Devil's Game: Reapers Motorcycle Club

by Wylde, Joanna

  “You’re weird, you realize that, right?”

  She laughed and shrugged.

  “I’m okay with it. You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I guess I’m excited,” I said, although my little chat with Kit had put a damper on things. “I mean, it’s great that Painter’s getting his patch …”

  Marie widened her eyes at me and smirked.

  “Don’t give me that,” she said. “You’ve got a thing for him. I know you’ve got a thing for him, because you tell me all about it whenever you get drunk.”

  I shrugged, a smile catching me off guard.

  “Okay, so I have a thing for him,” I admitted.

  “And he definitely has a thing for you,” Marie replied. “He’s like a puppy whenever he sees you.”

  I grunted, my smile fading.

  By some miracle, I hadn’t spilled the story of when I’d cornered Painter last month and made him an offer no red-blooded man should’ve been able to refuse … An offer he’d shot down without a second thought. In fact, I’d tried to seduce him several times over the past year. A year I’d spent watching him, lusting after him, and thinking about what things might be like between us.

  I didn’t get why he wouldn’t sleep with me. I knew the attraction was mutual. Everyone saw it. His eyes followed me around the clubhouse, and when I went out, he menaced anyone who hit on me. Dad wasn’t too hot on the thought of me with any guy, but he’d told me that someday he’d like to see me settled with a Reaper.

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” I asked, grabbing my bag. “Sorry I couldn’t come out to help set up. I had a late appointment and really wanted to get her in. I already canceled on her once, so her nails were way overdue for a fill.”

  “No worries,” Marie said, tucking her arm through mine. We started toward the gate to the courtyard, and despite my concerns her mood was contagious. Tonight was a happy night—after more than a year of prospecting, Painter would become the newest full member of the club.

  In fact, he probably was already.

  I’d just gotten here, but I’d seen this happen my whole life. First the guys would drag him off with some story about this shitty job he needed to do, or tell him he’d fucked up something important. They’d scare the crap out of him, and then when he was just about ready to die from a heart attack, they’d surprise him with the new patches for his cut.

  Those patches marked him as a Reaper, now and forever.

  As for us ladies? It was our job to put together the party, and I was sorry to have missed out on that … It might be work, but it was laughter and drinking and joking, too. Made me think of my mom—five years ago we’d buried her, and I never missed her more than on nights like tonight. One of my earliest memories was of playing under the tables in our backyard while she set up for a club party. This was a celebration for Painter, but it was also a gathering of my family. They weren’t exactly typical … They were mine, though, and I loved them.

  Tonight that family was getting bigger.

  “I really wish Mom was here,” I said. Marie smiled at me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and hugging me tight. Then she dragged me past Banks, the unfortunate prospect left behind to watch the clubhouse, and we walked into the courtyard.

  The guys were late.

  It’d been about forty-five minutes—just enough time for me to drink two beers and exchange texts with my friend Liam. I’d never actually met him except online … But I knew he wasn’t a total serial killer because he was a regular at my friend Cookie’s coffee shop in Portland. He posted on her Facebook page all the time.

  That’s how we’d first started talking, a few months back. He’d comment on one of my posts, then I’d comment on one of his, and then one day he sent me a private message and things took off from there. Now we texted each other all the time. He was funny and interesting and he actually listened to me. Total opposite of Painter, now that I thought of it. It was nice to have a friend who wasn’t all tied up in club life—Liam was nice and normal and safe.

  ME: Painter isn’t here yet. Fingers crossed for me!!!

  LIAM: I don’t get why you’re bothering with this douche. A real man doesn’t sit around waiting when he meets the right woman. He makes a plan to claim her ass

  ME: Little Neanderthal, ya think? Someone’s grumpy tonight

  LIAM: Call it like I see it. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he bails on you. Not because you aren’t gorgeous, Em, but because he’s a fucking pussy. Don’t you see what’s going on here? He wants to make your dad happy, not you

  ME: Whose side are you on?

  LIAM: Yours

  I frowned down at the phone. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Liam didn’t like Painter, and he could be kind of a jerk about it. He’d even made a joke once about Dad selling me off for six goats and some aftermarket Harley parts. It hit a little too close to home …

  That didn’t mean he was right about Painter, though.

  ME: You don’t know everything.

  LIAM: Never pretended to. But I do know you deserve better than a guy who ignores you for a year.

  ME: He doesn’t ignore me. It’s complicated. You should see him when we all go out. He’s always watching out for me

  LIAM: No, he guards you. There’s a difference

  I frowned. It was complicated. Painter had been prospecting, which meant he wasn’t exactly free. But Liam didn’t know that—I hadn’t told him about the club for some reason, although he knew Dad was a biker. I guess I liked having one person in my life who didn’t see me as the president’s daughter. Hell, in some ways Liam was the only person I could really be myself with. Tonight, though …

  Tonight he was pissing me off.

  Enough.

  ME: I have to go

  I muted my phone, then shoved it in my pocket. Then I grabbed another beer and wandered toward Marie and the other girls, who were laughing over some story she was telling about her old man, Horse. Good music was playing, and as the alcohol warmed me from the inside out, I felt optimistic, despite Liam. What did he know, anyway?

  I fully intended to end the night in Painter’s bed.

  Or on his bike.

  Maybe under a tree?

  Hell, I didn’t care. Not so long as he finally punched my V card and I got my prize, along with a lovely “thank you” for playing. And yeah, I know it’s fucking ridiculous I still had a V card to punch. But Dad wasn’t exactly friendly toward my boyfriends. One of his favorite things to do was show them his guns and talk about the types of damage different bullets could do to the human body.

  Oh, and then there was that hunting accident. Oops.

  For some reason, the men of Coeur d’Alene started avoiding me after that one. Now the closest I got to flirting was chatting with Liam, which was pretty pathetic when you considered he lived nearly four hundred miles away.

  Tonight, I told myself. Tonight everything changes.

  The men still weren’t back after another half hour, but I didn’t just stand around waiting for Painter. Hanging out with my friends kicked ass. Most of them were old ladies, meaning they were attached in some way to one of the guys in the club. Some were like me, though … adrift. Maggs, for one. Her man was in prison, so she was on her own.

  There weren’t any kids at the Armory because things would probably get crazy fast. I could already see a few women clumped on the other side of the courtyard just waiting for the wild times to start. Hangaround types, club sluts, sweetbutts. Some were strippers from The Line, the club’s titty bar (and yes, that’s what they called it, so don’t blame me!), and others were girls who just weren’t into settling down. They all had one thing in common, though—they were disposable. I’d grown up with them in the background, and in the past few years I’d woken up to find more than one in our kitchen making breakfast.

  Dad was kind of a slut himself these days.

  Their group didn’t usually mix with ours and we liked it that way. I knew my dad never cheat
ed on my mom, and I knew some of the guys—Marie’s man, Horse, for example—could keep it in their pants. But others slept around. We all saw it. I never quite understood why a woman would put up with that, but I figured that other people’s relationships weren’t really my business.

  Now we heard the thunder of bikes pulling up outside and the brothers started coming in. Dad was first, and I saw him glancing around until his eyes found me. His hard face broke into a smile, the same ice-blue eyes I’d inherited from him flashing with pride. The rest of the guys followed him, and then hoots and whistles rang out as Painter walked in, grinning like crazy.

  God, he was cute. Short, spiky blond hair, sharp cheekbones … His body was lean but strong, and at six feet tall he had a good five inches on me. Didn’t hurt that he’d taken off his shirt, wearing his cut over his bare chest.

  Yum.

  I’d had my arms wrapped tight around that chest more than once when he’d given me a ride home, although it never went past that. It’s a matter of respect for my dad, I reminded myself. He was the president of the club and Painter knew better than to mess around with me if he wasn’t serious. To be fair, prospects didn’t really have the time to be serious about anyone.

  At least that’s what I’d been telling myself.

  Prospects were too busy running errands, guarding bikes, and whatever other nasty or degrading jobs the members could think of. All that had changed now. This party was for Painter—he’d earned some fun, and the guys would make sure he got it. I had my own special congratulations to offer, although it might take a few hours to get him alone. I would, though. I was determined.

  Tonight was our night.

  “How goes it, Emmy Lou?” asked Duck, coming up and pulling me in for a hug. I crinkled my nose. I hated that old nickname, but it was damned hard to get rid of one once it stuck.

  “Good,” I said. “You got a beer yet? Want me to grab you one?”

  “Sure, sweetheart,” he muttered, looking across the yard. I saw his eye catch on one of the girls. “Who’s that? She with your dad, or just here to party?”

  He nodded toward a blonde who’d wrapped herself around my father. My eyes widened. Holy shit, I’d gone to high school with that bitch. In fact, she’d been a fucking freshman when I was a senior. Disgusting. I shrugged, feeling a sense of inevitability about the situation.

  “Hell if I know,” I muttered. “I stopped keeping track of his whores.”

  My tone came out uglier than I’d intended, and Duck gave me a sharp look.

  “Sounding a little bitter there, Emmy Lou,” Duck said. “You aren’t in the mood to have fun, maybe you should go home. This isn’t a family party and Picnic’s free to screw whoever he wants. Not your job to judge.”

  I sighed, knowing he was right. Dad was definitely free—to the best of my knowledge, he hadn’t even had a steady hookup since Mom died. I wasn’t in charge of his social life and if I was going to be uptight about sex, I was in the wrong place. I looked over to see two blondes with long legs, short shorts, and cutoff tops wrapping themselves around Painter, taking turns giving him congratulatory kisses.

  Oh hell no.

  I wasn’t leaving him alone with those hos. Tonight was do or die—he’d be mine or I’d be done with him. If I stayed, I might end up in Painter’s bed. I might not. But if I left? One of them would be sleeping there for sure.

  “What he does is up to him,” I muttered. I left Duck to grab a couple of cups, filling one for each of us. I brought it back to him and then stood and watched the crowd.

  Everywhere I looked there were couples.

  Marie and Horse, Bam Bam and Dancer … Ruger and his random skank of the week.

  “Holy shit,” I burst out, almost spewing my beer.

  “What?” Duck asked.

  “That’s my teacher from cosmetology school over there with Ruger,” I muttered. “Oh, she is such a cunt. She failed me three times in a row just because Dad didn’t call her back after he fucked her.”

  Duck snorted out a laugh.

  “Good thing you’re all graduated, because Ruger won’t be calling her back, either.”

  And just like that, my good mood was back. Go Ruger!

  “I’m gonna congratulate Painter,” I said.

  “Have at it,” Duck said. “But remember—this is his time to cut loose.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Maybe I can help him celebrate.”

  Duck’s expression clouded.

  “Emmy Lou, tonight isn’t the night.”

  “It’s never the night,” I said, shrugging. Then I chugged my beer. “Don’t worry, Duck. You’ve always taken good care of me, but I’ve got it covered. I’m an adult.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Duck replied. “I guess when I look at you, I still see you with pigtails and a doll.”

  I rolled my eyes. Then I tossed my cup in the garbage and headed over to the newest Reaper.

  Painter stood next to the bonfire, the two girls still hanging off him. I ignored them completely, because they were just club sluts and I was the president’s daughter. They didn’t rank compared to me and we all knew it. Painter gave me a slow smile as I walked up, and from the glassy look in his eyes I knew he was already well on his way to shitfaced.

  “Hey, Em,” he said, reaching out and pulling me into his arms for a hug. Oh, he smelled good. Kind of woodsy and smoky, with an underlying scent of motor oil from the shop. His arms were hard and roped with muscle around me, and his body was hard, too.

  Hellfire.

  Painter’s dick was hard. I thought it was my imagination at first. Then he pulled me closer and I felt it again—bigger. Yeah, I know. V card. Little Miss Innocent. But just because I’d never done the deed all the way didn’t mean I was ignorant. I knew damned well when a guy’s cock was poking my stomach.

  Then he let me go and I stepped back, thankful that the sun had set because I knew my face had to be flushed. Painter looked down at me, and something almost magical hung between us. He stared at me like I was the most beautiful girl on earth, the woman he planned to claim as his own.

  My dad walked up and slapped his back.

  “Congratulations, son,” he said. “Proud of you.”

  Just like that, Painter dropped his arms and turned away, apparently oblivious to our magic. Dad was well and truly cock-blocking me, and it was bullshit.

  Wait, did it count as a cock-block if you didn’t have a cock?

  “You have fun tonight,” Dad was telling him. “Tomorrow you rest and recover, because after that we’ve got work for you.”

  Painter nodded, running a hand through his hair. One of the blondes who’d been hanging off him attached herself to my dad, and the other oozed back up to Painter right in front of me. I wanted him to tell her to fuck off. Maybe rip out some of that bleached hair. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hard kiss.

  Damn it.

  Dad’s eyes flicked toward me, assessing.

  I turned and walked away.

  Fuck that shit. I had my pride.

  Two hours later I was well and truly drunk.

  Maggs and I sat in the old tree house that attached to the children’s play structure with a rope bridge. I’d barely made it over the swaying net and wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to get back down without help.

  “Life is short,” Maggs said suddenly. Her face was sad.

  “You thinking about Bolt?” I asked. She nodded.

  “Yup,” she said. “I think about him every day, but particularly at parties like this. I’m tired of watching everyone else have fun with nothing at home for me but my magic bullet.”

  I snorted out a little laugh, then forced it down because it wasn’t exactly appropriate. I couldn’t help it, though.

  “Buzzzzzzzz …” I hummed with drunken precision. “You go through a lot of batteries? I know I do. Can you make it walk across a table if you turn it on high enough?”

  Maggs started giggling, her momentary sadness gone,
and then we were both laughing. In fact, we laughed so hard that Maggs rolled off the edge of the platform, falling to the ground with a thud.

  “Maggs!” I yelled, jumping up so fast I almost went over myself. “Maggs, are you okay?”

  She moaned and turned over, looking up at me with a startled expression on her face. Then she started giggling again. Ruger and Bam Bam had been sitting near the fire, and Ruger jumped up so fast he dumped the chick on his lap off into the dirt.

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out cackling so hard my stomach hurt. It wasn’t appropriate, I knew that. Maggs could’ve broken her neck. But the look on her face and the sight of Ruger’s ’ho—my former teacher—on the ground were just too funny.

  “Okay,” I heard a deep voice say, and looked down to see my dad. “Looks like someone needs to head home.”

  He reached up for me and I jumped down into his arms, just like I had when I was a little girl. Dad caught me easily, still as strong now as he’d been ten years ago. Of course, he was only forty-two, way younger than most of my friends’ parents.

  “Emmy Lou, you’re drunk off your ass,” he told me.

  “No shit,” I replied brightly. “I’m having fun.”

  “Yeah, but it’s about time for you to go home.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “Dad, I think it’s great that you’re always watching out for me, but I’m not a little kid. There’s nothing wrong with me sticking around.”

  His face softened.

  “Sweetheart, this is Painter’s night,” he said. “His time to celebrate and be free. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re talking about him fucking whores, right?” I asked. Dad stiffened.

  “It’s none of your business, Em,” he replied. “He doesn’t owe you anything.”

  “I’m aware,” I said grimly.

  Dad sighed.

  “Banks will give you a ride,” he said. “You don’t have to leave right this minute, but I want you to stop drinking now and start saying your good-byes. Got me?”

  “Yes,” I said, and thought about Kit. “You know, I don’t have to do everything you say.”

  That caught him off guard—I saw it in his eyes.