Gentle On My Mind (Reapers MC: Pema Chapter Book 1) Read online

  GENTLE ON MY MIND

  BIJOU HUNTER

  Copyright © 2021 Bijou Hunter

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmosphere purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  For more information about this series and author, please visit her website.

  Cover

  Photographer: Vitalik Radko

  Source: Depositphotos

  Cover Copyright © 2021 Bijou Hunter

  Dedication

  To SaMiJaMaLu

  My lovely betas—Sarah, Debbie, and Cynthia

  &

  Judy’s Proofreading

  Book Summary

  Maverick Majors is an enforcer for the Reapers Motorcycle Club in the Shasta Chapter run by his older brother. All his life, he’s stayed in the shadows. Fiercely loyal to the club and his family, Maverick has finally found a woman worthy of joining the Majors clan. Except she’s a traumatized survivor only recently out of hell.

  Violet Navarro endured years with a monster. Her childhood ended too quickly when he ripped her away from her life. Free now, she spends most days embracing her inner kid. But the raw desire she feels for Maverick Majors isn’t childlike.

  With Shasta no longer secure for Violet, Maverick gives up everything to make a safe home in a new town for the woman who’s claimed his heart.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  NOTE TO READERS

  CHARACTER LIST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY BEGINS

  MAVERICK MAJORS, AKA THE SENTINEL

  VIOLET NAVARRO, AKA THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE TABLES ARE TURNED

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE FAMILY IS MORE THAN BLOOD

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE PEMA OFFERS FREEDOM

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE CHAPTER WHERE SHASTA SNAPS BACK

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE SENTINEL’S INNER CHILD WINS

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE CHAPTER WHERE A NEW LIFE MEANS GOODBYE

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE PEMA IS UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE PAPA AND MAMA BEAR GROWL

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE CHAPTER WHERE CRIME LORDS COLLIDE

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE CHAPTER WHERE VIOLET NAVARRO IS ENOUGH

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE CHAPTER WHERE MAMA GIVES HER BLESSING

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY ENDS

  THE GHOST

  THE SENTINEL

  THE GHOST

  OH, BY THE WAY, FROM THE SENTINEL

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE GHOST

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE SENTINEL

  “MOTH TO A FLAME” SNEAK PEEK

  BIJOU READING ORDER

  ABOUT BIJOU

  NOTE TO READERS

  “Gentle On My Mind” is the first book in the Reapers MC: Pema Chapter. It takes place after the Shasta Chapter series and connects with the end of “Promise Me Heaven” (Ellsberg Chapter Book 3). The Pema chapter was first introduced in “Right Amount of Wrong.”

  The Road to Pema

  There was once a great man who founded a motorcycle club, the Reapers, and built up a town, Ellsberg, for his young bride (Sunday Morning).

  One of the club members was an enforcer named Vaughn Majors (Damaged and the Outlaw).

  Maverick Majors followed in his father’s footsteps by becoming an enforcer for the Reapers MC. Later, he helped his older brother River (My Silver Lining) build the Shasta Chapter. Now, life has different plans for him.

  This is Maverick’s story.

  CHARACTER LIST

  TO AVOID SPOILERS, THIS LIST ONLY INCLUDES CHARACTERS MENTIONED IN PREVIOUS BOOKS

  (Beast) Cooper Johansson

  Reapers club president, oldest son of Kirk Johansson, wife: Farah, children: Lily, Miranda, Colton, Audrey

  (Outlaw) Vaughn Majors

  Ellsberg chapter enforcer, wife: Raven, children: River, Savannah, Avery, Maverick, Nevaeh, Cavalry, Denver, Sylvie

  (Sentinel) Maverick Majors

  Shasta chapter enforcer/Pema chapter VP

  (Colt 45) Colton Johansson

  Pema chapter president, wife: Stella

  (Knight) Judd O’Keefe

  Ellsberg chapter enforcer, wife: Tawny, children: Gunnar, Heidi

  (Go-Go) River Majors

  Shasta chapter president, wife: Max

  (Goliath) Dean Midkiff

  Shasta chapter Sgt at Arms, wife: Shelby

  (Sandman) Shane Campbell

  Shasta chapter VP, wife: Ramona

  Heidi O’Keefe

  Pema chapter business manager, husband: Jox

  (Ogre) Gunnar O’Keefe

  Pema chapter enforcer, wife: Vidalia

  Violet Navarro

  Shasta Slasher’s only surviving victim, saved by Shelby Campbell and Reapers’ Shasta Chapter in “Never Say Never”

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY BEGINS

  MAVERICK MAJORS, AKA THE SENTINEL

  Trust is the fundamental lesson my father taught me growing up. As an enforcer for the Reapers Motorcycle Club’s original chapter, Vaughn Majors took orders from Kirk Johansson. Then, when the founder retired and handed off power to his oldest son, my dad did what Cooper told him.

  Vaughn shares his opinions and voices his concerns. But, in the end, he always does what he’s told. That’s the job of a club enforcer—not to call the shots but to carry them out.

  My oldest brother refused to follow. As the first of eight children, he feels born to lead. I’m the fourth kid and second son. I came after showboating River and the bossy-as-fuck twins, Savannah and Avery. I have middle child syndrome. Whereas some people in my situation might feel ignored, I excel at being overlooked.

  I’m sneaky, after all. I lie, cheat, and steal. Not because I have to. Because I like knowing I can.

  While some enforcers are brute force, others like me prefer stealthy tactics.

  My father trained me on weapons, martial arts, and how to hunt my prey.

  But most importantly, he taught me to trust the man in charge.

  Because the key to being a good enforcer is knowing our place in the power structure.

  At sixteen, my father tested my loyalty when we traveled to South
Dakota to hunt. He never explained why he picked the state. Wearing camouflage on a cold autumn morning, we walked through the woods. The leaves crunched under our feet. Every step needed to be placed perfectly to avoid alerting our prey.

  I’ve never learned why my father picked those particular men to die. Possibly, he spotted them at a nearby run-down diner outside the Podunk town we were camping at and didn’t like the look of them. However, I assumed they were chosen for a specific reason. The men were dressed for hunting deer. They flirted badly with the far too young waitress at the diner. Losers, for sure, but there was no obvious reason why they needed to die.

  Yet, after I lined up my shot as the men prepared to climb into their tree nest, I pulled the trigger without hesitation. My father said to kill the three men, so I did. I trusted he had a good reason to end them.

  Just as Vaughn Majors puts his trust in his president, I do the same for mine.

  I’ve worked for Cooper Johansson in Ellsberg since I was a teenager. Even as a prospect—kissing ass by running boring errands—I never questioned the man in charge.

  Then, Cooper wanted to claim a town in Northern Kentucky. River saw the chance to be the top dog somewhere. We took over Shasta for the Reapers, setting up a chapter near the Ohio border. River got to be president while his best friend, Shane Campbell, was VP. I was his enforcer, trusting his choices in the same way I did Cooper’s.

  And I have a good life in Shasta. The town might smell like death from the rendering plant, and there isn’t much to do. Still, I live in a spacious apartment over the taco restaurant run by River’s wife, Max. Every morning, trains wake me up. The roads around here allow me to ride hard and fast without obstacles. Shasta suits me.

  My brother proved tolerable as a leader. His best friends are fun to be around. Shane and his older sister, Shelby, have always been tight with River. They’re like family to me. The three of them added Taylor Giles back in junior high. The Fearsome Foursome is what they call themselves. Obnoxious for sure, but I’m accustomed to their close friendship. I’ve never needed to be a part of it. I’m the friend who lingers at the edges of every room.

  That’s where I like to hide. Just out of reach, in the shadows, where people don’t notice. I’m considered attractive. People say I look like my father and brothers, and women cream themselves over the Majors men. But unlike River or Vaughn, I can disappear into a crowd. I hear what people would never say around them. I see what normally remains hidden.

  These days, I watch over Shasta and my club in the same way I did for the Reapers in Ellsberg and my younger siblings when we were growing up. I’ve always been the sentinel, guarding the ones I love.

  And that’s why I watch over Violet Navarro.

  Even though she’s likely batshit insane and may never be capable of loving me even half as much as I do her.

  Violet spent nearly four years trapped with a psycho. Not a criminal like me or even like the garbage club we replaced in Shasta. Barry O’Meara was a flat-out monster who murdered women, mostly prostitutes and occasionally runaways. Then, he stole Violet from her home while her shitty parents were out of town. O’Meara dressed up the disappearance as a runaway situation. The police quickly gave up searching, and her parents died soon after. Violet was living in hell, and no one was looking for her.

  Four years is a long time to be trapped with a monster. Violet wasn’t locked in a cage but spent her free time jumping through O’Meara’s many hoops. Most details about those horrible years are locked in Violet’s head. What I do know I learned from Shelby, who helped locate the missing girl and now acts as her replacement mother.

  Violet will never be healthy. She pretended to be fine while with O’Meara. She also faked her way through many months of freedom. Soon, though, her programming started slipping. She’d forget to smile, speak, or eat. Instead, Violet often sat in a spot like a robot, charging its batteries. Then, one day, she got the idea in her head that she might be dead, and everything around her was purgatory. Her mood swings worsened, and the past and present got more difficult for her to separate.

  Preferring denial, Shelby doesn’t deal well with ugly shit. Plus, she was pregnant with her first kid when we saved Violet. Newly in love, too, Shelby’s plate was full. Back then, pretending Violet only required hugs and a little therapy made sense.

  In defense of Shelby’s denial, she grew up with a broken mother, still nursing the scars of living with another set of monsters. Winnie Campbell never recovered, really. However, she’s a fine wife, mother, and friend. If Winnie could survive, Shelby assumed Violet would, too.

  My friends and family believe I’m poorly equipped to deal with a broken woman. I hide in my head. I’m sneaky and lie. I refuse to play along with what everyone else is doing. I defy normal because I never forget I’m a killer. Claiming I’m an average Joe is a lie I won’t tell.

  Which makes me perfect for Violet. I don’t need her to do what other women do. I’m not expecting her to ask for a picket fence. She’s lost at times. Literally. She wanders off at night from Shelby’s house in the woods. Each time I track her down, Violet clings to a tree as if about to fall into the ground. She shivers and stares horrified at something only she can see.

  But then, her gaze finds me, and the fear fades. A smile warms her beautiful face, and I know she loves me, too.

  I’m a bad guy built for protecting others. She’s a broken woman capable of seeing me when no one else can. There are times when we’re in a crowded room with people she cares for. I feel her watching me no matter where I move. I can’t disappear with her in the same way I can with everyone else. Even my parents lose track of me when too many people are around. Yet, my talent never works on Violet. Just like my presence has the power to scare away the demons only she can see.

  To build something unbreakable with Violet, I’m willing to walk away from my good life in Shasta. For her, I’ll do just about anything.

  VIOLET NAVARRO, AKA THE GHOST

  Sometimes, I believe I died back with Barry O’Meara, aka Husband, aka the Shasta Slasher. In that scenario, I’m a ghost unable to pass on to the afterlife, trapped in a purgatory built from my guilt, shame, and rage.

  Did I deserve to live? Of course not. I’m no better than the other women the serial killer brought to the house. They were whores, yes. But I was too after old Barry was done with me.

  Their pleading screams didn’t sound any different than mine. Their blood smelled the same. Their deaths mattered no less than mine.

  Well, assuming I’m dead. There are days when I believe I survived. I was rescued by Shelby Campbell and her merry band of bikers. They broke through the back door of that ranch-style house, kept so tidy by my busy little hands. In this scenario, Barry did run down the stairs to the basement. Tisk, tisk, that’s not the smart move of a final girl, as Shelby would say. Run out the front door, Barry! Never up the stairs or down to the basement. Why allow yourself to be cornered? Very sloppy move, especially from a seasoned murderer like himself.

  In this possible scenario, I’m saved from his house where so many women begged and bled. Yet, I never go to the hospital or the police station. Instead, I’m returned to the creepy Victorian-style house my parents bought years ago.

  Of course, they’re dead now. Daddy shot Mommy and then himself after their precious Violet disappeared. Oh, the whispers say Daddy likely killed his sweet daughter after Mommy found him diddling her. Then, they faked my disappearance.

  My parents’ deaths are a fact. Yet, I occasionally doubt they’re really gone. The truth can be difficult to hold on to.

  Husband laughed when he showed me the paper clipping about their murder-suicide. Barry was so ancient, refusing to join the modern world. He still read the old-fashioned paper rather than online news. He never trusted technology. I suspected he feared someone would use it to catch him.

  Except it was an old-fashioned letter that did him in.

  Not that his death answers the question of my parents’ fat
e. Or mine, for that matter. There were times when Husband claimed he saw my parents at the store, and they looked so happy to be rid of me. Other times, he reminded me of how my parents would have been alive if I hadn’t tempted him.

  Daring me to complain, he sneered in my face, “Your whore snatch killed Mommy and Daddy.”

  I have a very influential snatch, apparently.

  Or maybe I’m dead, and he never said any of those things.

  I have trouble knowing what’s real. More than once, Husband placed a plastic wrap across my face and stole my breath. I remember the panic, my lungs burning, and sweet darkness. Each time, I passed out with the hope that I would be free of him. Death might be a relief.

  But then I woke up later and wasn’t certain anything happened at all.

  Being dead makes more sense. How could I stay alive for nearly four years?

  Oh, that’s right. I kept my head above water. That’s all it takes to survive, after all. Those other women—screaming, bleeding, dying—just didn’t want it enough.

  When I felt my mind slipping during my time with Husband, I thought back to the news clip I saw at Grammy’s house. I loved my grandmother, who let me eat cookies and play in the backyard and watch TV. Meanwhile, my parents hated me for being the shackle trapping them together. If I stumbled in life, their marriage was a failure. No way could they possibly choose to unshackle themselves and find happiness elsewhere. No, the burden of their lives most definitely needed to be dumped on me.

  On that day at Grammy’s, before she died and I lost my single luxury in life, I saw a news clip that altered my thinking for years.

  A young woman—tiny, no more than five feet—stood on the failing bank of a rising river. She couldn’t retreat to higher ground. On the other side of the rising water was her only escape. In her arms was a boy of maybe two.

  Grammy and I watched that itty-bitty woman step into the water, fighting against the current. Each step in the water looked like agony. As the water rose, she lifted her boy higher until her thin arms held him over her head. The river tugged at her. More than once, she slipped and went under. The crowd of people on the other side of the river bank screamed and cried out to God. Then, the woman reappeared, struggling still, not ready to give up despite her slim odds of survival.