Little Memphis: Little Memphis MC, #1

By Bijou Hunter

HEAT ღ HUMOR ღ HEA

 

Ford spills blood as an enforcer for the Little Memphis MC.

 

Shay makes an impulsive choice to start over her life in a wild city controlled by a motorcycle club.

 

Meeting Shay at the MC´s bar Suede, Ford views her as a shiny new toy to spice up his life. Shay views him as a sexy bastard she needs to avoid.

 

The city of Little Memphis is filled with violence and dubious loyalties. The days of the club's supremacy are over as enemies fight for territory and alliances fall apart. It's a dangerous time to find love, but Ford and Shay have never been good at playing life smart.

 

"Little Memphis" contains graphic sexual content, violent situations, disturbing content, and harsh language. The book is only appropriate for adult readers age 18+.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bijou Hunter
• Release date: Dec 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502271662

Bijou Hunter

Romance Author of Contemporary, Suspense, and New Adult ~ Find me at www.bijouhunterbooks.com ~ Join my mailing list: www.bijouhunterbooks.com/mailing-list

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LITTLE MEMPHIS

BIJOU HUNTER

Copyright © 2014 Bijou Hunter

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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Cover Design

Photo Source: Shutterstock

Cover Copyright © 2014 Bijou Hunter

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Dedication

Freckles, Tigger, Pooh, and Roo for owning my heart

Mustang Sally and Marvelous Miranda for having my back

Saucy Sarah and Hardcore Patty for knowing the genre

The couple at the Hampton Inn in Blytheville for inspiring this book

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

BROKEN MEMPHIS SNEAK PEEK

BIJOU BOOKS

ABOUT BIJOU

1

Shay

On the Run

Everyone has a flaw they can’t deny. Mine is impulsiveness. Have you ever wondered about those stupid kids who jump off bridges or play chicken with trains? I see that stupid kid whenever I look in the mirror. Trust me, she’s a pain in the ass, and I do my damnedest to control her. Sometimes, I fail.

I walk into trouble even when trying to do right. Maybe I should blame my mom for being a kid when she had me. Except the easy thing for her would have been a quick trip to a clinic, but Mom never did anything easy. Not with a positive pregnancy test at fifteen or when her parents told her to stay away from a married man driving a Camaro.

I’ve never met my dad, but my little brothers aren’t much better off knowing theirs. Even after two babies and a decade of broken promises, she’s still waiting for the man and his Camaro to be hers.

So I don’t come from strong stock. My grandparents drank too much and fucked people on the side. My aunts are whores, and my uncles are petty criminals. My cousins spend school nights sniffing paint and fucking anyone who will buy them beer. I don’t want to be like my family, yet I never manage to aim much higher.

Being impulsive isn’t all bad. When we were hungry, the rent was past due, and my brothers might end up in foster care, I jumped first and landed into the glamorous life of stripping at Spanky’s in downtown Hawthorne. While I lack real curves and can’t dance, I look pervert-satisfyingly young.

The owner, Mickey, was nice enough for a sweaty, old guy who talked to my tits rather than make eye contact. Okay, he was a perv, but he gave me a small advance for a private dance the first night. I used the money to take my family out for dinner. McDonald’s never tasted better.

Once out of debt, we lived off my dancing for nearly a year. Life wasn’t great, but it was acceptable until Mom made one of her brilliant life choices. Her man never paid a dime of child support, and he bought his bastard sons bargain-priced crap for their birthdays and Christmas. Yet, when the asshole claimed he needed cash for a divorce, she gave him everything we had.

That was it for me. I don’t do well under pressure and anger makes me especially stupid. Unable to think straight anymore, I end up on the back of a stranger’s Harley on my way to a place he calls Little Memphis.

2

Ford

Brothers and Baseball Bats

Little Memphis smells like hamburgers tonight. I stand next to my black Harley and run my fingers over the leather seat. I love the bike nearly as much as my douche brother standing next to me. Pax is sniffing the air and wondering where the smell is coming from. I always know what he’s thinking. Brothers and best buds, we spend too much damn time together. Though I love him more than myself, I often struggle not to punch him in the fucking face.

Burger King, Pax says, walking past me and toward the Honey Spot.

I nod but don’t follow. Something about the cold night feels wrong. I notice people hanging around in the parking lot across the street. A few low-level dealers hound two part-time hookers. The chicks laugh as if the guys are funny. I know that laugh. Chicks laugh the same way when I drink too much tequila and tell dick jokes. Yeah, I’m fucking hilarious, just like the assholes across the street.

Leaving them, I walk into the titty bar, where Pax orders a beer while chatting up a pretty waitress. She giggles at his stupid pickup lines. Girls always giggle for my blond jackass brother. He’s charming in a weird way no one can ever put their finger on. I know the waitress wishes he liked her for real. Her eyes are big and hopeful. Seeing her expression, Pax turns to me in a panic.

Even brothers and best buds, I laugh at his fear. The guy cracks me up. We take our beers to a table where a spiky-haired troublemaker named Nick waits.

About fucking time, he says as if he’s in a hurry to bleed.

Who’s your friend? I ask, gesturing toward the skinny, bald guy leaning against the booth.

Don’t you worry about him. He’s my boy.

Pax laughs at this term, and I know where his mind’s gone. Mine already went there and returned. Now, I’m focused on the assholes.

Joker said you wanted to meet, I mutter.

Him. I wanted to meet him, Nick whines about the club’s VP. Joker knew that, too, he adds, slamming his hand on the table and scaring a nearby waitress.

Pax winks at the girl before she hurries away. With his hands in fists, Nick isn’t a happy little bitch. Of course, I’m not his fucking mom, and I don’t get paid to kiss ass. No, my skill set is something different.

Joker sent us, I say and then ask, Do you know why?

I know you and that fucker are ball busters. Am I supposed to be scared?

Pax shifts next to me, losing his temper. With his bright blue eyes shining all over the fucking place like a kid on Christmas Day, my brother doesn’t really look pissed until he’s already hacking away at some fool. Yet, I feel Pax’s rising anger.

What do you want to happen here? I ask Nick.

I want a little fucking respect. I want to be acknowledged for what I bring to the table.

Pax snorts. You think you’re special, asshole? You sell drugs to stupid people. My morning dump can do what you do without needing a pat on the fucking back or an attaboy.

Nick glares at Pax before focusing on me. You ever hear of Samson?

Is this a long story? Pax sighs.

Hey, pretty boy, Nick says, banging on the table again. You and your long hair.

Pax yanks on my shoulder-length, brown hair. It’s not that long, and he’s not that pretty.

I grin at my brother. My smile fades when I realize Nick still wants to tell his damn story.

In the Bible, Samson was a big-time warrior with long hair. The hair was his power. When it got cut, he was powerless. I wonder if the same thing will happen to you.

First, you call me pretty, I mutter. Now, you’re digging my hair. Shit, are you coming on to me? I don’t swing that way, man. If I did, I’d aim higher.

Diva, Pax says, but Nick’s on the move.

I’m going to cut off that fucking hair and keep it as a souvenir, he growls, jumping to his feet. I’ll show it off at parties when I tell people I beat the shit out of Crawford and Paxton Reed.

Let’s do this outside, then, I say, standing up. The girls in here are skittish ever since that pissed wife showed up with a stick of dynamite.

Pax walks out first with Nick and his boy close behind. I’m last out the door but first to throw a punch. I take down the bald guy with a single strike to the back of his neck. He whimpers like a little bitch, but my mind is on Nick.

Pax doesn’t stop walking even when Nick talks shit. My brother ignores him and strolls to the Harleys. Giving up, Nick turns and runs at me. I suspect he wants to tackle me. I don’t even think Pax’s morning dump would be so fucking stupid.

Nick runs straight into me and just stops. He’s a big guy at over six feet, but I’m bigger. He’s a mean bastard, but I’m meaner. Life sheds no tears for the underdog, and Nick’s old enough to know better.

Dragging him to the street, I throw him down and hold him under my boot. Pax hands me the bat.

We never had a dad to teach us how to play ball, Pax tells Nick like we’re in therapy or something. We still managed to get tagged as Slugger and Home Run. I’d say our skills come naturally.

My bat slams down on Nick’s right knee. Pax takes the right shoulder. We work the guy into ground beef. I find this fact especially funny since the night still smells like hamburgers.

3

Shay

Men Suck

The stranger tells me to call him Lucky. I hadn’t noticed him inside Spanky’s. He remained invisible until pulling his gun on the freak who pulled a knife on me.

Even before Lucky helps out, the pervert is bleeding. Bad day to grab this angry stripper’s ass! I nail the pervert with my heel before realizing the biker plans to help.

The freak runs off once Lucky pulls the gun. Alone now, I look at my shaggy, middle-aged savior and wonder if he’ll want repayment for his help.

In my bad mood, my view of men is simple. They suck. I don’t normally judge people as one size fits all. Of course, I had savings before Camaro Donnie conned my mom out of it. Yeah, all men are evil, and I hate them all.

Lucky isn’t so bad. Buying me a cup of coffee in a well-lit shop, he says I’m shaking and should calm down before taking the bus home. No doubt, he’s playing me. Probably plans to rape and kill me. Hell, if I’m lucky I’ll get snuffed quick. I’m rarely a lucky chick, though.

I drink my free cup of coffee and size him up. He’s in his forties. Attractive, maybe. One of his front teeth is chipped, giving him a goofy smile. His brown eyes are clear of drugs, booze, and bad intentions. The guy seems nice, and I blab my problems to him.

Mom is a loser. I only stick around for my brothers. They’d be better off in foster care. We never had enough food until I started stripping. Mom mismanages money. Growing up, we got welfare, but she pissed away the food stamps on the first week of the month. We often went hungry when not in school. Most weekends, the local church fed us. We wore ugly hand-me-downs. Our apartment was often without electricity, so my brothers did their homework at school. Life sucked until I shook my titties for gross men. Even this wasn’t enough anymore.

Why not just leave? Lucky asks casually as if I’m blind to the answer in front of me.

What about my brothers?

Let foster care deal with them. They ain’t babies. Let your lazy mom get a fucking job. You’re only prolonging the inevitable. Just walk away and save yourself.

His words make so much sense. Still angry, I refuse to consider tomorrow. I look at Lucky and hear him tell me how he’s returning to his home in Arkansas.

Wanna come along? he asks.

If I say yes, what do you get out of it?

Lucky leans back in his chair and scratches at his graying beard. When you hit that dipshit with your shoe, it made me laugh. I needed a chuckle, and life sent you. I figure I’ll take you somewhere new as a way to say thanks.

You’ll probably kill me, I mutter while eyeing Lucky. I’ll end up in a shallow grave or a crawlspace under your house.

My old lady won’t like me putting a dead chick under our house. She’s real particular about smells.

Wrapping my dark blonde hair into a bun, I smile. What about the shallow grave?

Lucky finishes his coffee and sighs. I won’t lie and claim I’m a good guy who’s never dug a grave. But I can promise you it was never a hole fit for a girl.

When he stands up, I realize I need to decide this second. No thinking over my options. He’s leaving town now. I can stay, or I can go. I can remain stuck where I’m at, or I can do something else.

Like most impulsive people, I’m attracted to anything new and shiny. The future Lucky offers is the best gift to someone like me.

4

Ford

Rivers of Blood

Suede isn’t much to look at from the outside. Many people figure it’s a gay bar because of the name and the blue lights lining the sign.

Not just anyone can walk through the front door of Suede. From five to one, Joker’s little brother, Dimples, works the door. Big and dumb, the guy isn’t good for anything else.

Tonight, Dimples is on the phone with his old lady who’s tearing him a new one. Pax laughs at the sound of the bouncer’s voice.

Never getting whipped, Pax says, sealing his fate.

I wonder if Pax will make it to the end of the year without whining to a woman for a second chance. Life is like that. First, you tell it what you will and won’t do. Then, life tells you what is really gonna happen.

I never make such threats. I roll with the life before me. Up or down, good or bad, I don’t care. I make my bed and lie in it. Don’t whine. Never look back. Just let things happen.

Hell, I’m thinking this when we reach Joker’s table. Of course, now that I’ve claimed to have it all figured out, life is bound to kick me in the balls. I know my wake-up call will be painful since fate wears steel-tipped boots.

How’s Nick feeling? Joker asks, grinning.

The Little Memphis club VP has a nice-guy vibe. You want someone to pick you up at the airport, why not ask old Joker? He’s a pal. That’s the lie, anyway.

My guess is his old lady took him to the hospital where they’ve pumped him full of morphine. If that’s the case, the fucker ain’t feeling nothing.

Pax grins. Morphine wears off.

I share my brother’s smile as we turn our chairs around and sit down with our arms resting on the backs. Joker has a laptop out and papers spread over the table. He’s looking like a rough-around-the-edges businessman. I don’t know what he’s doing with all those papers. Don’t care either. I signed up to be an enforcer. It’s not my job to know the little details. I don’t want to manage shit. Just give me a guy to break, and I’m in my zone.

Nick is a symptom of a bigger problem, Joker says, taking a swig of beer. Folks in Little Memphis ain’t loyal, and they have short memories. They don’t care about what you did for them yesterday. They only respect the big dog that’ll rip their throats out in the next few minutes. Once they smell weakness, they test management to see if there’s a hole in our armor.

Lot of fucking imagery there, boss, I say, taking a beer from the waitress, Livie. How bad off is Trigger?

Joker is a bear of a guy. Our VP is jovial with a thick, reddish beard and happy blue eyes. Flip the coin to get our president. Trigger is lean and dark in every way. He shadows the people around him. His voice is a rumble. He charms the ladies, but I only see a humorless fucker who killed enough men to end up on top.

Trigger never tells people his life story. He doesn’t have a past. Not even a fucking childhood. Trigger was born a full-grown scary asshole, and he won’t tell you anything different. Some people said he was a demon after he survived getting shot so many times over the years. The guy was unkillable.

Well, until he didn’t watch his fucking cholesterol and ended up with a double coronary. Even demons get old, apparently.

He’s surviving, Joker says, but it’s not as if he’s walking around town wagging his dick at anyone who looks at him wrong. Without Trigger around, people think they can play.

Nick learned, I say, finishing my beer and waving for the waitress to bring me another. He learned in a real public way, too. We dumped him on his old lady’s lawn, and she wailed loud enough for us to hear her a block away. People know better now.

Temporarily, at least, Joker sighs, tapping his thick fingers on the table. For today, they fear the club. Tomorrow, they’ll wonder if they can do shit better.

Pax shrugs. We’ll keep our bats ready.

Joker smiles, but he looks tired. Lucky is coming home, and he’s got a girl with him. I figured he’d lost his mind bringing his whore to Little Memphis, knowing Jenn’s temper. He claims the girl’s a kid, not a fuck. He’s doing her a favor. Spreading love and harmony. Looks like Lucky’s gone soft in his old age.

Yawning, I stretch my arms as high as I can to work out a kink in my back. Aren’t we all?

Fuck off, Gramps, Pax says, standing up. I’m finding a girl before the only choices are Livie and whatever the hell that thing in the corner is.

That’s a dude, Joker mutters, grinning wider now. I hear he’s got magic hands.

Pax glares at Joker, but he won’t challenge our VP. Loving to break shit and cause trouble, he’ll usually fight with anyone. Pax even went as far as to start a grudge match with a neighborhood cat that howls in our backyard.

Yeah, Pax loves to fuck with people, but he isn’t looking to die. Despite Joker’s easy vibe, he’s killed people for less than whatever stupid thing I know Pax wants to say.

After my brother walks off to find a girl, I size up Joker. How much blood do you think we’ll spill until Trigger’s back?

Rivers, he says, running a beefy hand through his thick red hair. If Trigger doesn’t get his heart working right or I move up a slot, we’re talking the Mississippi River of blood, Slugger.

Works for me, I mutter, standing up and stretching again. When things slide smooth for you, I get bored. Rivers of blood, though, will keep me busy.

5

Shay

Trucker Hats and Poodle Skirts, Oh My!

At two in the morning, we stop in a little town off the highway where Lucky gets a room with two beds. He never makes a move for me. I sleep pretty well, considering I’m sharing a room with a strange man. I don’t dream. I sleep guilt-free. The feeling doesn’t last.

The next morning, Lucky sits inside a small Denny’s while I call my mom outside. She isn’t really awake and doesn’t understand why I’m not home. Is Lucky my boyfriend? Are we coming back? Will he be moving into the apartment? This last question tells me she isn’t thinking straight. Our two-bedroom apartment barely fits the four of us.

Donny Junior talks to me next while Mom makes coffee. He understands better, and I know he’s scared. Our mom is a gentle woman, but she sucks at parent stuff. Homework, permission slips, clean clothes, bedtimes are things that don’t interest her. She’s never gotten up in time to take Donny or Devin to their first days of school. Every day, I made sure they got where they needed to go. Always reliable, I’ve now ditched them on a whim.

After hanging up, I return to the restaurant where Lucky waits. He doesn’t mention my red, wet eyes. He remains silent until our food arrives, and he’s dumped half a ketchup bottle on his eggs and hash browns.

I was a geeky kid, he says in a rough morning voice. Scrawny as fuck. I got my ass kicked a few times. But life ain’t a Stephen King book where the bullies hunt you down and knife you. I was just ignored. Even the ugly girls didn’t want to date a guy like me. They’d rather drool over the jocks who didn’t want them.

Blowing on my coffee, I focus on Lucky’s voice. Even calming down, I’m haunted by Mom’s confusion and Donny’s fear.

I didn’t get laid until I was nineteen. My first time was a pity fuck, too. Do you know why I’m telling you this?

When I shake my head, Lucky gives me a little grin. One day, I left my shitty hometown and visited a friend in Blairsville. She was a girl from high school and wanted cheap labor fixing up her house. Having nothing going on in Hawthorne, I needed a change. Hell, if I didn’t get one, too.

Lucky pauses to eat a few mouthfuls of eggs and hash browns. I bulked up those months working on her place. Less geeky kid after that, I suddenly had people noticing me. After I fixed up the girl’s place, I decided to stay in town. Started working at a gas station for extra cash.

Lucky pauses to get the waitress to refill his coffee cup.

One night, some punk-ass kids decided to play thugs with a chick pumping gas. They were mouthing off, talking about fucking her real nice and taking turns. She was rattled mostly because she was preggo and ready to pop. The kids weren’t for real, but she was scared. I figured I oughta make them scared, too.

He gives me a wink before continuing, "I took a broom I was using to sweep up and cracked