Silent Surrender

by Netra Antionette

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Romantic Suspense; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

A dark, emotionally charged thriller where three sisters, bound by blood and divided by secrets, are forced to confront the violent past that made them.

Stormi Feathers learned early that monsters can live inside the people meant to protect you. The night she stopped her mother’s abuser, she also silenced her fear and awakened something darker within herself. Years later, she and her sisters, Rayne and Skye, have built a shadow empire that delivers justice to those the system forgets. Each woman has a role: Rayne handles logistics, Skye covers digital traces, and Stormi carries out the sentences. Together, they’ve turned pain into power.

But when Stormi meets Niles Grey, a former homicide detective with a haunted past, she feels something she’s long suppressed. For the first time, she begins to imagine a life untouched by violence, until she discovers Niles is connected to an unlikely suspect.

Now Stormi must choose between protecting her sisters and trusting the one man who makes her believe she deserves more than vengeance. 

Release date: June 30, 2026

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

SIXTEEN YEARS LATER…

I SAT AT the bar, my long black locs pulled into a high ponytail, my black shades hiding my eyes, and my all-black leather outfit hugging my curves just right. A martini rested in my manicured fingers as I lazily scrolled through my phone. A text from Skye popped up.

He should be coming in now.

Sliding my burner phone back into my purse, I took another sip, letting the smooth jazz in the background settle over me. Just as Skye predicted, he walked in—a tall, muscular man dripping in wealth, the kind of money that made people turn a blind eye. His cologne filled the air. His scent screamed powerful and untouchable.

He took the seat beside me, signaling the bartender. “A shot of whiskey—and another one of whatever this beautiful lady is having.”

That was one thing about me—I turned heads without even trying.

I looked at him, smirking. “Thank you.”

He smiled, stretching out his hand for me to shake. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it.”

He laughed, taking his hand back after he realized I wasn’t touching it. He was clearly intrigued. “Oh, you’re just the type I like.”

We chatted for a while—well, he talked while I fed him a carefully crafted lie. Told him I was a schoolteacher, fresh in town, looking to find my way. Said I’d heard about that bar and thought I’d stop by after a long week. He ate it up, eyes roaming my frame like I was prey and he was hunting for fresh meat.

I lied, saying I was only twenty-three. He perked up at that. Young, naïve, easy to mold. He thought he hit the jackpot.

He asked again for my name. I smiled, slowly sliding my shades up so he could see my eyes before I answered. “That depends on how the night goes.”

I pulled my shades back over my eyes, and his grin widened. He was hooked.

I signaled for the check, but before the bartender could hand it over, he tossed a few hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “I got it. Keep the change.”

I stood, walking toward the exit, knowing damn well he’d follow. Outside, he stopped at a nearby table, speaking to two men he clearly knew. “I’m in for the night. Meet me back at the spot in the morning.”

He walked around back to the parking lot. I turned back to him just as he unlocked his white luxury Range Rover. He caught my fake look of amazement and chuckled. “Where’s your place?”

I cupped his cheek, letting my fingers trail against his beard. “I barely know you,” I teased. “Maybe we should just drive around first—get to know each other.”

He agreed, his eagerness showing.

As we drove, he placed his hand on my thigh. I held back the disgust creeping up my throat, instead widening my eyes in feigned excitement. “This is amazing,” I breathed, running my fingers along the dashboard. “I’ve always wanted a car like this.”

“You wanna drive it?” he asked.

I gasped, selling the act. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and maybe one day, I’ll get you one.”

We pulled over, and I switched to the driver’s seat. “There’s a lake nearby,” I said, voice sweet. “I go there to read and decompress after work. Wanna go there?”

Exactly as I expected, he agreed.

The moment we parked, he turned to me. “You seem like a nice girl. If you let me, I can show you around town—help you get settled.”

I laughed, reaching into my purse for my lip gloss. As I applied it, his hand returned to my thigh.

“You know what girls your age usually come here to do this late?”

I giggled. “No. What?”

He leaned closer. “Let me show you.”

Then, just as his lips brushed against my ear, I whispered, “No, thank you. I don’t do pervs.”

Before he could react, I slashed his throat.

He gasped, hands flying to his neck as blood poured between his fingers. I leaned back, watching him choke, gurgle, and struggle to breathe.

“This is for all the little girls you touched,” I said, “the ones you threatened into silence. The ones the system failed.”

I slid out of the car, the cool night air hitting my skin. Two men—ones I worked closely with—walked toward me.

“Make sure he disappears,” I instructed, stepping past them. “And the car, too.”

I climbed into the passenger seat of another vehicle. Rayne turned to me, smirking before speeding off into the city.

It was what I did—what I loved.

I took pleasure in ending the lives of men who preyed on women and children. Any form of abuse, I was putting an end to it. But the ones who abused women? They were my favorites. Every time I took one out, it felt like I was saving my mother all over again. The system was corrupt, letting monsters roam free.

But, that’s where I came in.

And damn, did I love my job.

It took Rayne and me about an hour to make it back to Winslow, the city we lived in. Everyone knew I’d travel for a job as long as the money was right. Rayne didn’t have to ask where we were going. She already knew. It was where I went after every job. Every time, I swore it would be my last, yet I always went back.

She pulled up to Spencer’s house and punched in the gate code. A guard glanced our way but didn’t move from his post—he knew better. When we reached the front, she parked and turned to me. “See you at the house in the morning,” she said before leaning in and kissing my cheek.

“I love you,” I said, stepping out.

The moment I walked through the door, I called his name. “Spencer!”

Everybody in the streets called him Spendz, but to me, he would always be Spencer, my best friend since the eighth grade—the only man I’d ever trusted. We grew up in the trenches, side by side, but while he dropped out, he made sure I stayed in school.

“One of us has to be book smart,” he used to say.

I heard movement from upstairs, then saw him appear at the top of the staircase. Without a word, I stripped, handing my clothes and shoes to Lora, his housekeeper. She didn’t ask questions—just turned and disappeared to do what she always did after my jobs. Burn everything.

I climbed the stairs and found Spencer waiting in the bedroom, a towel slung low on his hips, a blunt between his fingers. I crawled onto the bed, lying on my stomach, my ass in the air just to tease him.

“Stormi…” he warned, his voice thick with amusement and hunger.

“What?”

He walked over and slapped my ass hard enough to sting, then grabbed a handful as he exhaled smoke through his nose. “You play too much.”

I rolled onto my back, spreading my legs just enough to invite him in. “And yet, you never complain.”

His towel dropped to the floor, and I bit my lip at the sight of him. Hard. Heavy. Ready.

Before I could reach for him, he was already between my legs, his tongue sliding through my folds, teasing and tasting like I was his last meal. My back arched as a moan escaped my lips, fingers threading through his locs as I tugged him closer.

Spencer was the only man I’d ever been with. The only man I trusted to take me apart and put me back together. Sex with him wasn’t about love—it was a ritual, a release, a way to wash away the weight of what I’d just done. He understood me, knew exactly how to please me, how to make me cry out his name, how to push me to the edge and pull me back just to do it all over again.

His tongue flicked, sucked, circled until I was trembling, my thighs locking around his head as I came undone. He groaned against me, the vibration sending aftershocks through my body, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t let up.

“Spence—” My breath hitched as he slid two fingers inside me.

His lips crashed into mine as he guided himself to my entrance, teasing, rubbing against my slick heat before finally sinking in slow, stretching me inch by inch. I gasped against his mouth, my nails digging into his back as he filled me completely.

He groaned. “Fuck. You feel too good.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Our bodies moved together in a rhythm we’d perfected over the years—slow and deep, then rough and urgent, until we were nothing but tangled limbs and ragged breaths, sweat slicking our skin. He fucked me like he needed it, like I was his drug, like I was the only thing keeping him sane.

And maybe, in some ways, I was.

His hand found my throat, his grip firm but not tight, just enough to make my breath hitch. “Look at me.”

My eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. I didn’t know what he saw in them—lust, need, maybe even something deeper—but whatever it was made him groan.

A second later, my body locked around him, pleasure crashing over me in waves.

We stayed like that for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling, our bodies still connected.

Finally, he pulled out and collapsed beside me, reaching for the blunt. He took a slow pull before passing it to me. I inhaled deeply, letting the smoke calm the high still coursing through my veins.

Spencer exhaled a cloud of smoke and kissed my forehead. “Aye, Stormi…this gotta be the last time.”

I laughed. “We say that every time.”

“Nah,” he said, his voice serious. “I mean it. Sakari’s pregnant.”

I stilled, the blunt resting between my fingers.

“I already know her parents are gonna kick her out and cut her off,” he continued, “so she’s moving in soon.”

Sakari. The woman he loved—the good church girl who fell for a street nigga. Her family hated him, and she tried to keep them happy by only sneaking around with him. But, Spencer wasn’t the type of man you could hide forever. He’d been itching to retaliate against them, but for her, he held back. I should’ve known he’d get her pregnant—it was his way of locking her in, of making sure she was his forever.

I took a slow pull from the blunt, thinking. I liked Sakari well enough, but she could never love or protect Spencer the way I could. No one could.

I rolled over, met his eyes, and kissed him. “I’m proud of you, Spencer. You’re gonna be a great dad and an even better man.” I smirked. “Just don’t call me to babysit.”

He chuckled, pulling me close to kiss me again. I knew what he once felt for me was the love he now gave to Sakari. But he also knew I was incapable of loving a man like that.

My fingers traced the big “S” tattooed on his chest. I had the same one, smaller, inked on my ankle. Everyone, including Sakari, thought the tattooed letter stood for her. But we knew the truth.

We fell asleep wrapped around each other, the way we always did. But this time felt different. This time, I knew it really was our last night—the last time I’d feel safe in the arms of the only man I’d ever trust. And I knew I’d never find that again.

THE GARAGE WAS hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and steel. Music blasted from the speakers as I pounded into the punching bag, each strike landing harder than the last. It was my therapy. My release.

Then my phone rang.

I exhaled sharply, irritated as my music cut off. I walked over, swiping my shirt across my face before glancing at the screen. Jason.

I answered, catching my breath, “What’s up, man?”

Jason and I got close in police academy. Over the years, we’d worked our way up to homicide detectives, partners on some of the toughest cases the city had seen. But I left the force a few years back—for a lot of reasons. Too much corruption, too many blurred lines. Jason and I never lost touch, though.

“Can I come through?” he asked.

“Yeah. Pull up.”

But before I could say anything else, he added, “Good, ’cause I’m already pulling in.”

I frowned, confused. The fuck? It wasn’t like Jason to show up unannounced.

A moment later, his car rolled up, and he stepped out, making his way into the garage. We pulled each other in for a quick embrace, then I grabbed two waters from the fridge, handing him one. He looked serious, and I could tell he wasn’t here for small talk.

“Go ahead and get it over with,” I said, twisting the cap off my bottle.

Jason took a swig of water, then exhaled. “You ever thought about being a PI?”

I damn near choked on my drink. “A private investigator? Why?”

He leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

I shook my head. “Jason, you already know I’m not stepping foot back into that corrupt-ass system.”

“I know. That’s why I want to hire you myself.”

That got my attention. I studied him for a moment before setting my bottle down. “What? Does anyone else know about this?”

“No. I keep bringing it up to them, but they just don’t want to look into it.” He ran a hand over his face. “Look…we got a situation. A lot of men have been disappearing over the past few years, from here and surrounding cities—some high-profile, powerful men. And some bodies have been turning up murdered. I can’t see the connection, and something’s not adding up.”

I rubbed my chin, processing.

“I need your eyes on this,” he continued. “You always had a gift for seeing things the rest of us couldn’t.”

I wasn’t gonna lie—the thought of working a case again made my blood rush. It had been years since I’d felt that high, that thrill of hunting down a killer. But I also knew what it would mean. If I took this job, I was stepping back into a world I thought I’d left behind.

Still, doing it my way, on my terms, with no one to answer to? That, I could consider.

I smirked. “Let me think about it.”

Jason grinned. He already knew my answer. I could see it in his eyes.

I was in.

SPENCER PULLED UP to my house, and before the car even rolled to a full stop, I was already reaching for the door handle. Oversleeping had thrown off my morning, and I needed to check in with my sisters before we all went our separate ways for the day. I was wearing oversized gym clothes I’d borrowed from him—his scent made me want to keep them on longer.

The smoky smell of bacon came from the kitchen, and I already knew Rayne was in there cooking like she did every morning. I kicked off my slippers at the door and hurried upstairs, stripping down as I moved through my space. A hot shower washed away the lingering passion from the night before.

We were triplets—three bodies, one unbreakable unit. Living apart had never been an option, so when we had the means, we built a home designed just for us. Each of us had an entire floor, complete with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a private living area. But we shared the spaces that mattered most—the main den, library, theater, gym, kitchen, and dining room. No matter how chaotic our lives got, we made a promise we’d always come together for meals when we could.

Dressed in a crisp white button-down and black slacks, I grabbed my work bag and headed downstairs. Skye was already at the table, her eyes locked on her laptop screen, fingers tapping rhythmically against the keys. I kissed her cheek in greeting before stepping into the kitchen where Rayne was plating up our breakfast.

“Here, let me help,” I said, grabbing the juice and silverware.

At the head of the table sat an empty chair draped with fresh flowers. Our mother’s chair. Though she wasn’t physically at our home with us anymore, we kept her presence alive in small ways. It was our silent way of making sure she never felt forgotten.

As soon as we sat down, Rayne wasted no time diving into business. “This week looks light—unless someone else comes by the office needing a job handled,” she said, cutting into her pancakes.

Rayne was our handler. Every job came through her first. She vetted the clients, planned the executions, and, when necessary, cleaned up the aftermath. By day, she was a highly respected mortician, running a funeral home with loyal employees who never questioned too much. It wasn’t hard for her to make a body disappear.

Skye finally looked up from her screen when Rayne slid a folder her way. She had always been obsessed with tech, so it made sense that she turned it into both a career and a weapon. By day, she worked for a top tech company. By night, she was our hacker, our money launderer, and our information source. She could breach security systems, clone phones, and uncover a man’s deepest secrets before he even knew we were watching.

And then there was me. I chose psychology. I studied the human mind, learned how to manipulate it, how to get inside people’s heads. I built a career as a counselor, working with various organizations and schools, but my favorite place to be was at Sakari’s father’s church. His megachurch had a program for domestic violence victims, offering them resources and an escape plan. I listened to those women, helped them, and when the time came, I made sure their abusers never got the chance to hurt them again. Some men deserved to die, and I had no problem making that happen.

Rayne sighed, cutting her eyes at me. “Stormi, no extracurricular kills this week. I mean it. We still have to plan every move, and we need eyes on you for every job.”

I smirked, sipping my orange juice. She hated when I went rogue, but some things were personal.

Skye shut her laptop and stood. “I’m heading into the office today. Catch y’all later.” She kissed us both on the cheek before grabbing her keys.

Rayne followed suit, snatching a piece of bacon off her plate. “Gotta meet with a family for burial arrangements. See you later, sis,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before heading for the garage.

I had a few hours before I needed to be at work, which meant just enough time for one more stop. I headed back upstairs, did my makeup, and grabbed my keys. It was time to visit my favorite woman.



When I walked through the doors, the receptionist barely glanced up before sliding the sign-in sheet toward me. She already knew who I was there to see. I signed my name, took the visitation sticker she handed me, and pressed it onto my shirt before making my way down the grand hallway. The air smelled of lavender and something faintly sweet—probably from the aromatherapy they used to keep the patients calm.

I stopped in front of the door marked Savannah Feathers. Knocking softly, I pushed it open to find my mother sitting on the edge of her bed, carefully changing the diaper on one of her baby dolls. Her delicate fingers moved with practiced care, her brows furrowed in concentration.

I stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up, eyes searching mine, and then a smile spread across her face. “Stormi.”

Tears stung the back of my eyes. Some days, she did. . .