by V. Theia
He was seriously fucking screwed.
Damned if he did. Crazy if he didn’t.
That fact alone had kept him breathing.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for anymore. Only that he couldn’t not wait.
He swung his leg over the bike and started it up just like he had thousands of times before. With two destinations in mind, for once he wouldn’t head to the diner first.
Rider had always been good to him and he owed the guy. He’d go to the club first and fill him in.
He then needed to put his eyes on Paige, to remind himself she existed, and she was smiling, and she was okay.
All other shit after that could wait.
CHAPTER TWO
“There’s no madness like a biker obsessed.” - Reaper
Hawk was sitting on Rider’s left in one of those high-backed leather chairs, legs kicked up on the table, when Reaper rapped his knuckles on the office door and strolled in. Only one of the men looked up. The VP was fast asleep with his daughter laid on his chest, his hand secured on her little back.
“Should I come back?”
“Nah, don’t mind them. I’ve been bangin’ drawers closed for ten minutes and they’re still out.” Rider directed him in with a two-finger motion. “How did it go?”
“Still need to drop by Marcel’s, but the mayor closed his account; he emptied his box and paid in full.” He explained, putting the envelope on the desk.
Rider shrugged, unfazed by the news. “We have enough on him already if he tries to step on our toes. He’d be an idiot if he did. Lawless compiled a book on him the size of War and fuckin’ Peace years ago.” The enforcer was a scary guy you didn’t wanna mess with. He liked giving pain and expanding his brain. Right now the guy was studying Portuguese.
Scary smart.
Terrifyingly psychotic.
And then the guy took care of abandoned kittens all hours of the day and night. Total fucking conundrum.
“I don’t think it’s Brex we need to worry about. Did you really think Grigori would leave because you told him to?”
Rider side eyed Reaper while he shoved the collected money into the wall safe to his right. “There was a better chance of Preacher sprouting a pair of tits, brother. This way we drain his funds and he thinks I’ve grown soft.”
Rider issued the underboss with a notice to fuck off six months ago.
It was a fake courtesy.
As he said, none of the Souls thought he’d heed the warning.
But other plans had always been simmering in the background. When crossed, Rider was a vengeful fucker and it was no longer just about killing Grigori. Prez wanted to ruin the man personally first.
Between Hawk and Lawless and their set of skills for murder, they’d easily dispatched with most of Grigori’s subordinates. That really upset the Russian guy.
Lawless wasn’t the only smart one in the club who could read. Reaper had done his research when he’d needed to.
Being from the farming lands in the back of beyond in New Zealand and not giving a shit about any mafia, Reaper hadn’t really known about their organization and how big it really was until they’d started being a nuisance in Armado Springs.
Unlike the Cosa Nostra, the Italian strain of mafia, the Russians didn’t have family ties. They recruited criminals, mostly right out of prison. Men with no scruples whatsoever for doing appalling shit. As for loyalty? The Souls had literally watched Grigori shoot one of his own in the head without remorse that time he’d taken Grinder.
And that’s where all the current shitstorm began. No one was allowed to disrespect the Souls that way.
Trying to unravel from a business connection with that organization was the same as trying to clean honey off skin with a blade of grass but Rider had always planned the long revenge in mind when he’d set out to ruin Grigori. The second in command, or whatever they called it in Russia, was a thorn in the side for Reaper’s MC president, but it was nothing Rider couldn’t handle.
“We stopped him dealing his dope, he took a major hit when we blew up his import cargo tanks. If he wants to suck Brex’s dick, he can. His days are numbered.”
Reaper nodded silently, hands down in his pockets.
He’d never wanted to rise in the ranks of the Souls, though they’d saved him in a lot of ways, more ways than he could say. Sometimes he didn’t feel part of the club camaraderie because he was always straining to be somewhere else.
He liked the boys. He’d go all in for any of them, no question about it.
But at the end of the day when things circled back to the very beginning, his priority wasn’t the Renegade Souls. It was only his job. A place to hang and to breathe and he’d made life-long friends he gave a shit about; he was loyal to the man who had taken him on, no questions asked.
But the thing about priorities was, there always came a day when it was time to choose. His choices were never in question. He had one priority.
Then.
Now.
Always.
“Said we should’ve just killed him that day he swaggered into town, didn’t I?” The VP croaked quietly with his eyes remained shut.
“Have you been awake this whole time?” Questioned Rider.
“I heard about the cocksucker Brex, if that’s what you’re asking.” Two pale blue eyes, cold as ice, opened slowly and pierced Reaper with a glance. He didn’t move any part of his upper body, just made sure his daughter was still sleeping on his chest and dropped his feet to the floor.
It was still weird to see Hawk with a kid and how effortlessly he’d slipped into the role of being a father. He often strode into the clubhouse with her strapped on his chest since he shared the child minding with his wife when she worked in her home office. A ghoul of a scary man dressed head to toe in black, a beard that made him look more bushman than human, and then a bundle in pink sleeping on his chest.
At the sound of his voice, his pudgy gray dog yapped from under Hawk’s chair. Reaper hadn’t noticed the French bulldog until now. Now it danced around Hawk’s legs for attention, then trotted over to Reaper who went down to his haunches and gave the girl a good scratch behind her ears leaving her in a state of rapture.
“If that thing pisses in my office you’re cleanin’ it,” Rider warned Hawk, who fired back in his cold tone. “She won’t piss. I trained her. But if she does then a prospect will clean it.”
“Do I hear you complaining about my first-born fur-baby, Ambrosio?” A feminine voice from the door enquired of her brother, using his given name. Even if Reaper hadn’t recognized Gia’s voice, the way the VP sprang into action by climbing to his feet and getting over to his wife in seconds, would have been a big clue as to who she was.
They connected at the mouths before Hawk buried his face in her neck and Reaper turned away, feeling the pinch in his lower belly.
A lot of the boys were married now. Whereas when he’d patched in just a few of the older non-active members had old ladies. Everywhere he turned now, someone was locked at the lips. Back then the parties were wild, and he’d needed the background noise.
All the overly sappy crap just made him hurt all the more and as much as he tried to lock those feelings out, the gut clawing jealousy of what he’d had once upon a long fucking time ago, he couldn’t fully achieve it.
They had what he’d held so dear and then lost.
They had what he craved.
Fuck his man-card, he wanted…
He cleared his throat and motioned his head to the door to his prez. “Heading out,” he grumbled.
Suddenly he was desperate for a fix.
Reaper didn’t stop to talk to Grinder, sitting alone at the bar with a coffee and a newspaper. He nodded to Krusher, the old man who’d arrived this past winter and stuck around. That was as social as he felt.
His bike, his first destination.
The diner, his end game.
When he stepped down off his Harley some fifteen minutes later, he unzipped his j
acket and saw the glint of gold on his finger.
There wasn’t a day he forgot he wore it and he’d stopped punishing himself for being unable to take it off. It was his connection to an old life he couldn’t let go of. Call him all the fucking idiots under the kiwi sun, he didn’t care.
He used his thumb to twirl it a few times before he took the stretch of street down to the diner on the corner.
All the same familiar smells greeted him, and he knew anything made of sugar, Paige was the one to bake it.
Taking his usual seat, he slid into the red vinyl booth, leaving his bike helmet on the seat beside him, his eyes moving lengthways down the curved counter with every stool occupied. A frown creased his brow when he didn’t see her anywhere and his internal clock said it was past time to see her; and where the fuck was she?
His veins always burned with anticipation when he knew he was about to lay eyes on her. Not seeing her instantly and his lungs constricted.
Just as the door opened and one of his club brothers walked over the threshold, so did Paige as she came out of the kitchen carrying a tray in one arm and her pad and pen in the other hand.
She was fucking adorable with a pair of the sexiest little feet he’d ever seen pushed into purple sandals. On colder days she always wore brightly colored patterned tights. Her legs were bare today, and he streaked his greedy eyes from toe to knees where her peach uniform fell.
He completely ignored Capone in order to stare at Paige.
She was so tight and compact; it would be nothing to tuck her neat and warm into the inside of his jacket and carry her wherever he went and feed her bites of cheese biscuits. Skin so creamy with just a touch of makeup dusting over her face, she had luscious lips the color of a Bordeaux wine and a slim neck he ached to suck on. God, her fucking eyes… it was like they were constantly smiling.
She was his weakness; his eternal torment and he should have stayed away today until he got himself under control emotionally. But the truth of it was he couldn’t stand knowing she was here, with other men looking at her, growing hard, wanting her.
He was pitiful, playing guard duty to a woman who didn’t know the kinds of murderous thoughts he had about other men trying to worm their way into her panties.
God, if you’re up there, you gotta do a guy a solid and not let me do something to make her hate me…
His eyes continued to scan and take her all in as she headed over to a customer.
Paige was more than just a good-looking woman.
She was all dimensions and a softly whispered prayer. She was a marvel that any man would be obsessed with.
She was sarcastically funny and determined and about the kindest person he knew.
The quickening of his heart pumped blood to all the wrong places and still he couldn’t—wouldn’t look away from her. Thank fuck for the table covering his lap, hiding his swelling dick.
Today her pink hair was in a thick braid wrapped around her skull.
He swallowed twice and felt his fingers flex on the table.
“Hermano. Fancy meeting you here.” Chuckled Capone, blocking out his view.
He scowled and canted his head back to look at the Hispanic man smiling down at him.
They all knew he came here. He ignored their jibes. Arson especially knew not to taunt him about Paige, since he’d thrown the other man across a table when he dared joke about him fucking ‘diner girl’ as they all called her.
In his peripheral he watched her serving people. Walking back and forth beyond the white counter, smiling and generally being an angel to everyone who spoke to her.
All he wanted to do was watch her. Was it too much to ask for?
Capone didn’t seem to care because he parked himself on the opposite side of the booth and rested his clasped hands on the table, silver rings on most of his fingers.
“Sit down why don’t you.” Reaper snarked making Capone laugh.
“Gracias. Here for your morning coffee?”
Reaper grunted.
Capone’s fingers drummed on the table. “Why do you do it, papi?”
Reaper could’ve played dumb, asked what he meant. But he knew. Why did he torture himself with her?
Without taking his eyes from behind the counter he answered, voice like he’d smoked glass shards. “Because I have to.”
He heard his friend suck through his teeth, but otherwise he didn’t respond.
They all probably thought he was as crazy as Hawk.
But it was different. So damn different.
Rider was the only one Reaper had confided in. His prez understood there might be a day Reaper wouldn’t be around. But as far as spilling his guts open to the others? He hadn’t uttered a word. He let them joke around about his obsession and sexless life.
Impatiently, he rubbed fingers under his hat along his forehead.
Any second now Paige would come over and he didn’t want her attention shared with Capone. He liked him, sure. Stand-up guy, would do a lot for any of the club brothers. But Reaper didn’t like him enough that he’d portion his few precious Paige minutes.
“Good morning, boys.”
There she was.
His head snapped up to look at her smiling, flushed face with her delicate hand holding a coffee pot. It was her smile that could render any man dumb as a post. Reaper was far from immune. What with him sucking on his own tongue. All the moments like this one, with her eyes skimming over his face and his own gaze on her, always felt a little inappropriate, but ask Reaper if he cared?
God, almighty, he needed help.
Not just for his rapid heart or his aching cock.
Sometimes he had to wrench his eyes away for self-preservation.
It was one of those times.
He sat back in the booth and rested an arm along the back, aware his MC friend was watching this whole silent exchange going down with a twitch on his lips.
A giant slab of concrete hit him in the stomach and nearly took Reaper to his knees when her smile grew, and her cheeks pinked up. She was blushing for him. So pretty. So lovely. She smelled so fucking good. It was a fist of desire repeatedly punching him.
“It’s good to see you, Paige.” Offered Capone with a big-ass grin on his goatee face.
Man, he hated his jealous streak.
He hated his insanely hard dick more.
“It’s nice to see you, we don’t often get many of the Renegade Souls boys in this early. And Reaper rarely brings a friend.” She gave him a smile and all his organs settled back in their rightful places as relief poured into his chest.
“I wonder why that is, Hermano, hm?” Nudged Capone. “I’m just here for a takeout coffee, I’ll head to the counter. See you later, Reap.”
He didn’t feel bad for not telling Capone to stay.
“Do you know what you’d like this morning?”
Sweet as sugar. Her voice. He loved listening to it.
She topped up someone’s coffee at the next table then brought her eyes back to him. Her face blushed instantly before she averted her gaze, but they never strayed for too long.
“What do you think I want today?”
Same question. Different day. He enjoyed the quirk of her smile when she chewed on the end of her pen then pointed at him. Every day she chose something different for his breakfast. “Hmm…I got it. Country ham hash with two sunny side up eggs and a side of French toast.”
“Perfect.”
She beamed and wrote it down on her pad.
“I’ll be right back, Reaper.” One step away and he called out her name. She turned and looked at him so earnestly he felt the look in his gut.
Look at me, Paige. See me, Paige.
“Are you good?”
She chuckled. He’d asked her that question a million times and she never asked him why.
“Beside the oven dying this morning when I was trying to bake ten pies and my aching feet, I’m good, Reaper. Be right back with your food, don’t go anywhere.”
H
e was right where he wanted to be.
Watching her as always.
His mouth watered with the way the curve of her hips moved subtly with each step as if she was treading through water. She was slim but rounded in the right places and his eyes glued to her ass in that god-awful shapeless uniform.
The soft little bounce of her breasts. Everything made his mouth water.
Every. Single. Time. With no exception.
He felt his throat thicken as he leaned forward in the booth. Not caring if he got caught staring. It was far too late for that.
He understood why his club boys dove into one woman after another. Not just because sex was fucking amazing. Best feeling in the world.
But it was everything else that came with that raging orgasm. The softness of the woman beneath them. The curl of her legs and the whisper breaths.
He missed all that and hungered for it with Paige.
At this point he was a drowning man.
She was flawlessly affable, and he was officially fucking transfixed.
There was no sticking a fork in him because Reaper was done long ago.
His cock was constantly half-hard when he was around her, and he had to fight to keep it at bay. He never wanted to scare her, though he sometimes caught her watching him with a kind of awe and wonder on her face.
Look at me, Paige, he wanted to roar. Look at me.
Minutes ticked by. He took a call from the RSMC compound that lasted all of twenty seconds before he spotted Paige coming out from behind the counter holding a tray. He cut Preacher off without ceremony and was up out of the booth. He hated to see her struggling and he had the tray in his own hands in seconds.
“Oh. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
Reaper grunted and dumped the plate heaping with food onto his table, along with a bowl of… he stared down at the goop. Was that..?
“I thought you might like some oatmeal, too. It’s healthy.” She beamed. “Except well, if you ignore all the brown sugar. So it’s mostly healthy. But oats are good for you!”
Fucks sake, he hated oatmeal of all kinds, even if it came with a truck load of sugar on top, but he’d eat dog shit if she told him to.