My Perfect Drug (Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  MY PERFECT DRUG

  BIJOU HUNTER

  Copyright © 2019 Bijou Hunter

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmosphere purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  For more information about this series and author, please visit her website.

  Cover

  Photographer: Ann Haritonenko

  Source: Depositphotos

  Cover Copyright © 2019 Bijou Hunter

  Dedication

  To my handsome sons for warming the world with their smiles;

  To my mom for taking charge when I can’t;

  To cool chick, Carina, for helping figure out the mess in my brain;

  To my betas, Sarah and Debbie, for possessing the patience of Job;

  &

  Judy’s Proofreading

  Book Summary

  Lily Johansson strives to be a good girl, but she’s got bad in her blood. As the daughter of the president of the Reapers Motorcycle Club, she should know better than to have a secret boyfriend. Especially one from a toxic family full of problems she doesn’t need.

  But some men are impossible to quit, and Lily’s inner bad girl is finished hiding.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEIR STORY BEGINS

  DASHIELL MULLEN, AKA THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE LOVEBIRDS MAKE THREE

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PRINCESS TAKES HER SWEET-ASS TIME

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PRINCESS PISSES OFF THE KING

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE MULLENS BLEED

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PRINCESS AND THE LOSER HAVE RELATIONS

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE KING AND QUEEN REBOUND

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THINGS GO FROM BETTER TO WORSE

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE SHIT SHOULD GET BETTER BUT DOESN’T

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE NIGHT NEVER ENDS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE WORLD SHIFTS

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE KING GETS ANOTHER THORN IN HIS PAW

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE TIME PASSES, WOUNDS HEAL, AND BUMPS GROW

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE NEW STUFF IS BETTER THAN OLD STUFF

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE PRINCESS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE MULLEN FAMILY DOES WHAT IT DOES BEST

  THE PRINCESS

  THE LOSER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY ENDS

  OH, BY THE WAY, FROM THE PRINCESS

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE FORMER LOSER

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE PRINCESS

  PROMISE ME HEAVEN QUICKIE

  ABOUT BIJOU

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEIR STORY BEGINS

  LILY JOHANSSON, AKA THE PRINCESS

  I have a secret. I’m a good girl with a taste for the bad. It’s in my blood. My grand-pop created the local motorcycle club that my pop still runs. My maternal grandparents were both low-level criminals. They’re dead now, likely because my father made them that way. That’s how Ellsberg works. Don’t mess with the Johanssons—or their beloveds—unless you’re looking to die.

  Mom named me after a little girl she wished she could have been—a goody-goody teacher’s pet. I’m not so different from that idealized child. I did well in school until college where I hit a wall. Until then, I was full-on virtuous Lily.

  But my middle name is Delta, after my maternal great-grandmother who just happened to be a pretty savvy grifter. She was the reason my parents met, so they honored her despite the woman lacking any presence in our lives. The name fits me too. As much as I might want to be law-abiding Lily, my Delta side insists I give troublemaking a little taste too.

  I fought my sordid tendencies for as long as I could. I truly did my best, but eventually, I gave in. Now I have two secrets, and I’m about to have a third.

  My parents wouldn’t understand. No one probably will, so I keep my secrets close to my heart where I can keep them safe.

  The first night in my new place reminds me why I’m considered a goody-goody. I clean up after myself immediately. Can’t have crumbs. That’s how we get ants. Must keep my half of my Victorian duplex perfect. My image needs maintaining even if I’m the only one keeping track.

  Around eight that evening, I strip off my clothes. If I still lived at my parents’ place, I would be helping Mom grade her class’s weekly spelling tests. Pop would be watching a movie and telling Colton to stop farting so much. My brother would swear the stink originated from the dogs. They’d grunt at each other for a while until Mom finished with her class work and joined Pop on the couch. The forever-married lovebirds would then ignore us while they cuddled.

  Instead of family fun in their big house in the woods, I dance naked in the living room of my downtown home. Violent Femmes plays loud enough for me to ignore the college kegger down the block. Enjoying the half a joint Sissy Mullen left in my purse the last time we were out at the movies, I’m relaxed, naked, and listening to my jams. Oh, and I cry like a stoned baby because my life is just a series of pointless events.

  My childhood dream to be a superstar student and enjoy a great career crashed and burned years ago. After one changed major after another, I finally quit college to avoid wasting more money on a goal I couldn’t hammer down. I ended up as a pharmacy technician—my backup job until I found my calling. Five years later, I still clock in at my temporary career. I’m a failure because I straddle the line between living a good, clean life and embracing the darkness I’ve long denied.

  My phone rings as I dance and cry and consider baking cookies to help with my growing munchies.

  “Hello?” I ask, seeing an unknown number.

  “Whatcha wearing, baby?” asks an electronically-modulated voice.

  “A golden dildo and red sparkly tassels.”

  “Doesn’t the dildo make dancing difficult?”

  Jerking to a halt, I grab my robe and slide into it. “You can see me?”

  “The entire neighborhood can,” the voice menacingly informs me. “We’re waiting to sack your castle as we speak. Prepare to be vanquished.”

  I hurry to the front door and gaze out the small window. “Where are you?”

  “Across the street, jacking my sizable dick to your sexy show. Want to come out and watch me finish in your neighbor’s Dixie wood fer
n?”

  Giggling at the image he creates, I continue to stare out the window. “I’d rather you finish inside me, but who am I to stand in the way of your love affair with a bush?”

  After a low chuckle, Dashiell Mullen hangs up just as he steps out from the darkness to where my porch light illuminates the sidewalk. I never consider the possible eyes on us. When Dash shares the same air as me, he’s all I see.

  “Why are you outside?” I ask, shutting the door once he enters.

  “Inside is too expected,” he says, dropping his phone and keys on my small side table. “I like to keep people guessing.”

  “I’m surprised you’d show up so brazenly.”

  “Simmer down, little lady,” Dash says and tugs off his sweat jacket from his long, lean frame. As I reach up to smooth his wild, russet-colored mane, he continues, “Your protection crew moseyed down the street to share a piece of their biker minds with the partying college kiddos.”

  “If they hadn’t left, you’d never have graced me with your presence.”

  “Yet you would have survived,” he says, adding another cut in my heart filled with them.

  Dash destroys me with his detached, gray-eyed gaze. His thumb slides across my cheeks, wiping away the tears. Then his hands take mine, and he begins to shuffle to the sound of the Violent Femmes still playing.

  “Why in the world would a fine lady like you weep?” he asks, spinning us effortlessly around the living room. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Mom and Dad already?”

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved Dash. The first day he came into my life for real, though, was in my junior year of high school while I dodged Rudy Roche in the hallway. The son of the local meth dealer and all-around stalking pest, he routinely cornered me to ask if I wanted to see a movie. I’d tried letting Rudy down easily, and I’d tried letting him down hard. The boy wouldn’t catch a hint. That day was no different.

  Then Dash appeared out of nowhere to stand over the shorter, scrawnier Rudy. “Be gone, or I’ll make you gone,” Dash said without a hint of menace. The perpetually mellow guy even smiled at Rudy as if they were old friends rather than from feuding families. Locals refer to the Mullens and Roches as Ellsberg’s Hatfield and McCoys. Decades-long fighting, they will throw down anywhere. The last time was at a funeral. Before then, they brawled at Chuck E Cheese. The families will clash over the slightest provocation, though I doubt either dysfunctional family remembers how the feud began.

  After Dash scared off Rudy, he leveled his gray eyes at me, and I literally forgot to breathe.

  “A girl like you comes to school to learn how to rule the world,” he whispered and leaned close enough that I remembered to take a breath. “I only come to school to see you.”

  Dash stepped back and gave me the most painful once-over glance I’ve ever suffered. “Otherwise, I’d ditch this jail,” he continued. “You, Miss Johansson, are the very worst influence on me.”

  Unable to speak, I stared at the handsome boy in front of me. Dash’s lanky body was draped in a blue and white flannel and a T-shirt long past its sell-by date. His black jeans were baggy. Like his brother and sister, Dash gave off a vibe of someone poorly raised. His lean frame and often unkept, chin-length hair made him look like a cross between a runway model and one of the Manson family. I shouldn’t desire such rough-and-tumble fellow. My outer good girl image fit better with the straight-laced jock types, but Dash tapped into my inner bad girl. In my twenty-six years, my heart’s only raced over one guy.

  There he stood in the school hallway, claiming I was special despite my only worth coming from being Cooper Johansson’s oldest daughter. Why would he tempt me with what must be a lie? No, I refused to let him pull the wool over my eyes.

  Except our single moment together that day opened the door to my heart, and I’ve never been able to offer it to anyone else. I like to believe I own his too, but our love can’t defeat the undeniable fact that he is a Mullen and I am a Johansson.

  Years ago, my family tore off the shackles of poverty, abuse, and ignorance to become the top dogs in this town. My father did better than his father, and my brother will likely succeed even further. Johanssons improve themselves, not because anyone handed us anything but because we fought tooth-and-nail to leave behind the hell the Mullens and Roches wallow in every single day.

  “My sister’s pregnant,” I say after the Violent Femmes’ song ends and Dash continues to dance us around the room.

  “Old news. Last I heard she was ready to pop that bun right out of her Tennessee-occupying oven.”

  “Not Audrey. MJ is pregnant too.”

  “Not to stir a hornet’s nest, Lily Bear, but the Johansson family tree seems to be raining babies,” he says, hinting at why my sisters’ pregnancies leave me crestfallen.

  “They never even talked about being mothers, and now they’ve both beaten me to the punch.”

  Running his hand through his wind-blown hair, Dash whispers, “Sooner or later, you’re bound to find a better man than the dentist. Someone who isn’t dull or so prone to tears.”

  Sighing at the mention of my former fiancé, I step back and stare into the gray eyes of a man who refuses to claim what I’ve offered for so long. Back in high school, I thought he was too busy playing the field to accept how I wanted only him. These days, my heart lacks the patience to be so foolish.

  Dash Mullen just never intends to be mine.

  DASHIELL MULLEN, AKA THE LOSER

  I’m a man with zero fucks to give. Some people care too much. My brother, Cy, rages at a world he feels lets him down. He hates because he cares. I am not my brother.

  My sister, Sissy, cries over a world unwilling to provide her even a tiny bit of love. She cries because she cares. I am not my sister.

  I expect nothing from the world. Never has it let me down. Not once has it surprised me. The world and I have an understanding. It does what it wants, and I don’t care one way or another.

  I’m the most laid-back motherfucker in the great state of Kentucky. And that chill mood isn’t just because I spend most days wasted on bath-brewed booze and homegrown weed. Naw, I just came to the realization early in life that I was no more than a blip in time and space. Why worry when I matter so little?

  Even back in elementary school, a teacher accused me of being so mellow that he figured I was nearly asleep. He pounded on my desk and yelled at me to wake the hell up! The other kids gasped in horror at his anger, but I only found myself admiring his perfectly trimmed mustache.

  No matter how many people yell at me, pound on me, or threaten to end me, I refuse to muster up a single fuck.

  Not until Lily Johansson ruined me with her ridiculously romantic sentimentalities.

  “You should grow up,” the gorgeous brunette demanded one day after we’d swapped fluids by the river near her parents’ place.

  Rich brown eyes flickering with anger and plump lower lip trembling, Lily raged in her most Johansson-way. She manages to be both an uppity little do-gooder and a dirty bitch. I’ve never been able to figure out which one I love more—the bad girl fighting to break free or the good girl running the show?

  “No, Lily Bear, you’re the one who needs to grow up,” I told her while giving her forehead a gentle tap. “Those fantasies in your pretty head will ruin your youth, leaving you a bitter woman.”

  “No,” she said, taking a page from her stubborn younger sister. “I can have what I want. I only need to want it enough.”

  My poor, beautiful Lily can’t catch a break. First, the princess falls in love with the worst commoner possible. Then, she finds herself utterly fucking shocked when the world doesn’t turn on its head to make her shitty love someone worthy of her family’s approval. Finally, her beloved doesn’t share her heartfelt dreams of a future. My chick is really screwed, and I shouldn’t care. Life sucks for everyone. Lily ought to be like me and never take anything personally. Or I, at least, didn’t until I fell for Miss Johansson.

  S
omehow, she loves me. I don’t get that part, not that I worry much. Lily will do whatever Lily wants to do. In high school, she often broke away from the other popular, top-bitch girls to eat lunch in the grassy quad where the druggies, weirdoes, and loners relaxed. The first time she showed up to read a book under a tree was the first time I really got a solid look at the oldest Johansson daughter. Talk about feeling doomed to want what I can’t have.

  The other losers on the quad figured Lily was a snitch, hanging around us to get the dish. Why she would go through the trouble wasn’t clear.

  “Bitches be bitches,” Cy said back then. “And that girl’s the biggest bitch.”

  Despite our brother’s angry warning, Sissy was never known for being careful, and she walked right up to Queen Bitch, interrupted her book reading, and started talking about flowers. I watched the entire thing play out while sporting the hardest boner any teenage boy has ever suffered.

  The troublemaking princess was the only reason I finished high school. Seeing her every day was worth the hassle of accidentally learning. I kept my distance, though. Tried to anyway, but Sissy was always sniffing around Lily. She was like a dog desperate for attention after too long being tied up alone in the backyard. Every day, my sister would stand in the school parking lot, staring at the street until Lily appeared.

  “Pathetic,” Cy often said.

  He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t much better. I hated school, but still dragged my ass to class each day for mere glimpses of a girl so far out of my fucking league.

  For years, I make no effort to seduce the object of my obsession. What was the point of reaching for something out of reach?

  Then high school ended, and I went through Lily withdrawal. Not seeing her every day ate at me. No amount of pot or booze could fix what her absence broke. Running into her casually was impossible even in our small town. Lily spent her days at the college and lived at her family’s compound away from the rest of Ellsberg.

  So I did what I never do, and that was put effort into something. I set a goal, and I honest to goodness worked my ass off trying to win. I still can’t believe it either, but Lily was an addiction I refused to quit.