Her Dishonored Biker (Broken Heroes Love Harder #8)
Chapter 1
one
Piper
“Is dinner almost ready? I’m starving.” My youngest brother, Jovi, tugs at the hem of my frayed denim shorts, which were too tight two summers ago—now they hug my hips like a second skin.
It’s not that I’m trying to dress sexy for my mom’s biker friends—it’s that I literally don’t have anything else to wear on such a hot summer day.
Standing over the gas grill, cooking supper for my five siblings and me, doesn’t help.
Sweat trickles down my back and across my chest, making my tight T-shirt cling to my large breasts and my already thin shirt almost see-through.
Having a curvy body with wide hips, large breasts, and a tiny waist is a curse my three sisters and I inherited from our maternal grandmother.
But to our mother’s dismay, it skipped a generation, leaving her with no curves at all and barely any breasts.
She reminds us of that fact every day and refuses to spend any money on new clothes for us.
At twenty-two, I’m the oldest and, as she calls me, her greatest mistake.
She was sixteen when she had me and had to drop out of high school.
My father ran off not long after I was born.
But it wasn’t long before she replaced him with another man and became pregnant with my sister, Prue.
As with my father, Prue’s father left weeks after Prue was born.
The pattern repeated with my next sister, Phoebe, whose father left a year later, right after she was born.
Thankfully, it took six years before Mom became pregnant with our brother, Jonah. At fourteen, Jonah is growing like a weed, outgrowing his clothes and shoes. Especially his football cleats.
Jonah is a talented football player. He has a real shot at earning a scholarship and playing in the pros someday—a chance to make something of himself by getting out of the trailer park we call home.
If you can even call our trailer a home.
It might be a double-wide, but there isn’t much room for four grown women, a teenager, a six-year-old, and a one-year-old.
At thirty-eight, my mom is still having kids.
It’s one reason my sisters and I agreed not to have sex before marriage—we refuse to be like our mother and fall into the same pattern.
Sharing a room with my two sisters and a baby is not a life I would wish on my worst enemy.
It’s not that I don’t love my siblings, but a little privacy would be nice.
Especially on a hot summer night like tonight, when all I can think about is the tall, muscular biker, Jax.
I fantasize about Jax's large hands caressing my skin, his lips capturing mine in a deep, possessive kiss until the pressure in my body builds, demanding relief. But with zero privacy, I’m left sexually frustrated.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never felt this way about any of the guys who have hung out at our trailer over the years, and there have been plenty. There’s just something about Jax that sets him apart from the rest—almost as if he despises the guys he’s hanging around.
Once, I saw hatred flash across his face when Deadeye made a crude remark about my sisters and me.
If I had blinked, I would have missed it.
I was grateful that Jax steered the conversation away from my sisters and me—the last thing I want is for Deadeye and his guys to turn their attention to us.
It hasn’t happened yet, but I can see it lurking in his cold, dead eyes.
Jax rides with my mom’s latest boyfriend, Deadeye.
The name fits him—his eyes are so dark they’re almost black, like a shark's eyes just before a kill. A shiver of disgust runs through me whenever I think of Deadeye. He wasn’t supposed to show up today, but when I got home from my day shift at the diner, he was already locked in my mom’s bedroom with her.
The grunts and groans floating through the paper-thin walls had me gathering up my siblings and heading outside to a nearby picnic table under a big oak tree next to our trailer.
My one-year-old sister, Paige, is sound asleep on a worn baby blanket in the grass next to the picnic table while Jovi, Jonah, Prue, and Phoebe play a lively game of UNO, a Christmas gift of Jovi’s last year. Depending on how long Deadeye stays tonight, this game might be a late-night affair.
“They’re almost ready.” I flip the hot dogs over one more time, making sure to cook them evenly.
“I’ll take mine to go.” Prue slides off the picnic table bench as I pick up a hot dog with tongs, place it on a bun, and hand it to her.
Prue works as a waitress at a local strip club from seven o’clock at night until three o’clock in the morning.
It’s not a job she’s proud of, but there’s not much work in this small town, but the tips are amazing, which is exactly what we need.
Prue, Phoebe, and I work to cover the bills because our worthless mother doesn’t have a job.
Phoebe and I both work the day shift at the diner, so we can watch the kids at night while Prue works the night shift and watches the kids during the day.
We’d leave this place in a heartbeat and take our underage siblings with us, but Mom won’t sign over her parental rights to me, claiming she loves her kids too much to do so. We all know it’s because we pay her bills so she can lounge around and entertain her creepy boyfriends day and night.
“Can you put some gas in the car tonight? I didn’t have time after work.” I say.
Prue nods, knowing that’s code for we didn’t make enough in tips to cover gas. Phoebe and I normally walk to work, but it was too hot today. Prue, on the other hand, doesn’t have the option to walk. With her late hours, it isn’t safe, and the bus doesn’t run after midnight.
“Sure thing.” She gives me a half smile, slinging her beat-up old backpack over her shoulder, which holds her waitress uniform. I’ve never seen it because she always changes her clothes at work, but I can only imagine it leaves little to the imagination.
The sound of Prue starting our old car fills the air, making me grimace at the missing muffler we still haven’t been able to afford to replace. The loud noise lessens the farther she travels from the trailer, only to be replaced by the sound of motorcycles pulling into the trailer park.
I busy myself with plating the hot dogs and chips for my siblings, making sure not to look for Jax or Phantom, as he’s known in the club. I’m doing a great job of ignoring him, but true to his club name, he steps next to me without making a sound.
“Is there room on the grill for these?” His deep voice rumbles through me, just as I imagine the vibration of his bike would feel between my legs.
I turn to meet his gaze and find him holding up a couple of packages of steaks, something my family hasn’t had in a long time. For the first time since I laid eyes on Jax, I hate the selfish bastard—teasing us with steaks when all we can afford is a package of hot dogs.