A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Elizabeth Barone

  "I mean . . ." She takes a deep breath. "What if they say I have PTSD or something? What if they say, because I had an abortion, I can't have my sisters?"

  I reach across the console and squeeze her shaking hand. "Even if you do have PTSD, you handle your shit. You're more than capable of taking care of them. And who cares if you had an abortion? Any judge is going to sympathize with you. You were sixteen. Josué is a fucking monster."

  She nods, squeezes my hand back. Then she takes a deep breath. "I can do it. I'll testify." She pulls into the strip club's parking lot.

  "Shit." I sigh.

  "What?"

  "I still need to go get my bike." I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I've got way too many plates in the air. I need my bike.

  "We are, I promise. Cliff wanted me to bring you straight here."

  "Why? I'm not working tonight." I eye the row of motorcycles parked out front. "Esther, am I in trouble?" I wonder if they know about my extracurricular stalking activities.

  "No," she assures me. She swallows. "Donny filled me in a bit, but they want to talk to you."

  "Filled you in on what?"

  Her lips part, then drop open, her eyes locked on something. Or someone. I follow her gaze.

  Cliff races out of the club, his mouth a hard line, the tendons in his neck straining. When he reaches my side of the car, he pulls open the door. "You can't be here," he shouts.

  "Why the hell not?" I demand.

  Esther balks. "You told me to bring her here!"

  "I'm sorry," he says, and I can't tell who he's apologizing to. "We had a last-minute change of plans." His eyes flick to me. I search them, but all I see are storm clouds.

  "What's going on?"

  His jaw tightens, his eyes looking past me, through the car and Esther's window. I turn. A Thunderbird roars into the parking lot, music blaring.

  A black Thunderbird.

  "Oh, fuck," I mutter. Cami might be a good Samaritan, but she is a high school teacher. She must've seen right through me.

  Pushing past Cliff, I step out of the car. Good thing I wore my gun.

  "Where are you going?" Cliff reaches for my arm, but I slip past him. I take several steps toward the middle of the parking lot, directly in Greg's path.

  He slams on his brakes.

  Through the windshield, I make out his expression. He's surprised to see me.

  I turn back to Cliff. "What's going on?"

  Mark pokes his head through the door to The Wet Mermaid. "Make sure we do this inside," he calls to Cliff.

  "Do what?" I glance from Cliff to Esther. "What are we doing?"

  Greg climbs out of the Thunderbird. "Olivia?"

  "You almost hit her," Cliff growls. He stalks toward Greg, hands flexing in and out of fists.

  "She walked out in front of me!" Greg looks past Cliff, at Mark. "What is this, man?"

  Mark lifts his shoulders, spreads his hands.

  "You called me," Greg says to him. "Said we needed to talk band stuff." His gaze flicks to me.

  Cliff stalks toward him. "Don't you fucking look at her." He points a finger at Greg.

  Greg stands, feet apart, shoulders wide. Cliff has several inches on him, but there's no telling which way a fight would go. The Navy SEAL versus the ex-con.

  I step toward Cliff. "Your parole," I remind him. He so much as throws a fist at Greg, out here with all these potential witnesses, and he goes right back to Lewisburg.

  "Olivia," Esther calls.

  I ignore her. "Did you bring this shit to the table?" I ask Cliff from between gritted teeth.

  "Inside!" Ravage barks.

  I gape at Cliff. "You did. You bastard."

  Finally, he looks at me. His mouth sags open as if I punched him.

  Greg smirks. "Oh, Olivia. You always were trouble."

  Cliff lunges for him, his hands closing around the collar of Greg's T-shirt. He lifts Greg a few inches off the pavement, then shoves him back, dropping him. Greg stumbles, but stays on his feet. Cliff uses the moment to draw back his fist. It blurs through the air but in frames, as if I've smoked some really good weed and I'm watching a buffering action movie.

  I stand there, torn. I should just let him go back to prison. I trusted him with my secret. I've never even told Lucy. I thought he'd understand, or at least give me some space. I should've known he'd go running to the club.

  He's just like my father: club first, fuck everyone else.

  Gritting my teeth, I yank the gun out of my holster. Pointing it into the air, I click off the safety and discharge a single shot into the sky.

  Cliff's fist connects with Greg's jaw.

  A stream of blood squirts through the air, splattering onto the pavement. Greg's head rocks back. He stumbles, then rights himself. A second later, he launches himself at Cliff.

  The whole MC pours out of the club. Beer Can and Donny grab Greg's arms, holding him back from Cliff.

  "What do you want to do?" Ravage asks him.

  I lower my gun hand before I shoot all of them. "What does he want to do?" I snarl. "What about what I want? Any of you think about that?"

  They all gape at me.

  I wave the gun toward Greg. "Just let him go." I pin Cliff with my eyes. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't press charges."

  Greg spits bright red blood onto the black asphalt. "What the fuck is this, Olivia? You fucking the whole MC?"

  Cliff lets out an enraged roar. He plants both hands on Greg's chest and pushes, but Donny and Beer Can hold Greg steady. Cliff bounces back. He stands, fists curled, chest heaving.

  "I'm going to kill you myself, you don't shut your mouth," Ravage tells Greg. He brings a cigarette to his lips. He crouches between Greg and Cliff, exhaling smoke in Greg's face. "I'm told you raped our Prospect."

  Greg spits again. Flecks of blood land on Ravage's cheek.

  Ravage grins, the ghastly smile splitting his pale face. "The club voted. We're going to find your band a prettier face to sing for them."

  "I'm sorry, Olivia," Greg pleads. "It was a long time ago. I got too rough. I know that now." He wiggles the fingers of his left hand. "I've got a wife. I don't want any trouble."

  I think of Cami, sitting in the teal house. Maybe she's cooking dinner for when Greg gets home from his "business meeting," working on lesson plans while she waits.

  I want him dead. I need him dead. The statute of limitations is long past and, even then, it's my word against his—a Navy fucking SEAL. No one's gonna believe me, especially without any evidence. But I need to know that he'll never hurt anyone again. I need to know that Cami will stay shiny.

  But not like this.

  It's not Cliff's battle or the MC's.

  It's mine.

  I swallow my betrayal and rage, my contempt. I put the safety back on and tuck the gun into its holster. "I let it go a long time ago," I tell Greg, but I look at Cliff. At Ravage. At Beer Can. "It's water under the bridge. You heard him. He's a better person now. I just . . ." I hesitate for effect. "I just don't want him working under the same roof as me."

  "Done," Greg says. "Not a problem. We'll find another venue to play."

  Ravage eyes me. "You sure this is what you want?"

  "You mean, you're asking me?" I glare at Cliff. "Yes. This is what I want. Get him out of my face."

  Donny and Beer Can look at each other, shrug, then release him.

  He shakes the blood flow back into his arms. "I'm sorry," he says, but his eyes don't meet mine. Backing toward the idling Thunderbird, he holds his hands up. "I'm sorry," he says again. He ducks into the driver's seat. Slamming the door shut, he throws the Thunderbird into reverse. He backs out of the parking lot, then peels out, leaving a cloud of gray smoke drifting through the air in his wake.

  I round on Cliff. "How could you?" Stomping toward him, I shove him with the heels of my hands. He barely moves. I push him again, throwing all my strength into it. Again, he remains standing. Instead of catching my wrists or telling me he's sorry,
too, he just takes it. "You bastard," I say again.

  He flinches.

  Stepping back, I hold my chin high. I look him in the eye. "Fuck you, Cliff. We're done." I look from member to member. "Fuck all of you."

  Turning on my heels, I stomp back to Esther's car. I get in and slam the door shut behind me, strapping on my seatbelt.

  I don't even have to ask her.

  She makes a U-turn and takes me away from The Wet Mermaid and Cliff.

  29

  Cliff

  "You coming down, man?" Donny stands in the doorway to my room at the club house, towering over where I sit on the floor.

  I blink through the darkness. I'm supposed to be bouncing the door. I should be downstairs, but I can't make myself move. My whole body weighs twice as much, reminding me of when I was a kid and had the flu.

  When I don't answer, Donny sits beside me. "What a shit show, man. That could've been real bad."

  My eyes roll toward him.

  He tilts his head. "A'ight, it was bad. Mark's throwing a conniption. At least you're not back inside."

  I'd gladly trade my freedom if it meant I'd still have Olivia.

  "She'll come around. You meant well."

  I want to be left alone, but Donny's my brother. He's just trying to be my friend.

  "I've got an idea." He shifts, then pulls a joint out of his cut. "In a few minutes, you'll be a hundred percent." He lights the joint, takes a hit, then holds it out to me.

  I stare at it for a moment. "I've never smoked," I admit.

  "Never?" Donny grins. "Aw, this is gonna be fun!" He nudges it closer to me. "For real, man. You'll feel a lot better. It'll be like nothing happened."

  I don't want to feel nothing. When I feel Olivia and all that comes with her, I come alive. Without her, I'm sinking to the bottom. For the longest time, I thought maybe I was kidding myself, that I'd just latched onto her while I was drowning, trying to find some kind of footing before I got swept away. Now I know that isn't true.

  I love her.

  And I've fucked it all up.

  Donny sighs and takes another hit. "You know," he says through a cloud of smoke, "for a split second, I thought about just handing you my gun." White teeth flash in the dark. "Sometimes I think I crave the chaos. This club's been pretty tame since Mercy and Bastard. 'Til you two came along." He passes me the joint again, and this time, I take it.

  "Am I gonna be able to bounce?"

  He scoffs. "I cannot believe you've never done this before. Weren't you eighteen when you went in?"

  "My mom," I say, pinching the joint between my thumb and forefinger. I bring it to my lips and take a long pull. The smoke curls into my lungs, spreading through my limbs, settling in my head.

  For the first time tonight, it goes quiet.

  "Ruth swore she'd shave my head in my sleep if she ever caught me doing any drugs. Even after she died, I couldn't let her down." I hand the joint to Donny.

  "You always had long hair?" he asks.

  ""I might've been a little obsessed with Jim Morrison," I admit. "Except I had black hair, like Ruth's. I wanted to dye it blond, but Bastard never let me."

  He snorts, smoke pouring from his nostrils. "Man, I should smoke you up more often. This shit is gold."

  "You tell anyone, and I'll beat your face in."

  Donny's warm brown eyes go dark. All of the light drains from his face. Those dead eyes meet mine. "You really threatening an officer of your MC?"

  I let my own face go flat. At least, I try. When I move the muscles, arranging my features into The Look that helped earn me the nickname Red Dog, I burst into laughter. Donny throws his head back, cackling.

  "I can never smoke again," I groan. "This shit'll ruin my rep."

  "Don't worry." He claps my shoulder. "I won't tell a soul that Mary Jane is your kryptonite."

  "And Olivia." I look down at my hands. The sun sets outside, painting the dim room in streaks of pink and orange.

  "Nah, dude. Do not go there right now. Let the weed works its magic."

  But I can't. She's so far under my skin, nothing will ever cleanse me of her. A thousand, thousand years can go by, and I'll still love her, my heart long reduced to ashes.

  Donny's phone rings, the new Backstreet Boys song blaring through the room.

  I give him a sidelong look. "You've got to be kidding me."

  "Everyone in this club knows I have a penchant for shitty pop music."

  "I bet you're holding out for an ESX reunion, too." I shake my head.

  "They have Spotify in prison?"

  "What's Spotify?"

  He throws his head back again. "Goddamn, I love you, Red Dog. I've gotta take this. It's Essie."

  I sit up straight. As far as I know, Esther is with Olivia. Or she was, anyway. Through the haze of Skywalker OG, my mind lurches through scenarios—none of them good.

  "Hey, baby," Donny greets Esther. "What's up?"

  I watch his face, see the muscles tense up, his lip curling, eyes narrowing.

  "You see anybody?"

  I'm on my feet, pulling on my cut. I've got to get to her. Now.

  "Wait," Donny says, holding up a hand. He stands, too. "It's okay, baby. Just stay inside, keep the doors locked. We'll be right there." He flips his phone shut. Two minutes ago, I'd have ribbed him for still having a flip phone. Even I have a smartphone.

  Everything is different now.

  "You okay to ride?" he asks me.

  "Fine." Adrenaline surges through my veins, flushing out the effects of the weed. "What happened?"

  "Someone slit Essie's brake line."

  "Holy shit." I clasp his shoulder. "You seeing red?"

  "You fucking bet." He sucks in a deep breath.

  "Good thing she noticed before going anywhere. Fuck," I growl. "Do you think this is Greg? Esther took Olivia home. They would've only been back for a little while."

  "Nah." Donny grimaces. "There's more, brother." He rubs his hands over his face. "This fucking girl," he mutters.

  My spine stiffens. "What is it?"

  "Essie dropped Olivia off at Mercy's, for the bike."

  That fucking bike. I was supposed to take her back for it, but she kicked me out.

  "Olivia was gonna meet Essie back at their place. She hasn't showed yet."

  I stomp toward the door.

  Donny clamps a hand around my arm, jerking me back. "Chill!" he barks. "Far as we know, Essie's car has nothing to do with Olivia. This time." He shakes his head. "She probably just took a ride to clear her head." He leans in, eyes searching mine. "A'ight?"

  I nod.

  Slowly, he releases me. "Essie thinks this has to do with her folks."

  "Shit." I'd completely forgotten about Esther's problems.

  "We'll take Beer Can and Abraham with us. You call Vaughn, see if he found out where Josué works."

  "Where are you going?"

  His eyebrow twitches. "Going to get you a gun, Cherry."

  "Cherry?"

  "We're popping all kinds of Cliff cherries tonight. Call Vaughn," he tells me again. Then he's gone.

  I stare into the deepening darkness of the room. I don't want a gun. It's probably hypocritical as fuck of me, but I don't like them. I don't trust them. My fists, on the other hand—those I can count on. They don't malfunction, and I can reel myself in.

  Most of the time.

  This isn't the pen. I've got no idea what we're walking into. And if Olivia is missing, my first stop is going to be Greg's.

  I pull out my phone and call Vaughn.

  "Yeah," he answers.

  "We've got a situation. Did you find out where Esther's father works?"

  "I was just about to shoot a text to Donny. Josué works at Landon's Landscaping. They're over on Meadow Street, but they've got property on 63. They store all their equipment there."

  "Thanks," I say, absorbing the information. "Hey, Vaughn, I need another favor from you."

  "Am I ever going to get out of this basement?"
he jokes.

  "I just need an address for Greg Byrne."

  "I dunno, Cliff. After this afternoon, there's too much heat there. Does Ravage know you're asking?"

  "Olivia's missing," I lie. At least, I hope it's a lie. "I'm gonna check a few other places first, but if she doesn't turn up, I've got to know she isn't there."

  "Sorry, man. I didn't realize. Do you guys need me to come in?"

  I pinch my eyes shut. "I just need that address."

  "Give me five minutes and I'll text it to you."

  "Thanks." I hang up just as Donny bursts into my room.

  "You get Vaughn?" He hands me a pistol with a skinny silver barrel.

  "Landon's Landscaping." I turn the gun over in my hands.

  "It's a Browning Buck Mark. Semiautomatic. They're pretty fucking accurate—good for somebody like you, ain't never shot one."

  I scoff. "I'm Bastard's son, Donny. Of course I've shot a gun."

  "Then why you holding it like it's gonna bite you?"

  I take the shoulder holster he passes me and strap it on. "We going or what?"

  "After you, Princess Rimfire."

  "I thought it was Cherry?" I toss back as I head downstairs. My voice sounds so calm, but my veins are burning, my hands hot, the joints loose. My phone vibrates in my pocket with a text. I tug it free and scan the address, committing it to memory.

  "It's whatever the fuck I want it to be," Donny rumbles.

  We reach the landing and Beer Can falls into step with us. Strobe lights pulse through the club, and he's got his cut on, but I know he's carrying, too.

  "The Three Musketeers, on the case again," he says, clapping Donny on the back.

  If Olivia isn't with Esther, there'll be another body to bury tonight.

  30

  Olivia

  My thighs hug the Street Glide, fingers wrapped around the handlebars. She hums underneath me, vibrating down into my bones. It's almost deep enough to stifle the scream clawing into my neck, my throat, the hinges of my jaw.

  Almost.

  If this was a car, I'd bang on the steering wheel. I can't believe him. I thought it went without saying that I didn't want the whole world to know. I trusted him.

  He let me down.