Reaper

by K. L. Savage

  I give him a high five.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’re the one holding your hand out. What else am I supposed to do with it?” I ask, staring at the outstretched hand as if it’s an alien.

  “Well, you could hold it.”

  I don’t think I heard him right. Why would he want to hold my hand? Isn’t that crossing one too many lines that he has drawn in the sand? This has to be some kind of joke; payback for the tantrum I just pulled.

  “This is a one-time deal for the next two months. No one is around. No one can see. I’ll hold your hand until we get closer to the road. I want to, but then things go back to the way they were. We have your prom, your graduation, and then your birthday.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been making a list.”

  “And checking it fucking twice,” he mutters under his breath. “Are you going to take my hand or not?”

  Do I look like an idiot? I’d never miss a chance to hold his hand. I unwrap my arms from my chest, and with a shaky hand, I reach for his. I stop midway, waiting to see if he is playing a joke, but when he doesn’t move, I slide my hand into his and lock our fingers together. Our palms touch, and a wave of calm washes over me.

  Finally.

  Finally!

  “Looks like someone stopped fighting me.” I look up at him through my eyelashes, and I have to squint.

  “The fight hasn’t even started yet. Come on; let’s go home. I’m sure everyone is worried sick about you.”

  “Right,” I snort as we start walking toward the direction of the clubhouse. “Everyone would be happier if I wasn’t there.” I let what I have been really feeling off my chest in a blasé tone.

  He tugs my hand as he comes to a stop. “You can’t mean that? You really think the guys would be better off? That I’d be better off?”

  I lift a shoulder and shrug, blowing a piece of hair out of my face. “You can’t say it isn’t true. You and the guys haven’t really had a break. You raised Boomer, and then I fell on your doorstep. How long has it been since you’ve actually been able to act like the club you used to be?”

  “If I wanted the club the way it used to be, I’d have it be that way. Do you want the cut-sluts coming around and fucking every man in sight? We can party every night, go out on more runs, and I plan to have all that back, when you turn eighteen. The guys know the deal. If they don’t like it, they can leave. I won’t subject a kid to shit like that, not if I can help it.” He lets go of my hand and cups my face instead. “Don’t you dare for one second think we’d be better off without you. You bring something special that none of us have ever had, that I have never had.”

  “And what’s that?” I lay a hand on top of his and lean into it, hoping the moment never ends. Why can’t we just stay out here all night and watch the stars? We can hold each other, and it can remain our secret.

  He brushes his nose against mine and drops his hands from my face. “You aren’t old enough to know that yet. Come on.”

  I take his hand again, and as we walk, I notice his strides are slower. I have a stupid grin on my face the entire way home. My cheeks hurt. For the first time in my life, I have this giddy feeling in my stomach, and I just might explode from it. It’s more than all the times I’ve tried to jump Jesse’s bones. I know now it isn’t one-sided and it’s like I’m walking on the moon.

  We steal a few glances at each other as we take our time. He shakes his head when he meets my gaze again and then rubs his fingers through his hair like he can’t believe what he is doing.

  “You have to stop looking at me like that,” he says.

  “Like what?”

  “You’re too young to know that too.”

  “Jesse, I’m almost eighteen. I know about sex. I know about a lot of things.”

  He growls, a threatening rumble in his chest that makes a flicker of fear present inside me. “I don’t want to hear about how you know those things. We can’t be talking about this. Don’t. I’m already doing one thing I shouldn’t be doing.” He squeezes my hand, the interaction innocent but forbidden.

  I’m not going to argue or ruin the only chance I have at being close to him, so I do what he says and keep my trap freaking shut. I’m in my own happy world, daydreaming of the life Jesse and I are going to have, imagining all the kids running around who look just like him, when we come to the hill that takes us back to reality.

  It’s silly. On one side, he has to act like he doesn’t want me; on this side of the hill, we can do whatever we want. What’s the rush? Why do we need to go back?

  “Club ain’t going to run itself. We gotta go.” He tries to let go of my hand, but I hold on tight, afraid that once we cross this boundary, he’ll forget all about me. What if he said those things just to make me feel better?

  “Come on, doll.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles before releasing my fingers one by one. I’m stuck to him like glue. I don’t want to let go.

  Two months. I can wait two months. I’ve been waiting an entire year, so what’s a little longer? I follow behind him, and one fistful of clay after the other, I slide down the other side on my butt, dirtying my pants.

  Tool is still waiting on the porch, and he gives a small nod before vanishing through the double saloon doors. As I walk to the clubhouse, I think about my brother’s offer of moving away from here. When I’m eighteen and things with Reaper don’t move forward, maybe I’ll tell my brother I’m ready to leave.

  These next two months are going to be hell. I wish I didn’t know that Reaper has feelings for me. It thought it would be easier knowing than not, but now it’s all I can think about.

  Well, I made my bed, now I need to lie in it.

  I follow behind Jesse, watching his plump behind sway back and forth. I can’t wait until the day I can touch it. Grab it. Hold on to it. Kiss it.

  Oh, I am definitely going to kiss it.

  Slap it.

  Hug it.

  Whatever the hell I want to do to it, I’m going to.

  Within his limits, of course.

  We reemerge into the main room, and a few cut-sluts are there. Millie, a woman I know Jesse has fucked more than once, and I hate her for it. There’s Darcy; she’s kind of new and has been hanging around Tongue a lot. She thinks she’s going to be able to break down the barrier Tongue has around him. The woman doesn’t know how to take a hint.

  There are Olivia, Jasmine, Candy, and Becks. The only one I like out of any of them is Becks because at least she doesn’t throw herself at every guy. She waits for one to come to her. Becks never has to wait long. She’s gorgeous, and why she is here whoring herself out when she can have anyone she wants is something I’ll never understand.

  “Reaper,” Millie purrs, cutting him off as he walks where Tool is waiting for him at the bar. “Hey, baby, it’s been a long time.” Millie’s red-painted fingernails dig into the material of his shirt, and I know Jesse can feel the sharp pins of her nails sinking into his skin. Images of them together assault me.

  Him fucking her from the back.

  Her nails leaving red lines down his back.

  His ass flexing with every stroke he gives her.

  Her moans.

  His moans.

  God, the thought of him getting off to her makes me sick. He is much older than me, I know he isn’t a saint, but I hate being face to face with his conquests. She’s wearing cut-off shorts that stop just above the bottom of her ass and a black tube top. She has on thick eye makeup and lipstick is all over her teeth.

  Millie has seen better days.

  “Hey, Millie.” Jesse actually greets her with me standing right here. I want to wave my arms over my head and shout, ‘Hey, remember me!’ but I keep my mouth shut and let whatever is about to happen unfold. Jesse reaches up and wraps his hand around hers that is laying on his chest. He gives her a smile that would give any woman the wrong impression.

  “Want to grab a drink, Reap? I’ve missed you. It’s been too
long.” Her eyes cut to mine, narrowing as if I’ve stepped onto her territory.

  Just as I expect Reaper to say no…

  “Sure, Millie. Grab me a beer. I’ll be over in a second.”

  He says yes.

  He actually fucking says yes.

  She gives me a triumphant look, one with a smug smile as she flicks her hair over her shoulders. Millie saunters to the bar, putting an extra sway to her slender hips. Millie is unimpressive in my opinion, but I guess if a man needs a hole, there is one to be filled here.

  “You asshole,” I say low enough so no one can hear except Jesse. The words are venomous, a hiss on the tip of my tongue like a snake ready to bite. I’m ready to bite too. Ready to sink my fangs into his neck and poison him with my anger, bitterness, and resentment.

  Poison him with the heartache he intoxicates me with every day.

  Watch him suffer the way I have over the last year.

  Have him be paralyzed with the paralytic he stuns me with every time he walks into a room.

  I want to give him a taste of his own medicine.

  If only my remedy came in a bottle.

  “Don’t start something you don’t understand, doll.” He grabs the side of my arm and shoves me toward the hallway, manhandling me, his hold almost bruising. It’s different than the way he touched me when we were in the desert.

  I guess that’s the difference.

  There always has to be a show, some sort of front for him to put on whenever I’m around. Well, I’m done. Maybe I’ll take that boy at school up on his offer and go out with him since Jesse wants to fuck anything and everything.

  “Let go of me!” I rip my arm out of his hold and stare at his face with watery eyes. “Are you going to fuck her?” The music from the main room starts to shake the walls, and laughter spills into the hallway where we are standing. Even with the loud noise, the silence between us tells me everything I need to know. “You’re a liar.”

  “Let me explain—” He reaches for me, but I jump back, staring at him like I’ve never seen him before. Do I even know who Reaper is?

  “I hate you.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but I will never take them back.

  “No, you don’t,” he replies, holding a smoke between his lips as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Is this what I get for loving the President of the Ruthless Kings? To be treated so … ruthlessly?

  “I want to, Reaper.” Right here, right now, I do hate him. I hate him for existing and being the only man I want to love, the only man I want to give myself to. In the desert, he was obviously only saying what he thought I wanted to hear to get me back to the clubhouse. “I want to hate you so much.”

  “No, you don’t.” He has the nerve to laugh at me. He blows some out of his nose, reminding me of a fire-breathing dragon, and it swirls up and around his face, masking the face that obviously has two sides to it.

  Which side am I finally going to get?

  The side I want to hate.

  Or the side I want to love?

  12

  Reaper

  I did something I shouldn’t have tried to do. I fucked up. I made a mistake.

  I tried to fuck Millie.

  Last night, after Sarah told me she hated me, or wanted to hate me. I already had conflicting emotions when we walked into the clubhouse together after our moment in the desert, and I felt like people knew.

  I had to cover it up. I had to make it seem like I was just dragging her back home, so I took Millie up on her offer with a drink. I knew where drinks led, and what made it worse was that I did it right in front of Sarah. I deserved to be called an asshole, but Sarah had no idea what she did to me, what I didn’t want her to do to me, and that these feelings are fucking inevitable.

  It’s a lot for a man to even admit to feelings. It’s a lot for a man to keep control of those feelings and to not fuck the woman he wants to share those feelings with? It’s overwhelming. She doesn’t understand that wanting her isn’t a good thing. Not yet.

  I wanted to erase her from my mind and use another woman to help scrub the need of Sarah off my body.

  It was wrong of me to do. I’m not proud of it.

  I can say this, though, my dick wouldn’t get hard. Millie dry-humped me through my clothes, something I usually fucking love, and it gets me so hard I could pound a three-inch nail into the ground.

  Not last night. She tried, and I felt like I was cheating on Sarah. I tossed Millie off me so fast that she had no time to right herself, and she smacked her ass on the floor. She called me a limped-dick motherfucker, only to limp out the door because she hurt her leg on the ground.

  Once she was out of sight, my cock got hard because a naked image of Sarah invaded my mind. I had to take a cold shower, think of blood, guts, and carving hearts out of people’s chests to not touch myself to the thoughts of her.

  I can’t.

  Fuck, I want to.

  “You okay?” Tool says at the table. The brothers are gathered around the table, waiting for the meeting to start. I called for church fifteen minutes ago, even for the two prospects, and now I can’t fucking remember why because guilt and shame are eating away at me.

  I don’t even care that I couldn’t get it up for Millie. I’m glad I couldn’t. It’s the hot and cold treatment I keep giving Sarah. She didn’t deserve that, and now I have to make up for it for the rest of my life. And I will, gladly.

  “You said there was a meeting with Moretti and that he received my message?” I snap my gaze from the crown engraved in the middle of the table and level my glare on Tool. “When?”

  He smirks, sucking his teeth with his tongue. “Not for another two weeks.”

  “Bullshit.” I slam my fist on the table. “We will raid then.”

  “You sure you want to do that? We have a lot of business wrapped up in the mafia; if we go south—” Tank starts to say, but Ghost shuts him up by kicking him under the table.

  It’s dead silence.

  Prospects never question the President, only patched-in brothers are allowed to. It isn’t often prospects are even allowed to step foot in this room, but with the new threat, I want all brothers and prospects to know what is going on. After this, they probably won’t be allowed to come into church until they’re patched in.

  “Is that right, prospect?” I swivel in my chair and lean back, spreading my legs to get comfortable. “How about you tell me how to run my club?”

  Tank shakes his head. “No, sir. No, Mr. President—”

  I cackle at being called Mr. President.

  “I was just concerned.”

  “Do you know what happens when a prospect questions me?”

  A low thrum of hands on the table begins, sounding a low drum in the air, building the anticipation and punishment. Tank shakes his head. He is a big motherfucker, but a huge softy; all that muscle went to waste if you ask me. He’s like the Hulk, never wanting to hulk out.

  He’s too big to tie up and let the bugs get him for the night.

  “Aw, come on, Prez. Give him a slide. He was only saying what we were all thinking,” Tool defends the guy, which makes sense since Tool is Tank’s sponsor. He has been hanging around the club for years now; only recently did he show interest in prospecting. None of us hesitated to throw him the cut and the prospect patch.

  He brought a friend too. His name is Tim, nerdy-looking fella with square glasses and a scrawny frame. The guy looks like he can barely lift twenty pounds, but he wears the cut, and Tool is sponsoring him as well. I learned not to judge a book by its cover long ago. Everyone has something to offer to the club; I’m just waiting to see what Tim can.

  “You’re replacing the saloon doors with large metal industrial ones today. Do I make myself clear?” I tell Tank. When I meet his eyes, he looks away from me. Submissive, interesting. “Let me tell you something I used to tell Boomer—Always look a man in the eye when he is speaking to you. Don’t be a coward.”

  “Yes, Mr
. President, sir. Reaper. Sir.”

  Good. God. What the fuck happened to this guy? “You too, Tim. You can lift the hammer or something.”

  He beams as if he just won a million bucks. “You got it, Prez.”

  “Tool, Bullseye, we are going to see Moretti today.”

  “Uh, Prez?” Tongue speaks up for the first time all year in church, and it makes me sit back from beating the gavel on the table.

  “Yeah, Tongue?”

  “We need to talk about what we are going to do for Sarah’s birthday. I already got her a fake I.D., but I’m not giving it to her until that day. I thought we could take her out on the strip, show her a good time.”

  I narrow my eyes at Tongue, wondering if he has a thing for my girl because he has gotten real talkative when it comes to her. “Her birthday isn’t for another month, three weeks, and eighteen hours, Tongue.”

  A few laughs covered by coughs sound all around, and I realize my slip. I’ve been counting down, literally, to the hour. “Um, yeah, plan whatever. It’s fine.” Fuck, I’m so screwed. Everyone knows how I feel about her now. “Dismissed.” I slam the gavel down before anyone else can ask me questions about her.

  “Tool, before we leave, I want to go see Boomer, and then we will head out. Get the bikes ready.” I stride out the door and take a left before anyone can stop me, but as I’m walking down the hall, Sarah comes out of her room wearing a bikini top and short jean shorts. Hell fucking no does she think she is going out in that. I point to her room. “Go change.”

  “Nope, sorry. I have a date.”

  The word date has my blood on fire. Instantly, I want to kill the guy.

  “Reap!” Tool yells at me from the saloon doors, and his voice easily carries into the kitchen. “We have a guest.”

  Sarah gives me a look that can only be described as ‘go eat shit’ and pushes past me. I get a whiff of that peach perfume, and my cock perks up, begging for some type of attention. “I’m going to spank your ass if you even think about walking out those doors.”