Copyright © 2022 Glenna Maynard

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  Ball Buster

  BRRMC Roadhouse Tales

  Dedication

  1. Vada

  2. Vada

  3. Solo

  4. Vada

  5. Vada

  6. Solo

  7. Vada

  8. Solo

  9. Vada

  10. Solo

  11. Vada

  12. Solo

  Author’s Note

  About Glenna

  Acknowledgments

  Ball Buster

  Vada

  When an unexpected phone call sends me to Drag Creek, Kentucky the last thing I expect is to inherit half of a bar. The other half belongs to a biker named Solo.

  A jerk who loves to argue with me.

  He’s rude, crude, and annoyingly handsome.

  I have a week to decide if I want to marry him or give up my inheritance.

  A week to fall in love with the possibility of a new beginning.

  The more I get to know about Solo the harder it becomes to walk away even though I know I should run fast and hard from a man like him.

  Solo

  Vada Vanlow is a ball busting bitch.

  The woman drives me crazy.

  She wants to turn my biker bar into a family friendly restaurant.

  What should be an easy partnership quickly turns into more than either of us bargained for.

  If I want to keep my half of the business there’s a catch. Marry Vada or lose it all.

  Ball Buster is a quick to the point BRRMC Roadhouse Tale and can be read as a standalone.

  BRRMC Roadhouse Tales

  Suggested Reading Order

  Devil Dick

  Pecker Wrecker

  Cock Blocker

  Sassy Pants

  Honey Trapped

  Ball Buster

  To the thin line between love and hate.

  Chapter one

  Vada

  I pull into the parking lot not sure what to expect. Nearly twenty years without a word. Not so much as a call to say happy birthday and the man dies, leaving half of his bar to me. I don’t understand why. All this time he was here in Drag Creek, Kentucky pissing his life away on booze and women. Not one thought of his daughter he walked out on when I was three. Not until I received a call from his partner asking me to sell my half of the business. That was last week. Which leads me to now.

  To a biker bar called The Brew. I snort. How original. I stare at the sign hanging over the door. The letters appear to be made from horseshoes and hand tacked up there. I’ve been on the road for six hours and the last thing I want to do is be doing this, but I’m not a pushover. I know the guy is lowballing me on the offer even if the place looks like a dump.

  Off the bat I can tell the outside needs some curb appeal. Maybe some type of outdoor seating. A nice patio would be perfect for the summer. With it being right on the lake practically there is a lot of potential to turn this place into a money maker.

  As it sits now it reminds me of the last stop in a horror flick when you meet a dead-end road with only one gas station and a creepy caretaker or whatever.

  Digging into my purse, I pull out my makeup bag and do a touch up on my lips and freshen my mascara. Not that I’m trying to impress this geezer. If he’s anything like my sperm donor I’m sure he’s fat, balding, and well old. As I rub my lips together, I make note of the Harley parked near the front door. Sleek and black with the word Solo in orange script painted on the gas tank. Nice bike.

  What kind of name is Solo anyway? I turn off the ignition and stick my keys in my purse. Exiting my car, I square my shoulders and speed walk to the bar. I’m ready to get this over with. Before I enter, I smooth my hands over my hips and dust the chip crumbs off my skirt. I wonder if they serve food here. I could go for a big greasy burger.

  The moment I step inside I’m met with classic rock music and metal signs on the walls like everywhere. A total dude place that isn’t friendly to families who may be looking for somewhere to grab a bite and a drink after a day at the lake or on their way there.

  I stop dead in my tracks when I see a young guy behind the bar. A black ball cap turned backwards on his head, black tee fitted snug across his chest, dark jeans with some wear and tear around the pockets. Tattoos snaking up his forearms.

  He’s tall and muscular.

  Dark hair and even darker eyes that seem to swallow me whole as his gaze pierces me in place. Dang he’s hot. HOT. As in make your panties wet by simply smiling. Slight stubble on his jaws and the beginning of a goatee. I’m placing him in his early to mid-thirties. This definitely can’t be the guy.

  “We’re closed on Sundays,” his deep, gritty voice reverberates down my spine giving me a tingle in my nether regions.

  Sweet lord. Heat washes over me and my nipples harden. I pray he can’t tell that I’m having such a physical reaction to him.

  “Um.” I clear my throat. “I’m looking for your boss.”

  “You Vada?” It doesn’t escape me that he’s fully checking me out. Likely thinking I don’t belong in this establishment in my skirt, long sleeved silk black blouse, and heels.

  “How do you…” There was only my car and the motorcycle in the lot. “You’re Solo?”

  “One and only.”

  “Oh.” I offer a weak smile.

  “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Well, my…fa—Les was old.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “You didn’t have to come all this way to accept the offer.”

  “I wanted to see it for myself. Look at the books.”

  “Place is bleeding money, babe.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to just hand over my half without second thought.”

  With a slight shake of his head, he moves from behind the bar. “Take it you’ll be in town a while?”

  “Depends. But at least the next week or two. I still have his trailer or whatever to contend with. Do you know where it’s located?” What I don’t tell him is that I kind of quit my job and came here hoping for a new start.

  “Yup. Can show you once we’re finished here.”

  “Great. You can get back to whatever it is you were doing, and I’ll have a look around the place.”

  “Doing inventory. I’ll be in the basement if you need me. Lock the front door if you don’t mind. Don’t want stragglers wandering in.”

  “Sure thing.” I turn on my heels back toward the door and gulp. What am I doing locking myself up in a bar with a stranger hottie I know absolutely nothing about? I mean yeah, my sperm donor was business partners with him, but given his history I’m not sure he was a great judge of character. This guy could be a serial killer for all I know. I’ll be quick. Do a fast tour of the place and get the heck out of here and come back when there are customers present.

  I’m sure I’m being silly and have watched one too many creepy movies. A girl can never be too careful though. Not in this day and age. Every day there’s some terrible story making the national headlines. Nowhere seems safe. I turn the lock and when I glance back Solo has disappeared.

  The bar area itself isn’t terrible but the barstools are ripped, and the overall look of the place says we serve roadkill. I don’t see menus or prices listed anywhere. How do people know what to order or how much the drinks are? At least the pool tables seem to be in decent shape other than it appears someone got pissed off and kicked a hole in the bottom of the end of one. I guess that’s to be expected in a biker bar. I’m assuming that’s what this place is. Off to the side is a small stage and I blink. You’ve got to be kidding me. No way is that a freaking stripper pole.

  Okay definitely not a place any families will stop off for a bite to eat.

  With this confirmed I do a quick peek at the bathrooms. Both single stalls with a sink and a mirror. Not good if you’re having a busy night.

  There’s a small kitchen with the basics. A stove, fridge, sink, deep fryer, and a grill. All appear in decent shape. There’s a small utility closet with cleaning supplies. Four other doors. One is to the back exit, one labeled office that’s locked, a store room, and another I’m guessing leads to the basement where Solo is.

  I don’t know if I want to follow him into what could be his creepy but hot guy murder lair or help myself to a drink and wait for him at the bar. I stare at the door and think about my heels and how knowing my luck I’ll probably trip or something. Drink at the bar it is.

  I move behind the bar and stare at the liquor bottles finding what I want. Jack Daniels. The glasses are cleaner than I expected. I don’t even see any water spots. Interesting. Two shots of Jack and four shots of Coke. I’m no bartender but I’ve watched the guys do it at the restaurant where I served tables enough to know the easy stuff.

  Taking a sip of my drink I move to the other side and park my butt on a stool. I glance around at the different signs. Mostly beer brands, car logos, gas stations, garage type stuff, and of course Harley Davidson.

  A picture mounted over a table against the wall catches my eye. Turn The Page by Bob Seger plays as I approach. One of the only memories I have of my father hits me square in the chest. Him in the garage working on his truck and Bob playing. A weird wave of nostalgia grips me. This melancholy sensation wraps hold of me as I stare at the photo. I know it’s my father
. He looks young here. He’s got his arm around a woman with dark hair and there’s boy standing in front of them. My heart clenches. I know those eyes. I just had them staring me down moments ago. I gulp as a tear streaks down my cheek.

  Is Solo my brother? What the fuck? Why didn’t he say anything?

  “Finding everything okay?” his gritty voice sounds in my ear and that stupid tingle down my spine returns.

  I want to throw up at my response to him.

  The scent of his cologne hits me. Woodsy with a hint of spice.

  I swipe a finger under my eye before turning to face him. “Yup.”

  “You ready to go?”

  “Sure. You can write down the address. I’m sure I can find my way.”

  His gaze drops to my drink. “That’ll be three fifty.”

  “What?”

  “The drink. Three fifty, babe.”

  Gross. Who calls their half-sister babe? What a creep. “Whatever,” I mutter. I’m ready to get out of here. Being here makes my skin crawl. I place the drink on a table and dig into my purse for my debit card.

  “I’ll need cash. Not open on Sunday, remember?”

  “Well, I’m good for it. I’ll pay you tomorrow if that’s cool.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Is there a restaurant nearby?”

  “Pizza Palace is good or the Dairy Bar in town.”

  “Which is closer to Les’s place?”

  “I could go for some pizza.”

  “Okayyy…” I drag the word out. I wasn’t inviting him, but I guess we need to get to know each other a little better. I mean it isn’t his fault my father ran out on me but had no problem raising his son apparently.

  “Just gotta lock up. You can follow me.”

  I suck in a breath and head out to my car, digging my phone out of my purse to text Millie that things are going okay. I text as I walk, not paying attention, catching my heel on a break in the pavement. My cell goes flying out of my hands landing face down with a heavy cracking sound. Shit.

  At least I managed to keep my balance. With a silent prayer I bend to retrieve my phone finding the screen completely shattered. I’m sure I can find a cheap replacement to do me until I can afford a new one. I could kick myself for not getting the insurance added on to my plan.

  I go to get in my car to wait for Solo and find that my heel broke. Great. Just what I need on top of destroying my phone. I kick my shoes off and pop my trunk. I deposit my ruined shoes next to my luggage and slip on my flats.

  “You ready?”

  “What are you some sort of biker ninja? Do you like sneaking up on people?”

  “Someone’s cranky,” he says on a chuckle. “You hangry?”

  Ugh. I scowl. “Just get on your bike so I can follow you.”

  Chapter two

  Vada

  I get into my car and Solo pulls a leather vest out of his saddlebag. The back has a skull and crow on it with letters reading Black Rebel Riders’ MC. Guess he belongs to a club which goes with him owning a biker bar.

  Which I guess I now I own half of unless I decide to sell to him. Which isn’t likely considering I don’t have a fallback plan. Like it or not Solo is stuck with me. Growing up I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. All this time I could have possibly experienced having that relationship. It pisses me off. What was so wrong with me that Les simply took off and had this whole other family. I mean judging by our ages this dude was first. But why didn’t he bring me with him or ever return? I can’t ask the man himself considering he’s dead. It is what it is I suppose. That’s what my mother always said about him not being present in my life. Not that she was any better. All my life she had a revolving door of boyfriends, always swearing that the next was the one. That she could feel it in her bones or whatever. All she was looking for was our next meal ticket. The next guy to cover our rent for the month.

  Thank God for my best friend Millie and her parents. I practically lived at their house. So much so that they turned the home office into a guest room for me. Most nights I ate dinner at their house. It was Mrs. Jeffers who bought me pads when I got my period. It was Mr. Jeffers who taught me to drive when I obtained my learner permit.

  They don’t exactly know that I’m not planning on coming back. For the first time in my life, I have something that’s mine. Well other than having to share with Solo. But still, I have a chance for a fresh start. Les may not have given me much, but he’s given me this. All I inherited from my mother was a nice ass. I park next to Solo at this Pizza Palace. I hope their food is decent. I’m starving. That small bag of chips didn’t do it for me.

  I take one last look at my cracked all to hell screen and toss my worthless cell phone in the glovebox. I’m sure Solo can tell me where I can purchase a cheap replacement.

  When I exit my car, he’s lighting up a cigarette. I scrunch my nose up.

  “You can go on in and grab us a table I’ll be in after I smoke.”

  “Smoking kills you know.”

  “Aw you worry about me. That’s sweet.”

  Ugh. As if. “Whatever. Kill your lungs. I don’t care.”

  Inside I find a booth with a window that gives me a view of the parking lot. A waitress with the shortest pair of booty shorts I’ve ever laid eyes on approaches the table. “You ready to order or need a minute?”

  “I’m waiting on someone, but I’ll take a menu and a Coke.”

  Her gaze flicks to the window where Solo is leaning against my car on his cell still smoking his cigarette looking like a bad boy biker dream come true. Her cheeks bloom pink then her lips curve into a smirk like they share a secret and automatically I hate her. I know I shouldn’t. I have no business getting a twinge of annoyance at the thought they’ve been intimate or simply know each other. Neither are any of my business. I don’t even know the guy myself. I guess that’s why I’m here though. We’re going to be business partners and if we’re related that’s something else that I’ll need time to process.

  “I’ll be back with your drink.” She hurries off to the counter where the register is along with the fountain drink machine.

  I watch her out the corner of my eye. She keeps glancing to the door as though she’s watching for Solo to walk through it.

  Whatever. If she wants to throw herself at him, who am I to stand in the way.

  After what seems like forever, she brings my drink as Solo enters the establishment. I can’t seem to look away as this chick struts past him swinging her hips. As I suspected, his gaze cuts straight to her ass. Men are all the same in that respect.

  My drink is sloshed onto the table without care, spilling out over the brim of the glass. The waitress doesn’t seem to even notice. No, she’s too busy batting her lashes at Solo.

  “Hey,” she says all breathy in a sultry whisper.

  “Get me a Coke.” He doesn’t acknowledge her and the second he sits without another word all that bubbly pep vanishes from her facial expression.

  “Okay.”

  I wait till she’s out of earshot. I quirk a brow upward. “Friend of yours?”

  “Who?”

  I roll my eyes and take a sip of my Coke.

  “Thanks, Jeannie.” He grins as she leans over further than necessary displaying her boobs as she gently slides his glass in front of him.

  “Any time. You ready to order?”

  He has to lean his head to the side to see past her to address me. “You ready?”

  “I’m still waiting to see a menu.”

  “We’ll both have Italian subs and I’ll do onion rings. Fries for her.”

  “Coming right up.”

  He doesn’t watch the little shimmy and shake of her hips as she sashays toward the window to the kitchen to put in our order.

  “What if I wanted a pizza?”

  “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  He ignores my comment and takes a sip of his Coke.

  “Where’s a good place to get a cheap cell phone around here?”

  “Won’t find one on a Sunday. Most stores are closed. Might find a flip phone at a gas station, but the reception is shit. I got a spare at my place if you need something today.”