by Joanna Wylde
“Really? What’s she gonna do with herself?”
“She’s moving in with Maggs Dwyer.”
“Bolt’s old lady?”
“No, Bolt’s ex,” she said firmly. “She’s pretty emphatic about that detail. She runs a program at the community center for special-needs children. Jess has been volunteering there for a couple of years, and she’s decided to enroll in the early-childhood education program down at the college. Maggs is giving her a part-time job and a room to rent. It’s perfect in a lot of ways.”
“Bolt won’t like that,” I mused. “He’s tryin’ to get back with her. Havin’ Jess around won’t make things easier.”
“Not Bolt’s decision.”
Fair enough.
“So two weeks and you’re all mine.”
She nodded, giving a yawn. “Assuming you still want me.”
“Fuck yeah, I want you.”
She made a happy little snuffling noise and we fell silent again. Another meteor streaked overhead. London’s breathing slowed as she drifted off.
Hey, babe, Heather whispered. Remember coming here together? Two little girls snuggled up between us, watching the stars shooting all night? You told them they were people riding up to heaven on rockets.
Yeah, I remember.
I remembered everything, although sometimes I wished I could erase those memories because they hurt so bad. Tonight, though? Tonight they were beautiful.
She’s good for you—this is what I wanted. Someday when Em and Kit have kids, you bring them up here for me, will you? Tell them Grandma Heather’s watching over them … Then tell them Grandma London’s gonna give ’em extra loves, because they’re such special kids they deserve double.
I swallowed. London stirred next to me, and I took in her scent. Clean and fresh, her hair still just a little damp from the river.
I’ll always miss you, I told Heather. But it’s time to let you go.
She didn’t answer.
Another star shot by in the darkness, and London raised her head.
“You okay, Reese?”
“I love you.”
Silence.
“You’ve never said that to me before.”
“Wasn’t ready. I’m ready now.”
“I love you, too.”
She settled back into my body, and I felt right in a way I’d almost forgotten existed. Darkness surrounded us, broken only by the meteor shower. I waited for Heather to say something. Nothing.
Now it was just London and me.
Felt good.
Epilogue
THIRTEEN MONTHS LATER
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
PUCK
“Can’t decide—should I get drunk first and then get laid, or the other way around?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Puck muttered, staring at the ceiling. He lay back on the top bunk, trying to ignore the annoying mouth breather he and Painter shared a cell with. At least they had a cell. Given how crowded the prison was, half the guys didn’t have any space of their own at all.
“Yeah, I’m gonna start with sex,” Fester continued, oblivious to the threat in Puck’s voice. The guy was a complete moron, but at least he was harmless. Over the past year, he and Painter had needed to fight off the cartel boys at least once a month. An annoying cell mate was better than getting shanked in your sleep. “There’s this chick I saw once who—”
“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’ll cut off your dick,” Puck muttered. Fester laughed, because they’d had this same conversation at least once a day for the past six months. But today they were in lockdown, which meant Puck couldn’t get away from the little shit.
Painter snorted in amusement across the room, because he knew exactly how much the man got on Puck’s nerves.
“How ’bout that girl of yours?” Fester asked Painter, shifting directions abruptly. “She have anything interesting to say? I always think about her in that blue sundress she was wearin’ in that one picture. You know, the one where her tits were sorta pokin’ through? I swear to fuck, those were her nipples. They taste good? I’ll bet they taste good.”
Puck closed his eyes and shook his head. Fester had no fuckin’ sense of self-preservation at all. Painter didn’t like questions about his girl. This was not new territory.
“You say one more word and I’ll kill you on the spot,” Painter replied, his voice like stone. “She’s not my girl and whatever you think you saw, you forget. You’re not good enough to look at her picture, asshole.”
“Sorry, Painter,” Fester said quickly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you. You just keep readin’ your letter and I’ll go over here for a while. Maybe draw a picture or somethin’.”
“You do that,” Painter said, then Puck heard Fester move across the room, followed by the sounds of crayons dumping out across the desk. Man had the mind of an eight year old, no joke. Puck wondered how he’d survive when they got out in two weeks, but he didn’t put too much energy into it. Fester was like a cockroach—he’d find a way.
“Any news from home?” Puck asked, although “home” wasn’t really the right word. Painter’d gotten a packet of notes and pictures from Coeur d’Alene, all gathered together by one of the Reapers’ old ladies and sent down at once.
“Not really,” he said. “Looks like Bolt and Maggs are back together.”
Puck grunted, trying to remember who Maggs was. Bolt he remembered, but they hadn’t talked much. He’d only been in Coeur d’Alene a few days before everything fell to shit. After their first four months inside together, Painter had suggested he come prospect with the Reapers when he got out. Wouldn’t be happening. Puck’s dad had been a Silver Bastard, and that’s who he wanted to ride with.
Assuming he ever got to ride again.
“Mellie got a scholarship,” Painter added after a few minutes. “Says she’s excited, because it means she won’t have to work during school this year.”
Puck grinned, but he didn’t say shit. Painter had it bad for the girl—pussy whipped, despite the fact he’d never even gotten a whiff. He’d never fall for that, no fuckin’ way. Life was hard enough without some bitch whinin’ all the time.
Not only that, who wanted to pick just one?
The warning bell rang for lights out, and Fester scrabbled around, presumably picking up his crayons. Freak had a talent for drawing, strangely enough. He could draw pictures of anything, all shaded and complicated and shit. Puck wouldn’t have thought you could pull that off with crayons, but what did he know?
The lights went out and Puck closed his eyes, ignoring the howls and moans of inmates up and down the block. This was the best time in prison. He might be stuck in a concrete box with Painter and their pet fuckwit, but with the lights off he could imagine being somewhere else. Outside.
Get drunk first or get laid?
Damned fine question, he had to admit. Christ, but he missed women. Specifically, he missed fucking them … But he also missed their softness, and the way—when he smiled just right—their eyes went all liquid and they’d do whatever the hell he asked, no matter how fucked up it might be.
Okay, laid first.
He tried to picture the girl. Blonde? Dark hair? Fuck, he didn’t care. He’d start out with a blow job, and then move on to her pussy, maybe eat her out. Yeah, that’d be good. His cock twitched and he lifted his hips, sliding down his pants. On the bunk below him Fester grunted, breaking the spell—but not for long. Puck ignored him, palming his dick and squeezing tight.
Just like that.
But her mouth would be hot and wet, and the thought of her pussy was so sweet it made his teeth hurt. And he’d find one with a sweet pussy for that first night outside. No nasty old bitches for him. Nope. Nothing but the best, because it was his fantasy and he’d damned well do what he wanted in it.
His cock swelled as he pictured sliding it into her slowly from behind. Favorite way to do it, looking down at their asses, all heart shaped and pretty. Jacking his hand slowly, he tried to
decide what he wanted. Pale skin? Dark? Maybe some freckles, or just all creamy smooth? Hell, he’d order one of each, find a new one to play with every night.
Speaking of asses, he’d hit that, too. Yup. Mouth, cunt, ass. Then he’d get drunk and start all over again.
Fuckin’ beautiful. Too bad she wasn’t real. Frustration filled him, but Puck jacked harder, lust for his imaginary girl clashing with the cold, hard reality that a man’s hand just wasn’t enough. Not after thirteen months.
But his hand would have to do.
Fluid started seeping from his tip, and he caught it, slicking his way as he kept going. His heart pumped faster now, matching his rhythm. Sweet, tight, and hot. Young. Pretty. Maybe long hair, so he could hold on to it while he fucked her, because riding rough worked for him in a big way.
Oh yeah …
He liked the idea of pulling her hair, maybe giving her ass a little smack. The vision was so intense he practically heard the slap of his hand against her flesh, the way she’d tense around him when he did it. Fuck, that was good. The pressure inside grew tighter and he knew he was close. So fucking close.
His vision shifted—now she knelt in front of him, looking up with big, deep brown eyes as she wrapped her pink lips around his cock. Holy hell, that was perfect. Puck’s arm started to ache, but he didn’t slow down. Probably making enough noise for the others to hear and he didn’t give a shit. Painter was his brother—might not be with the same clubs, but brothers just the same. They’d done time together, forged a bond that couldn’t be broken. Shit like this meant nothin’.
And Fester?
He didn’t count.
The girl in his head pulled her mouth free of his cock, and glanced up at him playfully. Then she reached out with the tip of her tongue, poking the slit at the end of his length.
Puck exploded.
Jesus.
So fucking good. Fucking perfect.
For a moment he just lay in the dark, free in that instant. What a joke.
Too bad his little mama wasn’t real. And she wasn’t. Because here he was, stuck alone in the dark with two other men, one of whom was half in love with some bitch he’d probably never touch. Nope. Painter wouldn’t make a move even after they got out. Precious Melanie was too pretty and perfect up on her pedestal to get dirty, Puck figured.
As for Fester? He liked to eat his own crayons.
Pathetic. Both of them. Puck needed to get out, sometimes thought he’d go crazy if he didn’t get out.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Puck wiped off his hand and pulled up his pants. After tonight, only thirteen days left.
“Those was definitely her little titties pokin’ through that dress,” Fester whispered.
“God damn it!”
Painter was out of bed and across the room in a heartbeat, dragging dumbass out of bed so hard that Puck’s bunk shook.
“Don’t do it,” Puck snapped. “You fuck him up, could mess with our parole.”
Painter stilled.
“You don’t talk about her,” he said finally, dropping the other man to the floor. Fester gave a high, nervous giggle.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Mouth. Cunt. Ass.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many readers have asked me to write about what happens to various Reapers and their ladies after their stories have been told. This bonus epilogue gives a sneak peek of the club’s future without revealing any spoilers for the books ahead. That being said, it also ends with a bit of a tease for a storyline that won’t be addressed or resolved in the next book. I let the readers on my fan page vote on whether I should share it with you, and they were overwhelmingly in favor of including it. Read at your own risk.
Bonus Epilogue
NINE YEARS LATER
JESSICA
“Jessica Amber Armstrong.”
I took a deep breath and stood up, my advisor at my side, her brightly colored academic robes fluttering like flags in the light breeze. We climbed up onto the outdoor stage, and I looked out to see London, Reese, Mellie, and all the others watching me, pride written all over their faces. When they’d come in—full Reapers colors on display—everyone had gotten out of their way quick. Worked out well, too. Now they had the front two rows all to themselves.
Reese caught my eye and winked. I smiled back, then turned toward my graduate advisor, lowering myself so she could put the academic hood over my head. Right up to that point I was doing great—just one more step in the march toward my master’s in special education … But then she smoothed the silk across my shoulders and whispered, “We’re so proud of you, Jessica. I’ve never had a student work harder than you have.”
That’s when I lost it.
I turned back toward the audience, tears running down my face. Most of them would never know what I’d had to overcome to get this far—what I still had to overcome every day of my life. The checks and balances I’d put into place to keep myself from making impulsive decisions. The surgeries to maintain my shunt. The fact that every time I looked down at my hand and missing finger, I was reminded that evil is a real thing that exists in our world, all around us.
I’d use all of it to help my students, I vowed. Every bit of suffering, every stupid decision I’d ever made, every hour of physical pain I’d endured. Every time someone made fun of me for being “slow.” I knew better now. I wasn’t slow—I was different, and that difference was what made me one of the best fucking special education teachers in the state.
They weren’t making fun of me anymore.
The dean shook my hand as London and Reese and all the others started whooping and hollering for me. That got them some looks, but I didn’t give a shit. They were my people, and they’d been there for me when I needed them.
Now it was my turn to make them all proud.
We’d blown off the formal reception at the University of Idaho in favor of a party out at Spring Valley Reservoir. Not all the club had been able to make it down, but enough were there that the Moscow chapter had come out to welcome us. One of the local brothers had a barrel smoker, which was already full of ribs. London was in her element, bossing all the old ladies around and making sure the food would be perfect. Not a single paper napkin was out of place.
Mellie took off right after the hooding ceremony, which sucked. She had to work later in the afternoon, but the fact that she’d driven down at all meant everything to me. Her path hadn’t been the easiest over the years, but we’d both made it through, friendship intact.
“Auntie Jess, will you braid my hair?” asked Kylie, Em’s youngest. She was two weeks shy of her fourth birthday, but in her mind she was already a full-on adult. “Mama said she needed to help Daddy with something in the tent. I’m not s’posed to bother her.”
I snickered. Yeah, I’ll bet he needed “help” with something, all right.
“Sure, c’mon over to the table.”
We sat down and I finger-combed her hair, looking out across the beach. Marie, Sophie, and Jina were watching over a gaggle of kids and working on their tans. With the exception of Horse, most of the brothers were up drinking beer and supervising the smoker. He’d let the little ones—led by his oldest boy, who I swear was cockier than he was—bury him in the sand. Probably just waiting to explode up and chase them all into the water.
I finished Kylie’s hair and she took off running to the beach, braid flapping behind her. Kit—Reese’s other daughter—sat down next to me with a thump, passing over a beer.
“You know, I never thought I’d get sucked back into this shit,” she muttered. I glanced at her, a question in my eyes. “The MC shit. Thought I’d made it out.”
“Does anyone ever really make it out?” I asked. “Doesn’t matter what life you choose—your family will always be part of you. Just be glad yours is a good one.”
Kit nodded.
“Yeah, for the most part. Congrats on the degree.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling
warm and happy.
“Here you are,” London said. She dropped into the spot on my other side, nudging me over with her hip. I shifted, pushing at Kit until she moved her butt, too. London’s arm came around me and she gave me a tight hug. “So, you ready to settle down now, Ms. Hot Shit Graduate? Maybe give me some more grandbabies?”
“Not every woman lives to have children, Loni,” I said, my voice dry. “I seem to remember you focusing on building your business for a long time.”
“I was focused on raising your ass,” she replied, grinning at me. “You gave me hell. Only fair that someone should make you suffer, too.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I think I’ll wait a little longer. I have it on good authority that raising a kid on your own is a lot of work … Who mentioned that to me? Oh, yeah. That was you, Loni. Remember?”
“Speaking of you turning into a lifeless old maid with a vag full of cobwebs, I have someone I want you to meet,” Kit said, a wicked smile crossing her face. “He should be out here soon. I think you’ll like him a lot.”
“God, just one day …” I muttered, shaking my head. “Just one day without one of you trying to fix me up? Is that too much to ask?”
“This one is different,” Kit said, her voice indignant. “He’s—”
I heard the roar of a motorcycle and looked up to see who was pulling up to the campsite.
Holy shit. Was that … ?
“There he is! I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Kit grabbed my elbow, dragging me to my feet. I followed her, stumbling. No. Fucking. Way.
“Told you he’s different,” Kit said, grinning. Yeah, he was different all right. We came to a stop and he pulled off his helmet, giving me that slow, sexy smile I loved and hated so much at the same time. I just stood there, staring at him like a dumbass until Kit pushed me from behind. The move caught me off guard, and I literally stumbled into his arms.
Seriously?
“Hey, Jess,” he said, the words a slow, sexy drawl. “Never thought I’d see you again. Happy graduation.”