Broken Memphis: Little Memphis MC, #2

By Bijou Hunter

HEAT ღ HUMOR ღ HEA

 

Pax Reed doesn't need any distractions from the bloody civil war brewing in Little Memphis. His goal is to watch his brother's back and survive. But a beautiful single mom soon complicates his life.

 

Though Bebe Green craves a danger-free life, club enforcer Pax proves to be too tempting. The seductive stud makes her laugh while his touch ignites a glorious fire inside her.

 

"Broken 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 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9798224978649

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

Book preview

BROKEN MEMPHIS

BIJOU HUNTER

Copyright © 2015 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 © 2015 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

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Judy’s Proofreading

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Epilogue

Epilogue

RUSTY CAGE SNEAK PEEK

BIJOU READING ORDER

ABOUT BIJOU

1

Bebe

My Family's Curse

As a little girl, I said the same word simultaneously as my sister, Sabine. Another girl told us we were jinxed, and we couldn't speak until someone said our name. No matter the rules of the Jinx Game, the Green family's curse goes back generations.

My great-great-great-grandmother went on a short holiday away from my rich great-great-great-grandfather. He told Cherie he might die from missing her. Instead, during her five-day trip away, he met and fell in love with another woman. The rejected Cherie ended up on the street. No more husband, money, or home. Oh, and he insisted she take their daughter since the new wife wasn't interested in playing mommy. Cherie ended up a prostitute, training her daughter to do the same when she got old enough.

For generations, women in my family ended up working on their backs. The few men in the Green clan tended to sell low-quality drugs. They’ve always died young, too. This is my family's curse.

My mom suffered from the jinx, as did my sister. They both made decent money as prostitutes. Our family might have bad luck, and none of us is any good at school, but we're born with above-average looks.

I'm the exception to selling my body. I never liked sex enough to do it for a living. My ex-boyfriend, Howie, was a pimp, and he groomed me for the job. I decided I'd rather be a maid. Before he forced me into the trade, Howie was sent to prison for running a dogfighting business. Yeah, his way of life led to him caged like an animal while I cleaned toilets in peace. Doesn't sound like much of a win on my part, but I believe in celebrating whenever I can.

Howie is a horrible man, but we made a beautiful daughter. Tallulah is worth all the crap he foisted on me. At three, she already wants to read. Lula is everything to me, and I finally have a chance to create a normal life for her.

My luck began to turn around when I met Shay Thompson at the hotel where we both worked. Soon, I was friends with Darby, the ex-wife of the Little Memphis Motorcycle Club’s vice president. She invited Lula and me to move into her beautiful cottage-style house. Within weeks, my old roommates Perri and Flora lost their pimp and decided to go straight. Now, we all live at Darby's place. I'm happier than I've ever been.

These days, Perri works as a night clerk at The Oregon Hotel. Darby found Flora a job at a dry cleaner. We're living clean lives, thanks to my fateful meeting with Shay only a few months ago.

On our day off from work, we enjoy a chilly afternoon at the park with our kids. Lula and Perri's son, Graham, are both three. Her daughter, Haley, is barely walking, while Flora's son, Orion, is knee-deep in his terrible twos.

At the park, the kids hurry in different directions. Lula finds a spot and plays quietly alone. I admire her, feeling pride that I was capable of creating someone so wonderful.

I’m still getting used to being up early, Flora says, pulling at her black ponytail. Living the law-and-order life isn't easy sometimes.

Perri often acts as the wise one of our group. At twenty-five, she's only older than us by three years. With her very short blonde haircut, she looks so different without the heavy makeup she once wore. Today, she plays middle class better than Flora and me.

I lived in that life since before I was old enough to drive, Perri says. Up all night. Then, the kids came along, and I had to juggle the days with them and the nights on the job. I gotta say I like this new life better, even if I feel weird being at the park with these suburban broads.

Laughing behind my hand, I know how Perri feels. We're surrounded by stay-at-home moms with a few nannies in the mix. These women aren't cool chicks like Darby, with her rockabilly style. They're soccer moms with not a high school dropout in sight.

Yet, this is my life now, and I'm not giving it up. I prefer living in a neighborhood where walking to the park isn't a death wish. My baby girl loves Darby and living in a pretty house. Lula’s frequent smiles make me feel like a hero, and I refuse to fail her.

Like clockwork, though, I sense the Green family jinx crowding me. Scanning the park, I spot teenagers lingering around the edges. The other moms notice them, too. The matching purple mohawks don't exactly help the freaks blend in.

I move quickly towards Lula playing in the sand. The teenagers aren't doing anything, but I'm nervous now.

Mom, she says, showing me the sand slipping through her fingers.

Squatting down, I play with the sand, too. Lula’s long dark hair is a mess, but I never know how to style it. I can't even finesse it into a ponytail like I do with my long brown hair. Reaching out to run my fingers through her soft locks, I sense movement.

I think fast and grab Lula. From the corner of my eye, I see Perri and Flora panicking, but they can't help me.

You're coming with us, says one of the purple mohawk teenagers.

F U C K off, I say, spelling my cuss word for Lula's benefit.

I really only need you, he says, pointing the gun at my baby's head.

My mind pictures him pulling the trigger and all the light in Lula's dark eyes vanishing. In an instant, I suffer in a world where she no longer laughs. My heart dies a little, just imagining my baby gone forever.

With my baby shaking in my arms, I gasp, No, please.

Then, get up and come with us, bitch.

Can I leave her with my friends?

The teenage boys share a look before shaking their heads. Bring the little bitch.

Tears burning my eyes, I pick up a shaking Lula. Where are we going?

No questions. Just hurry the fuck up.

Believing in my heart that he'll hurt Lula, I walk with him. I glance back at my friends and see them collecting their kids. The other moms are doing the same. Many of them are dialing their cells. I know the suburban broads are dialing the cops, but Perri is calling the real power in Little Memphis.

2

Pax

Superman is a Schmuck

I can paint a red S on my chest and strap on a cape, but it won't make me a hero.

As a killer for the Little Memphis Motorcycle Club, I take lives instead of saving them. I'm not all bad and treat my asshole brother pretty good. I'm a lover and a fighter, but I don't do good deeds. Well, unless going down on a chick counts.

Hero or not, I'm the one who gets the call to save Bebe and her kid.

If his dick didn't do his thinking these days, my brother would be at my side. Instead, Ford’s playing at an out-of-town hotel complete with waterslides and other lame shit. I blame his new woman, Shay, who's turned him soft. Hell, I can only imagine how annoying they must be right now. Kissing and giggling like horny turds. Well, maybe not too horny since Shay's younger brothers—Donnie Junior and Devin—are with them. Still damn annoying, I'm sure.

With them out of town, waiting for Ford isn't an option. The guy who grabbed Bebe and her kid is a freaky jack-of-all-trades. Pimp, dealer, collector of teenagers with purple mohawks, Taz doesn't want Bebe for a friendly chat.

I drive alone to the asshole's house, but my club brothers aren't taking the day off. Our club VP, Joker, is making moves and calling in our loyal guys to make sure I don't end up dead. Even appreciating the backup, I'm willing to walk alone into hostile territory to save Bebe.

The chick is hot, leaving me hard for her for months. My club brother, Taco, says Bebe has almond-shaped eyes. They remind me more of a cat’s eyes than nuts, but I dig them. They're soft when they look at me. Even when I piss her off by saying something stupid—which happens on occasion—her eyes never get mean. She thinks I'm funny, and I think she's hot. Why we haven't hooked up yet, I don't know. If I had to guess, the reason is a tiny version of Bebe, who cockblocks me at every turn.

No way do I want to think of the kid inside Taz's pervert den. Imagining Lula and Bebe scared or hurt will send me into a rage. Hell, I don't need to be a hero to know going into a dangerous situation with wild-bitch emotions never saves anyone.

So I don't feel. I barely even think. Nothing to worry about, anyway. Taz is just another weirdo I face in my line of work. He has a group of idiot followers who think he's God. I also heard he's really into LEGOs.

Scratch that. He's a big Transformers fan.

Two teenage boys with purple mohawks escort me into a narrow, white house on a run-down street deep in Little Memphis’ West Side. They expect me to hand over my weapons. When I say nothing and don't hand over shit, they just walk into the living room, where Taz sits in a big, purple recliner.

He's in his mid-twenties and sports a purple mohawk. Barely restraining my smirk at his stupid hair, I instead frown at the nipple rings shining at me from his Transformers-tatted chest. I tear my gaze away from his man-tits to glance at where more teenagers sit on the floor, smoking pot. On the bookshelves are Transformers dolls. The guy has Transformers posters framed on his wall. If he weren't a pimp, the freak would likely never get laid.

I'm here for Bebe Green, I say when no one speaks.

She's mine.

How do you figure? I ask, crossing my arms.

The mohawk flock shifts uneasily, thinking my arms crossing is a sign of aggression. The idiots should be more worried about when my hands rest near my weapons.

Wolfman owes me, Taz says, leaning back in his chair. He's getting out of prison soon and making things square. The chick is my payment.

Whenever I think of hairy-as-fuck Wolfman ever touching the prettier-than-pretty Bebe, I get a little nauseous. She's too damn hot for that guy. Too good in every single fucking way. Yet, they share a history that's shitting all over the present.

She doesn't belong to him, so he can't give her to you.

Taz stretches, so his shiny nipple rings shake. I try not to stare, but they're weirdly hypnotic. Is this how he cons his followers to worship him? Will I shave my hair into a mohawk soon and join his cult now that I've witnessed the holy rings?

Who is she to you? Taz asks.

She's my brother's fiancée's best friend, I say, running my hand through my shoulder-length blond hair. So, we're tight and shit. Now, where are Bebe and the kid?

She's around, but she ain't leaving. I'm owed what I'm owed.

Listen here, I say, trying to sound friendly but failing because I don't try hard enough. We don't need to make this messy. We both want something, so I say we trade.

Taz sizes me up. Trade what?

My people for your person.

You got one of my guys? Let him rot.

Naw, it ain't one of your guys.

Fucker, I don't care who it is. I'm owed money, and that girl and her kid are how Wolfman wants to settle up.

You don't care? I say, scratching my beard. That's cold. I mean, doesn't everyone love their mom?

Truth be told, my mom doesn't mean shit to me. She was never around when I was growing up, and I can't remember any particularly fond memories of her. Hell, I don't even know if she's still alive. Yet, Taz's twitching jaw tells me that he loves his mommy. Loves her so much he goes stupid and reaches for his gun.

Smiling at the weapon, I know he won't shoot me. Not if he wants his mommy back. I have a picture of her looking pissed off in her nightdress. Wanna see?

Fucker, I oughta kill you.

Yeah, go ahead. I promise you'll get chunks of your mommy in the mail. When her head arrives, that'll be the day my boys show up and skin you. You know I don't work alone. Giving him a wink, I slowly reach for my phone. Wanna see your mom?

I could just exchange you for my mom.

Naw, I ain't interested in playing hostage, asshole.

Pressing a button on my phone, I ring up the bomb Madden set on one of Taz's cars. The explosion isn't big. Doesn't need to be much to scare the shit out of everyone in the house and likely the people up and down this block.

Don't you worry about the pigs heading this way, Taz. They didn't hear nothing. They won't hear your mom begging, either.

Taz gives me a real nasty look, and I try not to laugh. The dweeb is nothing more than a stupid kid playing the tough guy role. Acing Grand Theft Auto didn’t make him a thug.

Bring out the bitch and her kid, he says to one of his kiddie goons.

I warn myself not to react to seeing Bebe. Years ago, when a guy shoved a gun against my head, Ford never even blinked. He didn't seem to give a shit if I ended up dead. My brother knows how to play the badass. I need to do the same when faced with a scared Bebe.

Knowing I'll probably show something when she enters the room, I look at my nails instead. One of the fingers got banged up at the batting cages, so the tip is black now. Waiting for the nail to fall off, I hope to gross-out Shay.

Bebe stumbles into the room, holding Lula. I glance up to find her surprised to see me. Bebe also looks relieved. The hope in her eyes makes me feel great. Her opinion matters too much, but I can't shake off the need. Thinking about her relief distracts me from the black eye hiding behind her long, wavy brown hair. I'm not distracted for long before the thought of setting the house on fucking fire feels right.

Here's my problem, Taz says, tapping the gun barrel to his head. Wolfman owes me money. They're his payment. You have my mom, okay, but that ain't much of a trade. Since the kid belongs as much to Wolfman as the bitch, why don't I keep her? I'll pimp her out just until I make back what he owes.

Bebe makes a strangled noise and wraps Lula tighter in her arms. Her fear pisses me off, but my temper won't keep the girls safe. I think about Ford again and how he plays with people in these situations. He's a manipulative fucker.

You know, I'd be more pissed if I were you, I tell Taz. Wolfman set you up, and you're sitting here worrying about your damn mommy.

How do you figure he set me up?

Even though I don't find any of this shit funny, I laugh. Wolfman knows Bebe is protected by the club. Like you said, he's about to get out of prison, and I'm guessing he wants to get rid of the competition. Meaning you, I say, pointing at Taz. He cons you into grabbing Bebe, figuring the club will want payback. We take this shit personal, so we kill you and your baby badasses here. Then, he gets out and takes your place.

Won't you want to kill him, too? Taz asks, sounding like a kid.

Oh, Wolfman probably didn't think I'd come in all nice this way. He assumed we'd tear your house apart and never learn about him. Yeah, he screwed you pretty hard, and I bet he didn't even pay for dinner.

Taz looks around at the others. The wide-eyed kiddie thugs are working shit out. Not caring about their confusion, I gesture for Bebe to join me.

Here's the deal, I say to Taz, I'm walking out of here with Bebe and her kid. If you give me any shit, I'll make sure your mom gets banged up like you did to my brother's fiancée's best friend. Do we understand each other?

The douche isn't sure what to do, but I don't wait for him to decide. I wrap an arm around Bebe's shoulders and guide her out of the house and to my waiting vehicle. Opening the door to the SUV, I never acknowledge the people watching me. I'm not afraid of dying. If they kill me, I'm dead, and I don't need to worry. If they don't kill me, well, that's fine, too.

As I pull the SUV out of the driveway, Bebe whispers to a spaced-out Lula.

What's wrong with her? I ask.

They gave her beer.

Bebe wants to cry. Her lower lip trembles until she bites it hard enough to draw blood. Seeing her heartbroken, I want to fuck up some people and give Bebe revenge. I don't think she wants payback, though. Looking tired, she probably just wants to rest.

Did they hurt you more than the black eye? I ask, thinking about how Bebe was supposed to pay back Wolfman’s debt.

No.

I just nod, too pissed to do anything else. Arriving at Darby's house, I get a weird feeling in my gut.

You took care of the kid, I say to Bebe. Those people are scum, but you kept her safe.

Bebe looks at her drunk kid and then at me. Thank you for coming.

I take care of my friends.

A forced smile is all I get until Bebe reaches out and places her hand on mine. That's when I realize I'm shaking with rage. Hating Taz and his followers, I plan to kill them all, but it won't be soon enough.

Bebe watches me in the dark until Darby hurries outside and helps her from the SUV. I let them speak while I dial my club brothers, Lucky and Taco.

I got them home safe, I say when Lucky picks up. How's the old lady?

She ain't that old, and she aims her kicks for the balls, man.

Are you injured? Should I call an ambulance? I ask, nearly laughing.

Lucky grunts. Funny shit. Are we letting Mom go?

Sure, but her boy ain't long for this world. You might want to tell her to take lots of pictures while he's still breathing.

Fair enough.

Once Lucky hangs up, I look at where Bebe walks toward the porch with Darby. I panic at the thought of her going inside the house. There's no logic to me feeling this way. I just want her back in the SUV. Since I usually get what I want, I hurry after the women.

Pack up, I tell Bebe.

The women look at me as if I'm crazy.

Want me to hold the kid while you get your crap? I ask, ignoring their expressions.

What are you babbling about? Darby grumbles, looking underdressed in only jeans and a gray sweatshirt.

You've got too many people in this house, and Bebe ain't safe here. She can stay at my place.

I won’t allow these girls to go to your dump.

My house ain't a dump. It's got plenty of space. A hell of a lot more than here with all your charity cases.

So, I'd be the only charity case at your place, then, Bebe whispers while adjusting Lula in her arms.

I told you that I take care of friends. I mean, you're my brother's fiancée's best friend.

Sighing, Darby yanks me off the porch. Let me talk to you.

Go pack, I tell Bebe. Just enough for tonight. We'll get your other crap tomorrow.

Darby yanks me harder until we're standing next to the SUV. I shove my hands into my pockets and wait