Reapers and Bastards: A Reapers MC Anthology

by Joanna Wylde

  Overhead lights flashed and outside the fence people shouted. I hardly even noticed, because Boonie pulled out and grabbed his cock, lining it up with my entrance.

  Then he pushed inside.

  Looking back, it’s hard to keep all of it straight. I know the chaos around us seemed to be moving away, but I could still hear the police radio on the other side of the fence. Boonie’s strokes were steady and smooth, not to mention so achingly slow that they were torture. I pushed my hands down into his jeans and cupped his ass, urging him to go faster. He ignored me, maintaining his pace as more people ran by. The chemistry between us had always been insane, but this time it was explosive and by the time I came, he had to cover my mouth with his hand to keep me silent. At the last minute he pulled out, blowing his wad on my stomach as the fireworks were still exploding in my head.

  Then he shifted, rolling us to our sides and tugging me onto his body, rubbing one hand through my hair as the noises around us faded. It was just me and him, joined in our own private world.

  You’d think the adrenaline would’ve kept me up all night, but apparently it wasn’t enough to overpower the sex and the booze. At some point I drifted off, despite the lights and the noise.

  Boonie woke me with a kiss, raising one knee up between my legs as I squirmed against him restlessly.

  Then a branch poked my ass and I remembered where we were.

  “What the hell was that all about?” I asked, my voice a soft whisper.

  “I think it was a riot. Although I still can’t quite figure out how it started. Never heard of one around here before.”

  I shivered, and he tightened his arms around me, rubbing up and down my back.

  “That’s pretty fucked up.”

  “No shit,” he said, then distracted me with another kiss. I pushed back against his leg, realizing my skirt was still up around my waist.

  Slutty, much?

  “Um . . . I’m not sure—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

  “Don’t think about it too much. Not gonna end well for either of us. Just consider this—every time we’ve gotten together, some big disaster hits. This time it missed us. Maybe that means we’re home free.”

  I frowned at him, flinching as pain shot through my skull.

  “Hangover?” he asked. I nodded. “You need some coffee and some food.”

  “And a shower.”

  “Great,” he said. “We’ve got all of that at my friend’s place. It’s not far—will take us about ten minutes to walk there.”

  There are walks of shame, and Walks of Shame. I think when you come dragging in after a riot, covered in dirt, leaves, and dried come, you qualify for capital letters by default. We saw a few police cars along the way, but things seemed to be settling down. Early light traced the sky. If I hadn’t known better, I’d never have guessed there’d been people fighting in the streets just hours before.

  His friend’s place was just an apartment over a garage. When we walked in, the first thing I saw was Kelly asleep on the couch. Well, she was on top of a man on the couch—the same man who’d helped rescue us from the crowd.

  He opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again. More people slept in the bedroom, but at least the bathroom was empty. I followed Boonie through the wooden door, then frowned when he reached for his leather cut.

  “Maybe we should shower separately?”

  He shook his head.

  “No way. Took me long enough to pin you down. I let you out of my sight you might go marry someone else.”

  I think he meant it as a joke, but I frowned.

  “Boonie, I was serious when I said I wasn’t ready for a relationship. The divorce isn’t even final yet—I can’t handle anything new.”

  He pulled off his leather, hanging it carefully on a hook. Then he reached for the edges of his shirt.

  “I get that,” he said, tugging it over his head. The sight of his bare chest caught me. Damn, this man was beautiful . . . “But what we have between us isn’t new, Darce. It’s always been here. I had to walk away twice. I won’t do it again.”

  He was right. There really had always been something between us, and not just when it came to sex. As children he’d always protected me . . . well, protected me from everyone but himself. He’d fought Farell for me, and even when he’d stopped returning my letters, he’d thought he was doing it for my benefit.

  This wasn’t new at all.

  “I’m not willing to give up what I have,” I insisted, refusing to roll over. I’d had my fill of that with Farell. “My whole life I’ve had to live for other people. This is my time. I’m not willing to let that go, not even for you.”

  “Does having ‘your time’ involve you fucking guys who aren’t me?”

  I rubbed my stomach, a thrill running through me at the memory or him, deep inside. Could I imagine doing that with someone else?

  Not really.

  “No, but it doesn’t involve me moving back to Callup and giving up my career, either. I want to own my own spa some day—one of those places where people come to get their hair done, along with manicures and massages and all that.”

  “Sounds great, so long as I don’t have to get my nails painted,” he said, shrugging. “But I definitely want more of those massages. Wouldn’t mind a happy ending, either.”

  “Not funny,” I snapped. “I’m a therapist, Boonie. I help people who are in pain. You should respect that.”

  The smiled dropped from his face and he caught my hands, pulling me close.

  “It was just a joke, Darce,” he said. “I don’t need you giving up on your dreams. Hell, I’ve got my own life. The last thing I want is you all whiny and dependent. My mom was like that. Sucked. I just want to know that at the end of the day you’ll be in my bed.”

  I leaned into him, laying my head on his chest.

  “I could probably make that work. But no more riots, okay? My ass is covered in scratches. Let’s keep it boring from now on.”

  “Boring. I can work with that.”

  A sudden knocking pounded the door.

  “Boonie, get out here!’’ his friend shouted. “You won’t believe what just happened.”

  Boonie pulled away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “I think we’re going to have to be bored later,” he muttered. I sighed, realizing I should probably get used to it.

  “We really are cursed.”

  Boonie shook his head, then gave my nose a quick kiss.

  “We’re just normality-challenged. It’ll be okay.”

  Wrapping my arms around him, I gave a squeeze then let him go. Guess I should get used to it—boring was probably overrated anyway, right?

  _______

  Historical note: The events in this story are based loosely on real events that took place at different times in the Silver Valley and Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

  The “riot” in downtown Coeur d’Alene took place in June 1999, during the annual Car d’Alene classic car show. It began outside the Ironhorse Saloon when police stopped a biker and were booed by the crowd. Things grew out of control when more officers arrived in riot gear. While the exact timeline of events is controversial, many witnesses (including my own friends who were present) stated that the police attacked them violently. Fourteen people were arrested and it led to a challenge in the Idaho State Supreme Court over whether police officers are immune from prosecution.

  The Sunshine Mine Fire is one of the darkest chapters in Silver Valley history. On May 9, 1972, the second deadliest hard-rock mining disaster in U.S. history killed ninety-one men deep underground, many of whom were overcome so quickly they were found still sitting in front of their open lunch boxes. Escape efforts were hampered by out-of-date rescue equipment and leadership issues. Eight days later, two survivors were found 4,800 feet under the surface. No other men would come out alive. The oldest victim was sixty-one years old and the youngest was nineteen. They left behind seventy-seven widows and more than two hundre
d children, three of whom were still unborn. If you’re interested in learning more, I highly recommend The Deep Dark by Gregg Olsen.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many of my books feature characters cooking, which leads to readers requesting copies of my recipes. Huckleberries grow wild in the Silver Valley and are a big part of the culture. They’re hard to find and take forever to pick, so a huckleberry pie is considered a rare and special treat. This recipe is from my book Silver Bastard. FYI—I’m not always exact with my measurements when I cook, so consider yourself warned.

  Becca’s Huckleberry Pie Recipe

  Ingredients

  1 double pie crust (either made at home or purchased at the store) 3-4 cups huckleberries (or a mix of huckleberries and blueberries if you’re a little short)

  4 tablespoons of instant tapioca

  ½ to ¾ cup sugar (approximate—don’t be afraid to increase or decrease based on your personal preferences as you mix the filling) 2-3 tablespoons fresh orange juice 1 egg white

  1 tablespoon cold water

  Vanilla ice cream

  Instructions

  Pre-heat oven to 400 F.

  Put ¾ cup huckleberries, sugar and orange juice in a sauce pan. Heat until the sugar melts and the berries start to burst, creating a sauce. While this cools slightly, combine remaining berries in a bowl with instant tapioca and mix gently with a spoon. Slowly fold in the warm berry mix.

  Pour berry mixture into crust, then cover with second layer of crust. Crimp edges and cut several holes or slices in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape. Mix egg white with cold water and brush across the top of the crust. Place pie on sheet and bake for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake until crust is golden brown (approx. 50 minutes, give or take).

  Allow pie enough cooling time to set up, then serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is one of the first scenes from Reaper’s Property, told from an alternative point of view. It is appropriate for readers who haven’t already read the book, and was originally published on my website.

  Sticky Sweet

  HORSE

  “I’m so sick of this shit.”

  I pulled the nozzle out of my bike’s gas tank and wiped off my forehead, rubbing my hand dry against my faded jeans. My black leather vest concentrated the heat on my back, and the thought of cramming my head back into my oven of a helmet pissed me off. It’d been a long, hot ride, and the weather in this shithole of a town wasn’t helping my mood. “Fuckin’ excuses, every time I talk to him.”

  “Yeah,” Picnic said, glancing toward the convenience store behind the pumps. Max was inside grabbing something to drink. “I hear you. You think Jensen will admit he fucked up or keep up the lies?”

  I glanced at him and shrugged, sick of the situation. Why had the Reapers gotten into business with Jeff Jensen, anyway? The guy might be a genius when it came to getting money out of the country, but he was still a fuckin’ stoner. Couldn’t trust them for shit.

  No follow-through.

  “He doesn’t have a good reason for this latest mess, then I’m about done with the asshole,” I muttered, running the numbers through my head. Jeff had made our motorcycle club a shitload of money, but the constant babysitting . . . I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore. Should’ve kicked him out on his ass when he first came to us with his little business proposal. “Goddamn, it’s hot out here. Why the fuck would anyone choose to live in eastern Washington, anyway?”

  Picnic raised a brow.

  “I thought he was some kind of idiot savant, a ‘valuable asset’?” he asked lightly. “You told us all about it yesterday. What’s the matter, sun got you all grumpy? You need a cool bath, maybe a Midol to soothe your temper, sweetheart?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my club president, then felt a rueful grin tugging at my lips. Pic was right. Reapers didn’t whine like little bitches—I needed to grab sack and deal.

  “You’re a dick,” I said. Picnic grinned back at me.

  “Ya think?”

  “Hey, you ladies ready?” Max yelled, walking out of the store. He stopped next to the bikes, handing over bottles of cold water. “Or do we need some more time to discuss the issue? Because I’m sick of talking about this guy. We should teach him not to fuck with us, so we don’t have to keep making trips like this.”

  I ignored Max, dropping my head to one side, stretching out my neck. I wondered if we’d made the right call, bringing a third man along. Max had volunteered, but he had a short temper, and Jensen needed careful management. On the other hand, maybe he was right—a good scare might catch the little fucker’s attention, help him focus.

  “Let’s go,” Pic said. I swung a leg over my bike and kicked it to life. Might as well get it over with.

  As we rolled down the long, tree-lined driveway toward Jensen’s little shack, I saw an unfamiliar car parked outside. Not Jeff’s Firebird, but some little plastic hatchback thingie. I glanced over at the trailer, seeing a picnic table in the yard. A chick sat up slowly on top of it.

  A fuckin’ hot chick.

  Trip might not be a total suckfest after all.

  The woman watched as we pulled up with a roar, her eyes wide, long dark hair tangled around her face, and tits all but popping out of the microscopic red bikini top she wore. She was small, smaller than my usual type, but she had all the right curves. Her legs were spread, her cutoffs were short and they gaped enough that I could tell she wore something red underneath. The rest of the bikini? Matching panties? G-string? Now that would be real nice . . .

  My dick sat up and suggested we investigate.

  I’d never been one to ignore my dick.

  Glancing over at Pic, I jerked my head toward the girl, silently claiming her. Pic smirked at me, but he shrugged, agreeing. I didn’t bother looking at Max. Brother might want in on the action, but he was still probationary, so he could wait the fuck in line for the next available bitch.

  Even as a kid, I hadn’t liked sharing my toys.

  We pulled up next to the car and turned off the bikes. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blew out of the hatchback’s windows and I exchanged another quick glance with Picnic, who rolled his eyes. I jerked my chin, a silent fuck you at the older man. Pic wasn’t happy unless he was busting someone’s balls, and I wasn’t in the mood. Although, I had to admit, it was kind of funny. If I didn’t know for a fact Jensen was clueless about our visit, I’d call it a setup. I almost expected a second chick to jump out and start spraying her with a hose, straight out of a goddamn video or something. Best of the ’80s, Trailer Edition Live.

  But the genuine panic on the girl’s face said that if Jeff had left her as some sort of peace offering, he hadn’t bothered giving her a heads-up first.

  I swung a leg over my bike and strolled toward her, eyes trailing across that sweet little body. Yeah, definitely for me—this one was the stuff of wet dreams. Should I fuck her now or after I ripped Jensen a new asshole? I couldn’t decide . . . Maybe both. She might not be tall, but those legs were plenty long enough to wrap around my waist. Babe was seriously fine, and I felt my jeans tighten as I closed in on her. My nose flared, taking in her scent.

  Damn.

  I stopped next to the table, mesmerized and horny as hell. The temperature outside didn’t bother me anymore. Neither did the long ride—not with something like this waiting at the end of it. She took deep breaths, chest rising and falling rapidly, and it almost pushed me over the edge. I counted to ten, willing myself not to just grab her and push her down across the table, despite the fact that my cock was 100 percent certain it was the only reasonable course of action. My brain disagreed, and reluctantly I told my cock to shut up.

  I wanted to fuck her, not give her a heart attack.

  But I needed a little taste.

  Just one.

  Holding her gaze, I reached out with a finger and traced her collarbone from her shoulder inward, then slid it down between her breasts, grazing her cleavage.
I couldn’t help myself. She quivered like a deer hit by headlights as I raised the finger to my mouth, tasting her.

  Sun and sweat and sweet, ripe woman.

  I held back a shudder, and realized I could probably pound nails with my dick. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this turned on. I’d lost my virginity freshman year in high school to a senior with a taste for younger men. Had I wanted to screw her as bad as this? I wasn’t entirely sure, that’s how hot Jensen’s girl was.

  How did such an asshole loser attract a woman like this?

  She swallowed nervously and her nipples hardened under their pretty little triangles of fabric. My cock informed me urgently that we really, really needed to be inside her tight little cunt sooner rather than later.

  Fuckin’ amazing.

  Then I saw the bruise. It was old and clearly fading, but someone had backhanded her across the cheek. My breath hissed, and for a second I felt fierce red rage sweep through me, strong enough to override my lust. What could a little thing like her do to possibly justify a man smacking her around? Did Jensen hit her? I clenched my jaw, considering different ways to kill the man. But it was faded, and she hadn’t been here last time. Might not be Jensen. Anyone could’ve marked her . . . Regardless, whoever was behind the bruise should pay.

  Fuckin’ crime against nature, smacking around a face like that.

  I considered taking her back to Coeur d’Alene for a while—even if he hadn’t hit her, Jensen sure as shit wouldn’t be able to keep a piece of ass like this satisfied. I’d bet my last dollar on it. Nothing like weed to make a man’s dick limp.

  I shifted forward into her space, enjoying the way she backed away ever so slightly. Yeah, that was nice. This one wouldn’t just roll over for me, and I liked that.

  Nothing like a chase to make the kill more satisfying.

  “Hey, sweet butt,” I said, keeping my voice low and soft. Might as well find out whether she knew jack about bikers. She sure looked like a club whore. I didn’t much like the idea of her having been passed around, but if she already knew the rules, it would make life easier. She scrambled backward off the table, and I decided she was probably clueless. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that . . . Not an actual club whore, then, which was okay by me. I’d never been a huge fan of used pussy and I already knew I wanted to taste hers. On the other hand, I’d probably have to ease her into things if she didn’t know the score.