Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  Jesus Christ, but I was a masochist, because despite how complicated this was starting to feel, I couldn’t regret answering her ad.

  Not even a little bit.

  TINKER

  It was almost seven that evening when I felt the AC kick back on. I’d been lying on my back on the (relatively) cool tile floor behind the counter, staring up at the pressed-tin ceiling and trying to remember why I hadn’t already moved back to Seattle.

  In Seattle it rained.

  Cool breezes blew off the bay and the lush greenery covered everything with its shaded canopy. People didn’t really need air-conditioning, but if they happened to have it and it broke, there were lots of repairmen available.

  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 pretended I wasn’t totally embarrassed (I was) and was 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. The club had been aro
und 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 to 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.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GAGE

  “Gonna be a long night,” I told Reese “Picnic” Hayes through the phone. I’d been checking in with my club’s president at least once a day, on the theory that if I didn’t call, he might send someone to save me. Now I was leaning against the side of the diner where I’d parked my bike before going in for lunch. I’d walked over to check out Tinker’s store afterward on a whim. Now I had a job and a cover. Make that a job, a cover, and balls bluer than a Smurf in the dead of winter. “Talia ambushed me with her girlfriends, crawled all over me. Been working all day and I smell like dead squirrel, so I guess that means we’ve hooked her. No other reason I can see a woman comin’ near me right now.”

  Picnic laughed. “That was the goal, right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied sourly. “You owe me a shitload of beer when I get back, brother. Gonna have to triple-wrap my dick before sticking it in a snatch like that.”

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. “I saw her picture—she’s hot, even if she is a bitch. Since when do you care about their personalities?”

  Frowning, I glared at my bike. It looked weird without my Reapers whips hanging off the handlebars. I’d stripped off anything that might identify me as a club member. It felt wrong. Everything about this operation was wrong on some level, starting with the fact that I’d been stupid enough to volunteer.

  Yes, I’d been sick of managing the Reapers MC’s strip club and I’d wanted a change of pace. But I’d also wanted to leave the crazy bitch-drama behind. Instead it looked like I’d walked right into the queen bitch’s nest.

  “Getting laid is great,” I replied slowly. “But this one is nasty. Too young for me, and boring. Never heard someone talk so much without saying a goddamn thing.”

  “Thought you liked the young ones,” Pic commented dryly.

  He was right, but a few minutes talking to Tinker had reminded me how nice it was to hang with a more mature woman for once. She’d been into me, but she’d been all business, too—no bullshit games . . . just amazing curves combined with hard work and a brain.

  I’d taken a few minutes to stalk her on my phone in between clearing out squirrel corpses.

  Impressive woman. The tea shop portion of her business was obviously just a storefront, with the bulk of her operation centered on gourmet chocolates she made herself. They were sold in shops all over Seattle, Tacoma, and Portland. So far as I could tell, business was booming.

  Talia, on the other hand, didn’t do any real work at all. Not only that, the little twat was skinny and skanky and had a mouth on her that made me flinch, which was sayin’ a lot.

  “Talia isn’t just young,” I said. “The bitch never shuts up, and all she does is whine. Everyone’s out to get her, nobody understands her, and her shit doesn’t stink. She’d last maybe five minutes out at the Armory before her ass got banned permanently. I cannot fucking believe that the Nighthawk brothers have put up with her this long.”

  “Well, take her out tonight and see if you can get an intro to one of them. Better yet, get an invite to their clubhouse and see for yourself what’s really happening out there. They’re bringing in new brothers like crazy right now—standards are probably low enough to let someone like you through the door.”

  “Usually I’d take that as an insult,” I replied, snorting. “But I probably deserve it right now. You’ll never guess what I spent my day doing.”

  “Knitting,” he said flatly. “I think we all know you have a secret love of the womanly arts. I’m assuming you’re working on a nice motorcycle cozy for my Christmas present? You know, something to go with the embroidered Reapers pillow you gave me last year?”

  I closed my eyes, counting to ten. Don’t engage. That’ll just make him happy. The dick.

  “I spent the day on a roof repairing an air conditioner. It was a thousand degrees up there—fucking tar melted all over everything.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Because I’ve got a new job. Maintenance for one Tinker Garrett. She owns an apartment building, and in exchange for doin
g some work around the place, I’ll have a place to stay, park my truck, all that good shit.”

  “Sounds like a great cover,” Picnic said. “Gives you a reason to stick around town, not to mention saving some cash.”

  “Yup. She bought my story about the divorce. I thought convincing Talia might be a problem, but she hasn’t even bothered to ask why an independent trucker would suddenly move to a town in the middle of nowhere. Too busy talking about herself.”

  “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  “What gave it away?”

  Picnic snorted again.

  “Anyway, I think we’re on track. Only one complication. Well, aside from the fact that they’ll probably kill me if they figure out I’m a Reaper.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Talia Jackson may be a total cunt, but Tinker Garrett is looking damned fuckable. It’s distracting.”

  “You’ve got the hots for the landlady?” Picnic asked, and I could practically see the shit-eating grin on his face. “That’s fuckin’ hysterical. Club’s worst player is cock-blocked by duty to his brothers . . . Brings a tear to my eye, Gage. Really does. I’ll be sure to tell everyone, make sure they understand the depths of your dick’s sacrifice.”

  “This is why nobody likes you,” I said, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck as the asshole laughed. I caught a whiff under my arm in the process and flinched. “Jesus Christ, but I stink. Gonna head back to the hotel and get cleaned up before I have to see Her Bitchness tonight.”

  “Have fun with that,” Picnic replied. “And save your receipts. Club’ll cover the cost of your condoms.”

  “You’re a giver, boss. Inspiration to us all.”

  “You love me and you know it.”

  “Let’s just say I have strong feelings and leave it at that.”

  Fucker was still laughing when I hung up on him.

  • • •

  It was nearly ten that night before I showed my face at the bar. I’d arranged to meet Talia there, and while I definitely wanted her thinking I was into her, I didn’t want to make it too easy. It was like fishing—always a mistake to try reeling them in the first time they nibble the bait. It’s better to let them get a good taste and then set the hook.