Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  “No,” Pic said firmly. “They’ll still be under our protection—they’ve earned that right. But we both know they’ll be stronger if they carry the Reaper name. You’d all be probationary members until you prove yourselves, though.”

  “Of course,” Cord said, his voice bitter.

  “It is what is it, brother,” Hunter said.

  “You aren’t my brother.”

  “All the Reapers are my brothers,” Hunter said, glancing toward Picnic. “Even my asshole father-in-law. You join the Reapers, you’re getting protection from the Devil’s Jacks, too. Something to remember.”

  With that, we walked back out into the main room, leaving the remaining Nighthawks to discuss their situation.

  “That went well,” Ruger said quietly.

  “You think?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Nobody tried to shoot anyone. That’s generally a good sign.”

  “Yeah, I guess if your measure of success is nobody getting shot, we pulled it off.”

  “Bro, not gettin’ shot is one of my top priorities,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “Right up there with not gettin’ stabbed. It’s a continuum.”

  Pic pulled out his phone, and I figured he’d be calling Shade to give him an update. I decided to step outside, see if the prospects were still there. To my surprise, they were. Cody was polishing Horse’s bike while the big biker stood over him, glaring.

  “Piece of shit didn’t even volunteer,” he said, nodding toward the kid. “I had to remind him.”

  Hell, I was just impressed he hadn’t run off.

  “They’re ready for us,” Taz said, sticking his head back out the door. I walked back into the chapel to find Cord and his brothers waiting, their faces serious. Pic nodded toward him respectfully.

  “You make your decision?”

  “Looks like we’re gonna patch over,” Cord said. “I won’t lie—this feels weird.”

  “Guess the important question is whether it feels wrong,” Pic said quietly. Cord shook his head.

  “What happened here—it’s nothing to be proud of. A fresh start is for the best.”

  “Will the brothers in prison be on board?” I asked.

  Cord nodded.

  “Nobody has been happy with the way things went,” he admitted. “Pipes started talking to Painter for a reason. He was scared. We all knew if the Reapers turned on us, the boys inside would die. We can’t survive without you.”

  “Goes both ways,” Picnic said. “Painter will be losing his parole. He’ll need Pipes at his back, because our coverage down there is minimal at best.”

  Cord nodded, then look around. “So how is this gonna work?”

  “Gage will go nomad,” Picnic said. “For now he’ll be acting as your president. The situation still needs to be formalized by the rest of the Reapers before you get your colors, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. We haven’t forgotten who you were before Marsh took over.”

  “My brother Taz will stay here with Gage,” Hunter chimed in, nodding toward the big man standing next to him. “Officially, he’ll be nomad, too. Unofficially, he’ll serve as sergeant at arms. He’s got one job—make sure Gage stays safe. Gage gets hurt, things will escalate in an unpleasant way.”

  “Happy to be here,” Taz said, grinning and cracking his knuckles. “You guys like beer? I could use a beer.”

  “We might be able to help you out with that,” Tamarack said, a smile cracking his face. “But I’m sorry to say there’s a serious shortage of pussy. Marsh’s crazy sister ran off all the good ones. We’ll have to work on rebuilding our stock.”

  “Anyone seen Talia?” I asked, thinking of Tinker.

  “Bitch knew better than to come here without her brother,” Cord said. “If she’s smart, she already left town.”

  “Let me know if you find her,” I said. “Oh, and for the record? Tinker Garrett’s under my protection, which means she’s under your protection.”

  That startled them.

  “Seriously?” Cord asked. “Woman’s gorgeous, but I hear she likes ’em younger. There’s this video—”

  I held up a hand.

  “Yeah, from now on, nobody talks about the video,” I said. “Or Tinker. I hear anything disrespectful, I’ll take it very personally. We clear?”

  Tamarack nodded.

  “She’s a solid,” he said. “Knew her in school. You could do a lot worse.”

  “Beer,” Picnic said. “We need beer. The rest of this is details.”

  “What about the prospects?” Cord asked. “Are they Reapers prospects now?”

  Pic and I looked at each other.

  “Let’s give that some thought,” I said. “I gotta admit, they’re not promising. But they’re also both still outside. Neither of them made a run for it.”

  “We’ll deal with them later,” Pic said. “It’s a lot to run by national. For now we’ll consider them extended hangarounds. We can’t figure out all this shit in one night. Usually I’d say it’s time for a party, but—”

  “There may not be many of us, but we’re prepared to show hospitality,” Cord said, breaking in. “The old ladies had some contingency plans, just in case this didn’t end up in hellfire and death.”

  Pic laughed.

  “Might want to call them, then,” he said. “Let ’em know you’re still alive.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MONDAY AFTERNOON

  TINKER

  I’d heard Cooper—no, Gage—pull up to the house around three in the morning. Several bikes, actually, and a whole group of men who clomped up the stairs to his place. Not that they went out of their way to be noisy, but leather boots make a lot of noise in an old building.

  When I’d left that morning, I managed not to ram my Mustang into his bike on the way to work—mostly because I love my Mustang and didn’t want to scratch her up. When I took Dad to see the doctor Seattle and with my attorney, I’d need to look into evicting his ass, I decided. Carrie had been right about that. It was one thing to give him the benefit of the doubt when all I had was gossip. Once a man tells you himself that he’s been lying all along, it’s a lot harder to feel guilty about tossing him out.

  Now it was four in the afternoon, and I’d finished work early so I could pick up the food for dinner with Carrie and Darren. Make that Carrie, Darren, and Joel, because apparently Carrie had texted him earlier that day, inviting him to come along just for fun. I think her logic went something like this:

  Gage was bad.

  Joel wasn’t Gage.

  Therefore, Joel must be good.

  Pushy as hell, all things considered. I’d always hated that about Carrie. Hated it and loved it at the same time, because no matter how weird things might get, I knew I could count on her pushing me to do the right thing. Tonight, though . . . she’d played me to perfection. From the time I was a kid, we’d always had room for an extra chair around the table. My mother would cut off her own hand before turning down an extra guest, and Carrie knew damned well I’d nod and smile when Joel showed up rather than seem inhospitable.

  Looked like I’d be having a date tonight whether I wanted it or not, and because life wasn’t quite annoying enough, I’d gotten the cart with the wobbly wheel. It also made a horrible squealing noise whenever you turned it, a noise that echoed off the ancient, cracked floor tiles in Gunther’s Good Groceries.

  It’d needed a remodel back when I was in high school, a remodel it’d never gotten. No wonder people preferred shopping out of town. Unfortunately, I was in a pinch because Dad had taken the steaks I’d set out for dinner and given them to one of the Baxter kids for a game they were playing (don’t ask). Now I had company—including a “date” for me—coming over in less than an hour, I needed a shower, and perhaps worst of all, Gunther’s was out of decent wine.

  Now I was running around the grocery store, trying to find some steaks that would work, something to drink, and some veggies that didn’t look like they’d sat on a truck for a week before
delivery.

  Not the easiest of tasks.

  That’s probably why I wasn’t paying very close attention as I rounded the corner behind the freezer aisle, running my cart smack into Gage himself. Specifically, the corner of the cart caught him in the crotch, and he doubled over with an agonized groan, catching my arm to keep himself upright.

  I’d love to say I didn’t enjoy the moment, but that would be a lie.

  He deserved it. He deserved it so much.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I said, smirking. His face had flushed dark red and he took a couple deep breaths, then slowly raised his head and met my eyes.

  “Great to see you again, too, Tinker.”

  A vein fluttered in his forehead, and I realized I really had hurt him. Badly. Good. Except now I felt sort of guilty. Probably my mom’s fault, I decided. She’d taught me to be a moral person. Bitch.

  “Okay, I really am sorry,” I said, frowning. “I was in a hurry and I was going too fast.”

  “Picked up on that,” he said, and what I think was supposed to be a smile twisted his face. More of a grimace really.

  Ouch.

  “Are you okay?”

  He stared at me, then shook his head.

  “No, feels like my balls are gonna explode, and not in the good way,” he said. “I’ll go out on a limb here and suggest you’re still pissed at me?”

  “That would be a fair assessment,” I admitted.

  There was a definite hint of humor in his face now—still mixed with pain—and I suddenly realized his hand was on my arm. Too close. I could smell his special scent, and that was never a good thing. First came the scent, then came the tinglies, followed quickly by me doing something stupid.

  Shit.

  I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. He was strong. I’d forgotten just how strong he really was.

  “Um, do you mind letting me go?” I asked.

  “Are you gonna ram my crotch again?”

  “No,” I managed to say, feeling my cheeks flush. “I mean, you deserved it, but I’m also sorry. It genuinely was an accident.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he replied, and this time his smile seemed less forced. “But I promise if you stop beating me, I’ll take care of Mrs. Webbly’s broken toilet.”

  “She has a broken toilet?” I asked, confused.

  “Apparently. She left me four messages about it. Said she talked to your dad but he forgot to mention it. Did you ever set up a doctor’s appointment for him?”

  “I’m taking him to see the specialist this week.”

  “Tinker?” a young man asked. A young man with a very familiar voice. Looking up, I saw Jamie Braeburn smiling at me.

  That would be Jamie Braeburn, the kid I used to babysit.

  My sex tape costar.

  Just thinking about it made me feel like a pedophile.

  “Jamie,” I managed to say, the words squeaking out. I glanced between him and Gage, flushing bright red. Gage’s face was carefully blank, and I couldn’t tell if that was because he knew who Jamie was or because he had no clue. To the best of my knowledge, the video had never spread beyond the locals, but once something like that exists you never know who might’ve seen it.

  “How are you doing?” Jamie asked, still smiling broadly. I hadn’t seen him since our . . . adventure. He looked good. Tall and buff, his skin carefully tanned and his hair perfectly styled just like someone in a motherfucking boy band.

  I’m going to burn in hell for what I did.

  “Hey, Jamie, I’m Gage,” my handyman said, offering his hand for a shake. Jamie took it, glancing between us. His eyes widened, and I realized he’d gotten the wrong idea.

  “Gage is my—” I started to clarify, but then a loud voice cut me off. A familiar, hateful voice.

  “Get the hell away from my boy,” snarled Flora Braeburn. “Haven’t you done enough damage already? Slut!”

  Jamie and Gage stiffened as I slowly swiveled to find Jamie’s mother bearing down on us in all of her angry, beehived fury. She was still wearing her pink waitress uniform, face pale beneath her bright red lipstick and the blue eye shadow she put on with a trowel every morning.

  “Mom, back off,” Jamie said, startling me with how firm his voice was. That was a man’s voice, and not a happy one.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “Go out to the car and wait for me while I set this hussy straight.”

  “Sounds like you don’t have anything to say that Tinker needs to hear,” Gage said firmly. He stepped up behind me, which I have to admit gave me a little thrill. Or it would’ve if I weren’t in the middle of being called a slut by a clown woman in the middle of a grocery store.

  “You’re just another of her gigolos, aren’t you?” Flora hissed. “She uses men and throws them away like tissues. Did you hear what she did to my little boy? Because—”

  Jamie stepped between us protectively, facing her down.

  Damn.

  “I’ll leave town this afternoon if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Jamie said, his voice firm, but I could the restrained anger. “What happened is none of your damned business and I’ve had about enough.”

  Then he turned his back on her, facing me as he raised a hand to touch my cheek gently.

  “You doing okay?” he asked, eyes full of genuine concern.

  “She’s fine,” Gage said, wrapping his arm around my waist. He pulled me back into his body hard, the gesture sending a very clear message. Something along the lines of him Tarzan, me Jane. Jamie crossed his arms, meeting Gage’s gaze.

  “Wasn’t talking to you,” he said.

  “Slut!” Flora hissed in the background.

  And that was just about enough.

  “I’m in a hurry,” I announced, reaching down to grab Gage’s arm and tug it loose. He didn’t budge. Seriously? “Let me go, Gage.”

  “Take your mother and get her out of this store,” Gage said to Jamie, ignoring me. God, he sounded just like Brandon. Giving orders like he had the right. He didn’t. Nobody did.

  “No,” I snapped, digging my nails into his wrist. “I can talk for myself, asshole.”

  “We’ll leave just as soon as you let her go,” Jamie said, looking so tough and mature that I was starting to remember why I’d gone into that back bedroom with him.

  Because you lost your fucking mind, my common sense reminded me firmly.

  “This isn’t happening,” I announced. “Gage, remove your arm or I swear to God, I’ll evict your ass tonight.”

  “That’s illegal,” he said, but when I dug my fingernails into his skin, he let me go. I reached for my cart, grabbing the handle to push it toward the front of the store, because fuck drama. That’s when Flora started shouting.

  “You’re a whore, Tinker Garrett! Your mother was a whore, too, and you’re the kind of trash this town doesn’t need. Go back to Seattle.”

  I stopped the cart.

  Be smart, my common sense said. She’s just a crazy old witch who isn’t happy unless she’s hurting someone.

  Fuck off, I told my common sense, embracing the rage.

  “Flora Braeburn, you’re the biggest hypocrite that ever lived,” I said, my voice strangely calm. “You’ve had how many husbands?”

  “Six,” Jamie said helpfully. “Dad was number five. Number six left three years ago—she hasn’t been able to find a new one since then.”

  Flora gasped.

  “You spend all day at that diner collecting nasty gossip,” I continued. “Well, here’s something you should know. Your son is a consenting adult. I’m a consenting adult. The only thing we did wrong was sleep together where your intrusive bitch of a niece and her friend decided to spy on us. What kind of family does that to one of their own, I’m not sure, but if you want to be pissed at someone, take it up with Maisy, not me.”

  “You weren’t sleeping,” Flora snarled. “Whore.”

  “You’re right,” I said, my voice rising as I threw my hands up in the air in the center o
f the grocery store. “We were fucking. Your unattached, adult son fucked an unattached, adult woman in a town far away from here at a party that had nothing to do with you. So far as I know that’s still legal in the United States, so maybe you should just shut the hell up before you ruin whatever relationship you happen to have with Jamie, because something tells me he doesn’t enjoy having his private business turned into entertainment for all of Gunther’s Groceries any more than I do!”

  With that I turned again, grabbing my cart and stalking down the aisle toward the checkout counter. Daisy Wasserman—yet another woman I’d gone to school with, because, God knows, you wouldn’t want to have any fucking privacy—scurried behind the counter as she saw me coming. She’d obviously been taking in the show. In fact, I was pretty sure half the town was currently staring at me, waiting to be sure their afternoon entertainment was well and truly over before they scuttled off like a passel of rats to share the news with the other half.

  They could all kiss my ass.

  Just go home to Seattle. No sane person would put themselves through this.

  Daisy started scanning my items, glancing toward the still-sputtering Flora and then back at me. She’d been a couple years behind me in school, and while we’d never been friends, she’d never been a bitch, either. I wondered if she’d seen my sex tape.

  Of course she had.

  Everyone had. Talia and Gage probably watched it at night together to laugh at me.

  Daisy scanned the last item, pausing before she totaled out the purchase.

  “You know,” she said carefully. “That may have been the best thing that’s ever happened in this store. Flora Braeburn is like a nasty abscess infecting Hallies Falls, and Jamie seems like a decent guy. Do you have any coupons?”

  I blinked, startled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have any coupons?” she asked again, offering me a sweet smile.

  “No,” I replied. “But the other thing . . . ?”

  “Flora is a big zit that won’t pop. Word of this has probably spread halfway to Omak by now, and I suspect the next time you stop by the bar, everyone and their dog will be lining up to buy you a drink. Not that I’ve ever seen you there, but if I did I’d love to sit and visit for a while. Now, I have this five-dollar-off coupon, and with our double coupon code that makes it ten. That brings your total down to forty-three dollars and sixteen cents.”