by Joanna Wylde
“Fake,” he said bluntly. “All of it was fake. Lot of shit’s gone down in the last two days. Things have changed, so it’s time for us to talk.”
Cooper—no, Gage—invaded my space, pinning me against my own front door. One hand came up, cradling my throat for an instant. I felt the strength in his tough, calloused grip and another wave of fear hit me. Unfortunately, a wave of lust hit, too, because our bodies were officially touching more than they ever had before. It felt every bit as good as I’d imagined, too. Then the hand slid upward, and he dug his fingers into my hair, pulling it loose from the hair band. Not completely, just enough for him to cradle the back of my head.
“There’s a lot of ground to cover, so I’m gonna give you the short version for now,” he said harshly, catching and holding my eyes. I swallowed as one of his thighs pushed between my legs. He surrounded me, using up more than his fair share of oxygen. It left me dizzy. “I haven’t been free since I got here. Now I am, which means I’m taking what’s mine.”
I squeaked, blinking rapidly as I tried to decide if I was scared or turned on. He leaned into me, nose brushing my ear as he took a deep breath.
“What do you mean, you’re taking . . . ?” I was so confused that I wasn’t even sure what question to ask. None of this made any sense. He’d never treated me like anything but a friend, so what the hell was going on here?
“I’m taking you,” he said with quiet force. His leg separated mine, and I felt something long and hard against my stomach. My hormones surged, because I knew what that was, and I knew what it wanted, too.
Oh, wow.
This couldn’t be happening. Could it? I’d had so many dreams about him over the past two months. Maybe I was asleep. Yeah, that had to be it. I’d wake up in a minute, and then I’d be able to laugh at how silly I’d been.
“You’re mine now,” he continued, rubbing his nose along my cheekbone. Then he pulled back, catching my gaze again. “A lot’s gone down, but right now the critical information is that you belong to me. You’re my property. You don’t understand what that means, and that’s okay. I’ll teach you. But when you look back at this moment, I want you to remember there was a before I claimed you and an after. Now it’s after. You got me?”
I’d never gotten anyone less. I swallowed, then bit my own lip. Not to be coy, but to wake myself up, because this dream was getting less sexy and more scary. Ouch. Okay, that should do it . . . Staring at him, I realized he was still in front of me. This was real.
“What about your girlfriend?”
“First, Talia has never been my girlfriend—that bitch is nothing. My club sent me here to check on the Nighthawks, and she was the easiest way to get inside. Fucking her was like fucking a praying mantis. She’s gone, or she will be soon. Either way, I’m done with her.”
I frowned, shaking my head because that was a nasty, nasty thing to say. Just hearing it sent a thrill through me, though, because apparently I’m a terrible person. Still, this was all too much, so I pushed against his chest, trying to get some space. In an instant, he caught both my wrists and raised them over my head. Then he was holding them with one hand while the other slid into my hair again, this time holding it just tight enough to hurt, twisting my head up toward his. He leaned forward, lips hovering over mine, and spoke.
“I’ve been watching you twitch that ass of yours for too long,” he whispered, licking his lips. “You sit on that pretty little porch of yours with your friends. You pretend you aren’t scoping me out, but you are. You’ve wanted it bad for a long time, and now you’re gonna get it.”
Then his mouth took mine, tongue shoving inside. You belong to me now, he’d said. Remember this moment.
Holy. Crap.
What’d I gotten myself into?
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a prequel short story about Melanie and Painter’s first meeting. It takes place one year before the beginning of Reaper’s Fall (when Painter is released from prison), against the background of action from Reaper’s Stand. I thought you might enjoy reading it.
SUGAR AND SPICE
MELANIE
I fell for Levi “Painter” Brooks the first time I saw him, although in all fairness I did have a head injury at the time.
It was a weird start to a relationship, too.
You see, I blew up a house.
It wasn’t on purpose, and in my defense I’d had a really shitty day. My mom had taken off earlier in the week. Just up and left while I was at work on Monday, and she never came back. Neither me or my dad heard a thing from her, and while she’d always been sort of flaky, she’d never done anything like this before. By Wednesday night, I broke down and asked him if we should report her missing to the police.
He’d thrown his beer bottle at me, shouting about how “the whore” must’ve gotten herself a new man. She’d left me because I was nothing, just like she was nothing.
Then he’d told me to go buy him more beer.
I decided to call Loni instead.
Not long afterward, I blew up her house.
• • •
London Armstrong was my best friend’s aunt. Jessica and I had been tight for years, and as my own mother drifted further and further from reality, they’d become my second family. She’d told me to head on over to her place and let myself in, that she’d see me later that night. I went over there and made myself some macaroni and cheese on her gas stove.
A couple hours later the house exploded.
Gas leak.
Nobody said it was my fault, but I knew it had to be. I’d been the last one to use the stove, so there you have it. Anyway, fate has a weird sense of humor, because that’s how I met Painter. The next day, I mean. At the hospital.
He gave me a lift on his motorcycle, and I fell in love.
God I was young. Young and stupid.
• • •
“I sort of thought you meant a car when you said you’d give me a ride home,” I whispered, staring at the tall, beautiful, terrifyingly perfect man standing in front of a shiny black Harley with custom gold trim. He’d been introduced to me as Painter, and apparently he was part of the same motorcycle club as Loni’s new boyfriend, Reese.
“She did have a head injury,” London pointed out, her voice tart. She held my arm protectively, staring between me and Painter with worry written all over her face.
“Sort of thought the car was implied,” said Reese, sighing.
“You didn’t say and it’s not like she’s really hurt or anything,” Painter replied with a shrug. He glanced at me. “You got a headache?”
I did, but he was so pretty and perfect and I didn’t want to jinx this. Blond, spiky hair. Strong, straight cheekbones and muscular arms that I just knew would be strong enough to pick up a girl like me and carry me wherever I needed to go.
“No, I don’t actually,” I said, feeling nervous but excited, too. I shot another look at the bike, imagining what it would feel like to sit behind him, holding him as we flew down the highway. “Although they said no sudden movements.”
“So you’ll hold on tight,” Painter said, eyes playing with mine. He licked his lip and I felt my insides twitch.
Ohmygodhe’ssohotandhe’slookingrightatme!
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reese said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call someone else.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping Mr. Hot Bod wouldn’t change his mind about giving me a ride. “I’ll try riding the bike.”
I’ll try riding you, sexy . . .
Wow. Those kind of pervy thoughts weren’t like me at all. Painter winked and I would’ve fainted on the spot if I wasn’t so damned healthy and not the fainting type. Shame, too, because he’d totally catch me with those muscular arms of his. I could sense it. I gave him a little smile, hoping I wasn’t coming off as dorky.
“You watch yourself with her,” London snapped, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. I stared at her, shocked—that wasn’t like Loni at all. Had she
just ruined it for me?
Painter raised a brow.
“Fuckin’ priceless, prez,” he said, then smiled at me again, a smile so beautiful that it made me dizzy. You’re dizzy because you have a concussion, my common sense pointed out.
I gave it a mental finger, because fuck common sense.
“You comin’ or not?” he asked, swaggering over to his bike and climbing on. Deliberately avoiding London’s gaze, I followed him, hopping up behind before he had a chance to change his mind.
“Hold on, babe,” he told me, his voice low and smooth. Like whiskey. Not that I drank much whiskey, but I’d had some at our high school graduation party, at the beginning of the summer. Putting my hands up, I touched the sides of his hips hesitantly. He caught them, pulling them tight around his stomach. I could feel his hard abs through the thin fabric of his shirt, and smell the leather of his motorcycle vest thingie. My entire front was leaning against his entire back, and I felt dizzy again. Then he reached down and touched my knee, giving it a quick squeeze.
Oh. My. God.
• • •
The ride took about ten minutes. Ten glorious minutes that included a short stretch of highway as we left Coeur d’Alene behind, which meant we got to go fast. Then he was pulling off and parking in front of an old farmstead that had a well-lived in, well-loved kind of wear around the edges. He turned off the bike, and the sudden absence of noise and vibration left my ears ringing. We sat there for a minute as I collected my thoughts. He touched my knee again.
“Gotta let go if you want off the bike, babe,” he said softly.
I jerked my hands back instantly, wondering how big of an ass I’d made of myself. Then I was scrambling to get off, looking everywhere but his face because I couldn’t bear to see him looking disgusted, or worse yet, sorry for me.
“Come on,” he said, touching the small of my back gently, guiding me toward the porch. “I’ve got the code to get you inside. You can go crash for a while, get some rest.”
“Thanks,” I said, daring to look up at him. His eyes were everywhere, scanning the yard for what, I had no idea. Five minutes later we were upstairs, looking at what had to be a girl’s bedroom.
“You can stay in here, Em won’t mind,” he told me. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
“Who’s Em?” I asked.
“President’s daughter,” he answered, and his voice held a hint of something. Not sadness, but . . . something. “She’s a little older than you, about my age. Get some rest.”
I waited until I heard his footsteps going down the stairs before I pulled off my jeans and climbed into the bed. My head really was hurting now, and while they’d given me pain meds at the hospital, I wouldn’t be able to take another dose for a while longer. Lying there, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what Painter was doing downstairs.
Did he have a girlfriend?
Right, like it even mattered. He’d been sweet to me, but he was probably sweet to little old ladies, too. Guys like that didn’t go for girls like me.
Girls who were nothing.
The thought hurt, but eventually I drifted off. When I woke it was nearly five. Wandering downstairs, I found Loni and Reese sitting in the living room, her perched on his lap as they talked quietly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I said, feeling like an intruder.
“Don’t worry about it,” Reese replied, sounding resigned. Loni pushed off him, then came over to study me carefully. She was shorter than I was, and I felt awkward and gawky next to her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes sharp.
“Good, my head hardly hurts at all,” I said, and this time it was the truth. “Although I’m starving.”
Then I snapped my mouth shut, because it sounded like I was begging for food, which I guess I was. I mean, I was sort of trapped here, out in the country at a strange house owned by a man I didn’t even know, and whose only tie to me was that he was sleeping with my best friend’s aunt.
That’s pretty damned tenuous.
Loni smiled. “If you’re hungry, that means you’re healthy. I picked up some new clothes for you earlier. They’re in the bag.”
She pointed to a Target bag sitting on the floor next to the stairwell. I’d just leaned over to grab it when Painter walked into the room from the back of the house.
“How you doin’?” he asked.
“Better,” I managed to reply, feeling shy.
“Get changed and we’ll go out to dinner,” Reese announced. “It’s been a long day.”
“Okay,” I said gratefully, then ran upstairs to put on my new clothes. Hopefully Loni had gotten me something cute.
• • •
Painter invited himself along with us, which pissed Loni off for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. I knew she was protective, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything.
Sure, he’d insisted that I ride with him to the restaurant (which kicked ass, I might add). And he was sitting next to me in the booth, his thick, male thigh pressed up against the side of mine, which gave me little flutters and chills. A couple times he leaned over to ask if my food was all right, and when we finished he draped his arm across the back of the booth, right behind my head.
I’d sat there, wanting him so bad it took everything I had not to shiver. I’d have given anything to kiss him. At one point he even reached down and gave my knee another of those little squeezes, nearly giving me a heart attack.
Loni glared at him throughout.
Reese rolled his eyes and ordered another beer.
Afterward, Painter gave me a ride back to Reese’s house, and I swear if he’d asked me, I would’ve done anything for him. To him. But he didn’t . . . Nope, he just dropped me off.
But as I got off his bike, he tucked a strand of my hair back behind my ear and skimmed his fingers across my cheekbone. I really did shiver then, because how could I not?
• • •
Two days later I was bored out of my mind.
I’d found myself in a weird limbo out at the Hayes house, because I had no transportation or way to get to work. There wasn’t anyone to talk to, either—Reese and Loni were gone most of the time, her working and him doing club stuff. There had been some big party the night before, but yours truly wasn’t invited.
Instead I just sat around, waiting for something to happen. Reese still made me nervous, but I trusted London and it wasn’t like I had any other options. Even the money I’d managed to hide from my dad was gone, burned up in the explosion. Now all I had were the clothes Loni had given me.
Two pairs of panties. One bra. A pair of shorts and a pair of jeans, two tank tops and a sweatshirt.
That was it—the sum total of all my worldly possessions.
I needed to take action, figure things out . . . But when I tried to talk to Loni and Reese about the next step, neither of them had time for me. Loni had work stuff, Reese had club stuff, and they both just kept telling me to rest up and let my head heal.
A girl can only rest so much, though.
That’s why I was just sitting on the porch Saturday afternoon, trying to read when I heard the bikes coming. Now, if I’d learned anything over the past two days, I’d learned that there were always bikes coming and going from Reese Hayes’s house, so I didn’t think too much of it when I saw the motorcycles turn into the driveway. Then I recognized one of the riders as Painter, and my heart clenched. (Okay, so it wasn’t my heart that clenched, it was something centered a lot lower in my body, but don’t judge me. Painter was the kind of hot that no sane woman can resist. It never occurred to me to try.)
“Hi,” I managed to say as he swaggered toward the porch—and yeah, he had the swagger down cold, trust me.
“Hey,” he replied, giving me that same slow grin that’d first melted me at the hospital. (And the house. And the restaurant . . .) “This is Puck. Me and him are gonna hang out here tonight.”
I shot a look at his friend, who was a t
all, solidly built guy with darkish skin, darker hair, and a nasty scar across his face. He didn’t look much older than me, but the flatness of his eyes sort of freaked me out.
“Reese didn’t say anything about someone coming over,” I replied, torn. I wanted Painter around, but his friend? Not so much. “I should probably check with Loni.”
“Feel free,” Puck said. “But we got orders. President says we’re watching the house and keeping an eye on you, so that’s what we’re doing.”
Painter scowled at him. “Way to scare her, fuckwad.”
Puck didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear he was here to stay. Okay. This was getting weird fast.
“You know, why don’t you just come in?” I said quickly. I hated it when people fought. Mom and Dad fought all the time, at least until she stopped giving a shit and started smoking pot constantly. “I think there’s some pork chops in the fridge. I’ll make them for dinner, does that sound good?”
Painter smiled at me again, and this time there was something strained about the expression. “Sounds perfect, babe. Can’t wait.”
• • •
Dinner was weird. For one thing, we didn’t talk. None of us. We just sat and ate in the same room together, the clicking of our knives and forks almost painfully loud. Painter was nothing like he’d been before . . . He was still nice to me, but distant. No little knee touches, no lingering glances.
Nothing whispered in my ear.
The situation with Puck was strange, too. I’d assumed they were friends, but soon realized they hardly knew each other. Not that it mattered—they’d been sent to the house with orders to watch over me, and that’s what they planned to do. This burst my bubble in a big way, because I’d been secretly hoping that Painter had wanted to see me again. In reality, I was an assignment. I didn’t know why Reese thought I needed a babysitter, but he obviously did.
I’d just finished my pork chop when Painter suggested we watch a movie.
“It’ll help pass the time,” Puck agreed, anything but friendly. “I’ll see what’s available. Good food—thanks.”