REVEAL! Renaissance, Brazen Bulls Birthright #4

Hi everyone!

Today I’m revealing my next release: Renaissance, Book 4 of the Brazen Bulls Birthright series.

Renaissance features Cooper Calderon, the president of the club’s new Nevada charter. His true love is Siena Morgan, his new next-door neighbor—though it takes these two a long time to figure that out. This is a very slow burn enemies-to-lovers story.

We’ll be back in Tulsa full-time in Book 5, but Cooper really popped for me in Zach’s story, and I wanted to get the Nevada chapter really established, so we’re hanging in Laughlin for a bit longer. This series is about the changes to the club as the next generation begins to take over, and Nevada is integral to that.

(To answer the question I’ve gotten a lot since Zach’s book came out: there might be a full Nevada Bulls series. If not a full series, there will probably be at least a book or two that spin off from the Birthright series. Reed has captured my attention, for example. All the Bulls leading books in the Birthright series will be, or have been, members of the Tulsa charter, however.)

Release day for Renaissance is Saturday, 7 May: three weeks from today! The preorder is live now on Amazon and is going live on other platforms as well (they always take longer).

You can add it to your Goodreads TBR, if you’re so inclined.

Here’s the description:

When Cooper Calderon threw his name on the table to be president of the new Nevada charter of the Brazen Bulls MC, he didn’t think anyone would take him seriously. He’s not exactly known for being serious. But here he is, in a strange town, leading a charter of men he barely knows.

He’s starting to crack under the pressure. To top it off, his new neighbor already hates him, and he doesn’t like her much better.

Siena Morgan is at the end of her rope. She’s trying to cobble together a life for herself and her younger sister, but the universe keeps dealing them losing hands. The latest set of cards includes a party-boy jerk with an outrageously loud Harley and the world’s smuggest smirk as her new neighbor.

She knows he’s trouble the second she lays eyes on him. Yet another thing she needs to worry about.

It’s not good for the president of an outlaw MC to be in open war with his next-door neighbor. So Cooper tries to build a bridge. But it’s not easy; Siena seems determined to see the bad in him.

Eventually, he understands what she’s protecting with her armor and barbs.

When Siena needs help, Cooper always seems to be there. Eventually, she understands that he’s not the jerk she took him for. In fact, he might actually be a friend.

When they finally stop fighting, that’s when the sparks really fly.

And here’s a preview scene from Chapter 3 to whet your appetite. Their first meeting (things go downhill fast from here, haha):

 Cooper had driven straight through, and he’d made it in one piece. He was so tired and wired he was practically hallucinating, but he’d made it to his newly purchased home.

Having a little trouble backing the truck and trailer onto his driveway, but it was his driveway, he was sure about that.

Pretty sure. There was the sale sign, complete with shiny new ‘SOLD’ sticker. Yep, his place.

But what a complete pain in the ass it was to back a trailer from a U-Haul.

He checked his side mirror and saw enough of the trailer to see that it had turned onto the gravel ‘lawn’ and missed the driveway itself completely. Again. Okay. Try number … four, maybe? Yeah. Four. Or maybe five. Whatever. Third time had not been the charm, he knew that.

Ready to put the truck in drive and straighten everything out, Cooper faced the windshield.

There was a woman standing in front of the truck. Pink plaid pants and a baggy grey hoody. Bare feet.

She was squinting against the glare of the headlights, but despite that, she had a little pistol aimed at him. Squared shoulders, spread legs, two-hand hold. Somebody had been to the gun range and gotten some lessons.

Wait. Hold up. Hold the fuck up. A chick was aiming a gun at him? In the same twenty-four hours that Rooty-Tooty-Trooper-Rudy had pulled his piece on him, some rando blonde was gonna threaten to put a hole in him, too? What the fuck with this trip?

Fuck that bullshit right in the ass.

He threw the truck in park, shoved the door open, jumped down to the street and stomped toward the front of the cab. The woman held firm, her aim following him.

He got all the way in front of the truck, like eight feet away from her, when it finally dawned on him how completely stupid he was being.

Hey, Coop. Maybe don’t rush the chick aiming a gun at you like she’s that hot cop from Law & Order.

“I will shoot you if you come closer,” she said to underscore the point his brain had finally made. Her voice was surprisingly calm and assertive. Steely little chick.

It was a little gun, but it looked like a .38. That could stop him just fine. So maybe take a beat and not get shot, huh?

Pulling up short, he put his hands up and dredged up a smile he was not at all feeling. “Hey there. I don’t think we’ve met, but it looks like we’ve got a problem already?”

“You got a problem, buddy, yeah. It’s three o’clock in the morning! What are you doing?”

Her voice was both forceful and oddly muffled—and with that observation, Cooper realized how loud the music coming from the cab was. Tumblers started falling into place in his overtaxed, overcaffeinated brain. Three a.m. Loud music. Big truck. Quiet neighborhood.

Oops. Heh.

Carefully holding up one finger in a gesture he hoped she was smart enough to understand as Hold on a sec, Cooper backed up to the cab, stepped up, grabbed his phone from the console, and shut the music app down. Silence dropped like a thunderclap.

Trying for a more sincere and conciliatory smile, he hopped down and said, “Sorry about that. Been listening so long I didn’t realize how loud it was.”

His apology bounced off her. She neither moved nor changed her expression. Her aim remained fixed.

“Okay. Maybe I’m an asshole, but I’m not a threat. Promise. Pinky swear. You can put the gun down.”

She did not. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just trying to move in.” He nodded to the house that was his. He was pretty sure it was his. Had he missed a turn or something? This neighborhood was like a maze, with every house looking basically the same. Shit. Was he trying to park in the wrong driveway?

No. No. There was the sale sign right there—and the address. He was at the right house. But clearly he was on some weird caffeine trip.

He should’ve stuck to coffee. But coffee gave him the shits after the first cup.

Really should’ve stopped for the night at the La Quinta back in … where had he been? Oh, right. Shoulda made a left turn at Albuquerque, doc.

Finally, Little Oakley Annie dropped her aim. “At three o’clock in the morning.”

He shrugged. “It’s when I got here.”

“People are trying to sleep, dude.”

He looked around and saw a few new lights on in windows, but nobody else had come outside. That was the appeal of this neighborhood, though, right? He didn’t give much of a shit about what house he lived in, but he cared about who was living around him. The people in this neighborhood were working class folks who kept their noses to themselves. They were, like, locally famous for not giving a shit.

For the most part. Apparently, he’d bought a house next door to Miss Neighborhood Watch.

“Look,” he said. “I drove over a thousand miles today. I’m tweaking on way too much caffeine, but I’m also totally fucking exhausted, and how’s that work, right? Anyway, I fucked up, I see that. Not thinking clearly, yadda yadda yadda. I just want to park this fucking piece of shit truck, get my bike off and just go to sleep.”

“You’re not going to be able to get that truck under the carport roof. If you’d managed to get the trailer on the driveway, the truck would’ve crashed into the roof.”

“What?” Not quite believing her, he walked back and took a look for himself.

Shit.

“Well, shit,” he said aloud. “Fuck me sideways.” Then he considered the street. “If I leave it on the street, it’ll block your driveway.”

With an extremely annoying rhetorical sigh, she came close. She held the gun—That fucker had a pink camo grip! He refused to get shot by a pink fucking gun!—at the side of her leg, muzzle pointing at the ground, finger nowhere near the trigger. Welp, if she shot him, it wouldn’t be accidentally.

When she was within normal conversation distance, Cooper saw that she was hot. Had a look like a sun-bleached California girl. Not supermodel gorgeous, but really pretty. Or she was probably really pretty when she wasn’t wearing an expression like she’d stepped barefoot in dogshit.

“Please tell me you don’t plan to unload the truck at this hour.”

Originally, yes. His plan had been to back onto the driveway, park his bike and unhitch the trailer, get his shit inside and set up his bed. Now, he was starting to crash, and the thought of drinking another Monster made his gorge rise. He’d just go in and pass out on the floor. He had his pack and bedroll in the cab.

 “Nah. Too fuckin’ tired. I’ll deal with this shit after I get some sleep.”

“That sounds wise. Sleep sounds good, doesn’t it? I think so. I was enjoying sleep.”

Sarcastic little bitch.

She sighed again. “How about you just take your bike off the trailer, park that in the carport, and leave the truck for now. I’m off tomorrow, so you can block my driveway until a decent hour—and by decent hour, I mean daylight. By daylight, I mean before noon.”

He really hated her ‘talking to a moron’ tone, but maybe he was being a moron. He was being a moron, wasn’t he? Like two brain cells were still firing. President of the Nevada charter of the Brazen Bulls MC over here, acting like the paste-eater in the back of the kindergarten room.

He took a deep breath and tried to get his heart to slow down before it broke free of his ribs, and his brain gears to stop spinning and fucking catch.

‘Yeah, yeah. That’s smart. Sorry—I … long day.”

“Well, a thousand miles in a day is a lot.”

Her tone had softened, and Cooper began to really recognize his failings here. If he’d been sleeping when some inconsiderate bastard had rolled down the street in a rattling truck, music blaring, he’d have stormed out hot, too—and probably wouldn’t have given the shithead a chance to sort himself out.

Also, she was hot. Even in the middle of the night without makeup, she was hot. Seemed pretty flat in the chest, definitely not enough to make an impression in that big hoodie, and he was a boob man, but otherwise she was a solid eight. Maybe a nine with makeup—and if she had better boobs.

“Thanks for not shooting me. I’m Cooper.” He offered his hand.

After considering his offer for a moment, she moved her gun to her other hand and set her right in his. They shook. “Siena.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks.”

“I guess we’re neighbors, huh?” he asked.

“That appears to be the case, yes.”

“Sorry for the shitty first impression.”

She laughed—and that was unequivocally hot. She had a good smile, the kind that lit up her face. Nice white teeth, too. “Definitely a shitty first impression. But nowhere to go but up from here, right? Unless you’re planning to burn my house down.”

Now he laughed. “That’s the only thing left worse than tonight?”

“That or bloody murder, yep.”

“Okay. Well, I will park the truck at the curb, take my bike off the trailer as quietly as possible, then tiptoe into the house and be quiet like a mouse until the sun is well up. I’ll take the truck back and be clear of your driveway before noon. And I will try to avoid either burning your house down or committing bloody murder. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said. “Good night, Cooper.”

“’Night, Siena.”

With an awkward little smirk, she left him and headed back to her house.

Cooper stood on the street and watched her go.

Hey—second time tonight he could have been shot but got away whole.

Night could have been worse.

©2021 Susan Fanetti