It’s me who pulls her even closer, with a smirk right the way across my face.
“Nice to see you, boy,” I tell him. “It’s time for you to meet my new girlfriend.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Poppy says, and she’s grinning. “I’ll be so happy to be your stepmother.”
THE END
Bad Good Neighbor
Ker Dukey
BAD GOOD NEIGHBOR
Copyright © 2020 Ker Dukey
Editor: Word Nerd Editing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Love is so much sweeter when it begins with hatred.
Chapter One
Jameson…
Am I supposed to feel this lightheaded? Fuck. I don’t think I’m going to last.
“It’s pulsating,” Rage grunts.
Damn, I’m overheating, but feel cold. Sweat coats my entire body, dripping off my skin like it’s raining inside the truck.
“Put your finger in there,” Gracie squeals, her tits bouncing on my fucking forehead.
“It’s too slippery,” Rage barks.
“Just stick your finger in the damn hole!” she screeches.
“I can’t get it in. The hole is too fucking small.”
“Of course you can’t, you never could find the hole.” Gracie snorts.
“Bitch, I will fucking gag you,” he grinds out.
“Oh yeah? What with?” Her tone is half argumentative, half flirty.
Are they serious? Fuck, I didn’t drink enough for this shit. This was not how the day was supposed to go. I should be highly intoxicated and balls deep inside the little redhead…Abbi or Annie…maybe Amy? Whatever the fuck her name is. She’s been after my dick for a while now.
“Depends. Cock if you shut the fuck up, fist if you keep running your damn mouth,” he retorts, and she barks out a, “Ha.”
My breathing is shallow, every exhale taking more effort than the last. Shit, this isn’t good.
“Can you two shut the hell up and stop me from bleeding out?” I wheeze. Why the hell do my lungs hurt?
“Dammit, Jameson. I’m going to have to tear my nail off and plug it myself.” Gracie cringes. Why the fuck didn’t she do that in the first place?
Shifting my head from her lap, she scoots out from beneath where I lay in the back seat of Rage’s truck. She straddles my torso, her skirt riding up, showing her lace panties. If I weren’t so close to blacking out, her reversed cowgirl position might be a nice view.
“I’m going to rip that fucking prospect’s head off as soon as we get you all patched up,” Rage seethes. Anger radiates off him as he leans over the passenger seat, trying to help Gracie stop the bleeding from the bullet hole in my thigh.
“Sorry about the mess, man.” I half-grin, feeling slightly delirious. Rage has only had this truck a month.
“That punk is going to be paying for it, so don’t worry.”
Fire explodes over my thigh, making me grunt in pain. “I’m in—oh god, it’s so gross. I’m inside you.” Gracie gags. Words I never thought I’d hear in my life.
“Keep the pressure on that artery. How far out, Ink?” Rage asks. Ink holds up two fingers for two minutes. He’s the only brother who doesn’t drink and could drive us. The fucker’s a mute and weird as shit, but he’s loyal.
Darkness closes in around me, shadows creeping from all corners, threatening to snuff me out. A sharp sting spreads across my cheek, and my eyes jolt open. I hadn’t realized I closed them. “Stay the fuck awake, asshole. No way you’re going out from a stray bullet in the leg. It’s embarrassing,” Rage mocks, slapping me a couple more times to keep me alert. Gracie can’t seem to sit fucking still. The heat of her pussy roams all over the fucking place. If half my blood wasn’t covering the leather seats, it might have gone straight to my cock and gave her a pleasant surprise.
“Why the fuck are you jiggling all over him?” Rage asks the question I was thinking.
“His belt buckle is digging in my ass. There’s not enough room back here,” she huffs. And despite the pain it causes, I can’t help but chuckle, which turns into a painful cough. I’m weak. Every breath feels like I’m running uphill. My body must be going into shock.
“We’re here,” Rage assures me. Doors open, the light bleeding in from the scorching sun outside. Today was supposed to be a good fucking day. Rage is right, I can’t fucking die like this. I’m too young with too many people relying on me. That prospect will end up in a ditch getting eaten by wildlife if I don’t make it outta this. Rage is temperamental at the best of times, but piss him off, and you best pack up and find a hole to crawl into.
“What happened?” a voice asks in a serene tone, calming my thoughts.
“Bullet wound to the thigh. I think it hit an artery. The blood won’t stop.” Gracie’s lighthearted banter from before has turned to worried sobs.
Maybe I am going to die.
“On the count of three, I want you to remove your finger and shift off him, okay? We’re going to move him in one, two, three…” Air blasts over the wound as Gracie removes her finger. The pain is like a thousand hot needles poking into an open gash sprinkled with salt. Her body weight shifts as I’m dragged downward onto a gurney. The pressure bears down on my leg, and then an angel’s face appears above mine. She smells of baked goods, like cookies and cream.
Maybe I already died.
Two of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen stare into mine as she lifts my eyelids and flashes a light into my retinas. The beam makes her look like she’s glowing.
“Hey, I’m doctor Monroe. Can you tell me your name?” she asks, and I want to stroke her face. Tell her not to be stupid. She’s too young, too damn pretty to be a doctor. Look at those thick, luscious lips. Damn, I bet she tastes fucking delicious, like ripe strawberries ready for the plucking.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Jameson,” I croak.
“Good. That’s good. Now, can you tell me what happened to you, Jameson?”
“Accident,” Rage growls from beside me.
I’m moving through the hospital, my eyes drooping with every passing second. “Stay with me, Jameson,” she murmurs. And fuck, it makes me want to.
“Can you tell me anything else?” I hear her ask, but it’s not aimed at me. She sounds distant, like she’s moving away from me.
Come back.
“Just fix my damn brother, woman. Stop asking questions.”
“Sir, you can’t go any further…” another voice booms.
And then nothing…
Fuck, everything hurts. Why the hell does everything hurt?
I try to move, and a pinch alerts me to the needles in my hand popping out and pissing fluids out like a burst pipe. Shit. An alarm sounds, making my head hurt. I try to shift, and pain filters up to my thigh and over my hip.
Motherfucker.
“Hey, hey, calm down. Try not to move.” Damn, it’s that voice again.
“Monroe,” I croak. “I need water.”
A straw is placed in my mouth, making me frown. “No straw. I’m a grown-ass man. Just gimme some ice to chew on.” Gloved fingers shovel a small ice chip into my mouth, and the moisture over my tongue is heaven. How long was I out? She’s messing around with the tube and shit on my hand, reinserting them and cleaning the mess. “I take it I survived.” A drowsy dose of medicine flushes through my body, maki
ng me want to sleep.
“Well, this certainly isn’t heaven, Mr. Jameson.”
It’s just Jameson.
“Hell,” I mumble, seeking her out. “I’m going to hell.”
“Not today you’re not.”
She feels so close. Her tits press against my arm as she leans over me to fuck around with my pillow. Her scent surrounds me, and I inhale to get more of her. “You smell so good. I want to eat you.” I feel her body jerk away from me. Shit, did I say that out loud? Women don’t usually cower away from my advances, but this little thing isn’t just any woman.
“How is he?” I hear Rage ask has he enters my room, followed by more footfalls. I manage to peel my eyes open to see a wall of my brothers circling the bed.
“He got lucky. He nicked a major blood vessel, but we managed to repair the damage. He lost a lot of blood. We retrieved the bullet and gave him a successful transfusion. There doesn’t appear to be any muscle damage, but only time will tell. We’re going to keep him for a few more days to make sure there’s no infection or muscle damage. Once we get him up and walking around, he can be discharged.”
A few more?
“Can we get that bullet?” Rage asks, and I feel my lips hooking into a lazy grin. These drugs feel real good.
“Erm…I’m afraid we have to report all gunshot wounds to the police, so that went to them as evidence, I’m afraid.”
“Ice,” Animal, our Prez, barks out. He doesn’t need to elaborate. Ice will deal with the police.
“On it, Prez.”
“I’m going to have to ask some of you to please wait outside. It’s supposed to be two visitors at a time in here,” Monroe tells them, and I snort. My brother’s don’t do rules. I’m surprised so many of them even showed up here. This was an accident, not like I was injured doing club business. Guess Animal is just covering our asses with bullet wounds being reported to police and shit.
“Monroe, is it?” Animal asks, tapping her nametag pinned to her chest. He’s as tall as me at six-foot-three, and looks mean as all hell with a fresh scar slashed through his brow. Still, a good-looking son of a bitch. It should be disarming, but it isn’t. “I’m going to need you to prepare our boy for leaving this place today.”
“What? He can’t….” She hushes when he silences her with a finger to her lips, making her body freeze.
“It’s not a request.”
I want to be the one feeling those fat juicy lips on my finger. I don’t want her feeling threatened or afraid. “It’s okay, doc,” I assure her. “They will take good care of me.” Her creased brow is so fucking cute. I want to pack her up and bring her with us.
I’m not lying about being taken care of. We have our own doc who comes to the club when we need him too. I only went to the hospital because Rage said I would bleed out and die before our doc got there. When the prospect was showing off to some club slut and accidentally shot his load—the real fucking load—into my leg, he thought it was going to be fatal. I think if it hit anyone else, Rage would have laughed and stuck around at the cookout and got drunk, but I’m not just his club brother, I’m like his real brother. The only fucker to ever stand by him no matter what. We’ve known each other since school, dropped out together, joined the army together, then the club together, and would do anything for the other. Sometimes, the family you choose is a bond stronger than blood. That’s sure as fuck how it is for Rage and me.
“You’re all still going to need to step outside and let me do my job,” she tells Animal. Balls of fucking steel! Most men won’t stand up to him, let alone this little doctor. Fuck, the blood is back in my dick. What do you know!
“Sure thing, Doctor Monroe,” he tells her. Saying her name is a game. Letting her know he knows it. We can find out everything there is to know about her if we choose to. Animal is intimidating as hell, but he’s also reasonable and wouldn’t hurt her or anyone without cause. He just likes making his presence felt and power known.
“You promise you’ll stay off that leg and finish the course of antibiotics?” my little doctor asks, hugging her clipboard like it’s a teddy bear and she’s a child. It makes me want to play daddy.
“How old are you?” I run my eyes over her body. I’m in a fucking wheelchair and come up nearly the same height as her. She can’t be much more than five foot.
“That’s not relevant.” She raises a brow, and when I don’t look away from her or say anything, she lets out a frustrated huff. “Twenty-nine.”
“You married?” I checked her fingers for a ring, but doing this job, she may not wear one.
“Are you?” she counters.
“No,” I answer matter of fact as Gracie and Rage appear at the door. Gracie rushes over to me, throwing her arms around my head, squashing her tits into my eyeballs. For fuck’s sake. She wears cheap perfume that stings the nostrils.
“I saved your life. Tell him doc,” she boasts. Stepping back, she holds up her finger with the nail missing and wiggles it. “I’m never going to look at this finger the same ever again.” She winks.
Smiling, Monroe pats Gracie’s shoulder. “You did a wonderful job if you’re ever looking for a new career.”
“Did you hear that?” Gracie squeals, swatting my leg, making me grunt in pain. “Oh shit, sorry.” She winces. “And you owe me a manicure.”
“Rage,” I grumble.
“Gracie, shut the fuck up and go get the truck running,” Rage grumbles. Rolling her eyes, she shoves past him with a one-finger salute before walking out of the room.
“Well, thanks for fixing me up, doc.” I grab her palm and dump a stack of cash into it.
“I can’t take that.” She gasps, dropping it onto my lap.
“He always tips the help,” Rage grunts, a smirk on his lips. I want to smack it off when Monroe balks, her distaste evident on her pretty features.
“It was just a thank you for taking care of me,” I tell her, trying to hand it back. She steps away from me out of reach, not accepting my offering.
“It’s my job. Be careful, and please come back in if you notice any severe swelling or pain around the entry wound.”
I want to ask for her number, address, hand in fucking marriage, but I know I’d ruin a girl like her, so I nod and let Rage take me outta here.
Chapter Two
Six months later
Melanie Monroe…
Wind howls wild and strong, picking up leaves and sending them spiraling down the road. The streetlights hum like the wings of a moth when it gets to close to your ear as I trek the last few feet to my house.
The last thing I needed was my car to die after a twelve-hour shift with a psycho on the loose. The tow was going to take three hours. I figured it would be safer to make the twenty-minute walk than wait around for three hours alone.
Pulling my jacket tighter around my neck to ward off the harsh chill, I pick up my speed. I hear the vibrations of the music before I round the corner to find my neighbor throwing yet another party. Inconsiderate asshole.
The pulse of the music shakes the foundation of their house—and mine. It’s ridiculous you can’t even enjoy music when it’s that loud. I didn’t take him for a techno fan. An image of my comfortably six-foot, tatted-up, motorcycle-riding neighbor inside dancing brings a smile to my lips.
“Is this a costume party?” a sloppy drunken kid blurts, eyeballing my scrubs as he stands in my yard with a couple of his buddies. He doesn’t even look legal, let alone the type who would associate with people from a motorcycle club.
The party has spilled out onto the street. Rowdy and annoying drunks being obnoxious asses torment the once quiet neighborhood.
I hate it.
“I’m not here for the party. I live here.” I gesture to my house, offering a tight smile. I don’t want to be the annoying neighbor who doesn’t like fun, but I’m dead on my feet, and these parties are becoming a regular headache. I need to get a fence to separate our property lines.
“Drink?” some other
guy offers, spilling it down my jacket as I attempt to move around them. “Oops, sorry.” He holds his hands up and does a backward jig to the party lawn before tripping over his own feet and landing with an unattractive “Ooof” on the pavement.
“Oh shit.” A chorus of laughs ring out, amusement heightened by the intoxication. It’s like a frat party you see in cheap movies.
If this idiot has injured himself, I’m going to freak out. I can’t be dealing with these assholes after the hell of a day I had. “You okay?” I ask, offering him a hand.
“I’m fine. I’m just going to lay here for a minute.” He sighs, the alcohol taking its toll on him. I look up at the neighbor’s house, a frown tugging at my brow. Should I look for the owner? I don’t want to have to venture through a mass of partying people to find him. He would probably tell me to fuck off anyway, or his brothers would.
“Make sure you keep an eye on your friend,” I tell one of the other guys, gesturing to the one of the ground.
“Sure thing, mom.”
Assholes.
My hand shakes a little as I insert my key into the front door. I feel their eyes on me, and it’s put me on edge. I’m used to dealing with intoxicated people—hazard of the job—but coming home is supposed to be my solace. It didn’t use to be this way. I used to have a little old man for a neighbor. The only hassle I had from him was him complaining about my cat crapping in his yard, which was bullshit. But he just packed up and moved one day. The house didn’t even go on the market from what I know. A month after sitting empty, a roar of motorcycles flooded the street, followed by a moving van. They loaded the house up, and Grim remained once everyone else left. I call him Grim because despite his good looks, he wears an expression of doom and gloom on his stupidly handsome face. I know his name is Jameson. I don’t think he remembers me, but I treated him a while ago for a bullet wound to the leg.
LOVE IN LOCKDOWN: A Charity Anthology Page 18