Reaper was beginning to feel like it was Christmas. “She is.” Not a lie. Jamie’s wedding was in two months.
Rebos straightened his shoulders and thrust out his chest. “Think she’d wait for me?”
Although he wanted to, Reaper didn’t dare laugh.
Back at the office, they dropped their copy of the jail’s paperwork on Brian’s desk.
Brian was still bent over in his wheelchair laughing, his brown eyes tearing. Every time he glanced up at Jamie, he burst out laughing again—and he still hadn’t heard about lovesick Rebos.
As he stared at the muddy mess she’d made of the floor, Reaper shook his head. From the top of her blonde head to the heels of her cowboy boots, his partner was coated in sludgy muck. “Think your boyfriend Sky’s gonna let you in the house, looking like that?”
Her lips curved. “I imagine he’ll make me strip on the front porch.”
Reaper glared. Damn, sex on the porch sounded nasty. And fun. He didn’t need a reminder of the fact his latest place to crash had reclaimed her spare key. Something he’d mentioned to Jamie that morning in the spirit of “sharing.” Women seemed to like that shit, but Jamie hadn’t commiserated. No, she’d raised her fist to Girl Power and told him he needed to find himself a real girlfriend. One he’d actually have to talk to. Reaper had shuddered at the thought.
He patted his pocket for keys, then began to turn, ready to head to the door. He had places to go—well, the nearest bar. Maybe there he’d find his next bed to crash in.
“Not so quick,” Brian called out.
Reaper pivoted back and raised an eyebrow.
“Fetch has something special planned for you.”
Reaper glanced at Jamie who was busy wiping mud off the side of her neck with a tissue.
“Not her. She’s off for the next few days. Wedding stuff. You,” Brian said, and then smiled.
Sometimes, he really couldn’t stand Brian. Their office manager was part of Team Jamie. That smile was too wide and held more than an ounce of snark. “What’s he want me to do?”
“You have a ride-along for the rest of the week, starting in the morning. An author friend of his.”
For fuck’s sake... Reaper groaned. “Why me?”
Brian’s smile was angelic. “No clue. But he said you’re to behave.”
Reaper scrubbed a hand over his face. Fetch shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t he know better than to throw down that kind of challenge? “Author. Huh. He better not be late, or I’ll leave his ass behind with you.”
“Not a he...” Brian laughed again.
Reaper flashed a look of disgust at Jamie who chuckled softly. No way in hell. Training Jamie not to get herself killed had taken every bit of his patience. He didn’t have any left for some author-ess who wanted to pick his brain and ask asinine questions, and who wouldn’t know how to keep the hell out of trouble. No way. No how. Reaper fisted his hands on his hips and glared. He’d just have to make sure that a single day spent in his company was long enough.
With their laughter following him out the door, Reaper slogged toward his SUV through four inches of water accumulated in the parking lot. Once seated behind the wheel, he let out a deep breath and let his head fall back against the headrest. Not a bad day. Still, he felt… He didn’t quite know. Restless, maybe? Dissatisfied? And why? Everything was going great. His success at Montana Bounty Hunters, as well as Jamie’s, had led Fetch into trusting them to open and run this satellite office. Already, the operation was showing a profit. He liked his crew. Sure, he’d given Jamie a hard time when they’d started working together, but she’d more than proven herself over the months they’d partnered. Her friend Brian, even if he did get under Reaper’s skin, was a good man and great support. He made their lives easier in measurable ways, handling much of the computer end of their job—a task Reaper didn’t love.
Work was great. His crew was great. Soon, they’d add more agents. So, why wasn’t he happy? Maybe Jamie was right. Perhaps, he needed a special someone in his life to give him something to look forward to when he walked out the door at the end of the day.
Or, maybe, he was simply pissed Sylvia had kicked him to the door the minute he made a face when she asked who he was taking to Jamie’s wedding. Like she expected him to ask her. Fact was, he hated weddings, and the thought of taking a woman he “dated” to an event like that made him feel as though a noose tightened around his neck. So yeah, he’d grimaced.
“Crap. Why am I such a fuckup?”
His phone lit, and the strains to White Buffalo’s “Come Join the Murder” filled the cab. What did it say about a man when the bartender at his favorite watering hole had his own ringtone? “Yeah, Brady?”
“Uh, Reap, you need to get on down here. I just cut off your brother.”
Which meant Sammy was getting ugly. “Hell, I’m five minutes away.” He tapped to end the call, hit the ignition button, and sped out of the parking lot. Sammy, drunk on his ass, usually ended up with a pricey bar bill for broken windows and splintered furniture—if not jail time in the county lockup.
When Reaper arrived at the bar, he removed his holster and secured it in his glove box. He also stored his badge.
Inside the bar, a fight was already in progress. Members of Sammy’s motorcycle club stood in a circle around Sammy and another club member, Blacky McNally. Standing a head taller than most of the men crowded tightly around the staggering pugilists, Reaper made note that the fight must have just started because neither man was bleeding.
Brady waved to catch his attention.
Reaper circled the edge of the cheering crowd to reach him. “How’d it start this time?” he shouted.
“Sammy groped Blacky’s old lady.”
Reaper sighed. Sammy was looking to get his ass kicked. “I’d appreciate you holding off calling the cops.”
His arms crossed over his burly chest, Brady nodded. “I know you’ll make it right.”
So much for his cut of tonight’s takedown. Reaper sighed and pushed his way through the crowd.
“Hey, it’s the bounty hunter,” one of the club members shouted.
“It’s Fugitive Recovery Agent, dipshit,” he muttered, and then smiled. “Unless a bench warrant carries your name, you got nothing to worry about.” He rolled his shoulders, raised his fists, and then waded in.
Reaper’s heart rate sped. Not one to ponder the vagaries of fate, he couldn’t help the little uptick of satisfaction that lightened his mood.
A fight on a Friday night was almost a Stenberg tradition.
An hour later, Reaper tossed a bag of frozen peas onto the kitchen table in front of his brother then pulled out another and took a seat opposite Sammy. Without speaking, because he really didn’t want to start a shouting match, he squeezed the bag between his hands to loosen the frozen vegetables. Then he set the bag on the tabletop and rotated his fist to rest his swollen knuckles against the icy-cold pack.
“Maybe you should put that on your cheek,” Sammy said, lifting a finger to point at Reaper’s right cheek.
“Need my hands more than I need this face,” Reaper said, his voice dead even. He was still pissed his brother cost him a huge chunk of change for the damages he’d caused at the bar.
Sammy grunted and placed his own bag against his left eye, which was swollen shut and beginning to blacken. They both sat in silence, until Sammy released a long, loud sigh. “Sorry about the bar bill. I’ll pay you back.”
Reaper shot him a glare. Don’t lie to me. Fuck, don’t say anything.
His brother glanced away. “Maybe I should head back to my place.”
“Your bike’s back at the bar, and you’re still drunk.” Reaper tipped his head from side to side to ease a knot forming in his neck. Talking to his brother always made him tense. “Why the hell did you pick a fight with McNally?”
“He took the first swing.”
Leaning forward, Reaper shot him a glare. “You grabbed Danielle’s ass. Do you think he was
gonna let that slide?”
Sammy shrugged.
That gesture always fried Reaper’s ass. Blood roared in his ears. “What?” he bit out. “You don’t give a shit? Did you want him to kick your ass? What is it with you, lately?”
Sammy shoved back his chair. “Got a headache. Since you’re not gonna take me back in town, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Reaper watched as his brother pushed up from the table and turned to go. “I’ll be up early. You want a ride, you be ready.”
His brother didn’t answer as he walked away.
For a few moments longer, Reaper sat in the kitchen, rolling his sore knuckles on the bag. He didn’t like the direction his brother was heading, and he placed the blame squarely on Sammy’s association with his bike club. The roadside bar didn’t exactly attract the most upstanding citizens. They were a brawling, boozing bunch of ex-cons and misfits. As an ex-con himself, Sammy should have known better than keep that kind of company. Many of those losers worked at McNally’s garage, Sammy included. The few times Reaper had dropped in, he hadn’t liked the seedy atmosphere.
More than once, Reaper tried talking to Sammy about dropping his membership and finding another job, but Sammy remained stubborn. He didn’t want his advice. Didn’t need it, he’d said. The last time Reaper asked him about the club, they’d ended up fighting and hadn’t spoken for a month.
If Sammy wasn’t the only family he had, he might have let him learn some more hard lessons on his own. As the situation now stood, he was enabling his kid brother to continue his downward spiral. Tonight, he’d picked up the tab for the splintered furniture, broken glasses, and the six-foot mirror behind the bar.
Sighing, he lifted his hand and balled his fist, wincing at the tug of bruised muscles stretching over his knuckles. Well, hell. Tonight was clusterfuck. Tomorrow, he still wouldn’t catch a break—not with an overeager ride-along asking questions and getting in his way. If he ignored her, he wondered how long she’d last.
His lips twitched. Yeah, he’d have Brian find the dirtiest, low-down target on their list and make sure she got muddied along the way. Nothing too violent, but something to make her reconsider hanging out with him for the rest of the week. Then maybe, he could talk his brother into riding shotgun and let him see what happened when dirtbags made stupid mistakes. Maybe he could rattle Sammy hard enough to help him see his current path would only lead to shit.
Reaper let out another deep sigh. With his adrenaline crashing, he was ready for bed. Feeling better about the next day’s challenge, he tossed the thawing peas back into the freezer and smiled, which caused him to wince. Maybe he should have iced his cheek.
Nah. Maybe his face would make the author-ess think twice about sharing his SUV.
About Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author with a reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published nearly two hundred stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Entangled, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
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Also by Delilah Devlin
Montana Bounty Hunters
Reaper (#1)
Dagger (#2)
Reaper’s Ride (#3)
Cochise (#4)
Hook (#5)
Wolf (#6)
Animal (#7)
S*x on the Beach (related)
Uncharted SEALs
Watch Over Me (#1)
Her Next Breath (#2)
Through Her Eyes (#3)
Dream of Me (#4)
Baby, It's You (#5)
Before We Kiss (#6)
Between a SEAL and a Hard Place (#7)
Heart of a SEAL (#8)
Hard SEAL to Love (#9)
Big Sky SEAL (#10)
Head Over SEAL (#11)
SEAL Escort (#12)
Texas Cowboys
Wearing His Brand (#1)
The Cowboy and the Widow (#2)
Soldier Boy (#3)
Bound & Determined (#4)
Slow Rider (#5)
Night Watch (#6)
Cowboys on the Edge
Wet Down
Controlled Burn
Cain’s Law
Flashpoint
Triplehorn Brand
Laying Down the Law (#1)
In Too Deep (#2)
A Long, Hot Summer (#3)
Night Fall
Sm{B}itten (#1)
Truly, Madly…Deadly (#2)
Knight in Transition (#3)
Wolf in Plain Sight (#4)
Knight Edition (#5)
Night Fall on Dark Mountain (#6)
Frannie and the Private Dick (#7)
Sweet Succubus (#8)
Truly, Madly…Werely (#9)
Bad to the Bone (#10)
Long Howl Good Night (#11)
First Knight (#12)
Big Bad Wolf (#13)
Texas Billionaires Club
Tarzan & Janine (#1)
Something To Talk About (#2)
Who’s Your Daddy (#3)
Love & War (#4)
Some Standalone Stories
Begging For It
Hot Blooded
Raw Silk
Warrior’s Conquest
Rogues
Enslaved by the Viking Short Story
Conquests
Smokin’ Hot Firemen
Hot SEAL, New Orleans Nights (SEALs in Paradise) Page 11
