by Joanna Wylde
Yup, getting old.
“You coming, bro?” asked Ruger, a heavily tattooed and pierced man with a short mohawk. He stood by the door with another of their prospects, Painter. “Last one.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Horse replied. He handed his gun to Painter, who set it carefully on the counter with the others, next to a box full of cell phones.
“You got mine in there already?” he asked. “Think I left it here last night.”
“Yeah.”
Horse nodded his thanks and walked into church.
Fifteen guys, all but three of their active, full-patch members, already sat around the big, scarred wooden table that had once decorated some fancy-assed conference room. Now it had a thousand nicks and little carvings in it, and a big RFFR painted in the center—Reapers Forever, Forever Reapers.
“Nice you could join us,” said Picnic, sitting at the head of the table. “Thought Serena might have sucked you in. Get lost in that snatch of hers?”
“It’s five o’clock exactly,” Horse said, shrugging as he draped his large frame across an empty chair. “What can I say? I’m a precisely tuned, high-performance machine, unlike you and that crap-ass bike you ride.”
“Fuck off,” Picnic said, grinning back. Then his expression grew more serious. “Okay, boys, we got something important to deal with today. I think you all know we’ve got a thief. Jeff Jensen, computer guy, out of the Yakima Valley. Got back from seeing him this morning, no progress at all.”
“He’s the guy handling our offshore stuff, right?” asked Ruger.
“Yeah,” Horse replied. “Computer genius, knows his shit. Our transactions are untraceable. God knows we’re paying him for it, too. But it’s not enough. He’s been skimming for months. Been tracking it down for a while now, already gave him opportunities to make it right, so it’s not just a matter of him screwing up. Definitely skimming. It’s small compared to our total volume, but we can’t let shit like this happen. Bad for business.”
“We let one do it, they’re all gonna try,” Picnic said. “We start losing respect, next thing you know the girls at the Line’ll be giving drinks and lap dances to another MC.”
“So what’s the damage?” asked Bam Bam.
“We’re right at $50k,” Horse answered. “It’s been push and pull, he grabs a couple grand, then tries to pay it back. He’s gambling, maybe using. I hate to lose him as an asset, because we don’t have anyone else in the fold to replace him. That’s why we’ve given him so many chances to make things right. But his losses are getting bigger—as of last week he was only into us for $20k total, so it’s escalating fast. We let him go much longer and we’ll be down serious cash. He might even pull a runner on us.”
“We should put him in the ground,” Max said, voice firm and cold. Horse glanced at him, surprised to see his face flushed, the little muscle in his jaw flexing with suppressed emotion. Max was still on probation, and it wasn’t usual for a guy in his position to talk so much during church. Max’s blood tended to run hot, though. He was one of the hardest men Horse had ever met, which was saying a lot.
“We’ve done everything but lead this guy to the shitter and wipe his ass,” Max continued. “He’s always making promises, always got an excuse, but nothing ever changes. You should’ve seen him last night. He’s definitely tweaking. Time to cut our losses.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
“How much does he know about club business?” asked Duck, a Vietnam vet who couldn’t make the long runs anymore. He spent most of his time in the clubhouse drinking beer and telling the girls stories about back in the day, when men were men and women knew their place. Horse didn’t much like the man but he’d still trust him with his life.
He’d trust any of the brothers with his life.
“Too much,” Horse replied, his voice heavy. “Way too much. He’s a liability if we don’t take out some kind of insurance.”
“What kind insurance is good enough for a guy like that?” asked Max, clearly spoiling for a fight, although damned if Horse could understand why. “He’s a liar and a thief. The money we’ve been feeding him for his work should be enough for anyone. Instead he’s livin’ in a shithole, smoking weed and waiting for his sister to bring home her fuckin’ pathetic little paychecks. What kind of man lives like that? Even if he started playing it straight, we’d never be able to believe him. Probably full of all kinds of crazy lies.”
“That’s the truth,” Picnic murmured. He looked up at Horse, his face grave. “We in agreement here?”
Horse glanced around the room, seeing Jensen’s death written in every face. He couldn’t argue with them—the man knew way too much. He needed to be removed.
Fuck.
He thought about Marie, what she looked like when she was pissed at him, spitting fire like a little dragon. Damn, he wanted to get inside that woman. Once wouldn’t be close to enough. As usual his dick stood up to salute the idea, but what really pushed him over the edge was the thought of Marie crying over that lame-ass bastard.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“What about the sister?” he asked.
“What about her?” Picnic replied, voice carefully neutral.
“She’s gonna be my old lady. Some nice insurance there,” Horse said, aware of the pointed looks several of the brothers gave each other. “And when it’s family, we take care of business different and you know it.”
“Last I heard, she wasn’t on board with that,” Picnic replied slowly. “Girl didn’t even ask about you last night, Horse.”
“There’s precedent. Not all old ladies start out with their priorities in line, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be claimed if the president approves it and the members agree. It’s happened.”
“Sure, thirty years ago,” snapped Bam Bam. “They did all kinds of shit back then. We’re livin’ in a modern world, bro, you can’t just kidnap some chick and take her home.”
Duck snorted and slammed his hand down on the table, startling everyone.
“You pussies talk about the modern world like we give a shit about their rules. Remember who we are,” he boomed. “We’re men—one percenters. Fucking kings of the MC world. We don’t follow the rules, we make our own goddamn rules. My brother Horse wants a woman, wants her bad enough to come to the club and throw down for her. He ever done that before?”
He looked around the room, glaring at each man in turn.
Horse bit back a grin. Duck on a roll, hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Our brother has come before this club and let us know his intention to take an old lady,” Duck continued. “The situation is complicated. We all know he’ll put the club first, so we hear him out and back his play. He may not always be right, but he’s always our brother. You little cocksuckers need to think about that, ’fore I show up here one day and find you growing tits in place of your balls.”
Duck sat back with a grunt.
“How ’bout you tell us what you really think, Duck,” said Ruger, laughing and relaxing back into his chair. “Jesus.”
“He’s right,” Horse said, voice deadly serious. “I may not always be right, but I am always your brother—or at least I thought I was. A Reaper takes what he wants. You got my back?”
Picnic sighed.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he said. “She isn’t part of our world, she’s got no idea what to expect and she doesn’t even want to try. It’s not gonna end well.”
“That’s my problem, now isn’t it?”
“It’s your problem so long as you keep it controlled and out of club business,” Picnic replied. “She’s a nice kid, I like her. Good cook, fucking love that potato salad of hers. Puts bacon in it. It’d be nice to have some of that shit with dinner next time we roast a pig. But that still leaves us to deal with her brother. Makes things more complicated.”
Horse smiled. He’d won—this was just details.
“So she’s our insurance,” he answered. “Let the bro
ther know that if he doesn’t pay us back, he’ll never see her again. Give him a few months, see how things play out.”
“You think he’ll find a way to pay?” asked Picnic.
“No idea,” Horse admitted. “The guy practically prints money when he’s focused and sober. Enough motivation, he may come through for us.”
“Hasn’t so far.”
“He loves his sister,” Bam Bam said quietly. “He’s a weasel and a bastard, but he really does care about her. Seen it with my own eyes. I don’t think he’ll hang her out to dry.”
“We make sure he knows—he doesn’t pay, she’s in big trouble,” Horse said. “He pays up, great. He blows this deal, we put him in the ground. Everybody wins.”
Except Marie. But Jensen was a big boy and he’d chosen to do business with and then screw over the Reapers MC. If it wasn’t for her, fucker’d be dead already.
“And the issue of respect?” asked Ruger. “We have to cover our bases here. Can’t look weak.”
“That’s the truth,” Picnic said. “But taking a man’s sister, holding her hostage? That’s payment in blood. We spread it ’round the right places, it should do.”
“You’re forgetting one thing,” said Max. Horse looked at him, trying to read his mind. Something was up with Max. They all cared about club business, but this was a step beyond. Almost personal.
“The money,” Max continued. “It’s one thing to let Horse have his little fuck toy, I don’t give a shit about that. It’s another to just sit back and lose fifty large. You guys may have money stashed somewhere, but I don’t. We sure we want to risk that kind of cash on this asshat pulling through for us, on top of the risk of him running to LEO?”
Horse narrowed his eyes at Max, who met them straight on. The man didn’t flinch.
“It’s a good point,” Bam Bam said, his voice mild. “Of course, we take him out now, we never see that money again anyway, Max.”
“Well maybe we wouldn’t have our asses hanging out so far if Horse’d done a better job watching him.”
Picnic sat up.
“Careful, brother,” he said, his voice cold. “Horse did his job. It was my call to let this play out, and I had good reason. That little shit made half a million bucks for this club, easy, in the last two years. You don’t throw talent like that away if you don’t have to. Fucker’s got a gift, can’t just replace him. That’s why I like this idea. Maybe we can still save the situation.”
“I’m not voting for it,” Max said. “We need to put him down.”
“Why don’t I buy her?” Horse said. Everyone turned to look at him, startled. “I’ll buy Marie from the club, and we give Jensen another shot. Fifty grand, outta my pocket and into the club account. We wait and see if Jensen comes up with the money and interest. He does, I get paid back, the club makes a profit. He doesn’t, it’s on me.”
“That’s fucked up,” muttered Bam Bam. “No cunt worth that.”
“She’s not a cunt.”
“They’re all cunts,” Max snapped. Horse caught his eye, staring him down.
“Play nice, boys,” said Picnic. “I think you’re crazy, Horse, but this works for me. That good enough for you, Max?”
Max dipped his head in agreement.
“I’m with Picnic, you’re crazy,” said Bam Bam. “Should be a hell of a show. She hates you, Horse. Jensen told me.”
“Well, I’m pretty pissed at her myself,” Horse said. “We gotta work through that. But she’s mine and that’s the way it is.”
Picnic rolled his eyes and Ruger snorted.
“Nice to see youngsters acting like men instead of chorus girls,” Duck grunted, looking around the table in approval. “Let’s vote. I want beer.”
Horse left the meeting feeling pretty good. Paying out the money was gonna hurt, no question. But he’d been thinking about putting up a new shop on the property, so he had the cash. He damned sure wanted Marie more than a shop. He couldn’t wait to come home to her after a tough day, the smell of her cooking in the house, the sight of her in an apron and nothing else.
Nice.
Horse grabbed his phone out of the box, thinking he should have called her before now. He’d gotten her sweet little text messages and knew she was hurting. Hell, he’d wanted her to hurt, he could admit it. She’d hurt him, so he let her dangle for a few days… But now that them being together was a reality? Time to let it go. He stepped out of the clubhouse and into the sunlight, powering up the phone. It pinged repeatedly, letting him know he’d missed a bunch of text messages from the night before.
Marie: Horse, muss yu
Marie: Why dont anser?
Marie: Horse like yur name. Horsey. I’d like to rid u horsey, LOL. You sleeping? Or busy with someone?
Marie: I know yur there. I bet you got a new gurl alredy. Screw you.
Marie: Screw you and your slut. I hate you. Take yur club and shove it up yur ass I wudn’t be yoor old lady for ten milion dollrs.
Fuck.
She’d been drunk, no question. And when people were drunk they said stupid shit, but they also told the truth. Marie might want his body, but she definitely didn’t want to be his old lady, despite all her sweet little texts to him trying to mend fences.
“Goddamit!” he yelled, throwing the phone at the concrete block wall of the clubhouse. It hit hard, shattering, as Ruger stepped outside.
“Problem?” he asked, raising a brow and looking from the phone to Horse. Horse shook his head.
“No problem,” he said, tamping down his anger. He’d made his choice, taken a stand in front of the club. He’d play it out. But Marie was damned well going to pay him back that fifty grand one way or another. “Decided it’s time to get a new phone, that’s all.”
“What was wrong with the old one?” Ruger asked, his voice mild.
“It broke.”
Yakima Valley, Eastern Washington
Horse looked down at Jeff, feeling detached.
The man knelt in the middle of the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, Picnic standing over him with a gun. Blood ran down his face—they’d given him a decent beating, but not serious enough to need a hospital. Just bad enough to make him really, really uncomfortable and hopefully scare the hell out of Marie.
He’d have a few permanent scars to help him remember not to fuck over the Reapers, too.
“I wonder if sissy’s gonna bail you out?” Picnic asked Jeff. “You really screwed yourself this time, little man. Do you not know our motto? Fuck with us and we will fuck with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff whispered, eyes wild behind his puffing eyelids. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, you’ve got to give me another chance.”
“How many chances do you need?” Horse demanded. “It’s hard to keep a straight face, listening to you talk.”
Jeff’s phone pinged on the counter, and Ruger picked it up.
“Text from Marie,” he said. “She’s gonna be home in a few, leaving the store now.”
“Text her back,” Jeff said quickly. “Please, she doesn’t have anything to do with this. Don’t let her see, just tell her not to come home for another hour. Don’t let this be her last memory of me.”
“Shut up,” Picnic said, sounding exasperated. Jeff shut up.
“You guys said this was a dump, but I didn’t realize just how bad,” Ruger said, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him as he surveyed the room. “Can’t believe you let your sister live like this, fuckwad, especially given how much money we’ve been paying you.”
“I’m a shitty brother,” Jeff mumbled. “I know that. But don’t hurt Marie, she’s a sweetheart. Right? Never hurt anyone, doesn’t deserve this.”
“Oh I’m sure she’s sweet,” Ruger replied, smirking. Horse shot him a dark look, but it didn’t shut him up. Ruger grinned at him. “You can’t seriously expect us not to fuck with you over this, Horse.”
Horse shrugged—he didn’t, actually. What a mess. Fifty grand o
ut the door for a woman who didn’t even want him. He ran a hand through his hair. At least he’d finally get to fuck her.
At that price, her cunt better be lined with gold.
“She’s pulling up now,” Painter said from his station near the window. “Got an armful of groceries. Should I help her carry them?”
The men just looked at him, Picnic shaking his head in bemusement.
“Joking, right?” asked Ruger.
“Sorry, guess I didn’t think that one through,” Painter said. Horse had his doubts about the prospect—still pretty young, and so green. Could take him years to earn his top rocker at this rate. The door opened and Marie walked in.
She screamed.
“I’m so sorry, sis,” Jeff said, the words muffled and broken. Marie looked around the room frantically, disbelief and shock written all over her face. Horse felt his cock harden and decided he was one sick fuck. The woman was terrified and she didn’t want him, yet she still turned him on. Of course, just about everything she did turned him on.
Everything but throwing his offer to take her as property back in his face. Fuckin’ bitch and her text messages. He might’ve paid fifty grand for her, but she claimed a million wouldn’t be enough?
She should be grateful to him for saving her brother.
Picnic looked at Marie and winked. That was creepy, even to Horse, and it surprised him that she didn’t have a heart attack on the spot. Good, he wanted her afraid.
“Little brother’s been a bad boy,” Picnic said. “He’s been stealing from us. You know anything about that?”
She shook her head, a grocery bag falling, apples rolling on the floor. One hit Horse’s foot and it took all his willpower not to kick it at Jensen’s head.
“I don’t understand,” she said, giving her brother a pleading look.