Exclusive Excerpt: Ride Steady (#3, Chaos) by Kristen Ashley - Vilma Iris | Lifestyle Blogger

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Exclusive Excerpt: Ride Steady (#3, Chaos) by Kristen Ashley


Oh how I loved this book!!!! My favorite of the Chaos novels to date!!! Sexy as hell, dangerous, edgy, emotional, heartbreaking even … Ride Steady has it all! Kristen Ashley once again proves why she’s a favorite for so many of us, delivering a story that is simply unputtdownable. The story is a sort of second chance romance with themes of redemption, forgiveness, acceptance, and of course, family. I knew immediately it would be one of my favorite books this year, and it undeniably was by the story’s end. Fans of the Chaos and Dream Man series will MELT and SWOON page after page.  If you haven’t pre-ordered, you must! Today, I’m thrilled to be able to share a delicious little excerpt from Ride Steady, which will be out June 30th!


The ride of her life . . .

Once upon a time, Carissa Teodoro believed in happy endings. Money, marriage, motherhood: everything came easy—until she woke up to the ugly truth about her Prince Charming. Now a struggling, single mom and stranded by a flat tire, Carissa’s pondering her mistakes when a vaguely familiar knight rides to her rescue on a ton of horsepower.

Climb on and hold tight . . . 
In high school, Carson Steele was a bad boy loner who put Carissa on a pedestal where she stayed far beyond his reach. Today, he’s the hard-bodied biker known only as Joker, and from the way Carissa’s acting, it’s clear she’s falling fast. While catching her is irresistible, knowing what to do with her is a different story. A good girl like Carissa is the least likely fit with the Chaos Motorcycle Club. Too bad holding back is so damned hard. Now, as Joker’s secrets are revealed and an outside threat endangers the club, Joker must decide whether to ride steady with Carissa—or ride away forever . . .


“What the fuck are you doin’?”

“That’s twenty cents,” I returned.

“Hunh?” he grunted.

“Regular curse words are a nickel,” I told him. “Bad curse words are a dime. Everyone knows the f‑word is a bad one and since, starting now, you’re paying me every time you curse, that’s twenty cents you owe me.” I shook my hair, bandana and all. “I’ll give it to charity or something. The way you cuss, we’ll probably be able to build a homeless shelter in a week.”

He didn’t look any less unhappy when I finished talking but he did take two steps toward me.

“Carissa, what are you doin’ in my room?”

It was the day after my kiss with Joker. A day where I thought of nothing but Joker . . . and that kiss. A day and a sleepless night where I thought long and hard about it and made a decision.

I wanted more.

There were a variety of reasons for this.

He was handsome. He wasn’t my type, but really, who knew what my type was? All I’d had was Aaron, and I’d found Aaron was definitely the wrong type for me.

So maybe Joker was my type.

He was also nice. Sure, he cursed constantly and in the beginning he’d seemed thoughtless about my pie, but he and his friends had done a variety of good things for me, all of them huge. But it started with him, which meant he started it.

Further, once he’d prowled out after our kiss, I’d seen the pie plate in his room on his nightstand.

The empty pie plate.

So he had liked my pie.

And last, there was that kiss.

Truthfully, the rest could go away and the kiss could remain and it was so good, I’d still want more.

He acted like he could take me or leave me, but even if I’d only ever kissed Aaron, I’d kissed him a lot and we’d never (not ever) shared a kiss like that.

I didn’t know what was holding Joker back. I may only have had Aaron as experience but there was no way to miss Joker had been into that kiss. A woman throws herself in your arms and you don’t want that, you push her away. You don’t stick your tongue in her mouth, redefine her world, and shuffle her straight to your bed.

He liked it as much as me.

But I didn’t care what was holding him back. I was just going to do whatever I could to put a stop to it.

I looked around his room that now had a stripped bed, four pillowcases full of dirty clothes, a box filled with bottles to recycle, and two huge black trash bags filled with trash. Then I looked down at me, wearing my red Converse, my cuffed boyfriend jeans with the holes in the knees (and up the thighs), my cute tee that declared my devotion to Betty Boop, and the Windex and used paper towel in my hands.

After that, I looked to him. “I’m cleaning your room.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?” he bit out.

“That’s thirty cents,” I returned disapprovingly.

He didn’t respond. What he did was lean his torso slightly back, wrap his fingers around his hips, and scowl at me in a scary way that again got me talking.

“Yesterday, you were right,” I informed him, lifting my chin. “I would be a fool not to take what you and your friends are offering. It’s extraordinarily kind, too kind, but I’m in a pickle. A bad pickle. I need help. I have no friends. My dad is in Nebraska taking care of my gramma, and I don’t want him worried about me. And my options are limited. But bottom line, I’m concerned about my son. I’m concerned about his father’s behavior, a father who would be raising him and clearly doesn’t know right from wrong or how to be respectful. Now, I have to do everything I can to make certain my son has a good upbringing, that being from me.”

I lifted the Windex bottle and jerked a thumb at myself on the “me” and kept talking.

“So I’m taking you up on your offer,” I declared. “However, the generosity of it makes me uncomfortable, so I’ll be doing what I can to give back. And since you started all this, you’re up first. You need your room cleaned because no one should live like this.” I threw out the Windex bottle. “So I’m cleaning your room.”

“I don’t want you to clean my room,” he returned.

“I didn’t want people I don’t know to offer assistance I need. And further I didn’t want to have a life where I was in a position that I was forced to take that assistance no matter how embarrassing my needing it was. But we can’t always get what we want,” I retorted.

His scowl got scarier. “What’s happenin’ to you is not embarrassing.”

I held his eyes and quieted my voice. “You’re wrong about that, Joker.”

His jaw flexed.

I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders, taking us back to the point. “But I’m taking it and doing that. I’m also giving back. With you first.”

“You’re not cleaning my room,” he declared.

I shook my head. “Too late. It’s half done.”

That wasn’t exactly the truth. His room was really filthy. I still had a lot of work to do. Also, I had to cart his stuff to the Laundromat but I had a shift so I’d have to do that the next day. Therefore, I wouldn’t be completely done until tomorrow.

“I don’t want you goin’ through my stuff,” he kept at it.

“I’m doing it, Joker,” I whispered. “You can be all scary and scowl at me and get angry, but I’m doing it. I’m doing whatever I have to do to feel better about what you’re all doing for me. I have to.” I drew in breath and finished, “And I’m asking you to let me.”

His jaw flexed again.

I watched his jaw flex, thinking two things.

One, for some reason, I found that appealing.

Two, I didn’t feel even a little bad about lying by omission by not including the fact that I was there to do other things as well. Those including being around him, attempting to flirt with him, and doing everything I could to get him to kiss me again and/or ask me out on a date (with that last, I was hoping for and).

Of course, I did want to give back to him and the Club. Definitely.

It was just that I wanted other things too.

We stared at each other, and this lasted a long time. Long enough for me to have a strong urge to end the staring contest by running to him and throwing myself in his arms, but this time, not allowing him to let me go.

Unfortunately, when I was just about ready to do that, he broke the contest, asking, “My clothes in those cases?”

“Yes,” I answered, lifting my hand with the paper towel in it, palm out. “And I’m doing your laundry and I’m not taking any guff from you about it.”

“You got a washer and dryer at your house?”

“No, I’m taking it to the Laundromat.”

He went scary again. “Butterfly, you are not payin’ to do my laundry.”

“I absolutely am,” I returned.

“You gotta do it to make your shit feel better. Do it. But there’s a washer and dryer here. Off the side hall, at the back.”

“That’s thirty-​five cents,” I told him, not sharing my relief that they had a washer and dryer. That would save me tons of time, not to mention money.

He crossed his arms on his chest. “You do know with this shit you’re pullin’ that no way in fuck I’m ever gonna stop and help a woman change her tire again.”

“That’s fifty cents.”

He stared at me.

Then he turned on his boot and stalked to the door, muttering,

“Fuck me.”

“Sixty cents!” I yelled at his back.

But he was gone.

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  1. mlynpetersmlynpeters said:

    Oh YEAAAAAA ! Doin the dance of JOY!! can’t wait til June 30 !!!!!


  2. Anne Desousa said:

    I have Ride Steady and Walk Through Fire on preorder – next week for Ride Steady and I can’t wait


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