Page 1 of Rogue’s Path (Sweet Chaos #1)

Dylan

“Congratulations on your new release,” Dahlia says the moment I pick up the phone. “Maverick already started reading it. We have a debate going about who the murderer is.”

“Next time, call me. I can help you win the bet.” Every release, regardless of how well it goes, messes with my head so much.

I want to celebrate, but instead, I hide out waiting for my editor to call me with the reviews and sales data.

She doesn’t do that with every author she contracts with, but I’ve developed enough of a relationship with her that she does more for me than she would for the average author.

“That would be cheating.”

“And you’re above cheating when it comes to tormenting your husband?” It’s so odd that Dahlia got married. When we first met, she was terrified of her own shadow and would barely come out of her hotel room. More often than not, we’d spend a lot of conference time there.

“Only slightly. The debate is more fun than winning or losing.”

What would that feel like? I haven’t had a good conversation, let alone a debate with a man in… years. Too many to think about. This career has had all of my focus for far too long. “When is your next release going to be ready?”

“If Maverick has any say in it, next month. That man is seriously demanding. As soon as I finish one chapter, he’s ready for the next.” The smile in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t mind one bit.

I walk over to one of the barstools at my kitchen island and swivel it so that I’m facing the picture window overlooking the pool.

It’s the middle of winter and I’m still tempted to take a dip today.

Maybe doing a few laps will help me work out some of the stress.

Getting a heater for the pool was one of the best decisions I made when it came to building this house.

“All readers are like that. They want more, faster with complex storylines, and all the scary vibes.” Being an indie author should make that easier, but it doesn’t.

“Sometimes I wish I went indie like you instead of getting a trad publishing deal.”

“No, you don’t. You would go out of your mind handling all the publicity stuff and dealing with readers.”

“I really would have. But having control over my schedule would make things more efficient.”

That it does. Traditional publishing is slower than dirt.

I’d have already written all the books for the next two years if I was working with a publisher.

They take forever to release books. But since I’m indie all those books will come out in just a few months.

Ugh. Just thinking about books stresses me out today.

“You can always write an indie series. But first, you need to tell me all about your wedding plans.” That should distract me from all the worry in the pit of my stomach.

“Weddings are supposed to be hard. This one isn’t.

Between my mom and Maverick, they’ve taken all the stress away.

It’s like all I need to do is mention something I like, and they do all the research and present me with their favorite ideas.

The only thing that stresses me out even a little bit is the bachelorette party. ”

Huh? “That should be the last thing to bother you.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be boring.”

A bachelorette boring? “Impossible.” Not that I’ve been to many. Unless they’re close friends, I bow out of things like this. Wearing a dress and heels for hours on end while smiling isn’t my idea of fun.

The crystal-clear blue water keeps beckoning me. I stand up and walk over to my bedroom. My slippers are silent on the white wood floors.

“No, it isn’t. The plan is for it to be co-ed with us spending a weekend in Vegas and going to shows.”

“That hardly sounds boring.” Living down south almost requires a drawer full of bathing suits in every color and shape. Since I’m alone, I pull out a simple one-piece with high legs that will be easy to swim in. After hitting speaker on the phone, I toss it onto my bed.

“I didn’t think so until I talked to another friend.”

Uh oh. “What did the friend say?”

“She told me about her idea for a bachelorette party. It’s wild…crazy…fun. The opposite of mine.”

Why do people do this? I step into my bathing suit. “What was her idea?”

“Bar hopping with this silly little dare list.”

It does sound fun, but definitely way past Dahlia’s comfort level. She doesn’t even drink. “That sounds like it could get a little wild.”

“And fun! Maverick would lose his mind if I did something like that.”

“A man’s reaction shouldn’t stop you from doing what you want.” Why am I even saying that? There’s no way Dahlia would enjoy something like that. No way in the world.

“You’re right. I should do it. Or at least try it out.”

Do it? I sink down onto my bed and tug the straps of my suit up. What have I done? “How do you try a bachelorette party?”

“What if I invite a whole bunch of friends and we bar hop with a dare list?”

Dahlia has gone off the deep end. I kinda love it. “When do you want to try this?”

“This weekend.”

“Like in two days?” How does she plan to get everything done in time?

“Yeah.”

There’s only one thing to do. “I’ll book a flight for tomorrow.”

“You don’t think I’ve gone crazy?”

“Absolutely. And I’m thrilled.” Not to mention it will get my mind off my release and other things.

“Okay. I’m going to go call everyone else and see who can come.” Dahlia hangs up.

I click the phone off and toss it back on the bed.

Life just got interesting.

***

I run out of the pool, pull on my robe that was on the heated drying rack, and make a dash for the sliding glass doors to get inside. Getting out of the pool is the worst part of swimming in the winter. Skip cold plunges. Who needs them when it’s fifty out and the pool is in the eighties?

Slippers. Next time I need to remember slippers. The pavers are like ice.

The warm air hits me as I step into my kitchen and my toes sink into the quick-drying rug I stuck there to prevent any pool water from hitting my wood floors.

As I run towards my bedroom, the doorbell rings. That’s odd. I live in a gated community. The only time someone comes to my door is when I get food delivered.

Food sounds good. But it needs to be something light for my rumbly tummy. Maybe soup and a sandwich.

Do I want to cook?

I check the security camera.

Flowers!!!

Someone sent me flowers. Probably Dahlia. I rush to the door, pulling it open to reveal a massive vase full of vibrant colors.

“Flowers for Dylan Oliva.” The florist pokes her head to the side.

“I’m Dylan.”

She quirks an eye at me, which is a response I get all the time. Why did my father have to give me a boy’s name? “I can get my identification if you would like.”

“No, that’s alright.”

She clearly wants me to get it, but also doesn’t want me to complain either.

“There are more bouquets in the truck.”

More? Who would send them? I set this one down on the end table and pull out the card.

Congrats!

Maverick & Dahlia

That’s sweet. It’s even cuter because they’re writing as a married couple now.

The next vase is filled with soft pink and cream flowers and a small amount of greenery.

This one I set down on the table next to the other.

I reach for my purse to give the driver a tip, but they’re already on their way back to the truck for another set of flowers.

Happy Release Day!

Your Writing Group!

Awww! That’s sweet. We should have a fun name for our writing group. Lazy. It’s just plain lazy of us not to have one already. That’s going to be a line item for our next group chat.

“This is the last one.” She holds out a vase full of the deepest red roses I’ve ever seen. There must be four dozen in the arrangement.

“Are you sure you grabbed the right one?” There isn’t anyone in my life that would send me red roses.

“Yes. This one is yours. The man was very specific with his requests. Congratulations, that man really loves you.”

Loves me?

No one loves me.

And I certainly don’t love anyone.

I hand her the tip and take the massive arrangement. There isn’t room left on the table by the door, so I walk over to the kitchen counter.

Who could possibly have sent these?

There’s a card in among the velvety petals.

My dearest love Dylan,

Every moment away from you torments my soul. I can’t wait until we’re together. The words you wrote to me keep me strong until we’re able to reenact them.

Your Only Love

My hands start to shake. Stalkers exist.

But I never thought it would ever be me.

The police. I need to call the police.

***

“Since there hasn’t been a threat…”

Hasn’t been a threat? “The scene in the book he’s referencing included a woman being tied to a bed and then murdered.”

“You don’t know that is what was being referred to for sure.

We need a direct threat. The police department will do a few drive-bys, but that’s all we can do until there’s a credible threat.

I suggest you make sure to lock your doors and only answer to people who you know.

” The officer closes his notebook and walks towards the door.

“Here’s my card. Call me if anything changes. ”

How am I supposed to call you if this guy kidnaps me?

My house empties out as fast as it filled up.

A stalker. I have a stalker. It happens when you’re a celebrity, even a small one like me.

I know that. I’ve heard of other authors having them.

But I’m careful. My pen name is my real first name and a fake last name.

Everything business-wise is done through an LLC that’s managed by a lawyer so that nothing ties back to me.

How did he find me?

This crazy guy knows where I live.

And just that fast, my house becomes a trap instead of an oasis in a sea of chaos.

Dahlia….I was supposed to leave to visit Dahlia tomorrow. Those plans feel like they were made so long ago, yet it’s only been a few hours. If I packed and left now, I could probably be on a plane there tonight.

That will work for tonight. Later, I’ll figure out how to feel safe again in my own home.