Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  That was Carrie’s voice. Tinker’s eyes flew open, a look of shock and utter horror taking over her face. She screamed, arms coming up and across her chest in a pathetic attempt to cover herself. A hand flashed in front of the phone. The video perspective jerked upward, showing the ceiling, as Carrie snarled, “Heather—I’m serious. Put the fucking phone down.”

  “What’s going on?” Someone else called off camera. The phone suddenly dropped back down to show the couple, who’d just realized they’d been caught. More women’s voices rose, and I heard a feminine laugh of pure delight. The red-veiled woman stumbled into the frame, clapping her hands in approval. “Go, Tinker—you kick ass! Wooohoooo!”

  “Get out!” Tinker yelled, eyes wild and frantic. The man rose upward, wrapping his arms around her body protectively before turning to glare at the women who’d invaded the room.

  “Don’t worry about it,” the red-veiled woman said, flapping her hand at the two of them. “Carry on. I’m just gonna grab some of this . . .” She stopped next to the bed, kneeling down to dig through a brown cardboard box.

  “Heather Brinks, I will kill you!” Carrie said, her voice full of feral rage. I caught a glimpse of her face as the phone jerked again, this time flying across the room. Miraculously it landed sideways on a chair, still filming. This gave me an excellent view of Tinker’s ass, which was just as ripe and juicy looking as I’d imagined. Her hair was wild and tangled, flowing down her back. Would’ve been perfect if there weren’t another man between her legs.

  He rolled her over, grabbing the corner of the bedspread and dragging it up and across her body. Then he was on his feet, facing down the gaggle of women staring in from the doorway.

  “Get the fuck out of here!” he shouted, and I heard a muffled thump near the phone. A hand reached up, flashing across the screen and then another caught it, jerking it back down.

  “Bitch!” Carrie hissed, and there were more thumps. Wow. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like she and Heather were in one hell of a wrestling match. The stripper grabbed the woman with the red veil by one arm, pulling her toward the door.

  “Jesus, look at that ass on him,” Talia whispered in my ear, her voice admiring. “She’s a cow, but he’s incredible.”

  “I’ve already seen more of him than I ever wanted,” I replied. Didn’t like him. Didn’t like him at all. Tinker had every right to fuck the guy—I couldn’t argue with that—but I wasn’t a fan. What I really wanted more of was Tinker. And yeah, that probably made me a piece of shit human being, but I’d come to Hallies Falls specifically to fuck my way into a motorcycle club and spy on them. When I’d first gotten here, I’d even helped my club brother, Painter, kill a guy, so it wasn’t like I’d started on the side of all things good and true.

  “What the hell is going on?” a new woman demanded, pushing her way through the crowd at the door. She was tall, probably mid-thirties and sort of frumpy looking. Big, teased up hair with the claw on the front, straight out of a Whitesnake video. I flinched, my dick softening.

  “That’s Maisy Braeburn,” Talia said, her voice deeply satisfied. “This is the good part.”

  “Jamie?” Maisy asked suddenly. The stripper’s body flinched, but he held his ground. Maisy puffed up visibly with anger, looking exactly like a Thanksgiving turkey as she stalked toward him. A hand grabbed the phone and it went down, going dark, but you could still hear the audio. Must’ve fallen on the floor. “Jamie Braeburn, you’re going to burn in hell for this!”

  Someone started laughing, and then more laughter.

  “Get the fuck out, Maisy,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with—”

  The recording ended, but the laughter kept going. Talia was giggling against me, rubbing up and down my chest with one hand, reaching for my cock with the other.

  “Told you it was funny,” she said in my ear before slithering on top of me. Then she gave a little shimmy, and my confused dick hardened right back up again.

  Stupid fucking slut of a cock—according to it, a wet hole was a wet hole.

  “I’m gonna think of Jamie’s ass while I fuck you,” she whispered, nipping at my neck.

  “Fuck off,” I said, pushing her away. She could picture me as Santa Claus if that’s what turned her on, but I needed to maintain some kind of control. Talia rolled to the side, pouting.

  “Hey, you’re the one who said we weren’t in a real relationship,” she told me. “So what if I get off on his ass? Either you care or you don’t.”

  Time to lay out the rules, I decided. Otherwise this could get out of control fast.

  Who are you kidding? It’s been out of control since the beginning, asshole.

  “You wanna fuck me, then get your clothes off,” I said harshly. Reaching down, I grabbed my dick through my jeans, giving it a tug while I stared her down. Talia’s eyes flashed with heat. “But if you wanna fuck him, get out.”

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice quiet and weak, like a little girl’s. She did that sometimes. Creeped me right the hell out. My dick softened and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snarling. Thankfully, it manned back up when she reached down, pushing my hand out of the way and taking over.

  “Is this for me or for her?” Talia asked, that little hint of insecurity back in her eyes, and I knew I had her. For whatever reason, she cared about this relationship in some way. I’d just won a twisted, manipulative fuckbuddy lottery. Maybe I wouldn’t be stuck playing club gigolo as long as I’d thought. Good thing, too—nobody stupider than an unpaid whore, and I’d definitely fallen into that category by now. Probably shot out IQ points every time I came inside her.

  “Cooper?” Talia asked, using that same little voice as she unbuttoned my pants.

  “All yours, baby,” I told her, wishing it weren’t true. Then I closed my eyes as her fingers gripped me tight.

  Suck it up, dickwad. The faster you work your way into the Nighthawks, the faster you can end this. Your brothers are counting on you.

  Fuckers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MONDAY MORNING

  TINKER

  “Well, I’d say I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life, but that’s a big fat lie. Why do I do stupid shit around men?” I moaned to Carrie, the phone clutched between my ear and shoulder. Where the hell were my keys? I dug through the purse, searching for them. Then my fingers found a rough metal edge. Thank God. A second later I had the shop door unlocked and open.

  “We all do stupid shit, but this is a whole new level,” Carrie replied, blunt as ever. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  I stepped into the shop, turning the “Closed” sign around automatically.

  “My brain shorted out, obviously,” I replied. “I know everyone in Hallies Falls already thinks I’m a whore, but until today I’ve never felt like they were right.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Carrie said. “Cooper and Talia aren’t even exclusive. Darren and I went to Jack’s Roadhouse on Friday night and she was there making out with some other guy. The situation is trashy, but it’s not like you broke up a marriage or something.”

  Trashy. Not a word I liked to associate with myself, but it fit the situation just fine.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I said, sighing. “And much as I’m enjoying my pity party, I need to pull my shit together and move on. I’ve got about a million chocolates to package for the courier and Randi just called to say she needs the morning off, so I’m on my own. Guess she had to take one of her little sisters to the doctor or something.”

  Carrie snorted.

  “That girl needs to get the hell out of here. Her mom’s just using her for cheap childcare. She had a scholarship to Central, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s her choice.”

  Carrie humphed, obviously itching to say more. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “Want me to stop by at lunchtime? I feel like we haven’t thoroughly discussed the Cooper situa
tion—we need a full postmortem, don’t you think?”

  “No, not even a little bit.”

  “Great. I’ll be there at noon. You want your usual sandwich?”

  “Can you get a salad instead?” I asked, giving in to the inevitable. “I’m feeling a little pudgy next to Talia the Twig. Not that it matters, but . . . it matters.”

  “You’re not fat, dork. You’re lush. You have a great figure—even Darren notices it.”

  I shuddered.

  “That’s gross. He’s like my brother.”

  “No shit. Apparently he saw you bending over to grab something at the grocery store a while back and totally checked you out—it’s that ass of yours. Guys love it. Anyway, he was perving on you and then you stood up and he realized who it was. Poor baby called me from the parking lot, freaking out. Wouldn’t fuck me for two days, just kept muttering about being ‘unclean.’”

  I laughed, setting my bag down on the counter. Talking to Carrie always made me feel better.

  “I think I remember that, actually. Couple months ago. I tried to wave him down but he jetted right past me, wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I guess now we know why. You do realize I’ll never let him live this down, right?”

  “Definitely,” she said, sighing happily. “That’s why I told you. He’s been uppity lately, could use a little harassment. Will you be all right packaging the candy for the courier?”

  “Yeah, bigger shipment than usual,” I told her. “There’s some sort of client-appreciation thing happening at that law firm. They ordered a ton of individual gift boxes. Don’t know the full details, don’t care. Just know that they pay cash up front.”

  “Well that’s good, I guess,” she said. “They trying to suck up to Brandon? I’ll bet he hasn’t told people about the divorce. He wants you back—you’d be good for his campaign.”

  “Ha!” I said, giggling. “He’d change his mind if he knew about that sex tape . . . Speaking of, I told Cooper about it.”

  “What?” she asked, obviously stunned.

  “I told Cooper,” I repeated. “He’s a good listener and it just sort of slipped out. He’d probably hear about it sooner or later anyway. Get this—he seemed to think it was kind of funny.”

  “Well it is kind of funny,” she admitted. “I mean, if it wasn’t such a time bomb hanging over you, I’d be giving you shit over it every day. I just hope it never goes viral. You don’t need that kind of headache.”

  I walked into the kitchen, setting my purse on one of the counters.

  “You know, it was kind of liberating to tell him about it,” I admitted. “It sucked, but it’s not like it ended my life. It was kind of nice, not feeling like I had something to hide.”

  “Tinker, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “You had sex with a consenting adult in your own hotel room. The asshole in this situation is Heather Brinks, may she rot in hell. Or maybe the bathroom in Walmart. That’d be a good punishment, too.”

  “You’re right, although it doesn’t always feel that way,” I said, sighing. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again. Like me, instead of being sad . . .”

  “Wish I had an answer,” Carrie replied, her voice serious. “Some day there will be a new normal.”

  “There has to be,” I replied, then gave myself a mental shake. “Hey, I need to get going—I have those special orders to fill.”

  “You sure it won’t backfire on you, letting the lawyer dudes assume you and Brandon are together?”

  “Well, we’re still legally married and own a house and stuff,” I said reasonably. “He’s the one doing all the arguing and stalling. If he’s going to play bullshit games, then why shouldn’t I take advantage for the sake of my business?”

  “Now, that’s what I like to hear,” Carrie said, sounding pleased. “Work it. I’ll see you in a couple hours. Love and kisses.”

  “Love and kisses.”

  • • •

  Two hours later, I’d packaged up almost half of the pumpkin caramels for my weekly delivery. Randi wasn’t back from her appointment yet, which wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t the end of the world. I could package and watch the store at the same time. Wasn’t like a ton of people came in here anyway, and anyone showing up on a Monday would be local. I really should just shut the place down . . . By eleven I’d entered the zone and almost missed the bell jingling out front when someone came in.

  “I’m in the back—be out in a minute!” I shouted, kneeling down to grab a fresh stack of cardboard boxes out of the cabinet under the far counter. Footsteps echoed across the scratched wood of the floor, then I felt someone’s presence behind me in the small kitchen. I stood up, smile firmly in place, then froze.

  Oh fuck.

  Talia Jackson stood staring through the doorway.

  Guilt and shame coursed through me, my cheeks heating.

  Say something! my conscience hissed. But what? Sorry I made out with your boyfriend last night, but he kissed me first so maybe you should take it up with him? Yeah, that’d go over just great.

  Cooper’s girlfriend gave me a super-creepy smile, hands tucked behind her back as she cocked her head almost flirtatiously.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of chocolate,” she said, nodding toward the stack of trays on my work counter. Each metal tray held close to a hundred candies, and there were six of them. I nodded carefully, senses on full alert. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Packaging them up for sale,” I said, wondering what her game was. “My courier will be here later this afternoon—he drives them to Seattle and delivers them to all my customers.”

  “And you make all of those by yourself?” she asked, moving toward me. Her eyes hardened. “Lot of work. Be a shame if something happened to them.”

  Oh shit.

  She stepped forward, face darkening. I backed away, bumping into the stainless steel sink. Talia took another step, stopping right next to the tower of trays. Then she very slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back and raised a long, sharp knife, pointing it at me accusingly. It was one of those big survival knives, the kind that’s practically a machete.

  “You and I need to talk,” she said sweetly.

  My heart started hammering, eyes darting, trying to find some way to defend myself. This girl was certifiably insane or close enough that it didn’t matter. My hand bumped into an unwashed metal cooking sheet in the sink. If she lunged for me, maybe I could use it as a shield, because apparently my life was turning into a Quentin Tarantino movie. The setting was certainly right—it was just the two of us back here, and I knew for a fact these old brick walls were thick.

  Nobody will hear you scream.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I asked, trying to sound calm, although I heard the quaver in my voice.

  “You want to fuck my man,” Talia said, wagging the knife like I was a naughty child. “I’ve seen how you watch him. I didn’t really care at first—you’re nothing but a dried-up old hag and he’s not interested, so why bother? But you stepped over a line last night and now you’re going to pay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, swallowing. There was something about her eyes—they were intense. Too intense and bright. Not only that, her pupils were really tight. God, was she on drugs?

  “Oh, you’ll be sorry,” she said, casually poking one of the chocolates with her knife. I fumbled for the dirty tray behind me, wrapping my hand around the edge. If she attacked, I’d have one chance to defend myself—I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

  “These are very pretty,” she continued, nodding toward the chocolates. “And I’m sure they’re good. Otherwise your ass wouldn’t be so fat. No wonder you don’t have a man.”

  She raised the knife again, then lunged at me. I whipped the cooking tray up in front of my body, banging the hell out of my hand in the process. This was a good thing—the pain sharpened my focus. The knife didn’t hit it, though, because she’d faked me out. Talia laughed, raising a brow.

 
; “You think that’s gonna stop me? Now listen up, cunt, because I have a few rules for you. First thing—you’re never stepping into his apartment again,” she said. I felt a rush of relief, because this meant she wasn’t planning to kill me, at least not yet. “I know he does work for you around the building. From now on, your only communication with him happens in the form of Post-it notes and text messages, got me? We’re gonna give it a week or two, and then you’re going to fire him and kick his ass out. Better think of some excuse, because if you tell him about me, I’ll come back here and slit your fucking throat. That’s a promise. Then I’ll call my brother and he’ll make your body disappear somewhere that they’ll never find it. This is your only warning. Got it, bitch?”

  I nodded my head quickly.

  “I’m leaving now,” she said. “But remember—talk to him and I’ll slice you. Go into his apartment and I’ll slice you. In fact, you so much as fucking blink in his direction, I’ll cut out your heart and eat it.”

  She gave me one last sweet smile, then slowly and deliberately pushed the stacks of trays over. My breath caught as a week’s worth of work—nearly six hundred handmade chocolates—crashed, scattering across the floor. Then Talia turned and walked back out through the store, the bells on the door chiming with a friendly jingle. I stood there, stunned, nausea roiling up from my stomach in silence.

  Holy shit. Things like this didn’t happen to real people—not in my world.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I held myself tight, sliding down onto the floor as my entire body started to shake. Why hadn’t I done something to defend myself? I wasn’t a weak person. I’d started hunting with my dad when I was six, took down my first buck when I was ten. I’d used a knife just like hers to dress it out. I should’ve seen it coming, protected myself.

  But this was supposed to be my safe place.

  Mom’s shop was where I’d come after school for hugs and fresh cookies. She’d give me peppermint tea while I did my homework at one of the tables, until Dad came by to pick us up and take us home. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen here.