by K. L. Savage
Reaper let’s out a breath, and Sarah spins around, stands on her tiptoes, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let you get to it, Jesse.”
“Love you, doll.”
“Love you too, Jesse.”
Reaper watches Sarah walk down the hall until she’s out of sight. He’d reap a million souls if it meant giving Sarah a baby. To have a love like that, well, in my eyes, that’s bliss.
Chapter Five
DAWN
I’m used to seeing big men, but nothing like this. Every single man in this clubhouse is huge. And the guy who calls himself Reaper? Or Prez? I don’t know what the titles mean, but he’s massive, and he scares the hell out of me. He has shaggy hair, tattoos, and one along his collarbone that says, ‘Long Live The King.’ I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he is the king of kings in this lovely establishment they call a home.
And yeah, men in charge scare me.
I can deal with the loose girls here. I can deal with the guys too. I’ve been slapped more than once by Cohen from my smart mouth getting away from me when I’m tired of holding things in.
“Step into my office.” Reaper opens the door wide. I peek in to make sure it’s clear and nothing is about to come down from above the door and chop my head off or something for being an outsider. “I ain’t going to bite, Dawson.”
“Dawn,” I dare to correct him. These bikers, while they scare the hell out of me, they did save me, which means I owe them more than friendship. I owe them my life.
“Dawn,” he says instead. “Skirt, go inform Doc—”
“No!” I panic and reach for Skirt’s hand, and I grab onto it like the lifeline it is. He’s the first man I saw when I woke up, he’s the man I punched in the face because I was scared and he didn’t hit me back; he’s the man who carried me because my body was weak. “No, please.” I swallow the spit gathering in my mouth to coat my dry throat. “Can he stay? He’s … he’s the only one I’m not afraid of,” I admit, and Skirt’s hand tightens around mine. I know my bravado was big earlier, but I’m on high alert being here.
Reaper has crow’s feet around his eyes, from either smiling or squinting. I’m going to go with squinting. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to smile. Either way, the crow’s feet soften when I tell him the truth, and he nods. “Of course. Skirt, come in,” Reaper says.
I tug on Skirt’s arm, and he stumbles over the threshold, giving Reaper a chance to shut the door. I don’t want to tell him that his office smells like cum either. He probably knows, and he’s probably proud of it. I’d bet he knows Skirt and I listened in on him getting his cock sucked. I can’t believe I told Skirt it was hot listening to a guy getting off. I’ve never been so bold before. Skirt makes me nervous, so I said what I thought he’d want to hear, but then he blushed like a damn virgin. I wonder if I overstepped.
Then again, a man like Skirt has to be used to getting his cock blown with all the women around here dressed in nothing but their skin.
“Take a seat,” Reaper says, but it sounds more like an order.
And if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s to do what I’m told. I sit right away, and Skirt stands behind me. I crane my head to the side and look up at him. He has a thick red beard that looks well-groomed and his red lashes fan over the tops of his cheeks as he stares down at me. “Sit. You heard the man,” I say.
“I’m going to have to stand.” Skirt brings his fist up to his mouth and coughs.
Reaper chuckles and laces his fingers behind his head. “And why is that?” He leans back in the chair and plops his boots on the desk to get comfortable, then his eyes pinch as he stares at the black leather. He unhooks his hands from behind his head, licks his thumb, and polishes a spot on the tip of his boot.
“Uh, no reason. I just feel like standing.” Skirt’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and for a badass biker, he sure does get bashful. I think it’s cute. He has this charm that I can’t put my finger on and these good looks that remind my soul what it’s like to lust after someone again. I really like the kilt too.
Two words: easy access.
“Skirt here had to avoid hitting you when you passed out in the road, and he swerved off the road. His bike crashed into a rock and he flew over the handlebars and landed on a cactus.” Reaper starts laughing halfway through his explanation, and I can understand why it’s funny. I want to laugh, but he got hurt because of me, and that isn’t humorous at all.
“Skirt, I’m so sorry. I never wanted that to happen.”
“It’s okay, Lips. The needles didn’t hurt that bad coming out.”
“Whatever. You wanted numbing cream.” Reaper throws Skirt under the bus.
“Ye have needles close to yer ball sack and ye let me know how ye want to handle it.” Skirt crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. “And my arse is sore, okay? It’s just a little tender. A hundred cactus spikes will do that to someone.”
“I’m so sorry.” I reach around and lay my hand on his ass cheek and gasp when I realize what I just did. I thought I was reaching for his arm to comfort him, but I went in right for the rump. I yank my hand back and fiddle with my nails as I wring my hands together on my lap. “Um, sorry,” I say. He has a firm butt, one that I wouldn’t mind getting a handful of if it were mine.
“Let’s get to the issue at hand. You aren’t in any state to go anywhere, Dawn. No offense, you look like shit and you can barely walk.”
“You don’t understand.” I look to Reaper, then down at my hands, and then up to Skirt nervously. “I need to get to my son. He’s in the hands of a very dangerous man. You have to let me go. He has seizures. He needs me.”
“That’s how you knew to tell me what to do.”
“Yeah,” I reply sadly to Skirt. “Unfortunately.”
“This man,” Reaper starts. “He do this to you?” Reaper’s finger traces an invisible line down my body. “And don’t lie to me, Dawn. I hate liars.”
“He does. Don’t lie,” Skirt warns and then gives me a small shake of his head. I’m trying to get a good look at his eyes, but I can’t see the color. I’m trying to think back to when I saw him outside, but I was so consumed with fear and rage that I didn’t really pay attention to him.
His lip is busted because of me, probably his balls too.
“Dawn?” Reaper snaps his fingers, and the kind expression he had on his face is gone, replaced with annoyance.
I flinch out of habit, waiting for the blow to come. I prepare myself by squeezing my eyes shut and tensing my body.
“Oh, Dawn.”
I recognize that tone. It’s pity.
“I ain’t going to hit you, Dawn. Ever. That’s not my cup of tea, and any man here who ever lays a hand on a woman is dealt with.”
Dealt with.
No need to fill in the blanks there.
“My son’s name is Aidan. He is epileptic. I’m the only one he can depend on. He is in danger, not just because of his medical condition, but the man who has him. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—thinks he is the father.”
“Sounds like you say he isn’t,” Reaper puts two and two together.
I’m not ashamed about getting pregnant from a brief fling, but I wonder what Skirt thinks about me now. I don’t look at him. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I do. I don’t want him to care that I’ve slept with multiple people.
“What’s this guy’s name so we can track down your son?” Reaper asks, getting out a pen and paper.
“You’re going to get him for me? Really?” Tears sting my eyes as I sit forward on the edge of my seat. I want to launch myself across the table and hug this big, scary biker man.
“You need to rest, Dawn. I’m serious about that. Plus, this sounds like a Ruthless job. Name,” he repeats again, and a tiny speck of fear drops in my stomach since he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who likes to repeat himself.
“Cohen O’Roarke,” I say, prying my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
“Wh
at the fuck did ye just say?” Skirt seethes and is suddenly in front of me, caging me in with his arms. His hands grip the arms of the chair, and as he leans in, I lean back. His hot breath caresses my cheek, and the brush of the heavy puffs feels dangerous, promising harm if I don’t obey.
The pure hatred in Skirt’s eyes has me trembling.
“Skirt!” Reaper bellows to get Skirt away from me. “Back down.”
“I need to know. Did ye just say Cohen O’Roarke? The Irish fighter? Is that who ye said?” His voice is calm, but it isn’t light and kind; it’s deep with rage. My heart is soaking up his anger and transforming it into terror. A tear slips down my cheek as I wait for the inevitable.
A knee to the face.
A kick in the ribs.
A violent face fuck that leaves me in tears and gagging.
“You’re scaring her, Skirt! Look at her. She’s shaking.” Reaper grips Skirt by the collar and yanks him backward with so much strength, Skirt slams against the wall. The plain white drywall cracks and dents from Skirt’s shoulder, showing just how fragile everything is around these men. “I said get the fuck back!” Reaper screams until his voice breaks.
“I’m sorry,” Skirt says, gripping the sides of his hair. He rolls his body, his back flattens against the wall, and he slides down it until he’s sitting on the ground, head between his knees. “Ye couldn’t have said that name.” The denial can’t be missed, but I know the truth. I’m O’Roarke’s property. Cohen will burn down this city to find me, and he won’t find me out of love.
I’m a possession and that’s all I’ll ever be. “I’ve been with him for a few years now.” I wipe the tears off my cheek with my palms. “He’s a horrible man. I haven’t been able to get away. He’s dangerous. You have to believe me.” I snag Reaper’s wrist, and my fingers don’t even meet around it. My lashes bead with liquid, and every time I blink, a few more droplets fall from my eyes.
“I see the proof. There’s no need to have to beg me, Dawn.”
Skirt stands and runs his fingers through his hair, then he scrubs them over his face. He gives me his back, the muscles tight with stress as he lifts his arms up and over his head. Skirt lays his hand on the wall and exhales a long breath. His head hangs between his massive shoulders, then he spreads his arms out to his sides, showing the impressive wingspan.
“Skirt, why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because, Prez, that’s the man who killed my brother all those years ago.” Skirt turns around, and when I see his eyes, I see the bright burning blue orbs, scalding like the hottest part of a flame. He’s furious. “I’ve been fighting all my life to get ready for the day I take that man down once and for all.”
My fingers wrap around the armrest of the chair as Skirt’s words sink into me. The world can’t be this small. How can I go from one pissed-off fighter to the next? Cohen killed Skirt’s brother? This is all too much. My son is with a killer. “Oh God.” I press my palms against my forehead and start to rock to try to calm myself down, but the more I move, the more emotional I become. “This can’t be happening. I’m so sorry, Skirt. I had no idea. I—Aidan. I need to get to Aidan!” I want to vomit again, but I’ll just dry heave if I do. I haven’t eaten anything.
Skirt blocks the doorway and stretches each arm out to stop me from going anywhere. “Ye can’t go,” his Adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t let you go back to that monster.”
“That monster has my son!” I shove Skirt’s chest with all the might I have, but he barely moves. “Get out of my way, Skirt.”
“No, Lips. I can’t. I have to protect ye, and I can’t do that while yer fighting a man who’s never lost a fight in his life.”
“I’ve always wondered why you fight,” Reaper chimes in as he leans against the desk and crosses each ankle over the other. “Makes sense. You’re damn good at it too. Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all these years.”
“I only fight to get better at throwing punches. Once I hit the man I need to, I’ll hang up my gloves.”
“You mean, you’re brass knuckles.” Reaper lights a cigarette and blows out the thick cloud of smoke. “Don’t tell Sarah about this, Skirt, she thinks I quit. If she finds out, I’ll scar a heart in your chest forever.”
“Yes, Prez,” Skirt says automatically as if he has said it a hundred times, but he never takes his eyes off me. The icy irises have me shivering, teeth chattering, as if it’s winter, and I’m standing in the middle of a snowstorm.
Torment meets torment, and I find myself falling into the shattered pieces of his heart. Instead of bleeding from the sharp shards, a piece of my own jigsaw soul fits perfectly against his. If I spend any more time with Skirt, somehow, someway, our fucked-up parts will meld a mechanical heart that will learn to beat again—together.
And that scares me because for all I know, only my side will pump the blood needed to sustain us, while his is dead set on revenge.
“Skirt, please.” Another tear falls and I lay my palms against his chest. “I need to get Aidan. He’s the only thing good I have in this world. He’s four. He doesn’t understand how bad Cohen is yet.”
“We will get your son, Dawn. You don’t have to worry about that. Do you know where Cohen is staying? Can you give us details?”
“I’m going to go get the kid,” Skirt says, grinding his teeth together.
“No, the fuck you’re not. You’re going to stay right here with Dawn. I don’t need you going in pissed and forgetting there’s a four-year-old boy who needs rescued.”
“I won’t forget that!”
“Yeah? Tell me you wouldn’t kill Cohen right in front of Aidan’s eyes without thinking. Tell me,” Reaper urges, flicking the ashes of his cigarette on the ground. The way the burnt tobacco floats to the floor reminds me of snow. It’s oddly beautiful and just as dangerous. Cigarettes cause cancer, but snow can freeze people to death.
It’s what happened to my parents.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Reaper kicks off the desk, walks around the side, and opens a drawer. A gold ashtray is revealed, and he rubs the end of the ember against the metal to put out the cigarette. “I won’t repeat myself; I fucking hate doing that. I’ll gather Poodle. He’s got an itch to scratch.”
“Poodle? A dog? You’re going to send a dog after my son?” I holler, ready to throw my fists again. Not that they will do any damage, but I’ll try.
Reaper chuckles. and the smoke still lingering in his lungs is forced out of his nostrils. “No, Poodle is member. Good guy.”
I have a feeling there’s something he isn’t telling me. I spin on my heel, away from Skirt blocking the door, and charge toward Reaper, my index finger pointed. My chin wobbles and sure, I always cry when it comes to my kid, but right now, I’m furious. I’m a mother on a mission, and I will go to any and all lengths to get Aidan in my arms.
If that means I have to take down every man in this building to walk out these doors, I will.
“You better not be lying to me, Reaper.” I stare at him in the eyes that remind me of something lifeless; they’re so deep and dark, like a well. A tear drops down my cheek for added effect, and the hardness along the edges of his mouth go soft. He can see my agony. He has no idea how much it hurts to not have my kid with me. It’s like a piece of my heart can’t beat, and I’m struggling to live, but I’ll live for Aidan. He doesn’t look away. He understands the point I’m trying to make.
“That’s my son. I need him here. If you are lying, I will kill you. I don’t know how”—a big tear falls down my cheek—“but I will.” I won’t. I don’t think I have it in me to kill a man, but I’ll go to any length to protect my son.
“Threat received, noted, and won’t be forgotten. I’ll tell you this…” He cracks his neck then his sausage-like fingers. “I don’t take kindly to threats, but I’ll let you go with this one because of everything that’s going on. Make no mistake, we are the really good bad guys, Dawn. You might have switched one hell for ano
ther, but the devil is a little nicer on this side of town. I’ll give you three chances like everyone else here. Don’t threaten me again. Get out. I need to track Cohen. Send Badge in here, Skirt, so I can update him on our next target.” Reaper pushes us out of his office and slams the door in our faces.
“What happens after three chances?” I stare at the fogged glass on his office door as if it will swirl and become clear to show me the answers to life.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the biggest fool of all?
I am.
“He rips your heart from your chest and watches it struggle to beat in his palm.”
“Something tells me you aren’t joking,” I say, rubbing my hand over my heart as it steadily beats.
“That’s nothing to joke about.”
It just clicked how the men get their names, and I don’t like it one bit.
Once I have my son, I’m getting the hell out of dodge. Vegas can burn in the eternity of the hell that keeps it alive for all I care.
I’m done with dangerous men, no matter how captivated I am by Skirt. Men aren’t worth the misery that comes with them.
Chapter Six
SKIRT
Jab, jab, hook. Jab, jab, uppercut, hook. Jab, jab, fucking jab.
Sweat pours off me in gallons as I hit the Everlast bag in front of me in the gym Reaper had me build as an extension. I have my shirt off, gloves on, and I let out all of my frustrations. All these years, all this time, and Cohen O’Roarke is back in my life. Out of all the fucking ways to get to him, I have to get to him through Dawn.
Dawn. So fucking beautiful. Strong. Sassy. A mouth I want to silence with a kiss. Son-of-a-bitch, she’s going to be the fucking death of me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s been around the bad life for far too long for me to pull her into mine, into the club’s. If she finds out that I’m just another O’Roarke, fighting until I see blood, she’ll hate me.
She is better off hating me than loving me, anyhow. Hatred is stronger than love. Sure, many things are built out of love, but hatred, that’s the one emotion that towers over the rest. It looms over fucking houses, marriages, kids, and whatever else people like to pretend they are building based on love.