Gage leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach.
“Nice, hmm?”
Pic leaned forward and took her in, then gave a low whistle.
“She know there’s a camera on her?”
“Probably not,” Gage replied, smirking. “They’re not hidden, but they don’t jump out at you, either.”
The new cleaner was down on her hands and knees, ass pointing toward the camera mounted in the corner. And what an ass it was … Her faded jeans had ridden down, exposing the very top of her rear. No crack, but damned close. It was shaped like a heart, nice and bouncy and curved exactly how he liked ’em.
She leaned forward a little more, and he realized she was using a knife to scrape something up off the floor, under the overhanging lip of the display cabinet. She wiggled again and Pic shifted, reaching down to adjust his pants. Fuck that was hot.
“Her face as pretty as her ass?”
“Yeah,” Gage said, leaning forward to fiddle with the controls. The camera zoomed in on her crotch as she spread her legs slightly. Pic bit back a groan.
“This her first night?”
“Yup.”
“Anyone tap that yet?”
“Nope.”
“No fuckin’ the help allowed. Make sure it’s known.”
Gage glanced up at him and smirked.
“Since when is that a rule? You’ve slept with half the girls at The Line. Hell, you took one home last night.”
Pic grunted, eyes glued to the screen. “New dancers are easy to find. A good cleaner isn’t.”
Gage shook his head, then zoomed back out. The cleaner stood up, stretching her arms high over her head. She turned and said something to another woman working across the showroom. The reply made her smile and Picnic caught his breath. Damn, she was stunning, despite the fact that her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her jeans and sweatshirt had seen better days. Thick, dark eyelashes. Deep brown eyes that sparkled. Big, pouty lips.
Lips that belonged around his cock.
Then she pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a blue spaghetti-strap tank top. It showed off her tits just right—good size, and he’d bet his life the nipples hiding underneath would fit his mouth perfectly. Tossing the sweatshirt lightly on the counter, she leaned over, grabbed a spray bottle of blue window cleaner, and started attacking the display case.
“Jesus, I wanna fuck those tits,” Gage muttered. “You sure she’s off-limits?”
Pic growled. “Yeah. I’m sure. Anyone who touches her will answer to me. D’you think she’s puttin’ on a show for us? I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
“No idea,” Gage replied. “She’s missed her calling. Bitch should be doin’ porn.”
Couldn’t argue with that.
“Fire her,” he said suddenly. “Find someone else.”
“We’ve had the prospects cleaning for a week now. We need them on other things, and I guess Bolt had a hell of a time finding her in the first place.”
She stood, then leaned back against the counter, cocking her head as she said something to her co-worker. The fact that the counter was the perfect height to shove her down and fuck her on didn’t escape his notice.
“We got a file on her?”
Gage leaned over and opened a drawer, pulling out a folder. Pic flipped it open. Not much there. London Armstrong, owner of London’s Cleaning Service. Thirty-eight years old, which surprised him. She looked younger. A lot younger. Not that the security cam had the best resolution, but still … She’d been in business six years, solid reputation. Total civilian. And she might be single, but she had custody of a kid—some high school girl. Not hers. A cousin.
Shit.
London didn’t sound like the kind of woman who’d be down for a one-night stand. Nope, despite her sexy little dance, she had a clean, wholesome look, which killed him, because he didn’t do clean. He liked his girls filthy dirty and without strings … not to mention young enough to follow his orders without too many questions. Women her age were old enough to know better.
“Tell Bolt to find someone else ASAP,” he muttered. “And until then, hands off. I’m serious.”
Gage laughed.
“Just fuck her and get it over with. It’s obvious you want to.”
“Eat shit,” Pic muttered, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin, because Gage was right. He did want to fuck her.
He wanted to fuck her a lot.
Author’s Note
Devil’s Game covers some of the same time period and events in Reaper’s Legacy, but if you’ve read other books in the series you’ll note that this book is slightly different in tone. I’ve had several people ask me why, and the only explanation I can offer is that the characters are younger and this is how their story played out. In many ways this is a New Adult book, and the structure reflects that.
A note on motorcycle club culture: One of the most common questions I hear from readers is, “How real is the Reapers MC?” It’s difficult to answer because my books are romantic fantasies, and aren’t intended to delve into the inner workings of a club or explore the ethical implications of club life. They’re meant to entertain, and have been sensationalized to make that happen.
Having said that, as a former journalist, I started the series determined to make it as realistic as possible in terms of culture and language. To that end, Devil’s Game has been reviewed for accuracy by a woman currently attached to an outlaw club, and the club details are relatively true to life (with a few minor exceptions, where I allowed myself some artistic license). MC culture is diverse and the lives of women living in clubs are relatively undocumented. It has been my privilege to get to know many of these women through my research, and I have come to believe that stereotypes about their existence are often inaccurate and even damaging. Their input on this story has been extremely valuable, and I am deeply appreciative of their ongoing support.
Acknowledgments
I live in terror of leaving out someone important at the beginning of every book, because so many people have worked together to make Devil’s Game possible. Special thanks to Cindy Hwang, my editor, and Amy Tannenbaum, my agent, for all your ongoing support. I am also very appreciative of the entire team at Berkley, especially Jessica Brock, who has worked so hard to help me achieve success.
I want to thank my writing friends and beta readers, who give me daily encouragement. These include Kylie Scott, Kim Jones, Renee Carlino, Kim Karr, Katy Evans, Kristin Ashley, Cara Carnes, Raelene, Sali, Hang, and Lori. You ladies are amazing.
Without the support of reading groups, bloggers and super readers (you know who you are), no author would ever reach her audience. I love you Maryse, Jenny, Gitte, Lisa, Giselle, the ladies of the Triple M, the ladies of Kristen Ashley Anonymous, and all the incredible women in my Junkies group. I also want to give a special shout-out to the girls I originally met on Maryse’s Facebook page—I’m so honored to have your support as I’ve built my writing career. I hope you know how much I treasure you in my life!
Finally, I need to thank my family for their endless support. My husband, my kids, my parents, and my brother kick ass. I love you guys so much!
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published by the Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC 2014
First published in Penguin Books 2014
Text copyright © Joanna Wylde, 2014
Cover art by Tony Mauro
Cover design by George Long
Cover illustration/artwork by Tony Mauro - [email protected]
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-405-91728-5
Devil's Game: Reapers Motorcycle Club Page 33
