Reaper's Fall

by Joanna Wylde

  The game room was upstairs on the second level, off to the right. By the time we got upstairs, most of the brothers were already waiting. Puck and I found a spot toward the back, leaning against the wall to watch. He’d only had his full patch for three weeks now, and I knew he planned to keep a low profile. So did I.

  Picnic surveyed the room, flanked by other chapter presidents who’d come for the weekend, including Deke, Hunter, and Boonie.

  “Thanks to everyone who came. Over the past couple years we’ve had a lot of conflict. Shit’s gone down, brothers have served time”—he nodded respectfully toward me and Puck—“and we’ve lost some along the way. It’s good to have some time just for socializing. But we can’t waste this chance to talk business, either. Deke and Hunter are gonna update us on the cartel situation, and then we’ve got some new business. Deke?”

  The president of the Portland Reapers’ chapter stepped forward, crossing his arms as he looked across the room.

  “The Jacks have been holding strong in the south,” he said. “We’ve caught a few cartel runners in the Portland area, but so far as I know they aren’t making it up into Washington anymore. La Grande’s stood firm, covering the central corridor. Much as I hate to admit it, the Jacks have been solid. Not a hell of a lot to report. Hunter, you got anything to add?”

  Em’s old man stepped forward. I studied him thoughtfully, trying to decide if I hated him any less these days. I’d gotten over Em a while ago—hadn’t thought about her much at all on the inside. You’d think that would smooth the way with me and Hunter, but it didn’t—I’d still happily cut his throat, just on general principle. Arrogant asshole.

  He stared right at me, eyes hard.

  “Gotta thank those who served time for us all,” he said, offering me a small, mocking salute. Cocksucker. “We all know the cartel will recover and come after us again at some point, but for now they’re mostly staying south of the Oregon state line. Northern Cali’s a little harder—we’re not in control, but they aren’t, either. At some point we’ll probably have to make a tough decision about whether we want to keep fighting for the territory. That’s for the club to decide, and right now we’re holding off making any solid plans. Our allies down south are being infiltrated. Not sure we can trust them long-term.”

  Puck and I shared a look—we’d seen plenty of that in prison. Our “allies” were useless.

  “Painter, you want to share what you told me about your time inside?” Pic asked, apparently reading my mind. I nodded, pausing to consider before I spoke.

  “Well, you all know we had allied club brothers with us,” I said. “A few Longnecks, Bay Brotherhood, and one guy with the Nighthawk Raiders. Longnecks are shit, sorry to say. Couldn’t trust ’em inside, and now that I’ve visited one of their chapters I’d say that runs true for the whole fuckin’ club. The Brotherhood seemed solid but they’re having a rough time holding their own. The Nighthawks guy was interesting . . .”

  Puck and I shared a quick glance as I paused, trying to think of the best way to explain Pipes, our jailhouse contact.

  “Puck, you want to jump in here?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Pipes was on his own and we bonded up pretty fast, given the history between our clubs. He was in for a weapons charge, too. But here’s the interesting part—we all know they’ve been bringing in product through the Canadian border for a while, right? Well get this . . . According to Pipes, their pipeline’s choking out on the Canada side.”

  Picnic and Boonie weren’t surprised by this, but Hunter obviously was. Interesting—Pic hadn’t briefed him ahead of time. Guess the Hayes family wasn’t one big happy. Not a huge surprise—I had all kinds of reasons for disliking the guy, but they were nothing compared to Pic’s. So far as I could tell, Christ himself wouldn’t be good enough for Reese Hayes’s daughters, at least not in his eyes.

  Rance, the president of the Reapers’ chapter in Bellingham, stepped up. He already knew what Puck and I had to say, of course. We’d told Pic and Boonie all about it, and I knew Reese had been in touch with Rance afterward, seeing as his chapter was the closest to Hallies Falls, where the Nighthawks were located. Now I was curious to hear his take on the situation.

  “We’ve heard rumors,” he said. “I’ve suspected something was up for a while now. They’ve been short on their payments, product has gone missing, that kind of thing. They blamed it on some local cops gone bad—cost of doing business—but it never rang true. Now we’ve got a better idea of what’s going on. Tell ’em the rest, Painter.”

  “So, there’s a new player up in British Columbia,” I continued. “They call themselves a club, but Pipes says they’re just a bunch of tweakers who bought themselves bikes and threw on some patches—not a real brotherhood at all. Kinda like that shit that went down in Quebec, you know? Now they’re fighting with the Nighthawk Raiders for control of the cross-border traffic. He’s worried the whole club will go down, lose their patches entirely.”

  “Why didn’t they come to us themselves?” Hunter asked, frowning. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d want to discuss direct, but we haven’t heard jack shit from them.”

  “Pipes thinks their president—Marsh—has thrown in with the BC guys,” I explained. “Not only is he bringing in new brothers who are loyal to him, he’s cutting the older brothers out of the loop. They haven’t been voting on shit, and no officer elections, either. Pipes says he tried to call Marsh out. Got his ass kicked and then they sacrificed him on a run. He isn’t talking to the cops, but he’s reaching out to us for help. Desperate for it. Knows that if the club falls, he’ll lose his protection inside.”

  “Bad situation,” Boonie murmured. “Thoughts, anyone?”

  “We should go check it out,” said Bolt, the Coeur d’Alene vice president. The man was Picnic’s age, and they’d been friends their whole lives. If it wasn’t for Bolt I wouldn’t even be here—I’d met him when I was nineteen years old, fresh in my first prison term and scared shitless. He’d taken pity on me, teaching me how to stay alive and covering my ass when I needed it. I’d had a bike before I went in, but I’d never known shit about MC culture. By the time I’d gotten out two years later, I was ready for the Reapers. Bolt had pulled some strings and the next thing I knew, I was staying at the Armory, doing odd jobs, and earning my way into the club.

  Best damned thing that ever happened to me, no fuckin’ question.

  “I’ll go,” Gage announced, stepping up quietly. I wasn’t surprised—until last year, Gage had been our sergeant at arms, and he never backed down from anything. He’d been running The Line for the past two years and I knew he was restless. “Go in quiet, get a feel for how things are going. Maybe just a couple of us?”

  “Thoughts?” Pic asked, looking to the other presidents.

  “Seems solid to me,” Boonie said. “No need to tip them off—if it’s nothing, they’ll never know we questioned them, and if we have to take action, I don’t want them tipped off ahead of time.”

  Rance nodded. “You got anyone in mind to take with you, Gage? They know most of the Bellingham brothers, so we can’t be much use to you.”

  Gage looked to me, eyes speculative. “How about you, Painter? You’ve heard about the situation firsthand, and you’ve been out of circulation for a while. Less likely they’ll recognize you. I know you’re on parole, but I think we’ve got that covered.”

  “Sure,” I said, mentally rearranging my week. I had shifts at the body shop, but seeing as Pic was the boss, that wasn’t an issue.

  “Great, let’s talk after we finish here,” he replied.

  “Moving on, let’s discuss the situation near Whitefish,” Pic said. I only listened to him with one ear, thinking through every conversation I’d ever had with Pipes in prison, wondering if I’d missed anything along the way.

  “You want help?” Puck asked, his voice a whisper. “Know you’re going in quiet, but it never hurts to have backup.”

  I liked the idea—fe
lt natural to have Puck at my back. “Let me talk to Gage. See what he thinks.”

  • • •

  An hour later we’d finished all our business. There wasn’t a ton—this weekend was more of a social event than anything else. I caught Gage’s eye on the way out, and he waved me over.

  “Puck’s offered to come with us,” I told him. “We’re tight, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone from the Bastards along for the ride.”

  Gage frowned.

  “I’d rather not. I know he’s a good kid, but if we bring in a second club that complicates things. We take one of the Bastards with us, then the Jacks will want one of theirs along and suddenly there’s ten of us hitting town. Right now it’s contained in our territory and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, seeing his logic, even if I didn’t like it. Puck was a good man to have at your back. Of course, so was Gage. He’d been sergeant at arms for a reason—the man was a brick. Solid, dangerous, utterly loyal to the club. “So when do you want to go?”

  “I’m thinking we head out soon,” he said. “Already talked to Pic about putting someone else in place at The Line. It could take a while and I don’t want to leave them hanging. Now I’m trying to think of something that’ll let me set up shop there for a while, but also give me an excuse to take off whenever I need to . . . I don’t like going undercover but it’s for the best right now.”

  “I hear you. So you think it’ll take a while?”

  “No idea,” he replied. “You flexible? I won’t need you there all the time, but I’ll want you backing me at least part of the time.”

  “Sure, I can make it work,” I said, figuring I’d bring along a few sketch pads or something. I’d gone more than a year without doing any serious art—no reason to get worked up about it now. “What if we say you’re a trucker? Lets you come and go, distances you from club life while still giving you an excuse to ride a bike when you’re in town. Not only that, Pic’s got his hands on Pace Howard’s big rig right now—he let him park it behind the shop while he’s deployed, promised he’d keep it up and running. Maybe we can use that.”

  Gage nodded thoughtfully.

  “Not a bad idea,” he said. “I’ll talk to Pic, see what he has to say about it. How are you holding up? Two weeks out now, right?”

  “Good,” I said, realizing it was true. Aside from the Melanie situation, I was happy with things overall. “Parole officer—I’m with Torres, he’s on the payroll—seems to know his place. Not supposed to be heading out of state, but he’ll cover for me.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “I’ll talk to Pic. Let me know if there’s any complications on your end, and we’ll plan to leave tomorrow or Monday.”

  I nodded, then headed down the stairs toward the main floor of the Armory. There were more people up and about now. I could smell breakfast coming from the kitchen and figured they’d be doing the usual—cooking inside, serving food out in the courtyard.

  Might as well get myself something to eat.

  Outside I grabbed a plate and then loaded up on eggs, ham, and hash browns. I’d just sat down at a table with Ruger, Horse, and Duck when Kit Hayes—Em’s evil sister, and I don’t use those words lightly—plopped down next to me.

  “We’re going to the fair tonight,” she announced. “A bunch of us want to see the rodeo and maybe eat some of those little donuts that they throw in the bags with powdered sugar. Sophie and Marie want to go, but your ladies won’t if you guys don’t. What do you think?”

  “Note how she pretends our opinion matters,” Duck muttered, leaning toward me. I had to smile. The older man was in his sixties, and while he was always shown respect, he tended to stick close to the clubhouse most of the time.

  “Don’t look at me,” I told him. “She’s here to recruit Horse and Ruger.”

  Kit glared at me.

  “Don’t spoil it,” she said, arching a brow. “We want everyone to come with us, but I know for a fact that Marie won’t go if Horse doesn’t, and the same for Sophie and Ruger. They feel like there’s work to do out here at the Armory.”

  “There is work to do out here,” Horse said, his voice dry. “We’ve guests camped out back. They’ll need dinner.”

  “Which they can buy at the fair,” Kit said, her smile growing grim and fixed. “Not only that, there’s plenty of other women who aren’t going. And it’s not like the rodeo goes that late. You can all come back here and party when it’s over . . . and it’s not like sitting around drinking in this courtyard is anything special. You guys do that all the time. The rodeo only comes once a year.”

  Ruger sighed. “It’ll be easier to give in now.”

  “Pussy,” I said, although the man never really had a chance. Nobody could stand up to the Hayes girls when they set their minds on something, and apparently their minds were set on going to the fair.

  “Oh, and Painter?” Kit asked, and I swear to fuck she fluttered her eyelashes at me. “We’re bringing Melanie with us, so if you want to stay here that’d be just great. I’m sure she doesn’t want you around.”

  That little bitch. Now I had to go.

  I took a bite of my eggs, pretending to ignore her. She laughed, then skipped off across the courtyard, presumably looking for fresh victims.

  “I’m real glad that girl moved to Vancouver,” Duck said, sighing. “I love her like my own, but damned if she doesn’t stir shit wherever she goes. I assume you’ll all be out at the fair tonight?”

  I stared down at my food, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern of ketchup across the hash browns.

  Duck laughed.

  MELANIE

  “Pleeeeese . . .” Kit whined, kneeling on the ground in front of me. She’d caught me and Jess out in the front yard—note to self: never go outside or even unlock the door again when the Hayes girls are in town—and dramatically demanded that we go to the rodeo with her, because “Those cowboys aren’t gonna pinch their own butts.”

  While I’m sure this was true, I still wasn’t planning to go with her—I had a paper to work on, and I’d already made a fool out of myself the night before. Avoiding the Reapers was high on my list of priorities, yet here Kit was, on her knees in all her Bettie Page–inspired glory.

  Parked behind her on the street were no less than five Devil’s Jacks riders led by Hunter, Em’s old man.

  No pressure at all, right?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taz climb off his bike and start walking toward me. Gaw. I felt my cheeks heating up as the memories of last night flooded me.

  Alcohol. Alcohol was the enemy here. Alcohol and the Hayes family.

  Taz came up next to me, draping his arm over my shoulder.

  “You sure you ladies don’t want to come out with us?” he asked. “Fried food. Horseshit. What’s not to love?”

  Jess glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Not a fan of the rodeo?” she asked. Taz laughed.

  “Motorcycles don’t leave piles of crap everywhere they go. I think that sums up my feelings on the issue.”

  Jess grinned, startling me because she wasn’t exactly a fan of bikers.

  “I’m Jessica,” she said. Ruh-roh. That was her cute “I’m available” voice. So much for the celibate streak.

  “You’re coming with us, right?” Kit asked hopefully, honing in on Jess. The girl could smell weakness.

  “I think we could swing it, don’t you, Mel?” Jess asked innocently. I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “Sure,” I replied my voice dry. “Can’t wait.”

  Taz snorted, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

  “Don’t get so excited,” he murmured in my ear. “You might strain something.”

  “Okay, go grab your stuff,” Kit said, jumping up and beaming at us proudly. She was really taking this “new family” thing seriously now that they’d set a date for the wedding. After this weekend, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. December couldn’t come soon enough. “Ever
yone else is already out there.”

  “All right,” Jess said brightly, grabbing my arm and jerking me away from Taz. “We’ll be five minutes, tops.”

  • • •

  “I thought you hated bikers,” I reminded her once we were back inside. “And five minutes isn’t very much time to get ready. Not to mention I have a paper due this week, you know.”

  “You can pump out a paper like that in half an hour,” she said. “And you look great. Just throw on some lip gloss and grab your stuff. I’ve been rethinking my position on bikers . . .”

  “Oh really? Since when?”

  “Since I saw Taz—that guy is completely and totally fuckable. Now here’s what I need to know—is there anything between you and him? I know you came home with Painter, but Taz was all over you outside. Usually I’d say that meant something, but those guys are so damned touchy-feely that it’s hard to tell.”

  “I hung out with him for a while last night,” I admitted. “But I’m not looking for anything more—my head’s messed up enough as it is, with Painter. I don’t need another biker running around in there, too. He’s all yours.”

  “Perfect,” she said, licking her lips. “I’ve been a very good girl for a long time now. I think it’s time to put myself back on the market.”

  Poor Taz.

  The man was screwed. Literally. Somehow I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind too much.

  Exactly four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, we were back outside. I wasn’t looking my best, but I didn’t look bad, either—cutoff shorts, cute tank top, and an old pair of cowboy boots my mom had left behind when she took off.

  Not much of a legacy, but they’d be useful today.

  “So who are we riding with?” Jess asked coyly when we came back out.