"Junkyard Dog" Excerpt

ONE - CANDY

Release Date: 3/11/16

I’ve only heard horrible things about Angus Hayes. He’s a ruthless man and all-around terrible person. He’s often compared to a junkyard dog. The asshole apparently rules the small industrial town of White Horse with an iron fist. After hearing so many bad things about him, I’m not surprised the bastard can’t keep an assistant. Lack of social skills aside, Hayes offers a solid salary and full medical for the position, and I’m lured to give the job a try.

His office is a concrete mass likely capable of withstanding a natural disaster or zombie apocalypse. The front door weighs, at least, fifty pounds, and I struggle to open the damn thing. Inside, I find a large front office filled with stacked boxes and discarded furniture. Before I wonder if I’ve stumbled into a storage unit, a woman pops her head up and stares shocked at me.

“Are you Candy Wilburn?”

“Yes.”

“You came,” the frazzled blonde says, gesturing me closer. “A lot of people chicken out when they have interviews with him.”

I check my simple black blouse for fuzzies and then ask, “And you are?”

“Oh, I’m just the temp. A few girls at the agency and I trade off days here. No one can deal with him for…” The woman’s eyes widen. “I’m not sure if I should warn you or if warning you will make you run.”

“I don’t run especially not in these shoes,” I say, glancing at my slightly scuffed black heels.

The woman follows my gaze down to my shoes and then she focuses on my face long enough to lie. “He’s not so bad.”

I slide off my jacket and shake out my long, blonde hair. “I’m ready whenever he is.”

The woman hurries to the back room and mumbles something. Hayes yells that he can’t hear a fucking thing she’s saying. I jump at the sound of his booming voice and wonder if he’s hard of hearing.

After a minute, the woman returns looking extra rattled. “He’s ready for you.”

“He isn’t naked, is he? I’d like to prepare for whatever weird behavior this guy might pull.”

“No, he’s not weird. Just…” She pauses and considers her words. “He’s high maintenance.”

“Aren’t all men?” I ask, but she only stares at me. “Can I go back now?”

Nodding, she says nothing. Her fear doesn’t bode well for me, but unless the guy is handsy, I’m taking the job. Hell, I’ll put up with handsy if he adds vision to my benefits package.

When I enter, Angus Hayes is standing with his back to me. The guy is huge at over six and a half feet. No wonder the ceilings are tall in his bunker office. His hair is nearly black with a few stray grays. Going for a lumberjack look, he’s wearing a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and hiker boots. I suspect he shops at a special store for giants. Will part of my job involve picking up his oversized clothes?

Hayes turns to me and frowns like I’m annoying him. His people skills are stellar right off the bat.

“Wilburn?” he asks, sitting in a monster-sized chair behind a messy as hell desk. I’ve never seen so many post-it notes in my life.

“I prefer Candy.”

“What’s that short for?”

“Candy.”

“Your mother didn’t love you much, did she?”

“My mother adored me,” I say, sitting across from him. “She just loved sweets more.”

Hayes doesn’t react. “You don’t have any experience running an office.”

“That’s not the most important fact about me.”

“What is then?”

My brown eyes find his nearly black ones, and I hold his gaze. “I’m excellent at tolerating assholes.”

The corners of Hayes’s mouth curves upward. “You suck at interviews.”

“You suck at keeping employees.”

Hayes looks at my resume. “Did you hear about that all the way from Cincinnati?”

“My sister lives in White Horse.”

“What’s her name?” he asks before throwing up his hand. “Let me fucking guess. Your sister is Honey Mayer.”

“Mom loved her sugar.”

Hayes finally smiles. “I know everyone in my town.”

“And they all know you. Honey said you haven’t kept an assistant for more than a few weeks. Why do you think that is?”

Still smiling, he leans forward. “I don’t suffer fools.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Where are you living now? Can’t imagine there’s much space at the Mayer house.”

“We stayed there for a few days, but her husband kicked us out.”

“How fucking come?”

Shrugging, I consider my sister’s bad taste in men. “I mentioned he was an asshole, and he didn’t take it as well as you did.”

“No, I suspect he wouldn’t. Andrew Mayer is a thin skinned fucker.”

“Among other things.”

Hayes studies me for a minute, and I can see him figuring things out. He knows I’ve worked as a filing clerk and data entry. I’ve never managed anything in my entire life unless he considers my kids as employees and my house as a business.

“Where are you staying now?” he finally asks.

“We’re at the Hilltop Inn. You know the place that’s nowhere near a hill, let alone on top of it.”

“Who the fuck is we?”

“Me and my twins.”

“They're not babies, are they?” he asks full of disgust. “I hate babies.”

“They’re nine.”

Still irritated, he asks, “Girls or boys?”

“One of each.”

“Do they get sick a lot?”

“No, but I won’t pretend I won’t ditch work if they need me.”

“Fair enough, but I won’t baby you just because you forgot to take the fucking pill. Understand?”

“Do your medical benefits include vision?” I ask, standing up. “The woman on the phone didn’t know.”

“Sit the fuck down!” he hollers.

“No,” I casually respond while sliding on my jacket. “I need to get back to my kids before the thin-skinned asshole returns from work.”

Crossing his arms, he glares at me. “So you’re walking away from the job then?”

“No, you’re giving me the job. I’ll start tomorrow. See you then.”

Hayes jumps up from his desk and lunges to stop me from walking out of the door.

“There’s one fucking boss in this fucking office,” he growls at me.

Noticing his shirt collar is crooked; I reach up and fix it. “I appreciate height in my bosses. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hayes glares hard at me, but he’s all bluster. I know he won’t hurt me except for possibly blowing out my eardrums from all of his hollering.

“Be here at eight,” he says, relenting when I refuse to.

Once Hayes steps aside, I walk past him. “That’ll work until the kids start school. Then I’ll come in at nine.”

I hear Hayes grunt behind me. The woman at the front flinches when he slams the door, but I only keep walking. Based on the mess of boxes, I have a lot of work waiting for me here. That’ll wait for tomorrow. For tonight, I’m taking the kids out to dinner to celebrate my new job.

Sunday Morning Excerpt

Sunday Morning Release Date: 2/25/16

1- Jodi

He had no business loving me. I had no idea what I was getting into by loving him. We didn’t make sense to many people, but none of them mattered in the long run. Life was only about him and me.

Before him, I dreamed of nothing more than turning out better than my mother. Considering she was a complete fucking loser, my goal seemed attainable.

I lived in a cramped one-bedroom trailer with my mom, Robin Sears. Our trailer park was a classic white trash horror. My neighbors were druggies and thugs. No one watched their kids. People argued day and night. Gunshots went off all the time. I often slept with a pillow over my head to block out the noise.

The trailer park rested on the outside of a rundown town where too few people paid taxes, and too few services were available. Half of the roads in Chesterfield were gravel. The paved roads were riddled with potholes.

Years ago, our library burned down, and no one ever raised the money to rebuild it. My high school smelled like mold, and I dodged fights every day. Most of the kids in my grade couldn’t read the front page of a newspaper. Our sports team never once won anything. In fact, we frequently forfeited when not enough players showed up.

I couldn’t pretend to be too good to live in the shithole. I’d seen pictures of Robin from when she was my age, and she was beautiful. Long blonde hair and big blue eyes, she reminded me of supermodel Christie Brinkley. The world was at Robin’s fingertips, but she was raised by a loser mom and became a loser herself. The pattern was set generations ago. It was in our blood to fuck up our lives without anyone else to blame. My mother was no different than our neighbors, each one embracing the lazy lifestyle

The lane I lived on at the Princess Farms Trailer Park led straight down to a stripper bar frequented by a biker club. While Chesterfield had no “right” side of the tracks, this gravel road was paved with trouble. Day and night, motorcycles roared past our trailer. I grew to hate the sound of Harleys and the men riding them.

I hated a lot of things back then. A world filled with sharp edges didn’t leave me with much to like. My mother drank all day and smoked pot all night. She claimed to self-medicate to deal with her depression and physical ailments. I figured sitting on her fat ass all day would make anyone sore. Fortunately for me, she was a step up from many of the losers in our trailer park. She didn’t beat her kid on the front porch or fuck men in public while on a bender. Compared to several mothers in Princess Farms, mine was a picture of maternal instincts.

By twelve, I was the adult in the relationship. I paid the bills, did the grocery shopping, walked to the laundry mat, and kept the trailer as clean as possible. Childhood never interested me. My goal was to get old fast and gain the power that came with age.

Mom said my father was either a serial rapist or a murderer. The brothers who double teamed her were in prison by the time I was old enough to care they existed.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for bad boys,” Robin said more than once when someone mentioned my paternity. “They were both so handsome and so very fucking bad.”

Since they were brothers, either my uncle or father liked to rape and beat women while they were sleeping. The other one got off on knifing people in alleys.

There was no shaking how awful my bloodline was, so my life goals were small. I wanted to live in an apartment rather than a trailer. I wanted to have a real job. I wanted to spend my money on books rather than booze and pot. Small dreams were attainable, and I planned to make them happen.

The day I met him wasn’t so different than any other day. I woke up early and made sure Mom hadn’t burned herself up on the couch overnight. Making coffee, I noticed a putrid smell coming from outside. The park always stunk from people dumping their trash everywhere and not cleaning up after their pets. This was stronger, and the cause was closer. I looked out of the front window to the dumpy porch where an asshole laid sprawled out in his puke.

The fucking bikers called themselves the Chesterfield Vandals, and they acted as if they owned the park. They fucked women on their bikes only yards away from where kids slept. They dumped beer bottles everywhere. One of our elderly neighbors tripped over a bottle weeks earlier and took a tumble into broken glass. Did they care? Nope. Never. Not even a fucking little.

That was how Chesterfield worked. Big, strong assholes did whatever the hell they wanted. The young, the old, the weak, the stupid, the addicted, basically everyone else, got screwed and lived in fear.

I was sixteen and hormonal in the way only sixteen-year-olds get. I hated the world and its rules. I hated everything and everyone at that moment. Most of all, I hated fucking bikers.

Peering out at the wasted guy on my porch, I noticed a few used condoms on the ground near him. The fucker came to MY house and fucked someone on MY porch. Then he barfed all over, leaving ME to clean it up. Fucker!

We couldn’t afford a gun to protect ourselves, so I used knives and bats. That day with that big lump of an asshole on my porch, I decided to play baseball with his face.

Never once did I consider what might happen afterward. This guy was patched in. He was a big shit in a violent club, and I was taking a bat to him. Right then and there, I just didn’t give a shit about anything.

The guy didn’t even react to the first three strikes of the bat against his legs. Only when I nailed him on the upper back did he holler. Waking groggily, he reached for my bat. I hit his grasping hand. He hollered again. His voice was so damn loud the entire world probably heard him bitching.

His pain made me angrier. The guy deserved a million beatings. A billion! He might never get the others, so I planned to make mine count.

I wailed on him, swinging until my arms hurt. The blows made cracking sounds against his head and back. When he tried to stand, I beat his legs. When he reached for me, I aimed for his arms. His hollering got the attention of my neighbors, but they only hid. Retribution was coming for me, and they didn’t plan to get in the way.

The bat was high in the air when a hand stopped its momentum. I turned to find another biker behind me. This one was fucking gorgeous, but I still wanted to beat the shit out of him.

“Enough of that,” he said, yanking the bat away from me.

The woman inside me didn’t know how to respond after hearing such a perfectly rumbly voice. He was watching me with dark eyes I wanted to disappear into, and his sexy lips hinted at a smile. The biker took my breath away, yet the pissed teenager in me didn’t care.

Turning away from the sexy beast, I kicked the guy still on the ground. “Stupid fucker.”

The second biker wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me off of the ground. I kicked and screamed about how I wasn’t done. The rumbly biker laughed at my rage, making me want to kick his ass next.

“Drag his ass to the bar,” he said to two other bikers standing in the road. “I’ll deal with this spitfire.”

“I’m not done!” I yelled again while my feet swung helplessly a foot from the ground.

I watched while the laughing bikers dragged their buddy to safety. I hated them. If I had my bat back, I bet I could make them stop laughing.

“Time of the month?” the rumbly biker asked, setting me down on my porch.

Turning to him, I balled up my fists and prepared to attack. I planned to mess up his brilliantly fucking handsome face.

“Cigarette?” he asked, lighting one.

His voice soothed my rage. The anger faded as curiosity took its place. Would this sexy biker kill me now? Could I punch him the face before he ended my life? Did I forget to turn on the coffee pot? My thoughts were all over the damn place.

“Yeah,” I said.”

“Yeah about the cig or your period?”

“He puked on my fucking porch.”

“I see that.”

He handed me his already lit cigarette before lighting a new one. I took a hit from his leftover and thought about our lips meeting in this indirect way.

“Are you gonna kill me?” I asked defiantly since my rage hadn’t disappeared completely.

“For what?”

Unsure now, I realized I was wearing my pink flannel pajamas in front of this sexy man. I might hate bikers, but this one was appealing enough for me to let things slide.

“Is that guy gonna kick my ass later?” I asked, not wanting him to leave yet.

“No.”

“He seemed mad.”

“A little girl beat the shit out of him with a bat. That’s not going to make him happy.”

Taking a hit on the cigarette, I thought to complain about the “little girl” part of his comment. I kept my mouth shut because the reality of dying before eighteen had set in.

“I’m not a morning person,” I finally said after he stared at me for too long.

The guy laughed in his rough voice. “No kidding.”

“Jodi?” my mom said from the trailer.

Hearing my mother’s half-asleep voice and thinking about her getting hurt because of me, I became fully aware of my temper’s bad decision making.

I opened the door and told my mom everything was fine. She turned over on the couch and returned to sleep. After I shut the door and focused on the biker, I found his dark eyes still watching me. He was older than the other bikers, yet a million times better looking.

“I’m sorry I busted up your friend.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well he had it coming, so no, I’m really not.”

“Jodi what?”

“Why?”

“Don’t give me shit, kid. Just tell me your last name.”

“No, and don’t call me kid. And what’s your name? Can I have your social security too, while we’re at it?”

The guy grinned. “Your mama did a fucked up job raising you.”

“And your mama was such a fucking prize?”

“No, she’s a doormat married to a wife beater.”

“Sorry.”

The guy shrugged. “You didn’t introduce them.”

“I might have. I’m a busy person.”

He grinned really nice at me. I suspected this was the same smile he used on people he planned to kill. I bet he told them it wouldn’t hurt too much. Did he have them close their eyes and think of Jesus too?

“Jodi Sears,” I said, giving him a little with the hope he didn’t take everything.

“I’m Kirk Johansson,” he said, handing me a card with only a phone number on it. “That’s my beeper number. Next time you have issues with those guys, you contact me. No more vigilante shit, okay, kid?”

“Not if you keep calling me ‘kid’ even when I asked you to stop.”

“You didn’t ask, kid. You told me what the fuck to say, and I don’t get bossed around by bitchy women.”

I glared at him again. “Give me back my bat.”

“Say please.”

A moment passed between us. He was the big shit killer capable of making me disappear. Hell, he could make my entire family disappear. I was nothing and nobody. I had no power to do anything to him. Yet I didn’t back down. For whatever reason, I couldn’t let him win this battle. I was willing to consider it a tie.

“Please give me back my bat.”

Kirk handed me the bat, and I knew he was waiting to see if I swung it at him. I didn’t, of course. My stupidity faded the moment my temper did.

“Thank you.”

“Nice manners. Now get inside and put on some clothes before a pervert gets any ideas about you.”

“Anything else?” I growled.

“Yeah, don’t be stupid. I’m serious about you asking me for help next time.”

I realized he hadn’t called me “kid” and I considered this a win. Kirk might have realized what I had because I saw him second-guessing his decision. Had he been too nice to the crazy bat-wielding bitch?

Before he changed his mind about our truce, I hurried inside. Despite every urge, I didn’t look back at Kirk. Even so, I prayed that wouldn’t be the last time I ran into the sexy beast.

"Live Wire" Excerpt

Release Date: Nov. 12, 2015

1

~ Brad ~

The Past Rears Its Ugly Head

The decorative white gift box rests in the middle of the king sized bed. I stand in the small hallway at the entrance of the hotel suite and stare at the present left for me. I can see the name "Evan Motley" printed on the nametag. I shiver at the sight of my character's name from the short-lived and rather popular TV show I starred in over a decade ago. Trouble has returned for me.

I remain stuck in my spot. My cell hums in my hand, but I don't answer. All I can see, hear, and feel is the package on the bed. I stare at the wet, red spot under the package as its contents leak.

I'd convinced myself the demon worshipping cult was gone. Or they no longer cared about me. I honestly believed I'd hidden for long enough. All my lies feel childish now. Of course, they waited for me to resurface, and now they left a gift.

My mother enters the room, pushing past me while complaining about Houston traffic. We've remained locked away in the distant suburbs for so long that the city feel foreign to us now. Much like the painful fear in my chest, I'd forgotten how the real world works. The package on the bed brings everything back to me.

"What the...?" Mom says, pausing a foot from the bed.

Our financial manager, and mom's live-in partner going on twenty years, enters the room next. Nell gasps at the sight on the bed.

"This could be a good thing," she says without thinking.

Always ready to say something positive, Nell can't finish because nothing good can come out of whatever is bleeding all over my pristine hotel comforter.

The police arrive quickly while I sit in Mom and Nell's hotel room. One officer after another asks me questions, but I don't know the answers. The detectives who arrive an hour later straight out ask if the bloody gift is a publicity stunt to promote my new autobiography. They clearly believe I'm a Hollywood idiot pulling a ploy to increase buzz about my tell-all.

I learn later the box is filled with a human heart. The police suddenly take me seriously. Not that I care what they think.  The authorities have proven useless in the past.

When two cultists abducted me from a Hollywood party, the police blew off my disappearance. They told reporters I was off partying, and my mom/manager was too protective.

Unable to separate my character from reality, the cultists believed I was the half-breed son of a demon. They intended to sacrifice me and bring forth their demon god. One of them even went so far as to carve arcane symbols into my back. All while I bled and suffered, I waited for the police to arrive.

When reality caught up with me, I chose to save myself. In the process of gaining my freedom, I took the life of the male cultist. The police didn't find me, even after I used the cultist's phone. Instead, a nice old couple took me into their home and finally found me help. Hell, even when the police stumbled upon the woman cultist injured by the side of the road, they failed to get information from her. She hung herself in her cell without telling them a single thing.

Now in Houston, I realize we're on our own again. Looking at Mom and Nell, they've hidden away with me at our ranch for over a decade. We've lived safely until I decided to write a book about what happened those years ago. An author named Marx Hearton emailed me for over a year before I agreed to meet him. His persistence paid off when I agreed to work on the book. My long time therapist even thought the process might be cathartic.

"We need to hire someone," I tell Mom when the police leave us alone in her room. "I walked into that room without even fucking checking. I've forgotten how to be afraid. Someone could have been waiting for me, and I was standing there like an idiot."

"I'll ask around," Nell mumbles, and I see genuine fear in her hazel eyes.

I stare into my mother's soft gray eyes. She's a strong woman, and I rely on her too much. We've been in this place before. A decade ago, I left Hollywood and my new career. We bought the ranch and kept to ourselves. Soon the world forgot about me. After a few years, I returned to writing songs for country musicians. I used a pseudonym, wanting to remain hidden from the world and the leftover cultists.

No longer hidden, I need a way to end the threat. Ten years and they're still waiting.

"I heard of a security firm capable of handling a situation like this one," Mom says, and I instantly think of the neighbors gossiping about a recent high profile case. "I don't know if they'll take the job, but I can track down their info."

"No," Nell whispers. "That firm is full of killers."

"Those are just rumors."

"Why take the chance?"

"Because the rumors might be true," Mom says, giving me a steely gaze.

Nell says nothing, fearing the solution is worse than the problem. Mom and I understand though. The cultists don't play by anyone's rules. They don't fear the law or society. They think a demon is on their side. How can the law argue with such insanity?

When faced with a group unwilling to follow society's laws, we need a weapon just as prepared to step over the line. Ramsey Security promises to be just such a weapon.

Chapter One from Thunderstruck

Release date: 8/20/15

Copyright © 2015 Bijou Hunter

 

1

~~~

 Darla

 Temptation Takes Me

I forget who I am. Not at first or willingly. Yet over time, I lose my way. Too many nights in the dark. Too many lies whispered in my ear. Too much pain until I crave the lies offering me freedom.

Locke says my name is Rose, and I belong to him. He pretends to love the original Rose who embraced death as a way to free herself from the lies. One day I might do the same, but I can't give up just yet.

Days turn into weeks, and the lies feel more real than the truth. Weeks become months, and I don't remember the truth anymore. The memories of my life before Locke - when my name was Darla - are lies. My dreams of that time are only fantasies I tell myself to deal with the pain. The reality is I never existed before becoming Rose. I always belonged to Locke, and I always will.

The lies are so strong that I walk into public places where I might escape, yet I never forget to be Rose. Restaurants, hotels, and stores might offer me a path away from him and towards freedom, yet I never run. I can't explain to anyone why I didn't at least try to escape before today. They will never understand what it feels like to be Rose. She exists only to please Locke, and I see no escape.

Until Beyonce.

The boutique smells like a garden, and I lift my nose to the scent pulsing from the vents. I hate the odor, but Rose spent her days walking through the garden at Locke's home. She even jumped to her death, landing in her precious flowers.

The women around me are very skinny like walking hangers. I never consider speaking to them. I am here to try on clothes, but I won't choose what we buy. Locke will. Even without him in the store, he always chooses what he wants for his Rose.

The man at my left is Mister Pain. He never smiles for me. Once I saw him smile for a waitress, and he had razor sharp teeth. The waitress gasped at the sight of his mouth and was fired immediately afterwards. Locke refuses to allow anyone to shame Mister Pain.

Does Locke truly care for Pain? Does he care for anyone? Yes, he loves Rose. She belongs to him, and now I'm her. Today, I can keep things straight in my head easier than before. The darkness I normally hide in fades, and I see the world as it truly is.

When Beyonce's Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) begins to play, I feel strange. This song means something. Not to Rose. Or Locke. Or even Mister Pain. The song means something to Darla - the woman I am in my dreams.

A memory flashes in my mind of Darla's sister dancing with her daughter and son in a big kitchen in a massive house. They are such a happy family, dancing and singing. In the memory, Darla dances too.

I see the blonde woman in the mirror, and she is Darla.

Outside the dressing room, Mister Pain waits to take a picture of my outfit for Locke's approval. I think of his size and know I'll never get past him. Rose wouldn't even think to try.

I am not Rose though.

My feet are bare, and I'm wearing a flowery dress with the store's alarm mechanism attached. Yet I shove open the door and run past Mister Pain. His fingers skim the fabric of my dress, yet he misses his chance to stop me.

I run out the front door, setting off the alarm. Behind me, the women gasp while Mister Pain gives chase. My escape takes him by surprise, but he recovers quickly. If he catches me, he'll return me to Locke who will punish me until I am Rose again.

Running as fast as my weak body manages, I sing the words to the song and remember when I was Darla. Around me, the noise on the street is unbearably loud. After too long in the quiet, I'm overwhelmed by the world's chaos.

My feet tearing open on the rocks and glass in the street, I rush through traffic and away from Mister Pain. Despite the pain, I can't slow down when he remains so close behind me.

I pass a pizzeria, inhaling the familiar scents of my life before I became Rose. Locke won't allow me to eat pizza. Rose has allergies and is on a special diet. Darla though eats whatever she wants.

Based on the expressions of the people I pass, Mister Pain is nearly upon me. They're afraid. Not for me, but for themselves. He looks terrifying when angry. His face turns red and veins pop out of his forehead. I have seen his angry face too many times in the last nine months.

Blinded to the danger behind me, I only see freedom ahead. I can't give up now. I refuse to be afraid. I have this one chance. If he catches me, I will never be free again.

"Do you believe in God?" Darla's niece Diana once asked.

"Sure," Darla said, giving a blasé shrug.

The old Darla didn't think much about God. However, I'll forever believe after a dozen uniformed officers appear from a deli on the street ahead of me.

Only when I see them do I realize I'm screaming. The officers stop smiling at their earlier conversation and look at me running in their direction.

"I am Darla!" I scream.

Mister Pain's fingers brush my shoulder once. They also graze my hair, tearing a few strands from my scalp. He's nearly on top of me when the officers appear.

Refusing to look back, I don't see him fleeing. I only hear someone say he has a gun. I think officers chase after him. What I know is I barrel into one of the policemen and hold on for dear life.

Mayhem surrounds me, first on the street and then at the hospital. Officers and doctors ask questions, but I don't know the answers. I cry when they promise my sister is flying into Los Angeles to get me from the hospital. Even with freedom at my grasp, I can only say one thing.

"I am Darla."