Reaper's Rise

by K. L. Savage

  Sedation? He’s going to abuse me while I’m asleep? “No! Please, don’t do any more. I can’t handle any more.”

  I feel so pathetic, pleading for death the way I am.

  “Sarah,” that deep voice that makes me feel all warm and cozy gets closer, and all I smell is cigarettes and leather. The bed dips from his weight. It gives me an odd sense of home, something I’ve never had before. The palm of his hand lands on my chest, and the width and weight of it takes causes me to take a deep breath, relaxing. “You’re safe here. You’re safe. You remember the Ruthless Kings MC? You came here. You’re safe.” The mattress moves again from his weight, and panic claws its way up my throat, thinking the one person who is my safety blanket is leaving me.

  He’s leaving. He can’t go. I feel better when he is here.

  The light clicks on, illuminating half his face. He looks at me with dark eyes that exude power. His thick hair is a bit unruly, just like the rest of him. Reaper isn’t the kind of man who can be tamed; he’s the kind of man who could break me.

  I should be afraid of him.

  I should try to get away from him.

  But for some reason, he cradles me as if I’m a broken bird. Maybe I am. Maybe he will be able to give me back my wings.

  “See? It’s me. Reaper. You remember me? You’re safe here. I’m going to keep you safe. Nothing is ever going to happen to you again.”

  His knuckles brush against the apples of my cheeks, wiping away the tears. The promise in his eyes tells me I can believe him.

  “Reaper,” I say his name as if he is a god. “You’re here.” I reach for his face with my hand, needing to touch him, but right as my palm is about to land on his cheek, he pulls away from me.

  The rejection hurts, but I’m not going to give up.

  “I’m here, little one. I’m not going anywhere. Doc here was just trying to make sure you were okay.” He scoots closer to me, and I can’t help but think that is his way of wanting to be near me. I want to reach out to him so bad, but I can’t.

  I slide my gaze off Reaper and see a man with a split lip, holding a tissue to it to stop the bleeding.

  “You have a mean right hook, Sarah,” he teases.

  I don’t find it funny. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  Every day with my foster dad was a battle. Every morning from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed, I was his whipping post. Some days I took the abuse, but other days I fought back.

  Those days were his favorite. I knew I shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction, but I wanted out so bad. Those days, he kept me in the basement.

  I’ll never forget the cold cement beneath my hands and knees, or the feeling of the metal collar that chained my neck to the wall. He’d pour me a bowl of water, like I was his bitch, like a damn dog. He’d leave me in the dark for hours, sometimes days.

  The sound of his boots against the wooden staircase sounded like a giant looking for his next meal.

  Fee. Stomp.

  Fi. Stomp.

  Fo. Stomp.

  Fum. Stomp.

  My least favorite sound—the rhythm of a killer, the signal of my lost hope, and the sound of my impending doom.

  Reaper growls, yanking me from my wicked thoughts, and grabs my hand. His fingers are so big that one of his equal two of mine. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

  “You don’t have to fight anymore, okay? Doc here is going to give you some pain meds, and then I’ll be in the living room—”

  “No!” I sit up, ignoring the pain in my abdomen. Terror makes my heart feel like it might explode. I cling to his hand like my life depends on it. “Please stay with me,” I beg. “Please, I only feel safe with you here. Don’t leave me again; don’t go,” I want him to hold me, to wrap his big body around me and use it as a shield from the outside world.

  Reaper is my protector.

  He sighs, and that dark brown hair falls in his face again, making him seem more menacing than I believe he actually is.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” As his fingers rub the back of my hand, I stare at the tattoo on his forearm—a skull biting into a bleeding heart. I feel as though he is biting into me, eating away of what is left of my soul. I want him to have it.

  It’s intense, but I know it’s real. Something like this has to be.

  Does that mean he doesn’t trust himself with me? Hope flares in my soul that I thought was long gone. He wants me. I want him too. I’ve loved him from the moment I saw him.

  “I’ll crash on the floor. No more punching Doc, okay?”

  I want him to stay in the bed, but I feel better knowing he’s in the same room. None of the other members give me this feeling of security. Only Reaper.

  “Okay.” I nod and give him a lopsided swollen smile. “Thank you.”

  “Let Doc give you medicine, okay? You have to. My orders.” Reaper stands from the bed and opens his closet. He grabs pillows and blankets from the top shelf, tossing them on the ground right next to the bed.

  “Yes, sir,” I let slip from my mouth. I don’t miss how he pauses as he sits on the floor.

  “Go to sleep, little one. I’ll be here. Nothing is going to happen to you on my watch.”

  Doc comes back with a large needle and inserts it in my IV. “You’re going to feel loopy in a second. You’re okay, alright?”

  “I know.” I fall back onto the pillow with a drug-enforced grin on my face. “Reaper is here.”

  Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to be fine. I’m alive.

  And one day, he is going to love me just as much as I love him.

  Next Day

  How is she?” the kid asks, popping a squat in the chair next to me. His eyes fall on my bedroom door where Sarah is. He knows something. The kid is smart, inquisitive; there is something about her that he recognizes, and it makes my gut churn.

  I’m getting too old for shit like this.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “We didn’t get much out of her yesterday.” Doc had to drain the swelling around her eye, and then he gave her some medicine that knocked her out. I omit the fact that I spent the night on the floor in the room with her. I haven’t slept a wink, and I’m exhausted.

  The way she looked at me yesterday left me feeling unsettled. She’s attached to me, and there’s something about her that makes me want to attach myself right back to her.

  I need to keep my distance. The pleading look in her eyes, her broken soul, the hopelessness pouring off her every time I’m near gets to me. I want to fix it for her. I want to be there for her.

  She wanted me to stay in the bed last night. Sarah is dangerous.

  Fucking jailbait is what she is.

  “She looks familiar, maybe from school or something,” he says.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say, not entirely convinced.

  “I want to hold off on my birthday party,” he states suddenly. “I’ll be eighteen tomorrow too.”

  “Why? Everything is all set.”

  “I don’t want it crowded for her. I don’t know, Uncle Reaper. Something is telling me.... I just can’t put my finger on it, okay?”

  “I get it. I’ll let everyone know. You still have school. Go,” I tell him. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  I hope he isn’t interested in her. Just in case she is his sister.

  Jenkins looks at the door again and tosses his motorcycle keys in the air. When he turned sixteen, I told him if he wanted a bike, he had to get it himself. He basically built the thing from scratch, in the junkyard Tool has behind the garage. It works, but damn it, the bike is a real piece of shit.

  He flips his hair over his forehead, looking like he has a twitch in his neck, and he nods before heading out the door. I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. I have a good eight hours before I have to worry about him and the connection with her.

  “Hey, Prez,” Doc says when he enters the room. He looks like shit. His hair is all over the place, and h
e has blood on his scrubs.

  “Did you just get off work? What is that? Thirty hours you haven’t slept?”

  “Something like that.” He stretches and yawns. “I just need some coffee. Have you talked to her?”

  “No, not yet. She was still asleep last time I checked.” I slipped out of the room in the middle of the night and tried to sleep on this awful couch. I can’t feel my ass now, and my neck only turns to the right. I need a chiropractor.

  “Where the guys at?” Doc asks.

  “Tool is at the shop, Tongue is with Slingshot, Poodle, and Skirt on a run. Bullseye is... I don’t know. I’m not a damn keeper.”

  “The girls?”

  “I told them to stay away for now. I don’t know much about Sarah, but I don’t want to scar her for life, not any more than she already is.” I run my hands down my face. The last thing she needs is to see one of the cut-sluts going down on one of the guys. “This is such a nightmare.” I run my hands down my face.

  “Why? We patch her up, find out the deal, take care of it, and send her on her way.”

  “If only it was that easy.”

  “How is it not?” he asks, right as the bedroom door opens, and Sarah hobbles out. Her eye is bandaged, her hair is up in a messy bun, and the bruises look even worse today. She moves slowly, a limp in every step.

  “Jesus.” I rush over to help her, and she slaps my hand. I stare at it in shock. No one ever tells me no.

  “I can do it.” She grits her teeth. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “You shouldn’t be walking. I didn’t know you have a problem with your leg,” Doc says, rushing to her other side.

  She cries out when her legs give way. I catch her just in time and bring her to one of the chairs around the table.

  “Maybe I am invalid,” she says.

  “No shit?” Doc gripes as he pours himself a cup of java. “You shouldn’t be up and walking around. You need to rest.”

  “Can I have some coffee?” Her voice is still weak, and she looks exhausted but hopeful. More than she did yesterday.

  She’s in one of my Ruthless Kings shirts, the black one with the pinup on the back. It’s torn and stained to hell, and she’s paired it with my sweatpants that are too big, but she’s tied the excess material in a knot at the side of her hip.

  Doc steps forward. “I need to change the bandage on your eye and make sure your vision isn’t compromised. I also need to check your torso again. Even if—”

  “Dude, can I have coffee first before you poke and prod me again? I’m not pissing blood, okay? I ache all over, and I just ... give me five minutes of damn peace.”

  Shit. She is Hawk’s kid. For sure.

  I get up and walk over to the counter where the coffee pot is. I grab a fresh mug and pour. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Just black.”

  I walk back over at the same time Doc removes the bandage, and holy shit, her face looks so much better. Her eye is still a little swollen, but it’s open, and I can see both eyes. Her face is still black and blue. She goes to grab her throat when she swallows the coffee but thinks better of it. She has handprints on either side of her neck, like someone tried to choke her.

  I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to talk. Doc puts some cream on her wound and then covers the cut up with another bandage. “That’ll do until you’re done with your coffee.”

  Her nails tap against the table, and she steals glances at me through her long eyelashes, fluttering like damn butterfly wings. I never thought this would be the place for strays to come, but it seems the saloon has revolving doors.

  “How old are you?” I ask. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to talk.

  “Sixteen.”

  “Shit,” the Doc curses. “Who did this to you?”

  Her eyes well with tears again, and her chin trembles. The stretch of her bottom lip makes the cut bleed, and I hand her a napkin.

  “I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me.”

  “You aren’t the first one.” I lean forward, most of my weight on my elbows as I try to get my point across.

  “I know. The others were—” She zips her mouth shut. “Listen, I saw you guys, okay?” A tear falls down her cheek. “I swear, it was a sign when I looked out my window after a long day of dealing with this abuse, and I noticed your vests.”

  “Cuts. They’re cuts. Not vests,” Doc corrects.

  “Whatever. Leather vests.” Sarah rolls her eyes, still sassy after what happened to her. Good. She’ll need that here. “I know those cuts because of this.” She reaches into her sweatpants pocket and pulls out a picture. “It’s the only thing I have of my birth parents. Are ... are they still around?” She stares at the photo with love before sliding it over to me.

  I hope she can’t see my hands shake as I reach for it because this determines everything. I pick the picture up, and it’s a kick to the gut.

  There it is. There’s Hawk standing next to a cut-slut.

  Mandy or Mindi or Molly, or something like that. He’s by his motorcycle, the same one in the shop that I’m still working on for Jenkins. He has his arms wrapped around the girl, and he looks happy. I remember this. They dated for a while, but then she just disappeared. No one has heard from her in years.

  I rub my eyes, trying to ease that damn burn behind them. Being a parent has made me fucking emotional. It’s bullshit. “It’s Hawk.”

  “No fucking shit,” Doc gasps, reaching over the table to take the picture out of my hand.

  “You know him? You know my dad? Is he okay? Is he here?” The hope in her voice guts me.

  I reach for her hand and be careful not to squeeze it too hard. “Sorry, Sarah, but your dad died eight years ago on a run. He didn’t know about you, or you wouldn’t have had the life you had; I can promise you that.”

  “He died? I thought...” She covers her face with her hands and sobs. “I thought this place had all the answers. That’s why I came here. I stole money from him and got a cab and told the driver to bring me here. You were my last chance.”

  “Listen to me. You’re a legacy. This is your home. You’re under our protection now. You were smart to come here,” I tell her as Doc gives her the picture back.

  “I wonder what Jenkins will say.”

  I could kill Doc right about now. I give him a look to tell him to shut up, and he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal.

  “Who is Jenkins?” she asks. “Did he know Hawk?”

  “Jenkins is the one who carried you in yesterday. He’s your brother. Half-brother,” I correct myself. “He’s eighteen today.”

  “Wow,” she says in a daze. “I have a brother. My dad is dead, and my mom...?”

  “Sorry, Sarah. Your mom left the club ages ago. I don’t remember her name. That doesn’t mean no one else won’t know.”

  She stares at that photo like it’s her most prized possession. “I thought he looked familiar.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Jenkins. He looks just like our dad. I thought I was seeing double, but I figured I was just imagining things.”

  My heart breaks for her. Everything she dreamed of, I just crushed. A kid deserves parents, and she have doesn’t have anybody. Well, that’s not true. She has us. She has Jenkins, and he will protect her with his life.

  “I’ll tell you all you want to know about Hawk, but we need to know who did this to you.”

  The news of Hawk having another kid is going to make waves. Good waves, but waves, nevertheless. I’ll have to put word out to everyone not to touch her. She’ll be one of the only girls here, and some of these guys I wouldn’t trust with Poodle’s poodle.

  “He’ll kill me,” she whimpers.

  “He won’t. I’ll kill him first.”

  She gasps, staring at me with horrified eyes. Good. She needs to remember me like this. A monster. “You don’t even know me; why would you?”

  “You’re a kid,” I explain. “Not just any kid, but you’re my best friend’s kid.
I’m gonna do what I know your father would have done. He would’ve taken that bastard’s life. He’ll keep doing this, Sarah. Who is he?”

  She takes another sip of coffee and sniffles, the way she stares at the empty space tells me she’s reliving memories she doesn’t ever want to think about again. “My foster dad. I’ve bounced around in the system since I was born.”

  I know the system isn’t reliable, but I’m mad as fuck that none of us knew about her. I won’t be forgiving myself for a long time, just like I know Jenkins won’t either.

  “This guy, he’s really abusive, and he has so many foster kids. And when one goes missing, no one asks questions, you know? Just another kid who ran away. No one cares about us. So as his abuse would become worse, he would eventually just get rid of them. No one ever questions the foster parent, thinking we bring the trouble upon ourselves.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “I didn’t. He left me for dead on the side of the road,” she whispers. “I thought I was a goner, but someone stopped and brought me to the hospital, gave me cash, but I didn’t go inside. I called a cab and came here.”

  “Do you remember where he lives?” I growl, imagining the guy’s throat being sliced. I might bring Tongue with me too, and Knives and Tool.

  Fuck it. I’m bringing everyone who goes a little mad with a weapon.

  “Please don’t make me go back. I’ll do anything,” she cries. “Please. I’ll do anything.” She falls to the ground and crawls to me, and then she wraps herself around my leg. “I’ll go away. Please, I’ll do anything,” she begs, soaking my pant leg with her tears.

  “Woah, hey.” I grab her hands and lift her up, trying to be as gentle as I can with her broken body. “First off, don’t you dare get on your knees for anyone. Don’t ever beg. A Ruthless King, or Queen, never begs. Got it?”

  She nods, wiping her face with her hand.

  “Second, I’m asking because I’m going there. Your home is here. You never have to go back there. We’ll get Linc, our lawyer, to get start your paperwork going.”

  “You’re going? You can’t! He’s dangerous!”

  “What kind of club do you think you walked into, Sarah?” Doc asks, scratching his stomach through the material of his bloody scrubs. “We do good, but we do what needs to be done.”