by V. Theia
“Am I?”
“Always.”
Deflating, she had no clue then why this was happening. Why he’d storm in and mess up her date like this.
And then.
His head came up with an immediate snap, and all she saw in those eyes were pure, unaltered, unmasked desire. “The difference is I don’t give a fuck if I am unworthy, Paige.” He gripped her hips with just the right amount of hardness, holding her to him, though it was redundant seeing how he had her pinned against the sink.
Her hands crawled up his chest. Slowly. Slowly, until they reached the top of his wide shoulders.
He was so hard everywhere. Every muscle sharp under her fingers.
However much silence he gave her, Paige was finally seeing clearly that he was affected by her just as she was by him. He just hid it so much better.
“You don’t?”
He didn’t use words.
His head lowered. Giving her ample seconds to tell him to stop.
He kind of shuddered a hot breath over her face and then dove the rest of the inches separating them, crashing his lips over hers. He didn’t give her time to consider it further. Between one breath and the next, the big, quiet biker wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her toward him. Like a magnet, she went.
Paige was completely unprepared for the softness on her mouth, how gentle he was. She would’ve thought that after spending entire evenings with Reaper—watching the food network and carefully spying on him from the corner of her eye—that she would’ve known all there was to expect from being kissed for the first time by a new man.
Hells no. This blew her mind and her panties.
His mouth invaded hers along with his growl and it was lights out, girl down for Paige, because the man stole everything from her and gave back a crashing lust never felt before. At least not in long memory. His kiss caught her off guard and swept her up into his tornado, his rough and ready body consumed her with fast, skilled flicks of his tongue over hers. She became a beating pulse, a wanton woman with her mouth open to accept the forced tongue twirling around hers, daring her to push him out of her lips. Her arms went up around his neck, standing on the very tips of her toes in order to reach him, the kiss was reckless, fast, hot and so incredible that when she moaned he gave her one right back directly into her mouth.
She leaned into the possessive kiss and felt his hunger unleashed.
That of a man for a woman, and not two friends.
Completely floored, she moaned—needing more.
Liquid warmth spread through her limbs as his fingers moved into the back of her hair, angling her closer to him while his mouth ravaged and took possession over her for long minutes of the hottest kiss known to man, god and Noah Centineo.
Jealousy was a sweetness in his mouth she could absolutely become addicted to. The involuntarily reactions from his body was sublime. Mind-blowing and sublime.
That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Jealousy.
Paige could relate.
She knew about all the women around the MC, she couldn’t think of Reaper with any of them without becoming murderous to peel off their skin and feed them to wild wolves.
And then the kiss ended abruptly.
Reaper stepped back. Inhaling strongly. Looking like he’d just lost a cage fight with a pack of rabid dogs.
“Don’t let that guy take you home, Paige.” He rasped, the husk in his voice grew more base to it, chin touching his chest, hands buried in his front pockets. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
She somehow heard I’ll kill him if he does threaded through his tone.
Paige shivered. His words were a shot of rum, maybe a hit of cocaine and a shock of electricity.
“Reaper… I…”
He wrenched the door open and stalked out, leaving her in a million pieces of fucking confused.
She turned to the mirror, looked at her twin and rose fingers to touch her swollen lips.
He was a hell of a kisser.
Out of this world.
Perfect.
But his changing actions were making her dizzy.
She dabbed water on her face, dried her hands and waited another minute before she left the ladies restroom.
She noted two things at once. Reaper was over by the far wall, wedged into a corner booth with all his biker friends surrounding him. Staring directly at her.
And her table was now empty, and the bill laid on top.
Great, she thought with an eye roll. Her first date in forever and she could chalk it up to an epic disaster.
Her tingly lips reminded her that it wasn’t all bad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Jealousy looked a lot like the unbearable asshole in the mirror.” - Reaper
The past few days had been insufferable to say the least.
Fucking migraine inducing kind of agony going through his mind.
Not just the headaches.
A walk straight through the bowels of hell would most accurately describe each second.
It left Reaper weakened and on edge, snappy with everyone.
The boys didn’t bother him most of the time. They’d cottoned on real quick how Reaper didn’t like to talk much or ever. Today more than most they gave him a wide berth around the church table and didn’t ask if he wanted to go for beers later. He got his tasks for the day and skulked out ahead of everyone. They rightly didn’t ask what the fuck was up with him. Probably to do with the toxic cloud of energy hanging over his head like a goddamn nest of crows waiting to attack.
She’d willingly gone on a fucking date.
Paige. His Paige with another man looking across at her from a table with want on his face.
He was still fit to murder.
The idea of her with another guy made him fucking postal.
Even now Reaper felt the flash of blood through his ears. He could easily get Lawless to track that guy down. CCTV and a licence plate were all it would take, and Reaper could get some satisfaction smashing his face in a little bit.
It had felt like a million shallow paper cuts watching her across the bar, smiling at that complete tool-bag.
Though he worked and ate that day, his brain was too busy trying to dismantle the bomb living inside him.
On a fucking date.
It was dangerous, the feeling rippling through him.
He’d wanted to rip the guy limb from fucking limb and present Paige with the leftovers as spoils to his victory. Show her who the better man was.
God, kissing Paige felt like she was water in the desert after a month of dehydration. He’d been foolish, understatement. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself from tasting her. Laying his claim that she belonged to him even as he told himself he was playing a dangerous game.
The way she’d kissed him back, with needy, breathy pants had about done him in. He’d jerked off so much in the past two days, even with his head raging with pain, that he should technically be legally blind by now.
Grabbing his coat from the hook, he swung it on and continued striding through the clubhouse.
“Reaper, hold up.” He heard from behind just as he was about to step outside. He turned to see Rider approaching. When he reached him, Rider didn’t dance on ceremony, he never did. Reaper had always respected the guy for the man he was and the way he’d built the club into the conglomerate revered MC it was throughout the states. “I need a favor.” The way he scrubbed a hand through his beard let Reaper know he was having a hard time asking for whatever he needed. Rider rarely asked any of the guys to do anything that he himself wouldn’t do. Some of the guys had special skills, Lawless and Hawk for example, that Reaper wouldn’t do. Grinder hunted people down, Lawless chopped them up when needed. Tag was the brawler, The Butcher put people back together and Capone was an all-around guy, he went where he was needed. “My father’s truck is fucked; can you swing by his house in the pickup and bring it in? I have the prospects with Snake, or I’d get them on it.”
“Sure, no
problem.”
They were all still surprised Ajax ‘Mad-dog’ Marinos hadn’t returned to Austin once Rider’s son was born. No more so than Rider who had a fractured relationship with his old man.
He turned to leave. “Everything okay, Reap? We haven’t had a chance to check in for a while.”
Rider was the one guy who knew everything. Thanks to too much booze one night and Reaper’s loose fucking lips the whole sorry tale came pouring out of him. As he said, he respected him, and liked him. He was a good, fair boss and a good friend, even if it was Reaper who put in the least percentage there. It wasn’t because he didn’t give a fuck, it was always about priorities and he’d made his choices a long time ago and didn’t have brain room for anything else.
Stalling in the doorway, he rested a shoulder on the wall. Rider was in his usual wide legged stance, arms folded over his leather cut.
“Who would have time for anything, Prez, with two babies at home?”
Rider’s lip quirked. “True. But my question still stands.”
“Everything is the same. I need to check with Tennessee soon, but apart from that, same-same.”
“Sorry to hear that, brother. You’ll ask if you need shit, okay?”
Reaper nodded and accepted the fist-bump from his prez before ambling off to the pickup across the compound. While the engine idled, right before he drove off, he paused.
Always thinking about his time in Tennessee shifted something inside his guts.
Just for a second before he locked it down.
Jesus. Good memories, bad memories, fucking cruel and devastating memories.
His brain swam inside his skull, making the world feel like he was tipping over.
Downing three pills, he took off the hand break and got on the road.
Keeping busy was always his best antidote.
He wasn’t sure about the animosity surrounding Mad-dog. He understood it had been ongoing for years, the guy used to be the VP and tight with his brother—who was trying to do some shit to get back in the Prez seat, no matter what he had to do to Rider to get it. Ajax looked just like a regular old guy. Reaper jumped down out of the cab and knocked on the back door of his house.
From inside he could hear excited baby squeals.
“Rider sent me for your truck. Do you have the keys?”
“Sure, son.” He fished into his denim pocket and handed over a set of keys. He looked put out that maybe he thought Rider would come by himself. “That boy of mine busy?”
“Yeah,” Reaper replied. Then thought to add. “He always is.”
Mad-dog nodded and turned his head towards the ruckus inside and smiled. “I better go back in, son. My granddaughter likes to charge around the house in a fuckin’ walker-thing and Annie has all this expensive shit on tables.”
The pair parted and it was full steam ahead for Reaper with his duties once he’d dropped the truck off at the garage and climbed onto his bike.
He was well aware he’d avoided the diner and Paige for two days.
Two long-fucking-days where he craved to set eyes on her, smell her scent and recharge in her smile.
Two fucking days and he was drowning.
Would she hate him for kissing her?
Would she push him out of her life now?
He’d stormed into the bar and acted reckless, like a giant prick, totally ruining what could have been a good night for her. Paige didn’t have many of those, and he’d acted out of impulse… out of possessiveness.
She allowed him on the peripheral of her life and he didn’t know what he’d do if she cast him out.
It was all he could accept, even if he was plagued by the feel and taste of her kiss. Jesus, his cock was getting hard again. How, he didn’t know, since he’d rubbed himself raw. Adjusting the denim over his crotch, Reaper did what he always did; worked and thought about the pink haired angel.
“How do you think Tag will do? The animal is fucking big, look at his arms, Jesus, they’re like tree trunks. I wouldn’t like to mess with him in a dark alley.”
“Tag isn’t gonna fuck him,” piped Snake to Juicy, throwing chicken popcorn into his mouth one at a time like peanuts.
“Neither am I, dude, fuck that. He’d rip my cock off.” Juicy retorted with a snort. “What are his chances though?”
“Don’t underestimate our boy. He’s a goddamn insane fucker inside that cage. Just watch. It’s like Beelzebub rises in him or some shit like that.”
It was later that night, well after midnight and the main attraction in the underground fight club owned and run by the RSMC was just about to get underway. Tag was having another must-watch fight, clientele had come from all across the states, bought their way in and were now laying down their bets on who they thought would win.
Tag or the knock-off version of the WWE Big Show.
Reaper agreed; the guy was big. Broader and taller than Tag, with a status in the fight scene for doing serious damage to his opponents, some never walked again, even breaking the rules to put a guy in the morgue out west a few years back.
Reaper kept on the outskirts of the room.
It was basketball court big with a huge custom steel cage surrounded in lights for effect around the rim. A lot of blood had been shed in that cage and Reaper, though he could scrap down in the dirt with the best of them if need be, didn’t envy Tag. His club brother seemed more at home inside that ring with cracked knuckles and a smirk on his face than he did sitting around the church table.
“What you betting?” Juicy asked. The new guy liked hanging around the fights. Reaper suspected it was more to do with which fighter he could fuck than it was the love of the illegal sport.
“I don’t gamble.” Answered Reaper when Juicy waited for him to speak.
His eyes were scanning around the room. They had a lot of security, but it didn’t hurt to keep a watch. Rival clubs that the RSMC weren’t in good standing with would love to get their thieving mitts on all the profits that would roll through tonight.
“The fuck! You don’t gamble, you’re not tapping any of the club bunnies. What’d you do for fun, man, paint by number?” Snake found Juicy hilarious from his barked laugh. Reaper just pushed up his eyebrow high on his forehead. For once he was without his beanie hat and had his hair tied back in a stubbed tail at his neck.
“I kick little boys asses who don’t know when to keep their traps shut.”
“See that, kid?” Snake said throwing his arm around Juicy’s shoulder. “My boy got good shit to say when he finally speaks, better listen, I’ve seen him throw down. They fight like wildcats from New Zealand.”
The night went on.
Tag fought like he was from New Zealand. His face busted, his body weary, it went round after round, the crowd baying for more, money changed so many hands. But in the end their boy was victorious, even if he needed help out of the cage, that rabid bastard was smiling with his unrecognizable face gushing the red stuff.
“How the fuck did they get in?” Snake hissed when they were ready to take off. Capone came to stand at his side, Reaper joined both of them and they collectively watched three Russians mingling in the dwindling crowd.
No one had noticed them until now, so they had no idea how long they’d been here.
It was just another night for the RS boys. Cleaning up the shit in their town.
* * *
Lucie came back behind the counter and grinned. “He said he wants you to serve him.”
Paige huffed, avoided looking over. Who did he think he was, the King of Brunei?…Sultan? Whatever it was, she was too mad to be correct.
“He actually spoke?”
Lucie nodded enthusiastically, a little starry eyed. She’d said on more than one occasion how sexy she thought Reaper was. Paige liked her little work girl, so she didn’t dip her head in the custard.
“Yeah! With actual words from those gorgeous lips. I nearly fainted. Tell Paige she can serve me. Just like that.”
Eyes blazing she gl
ared over. He was watching her, his face unreadable. “Well, of all the cheek,” she muttered. He thought he could ignore her … by not coming into the diner … for three damn days and then expect her to prance over with her smile and pad out ready to do his bidding?
Think again, buddy.
She went about refilling the coffee pots first. And then she served big Harry his breakfast and then she checked the number of pies slices they had left and all the time she was fully aware of amber eyes following her each time she walked up and down behind the counter.
Her heart knew, it was banging hard.
“Oh for god’s sake, go serve the man, he’s waiting for you.” Lucie laughed and shoved the pad and pen in Paige’s hands. “You know you want to. I can’t stand the tension between you two anymore.”
Insightful kid, but she didn’t have the first clue what was going on between her and Reaper because Paige herself didn’t know either.
Instead of going over to his table she tossed the pad down and walked into the kitchen. A few minutes later she came out carrying a plate, cutlery in her other hand with a cup of steaming coffee.
She thought about hurling it across the diner but placed it down with a loud thud in front of him. She’d bypassed their funny little exchange where she asked what he wanted, and he told her to bring him what she thought he wanted. Every day it made her laugh and feel special.
She wasn’t feeling particularly funny or special as he canted his head to the side, first to look at the loaded breakfast omelet she’d brought him and then up at her.
She was blasted by his soft eyes.
“Thank you, it looks great.”
Paige placed his coffee and cutlery, with less force this time, on the side of the plate. “Will that be all?”
“You’re mad.”
No shit, Sherlock.
She glared, eyes narrowed, trying to ignore the flourishing heat his unwavering glance caused her to experience.
“You can call Lucie over when you want a refill.”
“Paige…”