Reaper's Stand

by Joanna Wylde

  “I can’t believe you—what’s wrong here? Is this some kind of joke to you?”

  Nate smiled, so much hatred in his eyes that it scared me. Had I ever known him at all?

  “No, Loni, this isn’t a joke. You’ve got a job to do, and if you want that little cunt Jessica to survive, sounds like you better stop dickin’ around and get it done. Oh, now don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I want her dead—kid’s fuckin’ great in the sack. Wouldn’t mind another run at her.”

  I reeled. My brain seemed to shut down, incapable of accepting any new data.

  “You were sleeping with Jessica?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “God, you’re stupid,” he muttered. “Someone had to give her enough money to get down to Cali when you had your little fight. This whole thing was a lot of work to set up, but I have to admit that screwing her tight little ass was the fun part. Christ, you didn’t actually think I was into you, did you? You’re too old, used up … And now it’s time for you to go and take care of your business. Don’t bother trying to call the cops before it’s done, either. Nobody’s going to help you.”

  Somewhere in the middle of his little speech, I shut down. I could still see everything, hear everything … but it all felt distant and unreal.

  “You’re an evil person,” I whispered.

  “I’m a man with a goal,” Nate replied, his voice serious and his eyes hard—nothing like the person I thought I’d known. He leaned forward, his words precise and clipped. “I know what I want, and I’m willing to do anything to get it. I fucked your girl and convinced her to go to San Diego, Loni. I rigged your house to blow so Hayes would take you in. Now you’re right where I want you, and you’ll fucking dance because I told you to. No more questions.”

  “Here’s that pie,” the waitress said, walking toward us.

  “Thanks, hon,” Nate replied with a smile. She leaned in to him just a little, her body language making it clear she had more than pie to offer.

  They ignored me when I pushed up and out of my seat, trying not to stumble as I walked out of the restaurant and back to my van. I sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes, trying to process what the hell had just happened. But some things don’t make sense no matter how you look at them, so I turned my key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, because I still needed to hit the grocery store. I had a list of things to buy and I was running out of time to get dinner on the table.

  Why was I fixing dinner? I don’t know.

  What I do know is that by the time I paid for the food, my side hurt where my purse kept thwacking me as I walked—the gun threw it off balance, I guess. I ignored the small pain as I drove home to cook dinner for Reese. Not like killing a man is less awful if you’ve fed him first, but what else was I supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon?

  God damn Nate Evans to hell, and God damn me for falling for his shit. God damn the men holding Jessica, too. If there was any justice in the universe, Amber was burning in a fiery pit surrounded by demons right at this minute. I hated all of them.

  Mostly, though, I hated me.

  REESE

  “Why bother playing it through? She’s got a gun in there and she’s gonna shoot you with it. Not many ways to spin that and get a happy ending,” Puck said, holding my gaze steadily. “I spent almost two hours gettin’ harassed on the side of the fucking road while she plotted your death. How much more proof do you need?”

  The kid had balls, talking to me like that. Still, he’d been thrown into deep shit, headfirst, and he’d rolled with it and done his job. Nobody wants to be the one telling an MC president that his woman’s fixin’ to kill him. The Silver Bastards prospect had showed me respect without fucking around.

  I still hated him for what he’d discovered.

  “Hate to say it ’cause I like London, but I’m with Puck on this one,” Gage said. He sat back in an old office chair I’d hauled down to my shop a few years ago. Right now it was positioned in front of a long, low table with two monitors set on top of it. They each split into four screens, playing a live feed of different rooms in my house. Ruger had a gift for electronics, no question.

  I’d have to make sure he didn’t forget to take any of those little fuckers out after this was all over, too. Last I needed were eyes on what went on in there on a regular basis. Been damned fuckin’ hard to act normal this week, knowing the brothers were watching everything I did.

  Make that almost everything. I didn’t let them put anything in the bedroom, because fuck that shit.

  We’d spent a good part of the afternoon down here—Gage, me, Ruger, Horse, Painter, Bam Bam, and Duck. Bolt was off at Maggs’s place. Not sure what drama was goin’ down with those two. Hopefully I’d never find out. Couldn’t even manage my own woman, didn’t need to worry about his.

  “Christ,” I said, watching London bustling around the kitchen on the monitor and sighing. I’d fallen for her, I realized. Not just fucking her, but her. Comin’ home to her felt good, and havin’ her with me at the party? Hadn’t felt like that since Heather was alive.

  I’d never hated the cartel more than I did in that instant.

  We might not have the full story here, but didn’t take a genius to see they were using Jessica to manipulate her. Was that an excuse? No. London should’ve come to me, let the club handle things.

  “She’s got no fuckin’ clue what she got herself into here,” I muttered. Bam grunted.

  “That’s how they work. Nobody sets out to get controlled and used by a fuckin’ cartel. They’re like parasites, workin’ their way in and then taking over until you can’t pull them out without killing the host. Lost cause at this point, Pic. She’s made her choice and it wasn’t you. Those weren’t blanks I pulled out of her purse—so far as she knows, that gun is still loaded and she’s obviously plannin’ to use it.”

  I sighed, torn between wishing he wasn’t so damn blunt and thankful my brothers weren’t afraid to give it to me straight.

  “So why are we still waiting?” Gage asked. “We go in and find out what’s going on—she won’t be able to hold out on us long. We can make a decision about what to do with her after that.”

  “Because he’s hoping she’ll change her mind,” Duck muttered. He sat on a shop stool, eyeing all of us cynically. “Fuckin’ pussy thinks that maybe true love will conquer all, and then she’ll climb onto his bike and they’ll ride away into the sky on a rainbow while we all throw rose petals at them.”

  Puck snorted, quickly turning it into a cough.

  “Just ’cause you’re old doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that,” I told Duck, my voice like ice. He shrugged.

  “Call it like I see it,” he said. “Whatever you do, let’s do it soon. If you want it to go all the way to the end, that’s fine with me. Just get moving because I’m hungry. Whether she tries to shoot you or not, that food she’s cookin’ will still taste good.”

  “Jesus, Duck,” Painter muttered. Then he caught my eye. “If this is really goin’ down, I should grab Melanie. She’s upstairs, and I don’t know what London’s planning to do about her witnessing things. We don’t need her seein’ this shit. No more collateral damage than necessary, right boss?”

  “Go get her,” I said. “Take her to dinner and a movie, or some such. Make it a date. That’ll be a good alibi for both of you if anything happens. I’ll keep you posted and if things go to hell you can dump her with one of the girls, sound good?”

  “Yeah,” Painter said. “I’ll take her out and then tuck her in safe once you give the all clear. Good luck, Pic. Hope it works out okay.”

  He leaned over and gave me a rough hug. I slapped his back, and the rest of us settled in to watch as he drove his bike around the back side of the hill, pulling into the driveway like he’d come directly from town.

  “So, you find anything interesting in her purse besides that gun?” I asked Bam.

  “Well, there’s the phone they’ve been usin’ to
talk to her, but that’s nothing new.”

  “Still fuckin’ pissed about that,” Ruger muttered. “Shouldn’t be so hard to crack the bastard, but still haven’t been able to tap it. Ninjas or something.”

  Despite everything, I had to smile. Ruger wasn’t used to being beaten by technology.

  “Finally met your match,” Duck grunted, his voice satisfied. “I keep tellin’ you, we can’t just count on electronic shit to cover us. Nothing like human intel combined with real firepower. Beats one of your little bugs any time.”

  “Without my bugs, we’d have no idea what we’re walking into,” Ruger said. Duck rolled his eyes.

  “You still got no idea,” he muttered. “We know she’s got a gun somewhere and we’re pretty sure she’s planning to shoot Pic. Has somethin’ to do with that kid of hers. Hard to know more without hearin’ both sides of the conversation, but it doesn’t really matter. We haven’t learned one damn thing about the cartel that’s new or useful in all of this, and I’ll bet she can’t tell us shit, either. This is the sideshow—the main event’s gonna be in Cali, not here.”

  “We know they want Pic dead,” Ruger said.

  “Yeah, ’cause that’s a big fuckin’ surprise,” Horse said. “And here I thought they loved him, up to this point. Who knew?”

  “Dick.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Christ, you’re like two-year-olds,” I muttered, glaring at him and Ruger. “You need a fuckin’ time-out?”

  “Painter’s in,” Gage said quietly. We watched on the tiny screens as he went upstairs to talk to Melanie, who apparently needed some time to get ready. This wasn’t a huge surprise to me, seeing as I raised two daughters. Painter went down to the kitchen and chatted up London while Mel was primping, then guided her gently out of the house to his bike.

  “I think Painter’s got a little crush,” Horse said. “Isn’t that sweet? We should all congratulate him on that, make real sure he knows we’re pullin’ for him. He’ll love that.”

  Puck snorted again.

  “Shut the fuck up, prospect,” Duck said. “No respect.”

  “I’ll take that as my cue,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Horse? You come with me, along with Puck and Bam. Ruger, I want you keepin’ an eye on things until we finish with her. Then get your ass down to the house and tear it all down. Tonight. No more fuckin’ cameras in my shit. And I want everyone ready to leave for Portland by midnight, got me? No point in makin’ things easy for the bastards if they’re spying on us.”

  “You got it,” Ruger said. “Sooner we get this done the better. Make our move before someone in the Devil’s Jacks decides they don’t want to play nice with the rest of us.”

  “Unlikely. They’re fucked,” I said. “So are we, come to think of it. This is it, brothers—we either smack these cartel cocksuckers back now or we get ready to start followin’ their orders. Not a whole lot of ground in between.”

  For once, neither Horse nor Ruger had a joke.

  “Ready for a beer?” London asked brightly as she opened the door for me. I studied her face for a hint of something—guilt, evasion … Hell, even hostility.

  Nothing. She was like a pretty, blank blow-up doll going through the motions. Completely checked out.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” I said, reaching out and catching the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn’t respond, which wasn’t exactly a surprise under the circumstances.

  “I’ve got chili cooking, and some corn bread,” she told me when I let her go. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the dining room? Food’ll be ready soon, I’ll bring it out to you.”

  As she walked me toward the table, I decided there’d never been a more incompetent assassin in history. I hadn’t really believed she was deliberately working with the cartel from the start, but now I had proof. Nobody who knew what they were doing would be this stupid about it.

  She’d set a magazine out for me in front of the chair at the head of the table. Facing away from the kitchen—wasn’t that convenient? That way she could just walk up to me and shoot me in the head.

  “I’ll just check on the corn bread,” she said without meeting my eyes. I watched as she drifted away. Fuck. Guess it’d been too good to be true.

  Sorry, baby, Heather whispered.

  Yeah, whatever.

  I grabbed my magazine and walked around to the far side of the table. Knowing my luck, she’d ditch the gun and go after me with a rolling pin. Never turn your back on a woman with a weapon—I’d learned that from Heather. Come to think of it, she’d tried to kill me at least three times over the course of our marriage … ’Course, only one of those was serious.

  Ten minutes later London came back into the dining room, something heavy pulling down one side of her sweater. Christ, but she was clueless. It would’ve been funny, but pretty fuckin’ hard to laugh when the woman you love tries to kill you.

  Love?

  Now that was probably takin’ it a bit far, I mused. But whatever I felt for her, it was a step up from lust. Pisser, because that was a gun in her pocket, and from the determined look on her face she was definitely planning to use it against me. I decided to throw a Hail Mary anyway.

  “Something you want to talk about?” I asked her. Her mouth twisted as she bit her lip, clearly startled to find me in a different place than where she’d left me. Yeah, ’cause I always made it as easy as possible for people to kill me. I’m a giver that way.

  Last chance, London.

  “No,” she said quietly, sticking her hand down into the pocket with the gun. She caught me watching, and her face actually turned white.

  “Babe, you look like you could use a day off,” I told her, wondering if there was a way to get through to her. Couldn’t decide how I felt about that … Duck had been right. I wanted things to end happy, for her to fall into my arms and let me take over and fix everything. But I was also fuckin’ pissed, because I could no longer deny that this woman truly meant to kill me. Hard not to take that personally. “Have you considered hitting the spa? Maybe get a massage?”

  “That costs too much,” she said automatically. I frowned at her, wondering how such a smart person could be so stupid. Talk to me before it’s too late.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you pay for it.”

  “I don’t want your money—”

  “Yeah, I know, you’re totally independent and you like it that way. Blah, blah. Just let me do something for you, for once.”

  She looked like she might throw up, and then her eyes started turning red. Tears. London knew what she was about to do was wrong, and she knew she didn’t want to do it … yet it still didn’t occur to her to reach out for help. I got that she had to protect Jessica—I’d do the same for Em or Kit. I even got that she was confused and frightened. But what really sucked in this situation was that she didn’t trust me to save her.

  Had it been anything but sex for her?

  No. Time to face reality. I was just a booty call to her, proving once and for all that karma’s one hell of a bitch. And so was London.

  Fuck.

  “The food won’t be ready for another ten minutes. You look sort of tense. Want a neck rub?” She started to walk around the table toward me, clearly planning to blow out my brains. Now I felt a wave of fury hit. How dare this cunt use me for sex and then try to shoot me in my own home? I’d have done anything to help her, but she couldn’t even bother asking.

  “I think you should stay back.” Otherwise I might strangle you.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’d hate to make it too easy for you, sweetheart.”

  She smiled weakly. I wanted to slap the smile right off her lying face.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Yeah. You understand. And now you’ll understand what it means to be afraid.

  “I’m assuming you’re planning to shoot me in the back of the head,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “That’s a bad idea. You
shoot that close, you’ll be all covered in blood spatter. Means you’ll risk tracking more evidence out of the house or taking time to clean up. Either way, complicates things.”

  That clear enough for you, bitch?

  She pulled out the gun slowly, raising it carefully to aim at my head. Little idiot. A gun like that wasn’t exactly a sniper’s weapon. Even at this close range, she should be going for the biggest target—my chest.

  “Go ahead, do it,” I said, smirking at her. I wanted to scare her. Hurt her. Make her pay for not trusting me … “Show me what you’re made of.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and those tears building in her eyes started spilling out, running down her cheeks. Behind her I saw Horse step up quietly, waiting. Puck and Bam Bam would be in the kitchen, and I knew they’d do whatever I needed, up to and including disposing of London’s body for me. “You’ll never know how much I wish this weren’t happening.”

  “Then don’t do it,” I told her, catching and holding her gaze because I’m a fucking fool. Even now I’d forgive her if she just opened her mouth and told me what was going on. Trusted me. “Whatever it is, we can work through it. I’ll help you.”

  “You can’t …”

  I sighed, because that was it. Over. Goddamn waste, tryin’ to connect with a woman. Heather had been one in a million—I’d already had my time.

  Fuck it.

  I gave Horse a tip of my chin, letting him know wordlessly that I’d had enough of this shit. London would have to pay for what she’d done, which was just too fuckin’ bad. That’s what you get for tryin’ to kill the man you’re sleepin’ with.

  “It’s over, babe,” Horse said. I saw shock all over her face, but I had to admit, the bitch had balls, because she pulled the damn trigger.

  I sighed again as Horse reached around the woman I’d fallen for, grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard as he threw her down on the table face-first. London dropped the gun, crying openly. I stood and strolled over to her, dropping down on my haunches to study her. Her eyes caught mine, expression full of pain and despair.