Black Sheep (Rawkfist MC Book 1)

by Bijou Hunter

  “We’ll go home, and Court will grill outside. Just think of fully cooked hamburgers with all the fixings.”

  “Is Mom making her potato salad?”

  “Nope. Journey and Felix are making it.”

  Poppy’s mood immediately improves. We’re both picturing dinner spread out on the table. Our new family of six together while the dog begs for scraps. I feel a smile on my face as we ready to cross the street.

  Before we reach my SUV, an old rusted sedan jumps the curb and comes to a stop in front of Poppy and me. Two men open the doors and start yelling my name.

  Label me a bigot if you will, but when long-haired, stinky, shirtless hillbillies come looking for me, I assume the worst.

  “Which one of you is Justice?” asks the guy with an overgrown goatee.

  “I am. Do you need directions?” I answer, stepping in front of Poppy.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Poppy demands because menstrual cramps make her stupid.

  The second guy scratches at his Father Time-style red beard and reaches for me. I lean away and turn to Poppy.

  “You should run.”

  “I’m not wearing a tampon.”

  In that instant, I forget about my fear of the scary men. I’m simply an older sister ready to beating the ever living shit out of her younger sister.

  Poppy knows the look on my face, and she forgets about her period long enough to take off running. I pray she thinks to call Jared or Court for help. With my luck, her Midol-addled mind becomes distracted by a cloud.

  I plan to run in the opposite direction and draw the dirty fuckers away from my extraordinarily hot pubescent sister. Unfortunately, I’m wearing frigging flip-flops and tumble over them when I spin around too quickly.

  When the queef I mentally name Father Time grabs me by the arm, I kick his leg. He doesn’t really care, but I’m a proud duck for putting up a fight rather than having my ass handed to me like I did with Becca.

  “Get the bitch in the car!” yells the one I mentally tag as Dirty Goatee.

  “I’m trying.”

  The sedan’s back door is open and waiting for me. I pull the same move my cats use when I try to shove them into their carriers. Feet and hands out, I push off the edges of the doorjamb and bang into Father Time.

  Dirty Goatee walks around the car and punches me in the face. I manage to turn away enough for my bangs to cushion the strike. My head still spins, and I scream like a wounded animal. The guy makes Becca’s punch feel like a child’s.

  “Throw her ass in the fucking car,” he tells Father Time, who heaves me through the door opening.

  Toppling on my stomach, I feel one of them maneuver my legs to allow the door to shut. The men walk around the front and get into the car.

  “Don’t start shit or I’ll wallop you for real next time,” Dirty Goatee says, starting the engine.

  My brain very quickly registers two horrors. The first is Dirty Goatee’s punch was him holding back. The second shock is at how bad the country music is that’s blasting from their radio.

  “I’m going to die listening to a cowboy yodel!” I text to Journey since her name comes up first on my phone “Come save me!”

  Journey replies, but I can’t read it because Father Time grabs my phone.

  “You calling the cops, cunt?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I whisper, wondering why I hadn’t thought to dial 911. Has Tumbling Rock infected me with their police phobia?

  I sit up in the car and look at Father Time. He’s missing his front teeth, and I notice ketchup on his beard. These are my last two observations because I say fuck it and jump from a moving car.

  I land first on the asphalt before rolling into the grassy embankment I was aiming for. Without pausing, I stand up on my bare feet and check to see if any bones jut from my body. Finding myself bloody but intact, I notice the sedan making a U-turn.

  Mentally playing Cake’s Going the Distance, I take off running toward a line of houses away from the highway. My long legs stretch out to their fullest. I breathe in and out slowly to keep myself calm. Legs pumping, I envision myself running miles without stopping. The assholes will never catch me. I’m as fast and invincible as the wind.

  A block into my impression of the Flash, my lungs burn nearly as badly as the muscles in my legs. Oh, and what’s happening to my stomach? I want to vomit and wonder if I can hurl cyclist-style while never slowing down.

  Why am I in so much pain? I’m a young woman in good health. Why can’t I run a few blocks without wanting to die?

  By the second block, I feel as if I’ve run through the entire state. I can barely keep going. My feet throb. My legs no longer fully extend, instead screaming for me to save them from this never-ending torture.

  Now my stomach can’t even puke. The pain is unbearable. Gasping for air, my lungs burn like a million suns, and I wonder if I’m dying. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I barely have the energy to wipe it away.

  Giving up on my heroic run to safety, I dive into thick bushes in someone’s yard. I don’t know where I am or how much time’s passed since I texted Journey.

  Trying to catch my breath, I close my eyes and think about Court and Felix. I imagine us fishing on the lake. It’s quiet, serene, and with zero exercise in sight. I slow my breathing until I no longer sound like a freight train struggling to climb a mountain.

  I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. The yard I’m hiding in looks well kept. I notice a fake deer on the other side of the lawn and two ceramic squirrels a few feet from me. Scanning the area, I don’t spot any sign of the assholes. What do I do now?

  “Hon, are you alright under there?” a woman asks.

  From the porch of the house, two sets of elderly folks sporting flopping hats and drinking glasses of lemonades stare at me.

  “Wait, were you always there?” I ask, crawling out.

  “Yes. We thought it best to leave you alone until you caught your breath.”

  Wiping dirt off my clothes, I sigh. “I haven’t run since high school.”

  “Want lemonade?”

  “Yes, please. Can I use your phone? I was abducted.”

  “Oh, dreadful. Glenn will get you a piece of pie too.”

  Glenn is a tall, thin man with a well-trimmed white mustache. He pours me a glass of lemonade while his wife, Peg, walks me inside and hands me her cell.

  Court answers on the first ring, and I exhale with relief to know he’s safe.

  “I got away,” I tell him immediately, having assumed Journey alerted everyone to the situation. “Is Poppy okay?”

  “She’s with Christine and Wanda. Where are you?”

  I relay the address from Peg to Court, and he says he’ll be here in five minutes.

  Peg returns to the porch with her friends while I wait inside. I’m worried the queefs will drive by and sense I’m in the house. What if I get these lovely people hurt? What if the assholes go after Court?

  My eyes burn, and I want to cry so badly, but nothing happens. My innate optimism forces me to remain calm. I keep thinking how I survived rather than how I could have endured a horrible fate. My glass half full philosophy won’t allow me to cry, so I give up and walk to the front door.

  A few cars pass by, but none of them belong to the queefs. Peg and Glenn are playing a game on a long table on their wrap around porch. I watch them finish up, and the other older woman claps in triumph.

  “Want to join us?” Peg asks.

  “What if those guys come by?”

  Peg stands up and walks inside where she plops a floppy yellow hat on my head.

  “Now you look like one of us,” she says, taking me by the arm. “Have you ever played Yahtzee before?”

  “No. Is it hard?”

  The four seniors share a conspiratorial smile, and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into with these people. Joining them at the table, I’m still lost about the rules when Court rides up on his Harley with Jared not far behind.

  “Are those the bad
guys?” Peg whispers.

  “No, that’s my boyfriend and dad.”

  I run over to Court and wrap myself against him. Jared walks up and wants to say something, but he’s pissed, and I suspect he has trouble yelling around me. I’m okay with this issue of his. I hate screaming men.

  “Tell me everything,” Court says after giving me a long, deep kiss that leaves me a little embarrassed with an audience watching.

  I mumble the few facts I know. The guys’ description. Their car. How they have my phone. Once I share everything I remember, Court kisses me again, and I forget about the eyes on us. The glass half empty part of me grabs onto the comfort Court offers, even if I notice a spark of recognition in his dark eyes when I describe the men. I don’t ask questions, though. I know he won’t answer me with the truth, and I’m not in the mood for lies.

  40 Black Sheep

  Court

  I’m not a monster. I kill for work, not fun. Never have I killed for personal reasons, but this fact is about to change. If Becca wasn’t locked up right this moment, I suspect she’d be the first name on my list. For too damn long, I was weak with her in the hopes of protecting Felix. Now I want her dead.

  Sitting in an exam area, Justice chats with the hospital nurses about her favorite milkshake flavor. I listen to her voice and try to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work.

  I want to get out of this place and track down Brandon and Bryce Sikes. Until they’re dead, I can’t soothe the pain in my gut that’s been killing me since I heard someone grabbed Justice.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jared says from behind me while I wait for Justice to finish up with her paperwork.

  “I’m sure you do. You’re thinking it too.”

  “You have responsibilities now. Running off half-cocked isn’t what a man does. It’s the act of a kid with something to prove.”

  I give him a dirty look. “You’re full of shit.”

  “I’m trying to keep you out of prison, so you can marry my daughter and give me grandbabies. You’re not thinking that far ahead. Right now, you can only think about how good your hands will feel around the asshole’s throat. Or what his brains will look like splashed on a wall. You need to think about Justice waiting for you to get out of prison.”

  Sighing, I cross my arms and glance at a smiling Justice.

  “I’m not a scary guy,” I say. “Not like Jimmy Marvin. Do you remember him with his face tattoos and piercings? He’d walk into a room, and people got out of his way even though he couldn’t fight for shit once he had two drinks in him. People were still scared because he looked scary. That’s not me. I don’t walk into a room and own it. I’m not a big guy, and I don’t have an intimidating demeanor. I’m Boy Scout, and people aren’t scared of Boy Scouts. They’re afraid of me, though, because I hurt people without caring.”

  “What if you end up in prison? Are you doing right by Justice then?”

  “You sound like Joe. Either we’re one percenters willing to cross the line, or these patches don’t mean shit. Look, people don’t fear me because of who I am. They fear me because of what I do. If I don’t deal with the men who hurt my woman, I might as well kick myself in the balls and hand in my vest. You know I’m right. You want revenge too, but you’ve lost your taste for blood.”

  “And you haven’t?”

  “I never had a taste for it. I don’t feel much of anything when I kill a guy. Maybe that’s worse, but I don’t give a shit. I’m taking care of the problem. While I haven’t got the stones to kill Becca, I can sure as shit deal with these assholes.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jared says, and I realize he’s as worried about me as he is about Justice.

  “Thanks for the offer but two guys showing up will be too suspicious. I have a better shot of jumping them on my own. If I need help, I’ll call, but we both know I won’t need help.”

  Jared scratches at his jaw, wanting to do more. He tried to do the honorable thing by talking me out of acting. Now that I’m still going, he’s restless.

  I know the feeling. I’m desperate to make the assholes dead. The longer they live, the less like a man I feel.

  41 Black Sheep

  Justice

  Court drops me off at my house and then leaves on an errand. I beg him to stay even offering him lots of mind-blowing sex. Somehow, he manages to tell me no. Watching Court drive away, I struggle against the urge to run after him.

  “Probably club business,” I tell Journey.

  My sister nods, but she isn’t any more convinced than I am. Taking my arm, she tugs me into the house. I’d fight her, but I can’t win a strength contest with Mistress Butch. Besides, I ache all over after my eventful day.

  We sit on the couch, and I rest my head on her lap. Journey plays with my hair while we listen to the soothing sounds of the Fratellis.

  “I nearly bled to death today,” Poppy says, balled up on the floor. “I’d have died without accomplishing all of my dreams.”

  “What dreams?”

  “I want blue hair and a cooch tat.”

  “Don’t you think you might be aiming too high with those goals?” Journey asks.

  “Maybe, but I was born a dreamer.”

  Smiling, I want to reach out and hug Poppy. She’s too far away, and I’m too lazy to get up. Though Poppy shares my smile, she’s still rattled after what happened. Her wild hormones aren’t helping the situation.

  “If I have a girl, I want to name her Henrietta,” I mumble with my eyes closed. “Like the Fratellis song.”

  “It’s sad how you already have a grudge against your future child,” Poppy says.

  “I love the not yet conceived child more than you can ever know.”

  “You’re lucky I’m working through severe cramps, or I’d throw something at your big fat head.”

  “Dreaming big again, huh?”

  Journey tugs at my hair. “Stop fighting or I’ll put my foot down.” When I smile up at her, she says, “Henrietta would fit with Felix. They’re both goofy names.”

  “Yeah, but some people… Stupid people, mind you. They’d say our names are goofy, but I think we’re memorable.”

  “That we are. People do think I’m Justice, and you’re Journey a lot.”

  “That’s Mom’s fault for giving us both ‘J’ names.”

  “She wanted to honor Dad.”

  “I’m not doing that,” Poppy announces, startling me since I thought she’d dozed off. “My kids will be Mary and John. They will never say anything odd, and I expect them to wear a lot of plaids.”

  “You’ll be such a shitty mom,” I say, giggling. “Your kids will start a cult and worship Charles Manson’s forehead.”

  Journey laughs so hard she snorts. “I’ll do interviews talking about how we always knew they were odd, but never thought they’d attempt to blow up Randy’s Donuts giant sign.”

  Never opening her eyes, Poppy flips us off. “They’ll be so dull that when they speak people will doze off.”

  “She’s dreaming big again.”

  Journey stops laughing to turn her head toward the front door. “Someone’s here.”

  “Could it be Court?”

  “No, dumb-dumb. It’s not a Harley.”

  Christine appears from her bedroom and frowns out of the window. “No. I can’t deal with this,” she groans. “Not today.”

  “Want us to get the gun?” I ask without moving.

  “It’s your grandmother.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Christine gives me a look, but I’m too chill from Journey’s magical fingers.

  “My life has no meaning until Court returns,” I announce while Christine hurries around the living room organizing fashion magazines and the DVD disaster near the TV.

  “Does he know you bleed from your cooch?” Poppy asks. “You haven’t been dating that long, so your leaky vagina might still be a dealer breaker.”

  “Stop talking,” Christine begs. “And stop us
ing the word ‘cooch’ before it catches on with your sisters.”

  Poppy groans into her pillow. “No.”

  “Everyone be calm,” Christine says, fanning herself.

  My relaxed sisters and I glance at a frantic Christine. “I never got an answer on the gun.”

  “We don’t own a gun.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Please don’t start anything with her. Not today.”

  Poppy sits up and frowns at Christine. “We’re the ones who suffered deeply today. If anyone should get to scream at your horrible mother, it should be us.”

  “Pauline.”

  “Ooh, busted,” I say to a glaring Poppy.

  The house goes quiet as soon as Coretta walks through the front door. Even Hal stops snoring.

  Christine gives her mother a hug and offers every food in our fridge. I look up at Journey, who is staring into space. My gaze finds Poppy’s next, and we silently judge our grandmother.

  “I thought you were fine,” Coretta says to me after shoving a cat off the chair and sitting down.

  “I am,” I mutter and then add, “Is this where I ask how you are because I don’t see that happening?”

  Poppy gives me a thumbs up while Journey smiles. Christine though does an excellent impression of a pissed, meth-addled hummingbird.

  “Mom, do you need a Valium?” I ask.

  Christine stands behind her mother and gives me a lecture using only her eyes. I lower my head and feel properly scolded.

  “This house seems small for four people,” Coretta announces.

  Poppy opens her mouth to respond until Christine snaps her fingers and points menacingly at her youngest child.

  “This is fun,” I whisper.

  “Why are you here?” Journey asks Coretta.

  Christine tries to give Journey a silent lecture, but my sister lives in a world where parents are passé and following rules is what children do.

  “I wanted to see what kind of mess the snitch got into.”

  When Journey narrows her eyes, I imagine a mud wrestling battle between Coretta and her. My fantasy is quite entertaining, but no fight breaks out in real life.