Train Wreck (Rawkfist MC Book 3) Read online

  Train Wreck

  Bijou Hunter

  Copyright © 2016 Bijou Hunter

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  *****

  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.

  For more information about this series and author visit:

  http://www.bijouhunterbooks.com

  Cover Design

  Photographer: Studio10Artur

  Photo Source: Shutterstock

  Cover Copyright © 2016 Bijou Hunter

  Dedication

  Sally and my fellas for making life magical

  Sarah, Janie, and Debbie for beta reading my madness

  Carina for being the best PA in all of the Carolinas

  Melinda for inspiring my Cracker Barrel obsession

  Judy’s Proofreading Service

  Book Summary

  Prison gave me a new outlook on life. After my release, I moved to a tiny West Virginia town, joined the Rawkfist Motorcycle Club, and met the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  Now I have a shot to make Poppy mine. Will I screw things up? Oh, no doubt, but Poppy and I click in all the right ways. No other woman makes my heart beat as fast or my dick get as hard as the blonde snark machine of my dreams.

  Table of Contents

  1 Train Wreck - Poppy

  2 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  3 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  4 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  5 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  6 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  7 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  8 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  9 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  10 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  11 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  12 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  13 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  14 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  15 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  16 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  17 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  18 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  19 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  20 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  21 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  22 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  23 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  24 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  25 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  26 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  27 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  28 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  29 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  30 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  31 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  32 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  33 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  34 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  35 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  36 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  37 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  38 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  39 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  40 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  41 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  42 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  43 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  44 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  45 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  46 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  47 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  48 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  49 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  50 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  51 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  52 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  53 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  54 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  55 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  56 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  57 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  58 Train Wrecks - Poppy

  Epilogue - Emmett

  Epilogue - Poppy

  About Bijou

  1 Train Wreck - Poppy

  I fell in love on a Thursday in the middle of May. An otherwise ordinary day turned beautiful when I took in the sight of the lime green Ford truck with oversized tires and a flame across the bed. I nearly leapt from my sister’s car once I spotted the “For Sale” sign on the truck’s front window.

  I’d saved up money from my job at my mother’s veterinarian clinic. Not enough to buy the green behemoth, but my dad sent me a check for the rest when I told him it was a Honda minivan with extra safety features.

  After naming the truck Thor, I treated him with kid gloves. I loved him, and I believe he loves me. I know it, but the fucker refuses to make his feelings obvious.

  Instead, Thor breaks down at least once a month. Sometimes, it’s a small thing. Other times like today, I find myself looking into the eyes of mechanic Jared Sheerer and knowing my sweet love will cost me more than I can afford.

  “Thor’s transmission is blown,” Jared says.

  “Is that a good thing?”

  Jared gives me one of his smirks. The mustached biker is my mother’s ex-husband and the father of my two older sisters. Since we moved to Tumbling Rock a few years back, Jared’s managed to wrangle his way back into my mom’s bed. Most days, I think of him as the guy who wears boxers too often in our kitchen.

  “Even without labor charges, it’ll cost over two grand.”

  “Can Mom pay off the cost in sexual favors?” I ask, sadly staring at my sweet Thor.

  “She’s the reason I’m not charging for labor.”

  Sighing, I know Thor expects me to fix him so we can be together again. Two grand is way more fricking cash than I have sitting around. Mainly because I’ve spent all of my dough on fixing Thor the last year.

  “Can you put him aside while I try to get the cash?”

  “You might need to think about getting a new ride, Poppy. I know you like your truck, but Thor is on his last legs.”

  “I don’t like him, Jared. I love him. You wouldn’t understand the kind of loyalty and deep connection Thor and I share.”

  “No, I guess I wouldn’t. I’ve only been riding the same hog since before you were born.”

  “No one asked for your life story.”

  Jared grins again. “Are you about to cry?”

  “Maybe,” I admit. “I love Thor.”

  “I’ll put him in the back until you come up with the money or decide he’s not that special someone you’ve been waiting for.”

  “Thanks. I’ll reward you by not making gagging noises the next time I see you in your boxers.”

  “Doesn’t bother me either way, kid. I’m proud of what God gave me.”

  “Your confidence makes me sick,” I say, enjoying his sly grin.

  “Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I’ll find someone to pick me up.”

  “I can do it.”

  “Naw, you’re shockingly busy for once. Better make a lot of money, so you can keep my mother in redneck heaven.”

  Leaving Jared to work, I walk outside and search through the contacts on my phone. While my sister Journey is likely leaving her job as an ultrasound technician, she has a little one waiting for her at home. Justice is a manager now at the Rite-Rock Mart and can’t leave to pick me up. I consider asking one of their men to get me. Of course, if I want a Rawkfist Motorcycle Club hunk to play chauffeur, there’s someone more fun than my whipped brothers-in-law.

  Emmett Mercer fools most people into thinking he’s just a big, dumb redneck. I happen to know under his thick muscles and tanned, tatted skin that he’s also funny as hell. Sure, I have to listen to a lot of sexual innuendos to get to the entertaining stuff. The wait is usually worth it, and I’m looking forward to my eighteenth birthday when I can see what else Emmett has to offer.

  After sending him a text, I pla
y games on my phone. Soon, the rumble of Emmett’s motorcycle draws my attention to where he roars down the road toward Jared’s auto shop. Standing up, I want to laugh at the sight of the shirtless idiot. Emmett claims he’s always hot, especially when he passes a mirror. So he runs around as close to naked as possible to keep from dying of heat stroke. When I laughed once at that comment, the big baby had the audacity to look hurt.

  “Don’t mock my health issue,” he’d said with a pout.

  His sincere expression is the most endearing thing about him, but I’m well aware he’s capable of pulling that look out of his ass whenever necessary.

  Emmett is the only guy I know who rides a Harley with ape-hanger handlebars, making him seem more old school than the old guys running his club. As usual, Emmett’s wavy brown hair is hidden under a stupid do-rag.

  “You took long enough,” I mutter when he pulls up in front of me.

  “I ain’t your chauffeur, baby.”

  “You keep saying that,” I say, patting his bare shoulder, “but every time I beckon, you trip over yourself running to be of service. Poor Hoss needs to look up the word chauffeur.”

  Emmett gives me one of his sly grins. “You look something special in that shirt.”

  “Are you talking to me or my boobs?” I ask, climbing on behind him.

  “How come I have to choose?”

  “Because I said so. Now, please, take me home.”

  “You got real nice manners. I ever tell you that before?”

  “About a million times. Now get going or I’ll call another biker to drive me. This town is crawling with them.”

  Emmett loses his smile. He’s super possessive for a guy I’ve never dated. When I was sixteen, he threatened to get me into his bed and make me howl. No doubt in redneck-speak, his declaration means we’re married, and I’m forbidden to look at other boys now.

  Wrapping my arms around his naked waist, I shiver at how hot his skin feels against mine. Even without seeing his face, I know he’s grinning again. He starts the Harley and lets it rumble between my thighs. I’ve often wondered if Emmett will be a good lover. His bod is certainly sexy enough to soak my panties. Unfortunately, his mouth tends to make my thighs clamp shut in disgust.

  Emmett doesn’t believe in speed limits and claims they’re the devil’s way of driving people insane. I don’t like speed limits either, but that’s only because I like to go fast. I don’t know why he needs to have some weird reason, but that’s Emmett. He’s always got something random to say.

  We arrive at my place on the few acres my mother inherited from her grandma. Christine and I live in one house in the front. Behind us to the left is Journey’s house and the place on the right belongs to Justice. We’re a tight family and will likely grow old together. I have no problem with such an idea and long ago decided where I want my house in the future.

  Once Emmett pulls up the driveway, he turns off the bike. No doubt he wants to talk. Or worse.

  I climb off of the Harley and pat his sweaty shoulder. “Thanks for the ride. Go away now.”

  “You ought to be sweet to me, Poppy Girl. I got a heart, you know?”

  “Oh, I know. I felt it beating when I used your back as a pillow on the ride home.”

  “You felt that, huh?” he says as if I’ve made a pass at him.

  “Yeah. Now go away. I’m not eighteen yet.”

  “You’re almost there.”

  “Yes. I ought to warn you how I have a few offers besides yours. You better be ready to work to win this,” I say, shimmying for him.

  “Who is offering shit to you? Tell me their names and I’ll get rid of the problems.”

  “Are you really so lazy that you can’t win my virginity the old-fashioned way? You know, with flowers and candies and other romantic crap.”

  “I’ll do that stuff too, but killing a few guys would show I’m man enough to own your virginity.”

  “It’s one and done with virginity, you dope. You can’t own something that goes away.”

  “Not true. I’ll keep it up here,” he says, tapping his fat head.

  “Whatever. Thanks for the ride and go away before my sisters come home and call you names again.”

  Emmett reaches out with his big hand and slides the palm down my shoulder to my elbow. He isn’t making a point, simply feeling me up. Or stinking me up so other men will know to stay away.

  “Your sisters never hurt my feelings,” he murmurs after I push away his hand.

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t need to say it was.”

  Emmett thinks about my words, but I’m already walking up the porch by the time he grunts a response.

  “See you around, Hoss. Don’t die before I’m done with you.”

  “No one can kill me.”

  Unlocking the door of the modular ranch, I grin at him over my shoulder. “Good to know. Now get going.”

  “Can’t I sit here and look at your ass until you’re inside?”

  “Sure, have at it. Think of it as payment for the ride.”

  I wiggle my butt back and forth as I struggle with the new lock Jared installed a few months back. Emmett sits on his Harley, arms crossed while admiring the junk in my trunk. Once I’m inside the house, he finally roars away.

  Behind me, our Puggle gives a half-hearted growl at the Harley’s fading engine. The dog’s getting old. I remember when Mom bought him. I was six, and Hal was so ugly he became cute. Now I’m nearly eighteen, and he’s still working the ugly/cute thing even if the rest of him is rickety as hell.

  2 Train Wrecks - Emmett

  The town of Tumbling Rock feels small. I’m more accustomed to the size of Charleston, West Virginia where I was born and raised. Not that I’m nostalgic about my hometown. The one thing I do miss is how a man could fade into a crowd. In Charleston, I could enjoy a blowjob without the entire world talking about it the next day. Anonymity doesn’t exist in a small town.

  My dick is the biggest loser in my move to Tumbling Rock. I ought to be getting laid nightly, but I can’t find relief without people gossiping about it by the time I zip up my pants.

  Serious as shit, I can’t even sneak into the woods for a quickie without someone seeing or the girl talking. I wouldn’t normally give a flying crap what people say except I don’t want Poppy Adams knowing I’m dicking around with the town bimbos.

  The girl is the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. I got no doubt about that, and she’s right here in my neck of the woods. I’ve staked my claim to the virgin. I want her, and I will get her, and no one is standing in my way. If it were only so easy.

  Years ago, Poppy mentioned she feared I might be riddled with creepy crawling STDs. I told her I was as clean as a whistle. Even showed her the condoms in my pocket.

  “I know what I’m doing,” I told her.

  “Your condoms make me sad,” she said, giving me a fake pout. “Now I know my first time won’t be bareback because you’re a whore. My poor virgin vagina is the real loser in this situation.”

  Of course, Poppy was messing with me. She’s always messing with someone. When no one’s around to snark at, I imagine she torments herself in the mirror.

  No matter her intent, I got to worrying about the most beautiful woman in the world blowing me off because I’d used a bimbo to get off rather than my hand.

  So I’ve been celibate since that day. Didn’t even know what the word meant because no one gives up sex where I’m from. My dad fucked every woman he knew, even though he loves my ma. It’s just what his dick wanted. Nothing complicated about sex. Feelings were never a factor, but I have feelings for Poppy, and she’s got standards. Now my dick mourns the quickie fucks when not dreaming of the day it’ll pop Poppy’s cherry.

  Funny how I didn’t think of sex much when I was getting some. Now that I’m doing all of the work myself, my dick is always whining how it ain’t enough. Shit, if the thing doesn’t need a mute button.

  Sometimes when I’m particularly lonely,
I wonder if Poppy’s worth the wait. Like if I don’t see her for a few days, I get restless, and my dick screams louder at me. Then I see her shiny blonde hair and big blue eyes, and everything makes sense. She’s something special. More than painfully gorgeous, the girl owns a rude mouth that makes me think she’s probably smarter than anyone I’ve ever met.

  I left her house today psyched. She talks about me taking her virginity as if it’s a done deal. If she wants romantic shit, I’ll make sure Poppy is swimming in flowers and candies. I’ll even write her some damn poetry. How hard can it be to jot down how hot she is and her special qualities and shit?

  After I leave her place, I’m quickly bored. I don’t have enough to do these days. The Rawkfist Motorcycle Club holds me on a leash. The legit president is an old guy always thinking about the past. The guy really calling the shots has his hands tied. Court Bayer might be president one day. Or maybe someone else will take the mantle, and he’ll do the work behind the scenes. Nothing is for certain, but I know I look to Court and not Joe for my orders.

  Right now, we’re waiting to see what happens with the release of a dozen guys from the Rawkfist MC’s brother club. That crew ended up locked away or dead, leaving my crew to take over their territory. Joe is worried they’ll want their shit back. Court figures we ought to assume they will and treat them as hostile. The men can’t decide, so we don’t do shit until they come to an agreement.

  I stop by Moe & Mae’s Grill for dinner. The place is a dump with horrible service and chairs made for a doll house. The food tastes homey like my ma makes, and I can sit alone without anyone bothering me.

  Looking through my messages, I smile at the one from Poppy asking for a ride.

  “My shirt is damp with sweat. I need a ride. Be a good boy and pick me up.”

  She wasn’t kidding about her shirt. I close my eyes and recall the outline of her bra through the thin pink tank top. Her nipples were hard, but not as much as after the one time I kissed her. She’d been sleepy and stuck on the side of the road with her stupid truck. I’d picked her up and taken her home.

  “You’re a good slave,” she said, caressing my cheek.

  My brain forgot she was only seventeen while my dick never really cared one way or another. I’d pressed my lips against hers, shutting Poppy up for nearly a minute.