Reaper's Property (Reapers MC #1)

by Joanna Wylde

  Of course, Seattle also had Brandon. Not only that, my dad didn’t want to move, and I’d come to realize I couldn’t leave him here alone. It wasn’t safe for him, not since Mom died.

  Ugh.

  At least the AC was working again, blowing down from the ceiling vent across my sweaty body, reminding me that while the world might not be crawling with perfect men, at least there were still a few useful ones running around. Cooper Romero was a keeper, and it had nothing to do with how sexy he was . . . although the fact that he was sex on a stick—make that sex with a stick—didn’t exactly diminish his appeal.

  When I’d dragged him up to the black tar roof to show him the ancient AC, I’d expected him to make a run for it. Any sensible man would. Instead, he’d spent the whole afternoon busting his ass to save my chocolates—Oh God, I wish that were code for something more exciting—officially qualifying him as a superhero in my book.

  As for me, there wasn’t much I could do once I got all the sweets safely downstairs into the basement. There weren’t any customers walking in off the street, and seeing as I couldn’t make or ship candy in a 102-degree shop, I’d alternated between attempting to read a book, looking over orders I couldn’t fulfill on my laptop, and bringing Cooper glasses of iced tea. I’d been nervous around him at first, but you can only stay nervous for so long when you’re sweating like a pig—there’s a certain freedom in knowing you look like hell and there’s no saving your hair. I’d thrown my arm across my eyes in a pathetic attempt to block out reality toward the end.

  When cold air started flowing into the room, I could’ve cried with relief. He’d never had a chance to fill out the application form, and I’d long since decided it didn’t matter. Unless he was an ax murderer, I’d give him the apartment and the job.

  Might give it to him even if he was, to be honest.

  “It’s working again,” Cooper announced, and I jerked, startled. Shit, had I fallen asleep? Opening my eyes, I looked up to find him standing over me. Dear God in heaven—that was one hell of a bare chest.

  Holy. Shit.

  I’d taken note of his build when he first walked in the shop, but everything under his shirt had been theoretical. Now there was six-foot-plus of raw sex appeal right there, all sweaty and sculpted and . . . well, let’s just say I’d be stopping off on the way home to pick up some fresh batteries.

  That’s when the situation hit me—Cooper Romero was the hottest man I’d met in forever, and he’d just found me lying on the floor in my own sweat and filth like a dog. Typical luck. I scrambled to my feet, pretending I wasn’t totally embarrassed (I was) and not in the least bit freaked out by how unspeakably attractive this guy was. Okay, “attractive” wasn’t quite the right word, because it implied a certain level of polish and class that just didn’t fit Cooper at all.

  Brandon was attractive.

  Cooper?

  I’d lick him all over and massage his butt if he asked. He stared down at me, his eyes carefully blank, making it very clear he wasn’t asking. Story of my fucking life. Sitting up, I pushed myself to my feet without bothering to dust off. Lost cause at this point.

  “Not sure how much life the AC has left,” he said slowly. “I managed to get it going, but fixing it right would cost more than it’s worth and then some.”

  Of course it would.

  “I just need to get through the summer,” I told him, wiping a finger under my eye. My perfectly applied, vintage-style makeup had melted, leaving me with a clown face. Fortunately I’d (mostly) given up on caring three hours ago, right around the time I’d discovered the floor tiles were cooler than the rest of the room. “After that, I’ll worry about the furnace and by next summer I might not even be here anymore.”

  “Really?” he asked, cocking a brow. “You selling out?”

  “Not sure,” I told him. “I’m not thinking that far ahead right now. Things are very iffy with my dad . . . I think he’s got some—”

  No. I couldn’t say it. Saying it out loud made it too real, plus the last thing I needed were a bunch of rumors flying around town. So far we’d kept dad’s situation mostly to family and friends.

  “Tinker?”

  Shaking myself, I smiled at him. “Thank you so much for fixing that. I’m not even sure what I would’ve done—I can’t afford to miss a week’s worth of orders. Not only would it put me behind, it would burn my customers.”

  He nodded, studying me thoughtfully. God, he really was beautiful . . . Nothing like Brandon’s polished sophistication. No, Cooper gave off more of a warrior-tossing-you-over-his-fearless-steed kind of vibe. Yeah, like that would end well, because my track record with men was so fucking perfect, right?

  Pull your head out of the gutter. He probably has a girlfriend.

  At least I could finally lock up this hellhole of a shop and get a shower.

  “Thank you so much—you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

  “No, but the whole throwing yourself at my feet thing was a subtle hint,” he said, and I realized he was teasing me. Was he flirting? I couldn’t decide if that kicked ass or scared the shit out of me.

  “Anyway, it’s getting late,” I told him, feeling suddenly awkward. “I’m going to grab some dinner down the street, and then I could take you over and show you the apartment.”

  A small, knowing smile crossed his face, and I realized he thought I was hitting on him.

  “No,” I said quickly, mortified. “I wasn’t asking you out. Omigod, this is weird.”

  “What, you aren’t turned on by a man who smells like old socks?” he asked lightly, raising his arm and giving a sniff. He was joking, but the sweat wasn’t a turnoff. Nope. Not even a little bit. “If that’s not enough for you, the roof tar on my ass should be a big attraction.”

  Closing my eyes, I bit back a groan. He started laughing. Not in a cruel way, but companionably, which I guess made sense because both of us were disgusting as hell. Of course, now I wanted to check out his ass, but I managed to keep my eyes on target (mostly) when I answered him.

  “Well, it’s sexy but I’ll manage to control myself somehow. I do want to grab dinner, though, and we need to figure out the apartment details.”

  “I’ll take the place, doesn’t matter what it is,” he replied. “I’m in a hotel and it’s getting old. I’d love to move in on Sunday, but I can’t go look at it right now—gotta get my ass cleaned up. Meeting up with someone later.”

  Of course he was, because men who looked like Cooper didn’t spend Friday nights alone.

  “Sounds great,” I told him, refusing to show any disappointment. “Just text me when you’re ready, and I’ll get you the key.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden pounding against the locked shop door caught us both off guard. I spun around to find Talia Jackson glaring at me through the glass. Talia and three of her skankier friends, including Sadie Baxter, a girl I used to babysit when I was in college.

  A girl who was now twenty.

  Damn.

  “Cooper!” Talia shouted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I glanced at my new handyman, startled. Talia Jackson and her brother, Marsh, were two of the nastiest people I’d ever met. Marsh was president of the local motorcycle gang, a group called the Nighthawk Raiders motorcycle club. The club had been around most of my life, but it was only in recent years that they’d turned really bad. I mean, they were never the kinder, gentler sort of bikers, but I’d never been actively afraid when I’d heard a motorcycle, either.

  Now? Let’s just say we’d all gotten a little edgy.

  “That’s my girl,” Cooper said, and something deep down inside of me died a little. Of course he’d go for someone like Talia. She might have the heart of a deranged circus clown—you know, the kind that survives by eating the souls of innocent children—but she was hot.

  Really hot.

  Not only that, she was slutty, and while I wasn’t into the whole slut-shaming thing (like I had room t
o judge after the bachelorette party debacle . . . ugh), I wasn’t naive enough to think he was attracted to her personality. Cooper Romero might have a sweet smile, and he’d fixed my AC, but now I had proof positive that he’d never be into a girl like me.

  Specifically, a grown-up with curves.

  All righty, then. Probably for the best anyway.

  “Just a sec!” I called to her, determined to take the high road, then I grabbed my keys so I could open the door. She pushed inside with her posse, and I do mean pushed. Little bitch shoved me so hard I nearly knocked over the display of antique Russian teacups my mother had lovingly collected. (So far as I knew, she’d never sold a single one of them, but it’d made her happy.)

  “Careful,” I warned, and Talia turned on me.

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “Babe, let’s talk,” Cooper said, catching her arm and pulling her into his body. She squealed, going from aggressive to flirty in an instant.

  “You’re all sweaty. It’s sooo disgusting.”

  I noted she wasn’t trying to get away. Cooper smiled down at her, a hint of something feral in his eyes. Yeah, okay—whatever smile he’d been giving me, it hadn’t held any of that kind of intensity.

  Yours truly was officially chopped liver.

  “I was just about to head out and grab a shower,” he told her. “Wanna come with me?”

  She pouted. “I can’t. The girls and I need to get fixed up. I’ll see you at the bar, though, right?”

  He looked down at her, offering a sexy, indulgent smile. “Can’t wait.”

  “Perfect,” she said, reaching around to grab his ass for a quick squeeze. Then she turned and strutted back out without a word to me, her gaggle of girls following like well-trained geese. Sadie gave a little finger wave on the way. The door closed behind them with a cheerful little jingle, and I wondered why the hell I even bothered with Hallies Falls.

  I missed Seattle.

  So what if it had Brandon? I could drown him in Lake Washington. Problem solved.

  “Sorry about that—Talia is a little high-strung,” Cooper said.

  “Oh, I know all about her,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as catty as I felt. Cooper didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m new to town, but she’s been showing me around,” Cooper continued, stepping over to stand in front of me, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. “I should get going.”

  “Of course—don’t let me keep you. What time do you think you’ll be in touch tomorrow?”

  “Afternoon work?”

  “No problem. Looking forward to hearing from you.”

  He nodded and pushed through the door, walking down the street without a second look back. I locked up behind him, wondering why all the hottest guys were douchebags. Not that Cooper had acted like a douche, but he had to be my age or older—late thirties—and Talia was the same age as Sadie. She was also a raging bitch. There was only one reason a man like him would date a girl like that, and it had nothing to do with personality or character.

  Cooper Romero might be beautiful, but obviously he was shallow. Suppose it was too much to hope for a man who could fix an air conditioner and have a soul at the same time.

  Pity.

  Reaper’s Fire will be available Aug. 9, 2016.

  Order Now:

  http://amzn.to/1PsXb25

  Bonus: Sticky Sweet

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is one of the first scenes from Reaper’s Property, told from an alternative point of view. It is appropriate for readers who haven’t already read the book, and was originally published on my website.

  Horse

  “I’m so sick of this shit.”

  I pulled the nozzle out of my bike’s gas tank and wiped off my forehead, rubbing my hand dry against my faded jeans. My black leather vest concentrated the heat on my back, and the thought of cramming my head back into my oven of a helmet pissed me off. It’d been a long, hot ride, and the weather in this shithole of a town wasn’t helping my mood. “Fuckin’ excuses, every time I talk to him.”

  “Yeah,” Picnic said, glancing toward the convenience store behind the pumps. Max was inside grabbing something to drink. “I hear you. You think Jensen will admit he fucked up or keep up the lies?”

  I glanced at him and shrugged, sick of the situation. Why had the Reapers gotten into business with Jeff Jensen, anyway? The guy might be a genius when it came to getting money out of the country, but he was still a fuckin’ stoner. Couldn’t trust them for shit.

  No follow-through.

  “He doesn’t have a good reason for this latest mess, then I’m about done with the asshole,” I muttered, running the numbers through my head. Jeff had made our motorcycle club a shitload of money, but the constant babysitting . . . I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore. Should’ve kicked him out on his ass when he first came to us with his little business proposal. “Goddamn, it’s hot out here. Why the fuck would anyone choose to live in eastern Washington, anyway?”

  Picnic raised a brow.

  “I thought he was some kind of idiot savant, a ‘valuable asset’?” he asked lightly. “You told us all about it yesterday. What’s the matter, sun got you all grumpy? You need a cool bath, maybe a Midol to soothe your temper, sweetheart?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my club president, then felt a rueful grin tugging at my lips. Pic was right. Reapers didn’t whine like little bitches—I needed to grab sack and deal.

  “You’re a dick,” I said. Picnic grinned back at me.

  “Ya think?”

  “Hey, you ladies ready?” Max yelled, walking out of the store. He stopped next to the bikes, handing over bottles of cold water. “Or do we need some more time to discuss the issue? Because I’m sick of talking about this guy. We should teach him not to fuck with us, so we don’t have to keep making trips like this.”

  I ignored Max, dropping my head to one side, stretching out my neck. I wondered if we’d made the right call, bringing a third man along. Max had volunteered, but he had a short temper, and Jensen needed careful management. On the other hand, maybe he was right—a good scare might catch the little fucker’s attention, help him focus.

  “Let’s go,” Pic said. I swung a leg over my bike and kicked it to life. Might as well get it over with.

  As we rolled down the long, tree-lined driveway toward Jensen’s little shack, I saw an unfamiliar car parked outside. Not Jeff’s Firebird, but some little plastic hatchback thingie. I glanced over at the trailer, seeing a picnic table in the yard. A chick sat up slowly on top of it.

  A fuckin’ hot chick.

  Trip might not be a total suckfest after all.

  The woman watched as we pulled up with a roar, her eyes wide, long dark hair tangled around her face, and tits all but popping out of the microscopic red bikini top she wore. She was small, smaller than my usual type, but she had all the right curves. Her legs were spread, her cutoffs were short and they gaped enough that I could tell she wore something red underneath. The rest of the bikini? Matching panties? G-string? Now that would be real nice . . .

  My dick sat up and suggested we investigate.

  I’d never been one to ignore my dick.

  Glancing over at Pic, I jerked my head toward the girl, silently claiming her. Pic smirked at me, but he shrugged, agreeing. I didn’t bother looking at Max. Brother might want in on the action, but he was still probationary, so he could wait the fuck in line for the next available bitch.

  Even as a kid, I hadn’t liked sharing my toys.

  We pulled up next to the car and turned off the bikes. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blew out of the hatchback’s windows and I exchanged another quick glance with Picnic, who rolled his eyes. I jerked my chin, a silent fuck you at the older man. Pic wasn’t happy unless he was busting someone’s balls, and I wasn’t in the mood. Although, I had to admit, it was kind of funny. If I didn’t know for a fact Jensen was clueless about our visit, I’d call it a setup. I almost expected a s
econd chick to jump out and start spraying her with a hose, straight out of a goddamn video or something. Best of the ’80s, Trailer Edition Live.

  But the genuine panic on the girl’s face said that if Jeff had left her as some sort of peace offering, he hadn’t bothered giving her a heads-up first.

  I swung a leg over my bike and strolled toward her, eyes trailing across that sweet little body. Yeah, definitely for me—this one was the stuff of wet dreams. Should I fuck her now or after I ripped Jensen a new asshole? I couldn’t decide . . . Maybe both. She might not be tall, but those legs were plenty long enough to wrap around my waist. Babe was seriously fine, and I felt my jeans tighten as I closed in on her. My nose flared, taking in her scent.

  Damn.

  I stopped next to the table, mesmerized and horny as hell. The temperature outside didn’t bother me anymore. Neither did the long ride—not with something like this waiting at the end of it. She took deep breaths, chest rising and falling rapidly, and it almost pushed me over the edge. I counted to ten, willing myself not to just grab her and push her down across the table, despite the fact that my cock was 100 percent certain it was the only reasonable course of action. My brain disagreed, and reluctantly I told my cock to shut up.

  I wanted to fuck her, not give her a heart attack.

  But I needed a little taste.

  Just one.

  Holding her gaze, I reached out with a finger and traced her collarbone from her shoulder inward, then slid it down between her breasts, grazing her cleavage. I couldn’t help myself. She quivered like a deer hit by headlights as I raised the finger to my mouth, tasting her.

  Sun and sweat and sweet, ripe woman.

  I held back a shudder, and realized I could probably pound nails with my dick. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this turned on. I’d lost my virginity freshman year in high school to a senior with a taste for younger men. Had I wanted to screw her as bad as this? I wasn’t entirely sure, that’s how hot Jensen’s girl was.