Authors: Bijou Hunter
Broken Memphis
Broken Memphis
Bijou Hunter
Copyright © 2015 Bijou Hunter
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.
For more information about this series and author visit:
http://www.bijouhunterbooks.com
Cover Design
Illustrator: Miranda Koryluk
Photographer: Anastasiya Domnitch
Source: Shuttershock
Dedication
Freckles, Tigger, Pooh, and Roo for making me laugh
Mustang Sally for cracking her whip
Candy Girl Miranda for knowing me better than I know myself
Saucy Sarah, Hardcore Patty, and Seductive Stacie for kicking ass
Lindsay Hopper for her proofreading prowess
Book Summary
Pax Reed figures navigating the bloody civil war in Little Memphis is tricky enough. Life gets even more complicated when he meets Bebe.
Bebe Green craves a danger-free life, yet club enforcer Pax proves to be too damn tempting. The seductive stud makes her laugh while his touch creates a glorious hunger in her.
Table of Contents
1
Bebe
My Family's Curse
As a little girl, I said the same word 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 end up working on their backs. The few men in the Green clan tend to sell low-grade drugs. They always die 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. The girls also lack the addictive tastes of the men in the family. Without living hard on booze or drugs, we age better than you'd expect for whores.
I'm the exception. Not that I'm amazingly brave or smart. I just never liked sex enough to do it for a living. My ex-boyfriend Howie is a pimp, and he groomed me for the job. When I decided I'd rather be a maid, he decided I'd do what he said. Before he forced me into the trade, Howie was sent to prison for running a dog fighting business. Yeah, his way led to him caged like an animal, while I cleaned toilets in peace. Doesn't sound like much of a win, 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 make 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, who is the ex-wife of the vice president of the Little Memphis Motorcycle Club. She invited Lula and me to move into her house. Within weeks, my old roommates Perri and Flora lost their pimp and decided to go straight. Now we all live at Darby's pretty cottage-style house. Even crowded, 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 a clean life thanks to my fateful meeting with Shay only a few months ago.
Off work, the three of us 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 into different directions. I watch them, but my focus remains on Lula, who plays quietly on her own.
"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 acts as the wise one of the group. At twenty-five, she's only older than us by three years. With her very short blonde haircut, she looks so different without all the 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. 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 all 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 like living in a neighborhood where walking to the park isn't a death wish. My baby girl loves Darby and living in our house. Her smile makes me feel like a hero, and I refuse to fail her.
Like clockwork though, I sense the jinx of my family crowding me. Glancing around the park, I spot teenagers lingering around the edges of the park. 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. Her long dark hair is a mess, but I don't know how to style it the way my mom did mine. I can't even work it successfully 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 imagines 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 at just the thought of my baby gone forever.
Seeing her already dead, I gasp, "No, please."
"Then get up and come with us, 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. Other moms are doing the same. Many of them are dialing their cells. I know the suburban broads are calling the cops, but Perri is calling for help from 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 Ford 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, Ford would be at my side. Instead, he's playing at an out-of-town hotel complete with water slides 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 that moment. Kissing and giggling like horny turds. Well, maybe not too horny since Shay's younger brothers, Donnie 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, he doesn't want Bebe for a friendly chat.
I drive to the asshole's house alone, 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'd walk into hostile territory alone 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 cat 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 cock-blocks me at every turn.
No way do I want to think of the kid inside Taz's pervert den. Imagining her 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 think 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 inside the West Side of Little Memphis. They demand me to hand over my weapons. When I say nothing and don't hand over shit, they just walk me 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 and smoke pot. On the bookshelves are
Transformer
s dolls. The guy has
Transformers
posters framed on his wall. If he wasn't a pimp, the freak would likely never get laid.