Table Of Content

MOTORMOUTH LADY DEPOT MERCENARIES BOOK 1 COURTNEY LYNN ROSE CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Epilogue Acknowledgments Books by Courtney Lynn Rose Written by: Courtney Lynn Rose Copyright 2020 ©Courtney Lynn Rose This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, names, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any likeness to any events, locations, or persons, alive or otherwise, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author. Please do not redistribute this book for either commercial or non-commercial use. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Publisher: Courtney Lynn Rose Editor: Rebecca Vazquez, Full Bloom Editorial Proofreader: Jackie Ziegler Formatter: EC Land Cover Design: Laura Mederios Trigger Warning: This book contains adult themes and situations that are intended for readers 18 and older. These themes and situations could include but are not limited to, extreme violence, sexual abuse/assault, vulgar language, and explicit sexual encounters. Created with Vellum To my Wednesday Night Writers Group Thank you for an entire series worth of inspiration C HA PT E R O NE Motormouth I , the last six months of busting my ass like a slave are going to pay off. And the girls will N TWO DAYS all be back together in one place after the last six months of being scattered to the winds, taking jobs all over the world to do what we do. None of us have seen each other since the last time we went to help out the motorcycle club my two cousins are in. Sometimes, I can’t believe Mama Dukes and I pulled this shit off. But Mary Donelson, also known as the one and only Mama Dukes, is the proud owner of The Lady Depot, Tennessee’s hottest new strip club. With a slogan like “One Stop Strip Shop”, it’s hard to imagine this place not being a hit. Now, if we can get the first official staff meeting over with, we’ll have this shit in the bag. Six members of the staff, myself included, make up the underground mercenary ring that operates out of the club and operates under the same name. Everyone being on staff is essential because laundering mercenary money through the club is how we make that shit squeaky clean and keep anyone at the IRS from snooping around. After the original club was leveled, and our handler killed, in a tornado a while ago, Mama Dukes wanted us to continue her husband’s work . . . but only using the female mercenaries he had on hand. I owe my life to her and her husband, Pitbull, so I said yes without hesitation. I’ve spent the last six months convincing my Merc-sisters to come back and work under Mama Dukes. The six of us are known in the mercenary world for being the bitches you don’t fuck with, and I like it that way. Coming to do shit through the club was an opportunity none of us could turn down. Do the job we love and make twice the money with the bonus of being able to claim it on our taxes so we look legit as fuck . . . yeah, I’ll take that. Walking over to the bar, I set down the stack of file folders of applications I got from the office and sigh. Thank God Mama Dukes has someone other than me keeping the books. I fucking despise paperwork. It’s bad enough I have to do it at my day job, I sure as hell don’t want to fucking touch it here at the club. I can hardly balance my checkbook on most days, so no one in their right mind would leave my ass in charge of payroll. Plus, my day job only has five employees other than me— that, I can handle. The Lady Depot has a permanent DJ, ten female dancers, ten male dancers, four bartenders, eight servers, six security guards, and a nightly emcee. That is too many employees for me to give a flying fuck about. The door at the front of the club bangs open loudly, and I glance at my watch. No one is scheduled to be here for another hour. “We’re closed.” “Bitch, you make me move two thousand miles back to this tiny dump of a town, I don’t give a fuck if the building is on fire. Get me a fucking drink,” an irritated but oddly sultry voice says. A smile overtakes my face as I turn and let my eyes roam over the flaming orange-red hair of the best friend I haven’t seen in six months. Lauhren “Volcano” Sheehan gets her nickname honestly. Not only does her hair literally light up the space, but it’s past the middle of her back and curly to the point of being unruly, and she’s got a temper to match the look. “Well, fuck me sideways,” I say, standing and striding over to hug her. Volcano and I can’t be bigger opposites, which is probably why our friendship works so fucking well. She stands at five-foot-five and is wearing combat boots, a red plaid kilt-style skirt, and a black halter top that hardly holds her tits in. I’m almost five-foot-eleven and, outside the day job, I only wear black leather. Every once in a while, I might wear jeans or something, but it’s rare. She hugs me hard one more time before backing up and I lead us over to the bar. “How you been, girl,” she asks with a smirk. “You still tapping that sexy ass Irish biker?” Rolling my eyes, I laugh. “Claddagh texts sometimes. I haven’t been back there since last time we left.” This is what happens when I try to get a piece of ass. Volcano is a hopeless romantic at heart and always thinks my casual fucking will turn into a happily ever after. “This place looks badass. Mama Dukes spared no expense, huh?” Volcano hops up on a barstool, crossing one leg over the other at the knee, and stares around the space. “That I didn’t,” a calm, motherly voice says from behind me. We both turn around and Volcano’s mouth falls open a bit. “Mama Dukes, love the sweater,” Volcano says, giving the older woman a tight-lipped smile with a slow nod of her head. “Don’t give me your shit. I’m too damn old to walk around here in scraps like you lot.” Mama Dukes walks behind the bar, reaches down, and then slides two Guinness bottles across to us. Volcano takes a swig from hers and then laughs. “Fuck that. We ain’t exactly spring hens no more, and I will rock this body until gravity fucks me without lube.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, why did we hire her?” Mama Dukes looks at me with pleading eyes. I stare back at her, amused as I chug my beer before setting it down. “You said hire who I wanted.” “I was hoping to avoid this one,” Mama Dukes says, jabbing her thumb in Volcano’s direction as the fiery Merc sips her beer in an attempt to look innocent— she fails miserably. After a moment of silence, all three of us start laughing. “And I’ll have you know, Lauhren, my granddaughter picked out this sweater.” “Seriously, you look good,” Volcano says as her eyes soften. “I’m sorry about John. It must be hard without him.” Mama Dukes turns slightly to look at the picture of her husband that hangs behind the bar. Below it is a plague that reads, ‘In Memory of John “Pitbull” Donelson’. “He’d be proud of this place,” I say quietly before draining the rest of my beer and pushing the empty bottle across the bar. Mama Dukes nods with a slight smile on her face. “He would. And I know you girls will do him proud too.” “Damn right, we will,” I say, rechecking my watch. “Time to get ready.”