Black Sheep (Rawkfist MC Book 1)

Read Black Sheep (Rawkfist MC Book 1) Online

Authors: Bijou Hunter

Black Sheep

Bijou Hunter

*****

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 book and
author visit:

http://www.bijouhunterbooks.com

Cover Design

Photographer: Zai Aragon

Source: Shutterstock

Dedication

Freckles, Tigger, Pooh, and Roo for making
the sun shine

Mustang Sally for embracing my snark

Aimie Grey for listening to me bitch and
moan

Saucy Sarah for not pointing and laughing

Naughty Nicole for being a unicorn farting
rainbows

Book Summary

My club brothers call me Boy Scout. Hell, if
I ain’t an enforcer with a heart of gold. I avoid women, knowing they’re
trouble, and I don’t take chances anymore. My hands stay clean when they’re not
covered in blood for the club. My life is downright dull until I meet Justice
Sheerer and realize I haven’t been really living.

The bubbly blonde has a motor mouth and
confidence to spare. As the daughter of my mentor, she should be off limits in
Tumbling Rock. Except Justice refuses to follow the town’s rules, and now I'm
breaking them too.

No more Mister Nice Guy. Justice is mine for
the taking, and no one will stand in my way. Not even the guy in the mirror.

Table of Contents

1 Black Sheep

Justice

B
ack in Indianapolis, I was on my way to the
prestigious position of Burger King assistant manager. I'd gone through the
certification process. I'd kissed all the right asses. I successfully scared
lesser employees. Just when I was due for my big shot, my mother had the
marvelous idea to return to our hometown in West Virginia. As her dutiful
daughter, I followed and lost my dream job.

The best
comparable position I can find in Tumbling Rock is working as a shift manager
at the glamorous Rite-Rock Mart. The 24-hours convenience store is located near
the interstate, making it a rather hot spot in town.

After finishing
my first day, I strut like a badass when I pick up my half-sister Poppy from
high school. The moody teen slides into my sleek silver Chevy Trax, frowns at me,
and turns up the radio.

“How was
school?” I ask the blonde butthead. “Did you make any friends yet?”

Tossing her
long hair over her shoulder, she mutters, “I’m above friends and beyond
caring.”

“So no.”

Poppy glances
at me and smirks. “Can we listen to something less shitty?”

“Since your day
sucked and mine was the best ever, feel free to control the radio.”

The station
flipper flips through a ton of stations, complaining a lot about country music
and claiming classic rock gives her kidney stones. I don’t listen to her
whining, knowing she’s having trouble adjusting to our new reality in Tumbling
Rock. She left behind only one friend in Indianapolis, but that friend was
well-trained to deal with Poppy’s moods. Finding someone willing to endure her
bullshit could be difficult in a small town.

Compared to my
whiner sister, I’m like a dog with two tails about my current situation. I
don’t even miss Burger King or Indy. I didn’t have many friends to miss or a
single man to slobber over. This new start is working out for me, and it’s only
the first week.

I’m so busy
relishing how I rule the world that I miss my gas tank nearly on empty. Forced
to stop at a tiny station a few miles from our new house in the boondocks, I
walk inside to pay since their card machines don't work. I stand in a long line
while the woman in the front chats with the clerk about tomatoes.

I blame my
arrogance for distracting me. My mind is focused on how I'd turn this turd
station around and never notices my wallet go missing.

By the time I
get to the front, I'm tearing apart my purse to find the wallet I know at this
point isn't inside.

"Ma'am,
why don't you step aside, so others don't have to wait," says the clerk.

I want to freak
out on her, but my arrogance disappeared along with my money and credit cards.
"Someone took my wallet," is all I can manage.

"Sorry.
Maybe you can call someone."

"Someone?"
I ask, frowning. "Do you mean the police?"

The clerk is in
her late teens, and only a few years younger than me, but I feel like an old
woman staring at her. Heck, I even have the urge to tell her to spit out her
damn gum and learn some manners. Since I’m not her mom, I only storm out,
pissed at the world.

Seeing me
stomping around, Poppy gets out of the car. "Did you leave it at
work?" she asks after I whine about what happened.

"I was
looking through it while waiting for you at the school. I had it until I got to
this turd paradise."

"You
should have been more careful."

Every once in a
long while, an older sister is forced to kill her younger sister simply to make
a point. I can’t help wondering if Poppy currently sees her life flashing
before her eyes.

"Don't
take it out on me," Poppy says when I give her the evil eye.

"Heard
about your problem," says a man from behind me. "Maybe I can help you
out."

Feeling
helpless, I turn around and open my mouth to complain. There's no denying I'm
pissed about my wallet.
Oh, boy, am I pissed!

I'm also a
red-blooded woman, and this tall drink of whiskey is drool-inducing delicious.
I casually glance at his hands to look for a wedding ring. He's sporting a
little bling, but I don't have time to size up on what fingers he's wearing
them.

"Are you
in a serious relationship?" I ask, taking his left hand and realizing the
ring finger is free.

Poppy shifts
behind me. "The level of subtly is mind-boggling."

"No,
babe," says the man of my naughty dreams. "Wait right here."

I watch the
dark-haired stud ride his black Harley out of the hillside parking lot and onto
the road.

"We should
call Mom," Poppy whines.

Staring at
where the sex god drove off, I mumble, "My future lover gave us an order,
so shut up while I submit to his will."

Poppy ignores
me and dials the phone. She's very distrustful of my authority. I think it's
because I forgot to pick her up from school a few times. In my defense, I forget
to do trivial errands a lot. My neglect of her wasn't personal.

The Harley hunk
roars back into the parking lot less than five minutes later while Poppy whines
on the phone to our older sister, Journey. I can’t hear exactly what she's
saying, but I suspect I'm the villain.

My focus
remains on the lust object of my wet dreams as he parks his Harley in front of
me.

"Is this
it?" he asks, handing over my wallet.

"Yes,
however did you find it?"

"Luck,"
he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "The thief thought you were
tourists. Happens sometimes, but it won't happen to you again."

"Thank
you. I'm Justice."

"Court,”
he says, giving me the grin of a man who knows how to get what he wants and I’m
hoping his latest goal is learning the details of what I hide in my panties. “I
better let you get your sister home. She looks pretty mad."

I ignore where
he gestures towards Poppy. "I really appreciate you saving me the trials
of ordering new cards. Why don't I buy you dinner as a thank you?"

I worry my
flirting is too restrained, so I caress his tanned forearm and give him a
massive smile. I have a great smile too and feel fairly confident it'll seal
the deal.

Court awkwardly
laughs, scratching at his arm where I touched him. “I’ll take you up on that
offer in a decade or so. Until then, I'll stick with saying you're welcome and
have a nice day."

With that
bizarre brush off, Court rides away. I watch him go while mentally replaying
what he said.
Men are weird
.

"Journey
is coming to get us," Poppy says from behind me, having missed the entire
conversation.

"I got my
wallet back."

"Did he
shoot you down?" Poppy asks.

"Said he
might take me out in ten years. What the butt does that mean?"

Shrugging, Poppy
slides back inside the car. After hurrying into the store to pay, I pump gas
and join her.

"Ten
years? Do you think he's going to prison and wants to hook up when he gets
out?"

Poppy shrugs
again. "Or he thought you were a kid, and he doesn't date little girls.
Wouldn't be the first time a guy thought you were jailbait."

"Son of a
bitch," I grumble, messing with my blonde pixie cut. "I look plenty
old enough."

"Not
really."

"Shut
up."

Poppy pats my
arm, just as I did Court's. "I'm sorry you won't be able to submit to a
stranger's sexual needs. That must be quite a blow to your bucket list."

"I regret
encouraging you to talk when you were a baby."

Poppy only
smiles and texts Journey to call off the rescue mission. We head home where my
mom has returned from her first day at work too.

Christine
Earlham left Tumbling Rock when I was five, and Journey was seven. Wanting a
fresh start, the mother of two ditched her hometown, friends, family, and my
father. Moving to Indianapolis, she worked like a dog for years to get her
veterinarian degree while also holding a full-time job and raising two kids
alone.

Eventually,
things settled down. She married a meathead named Paul, had Poppy, and built a
veterinarian business. Life was solid in Indianapolis, but I’ve been told
midlife crisis happen to even the most well-adjusted people.

Her grandfather
died a decade back, leaving her several acres of nothing land. Then a year ago,
she decided to move back to West Virginia. She ordered a modular house for the
lot, sold her business, and divorced the meathead. All so Christine could
return to a place that haunts her nightmares.

My mom is
strong, fun and smart. I grew up feeling cherished and given the confidence to
face my fears. With that said, Christine is a fucking nitwit when it comes to
my father, Jared Sheerer.

“When he’s in
my life, I become an extension of him,” Christine once said. “A willing
extension too. I forget to be me. I’m only us, and us is really about him.
Jared doesn’t do that to me on purpose, but the man’s magnetism smothers my
independent nature.”

So she’s spent
nearly two decades avoiding him. All of our visits with Jared were handoffs in
Turbo, West Virginia. She never did step foot in Tumbling Rock. He never
visited Indianapolis. We’ve lived separately for a long time. Now we’re all in
one place. A small place too, but my intelligent mother still hopes to avoid
her ex.

I pray I’m
never so stupid about a man. Though I can imagine going nuts over a sexy stud
like Court Whatever His Last Name Is.

“How was school?”
Christine asks Poppy.

“I learned many
fascinating facts and created a lifetime’s worth of amazing memories.”

“Good to hear.
How was work, Journey?”

My older sister
is an ultrasound technician, spending her days looking at babies and weird
masses. She looks quite beautiful in her white lab coat at work. At home, she’s
a slob in sleeveless T-shirts and cutoff shorts. She regularly walks around
barefoot and refuses to do anything with her messy, light brown hair.

“I’ve always
had better taste than you,” I tell her later while we watch TV in our
lavender-colored family room.

Journey glances
at me with her blue eyes and then arches one of her bushy brows. “I’ve always
known you felt that way.”

Grinning, I
lean my head on her shoulder and pet the cat sitting on her lap. “I like my new
job. All of those summers working as a Burger King cashier, I dreamed of being
in charge. Now I am.”

“I should come
in one day and complain about the service,” Journey says, chewing on beef jerky
like a typical Neanderthal.

“You’ll have to
wear shoes.”

“Might not be
worth it,” she says, wiggling the toes on her flat feet.

Stretched out
on the floor, Poppy focuses on our mother. “How was work?”

My younger
sister prefers sitting on the ground. She crawled when she knew how to walk.
She sits on the floor rather than use a chair. When we were growing up,
Christine encouraged our quirky ways. I can’t help wondering if that was a
mistake. My sisters grew up to be loons.

“I met a man,”
I announce an hour later when a commercial comes on.

“I hate live
TV,” Journey mumbles.

Resting my head
on her lap now after taking the cat’s place, I frown at Journey. “Pay attention
to me.”

“You met a
man.”

“He was so very
handsome. My knight in shining armor.”

“He blew her
off,” Poppy announces as our two cats turn her into a bed.

“He was just
polite,” I reply, lying so casually I feel a sense of pride at my skill.

Cuddled in her
La-Z-Boy, Christine is nearly hidden under a pink blanket. Our only dog
snuggles at her feet, partially covered by the Chenille throw. “He’s the one
who helped with your wallet, right?”

“Yes. He was
very gallant.”

Journey plays
with my hair, having decided I’m her pet since I got my pixie cut.

“Maybe he’s
married,” she suggests.

“No.”

“Maybe he
thinks you’re gross.” Poppy helpfully adds.

“But I’m not
gross.”

“Opinions vary
on everything,” Mom says, butchering her words with a tremendous yawn.

“I think I
might try to track him down and…”

The three of
them groan while sharing a collective eye roll.

“No stalking,” Journey
grunts, smacking my nose like a bad dog. “Men here won’t find it cute, and
you’ll end up decomposing in the woods.”

“Not even a
shallow grave?” I ask.

“Nope. Too much
effort for a crazy stalker.”