“What were your stats in the Major Leagues?”
“What?”
“I asked your stats. Errors. On base percentage. Batting average. Fielding percentage. You know, statistics.”
“I know what statistics are,” I respond dryly.
“But if you’ve never played in the Majors, how is it you know how my arm’s supposed to feel so that you can get it back to one hundred percent?”
He’s neglecting the fact that no other trainer has played in the Major Leauges either . . . but I have a better way to shut him up. “Have you ever been a woman?”
“What?” It’s his turn to be surprised by an unexpected question. “Of course not. I’ve got plenty of proof that I’m a man?”
I roll my eyes, half-expecting him to grab his crotch and equally relieved that he doesn’t. “Well, if you’ve never been a woman, how is it you know how to please one in bed? How do you know if you’re hitting the right spot? Getting her off?”
He fights back the bark of a laugh, but eventually lets it escape as he just shakes his head at me. “Touché,” he repeats my words back to me.
“If you’re going to bust my chops, Wylder, you should know that I can give as good as I get.”
“Point taken. But since you’re the one singlehandedly charged with busting my balls in rehab over the next three months, you’ve gotta admit, it was a valid question.”
“It was,” I concede, “but it’s your job to talk to me, tell me how it feels, where it hurts, and when it feels good, so I can make it better.” An unexpectedly shy smile slides on his lips when he gets the correlation between what I asked about how to please a woman and my answer.
“Just like sex.”
“Perhaps.” I smile; it’s all I can do as heat flushes my cheeks and the room around us becomes too small for him and this innuendo-laced conversation. “Some men have all the tools in the world, but if they don’t know how to use them, they’re useless. It’s the same with my job. You’ve gotta know how to use your skills, and I assure you, I do. So, if the I-don’t-trust-you-because-you-have-a-vagina-card has been exhausted, can we get started?” I point to the table behind him as he chuckles, and then I begin to adjust the machine.
“You drive a hard bargain, Kitty.” He sits down and pulls off his shirt, discarding it to right of him.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Shade’s Lady
A Reapers MC Novella
By Joanna Wylde
About Joanna Wylde
Joanna Wylde started her writing career in journalism, working in two daily newspapers as both a reporter and editor. Her career has included many different jobs, from managing a homeless shelter to running her own freelance writing business, where she took on projects ranging from fundraising to ghostwriting for academics. During 2012 she got her first Kindle reader as a gift and discovered the indie writing revolution taking place online. Not long afterward she started cutting back her client list to work on Reaper's Property, her breakout book. It was published in January 2013, marking the beginning of a new career writing fiction.
Joanna lives in the mountains of northern Idaho with her family.
Also from Joanna Wylde
Click to purchase
Reaper's Property
Reaper's Legacy
Devil's Game
Silver Bastard
Reaper's Fall
Reaper's Fire
Reapers and Bastards
Coming June 2017:
Taz (Book 1 of the Devil’s Jacks MC series)
Acknowledgments from the Author
Thank you so much to Rebecca Zanetti, who connected me to 1001 Dark Nights. It’s a wonderful thing when you meet someone who’s smart, funny and not afraid to share a celebratory drink at noon. Long live the booth!
Thanks also to Cara Carnes, Kylie Scott and Jen Frederick for their critiques, as well as Margarita, Jess and Lori for being foolish enough to volunteer (again) when I needed help (again). Ladies, you kick ass and I appreciate everything you’ve done so much. (Except for you, Kylie. You are The Worst.)
Finally, thanks to Liz Berry, Kimberly Guidroz, Kasi Alexander, Fedora Chen, Pam Jamison and the entire 1001 Dark Nights family. Working on this book with you has been a joy and a pleasure.
Chapter One
Violetta, Idaho
Tuesday afternoon
Mandy
“Did you get my text?” Sara asked, pushing through the office door. I’d just finished tying my apron around my waist, and was leaning toward the cracked mirror on the wall for one last makeup check before punching in.
“No,” I replied, frowning. “Dropped my cell in the toilet this morning. I called the phone people. They said I didn’t have any insurance, so I’m fucked. I put it on Future Me’s list of things to worry about.”
Sadly, Future Me’s list got longer every day. She was supposed to pay our credit card bill, figure out whether we should break up with our boyfriend, and find a better place to sleep than my sister’s couch. She also needed to lose ten pounds and magically fix the rusted-out Kia Sedona currently broken down in my sister’s yard. Present Me would’ve felt guilty about dumping all this on the poor thing, but I only had three minutes left to punch in and start slinging drinks for drunken bikers, so it would just have to wait.
Yup. I’m organized like that.
Studying my reflection, I ran an eye down the length of my body. Tight tank with a hint of bra showing? Check. (Nothing like some boob action to bring in the tips. Not only that, Rebel had said he’d be here tonight, and he always liked seeing the girls.) Lipstick was bright and shiny, no smudges on the teeth. More eye makeup than I’d usually wear, but ever since I’d started hanging out with Rebel’s biker friends, I’d kicked it up a notch. Made me look wild and sexy. Not gonna lie—I liked this new me. I liked her a lot. I guess if there was one good thing about my sister’s life falling apart—and me moving to Violetta to help with the kids—it was that it’d forced me to change my life, too.
“Shitty about the phone,” Sara said. “No pun intended. I got stuck washing glasses this afternoon. Now my hands are all chapped. We were so busy that I didn’t get to take my break, so I couldn’t run out to pick up some lotion. Was hoping you could bring some in with you.”
“Sorry.”
My fellow waitress ran a hand through her blonde hair, then gave it a shake. Her impressive rack shook at the same time, and I sighed, feeling a little jealous. Sara’s girls were big and bountiful. No push-up on earth could ever make my modest rack compete. Still, my jeans were tight, my bra was red, and I’d recently run fresh out of fucks to give.
Life could be worse.
“I wish I had your tits,” I told Sara.
She laughed. “I wish I had your butt. Just think of it—we could form one perfect waitress and turn into an unstoppable tip-earning machine.”
I giggled. “So where do I fall on the slut scale?”
Sara studied me thoughtfully.
“I think right around a seven,” she said, nodding in approval. “Slutty enough to make bank on tips, but not full-on club whore. If it’s your goal to make Rebel horny as hell by the end of your shift, you’re right on target. We gotta get out there, though. It’s gonna be a crazy busy night. We’ll work our asses off but at least we won’t be bored.”
“Works for me,” I said, giving her a wink in the mirror. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being bored. Although Rebel better watch himself. I caught him groping some other girl last night while he thought I was in the stock room. He keeps that shit up, I don’t care how horny he gets—he’s on his own.”
Sara raised a brow. “You think he’s cheating?”
I turned to her, shrugging unhappily.
“I don’t have anything solid,” I admitted. “But something feels off to me. I mean, he’s a huge flirt—we all know that.”
“Most of them are.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “So it’s hard to know how much of it’
s just him being him or if there’s more going on. He’s been acting weird, though. I don’t know… I guess I’ll figure it out sooner or later. You know what’s really lame?”
“What’s that?”
“I feel like a total bitch saying this, but in some ways I think I’d miss riding with his club more than I’d miss Rebel. If we broke up, I mean.”
Sara snorted.
“There’s a whole bar full of bikers out there,” she pointed out. “And don’t think they haven’t noticed that cute butt of yours. Rebel’s a fun guy, but if he turns out to be a dick, it’s not like he’s your only option. Hell, you could just buy your own motorcycle. There’s no law saying only men can ride—Rebel’s club is just a bunch of weekend warriors. Real clubs like the Reapers may be all hardass about women as members, but there are riding clubs for girls, too. Those Ladies of Harley seem to be having a pretty good time. They certainly party enough to keep up with the boys.”
I giggled. “I can’t even afford a new cell phone, let alone a motorcycle.”
Sara winked at me, then her eyes caught the clock and they widened.
“Oh, fuck! Look at the time. You got about two seconds to punch in or Bone will shit bricks.”
Diving for the time clock, I grabbed my card and shoved it into the machine, then held it up triumphantly.
“Made it!”
“Great. Now get out there and sell some drinks,” she said. “And remember—don’t be afraid to show off that red bra. I need you to buy a new phone. This lack of communication is seriously fucking with my night. Now I have lizard fingers and no lotion.”
She raised her hands like claws and gave a mock roar. Laughing, I pushed out the door and started down the hallway, because Sara was definitely right about one thing—I really did need a new phone, and I’d be damned if I’d ask my sister for a loan to buy one. I’d moved to Bumfuck Nowhere to help her and the kids, not to mooch. I was big on personal responsibility these days, unlike my ex-husband (who was hopefully burning in hell).
That’s what you get for marrying someone named Trevor.
The bar was hopping by the time I made it to the floor and Bone—bartender, owner and all around scary guy—shoved a tray of drinks at me before I even had time to look over the table assignments.
“We’ve got the Reapers coming in,” he said, his voice blunt and harsh. “They’ll be in the back room. That means we’ll have a different kind of crowd tonight. Less mom and pop bikers and more wannabes and hangarounds. Could be interesting. Don’t fuck up.”
“You always make me feel so special and wanted,” I said, wrinkling my nose at him. Bone grunted, but I saw a hint of humor in his eyes. He was a good guy, despite the whole prize-fighter vibe he had going for him. The Pit was a biker bar, which meant flirting came with the job, yet he always took care of his girls. All we had to do was say the word and he’d throw out anyone who got too handsy.
Grabbing the tray, I carried it across the room, ducking and weaving around big guys wearing leather and sexy babes in tight shirts. Everyone was laughing and having fun, which was one of my favorite things about working here. These guys came to the Pit for a good time, and that’s exactly what we gave them—booze, music, a little bit of dancing and a whole lot of action.
Throw in the fact that my sister’s place was only a couple miles away and the job was a perfect fit.
The first hour of my shift passed in a blur, busy enough that I didn’t notice the time but not so busy people got pissy waiting for their drinks. I’d just leaned across the bar to give Bone a fresh order when the door opened and the room quieted.
The Reapers Motorcycle Club had arrived.
There were probably ten of them total, dressed in leather and patches and so much pure badassery it radiated through the room like a shock wave. I halfway expected heavy metal theme music to start playing spontaneously. I’d met a few of them before—they had a chapter over in Cranston, which was only thirty miles from Violetta. Rebel’s riding club had hosted a barbecue last month, and the Reapers had come with all their assorted old ladies and hangers-on.
At the time, I’d been startled at how everyone treated them—almost like visiting royalty. Now I knew a lot more about biker culture, including the fact that in the world of casual riding clubs, true outlaws like the Reapers really were royalty.
Then their king walked in, and everyone got real quiet.
Shade.
He surveyed the bar, radiating a kind of cold, icy authority that gave me the shivers every time I saw him. When I first met Rebel, I’d teased him about having a crush on Shade because my new boyfriend couldn’t stop talking about the man. Then I’d met Shade in person. Now I got it. Rebel worked hard to make sure everyone knew he was a big, bad biker.
Shade didn’t have to work at it.
He just was big and bad.
According to Bone, Shade was the youngest national president in Reapers Motorcycle Club history. One of the girls at the barbecue told me he was a killer. Apparently he’d been arrested for murder, then gotten off on a technicality. Not that this seemed to bother her. She’d been all breathless and sighing, and later I’d spotted Shade pushing her up against a tree, skirt around her waist. He’d been devouring her mouth while she frantically clawed at his pants.
Apparently the whole murderer thing wasn’t a deal breaker.
Shade’s eyes caught mine, and I froze, feeling like he could see all the way down to my soul. In that instant, I completely understood why that girl had let him fuck her against a tree. The man radiated power, strength and raw sex. He was the biggest, nastiest bastard in the room—not to mention easy on the eyes—and deep down inside I just knew we’d make beautiful babies together. Too bad I already sort of had a boyfriend… Shade was so potent we’d probably have quintuplets or something crazy on the first try.
You don’t even want a baby, I reminded my quivering ovaries.
Jump him! Jump him and ride him like a cowgirl! they snapped back. Just think how sexy and strong he is. His sperm could kick Rebel’s ass and you know it!
“Go tell them the back room’s ready,” Bone said, breaking my trance. “Make sure they’re settled. By the time you’re out, I’ll have their drinks ready to go.”
“Me?” I asked, stomach clenching. Shade might be pretty to look at, but he scared the shit out of me—I’d decided about five minutes after meeting him and his club brothers that I’d best keep my distance.
Shade caught my fear from across the room, and his lip quirked. Not quite a smile. More like the amused, tolerant smirk a cat gives a doomed mouse. Made me want to run and hide in a corner.
But I had the feeling that no one ever successfully hid from Shade.
“Yeah,” Bone said. “You’ve got the experience and Sara hasn’t had a break all night. Suz just punched in but I don’t trust her in there with them—she’s looking for an old man, and her lips flap too much. Just serve the drinks, do what you’re told and if you happen to overhear anything, you keep your fucking mouth shut. Got me?”
I broke away from Shade’s gaze and turned to my boss. His face was serious. Dead serious. I swallowed.
“Are they—”
“Stop,” he said, cutting me off. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop. Thinking isn’t part of your job here. Neither is flirting. Not tonight. You carry drinks, you take away empties, you hear nothing and you say nothing. Easy money, babe. Go earn it.”
He handed me a set of keys and gave me a small shove. I started across the room toward the bikers, ready to escort them despite the fact that they obviously knew exactly where they were going.
“Hi,” I said, smiling uncertainly. “I’m—”
“Mandy,” Shade said, eyes sweeping down my figure. I got the sense that he saw everything in that glance, from the red bra just peeking out of the top of my tank top to the fact that my ex-husband had gotten me arrested last year. “I know who you are. We met at the barbecue, remember?”
Oh, I remembered all ri
ght. He’d caught me by a belt loop on my jeans, pulling me just close enough for our bodies to brush against each other. Then he’d whispered I’d be welcome on the back of his bike any time.
Somehow, I’d managed to squeak out that I had a boyfriend.
Shade had laughed, running one finger under my chin, tilting my head up toward his. “That’s your problem, baby. You don’t need a boy—you need a man. Call me when you’re ready.”
Just the memory was enough to turn my face neon red. Thankfully, Bone was the kind of boss who believed a dimly-lit bar is a good bar, so hopefully it wasn’t too obvious to the badass standing in front of me.
“Great to see you again,” I told him, and I’m proud to say my voice didn’t squeak this time. “I’ll be your waitress tonight. Bone is pouring drinks right now.”
“Thanks, babe,” Shade said. “Lead the way.”
I started toward the back of the room, feeling the weight of his eyes the entire time. Well, either that or I was hallucinating, which was also a realistic possibility. The man was too potent for his own good—like catnip for women. Too many pheromones or some such. It really wasn’t my fault that he’d drugged me with his sexiness. Fortunately, I was smart and knew better.
(Fingers crossed.)
We reached the back room, and I fumbled with the keys to unlock the door. It wasn’t part of the bar proper, although there were tables and chairs back here. Bone used it for large groups and occasionally storage. For some reason I couldn’t get the key into the little hole, and the fact that Shade stood right behind me—radiating heat and pure fuckability, the bastard—wasn’t helping. Then his hand reached around mine, grasping the key and sliding it into the door with a slow, sure motion.
You know, that’s probably how he’d—
Shut up! I screeched mentally at my idiotic girl parts. You have a boyfriend and this guy is a murderer. Or something. Definitely something. NO quintuplets for you.
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen Page 38