Damaged and the Bulldog
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Authors: Bijou Hunter
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Family Saga, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Sagas
Damaged and the Bulldog
Bijou Hunter
Copyright © 2014 Bijou Hunter
Kindle Edition
Dedication
Freckles, Tigger, Pooh, and Roo for owning my heart
Mustang Sally and Marvelous Miranda for having my back
Saucy Sarah and Hardcore Patty for knowing the genre
Eusebia, Jennifer, Arnie, Gail, and the rest of the
awesome Denny’s crew
Damaged Series
Damaged and the Beast
(Apr ‘13)
Damaged and the
Knight (July ‘13)
Damaged and the Cobra
(Oct ‘13)
Damaged and the
Outlaw (Nov ‘13)
Damaged and the
Dragon (May ‘14)
Damaged and the Saint
– Final Damaged Book (Late 2014)
Bijou Standalone Books
Gator (Feb ’14)
Used (June ’14)
*****
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.
Table of Contents
Winnie
At nineteen, I had three distinct memories from my
childhood. The first was playing
Star Wars
with the neighborhood kids
and ending up as Chewbacca when the other girl got to be Princess Leia. The
second was when the neighborhood bully Clyde Dinkle crashed his bike into my
leg while I was riding my Big Wheelie. The last was when my dad announced he’d
lost me in a card game and I was going to live with a guy named Sugar Bum.
My therapist said I suppressed my ugliest memories to
survive. Eventually, my mind hid them automatically. My short term memory
wasn’t great either. I never minded the large gaps in my life though. Based on
what I did remember, I wasn’t missing much.
I lived with the scars from my time with Sugar Bum and
the Vandals Motorcycle Club. The physical ones like the gash on my hairline,
the burns on my feet, and the C-section incision under my belly button provided
proof of a time I didn’t remember. Other scars remained hidden in my mind,
waiting to rise up inside me. When someone touched me or came up behind me too
quickly, I felt under attack. My body remembered even if my mind destroyed the
images belonging to the sensations.
Everything changed for me so quickly. One day, I was a
doll in a box. The next day, I was in the loving home of Tad and Toni Todds.
They were my dad and mom who would never sell me to pay a debt. My unspoken
prayers answered, I was saved by men as frightening as the ones who broke me. I
still remembered the look on Kirk Johansson’s hard face when he opened the
footlocker to find me inside. My savior was terrifying, but he freed me.
These days, I ought to be happy and sane. I had a
great family and years of therapy. My past still clung to me. For my family, I
wanted to be strong. I also had dreams about a particular man. If I could find
a way to be independent, I might have a chance with Dylan Campbell.
The first time I saw Dylan, his mohawk and tats scared
me. His dark eyes were so angry. I figured he would hurt me like so many other
men. Dylan wasn’t like them, but I took awhile to realize this fact. I knew he
wasn’t simply another handsome guy like Cooper or Vaughn when I saw a tanned
and sweaty Dylan without his shirt.
I’d never found a man sexy before. Viewing a guy as
sexy, rather than handsome, made me think of sex and I hated being touched. I
couldn’t even imagine kissing a guy without wanting to vomit. Yet when I saw
Dylan without his shirt, my body flushed with heat. For the first time in my
life, I was aroused by the sight of a man. My desire not only surprised me, but
also scared me to death.
I got the worst giggles when I saw Dylan without his
shirt. Embarrassed and aroused, I wouldn’t shut up until Harlow pulled me
outside and I downed an entire bottle of water. After calming, I said the
stupidest thing ever.
“He has hair on his chest.”
Harlow
burst into
giggles and I realized how pathetic I sounded.
“Oh, don’t be sad,” Harlow said, hugging me. “Everyone
thinks someone’s hot.”
“Do you think someone’s hot?” I mumbled against her.
“Yeah, sure,” she lied.
“Who?”
“Vaughn.”
Even knowing she was lying, I appreciated the effort. Harlow’s hugs felt good. One day, I might enjoy a man touching me. Well, assuming the man
was Dylan.
Every morning for months, I woke up and wondered if I
should talk to Dylan again. We had shared a few short conversations when I went
with Mom to Cooper’s future office. She designed the layout while Dylan ran the
construction team. One time, he even said my hair looked nice in a braid. I’d
smiled like an idiot, unable to even thank him. Despite his dark angry eyes,
Dylan always spoke with a gentle tone when addressing me. I thought he liked me
the way guys liked girls, but he never made me feel dirty.
I had hoped he might ask me out. Feeling stronger than
I’d ever been, I was ready to give dating a chance. My hopes died when the
Devils MC showed up to grab Harlow. They took me too. I wished I fought them
off, but I shut down like I always did when afraid. Harlow kicked one and tried
to hit another, but they were too strong.
When the armed Devils arrived, the men at the worksite
ran for cover. All except Dylan who attacked the two Devils with a hammer. He
nearly tore out one guy’s eye before the second bastard shot him in the chest.
Dylan didn’t die, but my courage did. I stopped
visiting the worksite and hadn’t seen him except in passing for months. I still
dreamed of dating Dylan. Until two days earlier, when I realized I’d waited too
long and lost my chance.
Staring out at our backyard, I could only think of
Dylan hugging a pretty redhead. The girl was curvy in a way I wasn’t. She
smiled easily like I never did and hugged him as if touching was no big deal
for her. They actually looked good together. Him tall and powerful, her small
and delicate. She was what Dylan deserved. Yet I couldn’t believe I lost my
chance. I’d been so sure he was mine because he said he’d wait.
Weeks earlier, Nick Davies’s loser dad came to
Ellsberg and forced me to help him find his boy. Saying no to men was always
difficult. My little brother Jace even bossed me around.
After I led Doyle Davies to New Hampton College, he fought with Nick then Dylan. Watching them fight, I was overwhelmed with fear and
guilt. When a weapon dropped near my feet, I grabbed the knife and planned to
hurt anyone who touched me. The police arrived, but I refused to give up the
blade. Despite my fear of men, I said no. Besides, the police never helped me
all those years when I was a slave to Sugar Bum and his friends. I refused to
give up my weapon. Nearly dying to protect Harlow and me, Dylan could be
trusted. When he asked for the weapon, I gave it to him.
Afterwards, he drove me home and I wished to explain
what he meant to me. I couldn’t find the words.
“Did they hurt you?” Dylan asked on the ride to my
house.
Unable to find my voice, I shook my head.
“People like that need to be wiped off the face of the
earth,” he growled.
Once we parked in front of my house, Dylan finally
looked at me. I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“You know, don’t you?” he whispered. “That’s why you
gave me the knife.”
My heart soared at how he understood. When I nodded,
Dylan’s dark eyes studied me.
“I’ll wait,” he said then added, “I have no choice
because I can’t go anywhere else. Only you will do.”
I wanted to say something reassuring to Dylan. He was
always in my thoughts and I needed him to know what he meant to me. The words
felt all wrong in my head, so I only thanked him for the ride.
When I slid out of the truck, Dylan took me by the
wrist. His calloused hands were soft against my skin.
“Do you want me to wait?” he asked.
My lips remained glued together, but I nodded. Dylan’s
hard and angry expression eased. I even saw a little smile on his face when I
glanced back before disappearing into the house.
Dylan said he would wait. He meant it too. Yet I took
too long to get over my issues and he found someone else.
After seeing Dylan with the redhead, I sunk deeper
into a depression. Even working at Lark’s house did nothing to distract me. I
simply went through the motions. Fortunately, Lark was especially tired and
slept most of the day, so she never noticed my bad mood.
Harlow
wasn’t as
oblivious as we washed dishes after dinner.
“What’s up, stinky pup?”
I rolled my eyes at her nickname for me. “Nothing.”
“She doesn’t want to deal with the leaves,” Jace said
from behind us. Our ten year old brother crossed his arms like Dad often did
when suspicious. “See, she got spooked last night and bailed on raking the
leaves. They ended up blowing around the yard and now she’s trying to get out
of raking them again.”
“That’s not it.”
“Sure, it is,” he said, his dark hair covering his
narrowed eyes. “What else could it be?”
Grumpy, I decided to punish him. “It’s about a sexy
guy.”
Jace’s face twisted into horror. “Eww!” he cried,
running out of the room.
Harlow and I laughed at the sound of him telling on me
to Mom.
“In a few years, girls will be all he thinks about,” I
said, returning to the dishes.
Harlow
leaned her head
against my shoulder. “Sexy guy, huh?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your fight?”
Harlow
glanced at the
clock. “Yeah. When I get back, I want to hear about the sexy guy making you
sigh so much.”
As my sister dressed to go, I finished the dishes and
struggled to stop sighing. I was still grumpy when Dad got home. In this living
room, he told Harlow to be careful. She said something and laughed.
When Harlow started fighting at the Thunderdome, she
called herself Joy and hid it from our parents. She didn’t think they’d approve
and she was right. Harlow and I were naïve to assume they wouldn’t find out
long before she told them the truth though.
Dad might be a pastor, but he learned about the Lord
in prison. As a member of the Reapers, Dad had eyes and ears all over Ellsberg.
He likely knew Harlow was fighting before she threw her first punch.
Entering the kitchen, Dad smiled at me. “Stop talking
about cute boys around your brother. He has a sensitive gag reflex.”
I laughed as he got himself a beer and joined me at
the sink. “Mom said we have leftovers. Mind warming them up for me?”
Shaking my head, I filled a plate and set it in the
microwave.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked, frowning at me. “You look
worn down.”
“I had a long day.”
“You sure that’s it?”
We watched each other and I remembered the first time
he asked if I was okay. Five years earlier when I was brought to this house and
met my new family. I didn’t remember a lot from that day besides thinking these
people were too good to be true. I figured they’d wait until Kirk was gone then
hurt me.
I couldn’t remember when I knew Dad was a good man who
loved me. Not like my real dad loved me. Tad felt the kind of love a person
died to protect. I saw the love in his eyes as he waited for his food to finish
warming.
“I wish I was stronger.”
“So do I,” he said softly. “Everyone does. They just
don’t admit it. That’s what makes you so brave. You can admit your fears.”
Even thinking he was full of shit, I smiled. “Thanks,
Dad.”
Taking his plate out of the microwave, he inhaled.
“Mom makes the best meatloaf.”
“I made it.”
Grinning, Dad nudged me with his hip. “If you make
this meatloaf for the boy you’re hung up on, you’ll own him.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Dad left me to eat in the living room with Mom. I
finished up the dishes, washed off the counter, and joined Jace outside as he
raked the leaves.
“I saw a shadow last night,” I told him.
“A person shadow or a squirrel shadow?”
We laughed, but I knew Jace thought I was nuts. I
freaked over minor noises and the doorbell sent me scrambling to my room.
Having only lived with us for a year, Jace was still getting used to having two
weird big sisters.
Once we finished outside, I took a shower and watched
TV alone in my room. Usually my favorite show
Monk
soothed me. This
night, I pinched the back of my hand.
Whenever I was tense, I pinched my hands until they
were dark with bruises. If I ran out of space on my hands, I moved onto my
arms. On really bad days, I pinched bruises up and down my legs too.
Ignoring the TV, I thought about Dylan’s strong arms
around the pretty girl. He should have been mine, but I failed. No amount of
pinching gave me a second chance, but I couldn’t stop. The depression needed an
outlet.
I was still pinching my hands under the blankets when Harlow crawled into my bed. Damp from a shower, she wore shorts and a loose tee. I also
noticed a darkening bruise on her eye.
“Did you win?” I asked as she cuddled next to me.
“Hell yeah.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” Harlow lied. “Are you still bummed about a sexy
guy?”
Pinching harder, I shrugged. “I get disappointed
sometimes.”
“Disappointed about what?”
“Disappointed in me. I was doing so well months ago.
Now I just hide in the house.”
“You have a job and friends.”
“I should be stronger by now.”
“Things happened that changed us both.”
We were both thinking about the Devils. I was happy to
have blocked most of the experience from my mind, but I remembered enough.
Dylan getting shot. The way one guy pushed me against a wall. How he wanted to
rape me because I was “extra.” Harlow was the one they wanted and I was
disposable. Mostly, I remembered Harlow and me killing the guy.
