Reaper's Stand

by Joanna Wylde

  “She says everything’s okay and she doesn’t want to come back to north Idaho. I don’t get it. She was scared, Reese. This doesn’t make sense.”

  He reached up and ran his fingers into my hair. I snuggled deeper into him, wondering how and why my world had gotten so strange so fast.

  “You’re really a nice guy,” I said. He groaned.

  “Don’t say shit like that. I’m not a nice guy, sweetheart. Trust me, I’d know if I was.”

  “Well, you’re being nice to me.”

  “I have ulterior motives. I like fucking you.”

  I laughed. “Whatever the reason, thanks for last night. I suppose I should get to the hospital and check on Melanie. Pick her up. I’ll get us out of here in a day or two. I know I’ll have to talk to the cops, and then get hold of the insurance agent. I can’t remember exactly what my coverage is.”

  “Don’t worry about that for now,” he told me. “Worry about Melanie. Later I’ll take you out and we’ll find you some clothes and shit. Until we know what happened with your house, you’re with me. Nice and safe here. Nonnegotiable.”

  That caught my attention and I rolled onto my elbow, looking down at him with a frown.

  “You think I wouldn’t be safe somewhere else?” I asked quickly. “That sounds like you think my house wasn’t an accident?”

  He shrugged.

  “I got no idea what happened to your house,” he said. “Probably just a gas leak. Just like the idea of keeping you around for a bit, letting shit settle. Probably hasn’t totally sunk in what happened just yet—you need to figure things out. This is a good place to do it. That’s all I meant.”

  I relaxed.

  “Sorry, guess I’m a little edgy.”

  “I take it that means you aren’t up for wake-up sex?”

  I closed my eyes, then shook my head.

  “I don’t think I’m up for anything at all,” I muttered. “I have whiplash. Too much happening too fast.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s get to the hospital, go check on girl number two. See if they’ll let us spring her.”

  An hour later we stood outside the hospital, Mellie gripping my arm as she took in the sight of Painter’s motorcycle.

  “I sort of thought you meant a car when you said you’d give me a ride home,” she whispered, eyes wide. I nodded, more than a little startled myself by the transportation situation. Reese had insisted on us riding his bike that morning, saying Painter would meet us at the hospital to give Mellie a ride if she needed one.

  I’d assumed that mean a ride in a car. Not so much.

  “She did have a head injury,” I pointed out. Painter stood tall next to his bike, his blond hair in short spikes. He frowned at Mel.

  “Then call a cab,” he said, his voice challenging. “Don’t have my car with me.”

  Reese rolled his eyes.

  “Sort of thought the car was implied,” he muttered.

  Painter shrugged.

  “You didn’t say and it’s not like she’s really hurt or anything. You got a headache?”

  Mel frowned, looking nervous and a little excited all at once.

  “No, I don’t actually,” she said. “Although they said no sudden movements.”

  “So you’ll have to hold on tight,” Painter replied, smirking at her. “I don’t mind.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reese said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. “I’ll call someone else.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Mel said suddenly. “I’ll try riding the bike.”

  She smiled hesitantly at Painter, and my mom radar exploded to life. This was the same kid who’d been screwing Jessica. He was tall, with lots of tattoos and muscles and cute in that way only bad boys can be … My Mellie was a good girl, not the kind of girl to get involved with someone like this Painter. Shit. Was she blushing?

  I turned on Painter, whipping out my Parental Voice of Authority like a sword.

  “You watch yourself with her,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything bad happening to that girl. I see right through you, little man.”

  Reese, Melanie, and Painter all froze, their faces full of shocked surprise. Then Painter started laughing.

  “Fuckin’ priceless, prez,” he said, smirking at me. Then he glanced at Mel. “You comin’ or not?”

  She nodded quickly, hopping up on his bike while I glared at them both. Painter kicked his Harley to life and then roared out of the parking lot, leaving me alone with Reese.

  “Kid’s survived prison, you know that?” he asked me slowly, shaking his head. “Bigger than you, too. Really think talkin’ to him like that is a good idea? You’re kind of small.”

  I put my hands on my hips and glared up at him.

  “Then why the hell did you let him ride off with her?”

  “Because he’ll do what I say,” he told me. “And I told him to take her out to my place and keep her safe. He’ll die before he lets anything happen to her. He’s my brother and I trust him.”

  “I don’t care if he’s an Orthodox rabbi,” I said, my voice cold. “He’ll keep his filthy hands off Melanie or he’ll answer to me.”

  “Just because he fucked Jess—”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation,” I said tightly. “I’m protective of her. Unlike Jessica, Melanie works hard to avoid trouble. I hear you’re protective of your girls, too, so I bet you know exactly how I’m feeling right now.”

  He laughed.

  “Yeah, babe, I get it. Just remember—he’s a big boy and he doesn’t have to take any lip from you. Bein’ with me doesn’t give you the right to say shit to him, so be glad you made him laugh instead of pissin’ him off.”

  I stepped forward and threaded my hands up and around his neck. Then I gave him a sweet, sugary smile, staring deep into his blue eyes.

  “I didn’t do it because I’m with you,” I said softly, my voice deadlier than arsenic. “I did it because that child’s mama ran off yesterday and I’m her emergency backup mother. It’s a job I take seriously. Don’t fuck with a mama bear, Reese. Doesn’t end well for anyone—not even big, bad bikers.”

  He burst out laughing, then shook his head.

  “I guess it doesn’t.” He leaned down and gave my nose a quick kiss. “I’ll be careful not to piss you off in the future.”

  “You do that. I’m small, Reese, but I’m persistent. Like a rabid ferret. Don’t make me bite you, because my teeth are very sharp.”

  “Didn’t know you were into that,” he whispered. “You keep surprisin’ me, London.”

  I started giggling, sounding more like Melanie than myself. But Reese made me feel that way. Young and vibrant and alive. I’d forgotten just how much fun it felt to fall in love.

  Wait.

  I was falling in lust. Possibly infatuation. Love was something else entirely. I needed to pull my head out of my ass before I got hurt.

  “Everything okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s get going, though. I’ve got a lot to do today—Oh, crap. I don’t have a car.”

  “We’ll stop by the shop, pick up that loaner.”

  “I can’t—”

  “If you say you can’t accept any help, I’m going to strangle you.”

  I stared at him, shocked. Reese shrugged, holding out his hands.

  “It’s a guy thing,” he told me. “We like taking care of our women. You don’t let me help you, the other boys’ll make fun of me and then I’ll have to cry. Are you trying to make me cry, London?”

  He blinked at me like an innocent puppy, and I couldn’t help it. I started laughing, and we both knew he’d won.

  “You suck,” I told him.

  “You like it.”

  He was right—I totally did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LONDON

  Thursday passed in a blur.

  We started out with a quick trip by Target so I could grab something clean to wear. I’d rebuild my wardrobe down the line,
but for now just having fresh panties and jeans that weren’t covered in dirt and soot was a huge improvement—not to mention a new bra. Reese seemed a little disappointed by that, but he’d get over it. The girls liked their support.

  Then I met with the cops and the fire investigators. Reese made some phone calls, and a lawyer I didn’t know sat in on the meetings with me, which seemed a bit excessive. Then again, what did I know about exploding-house procedure? Not that it mattered. The suited assassin (seriously—this lawyer wore a black suit and looked exactly like a hit man) just listened with a blank face, occasionally cutting off a line of questioning for reasons I never quite figured out. The official types didn’t seem overly concerned by this, so I decided not to worry about it, either.

  I was more worried about how I’d pay the guy but apparently it was a non-issue. According to Reese, “He’s on retainer with the club, babe. Part of his job. Don’t think about it.”

  The sheriff—Bud Tyrell—and the fire investigator wanted to know about my history with the house (long), whether I’d ever had issues with the oven (occasionally), and if I had any large, outstanding debts (always).

  The latter got the most attention from them, because despite the fact that business was thriving, I was always a step behind financially. It wasn’t that I blew money. Not at all. But there were six years of medical bills built up from Jessica’s ongoing surgeries and treatment, which added up fast even with insurance.

  When they asked for specifics, I couldn’t tell them anything. All my records burned up in the fire. They’d see plenty if they pulled my credit report, though. Maybe I could use the insurance settlement to pay off my debts? Tempting …

  That’s when I realized having a lawyer in the room might not be such a bad idea after all.

  It’s all about motive, right?

  Meeting with the insurance agent was easier. I’d never really paid attention to my coverage, but he’d been my mother’s agent for years and he’d known what he was doing when he set everything up. Not only did I have fantastic coverage to rebuild the house, but I had coverage for living expenses for the duration.

  I could move out of Reese’s place any time I wanted.

  The idea was less appealing than it should’ve been. I mentioned looking for an apartment and he shut me down, so I figured that was an argument I’d tackle tomorrow. The thought of one more night in his bed wasn’t exactly unappealing under normal circumstances—as things stood, I was more than happy to stay put for a couple of days.

  Thursday night Reese took me and Melanie out to dinner, with the ever-present Painter tagging along for good measure. I glared at him every time he talked to Mellie, which seemed to give him perverse pleasure, and when I complained about him to Reese after we locked ourselves in the bedroom, he rolled me over and shut me up with his mouth.

  It was an impressive argument in favor of silence, all things considered.

  In the midst of all this, they called on Friday to let us know my van was ready. I drove the loaner over to the shop, where I was handed my keys by a gruff, overweight man who ignored me when I asked about a bill. He wouldn’t even tell me what’d been wrong with the vehicle, which seemed a bit excessive. I would’ve been pissed if I weren’t so thankful that it was up and running without me having to blow my savings completely. Sure, I had insurance money coming. Theoretically. But I’d need that to rebuild, and those medical bills were always waiting for me.

  Now it was Friday evening, and I was about to experience my first real biker party out at the Armory. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this—before all the drama with the house, I’d promised Reese that he could have Friday night and I wanted to keep my word. On the other hand, I’d watched my house blow up and I didn’t have anything to wear.

  Reese laughed at me and suggested I go naked.

  I went shopping instead, both for clothing and for several large containers of baked beans and fruit salad, because exploding house or not, I’d be damned if I’d show up to a potluck empty-handed. The gravel parking lot outside the Armory was about half full when I pulled in, with the same two young prospects I’d met on my first trip out there directing traffic.

  Did those poor guys ever get a break?

  This time they didn’t question me as I walked toward the building, just waved me through a side gate in the wall. I followed a narrow passage between the wall and the looming mass of the fortress itself, leading to a large courtyard in the back. It was a mixture of pavement, open grass, and outbuildings that had to cover a good acre or two.

  It felt like being inside a castle courtyard, but instead of knights and ladies there were big, scary guys with beards and more cleavage than I’d ever seen outside a girls’ locker room. People bustled around everywhere and they all seemed to know each other or have a job to do. Feeling awkward, I glanced around for Reese. Maybe coming out here had been a mistake. Then a tall, curvy woman in tight jeans came up to me, smiling broadly. She looked about my age and very friendly.

  “Hey, I’m Darcy,” she said, reaching out to take the container of beans from me. “I’m Boonie’s old lady. He’s president of the Silver Bastards. I don’t think we’ve met before?”

  “London Armstrong,” I said, putting on my game face. “I’m friends with Reese Hayes.”

  “Picnic?” she asked, looking startled. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like his usual type. Are you … together?”

  A heavy arm came down around my shoulders, startling me so much I squeaked. I looked up to find Painter grinning at Darcy, a hint of the devil in his pale blue eyes. His white-blond hair was newly spiked and he wasn’t wearing a shirt under his leather cut. Made me feel kind of pervy to notice, but between the muscles and the tattoos he was actually very attractive. He smelled good, too.

  Oh, I definitely needed to keep his handsome ass away from Melanie … Boys like this one were dangerous, and not just because of the whole prison thing.

  “London’s playing house with Pic,” he said blandly. Darcy’s eyes opened wide.

  “You don’t say?”

  Painter nodded.

  “Yup, they’re shacked up,” he said. “Expectin’ him to get down on one knee and propose soon. It’s all so beautiful we could just cry.”

  Her mouth dropped and he burst out laughing.

  “Fuckin’ priceless,” he said, shaking his head and dropping his arm. “She’s his newest piece of ass. Seems to be sticking more than the usual, but we all know how he is. She doesn’t like me much for some reason, do you, babe?”

  I glared at him, trying to decide whether kicking him in the nuts on Reaper property was a bad idea.

  Probably.

  “Reese and I are dating,” I said to Darcy, pulling my dignity around me like a queen. “I had a problem with my house, and he graciously offered to let me stay as his guest until I get things worked out. Anything else is baseless speculation.”

  With those words I scowled at Painter for emphasis. He held his hands up in surrender, a look of blatantly fake empathy taking over his features.

  “Wow, guess I’m not wanted here. I’ll go. You bring Melanie with you? I’d love to show her the clubhouse.”

  I growled and he burst out laughing again before swaggering off.

  “I see …” Darcy said slowly. “Well, you must be something special, because Pic doesn’t date women. He fucks ’em and dumps ’em. I should know. Enough of his leftovers have shown up at my place crying over the years.”

  “Well, that’s very interesting,” I replied, because what else could you say? Darcy shook her head, frowning.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking—that was so rude and I didn’t mean it that way. We must seem like the strangest people you’ve ever met.”

  I didn’t respond to that, and she shrugged sheepishly.

  “Don’t worry. Painter”—she paused to glare at him across the courtyard—“just has a strange sense of humor, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend you. And I know
all the other old ladies will be thrilled to meet you. This is a special party, because we’ve got people coming in from five different states. Montana, Idaho, Oregon, California, and Washington. Three different clubs. You’ll have a great time, although you might want to stick close to either Pic or one of us, seeing as you don’t have a property patch.”

  “What’s a property patch?”

  “Wow, you really are new,” she said, eyes widening. “It’s when a man marks you as his, so the others know to keep their hands off. See mine?”

  She turned around and for the first time I noticed she was wearing a leather vest, just like one of the guys. On the back it read “Property of Silver Bastards. Boonie.”

  Once again, I had no idea what to say. She seemed proud and pleased with it, although I couldn’t quite imagine calling myself property. Of course, I couldn’t imagine my house blowing up, either. Sometimes life throws you a curve. Darcy turned back toward me, eyes assessing my face carefully.

  “In club culture, being a man’s property is like being married to him,” she said. “It means he’s my old man, and that’s a special bond. The others respect it.”

  “I see …”

  She laughed.

  “No, you don’t, but you’re being polite and I like that,” she told me. “More polite than I was. Here, come on over and meet some of the other girls. You’ll like them, and while you may not be Pic’s old lady, you’re obviously someone special. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sleeping over at his place. Don’t listen to Painter—he’s just fuckin’ with your head, okay?”

  I shrugged, because I hadn’t planned on listening to Painter anyway. I liked Darcy, though. She was a little different, but she seemed genuine and kind. That went a long way in my book.

  She started walking across the cracked concrete, and I followed her, studying the scene. There was a largish group of women arranging food on long tables back against the building. They all worked together smoothly to put together the meal, and I got the impression that every movement was well rehearsed—they must do this a lot.

  That sort of surprised me, although I’m not sure why. I guess I’d pegged the parties as one hundred percent debauchery, but even sex fiends have to eat. At least my baked beans and fruit salad fit right in, because this spread wouldn’t be out of place at a church social. Apparently some things are universal, and potlucks are one of them.