by Bijou Hunter
Little Memphis
Bijou Hunter
Copyright © 2014 Bijou Hunter
Kobo Edition
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
Cover Design
Image from Shuttershock and Coka
Design by Miranda Koryluk
Memphis Series
Broken Memphis (Late 2014)
Damaged Series
Damaged and the Beast (Apr ‘13)
Damaged and the Knight (July ‘13)
Damaged and the Cobra (Oct ‘13)
Damaged and the Outlaw (Nov ‘13)
Damaged and the Dragon (May ‘14)
Damaged and the Bulldog (July ’14)
Damaged and the Saint (Late 2014)
Standalone Books
Gator (Feb ’14)
Used (June ’14)
*****
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.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
Epilogue
Epilogue
About Bijou
1
Shay
On the Run
Everyone has a flaw they can’t deny. Mine is impulsiveness. You ever wonder 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 never met my dad, but my little brothers aren’t much better off knowing theirs. You want to know something about my mom’s life choices? Two babies and a decade of broken promises later, 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 them, 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 an old sweaty 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. McDonalds 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 this asshole claimed he needed cash for a divorce, she gave him everything we had.
I don’t do well under pressure and anger makes me especially stupid. Unable to think straight, 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. I love him more than myself, but I often struggle not to punch him in the fucking face.
“Burger King,” Pax says, walking past me and towards 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 like 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 a fucking laugh riot and so are the assholes across the street.
Leaving them, I walk inside the titty bar to where Pax orders a beer while chatting up a pretty waitress. She giggles at his stupid 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 though. 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 the table where a spiky haired troublemaker named Nick waits.
“About fucking time,” Nick says like he’s in a hurry to bleed.
“Who’s your friend?” I ask, gesturing at 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.”
“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 who 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. 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 smiles 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 and when it got cut, he was powerless. I wonder if the same thing will happen to you.”
“First you call me pretty,” I mutter, “and now you’re digging my hair. Shit, are you coming onto 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 hold him still 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 natural.”
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 pretty 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’s invisible until pulling his gun on the freak that pulled a knife on me.
By the time Lucky shows up, the freak is already bleeding. He picks a bad day to grab my ass as I’m leaving the club. Long story short, pissing off an angry stripper led me to smashing his face with a rock.
Freak runs off once Lucky pulls the gun. Alone now, I look at my savior and wonder if he’ll want repayment for his help.
In my bad mood, my view on men is simple. They suck. I don’t normally judge them as one size fits all. Of course, I had savings before Camaro Donnie conned my mom out of them. 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 fast. 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 of the first week of the month. We often went hungry when not in school. Most weekends, the local church two blocks 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 in a casual way like 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 the rock, it made me laugh. I needed a laugh and life sent you. I figure I take you somewhere new as a way to say thanks.”
“You’ll probably kill me,” I say, eyeing Lucky. “I’ll end up in a shallow grave or in a crawlspace under your house.”
“My old lady wouldn’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 say I’m a good guy who’s never dug a grave. 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 stay stuck where I’m at or I can do something else. Like most impulsive people, I’m attracted to anything shiny and new. The future Lucky offers me is just that.
4
Ford
Rivers of Blood
Suede isn’t much to look at from the outside. A lot of people think it’s a gay bar because of the name and the blue lights around 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 wakeup 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 leaning against the backs. Joker has a laptop out and papers spread over the table. He’s like a rough-looking, yet ordinary 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 thro
ats 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. Jovial with a beard and happy eyes. Our president is lean and dark in every way. He shadows everyone around him. His voice is a rumble. I know he’s charming with the ladies, but I only saw 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 year. 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, but it’s not like 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 one. “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.”
“For now,” Joker sighs, tapping his fingers on the table. “For today, they fear the club. Tomorrow, they 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. I guess 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 wide now. “I hear he’s got magic hands.”
