by V. Theia
Malachai’s voice became muffled as though he was talking to someone on his end. Texas had a mouthful of sweet coffee when his elder brother by a few minutes came back on the line.
Nothing good came from these calls and god help him they were becoming more frequent. Change my damn number already.
He couldn’t do whatever Malachai wanted.
He wouldn’t hurt the club.
He’d only had the club for the longest time. They were his family who’d picked him up even when they didn’t know they were doing it.
They knew nothing about his time back home. His other life.
He fucking hated himself.
Deserving of that pine box, he was ready to confess his sins to Rider and let the chips fall where they may.
“Well, our mother wants you home for her birthday. I passed the message along to you, it’s up to you if you wish to disappoint her further, it’s at the Dorian Estate Club at five pm. And Addison says hi.”
A truck of concrete poured over his head. The punch to the throat made his vocal chords sound strangled.
“Tell your wife hi back. I have to go. I won’t be home, don’t expect me, Malachai.”
And he hung up.
Pure fucking agony dogged Texas’ steps as he bypassed eating breakfast, everything would taste like sawdust in his mouth, he grabbed his wool jacket, slipping it on and locked up taking the steps that led to his place and out to where he parked his bike.
They wanted him to come home for a party. It happened every year and every year he said the same.
No and hell no.
He stayed away for a good reason. He’d once been best friends with his brother, thick as thieves, they’d done everything together, as expected with twins, until the age-old adage of falling for the same girl had caused a rift Malachai wasn’t even aware of. All he knew was his twin no longer wanted anything to do with him and Texas allowed it without explanation.
Wasn’t being in love with his twin’s wife good enough of a reason? His mother had told him to stay away, so he was staying hell away, you’re welcome, mom. It hurt in that place he didn’t access anymore.
It should have been you, Tait.
All these years later he could still hear the last words Addison spoke to him.
But it wasn’t. He scowled, clipping on his helmet and kicked off the stand with the toe of his boot. It never would be.
With a burning in his sternum, Texas rode off and headed towards the club compound.
He’d lose his mind in money and numbers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“His eyes watch wherever I go. And I watch him watching me. And I wait … hoping he will speak to me.” – Paige
It came as no surprise to Grinder to see Reaper parked at one of the corner tables. Seemed if the brother wasn’t at the club he was here at Beau’s Diner watching the pink haired waitress in unhealthy stalkerish ways. Grinder had no room to open his trap to ask if Reaper thought this was an okay thing to do, so he didn’t. Instead he strode over, lowered his voice.
"I gotta talk to your girl for a minute, are you gonna freak out if I do? I can’t afford to have broken bones, Reap." He said with levity, only wished he was joking around. Reaper was possessive over that little female. Again, he thought it wasn’t healthy for the silent assassin to obsess over a woman he was doing nothing about it, but each madness to their own, he reckoned. His own obsession had finally crawled out of his bed a few hours ago to steal cars.
"She's not…" an expression like pain crossed Reaper's face and Grinder arched his brow. "Not mine." he finished in a tone that didn’t sound like he believed it.
Grinder half-grinned rubbing his beard and looked between his brother and the smiling woman behind the counter talking to a customer as she poured coffee. "Tell that to your eyeballs stuck to her ass. So, you gonna mind if I go up there and ask her summit?"
Reaper scowled, his chest inflating in a hard inhale, other than that didn't reply Grinder who pushed off from the table and started across the diner. "Nate?" he heard in that unused New Zealand accent and turned to find watchful eyes on him, a hint of something shadier swirling. "Just ... not too close."
Grinder nodded.
He wasn't about to upset an on-edge brother even if he didn't fully understand the attachment the guy had for diner girl, why he didn't just ask her out no one knew but every moment Reaper wasn't dealing with club stuff he was here, stationed right there at the same table drinking coffee and watching diner girl like she was the second coming.
Grinder spent two minutes at the counter talking to Paige, his request sorted with a big smile from her, he’d pick it up next week, he turned to see the straight face of Reaper watching the exchange closely. "She's all yours, bro, back to your stalking," he told him quietly clapping Jud on the shoulder with a smirk twitching his beard. “Catch ya back at the club." Reaper grunted a reply.
Grinder took off. He had to pretend to earn his pay check this week, he couldn't leave all the bike shop work to Preacher, he'd only whine like a damn princess.
******
Was it considered stalking if Reaper did it in plain sight with plate of eggs and hash browns delivered to nearby tables? He inhaled hard enough to snap a rib, letting it out slowly, there was no calm here so he didn't pretend. Logically he'd known Grinder had no more interest in Paige than he did big Harry over at the meat packing plant who was sitting at the counter scooping food into his mouth at an alarming rate, not with what he’d been hearing about him and that girl of Jamie Steele’s, the one who stole shit. And yet, while he'd watched the tracker smile and engage Paige in conversation, logging every inch of her animated face as she took down a note on her little pad she kept in the pocket of her peach dress, Reaper had to call on a bank of patience not to storm across the diner and tell Grinder to get the hell away from her.
That wouldn’t go over well with the woman he barely spoke two words to at any one time.
Words failed him when she was in front of him. He never wanted to say the wrong thing.
Agitated, he took a sip of coffee, not tasting as it burned his throat, he was too busy watching her come out from behind the counter. Every day he chose the table by the window over in the corner away from the crowd where he could watch with ease and still have an eye on what was going on outside.
She was such a friendly little thing in the snug uniform that hung above her perfect knees and clung to her breasts as she walked from table to table refilling the coffee mugs for the early morning workers.
She worked too damn hard.
Today her blonde and pink hair was caught back in a thick rope braid hanging halfway down her back. She looked so sweet and innocent when she smiled engaging customers, not a hint of annoyance when more than one had her running back to the counter for something.
He knew she was here baking her pies from 4 AM and he knew this because--well that didn’t matter how he knew. It would be the lunchtime rush soon making her even busier. He wanted to insist she sit down and eat something for fucks sake.
Like every other time he kept his mouth shut. Letting his eyes do all the talking for him, things he couldn't say.
His thumb played absently with the band on his wedding finger.
There was a prickling of panic in the back of his skull, aware he was running out of time.
"Would you like a refill?" the melodic angel voice asked. It took all will he had not to throw her down on the table and mount over her and suck on her lips and demand tell me.
Reaper looked up in stages, stalking up over her uniform encased over her tits, up her neck and then he reached her face. She was smiling but he could see he made her nervous, the smile faltering a little when he continued to stare at her.
He didn’t mean to. Only he had words he couldn’t fucking put on his tongue.
Clearing his throat, he nodded his thanks.
She refilled his cup. "Can I bring you anything to eat?"
You on a plate, I don't need a
fork.
"I'll have whatever you think I want." He answered gruffly, holding her eyes.
A deep pink blush crested on her cheeks. So, fucking pretty.
The ring twirled around and around, she must have noticed his tick because her eyes followed, her blonde brows falling over her lavender eyes. "Why don't you ever bring in your wife?"
A blow to his chest. The shock was worse than estimated.
The bolt came suddenly like a crack of lightening in the sky you don’t expect, it lingered, a fungus clinging to him, and he caught his breath for a moment until he could speak.
Reaper made a broken sound before he could stop it.
Was Paige picking up on his misery? The lithe length of her body moved slightly away from him, she was frowning and it puckered her otherwise smooth forehead, tendrils of hair swept across her eyes, and he had designs to brush them aside and make her look at him, see him. "I--didn't...."
"She's gone." He answered to stop her feeling bad for him. He didn't need sympathy.
Fingers clasped her neck. "Oh. I'm so sorry, Reaper."
He nodded.
"I'll bring you some food right away."
On her way back to the kitchen, where she would undoubtedly bring him something his stomach wanted and he'd lick the plate clean because it was from Paige, he saw her touch the shoulder of an elderly lady making sure she had everything she needed, and then she spoke to a baby in a stroller.
Paige was a fixer, a healer of souls and she did it with a smile and food.
What would she say if he said to heal him she could get on her pretty knees and suck on his cock?
How would she feel if the only thing he needed to make him smile was her long fingers wrapped around his cock while she fed it into the home of her warm pussy?
Suck. Fuck. Suck. He was tormented by the images.
He wanted to fuck. It had been years since he’d sank himself into a body. It was only his every thought around her.
He ate the breakfast she brought him. They didn't speak again but she refilled his cup twice and sent him a smile as he paid at the counter. Right as he was ready to leave, he turned, caught her eyes already on him like she’d been slyly watching him this whole time, her breath stuttered and he had to ask. "Are you good, Paige?"
Like she’d been waiting for his question her smile brightened her whole face.
Desire hurt him deep in the gut.
"Oh, yes! Really good, thank you, Reaper.”
Don't you know by now, Paige, I'm yours.
Reaper strode out of the diner with the words still inside his head.
There was something he needed to do.
And he didn't have to wait long at all as he leaned on his bike parked by the curb.
The joker strode out picking food out of his teeth, swaggering like he thought he owned main street. He’d been making grave mistakes for days now and Reaper was about to set him straight.
Reaper stepped down off his Harley, followed John just a way before grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, he outweighed him, it was easy, ignoring the instant protest as the man tried to fight him.
No chance. He slammed the guy up against a wall and squeezed both sides of his head like a fucking melon.
Nastiness in Reaper's voice. He had one thing to say and he prayed this fucker didn't make him say it more than once.
He hadn't known who John was until two days ago and he'd go back to forgetting who he was after this until he forced Reaper into a second talk.
"Listen up, mate. You stay the hell away from Paige, are you hearing me?" One fleeting second Reaper lost perspective on reality, his vision blanked out.
When it came to protecting Paige, he was a screw loose. A cannon about to blow, the maniac clown under the road. He had his reasons and all of them valid. This guy had been looking at Paige too closely, eyes glued to her tits and ass and Reaper didn’t like it.
"You don't flirt with her, you don't ask her out, you don't even fucking smile at her."
"W-what the fuck is to you, asshole? The frigid bitch is single!" John spat out. Fingers attached to Reapers arm tightened on John's face.
Squeezing. Squeezing.
Wrong answer.
He left dear John in a puddle of his own blood in an alleyway, covered in welts and warning bruises.
John got the message after that.
As Reaper climbed back onto his bike he saw Paige gazing at him through the window, her eyes solemn as they were beautiful. Before their connection was broke, he revved the engine, toed off the kickstand with his boot. She was so goddamn beautiful, he wished ... he wished. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight and it showed no signs of changing.
Fast running out of time.
If he let out his feelings, he knew he'd flood this whole damn town and he couldn't do that yet.
The sharp, relentless ache behind his right eye had expanded to encompass his entire skull. He shoved his fingers under the dark green skull cap into his thick light brown hair and pulled, trying to alleviate the throb, but it was useless, the stress headache was coming thick and fast, churning grease in his stomach, the migraine aura would be next.
The sum total of his life seemed to boil down to the intensity of his headaches; light, meant it wasn't a bad day at all, the dull ache he could ignore as he went about his day. But it was when it was a roar through his temples that Reaper, his preferred name now, couldn't cope as well as he should after all this time.
The past was colliding with his present and he was finding it ... difficult.
Throwing back three pain pills from his pocket that he carried around like Tic Tac’s, he took a last look through the diner window, saw Paige laughing at something a customer was saying to her.
Maybe tomorrow.
But he recognized his own lie. Tomorrow would just be the same as the day after and next week.
He sighed as ice replaced the heat in his eyes. At least he could do his next assignment more proficiently. He hated dealing with Brex Mahoney but at least he knew what to expect from the sniveling fool. The mayor was a pain in the ass and a gossip who liked to brag, more often than that he was gloating what prostitute he’d paid for the previous night. Sticking your cock in a paid whore was nothing to be proud about he wanted to tell him. Reaper rarely engaged a conversation with the guy, he did his job and got out of there.
Pausing as he began pulling on a leather glove, the glint of his wedding band caused his heart to wretch. She’s gone. If he told the lie often enough, he thought, maybe he’d believe it, too, because the fracture of keeping up appearances was fast becoming the hardest thing Reaper had ever had to do. The thing with lies was they became like a cancer in the end.
With his bruised knuckles tightening, he revved the engine and roared off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I Spy with my tracking eye … I see a mafia minion…” - Grinder
The first time Grinder became aware he had a tail it was a week later. The feeling of being watched began to niggle him at the base of his neck, hair rising in that way he never ignored because those kinds of clues usually meant something.
He wasn’t doing anything watch worthy, he’d rode over to Fort Springs to grab lunch with Luxe, and then headed back to work. The same black SUV was three cars back behind him. Not thinking much of it at first, eyes gazing in the rear-view mirror he took a left turn and saw it take the same a few seconds later.
Curious, it could be nothing, he kept his speed steady and when it was time to turn again he headed right this time, sure enough the SUV, four cars behind Grinder now, did the same.
A more trusting person would have assumed they were just headed in the same direction, but after leading the car a merry-fucking-dance around Armado, driving down main street twice he knew it was no coincidence.
“I caught a tail just now.” He informed the boys once he was back in the grounds of the club compound, he’d circled around first in the forecourt and saw the black car drive on
by.
“Who?” asked Rider.
“Why?” another chipped in.
Grinder didn’t have answers, only theories, but he knew now to stay alert. He didn’t think they wanted to ask him out on a date. The club continuously attracted trouble, even when they didn’t go looking for it, it was the nature of the beast. If it was club related there was better members to tail to garner information. Grinder was the tracker, he wasn’t in charge of the green or any of the businesses, he wasn’t the treasurer in the know of the money. No, he figured this was more personal to what Grinder did recently in a certain Russian party. Now was it because of the stolen pictures or the flash drives he’d pocketed? That was the question of the hour. If he was a betting man he’d place money on all of the above. Either way the Russians were after him for a one on one and he was fucked.
The second time he was aware of being followed a week after that he got more answers, namely because those fuckers came to him. He’d been vigilant, more than usual, and after a few days he was about to put it down to paranoia.
Until Grinder was walking out of the diner, a cake box in one hand, the other carried a paper bag with veggie sandwiches and a coffee carrier with his strong brew he sipped at, he spotted the two Russian’s instantly climbing from their ride, the same damn ride he’d spotted up his ass.
He kept his shit cool, shades masking his eyes, he could watch them approach him without locking eyes.
One said something to the other and he nodded.
Grinder recognized a close-knit squad, those Russian’s were slowly and slyly growing in numbers within Colorado, they had no idea Rider knew this, but the club knew the whole lot going on in their city
And as fast as the Russian’s family was growing, Rider was gathering forces from outside chapters to coincide with the anniversary shindig that was coming up. If the Russians wanted a war then Rider was prepared to give them one. Until then they kept their shit steady.
What the Russians continued to fail to grasp was, they assumed the Souls power was brittle and malleable, as Hades had been and the like before him and before them.