Reaper

by K. L. Savage

  “Well then, I guess I deserve to nail your balls to the damn wall after what you did last night!” She spins around quick, her hair flying around her and whipping me in the face as a leather whip would.

  “You have no idea what happened last night.” I hoped.

  “Millie’s whorish moans could be heard through a burnt piece of paper. Nice try. I have a date, who is my prom date too. Who knows, maybe I’ll give it up to him. I’m tired of waiting around.” Sarah tosses her hair up into a messy bun, a few strands falling free to frame her face, and that’s when I smell the lemon.

  Fuck, she does that when she wants her hair to get blonder. I’ve seen her a few times, squeezing lemons into a spray bottle, and now I know why. She’s going to come back all tan, all blonde, and possibly not innocent.

  My chest pumps in shallow beats, and my rage makes my blood speed through my body, clenching my fists. When Sarah tries to open the saloon doors, I hold them shut. Tank is on the other side, holding a drill in the air.

  He has a look of pure confusion on his face. “I thought you wanted me to—”

  “Shut it, Tank,” I say through a nearly wired shut jaw with how tight it is. I swear, I hear my teeth crack in two.

  “You aren’t having sex with him,” I manage to rasp. Red haze falls over my eyes, and my mind is going foggy. I’m about to lose all control, and I can’t.

  “I can do whatever and whoever the fuck I want.” On that note, she pushes against my chest and darts under the saloon doors before I can catch her.

  I plow through them, and Tank nearly falls on his ass. I don’t stop to check on him. All I see is the silver Lexus convertible waiting in our parking lot. I’ve never hated a teenage boy before, but I do in that moment.

  Sarah runs down the steps with a big smile on her face, throwing herself around the kid in a big hug. She wraps her long legs around him, arms around his neck, and then kisses his cheek.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!” I shout and pound down the steps, nearly reaching for my gun. Nearly.

  “Reaper.” Tool’s fingers brush against my cut, almost stopping me by grabbing it, but I’m too quick. “Stop! Shit, shit, shit.” I hear him chat behind me as he follows in my footsteps. I can always count on Tool.

  The kid drops his hands, and his face pales when he sees me. My large shadow casts over the both of them. I’m nearly an entire foot and a half taller than this asshole driving daddy’s car. I place my hands on her hips and pluck her off, dropping her to her feet.

  “Reaper,” she warns. She never calls me Reaper. I hate it. I want her to call me Jesse again. I’m acting so out of character. I’m usually in control, but Sarah has me messed up eighteen ways to fucking Sunday.

  I loom over the mousy brown-headed boy and cross my arms. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m—uh—I’m David?” The kid extends his hand to me to introduce himself.

  I lift a brow as I stare at his small, childish hand. “You’re David? Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Reaper, that’s enough.”

  “I’ll fucking say when it’s enough!” I shout at her and then take a step closer to the guy who doesn’t know his own name.

  “Do—don’t talk to her—her—like that,” he manages to stutter out with red-hot cheeks. He looks like he is about to cry, but you know what? I won’t ever admit it, but it takes some balls to do what he just did. I’d respect him any other day if he wasn’t trying to take the woman I’ve been waiting over a year to have.

  How are these last few months harder than all the rest?

  “Oh, shit,” Tool says.

  “David, shut up,” Sarah warns her little date.

  “No, just because he is your … I don’t know, doesn’t mean he can treat you like that.”

  “Boy, do you know who the fuck I am?” I glower, intimidating a kid less than half my size is fucked up. I need to back down, but then I look at Sarah, standing in just jean shorts and a yellow bikini top, and I get fucking angry again.

  David’s eyes spare a glance at my name tag, and he swallows. He opens his mouth to say something, the boy practically shaking in his tennis shoes, when Sarah gets between us and pokes a finger into my chest, right above my heart, where it has been aching for an entire year.

  “You don’t get to do this. Not after what you did.”

  She’s right. I don’t, but I’m going to anyway. The sadness on her face is what finally has me backing down. She thinks I had sex with Millie, and I’m going to continue to let her think I did.

  “Prez, we need to go,” Tool reminds me of the meeting for Moretti, and I curse internally. “He will only be there for another hour.” Tool is talking about Moretti’s casino, well, our casino. I’m not there too much since I let the rest of my brothers handle the security there, but I’m about to pop in. It’s never good when the President shows up to things.

  “Have her home before dark.” I turn toward Sarah, smelling her one last time. Something about this feels off, it doesn’t feel right, but I can’t stop her from living her life. I’ve done that too much already. “Have fun, doll.” It takes all I have to pull away, but I do, my god, I do. I hope on my hog, crank my bike, and peel out of the parking lot, making sure to send dust and gravel onto the boy’s car.

  I hope it leaves a mark.

  Because I swear, if she comes back anything less than perfect or a hair out of place, I don’t care how old he is…

  I’ll carve his heart out too.

  13

  Reaper

  We stop at Hotel Royale and park our bikes. When the valets see our cuts, they don’t bother asking for our keys. We own half this place. Our bikes stay where they’re. We walk in, in torn jeans and greased up t-shirts, but it’s our cuts that have people turning their heads. I don’t care about any of them. I have one man to see.

  And I need to know if he is the reason why my kid is laid up in bed healing over a bullet wound. Being here doesn’t even take my mind off the fact that Sarah is with another man right now. No, not a man.

  A boy.

  Someone her age.

  A few guards block our paths, and I want to laugh in their faces. Now’s not the time to test me. A few customers are looking, and the women look nervous. Me and my club revamped this entire place, poured blood, sweat, and more blood into making it ours. The entirety is black tile, black velvet, with red ceilings. Everything beyond is in colored coordination with a royal flush. I’m standing under a chandelier, something that’s new, something I sure as hell didn’t approve of. This must be all Moretti.

  “You don’t want to do this, fellas.” I open my cut to reveal my Ruger .22 Revolver. It’s forty-two ounces of pure fucking mayhem. I love this gun. It doesn’t hold many bullets, but I never need a lot. I always aim right for the heart.

  And I never miss.

  “Is Moretti expecting you?” the guy on the right asks. He looks fresh out of a frat house, and I want nothing more than to show him how things go down in Vegas.

  “It’s about his son,” Tool says, making our arrival sound less threatening. It’s why he is my VP. I want to raise hell wherever I go.

  One of Moretti’s goons speak into his earpiece, and when he receives a response, he parts to let us through. I give him a grin. “Big thanks, fellas.” We stroll over to the elevator, and I hit the button with my fist. “They should have let us by. We own half this place. Hell, I have a few men here right now in that private fucking room that’s so important for business, probably about to run fucking money across state lines. We should be allowed in here, Tool, without question.”

  “I’m glad they stopped us because your head isn’t in the fucking game.” He punches the button to the top floors and the elevator doors slide shut. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you and Sarah—”

  Sweat and panic cloaks my skin at being found out. “What? Nothing is happening. I’m not fucking her,” I repeat, and when I hear myself, I sound like a liar. I don�
��t know what has gotten into me, but he is right—I’m losing it.

  The buttons light up as the elevator climbs the floors.

  “Listen, it isn’t unknown to everyone that something is happening between the two of you. I know you better than to think you are fucking someone underage, but until she is eighteen, get your head on straight.”

  “I’m trying!” I shout, pounding my chest. “You don’t think I’m giving it everything I have? You think I want this? You think I want to want Hawk’s fucking daughter? The guilt I feel. It eats me alive. It isn’t right. I fought it, but she’s the fucking devil, and she keeps pushing me and pushing me.”

  He gives a tilt of lips and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, she’s a little crazy, but I also know she’s young and stubborn, temperamental, and feeling something beyond what you are feeling.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “First love, Prez. She’s crushed right now. You think you have it bad?” He shakes his head. “Man, that girl has been in love with you from day one. Just remember it isn’t easy on her. Especially knowing you’ve been with other women. I can bet that’s the only reason she went out with Trust Fund.”

  “Trust fund?”

  “The guy, Danny or Dante.”

  “David,” I mutter.

  “Whatever. She is only going out with him to piss you off.”

  “It’s working. I don’t know, Tool. I might have you lock me away for a while. You can take the President patch.”

  He slams his fist on the red button, and the elevator comes to a stop. “What did you just say? Are you really wound that tight? Did Millie not help you out last night?”

  “I didn’t fuck Millie last night.”

  “We heard—”

  “You heard her trying to… Just forget it, okay?” I press the button to get us going again, not wanting to talk about my lack of erection, and wanting to get this meeting over with.

  Tool presses the button again, and I groan when the elevator comes to a stop. This is getting annoying. He narrows his eyes at me, and then they round when the lightbulb flickers on in his head. “Holy shit.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You couldn’t—”

  “I said, shut up.”

  “Prez…”

  I slam the button harder than I need to, and the elevator ascends again. “Like I said—I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You got it.”

  I’m not the kind of man to get embarrassed, but right now, my neck is on fire with how hot my face is. I clear my throat when the elevator comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. The office is nice, plain; nothing like downstairs. This office has white walls, marble floors, and lights in the divots above the walls to give it a welcoming glow.

  We walk right by the woman, and she gets up in a hurry. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to call you back.” She hangs up the phone and runs after us. “Excuse me! You can’t go in there. You need an appointment—”

  “Yeah, about those…” I say slowly and kick the door open to find Moretti standing up with a half-naked woman on her knees in between his legs. I kick a half smile on my face when he taps the back of her head.

  She stops and glances over her shoulder at us, licking her lips. He stuffs himself inside his pants, and the long-legged brunette does nothing for me as she saunters our way. She has big fake tits, ones that I’ve seen a hundred times before at the club. It’s not impressive to me. Not anymore.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “I doubt you are,” Moretti says as he sits in the chair at his desk. The woman leaves, and Tool doesn’t even give her a second look. She shuts the door behind her, and Moretti sighs. “I’m glad you interrupted. The bitch can’t give good head to save her life.”

  “You need new bitches,” Tool says as we walk to the two chairs in front of Moretti and sit down. “Bitches who can’t suck cock, can’t take cock.”

  Moretti seems amused and laces his hands together. “A fine slogan to live by…” Moretti glances at the name on Tool’s vest. “Tool. I like you.” He shakes his finger at him.

  “Sorry, I don’t suck cock.”

  I chuckle. Typical Tool.

  “That’s too bad, isn’t it?” Moretti whips back.

  Oh. Oh! Now that is unexpected.

  “Uh—”

  But Moretti cuts Tool off. “I’d do good things to you, Tool. You sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer? I’ll pay you.”

  “I’m not a whore you can buy,” Tool states with a flush on his cheeks.

  Moretti comes around the table, his cock still tenting his pants as he stares at Tool. “That’s where you are wrong. Everyone can be bought, Tool. Everyone. Everything.” Moretti Spreads his arms, acting as if he is king of the world. Moretti is your typical Italian guy. Olive skin, dark hair, dark green eyes, and has a thick Italian accent. It’s like he came in off the damn boat. “What can I do for the Ruthless Kings, Reaper?” He finally notices me. Jeez, the guy has a serious hard-on for Tool.

  I hate to say it, but I might have to use Tool to get closer to Moretti. Orders are orders. This can work out for us.

  “I want to know if you sent the hit on my men. I’m here, asking, man to man, not to war; no nothing.” I lean back in the chair and get comfortable. “If you lie to me, things change—our truce changes. Everything changes. Our partnership will be dissolved, and you can find your muscle elsewhere, and you’d give me the other half of the casino you own.”

  “I respect you and your kings greatly, Mr. Reaper.”

  Tool snorts. Mr. Reaper. That’s a new one.

  “I didn’t send a hit on my most reliable ally.”

  “A little birdie told me your stepson is estranged, and it could have been him,” I say.

  Moretti lifts his lips in annoyance, and if I’m not mistaken by the darkened shine to his eyes, hatred. “The little birdie you had delivered on my doorstep. Do you know how long it took to get the smell off my porch? Disgusting.”

  “I wanted to relay a message.”

  “Message fucking relayed.” Moretti glances out the large windows that take up the entire wall behind him and stares over the view of the city. The Bellagio is right in front of him, and the water show is currently going on. Even from where I sit, I see the different colored lights glow against the sky as the sun sets. “It’s not me. You have my everlasting allegiance. We will make a contract if you want. I didn’t do this to you, but if it was my stepson, I’m sorry to say, I do not know where he is. He stole from me and vanished. I’ve been searching for him. I hate the little fucker.”

  “If I find out you’re protecting him—”

  “Then you can have the casino, Mr. Reaper. I do not break my truces. Your club is good for me. My men are good for your club.”

  “I’m going to suspect something big is coming. Anything you hear, tell me, and I’ll do the same for you.”

  He holds out his hand to make it a gentlemen’s deal. “Please, I would not have it any other way.”

  I stare at his perfectly manicured hand and slap my grease-stained, calloused one against his palm. “Thanks for your time, and sorry for the interruption.”

  He smirks and places his eyes on Tool, holding out his hand for my VP to take. It isn’t often I see Tool flustered, but he is right now. Tool places his hand in Moretti’s, and Moretti jerks Tool forward over the desk.

  Damn, the guy is way stronger than he looks.

  “Are you sure you don’t suck cock?” Moretti asks, a little too close to Tool’s lips for Tool’s liking.

  “I’m positive. Sorry to disappoint, Moretti.”

  Moretti closes his eyes, shivering from the way Tool says his name. “It is a disappointment, but I understand.” Moretti lets go, and Tool takes a gigantic step back, as far away from Moretti as he can get without being disrespectful. “I’ll see you guys around, I’m sure.”

  “Keep in touch,” I say as we turn our backs to leave. I hate turning my back. You never know what the pers
on behind you will do. Trust in truce is a difficult concept for me to swallow, but when we make it out the doors, down the elevator, and to our bikes, I wonder if Moretti is really a man of his word.

  “How you holding up?” I place my helmet on my head, snapping it under my chin as I give Tool a jab.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he mutters. “Don’t you have your own shit to worry about?”

  Right.

  My own shit.

  For a second, I forgot all about Sarah, and now I’m going home, and she won’t be there.

  Her birthday needs to hurry the hell up before I go clinically insane.

  Shit, I’m already there.

  14

  Sarah

  It’s prom night.

  David will be here in an hour, and I’m nowhere near ready.

  Everyone here thinks David and I are dating, but no one knows that David is gay, and I plan to keep that my little secret. It’s been almost a month and a half since Reaper and I spoke. I actually haven’t been here much; I’ve been hanging out with my new friend. Knowing Reaper is at the clubhouse, fucking some biker slut, it hurts too much.

  I have two weeks until graduation.

  And then one week after that I turn eighteen, and I already plan on leaving. Being here without being Reaper’s, I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Boomer,” I say with a large smile on my face when he enters my room. He is finally up and walking around, but he is slower than he was before. I’m just glad he is out of bed.

  “Look at your hair.” He boings a curl hanging lose on the side of my face. “It looks good. You look beautiful,” he says, and he cups my jaw with his hand. When he looks at me, I know he is my brother, but all I see is our father trying to talk to me right now. “I’m so fucking happy to see you go to prom. It means so much to me. You have no idea how much I love you, Sarah.”

  My chin wobbles as my eyes fill with tears. “I love you too.”