Table of Contents
Gen Pop
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
What's Next?
Text copyright © 2021
Lani Lynn Vale ®
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Do you even read these? I wonder sometimes why I write them. I’m on my 110th novel, and I’m pretty sure all the people in my life that usually get a book dedicated to them know that I like them. So…how about a funny joke?
Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Europe.
Europe who?
I am not a poo. How dare you.
You’re welcome!
Acknowledgments
Golden Czermak—Photographer
My Brother’s Editor & Ink It Out Editing—My editors
Alyssa Garcia—My PA.
Cover Me Darling—Cover Artist
My mom—Thank you for reading this book eight million, two hundred and thirty-seven times.
Kendra, Lisa, Laura, Penney, Brandi, Jen, Kathy, Mindy, Barbara & Amanda—I don’t know what I would do without y’all. Thank you, my lovely betas, for loving my books as much as I do.
Other titles by Lani Lynn Vale
The Freebirds
Boomtown
Highway Don’t Care
Another One Bites the Dust
Last Day of My Life
Texas Tornado
I Don’t Dance
The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC
Lights To My Siren
Halligan To My Axe
Kevlar To My Vest
Keys To My Cuffs
Life To My Flight
Charge To My Line
Counter To My Intelligence
Right To My Wrong
Code 11- KPD SWAT
Center Mass
Double Tap
Bang Switch
Execution Style
Charlie Foxtrot
Kill Shot
Coup De Grace
The Uncertain Saints
Whiskey Neat
Jack & Coke
Vodka On The Rocks
Bad Apple
Dirty Mother
Rusty Nail
The Kilgore Fire Series
Shock Advised
Flash Point
Oxygen Deprived
Controlled Burn
Put Out
I Like Big Dragons Series
I Like Big Dragons and I Cannot Lie
Dragons Need Love, Too
Oh, My Dragon
The Dixie Warden Rejects
Beard Mode
Fear the Beard
Son of a Beard
I’m Only Here for the Beard
The Beard Made Me Do It
Beard Up
For the Love of Beard
Law & Beard
There’s No Crying in Baseball
Pitch Please
Quit Your Pitchin’
Listen, Pitch
The Hail Raisers
Hail No
Go to Hail
Burn in Hail
What the Hail
The Hail You Say
Hail Mary
The Simple Man Series
Kinda Don’t Care
Maybe Don’t Wanna
Get You Some
Ain’t Doin’ It
Too Bad So Sad
Bear Bottom Guardians MC
Mess Me Up
Talkin’ Trash
How About No
My Bad
One Chance, Fancy
It Happens
Keep It Classy
Snitches Get Stitches
F-Bomb
The Southern Gentleman Series
Hissy Fit
Lord Have Mercy
KPD Motorcycle Patrol
Hide Your Crazy
It Wasn’t Me
I’d Rather Not
Make Me
Sinners are Winners
If You Say So
SWAT 2.0
Just Kidding
Fries Before Guys
Maybe Swearing Will Help
Ask Me If I Care
May Contain Wine
Joke’s on You
Join the Club
Any Day Now
Say it Ain’t So
Officially Over It
Nobody Knows
Depends Who’s Asking
Valentine Boys
Herd That
Crazy Heifer
Chute Yeah
Get Bucked
Souls Chapel Revenants
Repeat Offender
Conjugal Visits
Jailbait
Doin’ A Dime
Kitty, Kitty
Gen Pop
Inmate of the Month
Madd CrossFit
No Rep
Jerk It
Chalk Dirty to Me
Blurb
Hangry: adjective—feeling irritable or irrationally angry as a result of being hungry.
Sometimes, Crockett felt that in her soul.
And, of course, the one time that she’s being ‘irrationally angry’ would be the time that the hottest guy on the continent walked into her place of business dressed in prison orange.
She should’ve been afraid.
She should’ve taken one look at him and walked the other way.
But, she didn’t.
Crockett Archer, better known as a doormat extraordinaire, didn’t walk away from the people she knew needed her. She’d never been able to do it with a father that didn’t love her, and she wouldn’t be able to do it with a man that didn’t think he deserved a chance at love.
One look is all it takes for Zach Caruso to know that Crockett could be his.
All he would have to do is snap his fingers, and she’d fall right into the palm of his hand.
Which is why Zach turns around and walks far, far away.
He tries not to look back.
He tries to leave her be.
But then he sees how she’s treated by the people that are supposed to love her, and all cognitive thoughts seem to flee his rational brain.
One second, he’s running in the opposite direction. The next, he’s playing her knight in dingy armor.
God help her.
CHAPTER 1
Fuck.
-Zach’s secret thoughts
ZACH
Six months ago
“I’m sorry, but we’re all out.”
“You’re out of Bud Light?” The customer stiffened. “Who the hell runs out of Bud Light on a Friday?”
The woman behind the counter looked uncomf
ortable as hell.
“The kind that doesn’t have a delivery truck show up, moron.”
My eyes went to the old man in the corner of the front porch who’d been steadily rocking in his rocking chair since I’d arrived at the store.
He had great hearing if he could make out what was being said at the counter when it was a half a store away from him.
Bud Light guy stiffened.
“Listen,” he said. “This is the only store between here and my house. What else you got beer-wise?”
Crockett pointed to the cooler doors. “That’s literally all we have. Like my grandfather so eloquently said, we didn’t have our delivery today like we usually do. They said they would retry to deliver on Monday.”
I winced, knowing what was coming next.
“Retry?” the man barked. “What the fuck does retry mean?”
“It means that she was out on lunch break when they tried to deliver, at the completely wrong time seeing as they usually deliver around ten in the morning, not two, and she has to eat by a certain time or shit starts to hit the fan for her. So, she missed it seeing as I was napping in the back room at the same time. Shit happens. Now go the fuck away and try not to come back. You’re annoying the piss out of me.”
“Murphy,” the curvy brunette growled, getting more upset with the old man than she was with the customer who deserved her ire. “Please, you’re not helping.”
“Sure, I’m helping.” The old man, obviously named Murphy, sauntered into the room. “You’re just too nice. People like this dolt don’t care that you’re human. They care that you’re out of beer, and they can’t get it, so they’re going to be assholes.”
I snorted.
That’s when her eyes came to me, and my breath caught.
Her eyes.
Though her body was banging—I loved curves, and the woman had a whole lot of them—and her face was beautiful, her eyes were just… mesmerizing.
I’m talking, stare into them and fall into a deep well of nothingness because all you can think about were how fuckin’ out of this world her eyes were.
They were like looking into the bluest of eyes through a crystal. The iris of her eye was like a starburst explosion of crystal blue, bright light blue, almost white, and streaks of darker blue that were just mesmerizing.
Seriously, there weren’t adequate words in the English language that could describe her eyes.
And I was a fucking doctor. I knew my words. Had to have years of school and writing papers to become a fucking doctor.
But yeah, her eyes. Wow.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She smiled, her straight white teeth only adding to her beauty. “I didn’t see you standing there. Can I help you with something?”
The man that cut me off, Mr. Impatient Bud Light Guy, looked over and saw me.
Then he blanched.
“I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I didn’t see you either.”
I shrugged.
“I want a burger.” I gestured toward the grill. “Everything on it but cheese.”
She frowned, looking down at her watch.
It was ten until closing time, so I knew that it would be a long shot. But I was hungry, my house was empty, and this really was the only place that had food to eat between here and town. A town called Kilgore, Texas that was over thirty minutes away from Souls Chapel, Texas.
My new home.
“You don’t have to…” I started.
But she waved me off. “No, it’s fine. I can make you one. It’s not like I’ve cleaned up all the way yet. How would you like your burger cooked?”
That question threw me off guard.
It’d been awhile since I’d been on the ‘outside’ between holding cells, waiting on trial and actual jail so, I hadn’t been given the option of how to cook anything recently.
It was startling how unprepared I was for the question.
“Just cook it however you want,” I managed to say.
She nodded once and then turned the grill on before going back to the man who’d been asking for beer.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Is there anything else I can get you today?”
The man hadn’t looked away from me yet.
Why?
Because I was still in my prison uniform.
It was an orange jumpsuit with ‘JAIL’ written down one leg, ‘Bear Bottom Penitentiary’ written on the breast pocket, and so tight around my thighs that it was cutting off circulation.
“In case you’re wondering,” I said to the man. “I’m not a fugitive of the law, and I didn’t escape jail. My clothes no longer fit, and I didn’t want to stay there any longer than I had to. Therefore, I wore my prison-issued uniform out of the gate.”
The man blinked, nodded once, and then took off without another word.
I grinned.
It was weird, getting this blatant fear.
I wasn’t used to people staring at me like I would kill them at any second.
Before I’d gone to jail, despite my overall imposing appearance, people looked at me like I was a savior.
After being locked up, though?
They now looked at me like I was going to rear back and kill them.
Needless to say, that was an adjustment, too.
“You can go take a seat and I’ll bring your order out as soon as it’s done.” She paused. “You’ll have to have chips, though. I don’t have the oil heated up anymore. I turned it off a half hour before you came in.”
I nodded once. “No problem.”
Well, it was kind of a problem.
I’d wanted fries.
But it wasn’t like I was going to make her start all over again for just my batch.
I’d deal for now.
Walking toward where the tables were, where the chairs were already stacked in preparation for cleaning up, I took a chair down and was just about to sit when I spied the clothes on the wall behind the tables.
They were sweats, really.
Sweatpants, sweatshirts, and t-shirts that all said ‘Crockett’s Corner’ on them.
I walked up to them, picked out a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt, and a t-shirt that was a size too small and hopefully would still fit, and headed to the bathroom.
I came out moments later all dressed in the clothes, the orange jumpsuit in my hands because the trash had already been taken out for the day as well.
When I came out, I headed to the counter with the tags in one hand, and a hundred-dollar bill in the other.
Murphy was at the counter, and he took the tags from me, as well as the orange jumpsuit.
“On the house,” he said, waving away my money.
I frowned. “What?”
He gestured to the suit that he’d tossed in the big trash can behind the counter.
“I was you once,” he said.
“Were you?” I asked.
Murphy didn’t look like he’d been to jail.
But then again, I didn’t think that I looked like I’d been to jail, either.
Not when I wasn’t dressed in the orange jumpsuit from hell.
He lifted his long-sleeved shirt enough to show me a tattoo on his forearm. One of a clock.
“Served eight years for assault and battery,” he said. “Caught my wife cheating on me with another man in our home. I beat the absolute dog shit out of him. Come to find out he’s some big wig executive with a shit ton of money and little else to do with his time but fuck my wife and make my life a living hell. Funny thing was, the day I went to jail we were still married. She divorced me while I was on the inside and moved in with the big wig. They were ‘nice enough’ to leave me my store,” he pointed to the roof above his head. “And the land that it was on. Thinking they were fuckin’ me over. I didn’t care. I sure the fuck didn’t want the house that she fucked other people in. About three years into my prison sentence this big oil guy comes to me and tells me I have an ass-ton of oil underneath the property that my store is sitting on. I became a milli
onaire overnight. Then Big Wig, also named Tarrant Beene, comes back in the picture demanding their half. Sadly, for them, I was able to win because they did their end all legal like. Best day ever, them getting told that they couldn’t have any of my earnings.”
My brows had lowered, and I could do nothing but laugh my fuckin’ ass off.
Inwardly, that was.
I didn’t outwardly show emotion.
Not anymore.
Not after what it’d gotten me last time—a prison sentence.
“What did you go in for?” he asked.
For some reason, I’d never had a problem telling anyone what I’d gone in for.
What I’d had a problem telling them was that the reason I’d done it no longer wanted anything to do with me.
“My girlfriend was hit by a rich prick kid. Seventeen-year-old who’d been spoon fed every single thing in his life.” I shook my head. “Never heard the word no. Well, he heard the word no from a friend, and he’d gone after his girl. Only, his girl looked a lot like my girl when they wore hats, and he ran my girl over and nearly killed her. Left her broken on the side of the road. Couple of weeks later when that little asshole comes into my ER, I might’ve not tried my hardest to make sure he didn’t die.”
Murphy’s shoulder went up minutely. “Shit happens.”
“Shit does happen,” I agreed.
“And your girl?” he asked. “She okay?”
I was the one to do the shoulder shrug this time.
“My girl is no longer my girl,” I explained. “She was disgusted by the way I acted, killing a kid for her, and wanted nothing more to do with me after that.”
The words tasted bitter on my tongue.
Because that wasn’t the entire story.
It was only part of it.
“And you just got out of prison?” he asked, no sign of pity in his eyes, which was what enabled me not to shut down like I so often did when it came to talking about this particular subject.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “Working as a private physician, sans medical license, with a man out of Souls Chapel. I’m part of an MC, too. I’m renting a house off of Knotting Pines Road.”
Why was I telling him my life story?
Because you feel like he’s a kindred spirit. He knows how it feels. It feels like you’re talking to yourself.
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