appreciated, and well rewarded. All classes and colors of men,
at home and abroad, have in this way assisted in holding up my
hands. Looking back through these long years of toil and conflict,
during which I have had blows to take as well as blows to give, and
have sometimes received wounds and bruises, both in body and in
mind, my only regret is that I have been enabled to do so little to lift
up and strengthen our long enslaved and still oppressed people. My
apology for these remarks personal to myself, is in the fact that I am
now standing mainly in the presence of a new generation. Most of
the men with whom I lived and labored in the early years of the
abolition movement, have passed beyond the borders of this life.
Scarcely any of the colored men who advocated our cause, and who
started when I did, are now numbered among the living, and I begin
to feel somewhat lonely. But while I have the sympathy and approval
of men and women like these before me, I shall give with joy my
latest breath in support of your claim to justice, liberty, and equality
among men. The day we celebrate is preëminently the colored
man’s day. The great event by which it is distinguished, and by which
it will forever be distinguished from all other days of the year, has
justly claimed thoughtful attention among statesmen and social
reformers throughout the world. While to them it is a luminous point
in human history, and worthy of thought in the colored man, it
addresses not merely the intelligence, but the feeling. The
emancipation of our brothers in the West Indies comes home to us
and stirs our hearts and fills our souls with those grateful sentiments
which link mankind in a common brotherhood.
In the history of the American conflict with slavery, the day we
celebrate has played an important part. Emancipation in the West
Indies was the first bright star in a stormy sky; the first smile after a
long providential frown; the first ray of hope; the first tangible fact
demonstrating the possibility of a peaceable transition from slavery
to freedom of the negro race. Whoever else may forget or slight the
claims of this day, it can never be other to us than memorable and
glorious. The story of it shall be brief and soon told. Six-and-forty
years ago, on the day we now celebrate, there went forth over the
blue waters of the Carribean sea a great message from the British
throne, hailed with startling shouts of joy and thrilling songs of praise.
That message liberated, set free, and brought within the pale of
civilization eight hundred thousand people, who, till then, had been
esteemed as beasts of burden. How vast, sudden, and startling was
this transformation! In one moment, a mere tick of a watch, the
twinkle of an eye, the glance of the morning sun, saw a bondage
which had resisted the humanity of ages, defied earth and heaven,
instantly ended; saw the slave-whip burnt to ashes; saw the slave’s
chains melted; saw his fetters broken, and the irresponsible power of
the slave-master over his victim forever destroyed.
I have been told by eye-witnesses of the scene, that, in the first
moment of it, the emancipated hesitated to accept it for what it was.
They did not know whether to receive it as a reality, a dream, or a
vision of the fancy.
No wonder they were thus amazed, and doubtful, after their
terrible years of darkness and sorrow, which seemed to have no end.
Like much other good news, it was thought too good to be true. But
the silence and hesitation they observed was only momentary. When
fully assured the good tidings which had come across the sea to
them, were not only good but true; that they were indeed no longer
slaves, but free; that the lash of the slave-driver was no longer in the
air, but buried in the earth; that their limbs were no longer chained,
but subject to their own will, the manifestations of their joy and
gratitude knew no bounds, and sought expression in the loudest and
wildest possible forms. They ran about, they danced, they sang, they
gazed into the blue sky, bounded into the air, kneeled, prayed,
shouted, rolled upon the ground, embraced each other. They
laughed and wept for joy. Those who witnessed the scene say they
never saw anything like it before.
We are sometimes asked why we American citizens annually
celebrate West India emancipation when we might celebrate
American emancipation. Why go abroad, say they, when we might
as well stay at home?
 The answer is easily given. Human liberty excludes all idea of
home and abroad. It is universal and spurns localization.

“When a deed is done for freedom,

Through the broad earth’s aching breast
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic,
Trembling on from East to West.”

It is bounded by no geographical lines and knows no national

limitations. Like the glorious sun of the heavens, its light shines for
all. But besides this general consideration, this boundless power and
glory of liberty, West India Emancipation has claims upon us as an
event in this nineteenth century in which we live, for rich as this
century is in moral and material achievements, in progress and
civilization, it can claim nothing for itself greater and grander than
this act of West India Emancipation.
Whether we consider the matter or the manner of it, the tree or
its fruit, it is noteworthy, memorable, and sublime. Especially is the
manner of its accomplishment worthy of consideration. Its best
lesson to the world, its most encouraging word to all who toil and
trust in the cause of justice and liberty, to all who oppose oppression
and slavery, is a word of sublime faith and courage—faith in the truth
and courage in the expression.
Great and valuable concessions have in different ages been
made to the liberties of mankind. They have, however, come not at
the command of reason and persuasion, but by the sharp and
terrible edge of the sword. To this rule West India Emancipation is a
splendid exception. It came, not by the sword, but by the word; not
by the brute force of numbers, but by the still small voice of truth; not
by barricades, bayonets, and bloody revolution, but by peaceful
agitation; not by divine interference, but by the exercise of simple,
human reason and feeling. I repeat, that, in this peculiarity, we have
what is most valuable to the human race generally.
 It is a revelation of a power inherent in human society. It shows
what can be done against wrong in the world, without the aid of
armies on the earth or of angels in the sky. It shows that men have in
their own hands the peaceful means of putting all their moral and
political enemies under their feet, and of making this world a healthy
and happy dwelling-place, if they will faithfully and courageously use
them.
The world needed just such a revelation of the power of
conscience and of human brotherhood, one that overleaped the
accident of color and of race, and set at naught the whisperings of
prejudice. The friends of freedom in England saw in the negro a
man, a moral and responsible being. Having settled this in their own
minds, they, in the name of humanity, denounced the crime of his
enslavement. It was the faithful, persistent, and enduring enthusiasm
of Thomas Clarkson, William Wilberforce, Granville Sharpe, William
Knibb, Henry Brougham, Thomas Fowell Buxton, Daniel O’Connell,
George Thompson, and their noble co-workers that finally thawed
the British heart into sympathy for the slave, and moved the strong
arm of that Government in mercy to put an end to his bondage.
Let no American, especially no colored American, withhold a
generous recognition of this stupendous achievement. What though
it was not American, but British; what though it was not Republican,
but Monarchical; what though it was not from the American
Congress, but from the British Parliament; what though it was not
from the chair of a President, but from the throne of a Queen, it was
none the less a triumph of right over wrong, of good over evil, and a
victory for the whole human race.
Besides: We may properly celebrate this day because of its
special relation to our American Emancipation. In doing this we do
not sacrifice the general to the special, the universal to the local. The
cause of human liberty is one the whole world over. The downfall of
slavery under British power meant the downfall of slavery, ultimately,
under American power, and the downfall of negro slavery
everywhere. But the effect of this great and philanthropic measure,
naturally enough, was greater here than elsewhere. Outside the
British Empire no other nation was in a position to feel it so much as
we. The stimulus it gave to the American anti-slavery movement was
immediate, pronounced, and powerful. British example became a
tremendous lever in the hands of American abolitionists. It did much
to shame and discourage the spirit of caste and the advocacy of
slavery in church and state. It could not well have been otherwise.
No man liveth unto himself.
What is true in this respect of individual men, is equally true of
nations. Both impart good or ill to their age and generation. But
putting aside this consideration, so worthy of thought, we have
special reasons for claiming the First of August as the birthday of
negro emancipation, not only in the West Indies, but in the United
States. Spite of our national Independence, a common language, a
common literature, a common history, and a common civilization
makes us and keeps us still a part of the British nation, if not a part
of the British Empire. England can take no step forward in the
pathway of a higher civilization without drawing us in the same
direction. She is still the mother country, and the mother, too, of our
abolition movement. Though her emancipation came in peace, and
ours in war; though hers cost treasure, and ours blood; though hers
was the result of a sacred preference, and ours resulted in part from
necessity, the motive and mainspring of the respective measures
were the same in both.
The abolitionists of this country have been charged with bringing
on the war between the North and South, and in one sense this is
true. Had there been no anti-slavery agitation at the North, there
would have been no active anti-slavery anywhere to resist the
demands of the slave-power at the South, and where there is no
resistance there can be no war. Slavery would then have been
nationalized, and the whole country would then have been subjected
to its power. Resistance to slavery and the extension of slavery
invited and provoked secession and war to perpetuate and extend
the slave system. Thus in the same sense, England is responsible
for our civil war. The abolition of slavery in the West Indies gave life
and vigor to the abolition movement in America. Clarkson of England
gave us Garrison of America; Granville Sharpe of England gave us
our Wendell Phillips; and Wilberforce of England gave us our
peerless Charles Sumner.
These grand men and their brave co-workers here, took up the
moral thunder-bolts which had struck down slavery in the West
Indies, and hurled them with increased zeal and power against the
gigantic system of slavery here, till, goaded to madness, the
trafficers in the souls and bodies of men flew to arms, rent asunder
the Union at the center, and filled the land with hostile armies and
the ten thousand horrors of war. Out of this tempest, out of this
whirlwind and earthquake of war, came the abolition of slavery, came
the employment of colored troops, came colored citizens, came
colored jurymen, came colored congressmen, came colored schools
in the South, and came the great amendments of our national
constitution.
We celebrate this day, too, for the very good reason that we
have no other to celebrate. English emancipation has one advantage
over American emancipation. Hers has a definite anniversary. Ours
has none. Like our slaves, the freedom of the negro has no birthday.
No man can tell the day of the month, or the month of the year, upon
which slavery was abolished in the United States. We cannot even
tell when it began to be abolished. Like the movement of the sea, no
man can tell where one wave begins and another ends. The chains
of slavery with us were loosened by degrees. First, we had the
struggle in Kansas with border ruffians; next, we had John Brown at
Harper’s Ferry; next, the firing upon Fort Sumter; a little while after,
we had Fremont’s order, freeing the slaves of the rebels in Missouri.
Then we had General Butler declaring and treating the slaves of
rebels as contraband of war; next we had the proposition to arm
colored men and make them soldiers for the Union. In 1862 we had
the conditional promise of a proclamation of emancipation from
President Lincoln, and, finally, on the 1st of January, 1863, we had
the proclamation itself—and still the end was not yet. Slavery was
bleeding and dying, but it was not dead, and no man can tell just
when its foul spirit departed from our land, if, indeed, it has yet
departed, and hence we do not know what day we may properly
celebrate as coupled with this great American event.
 When England behaved so badly during our late civil war, I, for
one, felt like giving up these 1st of August celebrations. But I
remembered that during that war, there were two Englands, as there
were two Americas, and that one was true to liberty while the other
was true to slavery. It was not the England which gave us West India
emancipation that took sides with the slaveholder’s rebellion. It was
not the England of John Bright and William Edward Forster, that
permitted Alabamas to escape from British ports, and prey upon our
commerce, or that otherwise favored slaveholding in the South, but it
was the England which had done what it could to prevent West India
emancipation.
It was the tory party in England that fought the abolition party at
home, and the same party it was, that favored our slaveholding
rebellion.
Under a different name, we had the same, or a similar party,
here; a party which despised the negro and consigned him to
perpetual slavery; a party which was willing to allow the American
Union to be shivered into fragments, rather than that one hair of the
head of slavery should be injured.
But, fellow-citizens, I should but very imperfectly fulfil the duty of
this hour if I confined myself to a merely historical or philosophical
discussion of West India emancipation. The story of the 1st of
August has been told a thousand times over, and may be told a
thousand times more. The cause of freedom and humanity has a
history and destiny nearer home.
How stands the case with the recently emancipated millions of
colored people in our own country? What is their condition to-day?
What is their relation to the people who formerly held them as
slaves? These are important questions, and they are such as trouble
the minds of thoughtful men of all colors, at home and abroad. By
law, by the constitution of the United States, slavery has no
existence in our country. The legal form has been abolished. By the
law and the constitution, the negro is a man and a citizen, and has
all the rights and liberties guaranteed to any other variety of the
human family, residing in the United States.
 He has a country, a flag, and a government, and may legally
claim full and complete protection under the laws. It was the ruling
wish, intention, and purpose of the loyal people after rebellion was
suppressed, to have an end to the entire cause of that calamity by
forever putting away the system of slavery and all its incidents. In
pursuance of this idea, the negro was made free, made a citizen,
made eligible to hold office, to be a juryman, a legislator, and a
magistrate. To this end, several amendments to the constitution were
proposed, recommended, and adopted. They are now a part of the
supreme law of the land, binding alike upon every State and Territory
of the United States, North and South. Briefly, this is our legal and
theoretical condition. This is our condition on paper and parchment.
If only from the national statute book we were left to learn the true
condition of the colored race, the result would be altogether
creditable to the American people. It would give them a clear title to a
place among the most enlightened and liberal nations of the world.
We could say of our country, as Curran once said of England, “The
spirit of British law makes liberty commensurate with and
inseparable from the British soil.” Now I say that this eloquent tribute
to England, if only we looked into our constitution, might apply to us.
In that instrument we have laid down the law, now and forever, that
there shall be no slavery or involuntary servitude in this republic,
except for crime.
We have gone still further. We have laid the heavy hand of the
constitution upon the matchless meanness of caste, as well as the
hell-black crime of slavery. We have declared before all the world
that there shall be no denial of rights on account of race, color, or
previous condition of servitude. The advantage gained in this respect
is immense.
It is a great thing to have the supreme law of the land on the side
of justice and liberty. It is the line up to which the nation is destined
to march—the law to which the nation’s life must ultimately conform.
It is a great principle, up to which we may educate the people, and to
this extent its value exceeds all speech.
But to-day, in most of the Southern States, the fourteenth and
fifteenth amendments are virtually nullified.
 The rights which they were intended to guarantee are denied
and held in contempt. The citizenship granted in the fourteenth
amendment is practically a mockery, and the right to vote, provided
for in the fifteenth amendment, is literally stamped out in face of
government. The old master class is to-day triumphant, and the
newly enfranchised class in a condition but little above that in which
they were found before the rebellion.
Do you ask me how, after all that has been done, this state of
things has been made possible? I will tell you. Our reconstruction
measures were radically defective. They left the former slave
completely in the power of the old master, the loyal citizen in the
hands of the disloyal rebel against the government. Wise, grand, and
comprehensive in scope and design, as were the reconstruction
measures, high and honorable as were the intentions of the
statesmen by whom they were framed and adopted, time and
experience, which try all things, have demonstrated that they did not
successfully meet the case.
In the hurry and confusion of the hour, and the eager desire to
have the Union restored, there was more care for sublime
superstructure of the republic than for the solid foundation upon
which it could alone be upheld. They gave freedmen the machinery
of liberty, but denied them the steam to put it in motion. They gave
them the uniform of soldiers, but no arms; they called them citizens,
and left them subjects; they called them free, and almost left them
slaves. They did not deprive the old master class of the power of life
and death which was the soul of the relation of master and slave.
They could not of course sell them, but they retained the power to
starve them to death, and wherever this power is held, there is the
power of slavery. He who can say to his fellow-man, “You shall serve
me or starve,” is a master, and his subject is a slave. This was seen
and felt by Thaddeus Stevens, Charles Sumner, and leading stalwart
Republicans, and had their counsels prevailed the terrible evils from
which we now suffer would have been averted. The negro to-day
would not be on his knees, as he is, abjectly supplicating the old
master class to give him leave to toil. Nor would he now be leaving
the South as from a doomed city and seeking a home in the
uncongenial North, but tilling his native soil in comparative
independence. Though no longer a slave, he is in a thraldom
grievous and intolerable, compelled to work for whatever his
employer is pleased to pay him, swindled out of his hard earnings by
money orders redeemed in stores, compelled to pay the price of an
acre of ground for its use during a single year, to pay four times more
than a fair price for a pound of bacon, and be kept upon the
narrowest margin between life and starvation. Much complaint has
been made that the freedmen have shown so little ability to take care
of themselves since their emancipation. Men have marvelled that
they have made so little progress. I question the justice of this
complaint. It is neither reasonable, nor in any sense just. To me, the
wonder is, not that the freedmen have made so little progress, but,
rather, that they have made so much; not that they have been
standing still, but that they have been able to stand at all.
We have only to reflect for a moment upon the situation in which
these people found themselves when liberated: consider their
ignorance, their poverty, their destitution, and their absolute
dependence upon the very class by which they had been held in
bondage for centuries, a class whose every sentiment was averse to
their freedom, and we shall be prepared to marvel that they have
under the circumstances done so well.
History does not furnish an example of emancipation under
conditions less friendly to the emancipated class, than this American
example. Liberty came to the freedmen of the United States, not in
mercy but in wrath; not by moral choice but by military necessity; not
by the generous action of the people among whom they were to live,
and whose good will was essential to the success of the measure,
but by strangers, foreigners, invaders, trespassers, aliens, and
enemies. The very manner of their emancipation invited to the heads
of the freedmen the bitterest hostility of race and class. They were
hated because they had been slaves, hated because they were now
free, and hated because of those who had freed them. Nothing was
to have been expected other than what has happened, and he is a
poor student of the human heart who does not see that the old
master class would naturally employ every power and means in their
reach to make the great measure of emancipation unsuccessful and
utterly odious. It was born in the tempest and whirlwind of war, and
has lived in a storm of violence and blood. When the Hebrews were
emancipated, they were told to take spoil from the Egyptians. When
the serfs of Russia were emancipated, they were given three acres
of ground upon which they could live and make a living. But not so
when our slaves were emancipated. They were sent away empty-
handed, without money, without friends, and without a foot of land to
stand upon. Old and young, sick and well, were turned loose to the
open sky, naked to their enemies. The old slave quarter that had
before sheltered them, and the fields that had yielded them corn,
were now denied them. The old master class in its wrath said, “Clear
out! The Yankees have freed you, now let them feed and shelter
you!”
Inhuman as was this treatment, it was the natural result of the
bitter resentment felt by the old master class, and in view of it, the
wonder is, not that the colored people of the South have done so
little in the way of acquiring a comfortable living, but that they live at
all.
Taking all the circumstances into consideration, the colored
people have no reason to despair. We still live, and while there is life
there is hope. The fact that we have endured wrongs and hardships,
which would have destroyed any other race, and have increased in
numbers and public consideration, ought to strengthen our faith in
ourselves and our future. Let us then, wherever we are, whether at
the North or at the South, resolutely struggle on in the belief that
there is a better day coming, and that we by patience, industry,
uprightness, and economy may hasten that better day. I will not
listen, myself, and I would not have you listen to the nonsense, that
no people can succeed in life among a people by whom they have
been despised and oppressed.
The statement is erroneous and contradicted by the whole
history of human progress. A few centuries ago, all Europe was
cursed with serfdom, or slavery. Traces of this bondage still remain
but are not easily visible.
 The Jews, only a century ago were despised, hated, and
oppressed, but they have defied, met, and vanquished the hard
conditions imposed upon them, and are now opulent and powerful,
and compel respect in all countries.
Take courage from the example of all religious denominations
that have sprung up since Martin Luther. Each in its turn, has been
oppressed and persecuted.
Methodists, Baptists, and Quakers, have all been compelled to
feel the lash and sting of popular disfavor—yet all in turn have
conquered the prejudice and hate of their surroundings.
Greatness does not come to any people on flowery beds of
ease. We must fight to win the prize. No people to whom liberty is
given, can hold it as firmly and wear it as grandly as those who
wrench their liberty from the iron hand of the tyrant. The hardships
and dangers involved in the struggle give strength and toughness to
the character, and enable it to stand firm in storm as well as in
sunshine.
One thought more before I leave this subject, and it is a thought I
wish you all to lay to heart. Practice it yourselves and teach it to your
children. It is this, neither we, nor any other people, will ever be
respected till we respect ourselves, and we will never respect
ourselves till we have the means to live respectably. An exceptionally
poor and dependent people will be despised by the opulent and
despise themselves.
You cannot make an empty sack stand on end. A race which
cannot save its earnings, which spends all it makes and goes in debt
when it is sick, can never rise in the scale of civilization, no matter
under what laws it may chance to be. Put us in Kansas or in Africa,
and until we learn to save more than we spend, we are sure to sink
and perish. It is not in the nature of things that we should be equally
rich in this world’s goods. Some will be more successful than others,
and poverty, in many cases, is the result of misfortune rather than of
crime; but no race can afford to have all its members the victims of
this misfortune, without being considered a worthless race. Pardon
me, therefore, for urging upon you, my people, the importance of
saving your earnings; of denying yourselves in the present, that you
may have something in the future, of consuming less for yourselves
that your children may have a start in life when you are gone.
With money and property comes the means of knowledge and
power. A poverty-stricken class will be an ignorant and despised
class, and no amount of sentiment can make it otherwise. This part
of our destiny is in our own hands. Every dollar you lay up,
represents one day’s independence, one day of rest and security in
the future. If the time shall ever come when we shall possess in the
colored people of the United States, a class of men noted for
enterprise, industry, economy, and success, we shall no longer have
any trouble in the matter of civil and political rights. The battle
against popular prejudice will have been fought and won, and in
common with all other races and colors, we shall have an equal
chance in the race of life.
Do I hear you ask in a tone of despair if this time will ever come
to our people in America? The question is not new to me. I have tried
to answer it many times and in many places, when the outlook was
less encouraging than now. There was a time when we were
compelled to walk by faith in this matter, but now, I think, we may
walk by sight. Notwithstanding the great and all-abounding darkness
of our past, the clouds that still overhang us in the moral and social
sky, the defects inherited from a bygone condition of servitude, it is
the faith of my soul that this brighter and better day will yet come.
But whether it shall come late or come soon will depend mainly upon
ourselves.
The laws which determine the destinies of individuals and
nations are impartial and eternal. We shall reap as we sow. There is
no escape. The conditions of success are universal and
unchangeable. The nation or people which shall comply with them
will rise, and those which violate them will fall, and perhaps will
disappear altogether. No power beneath the sky can make an
ignorant, wasteful, and idle people prosperous, or a licentious people
happy.
 One ground of hope for my people is founded upon the returns
of the last census. One of the most disheartening ethnological
speculations concerning us has been that we shall die out; that, like
the Indian, we shall perish in the blaze of Caucasian civilization. The
census sets that heresy concerning us to rest. We are more than
holding our own in all the southern states. We are no longer four
millions of slaves, but six millions of freemen.
Another ground of hope for our race is in the progress of
education. Everywhere in the south the colored man is learning to
read. None now denies the ability of the colored race to acquire
knowledge of anything which can be communicated to the human
understanding by letters. Our colored schools in the city of
Washington compare favorably with the white schools, and what is
true of Washington is equally true of other cities and towns of the
south. Still another ground of hope I find in the fact that colored men
are strong in their gratitude to benefactors, and firm in their political
convictions. They cannot be coaxed or driven to vote with their
enemies against their friends.
Nothing but the shot-gun or the bull-dozer’s whip can keep them
from voting their convictions. Then another ground of hope is that as
a general rule we are an industrious people. I have traveled
extensively over the south, and almost the only people I saw at work
there were the colored people. In any fair condition of things the men
who till the soil will become proprietors of the soil. Only arbitrary
conditions can prevent this. To-day the negro, starting from nothing,
pays taxes upon six millions in Georgia, and forty millions in
Louisiana. Not less encouraging than this is the political situation at
the south.
The vote of the colored man, formerly beaten down and stamped
out by intimidation, is now revived, sought, and defended by
powerful allies, and this from no transient sentiment of the moment,
but from the permanent laws controlling the action of political parties.
 Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made
consistent when a predominant preference was found in the
original book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced
quotation marks were remedied when the change was
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