Reaper

by K. L. Savage

  “What the hell! Ah, look what ye made me do, Tongue. I dropped me damn pie on the ground!” Skirt groans, staring at the chunk of apples on the ground.

  I chuckle. Tongue is a weird son-of-a-bitch. “Where are you, Tongue? Come out from your dreary corner and stop sharpening your blade.”

  A few seconds of silence and Tongue doesn’t say a word. The guys are sharing glances, trying to prepare themselves for Tongue’s random appearance. I’m starting to wonder if he is even in the room when a hand lands on my shoulder, causing me to nearly piss my fucking pants.

  “I’m here.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tongue!” I yell. “You’ve been standing in the corner all this time watching us?”

  “You all are very entertaining. So can I go to the mall? I find shopping relaxing.”

  I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to know. “You can’t sharpen your knives in public.”

  “Reaper,” he whines.

  I have never heard the man whine a day in his life. My boots hit the floor with a solid thud, and I rub my eyes. I swear, being President is taking its toll. Most days, they’re not grown ass men. They’re children. “Tongue, you know what will happen if you whip a knife out.”

  “I promise not to stab or cut anyone. You know I always have to have my blade.”

  “Those are the rules of going prom dress shopping.”

  He stabs his knife into the table, right between my index finger and thumb. “Fine,” he sneers. “But I won’t like it.” He thunders down the hallway and slams the door to his room.

  “Jesus, he scares the hairs off me balls, I tell ye.”

  A snort escapes me at Skirt’s comment.

  Tool follows suit laughing.

  Soon the entire room is up in loud bellows of laughter. I yank the blade from the table and fold it in. I stuff it in my front pocket, trying to ignore how many tongues have been cut with this knife, and do my best not to think about it. It’s impossible, though.

  “He is crazy,” Bullseye says.

  “Yeah, but he is loyal. Can’t ask for better than that.”

  “Hell no. I want to see that man surrounded by dresses. That’s going to be hilarious.”

  “Oh, I’m there.”

  “I want to go too.”

  “Me too!”

  “Count me in. This ought to be good.”

  Before I know it, I nearly have half the club wanting to come with me prom dress shopping because they want to witness the scary Tongue around fluffy dresses and normal people. I’m not sure if I’m setting him up to fail or not. He isn’t a circus, and that’s how I feel like we are treating him. It’s so rare that we see Tongue in public, so it’s hard to say no.

  I’ve only seen him out and about twice, and that was to get gas at the local gas station, and he went inside to get beer. Both times.

  I’ve never seen him date. Never seen him with a cut-slut. He is a quiet person. When he has something to say, he means it. I know Tongue must really be unhappy if it means he can’t bring his blade to the mall.

  Toddlers.

  Every single one of them.

  “Okay, well. Get ready to go soon. Anything you want or need to get done, do it now,” I say as I stand and stretch. “I’m going to check on Sarah to see if she is ready.”

  “Is she going to be okay with all of us going?”

  “I’ll ask, but I don’t think she will care. She loves everyone the same.”

  “I don’t know, Prez. I think she loves you most.” Tool lays his hands flat and places them under his chin and then bats his eyelashes. “Oh, Reaper. You’re the light of my life. I love you so.” His voice is all high and pitchy, nothing like Sarah’s at all which is smooth and raspy.

  I yank the blade from my pants and toss it at Tool. It lands with a solid thud right next to his head against the wall, and he drops his hands. Everyone’s smile leaves their face, and the fun atmosphere is gone. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of her. She’s a kid. Be better.”

  “She’s like my sister. It’s all in fun.”

  “It isn’t fun. She doesn’t love me. She’s attached because of what brought her here. You heard Doc. She attached herself to me, not that you deserve a fucking answer. If she feels safe around me, then she feels safe. Don’t ever make fun of her again; do I make myself clear?” I roar in his face.

  “Yeah, Prez. I got it. I’m sorry.”

  That’s when I notice I’ve gotten out of my chair, and I have Tool against the wall with the knife under his chin. I don’t remember getting up. It’s like I blacked out with pure rage. I let go of his cut and hit the knife against the wall. “Just don’t let me hear it again.”

  “Yeah, Prez. No problem.”

  “I heard my blade?” Tongue says from the hallway. “I want it back.”

  I sigh, spreading my arm to the right and hold out the knife.

  Tongue snatches it from me, and I watch as he kisses the sharp silver metal. “What did he do to you, huh? You okay?”

  My brows raise when I witness him speaking to it as if it is a pet. The man is truly touched in the head. Good god, maybe he shouldn’t come to the mall. I can only keep my eyes on so many of my brothers at once. It’s like we are taking a damn field trip with how pissy they’re all being today.

  I take three strides, ignoring all the side glances I can feel at my back, and knock on Sarah’s door. “You about ready? The dresses aren’t going to try on themselves.”

  “Just putting on my shoes! I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Alright, d—” I catch myself before I call her ‘doll’. It’s been on the tip of my tongue for a year. She looks like one of those porcelain dolls; they’re fragile but at the same time strong, just like Sarah. If I call her that, it means I have stepped over a line I cannot cross, and I’m barely standing on the right side of that damn line.

  What kind of man am I that I’ve fallen to my knees over a seventeen-year-old-girl? I’m fucked in the head is what it is. This young woman has me wrapped around her finger, which no woman has ever been able to do. I need therapy for wanting someone twenty-something years my junior.

  “If you aren’t out in ten seconds, I’m not going,” I shout through the closed door, feeling panic. I need to stay here. I need to hold down the fort.

  The door opens, breezing her hair over her shoulders and wafting over her peach scent. She has no makeup on, and even natural she doesn’t look so young. She looks like she is in her twenties with all that confidence radiating off her.

  Fuck.

  3

  Sarah

  I smirk when I see Reaper’s face. His eyes roam my body, eating up every inch of me. I know he wants me. I can see it in his eyes, and he is in for one hell of a ride if he thinks I’m going to ever back down. I won’t back down until I get what I want.

  Not only do I want Reaper, but I want his property patch. I’ll keep fighting until I have it.

  “Like what you see, Jesse?” I place my finger in the middle of his chest, and his strong heart beats against my finger. So sexy. His chest is so wide, I imagine myself laying across it, naked and sweaty. It will happen too. I just need to be patient.

  His fingers wrap around my wrist, and I know I’m not imagining it because he presses against my hand for one split second before he throws my arm to the left and away from him. “Sarah, I told you not to call me that.” The muscle in his jaw tics; the sculpted bone is square and angry as he tries to scold me. It never works because I know what he really wants. “Can you manage to keep your shit together for more than five minutes?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” I lean forward and play bite the air, just inches away from his lips.

  “Fucking maniac,” he grumbles as I walk by him, and Jenkins holds out my helmet.

  I stop midstride and take a step back. “You have no idea, Jesse.” I stretch out my arm and grab the helmet from Jenkins hand. “Who am I riding?”

  Reaper punches the wall with his fist before turning around. �
�You aren’t riding no one. Stop talking like that.”

  “You going to make me?” I rub my slick lips together, and his eyes fall to my mouth. I make a show of it, flicking my tongue across my bottom lip, and the hint of cherry bursts across my tongue.

  “Jesus Christ.” He takes a cigarette from his pocket, places it between his lips, and lights it. I want to inhale the smoke he breaths out and bask in it. “Tongue, you deal with her. I’m not putting up with this shit today.”

  I stick out my bottom lip and pout. “You hurt my feelings, Jesse. You going to make it up to me?”

  He takes a step forward, and a light amber glow swirls in his brown eyes. “When will you get it through your head that I want nothing to do with you?”

  His words sting causing my heart to bleed, but I plaster on a flirtatious smile and meet his step with my own until I can smell the scent of rich leather from his cut, and a bit of the smoke lingering on his breath invades my lungs. Damn, he smells just how a man should. “Never, my skull’s too thick to believe anything that comes out of your mouth.”

  “Can we go? This pissing match is getting old, and I want to get one of those buffalo chicken sandwiches from the mall. They always saturate it with hot sauce and ranch. It’s so good.” Poodle rubs his belly, and Knives nods in agreement.

  “We can save this for later.”

  Reaper grabs ahold of my wrist again, and his eyes meet all the brothers in the kitchen before landing on me again. “Go outside. We will leave in two minutes. I need a word with Sarah.”

  Everyone starts to head out of the hallway, their big bodies lumbering behind one another in a single file line. The only one who doesn’t move from his position is Jenkins—Boomer, these days after he killed the man who abused me. No one has told me directly about what happened, but word gets around in the club. It’s easy to overhear things.

  Everyone in the club has a dark side. Tongue cuts out tongues, but Jenkins’ dark side is different. It’s more vindictive. It worries me, but he protects me at all costs. Like right now, everyone else is outside, but he is propped up against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at Reaper with distrust and a bit of anger.

  My brother tends to look like that most days. It’s hard to tell if it is directed at everyone or if he really has it out for the club.

  “You too, Boomer,” Reaper states.

  I meet my brother’s gaze and smile. “I’ll be okay, Jenkins. Really.”

  Once he hears my permission, he stares down Reaper before uncrossing his ankles and pushing off the cabinets with his boot. “I’ll be right outside, Sarah.”

  Reaper tenses from the statement, and I understand why. Reaper has done nothing but be good to Jenkins ever since our father died. To not have Jenkins’ trust, it hurts Reaper, and I hate to see him hurt. I’ll have to talk to Jenkins.

  Once we are alone, Reaper pushes me against the wall, and I moan, loving the bite of pain tingling my shoulders from the pressure from his hands.

  “You have to stop doing this,” he begs, desperation lacing his voice. “Sarah, stop. I don’t want to have to take counter measures for your rebellion.”

  I arch my back, and my pelvis presses against his. I feel the plump flesh of his cock and grin. “Are you going to punish me?”

  “Stop this!” he shouts, a bit of his spit flying, and instinctively I flinch. I know he’ll never hurt me, but I can’t help my body’s natural reaction. “Have some respect for yourself, Sarah.” He pushes off me, taking more of my heart with him. “We will never happen. You’re too young. I wish you’d realize that. You are doing nothing for yourself but causing trouble.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “I’m not the one causing trouble,” he says, taking a hit off his cigarette.

  I chuckle softly and shake my head as I walk by him to get to the hallway. “No, I mean, one day you’ll realize we are meant to be together, and we will happen, Reaper. You can count on it.” I strut away from him, putting a sway in my hips. I feel his gaze on me, burning into my soul like it always does.

  “You’re fucking crazy, Sarah.”

  I run my hands down the walls as I continue down the hallway toward the front door. “I sure am, Reaper, and you love it.” A smug smile teases my lips when I get outside and see the large group of me waiting to ride out. Reaper’s boots pound against the floor behind me, and with each loud thud getting closer to me, the more mischievous I feel. Reaper’s boots pound against the floor behind me.

  For his sanity, I keep my mouth shut and dance down the steps; a playful tug of my lips makes my mouth twitch, and it takes all I have to hide it.

  “You must have a death wish, girl,” Tongue rasps, his voice long and slow with a thick Southern accent. It is obvious he isn’t from here, but I’m curious where he is from. No one seems to know. I bet Reaper knows. He knows everything there is to know about the brothers of the club.

  “It isn’t death I’m wishing for, Tongue.” I swing my leg over the back of the bike, preparing myself to ‘ride bitch’ as they say.

  Tongue’s back vibrates from his laughter, and his long hair tickles my nose when he turns to look at me over his shoulder. “You know he won’t touch you, right? Not until your eighteen.”

  Liquid heat pools between my legs from the words. The rumble of the motorcycle doesn’t help either. I love the power sitting underneath me. There is something wildly dangerous about so much steel sitting there. “I know, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have fun torturing him until then.”

  “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

  I pat Tongue’s shoulder, the leather warm under my palm. The skull on the back of Tongue’s cut stares at me while it wears its crown, underneath in red it says, “Ruthless Kings.” The hollow black eyes of the skull sear into my soul, and I feel like one of them. I belong here.

  I shake my hair to get it out of my face and meet Reaper’s eyes. He watches me as he mounts his bike, and he can’t see it from where he is sitting, but my skin pebbles from his pissed off gaze.

  Whatever. He wants me.

  I slide the helmet on and wrap my arms around Tongue’s firm torso. Tongue is hot, but too touched in the head for me. His abs flex under me, and I flatten my palm on his stomach, turn my cheek so it is laying on his back, and pretending I’m enjoying being so close to him.

  “Listen, I don’t have a death wish. You better stop that shit,” Tongue drawls.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” I reply with a grim hug, pressing my breasts against his back.

  Reaper and I have a staring contest, but I see his displeasure, his anger, the jealous flare in his face. He pops his knuckles before he wraps his large hands around the handlebars. Well, if he wanted me to ride with him, all he had to do was tell me, and I would have proudly sat in the bitch seat behind him.

  I blow him a kiss, and that jaw tics again as he revs his engine. The back tire fishtails as he slams on the gas, tossing up clouds of sand and gravel.

  “Well, you’ve pissed him off,” Tongue says as we pull out of the lot.

  I don’t bother answering since we are riding, and the wind and roar of motorcycles makes it impossible for him to hear me. I can’t believe how many guys are coming dress shopping with me. It’s a little ridiculous, and I know they aren’t all going for me. I overheard them about wanting to see Tongue there and out of his element. I think it’s mean that they want to look at him like some circus freak. Tongue is nice, weird, and borderline sociopathic I think, but what do I know?

  He hasn’t given me a reason not to like him or view him differently than all the other guys, so I won’t view him like they do.

  The sun is hot, and the air is dry in Nevada today. The heat sears my shoulders as it bears down on us. It feels good, and it has my eyelids feeling heavy. I want to nap, but I know I’d fall off this damn bike and break my neck.

  A few of the guys pass us by, but Reaper stays next to me and Tongue. Every now and then he meets my g
aze, and I wish so badly that my cheek was pressed against his back. I act like his rejection doesn’t bother me, but I’m heartbroken on the inside. I cry almost every day, hating that he fights me so hard. Part of me wonders if when I turn eighteen, if it will even matter.

  He always rides next to whoever I am riding with, but he never lets me ride with him. I turn my head away from him, tears springing to my eyes as I look over the desert, seeing dried plants and tall cactuses along the small hills. I often wonder how many bodies are buried out there, in the vast and almost never-ending land of sand. It may be a weird thought but being around all these bikers who do illegal things, it’s hard for the mind not to go dark every now and then. How many bodies has Reaper ordered to be tossed out here for the crows and vultures to eat?

  One day, I’d like to take a little adventure through the desert and see just how many bones I can find. Me and Reaper, alone in a tent and building a fire to stay warm? Especially when the nights get so cold…

  He’d warm me up, that much I know.

  If Reaper doesn’t take my heart, then it will be broken forever, and I’ll end up just as old and dry as the tumbleweeds that roll across the road.

  Forgotten and alone.

  I’ve been there once, and the thought of being there again, well, I’d rather die than to experience that again.

  4

  Reaper

  I am out of my element here, and so are the rest of the guys. Here we are, a bunch of bikers, a rough looking crowd wearing leather cuts, and we are sitting on pink velvet couches in front of the dressing room.

  I never needed or wanted a cigarette so much in my life.

  “Look at Tongue helping out Sarah. I think he likes it here.” Knives points to our right, and all the men turn their heads to see Tongue and Sarah at one of the silver racks. It’s comical because Sarah is so small and Tongue is huge, towering over her as he lifts dresses in the air and against Sarah’s body.

  Mothers are keeping their daughters a bit closer or outright leaving. We have this place to ourselves. I sigh with impatience as I wait for Tongue and Sarah to come to the dressing room. Her arms are filled, and he is carrying dresses too. There must be fifty dresses between them.