Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  The biggest obstacle was the Talia situation, of course. But over the past two weeks, I’d realized something unsettling—I sort of liked Tinker as a person. I mean, not that we’d spent much time together, but I saw how she went out of her way to do the right thing. A good girl all around, and the fact that she’d moved home to take care of her dad after her mother died proved the point.

  Then there were those curves. Fucking hell, I thought about her tits and ass all the time. I’d always been a sucker for curves, although back home it was more about big, fake boobs and mouths like vacuum cleaners. Tinker made fancy chocolates and had a store full of teacups.

  Not. My. Type.

  Too bad my cock hadn’t gotten the memo on that.

  My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it, finding a text from my president.

  PICNIC: Status update?

  Reaching into the shower stall I flipped it on, figuring I’d let it run for a few minutes while I called him back. The building was old, and I’d already learned that it took a while before the water got hot. Dialing his number, I waited for him to answer.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “You texted me, boss.”

  “Wanted to see how things were going,” Pic said.

  “Not much to report. I mean, not much beyond what we already suspected. Marsh is running the club into the ground and there’s definitely bullshit in the air. He’s reporting lost shipments to Bellingham, but you don’t hear anyone bitching about product getting jacked at the clubhouse. The newer guys aren’t smart enough to keep their mouths shut, and they’ve all got plenty of cash in their pockets. The older ones have all pulled away. He’s double-dealing us.”

  “You figure out how he managed to take over yet?”

  “So far as I can tell, he got a couple friends in and then turned one or two of the others,” I said. “They called for a vote right after that big bust last year, and elected him while the old guard were all locked up. Painter’s sources in prison were right on all the details. Now Marsh is holding power because he has the numbers and he’s adding soldiers every day. What I can’t figure out is why the original members who are still left haven’t bailed. Not that they’d open up to me—if they notice me at all, it’s because I’m Talia’s bitch.”

  “Loyalty,” Picnic said, sounding frustrated. “Same thing that holds every club together. They probably haven’t lost hope yet.”

  “I’d say they’re pretty damned close,” I told him grimly. “I can see a situation where we have a second, unofficial club starting in town.”

  Picnic gave a low whistle. “That’d be unfortunate.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Well, that’s why we sent you—best to stop it before it gets any worse. How’s the new living situation?” he asked, changing the subject. I glanced around the small apartment. I’d stayed in worse, but over the years I’d gotten used to something a lot better.

  “It’s working,” I said.

  “And your landlady? You still horny for her?”

  I considered my answer carefully—I wanted to be honest with him, but if I admitted too much, I’d never hear the end of it.

  “She’s nice,” I finally said, compromising. “Invited me for dinner tonight.”

  “Be careful. Talia’s your ticket, not this Tinker bitch, no matter how much you want to fuck her. Don’t forget that.”

  “I know my job, boss,” I replied. “It’s about the club—I get it.”

  It was always about the club.

  “Let us know if you need anything, then. You still doin’ okay on money?”

  “Yeah, I’ll call you if it’s an issue,” I said. “We good?”

  “We’re good.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  Dropping the phone on the counter, I stripped off my dirty jeans and stepped into the shower. I gave my hair a quick wash, then dropped a soapy hand to my dick and let myself think about Tinker Garrett. She and her friend sat out on that porch all afternoon, laughing and drinking, looking so fuckin’ cute that it took every last bit of my self-control not to drag her off to my place by her hair.

  That hair . . . always had a thing for dark hair.

  Tinker wasn’t like other women. Part of it was that whole look she had going for her, sort of like one of those girls they used to paint on the side of airplanes during World War II. Bangs cut straight across her forehead, retro halter top, and tight jeans rolled up above her ankles. I’d caught a tantalizing hint of a tattoo across her back, but I hadn’t been able to see much of it. If she’d walked into The Line, I’d have hired her in an instant.

  An image of her riding a pole slid through my mind, and I shuddered.

  Grabbing some more soap, I jerked my dick harder, wondering what she’d look like naked. Maybe once this was all over, I’d stick around an extra day or two and find out. First thing, I’d rip off that halter of hers and check out those boobs. They weren’t stripper huge, but they were plenty big and all natural. Round, just like the rest of her. All curves and dips, narrowing to a tiny waist before smoothing back out into hips a man could dig his fingers into.

  I imagined doing just that, holding on tight while I fucked her from behind. Ass or cunt? Both. Definitely. Those tits would swing around while I did her, and she’d give little breathy moans with every thrust. Gorgeous.

  Leaning back against the wall, I kept pumping. Wouldn’t take much more to push me over the edge—I’d been primed all afternoon, especially when I’d caught her watching me. She was hot for it, too. I saw it in her eyes and the way she licked her lips . . . They’d look real sweet wrapped around my cock. Would she swallow? My balls tightened, pressure burning deep inside. I decided that for the purposes of this fantasy, Tinker definitely liked to swallow. She’d drink my come and smile the whole time, reaching down between her legs and—

  I came in a series of hard spurts, spraying the shower wall the way I wanted to spray her ass.

  Fuck me, but that was good.

  I rinsed myself and turned off the water, reaching for a towel. Nice to take the edge off, otherwise I wasn’t sure I’d make it through dinner. Any other time, any other place, she’d be under me already, but I knew my job.

  Reapers forever, forever Reapers.

  Sometimes loyalty sucks.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TINKER

  Cooper still had drops of water dripping off his freshly washed hair when he came back out to the courtyard. Combined with the week’s worth of scruff on his face, it gave him a rough-and-ready look that left me feeling almost woozy—the man was raw sex.

  “How’s it coming?” he asked, offering a slow smile that made my knees shake.

  “Just about done,” I replied, wishing I’d had slightly less wine. I wasn’t totally drunk, but I’d indulged enough that the edges of my world had fuzzed out nicely. In some ways this was good, because I felt less nervous around him. On the other hand, I’d be far more likely to do something stupid . . . Say, grab his butt or lean over and lick that little trickle of water rolling down the side of his neck.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  I reached down with my tongs, picking up a piece of chicken so I could check the internal temperature. Perfect.

  “You can hold the kitchen door open for me—everything else is inside,” I said, turning off the gas before setting the chicken breasts on the platter. “We’ll be ready to eat in a few minutes. I just need to grab the rest of the food and take it over to the picnic table.”

  Cooper held the door for me as I walked past him. It opened onto a mudroom that would’ve been a porch if the house didn’t merge into the apartment building. We passed through to the kitchen, where I found Carrie and Darren exchanging a rather heated kiss.

  “Get a room,” I announced loudly. “Otherwise I’m turning the hose on you.”

  “Fuck off,” Darren said, pulling away from her. “If you’re still making out when you’ve been married for eighteen years, then you get a vote.”

 
; Carrie and I laughed as Cooper joined us.

  “Don’t think we’ve met,” Darren said, scoping him out carefully. Cooper held out his hand and they shook. I got a when-alpha-males-meet vibe, and Carrie rolled her eyes.

  “Cooper Romero. I’m Tinker’s new handyman.”

  “Yeah, I heard about you. Why’d you move to Hallies Falls?”

  “Darren, don’t be rude,” Carrie scolded, pulling away from him. Darren ignored her as Cooper gave an easy laugh, stepping back to lean against the counter, big arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’m in the middle of a divorce. My ex is in Ellensburg with our boys. I was looking for somewhere close enough to visit, but far enough that I won’t run into her on a regular basis.”

  “What do you do? Besides working for Tinker, I mean.”

  “Darren!” Carrie said, swatting his arm.

  “I’m protective of Tinker,” Darren replied lightly, but his eyes were serious. “I saw you with the Nighthawk Raiders MC the other day. You a member?”

  “Nope,” Cooper said. “Just dating a girl connected to the club, that’s all. I like to ride my bike and mind my own business. And to answer your question, I’m a trucker. That’s my rig parked out back. I’m taking a bit of a break for now—just need to sort out the legal stuff first.”

  Darren nodded, seeming satisfied but still not overly friendly.

  “Sorry, Cooper—Darren needs to learn to pretend he’s civilized in front of company,” Carrie said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s take the food out to the picnic table.”

  She picked up the little caddy that held paper plates, napkins, and some silverware, grabbing the salad in her other hand. Darren unplugged the small rice cooker on the counter and followed her out the door, leaving me alone with Cooper.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I told him. “I’d love to say that it’s not typical, but Darren has always been super protective of Carrie and I, even when we were kids. He’s like my big brother.”

  Cooper gave me a slow, beautiful smile and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Having people who give a shit is a good thing.”

  I smiled back at him, wondering why the hell he couldn’t fall down at my feet and declare his undying love. Of course, then I’d have stepkids . . . I’d never considered stepchildren. A stab of pain shot through me, and I shoved down my thoughts before they started down the dark path.

  “Anything else I can do to help?” he asked, stepping closer to me. I could smell him—fresh and clean and male. My nipples hardened, and I shot up a swift prayer of thanks up that the halter had a little padding built in for the sake of discretion. Obviously the designer wasn’t a fan of nipping out any more than I was. Cooper reached over and touched my cheek softly. My heart stuttered.

  “You had an eyelash,” he said, holding up his finger. Then he stepped back and picked up the platter of chicken. “Should I take this outside?”

  Deflating, I admitted for the first time to myself that Carrie might just be right—maybe I really did need to get laid. I’d thought he was flirting with me, which was stupid. The man has a girlfriend. Get your mind out of your panties.

  “Great,” I told him, refusing to blush. “I’ll go find my dad. Oh, there’s drinks in the fridge and wine on the counter. Grab whatever you want.”

  GAGE

  I carried the platter out through the kitchen door and into the courtyard, wondering how a town beautiful enough to hold a place like this could have fallen into the hands of someone like Marsh Jackson. The summer had been hot and dry, but Tinker’s courtyard remained a lush oasis of green, even in the heat.

  The building itself was arranged like a big C with the Garrett house attached to one end of it. In the center of the C was a courtyard with a cedar gazebo, which was where we were eating. It looked like something out of a movie about England—you know, the kind where there are bricks on the bottom and dark beams crossing white walls above? It stood two stories tall, and there were flowers and hanging baskets everywhere. Like something out of a storybook.

  “Have a seat,” Carrie said, her cheeks flushed. Darren wrapped an arm around her, giving her a squeeze. They were a good-looking couple—reminded me of Bam Bam and Dancer back in Coeur d’Alene—with the air of people who’d been together for a long time. I wondered what that’d be like. I’d never been with the same woman longer than a year, and never particularly regretted it. Either I wasn’t the kind of man who needed an old lady or I’d never met the right one.

  Across from Darren sat Tinker’s dad, Tom. He was a good guy, although it’d taken only a couple days to figure out he wasn’t firing on all cylinders. One of the tenants—Mary Webbly, who was probably about ten years older than Tom—had told me that he’d gone downhill in a big way since his wife had died earlier in the year. Up to that point, Tinker had lived in Seattle.

  Interesting family dynamics there.

  I sat down across from Darren, who was obviously still scoping me out, trying to decide if I was a threat to his girls or not. He smelled something off about the situation, I’d bet a thousand bucks on it. Fair enough. Tinker sat down next to me, and then she was handing out paper plates and what looked like surprisingly fancy, real silverware.

  “So, when do you plan to start driving your truck again?” Darren asked me, reaching for his beer. “You changing careers, or just taking a breather?”

  “Short break, that’s all,” I told him, scooping out a generous serving of rice. “Like I said, just need to figure shit out with my ex. Don’t want her screwing me on the divorce paperwork while I’m out of town.”

  Darren nodded. “Always good to get that finalized as quickly as possible.”

  Tinker coughed, shifting in her seat. I glanced at her, surprised to see her cheeks had flushed.

  “You know, not every conversation needs to be about finalizing divorces,” she said, draining her wineglass. Carrie reached for the bottle, deftly refilling it, and I had to bite back a grin. The girls had been packing it away—there were going to be headaches in the morning, no question.

  “You know what? You should divorce that husband of yours,” her dad declared, smiling at her. “I’ve never liked him.”

  She had a husband? First I’d heard of it. Fuck. I didn’t like the thought of her married, not one little bit. And where the hell was the asshole, anyway? Only a moron would leave a woman like Tinker alone.

  I’d never met the man, but I wanted to kick his ass already.

  “I am getting a divorce, Dad,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Remember? It’s just taking a while because of the property and all Brandon’s family stuff. The situation is complicated.”

  “Lawyers,” Tom muttered. “Can’t trust ’em. None of ’em. Never liked that boy.”

  Carrie coughed, her eyes dancing. “I think we all know how you feel about lawyers, Tom.”

  Tinker snorted. “Oh God. Do you remember the first time Dad learned that Brandon was a deputy prosecutor? I thought he’d have a heart attack.”

  “I’m healthier than a horse,” Tom declared, but my mind was stuck on the news that Tinker’s husband—Christ, that word left a sour taste in my mouth—was a prosecutor. I fucking hated prosecutors. At least she was ending it.

  “I know, Dad,” she said, reaching past me to catch his hand, giving it a squeeze. It forced her to lean close, and I caught a whiff of her hair. Peaches. She smelled like peaches, and I’d bet my bike that round ass of her would look just like one.

  Shoot me in the fucking head already and put me out of my misery.

  Tinker’s hand brushed my chest again as she pulled it back, and she and her girl were laughing about something else. I looked up to find Darren watching me, his eyes speculative. Catching his gaze, I nodded at him and he nodded back.

  Yeah, I’d have to watch out for that one. He saw me for what I was—a predator. He’d be a problem, no question. Still, I was glad that Tinker had someone like that in her life.

  “Darren, you look like a hippie with
that beard,” Tom said suddenly. “All the young guys look like hippies these days. Like the town ran out of razors or something.”

  “Dad! You can’t say things like that!”

  “Sure I can,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I just did. And I didn’t say that being a hippie was a bad thing. Your mom was a hippie, did you know that?”

  Tinker put down her glass.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup. The summer I met Tricia, she ran around wearing long skirts the whole time, and that hair of hers . . . It was so pretty. I hardly knew what to think. Never thought I could fall in love so fast. We were crazy, too. Her dad hated me, but that didn’t stop us from driving down to San Francisco in her car—a little orange Volkswagen—and spending part of the summer there. We dropped acid and danced in the park, then camped in a flophouse with a bunch of friends. It was a real good time.”

  Tinker choked, staring at him wide-eyed. Couldn’t blame her, either—the man looked like an old farmer who’d never traveled more than fifty miles from his hometown. Tom scooped up another serving of rice, oblivious to her shock.

  “Wow,” Carrie said. “I can’t wrap my head around that. Tricia never even let Tinker stay out past ten on the weekends.”

  Tom smirked. “Yeah, the wild ones always turn into the most protective parents. It’s because we know how many different ways there are to find trouble. We had a shotgun wedding, did I ever tell you that? I swear, your grandpa was all ready to kill me until he found out she was knocked up.”

  “Stop!” Tinker said, holding up a hand. “I can’t hear things like that. Just leave me in peaceful ignorance, okay?”

  Tom laughed, looking pleased with himself. His mind might wander at times, but right now he was obviously with us and enjoying every minute. Must’ve been a hell of a guy in his prime.

  “You want another beer?” Darren asked me, lifting up his empty.