Overview: He’s big and green and he's in my backyard…
When my mom skips town, forcing me to dance in a strip club to cover her debts, you’d think I’d hit rock bottom.
But there’s something much bigger brewing under my feet.
Right outside, in my backyard, in fact.
He’s big and green and he’s looking for a mate.
Grunge is everything I never knew I wanted in a monster.
Only catch?
According to his horde, their king deserves the best, and I don’t quite measure up…
.jpg "Grunge by Roxy Collins (Backyard Goblin Gods Book 1)") |
| Grunge by Roxy Collins (Backyard Goblin Gods Book 1) |
Grunge by Roxy Collins (Backyard Goblin Gods Book 1) Read Online Chapter One
I hug the sack of groceries to my chest and try to inch further under the old bus shelter. The wind has shifted and the rain is now hitting me in the face, dirty water and muck from the highway splattering my jeans. I turn my back and hunch my shoulders into the collar of my coat, wishing for the hundredth time my paycheck stretched to gas and groceries. Full bellies trump a warm car, but on nights like this, I would do just about anything to have both.
It doesn’t help my feet are throbbing from a double shift at The Watering Hole. Not that I’ll have to suffer through another, since the Iron Goblins Motorcycle Club have finally called in their tab. Either I find the money to pay back my mom’s debts, or I come work for them. Pole or corner, they’re not fussy. The simple fact is, I can earn a lot more sucking dicks than slinging drinks.
Fucking assholes…
I grimace and tuck my face in the paper sack, breathing in the fresh bread smell. It’s been a long while since I bought a loaf that didn’t come from the discount bin. But tonight, I’m splurging. Even if it’s just PB&J, the twins with think it’s a feast. And I’ll plaster a smile on my face and act like the world’s our fucking oyster.
“You can sit next to me, dear. There’s room on the bench.” I look down at the little old lady who’s perched on the edge of the graffiti-smeared seat. She looks like a baby bird in her yellow slicker, her hair a fuzzy white nest in her polka-dot hood. There’s a damp newspaper in her hands, and she holds it up, poking a knobbly finger the front page. “They say those tremors we all felt were earthquakes. How ridiculous! I was a teacher, you know. Nearly thirty years. And I can tell you for a fact, those rumbles didn’t come from underground volcanic forces.”
I smile at her outrage and move the sack to my other hip. “What do you think they were?”
She leans in and whispers, like we’re not the only two people under this crappy shelter. “The bugaboos have come knocking.”
“Bugaboos?”
“Oh, yes. Every twenty years or so, they come looking for pretty young things to warm their beds.” She looks me over and arches her invisible eyebrows. I know what she sees. A girl in her early twenties, but with extra years around her eyes and a tired tilt to her mouth. Hair too blonde to be natural, and a body that’s got me in trouble since puberty. “Better stay out of the wild places, dear, or they’ll snap you up and carry you away.”
I can’t help but laugh. I have no idea what a bugaboo is, but my neighborhood is basically a safari park. Wild doesn’t begin to cover it. “Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
At that moment, the bus pulls to the curb in a wave of oily water and squealing brakes. Grimacing, I balance the sack on my hip and help the bird-lady to her feet. Her hands are cold in mine, but surprisingly strong. There’s a bright gleam in her eyes as she pulls me close. “Unless, that’s what you want, dear. A bugaboo in your bed? If that’s the case, drop something gold down it's hole. Sprinkle the ground with your blood and if it likes your scent, it’ll come knocking right at your door.”
I pull away, holding back the eye-roll until she’s climbed on the bus. Bugaboos? Blood and gold? As I flop into my seat, I shake my head and grin at my damp reflection in the window. She’s just a harmless old lady who’s spent too many years sniffing newsprint.
But I lose my smile a half hour later when I find a familiar Harley parked out front of our house. Our street wasn’t always the worst in the neighborhood. When we first moved here, there were kids riding bikes in the cul-de-sac and neighbors yakking over picket fences. But those days are long gone. A cheap high-rise, home to the Ridgeback gang, now casts a grimy shadow over the street. If that’s not bad enough, the Iron Goblins decided to build their clubhouse on the corner. Suddenly we’re smack bang between the bikers and the biggest drug dealers in the city. Some days, the most dangerous part of my night is the fifty feet to my front door.
Especially when the President of the Goblins is sitting at my table. I try to keep the alarm off my face as I follow the sound of my brother’s voice into the small kitchen. At seventeen, he’s right on the edge of manhood, which is enough to wake me in a sweat most nights. And the way Dirk is staring at him makes the acid in my belly start to bubble.
“There’s always a patch waiting for you, Connor. We owe that much to your old man.”
I feel Dirk’s words like a dagger to the back, but I place the groceries carefully on the counter and focus on my brother. He’s big for his age, and after years of being the lanky kid, he’s started to pack on the muscle. It’s hard not to see our dad in the dark hair and square jaw, and I realize Dirk is thinking the same thing. It’s as if Jay Wild, the MC’s infamous sergeant-at-arms, has come back from the dead, and is ready to ride again.
Over my orange-jumpsuit-wearing body, I think and glance down the hall. If Connor’s awake, his twin sister Grace can’t be far away. Since the last thing I want is her wandering into the kitchen in her PJs, I give the President a bland look. “What do you need, Dirk?”
“Just a social call. I saw your light was on, and thought I’d check in on you all.”
Check up on us is more like it, but I bite my tongue on the rebellious words. The Goblins’ President doesn’t look like much, with his narrow shoulders and wispy beard. But underestimating him is dangerous. My dad always said that while there were bigger, tougher guys in the club, Dirk’s smarts and spite made for a deadly combination.
“We’re good. Thanks for stopping by, but it’s late.” I don’t add that I’m cold and wet and about to drop where I stand, but Dirk gives me a slow once over. When he’s done, he swivels on his chair, peering down the hallway to our bedrooms. “Right. But where’s Grace? She didn’t come say hi.”
“She’s probably asleep, Dirk.” While the President is distracted, I cast Connor a dark look, but my brother just gives me a tight shrug. I’m mad he let Dirk in, but I can’t really blame him. If the Iron Goblins want something, a couple of flimsy locks and a teenage kid aren’t going to stop them. “Let me walk you out.”
To my relief, Dirk doesn’t argue, merely squeezing Connor’s shoulder on the way to the door. I trail after him, praying that Grace don’t suddenly make an appearance. Last thing I could stand is the Uncle Dirk routine, especially since my younger sister is too sweet to see through it. The thought of him pinching her cheeks while his eyes roam her teenage body is enough to make the bile leap into my throat. The Wilds might be biker trash, but Dirk is the straight-up devil.
A fact he proves just as we reach the front door. Instead of stepping outside, he spins on his bootheel, pressing his arm sideways across my throat. It shoves me up against the wall, and I’m reminded that even small men can knock the shit out of you with enough practice. His eyes narrow to black slits as he studies my face. “You know I could put you on your knees right here, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for my nod, his thin lips stretched into a nasty smile. “The last thing your mom did before she took off was hand you over to us. That means you all carry her debt.”
His gaze drifts over the Watering Hole logo on my tee. A foamy beer being poured into an open mouth, it’s right over my left breast, which is as annoying as hell. But instead of touching me there, he gives my cheek a sharp pat. “Time to start earning some real money, Cassie girl. Because if you don’t, we can always put sweet little Grace on her knees.”
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