Little Memphis (Little Memphis MC #1)
Bijou Hunter
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?”