RECYCLED MEMORY Read online

  Table of Contents

  Recycled Memory

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Connect with Author SH Richardson online

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  Copyright ã 2018 by SH Richardson

  All rights reserved

  Published by SH Richardson

  Recycled Memory is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s ridiculous imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  First Edition:

  Formatting: CP Smith

  Cover design: Alana Sapphire at AS Designs

  Cover Photograph Alana Sapphire at AS Designs

  Information address: [email protected]

  PROLOGUE

  I SAT PERCHED ATOP Buck’s Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide and watched her from a safe distance. I could see her clearly through the filthy plate glass window of Nipsy’s, a run-down diner located on the outskirts of town. She took orders, wiped down dirty counters, and chatted casually with one of the other waitresses as she went about her daily routine. She couldn’t see me, which was the way I wanted it; for now. Eight fuckin’ years, almost to the day, since I’d left her at the junkyard screaming for me to come back. I remembered everything about the girl who stole my heart and held it captive against my will. Her long beautiful hair that smelled of strawberries and cream as it cascaded down her back in waves of red mixed with highlights of gold. The tenderness of her warm, wet pussy as I sunk my cock deep inside her welcoming body that only I was allowed to touch. Her succulent, pouty lips, which always tasted of vanilla when she kissed me; that was the hardest thing to erase from my mind. I could feel their sweet softness against my skin every night when I closed my eyes to sleep.

  For years, she haunted me; not once did she give me moment’s peace.

  Out there in the desert, surrounded by enemy insurgents hell bent on killing me and my crew, I couldn’t exactly call it sleep; more like a continual daydream that had played on repeat. A fuckin’ nightmare. I’d set every memory I had of her aside during boot camp, banished them from my brain, buried them deep inside as I recalled her tear-streaked face when I told her goodbye. Memories of love and heartache had no place on the battlefield that was littered with dead bodies and wounded American soldiers. It wasn’t hard for me to accept that pain as my punishment, my penance, for ensuring she had the future she’d worked so hard for all those years ago.

  She wasn’t supposed to be working at some fucking diner.

  That wasn’t part of the plan.

  That wasn’t the bounty for my sacrifice.

  For the blood I spilled for the sole purpose of keeping my promise.

  Weeks had passed since Range, Sebastian, and I rode out to save our brother Max and bring him home to the junkyard where he belonged. Max was in a world of shit. Given his history, it wasn’t hard to see why. I read the file Buck had kept hidden and knew all I needed to about the situation my brother faced and the urgency in which we needed to act. We all had our secrets, pasts that were too hard to deal with on a good day, especially my brother Max. Never leave your brother behind. I learned that lesson well before I’d ever considered joining the Marines. Buck had taught us to always have our brothers’ backs, and even though our minds had been young and feeble, we understood the meaning of that simple request. Our surrogate father had prepared our minds and bodies for anything and everything that could ever bring harm to our family. Without him, I surely would’ve died like so many other Marines who fought tirelessly for their country.

  Buck had taken on a walking, talking, angry-as-fuck little boy and molded him into a man, someone my real father would have been proud to call his son. The old me had been an out-of-control hothead, a loose cannon of aggression, and I fought against anyone who dared to get in my way. It wasn’t long after I’d met Buck and the rest of my brothers that I realized that that shit was going nowhere fast. I was either going to end up in jail or worse … dead.

  I owed him more than that.

  I owed myself more than that.

  The day I’d witnessed Maribel taking a beating outside that shithole diner forced me to realize I needed to get my head together and work harder at putting the war behind me. There was something else worth fighting for, a different kind of enemy, one that was the product of my own foolishness. I couldn’t stop myself from showing up there every day, remembering what we’d been to each other once upon a time. She’d barely been sixteen years old when I left for the Marines yet wise beyond her years and experience. As I watched her work, I noted how much she’d physically changed. Her tits were bigger than a handful, her ass was wider and downright spankable, and her smile sent a spark of desire that landed somewhere in the middle of my chest. Everything about her was different. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, sexy as fuck and perfectly edible. My dick stirred behind the zipper of my jeans the longer I gawked at her like some deranged creeper. I wanted her beneath me, filled to the rim with my cock, just as I always had. What had happened to my crazy girl who was so vivacious and full of life? That woman behind the counter wasn’t the same person. She had never taken shit from anyone, especially not some abusive fuck who just wanted her money. This one ate it with a fuckin’ spoon and asked for seconds.

  Working at a fucking diner? That shit had not been the fuckin’ plan.

  She wasn’t supposed to be slaving away at some greasy spoon trying to make ends meet.

  How did it all end up so wrong?

  ONE

  Marcus

  Past . . .

  WE’D BEEN AT THIS dump for what seemed like hours, and I was well past ready to leave. My grandmother—or Nan, as I called her—had blown a headlight on her piece-of-shit Ford and drove us over to Buck’s Junkyard to have it fixed. It was the same shit over and over; every time something went wrong with that car, she’d drag us down to Buck’s place instead of taking it to AutoZone or back to the dealership for repairs. She said he was the only man she trusted not to take advantage of her because she was an old woman. Not to mention the fact that the junkyard was close to our house and more convenient
than driving clear across town. Her words, not mine. I hated everything about this place, including the man himself, Buck Calhoun. He thought he could intimidate me with his hard stare and puffed-up chest, but I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid of anyone, especially not some burnt-out biker who wanted to relive his glory days. My father was twice the size of that bum and could kick his ass to the moon and back if he wanted to. My father was strong and fierce and would do anything to protect me from anyone, including some wannabe hard-ass with rubber bands stuck to his face.

  If only… he were still alive.

  The longer we stayed, the angrier I became, until all I could think about was balling up my fists and punching someone in the nuts, preferably that decrepit, old grease monkey. I watched him while he spoke to my grandmother once he’d finished with her car and figured him to be about fifty years old, give or take a few years. His face was worn like shoe leather, hard with lines around his eyes, which only added to his roughneck exterior. I’d never once heard him laugh or seen him smile in all the times we’d been coming here. I could tell by the way he was always mean mugging me that the hateful feelings I harbored against him were mutual. He despised me about as much as I loathed him. I stood around and listened while he took the time to explain everything he thought the car needed while my grandmother gave him her undivided attention like he was God Almighty.

  What a fuckin’ douche bag.

  “You were down a quart of oil, so I topped it off when I changed the lightbulb in your headlight, Ms. Betty. You should be all good to go now.” Buck wiped at his face with an old rag he kept somewhere in his back pocket as he spoke to Nan.

  “Oh Buck, how could I ever thank you? How much do I owe you?” She smiled.

  “No charge,” was his only reply.

  “Oh no, I have to pay you something for all that work….”

  “No charge,” he repeated with an edge to his voice that left no room for argument.

  “Well, then, I’ll make you some of those chocolate chip cookies you like so much, as a thank-you for all your help. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Now, that I’ll accept, but don’t put yourself out on my account. If you don’t mind me saying so, you look sort of worn out, Ms. Betty. Maybe you should think about taking it easy.”

  My grandmother turned around and tried to give me an encouraging smile, but the look in her eyes was the saddest I’d ever seen them. I was the reason she was so tired, maybe not physically, but my living with her was definitely taking an emotional toll on her body. She’d received a phone call from school today informing her that I had been suspended for the third time this year due to fighting. Some silly little asshole thought he could challenge me, so I’d met him after the final bell and punched his lights out. It wasn’t my fault the little punk couldn’t take a hit and ran back inside to the principle and snitched me out. I didn’t even get the chance to tell my side of the story, not that it would have made much of a difference. Principle Garvey dragged me inside his office and called my grandmother quicker than shit. I could hear her on the other line begging that twat not to suspend me, assuring him that I would act better if he gave me another chance. That was enough to piss me off, even more so when he hung up the phone and tried to tell me how lucky I was to have a woman like Nan in my corner. I called him a fucking piece of shit. That had earned me another day’s suspension along with three for fighting, all because he’d said I was a troublemaker and needed to be taught a lesson. The only thing it taught me was that next time, I needed to knock that fool out, so he couldn’t run his mouth like a little bitch. At least I’d have a better chance of running away before getting caught.

  “Oh… I’ll be fine, Buck, don’t you worry yourself none. Raising school-age children is much harder nowadays than it was when my Rachel was a girl. And boys are, well…boys.”

  “Hmm” was the only thing that old bastard managed to grunt before he yelled for someone inside the nearby office. Thank Christ we were finally getting ready to leave this stupid place once and for all.

  “RANGE! Get out here, boy,” he shouted like the hooligan he was.

  “I’m coming, Buck, just a second.”

  I recognized the tall, lanky kid from school when he ran out of the office at full force toward us. He wasn’t part of the popular crowd; in fact, I’d heard some of the other guys laughing as they made fun of the way he dressed and smelled. I’d never joined in on the joke, but I could see why they talked so much shit about him. He looked like a prisoner from a refugee camp with his too-small clothes, shaved head, and malnourished body. The kid mostly kept to himself and never tried to fight back or defend himself. Those boys could pull that shit with him, but if it were me? I’d stick my foot so far up their asses they’d have the Nike swoosh tattooed on their tonsils for days. He stood in front of my grandmother and smiled brightly in her direction. Buck wasn’t his father. My grandmother often talked about how he was too good of a man to live alone without a wife and kids, so I had no idea what their relationship was. For his sake, I hoped he was getting paid to stick around this dump, so he could at least buy some decent clothes.

  “Hi, Ms. Betty, it’s good to see you again.” He stuck out his dirty-ass hand and offered it to my grandmother. She took it, of course, and completely ignored the filthy caked-on grease under his fingernails as she shook it vigorously and patted the top.

  “Ah, Range, it nice to see you, too. My, my, you get more and more handsome every time I come here. If you grow any taller, you’ll give an old lady a bad case of whiplash looking up so high.”

  What the hell was that bullshit? Handsome? More like pathetic. Didn’t she notice the palms of her wrinkled hands were now just as dirty as his? And why the fuck was she smiling at him like a damned fool? Like she wished he was her grandson and not me. They all stood around like I wasn’t even there, like I was an outsider not worthy of being asked to join in on the conversation. I had just about enough of this stroke fest; they could all go straight to hell. I was leaving this place, with or without my grandmother.

  “Take Ms. Betty into the office and show her that box of figurines we got the other day. Let her pick out any she wants and make sure you wrap it up good, so it doesn’t break.”

  “Sure thing, Buck.” The fool bounced on his heels.” Come on, Ms. Betty, I’ll take you.”

  “Oh Buck, I couldn’t. You’ve already been so kind to me…”

  “Got no room for girly stuff in my yard. You don’t take some, I’ll have to throw them out. I know you’ll put ‘em to good use, Ms. Betty.”

  “They really are too pretty to go to waste. Come on, I’ll show you.” Dirt boy took her by the hand and tried to leave the group, but I had something to say about that.

  “What the hell, Nan? We’ve been here all freakin’ day, and I’m ready to go. You can look at that shit some other time…”

  Her steps skidded to a halt, and she sighed brokenly. She looked to me with such unhappiness in her eyes, I felt a sharp pain in my chest like I’d just been stabbed. She tried to extract her hand from the dirty boy and walk back over to where I was standing, but a deep rumble stopped her cold. We turned and watched as Buck Calhoun breathed in and out; in his mouth, then out his nose. His chest was twice the size it had been a minute ago, and it was vibrating like the engine of an eighteen-wheeler. The muscles in his corded neck twitched violently, and when he lifted his chin and flicked it toward the office door, he did it silently and without removing his eyes from mine. The standoff only lasted a minute as his intense gaze forced me to divert my eyes elsewhere, anywhere but in the eyes of an angry Buck Calhoun. The words that finally fell from his mouth led me to believe that my grandmother was no longer around, and he felt safe enough to finally speak freely.

  “Look at you. Just like I thought. A pussy. Don’t bitch up now, little crab. Got no old woman around to talk shit to now,” he started with a deadly tone. “Think you’re a fucking tough guy? Talking shit to a kind, old lady for no good goddamn
reason, your own fucking family?”

  “Mind your own business, old man. You don’t know me.” I felt bold enough to make that statement. He didn’t scare me. Nobody did. Buck didn’t even flinch; in fact, he actually smirked.

  “I know you better than you know yourself, you little shit stain. A crab motherfucker who’d rather drown his brothers in the pot of boiling water instead of helping them to get out of it. You got more anger than you know what to do with, and it’s gonna cost you one day. Big time. Men fight for something, boy, or they end up dying for fuckin’ nothing. Tell me something, kid. What are you fighting for?”

  With that, he turned and walked away.

  My grandmother came back seconds later, unusually quiet and crestfallen. She was also empty handed, which meant she didn’t take the time to pick out what she wanted. We drove home together in complete silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I wanted to apologize for my actions, and not just those from today, but for all the trouble I’d caused since coming to live with her. Instead, I locked myself inside my room and stayed there until my four days of suspension were over and it was time to return to school.

  TWO

  Maribel

  I HAD A STANDING appointment with my guidance counselor, every Monday morning at ten o’clock sharp. My father thought it best to stay on top of such things; they were important to my future, he said. The fact that I was only twelve years old wasn’t germane to the situation whatsoever. I was exceptional, and exceptional people had a responsibility to themselves and others to maintain their highest level of capability. I had the greatest respect for my father’s opinion; after all, he worked hard to earn that and more. He was appointed the youngest chief of staff at Madison Lee Memorial Hospital, the largest trauma facility on the east coast, before the age of fifty, an impossible feat never before achieved by anyone so young. He held the highest expectations for me as his youngest daughter—a dream that I would someday follow in his footsteps.