Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  “We need to talk about what happened last night,” I told her. Tinker shook her head, offering me a fake-as-hell smile.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “So far as I’m concerned it didn’t happen. End of story. If you have any issues regarding the building, text me.”

  “Your dad says you’re headed out of town,” I countered, walking toward her. She took a step back. Shouldn’t back away from a predator, babe.

  “I’ve got an extra large order to fill,” she said quickly. “I need to use the equipment in my commercial kitchen and the tea shop can’t hold it, that’s all. No big deal.”

  I moved closer, herding her toward the wall. “Your dad’s worried that you’re going back to your ex. He got anything to be worried about?”

  Something flashed in her eyes, and she straightened.

  “That’s none of your damned business,” she said, her voice stronger. I liked that, although I didn’t like the way she was dodging my question. I’d never been a man to put up with bullshit and this was a load if I’d ever heard it.

  Frustrating as hell.

  That’s probably why I leaned forward, scenting her hair. Peaches, all right. Predictably, my dick hardened, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to walk through a produce section again without getting horny.

  It’d be funny if it weren’t so fucked up.

  “Will you be seeing your ex?”

  “Well, he lives in the same house, so it seems likely,” she said sharply. “Not that it’s any of your business. You work for me, Mr. Romero, and I think we should go ahead and keep that association professional. If you need something, you can text me or Darren. Other than that, there’s no reason that you and I should be talking to each other.”

  There was something ugly in her eyes as she spoke, a hint of fear or disgust. Like I was beneath her. Fuck that. Taking the last step, I pushed my body into hers, cock stiffening as her sweet smell surrounded me. Her hands came up, pushing against my chest, and I caught them, pinning them to the wall on either side of her head.

  “You sure you want to take that tone with me?” I asked. Tinker’s lips parted, and I remembered her taste. Sweet. Juicy. Perfect. She swallowed and her eyes softened. For an instant I thought I had her. Then her chin jutted out.

  “I’ve been bullied enough today. I’m over it. If you don’t let me go and walk out of here right now, I’ll kick you out on your ass. You can kiss your apartment good-bye, too.”

  I smiled, because if she wanted to go there, I’d play along.

  “That’s illegal, sweetheart,” I said. “Don’t you know your landlord-tenant law? I have a lease. You can’t kick me out without a court order. You really sure you want to explain to a judge about our little arrangement? I wonder what the IRS would think of it . . .”

  “Excuse me?” she asked. “You’re out of line, asshole, and this isn’t about judges and the IRS. You kissed me last night. While you were dating another woman. That’s a dick move.”

  “You kissed me back,” I reminded her. “And the situation with Talia is complicated, but believe me—she’s got no fuckin’ room to complain. None of that changes the fact that I’m a legal tenant in your building, yet instead of collecting rent, you’re having me work under the table. You’re not paying any FICA on me, are you? You really want to play the eviction card?”

  “Get out,” she hissed, and I laughed.

  “Not until we talk this through.”

  She twisted, and I felt her knee jerk upward. I blocked it easily—Tinker might be a hell of a chef, but she wasn’t a street fighter. She growled, twisting again, trying to buck me off. Seeing as I held her hands pinned, all it accomplished was bringing her hips into contact with mine.

  I breathed deep, trying to hold on to my control as my cock dug into her stomach.

  Jesus.

  This woman was gonna fuckin’ kill me, so why did I want to kiss her so goddamn bad? Kiss her and lay her out across that old-fashioned dining room table, maybe test it to see whether that traditional craftsmanship could stand up to a good bangi—

  “Get the fuck out of here!” she said, her voice rising. Great. Now she was panicking, which I’d love to say was a turnoff but it really, really wasn’t. It made me feel powerful, and yeah, I know that’s fucked up.

  I never claimed to be a decent, healthy kind of guy.

  That’s when I should’ve let her go, but instead I shoved my hips deeper into Tinker’s, breath hissing as her softness cradled my swollen cock. Oh fuck. My balls burned, they were so full and ready for her. Jerking her hands up and over her head, I caught both of them in one of mine, freeing the other to dig into her hair.

  Tinker stilled, eyes wide.

  “You bikers are a bunch of fucking bullies,” she whispered, licking her lips nervously. I leaned forward, ready to take what I wanted when the words caught me.

  You bikers.

  Bikers.

  Plural.

  Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

  My hand tightened in her hair and she squawked, turning pale. Shit. I loosened my fingers slightly, enough to hold her without hurting her, then studied her face.

  “I’m gonna ask you a question and you will answer honestly,” I said. “Got it?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Did something happen to make you run off to Seattle?”

  “Yeah, I have a business,” she snapped. “Sorry, Cooper, but the whole fucking world doesn’t revolve around you and your motorcycle club.”

  “You talkin’ about the Nighthawk Raiders?” I asked carefully, my anger growing. This was about more than a kiss. Had Talia threatened her? Or sent one of Marsh’s bullyboys to terrorize my girl?

  I’d fucking strangle them with my bare hands.

  “Well, we don’t have a bunch of Shriners running around town on mopeds scaring the hell out of people, so yeah, I’m talking about the Nighthawks,” she said. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Cooper. Not. One. Thing. Now, let me go and get the hell out of my house.”

  They’d done something to her, it was obvious.

  Killing rage filled me. Jesus fucking Christ, I’d put those fuckers in the ground. My hands must have tightened again, because Tinker gave a small, pained whimper. I let her go abruptly, stepping back before I did something truly stupid. She lowered her hands, rubbing her wrists. Great. I’d hurt her.

  “Tell me what happened,” I said.

  Tinker glared.

  “Here’s a little story for you,” she said after a long pause. “I was stupid enough to take someone at face value and hire him to work for me. Then I was even stupider, because when he casually invited me over for dinner I said yes, even though I knew he had a vicious skank of a girlfriend. Then he threatened me with the IRS because he’s a giant, raging asshole. End of story. Now I’m driving to Seattle to use my cooking equipment. I’ve made a lot of mistakes this past month, but at least I’m smart enough not to make the same mistakes twice in a row. Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “You heard her. Time to go.”

  I spun around to find Tom Garrett standing in the dining room, pointing a shotgun at us. Fucking hell—if he pulled the trigger right now, he’d catch me and Tinker. I raised my hands, hoping he hadn’t completely lost touch with reality.

  “Dad, will you please put down the gun?” Tinker asked, her voice shaking.

  “This boy needs to treat you with respect,” he said. “It’s a good thing your mother isn’t home. She wouldn’t let him get off this easy. Time for you to walk away, boy. You leave her alone at school, too—if I hear you’ve been bothering her, I’ll come and find you. Got it?”

  Well, shit. Guess I had my answer about his state of mind. I glanced at Tinker, whose face had gone white.

  “I understand and agree,” I told him, backing away from her, because if the old man actually decided to pull that trigger, no reason for both of us to die. “I’m gonna walk to the door, okay?”

  “At least he can follow
directions,” Tom said, shaking his head as I moved across the room, still facing him.

  “Daddy, I’m going to come stand next to you, all right?” Tinker asked, her voice shaking. “Then I want you to give me the gun.”

  She started toward him, smart enough to follow the wall, well out of his line of fire. I kept backing toward the door, holding his gaze the entire time, trying to figure out my next move. I couldn’t just walk out of there and leave Tinker alone with him.

  Knowing our luck, he’d forget who she was and shoot her.

  “Mr. Garrett, I promise I won’t bother your daughter anymore,” I said carefully, trying to look harmless. Not so easy when you’re six-three and weigh more than two hundred pounds, but I gave it my best. “Here’s the thing . . . I’m not comfortable with Tinker in the same room as the gun. She looks kinda scared to me. Seeing as I’m already at the door, you think you could break that shotgun open so she can relax?”

  Tom glanced at Tinker, who’d almost reached him.

  “You worried, honey?”

  “Daddy, you know how much Mama hates it when you have a loaded gun in the house, especially around me.”

  He nodded slowly, lowering the weapon.

  Thank you, Jesus. Owe you one for that.

  “I appreciate it, Dad,” she said, glancing toward me. Whatever anger she’d been feeling before, it was gone. Now there was only sadness. I waited as her father broke the gun open, folding the barrel down. Tinker reached for it, slinging it over her arm in a way that told me this wasn’t the first time she’d handled a weapon.

  Woman was full of surprises.

  “You can go now,” she said, looking exhausted. I nodded.

  Fucking weird day.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TINKER

  I carried the shotgun upstairs with the breech still open, my pulse racing. I’d never seen my father point a weapon at another person before, not in my entire life. How much crazier could this day get? I wanted to sit on the couch and cry or maybe smash something. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to fall apart.

  First thing, I needed to make sure every gun in the house was locked up.

  Then I needed to track down Cooper before he told anyone what’d happened. I wasn’t sure how to handle my father, but I didn’t want anyone else stepping in and forcing decisions on us, either. This was family business and I’d be damned if I’d feed the town gossips any more ammunition.

  What if Cooper files charges against him?

  Maybe I could claim self-defense or something. I mean, there’d been a reason Dad had gone for the shotgun—Cooper had probably assaulted me, at least technically. But by the time Dad pulled the gun on him, there hadn’t been any danger. He’d already let me go, and who knew what a judge would do, especially if he heard my father testify.

  Dad was proud. I couldn’t put him through that.

  So, first things first:

  1) Lock up guns.

  2) Talk to Cooper.

  3) Pick up Randi and drive her and my dad to Seattle.

  4) Somehow not get killed by Talia when I get back.

  I could do this—Team Garrett for the win, and all that good shit.

  “Dad, can you start packing for Seattle?” I asked when we reached the top of the stairs. My father frowned, staring pointedly at the gun in my arms.

  “Why is that out of the case?” he said, shaking his head. “Your mom will blame me if she sees you with that, Tinker Bell. You know better.”

  “We were just putting it away,” I replied quickly. “She asked us to make sure all the guns were locked up while she was out, remember?”

  He seemed confused, then nodded his head.

  “Sounds like her.”

  “Are there any more around the house? Maybe in your room?”

  “Yup, I got one in the bedside table,” he said. “I’ll go get it.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Twenty minutes later all the guns were accounted for. Not that we had a ton of them, but for most of my life Dad had hunted—providing almost all of our meat growing up, actually—so he had several hunting rifles in addition to the shotgun, not to mention the pistol next to his bed. They were all safe and secure in my grandfather’s cabinet now, using an old bicycle lock. I’d put the only key on a string around my neck until I figured out somewhere to keep it. Maybe a safe-deposit box?

  Exhausted and knowing I still had a ton to do before we could leave town, I headed back downstairs, stopping dead when I saw Cooper in the living room. He was leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed and a determined look on his face. Huh. At least he’d been easy to find.

  “So . . .” I started, wondering what the hell I should say.

  “So?” he asked, raising a brow. “That the best you got?”

  Sadly, it was.

  “This is awkward,” I said softly. “Um, we should probably talk about what just happened.”

  “Ya think?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the stairs. “Your dad just went from absentminded to dangerous as hell. This is a problem, Tinker.”

  “Are you going to call the cops?” I asked, feeling sick. Cooper raised a brow.

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who goes running to the cops?” he asked, and I wondered if it was a trick question. I mean, he had the criminal-biker look down perfect, but who was I to stereotype? My dad was the one with the gun.

  My chest tightened as the full reality of the situation hit.

  I’d gone to work this morning and had my life threatened by a crazy woman with a machete, and it wasn’t even the most fucked-up thing that’d happened to me so far that day. Suddenly I felt dizzy.

  “Breathe,” Cooper said, lunging toward me as I started to sway. He caught my arm, pulling me down to the couch. Then we sat down, and he pushed my head between my legs, which helped.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” I moaned, wondering if a person could splinter from too much . . . too much whatever the hell was wrong with me? Grief? Stress? Just too much, period. “It’s so much worse than I ever imagined.”

  His hand rubbed my back, something I should’ve discouraged but it felt really good to lean on someone else, even for a few minutes. I still couldn’t believe what’d happened. Since when did my father start pulling guns on people?

  “What does his doctor say?” Cooper asked, his voice a low rumble that I felt all the way down my spine. Shit, I needed to sit up and move away from him right now, before I did something stupid, like lean in and let him bear some of this endless weight for a while.

  Yeah, because having a man fixes everything, right? my brain sniped. How’d that work out for you and Brandon?

  Apparently I wasn’t so good at the whole learning-from-my-mistakes thing because I stayed right there and answered him.

  “He hasn’t been to the doctor, at least not since Mom died,” I admitted.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because he’s a stubborn old bastard,” I said, forcing myself to sit up and look Cooper in the eye. “Because it didn’t really seem that bad, and every time we talked about it he put me off, and I guess I was in denial. This is a big deal, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his face full of pity. Goddamn it, I didn’t want his fucking pity. I wanted his—

  Um. No. We wouldn’t be going there.

  “I have medical power of attorney,” I said. “I mean, as a backup. I got one for each of them when they did their wills a few years back. I’ve always known I’d have to force him if he ever needed help—that’s the kind of guy he is—but I guess I just kept chickening out.”

  “Hey,” Cooper said. “It is what it is, all right? He took care of you for years, now you take care of him. That’s how it works. It’s not always easy, but you can do it. You need to start by making a doctor’s appointment. Probably shouldn’t be leaving him alone anymore, either.”

  “Fuck,” I said. “Fucking fuck fuck! And now I’m headed to Seattle. At least Randi�
��s coming with us. Maybe it’s for the best—our family doctor here is older than Dad. I think the only reason he still has an office is there’s no one to replace him. Guess I’ll start making some phone calls.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Come here.”

  Cooper opened his arms, and I considered for a minute. I knew exactly what I should do—stay away from him and his stabby girlfriend and whatever other baggage he might still have hidden in his illegally tenanted apartment. But I was tired. Really tired. Instead I found myself sort of leaning forward and collapsing against him. That’s when I noticed my cheeks were wet—I’d started crying without even realizing it.

  Then Cooper pulled me into his lap and the tears broke free.

  I cried for my dad and my mom and my baby and the fact that things were never, ever going to be the way they should’ve been. I cried because a crazy lady had threatened me with a knife and because the whole damned town thought I was a whore. Finally, I cried because the first guy I’d liked in ages was probably a criminal—definitely an asshole—except at the moment he was being really, really sweet. There was something so damned unfair about the whole situation.

  After what felt like forever, the tears dried up, and I found myself leaning against his shoulder, wondering how I was going to get everything taken care of and still keep my business up and running and—no. I’d had one breakdown already, that was enough. Just because it was all too much for one person to handle didn’t change a damned thing, so I’d find a way.

  I always did, because Garretts are tough.

  Dad taught me that, back when he’d been the one taking care of me. Now it was my turn, just like Cooper said. He ran his fingers through my hair gently, and I settled in, feeling better. Nothing like a good cry, I guess.

  “Does this mean we can have a truce?” he asked, chest rumbling against my cheek.

  “Sure,” I said, because once your dad points a shotgun at a guy, it gets harder to justify a grudge.

  “Just tell me this—are you really going to Seattle because you need to use your kitchen equipment, or are you running scared from something? Because I can protect you, babe. I promise.”