Reaper's Fire (Reapers Motorcycle Club #6)

by Joanna Wylde

  She smiled at me again. I swiped my card, then hit the payment key, still off-balance.

  “Thank you,” I finally said.

  “You’re welcome,” Daisy replied, then she gave me a wink. “Now, get out of here before she thinks of a comeback.”

  • • •

  Half an hour later, I hopped out of the shower, pulled on fresh clothes, and made the executive decision that it didn’t matter how cute Joel was—for once I wouldn’t be doing my hair and makeup.

  I just didn’t have the energy.

  Instead I ran downstairs to get dinner started, because this long afternoon from hell still wasn’t over. We had guests coming for dinner, and come rain, sleet, or snow, nobody left the Garrett house hungry. I’d just started cubing sweet potatoes to slow roast on the grill when the kitchen door rattled.

  “Tinker Garrett, if I hadn’t already married that Carrie bitch, I’d be proposing to you right now,” Darren declared, pushing into the room and carrying a midsize cardboard box. He set it on the kitchen island, and I stared at it, confused.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s a case of wine,” Carrie said, following him in. I stared at her, stunned—sky blue eye shadow smeared her eyelids, and somehow she’d managed to tease her hair up into a beehive. “The girls at the Hungry Chicken diner pooled their tips to buy it for you. Asked me to deliver it. Guess they appreciated your little scene with Flora this afternoon, seeing as how she treats them like shit. Thought I’d dress up in her honor.”

  She twirled around proudly, and I realized she was dressed entirely in pink. Not quite a copy of Flora’s waitress uniform, but it wasn’t half bad. I’d have laughed at the joke if I weren’t dying a little inside every time I thought about what’d happened.

  “How does news spread so damned fast around here?” I asked, running a hand through my still-wet hair. Darren opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew, opening one of the bottles as Carrie went for glasses.

  “Does it matter?” Carrie asked. “This is your victory wine. You’ve earned it, babe. Shame we can’t share some with Jamie, poor guy. I heard he dragged her home and dumped her off before heading back out of town. Guess he’s had enough of her shit.”

  “Can’t blame him,” I replied, reaching for the glass Darren held out to me. It wasn’t the greatest, but it was alcohol. “Now, tell me that Joel can’t make it tonight and I’ll be happy.”

  “He can’t make it tonight,” Carrie said. That caught my attention, and I whipped my eyes over to her.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Darren said. “He’s a single dad and his babysitter fell through.”

  “I said he could bring the kiddo,” Carrie added, frowning. “But he likes to keep dating separate from his daughter. How selfish is that?”

  Darren and I exchanged a glance.

  “Drink,” he said, handing his wife a glass. “You’re just grumpy because you missed the show earlier.”

  “True,” she admitted. “But I have to say, it’s damned unfair, because that’s a video the whole town could’ve enjoyed.”

  “You’re sick,” I told her. She shrugged.

  “I love Hallies Falls. I’ve lived here my whole life and I don’t want to live anywhere else, but I’m not delusional. It can be a boring place. Nothing like a good drama to liven it up, you know?”

  “Fuck off,” I told her, and she laughed.

  I chugged my wine and flipped them the bird, deciding the evening might not be so bad after all. An hour later I was in such a good mood that when Joel messaged Carrie to tell her he’d found a last-minute sitter and ask if the invitation was still open, I figured why the hell not, and told him to come on over.

  GAGE

  It was a long day.

  We’d spent part of it looking for Talia, who’d gone to ground like the little skunk that she was. If she had any brains at all, she’d pulled a runner and was already in another state. I’d also had to meet with Dobie Coales to discuss my case. He filled me in on what they were doing to jack things up for the Nighthawks. Fortunately, it didn’t look like it would take much pressure on our end. You’d think a career criminal would plan things out better, but Marsh had been leaning heavily on the Nighthawks’ reputation and existing structure to cover his ass. This hadn’t ended well for him and his fake “brothers”—we’d voted on it that afternoon, and now they were out bad. No club would ever take them in again. As for the prospects and hangarounds, we’d figure them out later. I wasn’t sure about the others, but Rome had proven himself solid enough.

  It would take a couple more days before we let the news go wide. This wasn’t a bad thing, because Cord had to let the original brothers in prison know what was happening. Assuming all went well with the vote on the Reapers’ side, the Nighthawk Raiders would cease to exist very soon. End of an era, but it was time.

  Throughout this, I’d been thinking about Tinker. Specifically, about how much I’d botched talking to her and the best way to try and fix it. I’d known she was pissed off, but when she ran her cart into my crotch I’d briefly lost the ability to think or form words. Then—before I could even catch my breath to smooth things out—things fell to shit when I looked up to find the little creep from the video standing right in front of us.

  I’d pictured myself taking his place under Tinker a thousand times. Pictured beating the shit out of him another thousand times, because I really didn’t care for the idea of anyone else banging my woman. One thing to see it on a video—hell, I’d hardly noticed him at all, I’d been busy lookin’ at her—but in real life he was a problem.

  He wanted to do her again, that was obvious.

  Saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. He clocked me, too, and it wasn’t lost on him that I’d staked a claim. I expected him to back down like a bitch. Instead he stood up for Tinker publicly, and I hated him even more because he had balls. I’d respect that in any other man, but in his case I’d decided to make an exception.

  Fuck him.

  His cock had been inside her and that made him fair game.

  I even gave some serious thought to ambushing him in the parking lot after our little confrontation, but another scene wouldn’t exactly win points with Tinker. Then I’d gotten a text from Pic. There was a hangaround out at the clubhouse causing trouble, and they wanted me to be there when they put him in his place. Things would be like that for a while, I realized—crazy and random—until we got the town back under control. Thank fuck I could wear my own colors now, and my brothers had my back.

  Now I just needed to find time to fix things with my woman.

  • • •

  When I finally got home that night, it was nearly ten p.m. Still needed to talk to Tinker, and the light was on in her living room, so I figured no time like the present. I climbed up the stairs toward the door, then caught a glimpse of something through the window—Tinker and the asswipe from the bar. Guitar Boy. They were standing next to each other and the fuckwad was just about to kiss her. Jesus, how many men did the woman have chasing after her?

  Feeling rage build, I pounded on the door and they jumped apart. Then Tinker was answering it, Guitar Boy behind her.

  “Cooper, what the hell?”

  “The name is Gage. We need to talk,” I said coldly. Shooting a leave-or-I’ll-murder-you look at Guitar Boy, I jerked my head toward the door. “You. Get out.”

  The guy hesitated, taking in my big frame, the Reapers MC cut, and the knife at my belt. Then he reached for his phone, as if checking the time.

  “I should probably head out anyway,” he said quickly. “The babysitter wants me home before it gets too late.”

  What a fuckin’ pussy.

  Tinker had to be thinking the same thing, because the expression on her face was priceless. Startled as hell, and a little disappointed. Hell, it’d be funny if I weren’t so pissed off that the asshole had been there in the first place. He brushed past me on his way out, and I stood with Tinker in the doorwa
y, watching as he drove off in a little Toyota Corolla.

  “Nice guy,” I said slowly. “Love the way he fought for you.”

  That snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned on me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m sorry I hurt you at the grocery store, but there’s nothing else we need to talk about. Certainly not anything this late at night.”

  I backed her inside, shutting the door behind us as she kept talking.

  “In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you found some other kind of living situation.”

  “Sure,” I answered, catching her shoulders and pushing her gently toward the couch. “I can move in anytime you like. Although, I gotta admit, wasn’t expecting an invite this soon.”

  Fire flashed in her eyes.

  “You know what I meant,” she snapped. I did, but I didn’t care because it didn’t matter. No way I’d be leaving my apartment unless it was to sleep closer to her, and if she didn’t understand that yet, that’s what I was here to clarify.

  “Sit down,” I said as the backs of her knees bumped against the couch. She sat, glaring as I walked over to the windows and carefully lowered the shades. No reason to give the whole town a show.

  “Gage, you have to know I can’t keep you on as a handyman,” she was saying. I walked over to the sideboard and performed the same little ritual I’d done the night before. Gun out, knife off, belt coiled. Her eyes widened as I did this, and her words came faster. “I understand that you were lying for reasons that probably make sense to you, but I can’t have someone living here who—”

  “Shut up, Tinker,” I said casually, turning back toward her. Her mouth dropped, and then I saw a hint of fire in her eyes.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, the words slow and deliberate. If looks could kill, I’d have been gone already.

  “Shut up,” I said again, grinning at her. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew pissing her off was the last thing I should be doing, but something about it was just so much fun. “First we’re gonna talk, and then we’re gonna fuck. This time I want you to really listen to what I’m saying and consider it with an open mind. Think you can do that?”

  She stared at me, blinking.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You have no right to be here,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “And I don’t owe you a damned thing.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve done a hell of a lot of work for you over the past few weeks,” I pointed out reasonably. “How much is rent on that apartment? Enough to cover all those hours? I put in that time to help you, Tinker.”

  “You did it so you’d have cover.”

  “No, I did it because it needed to be done,” I said bluntly. “You were in a bad spot and . . . Hell, I don’t know, Tinker. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, and seeing as I’m not some kind of charity, I obviously did it for a reason. I haven’t figured all that out yet. I do know that I want you, and I’m not the kind of guy to sit back and wait for good things to come to me. These weeks I’ve spent here have been hell. I think about you every night. I can’t remember—”

  “Did you think about me while you were screwing your girlfriend?” she asked, her tone snide.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did,” I answered, and her mouth dropped. “I probably shouldn’t have copped to that, but you don’t like being lied to, so here’s reality—I do what I have to do for my club. Sometimes I won’t be able to tell you all the details, but I won’t lie to you again. You hear that? I will not lie to you again. Period. All I want is for us to start over—you think that’s workable?”

  I knelt down in front of her, putting my hands on her knees. Tinker met my eyes and we looked at each other. Wished to hell I could see what she was thinking. At least she was listening.

  “You’re full of shit,” she said softly.

  I shook my head. “No, this time I’m really not.”

  “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Tell me about your motorcycle club. I’ve heard about them, and what I’ve heard isn’t good. Of course, most of that was from my ex-husband and he’s a bit of a douche, so enlighten me.”

  “Were the Nighthawks around when you were growing up?” I asked. She nodded. “Things have changed since then, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They used to be regular guys who were part of the community. Then a bunch of them got caught up all at once and went to prison, so obviously there was more going on than what we saw on the surface.”

  “My club—the Reapers—are more like the original Nighthawks,” I said. “We’re part of our community. We do a lot of charitable things, we hang out together. We’re a family. A big, loud family that has a shitload of fun.”

  “But you commit crimes together, too,” she replied, meeting my gaze steadily. “Brandon prosecuted a major case against a club. I’m not an idiot.”

  “We’re one percenters,” I told her. “Do you know what that means?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “It means we don’t let the law get in the way of living our lives,” I continued. “We ride our bikes, we party. We have a hell of a good time, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep that life. For the most part it has nothing to do with the civilian world—our battles are our own, and you should know that the Reapers are the dominant club in this region. That means we have alliances with smaller clubs like the Nighthawks, but ultimately we call the shots. What the Nighthawks have been doing—harassing the community, that kind of thing—that’s what happens when a club falls out of balance. I came here to fix things. Marsh Jackson is going to prison, and so are his boys. It’s time to rebuild the club in Hallies Falls, turn it back into what it was when you were growing up.”

  A sudden pounding on the door startled us, and Tinker sighed.

  “God, I swear, if that’s Mrs. Webbly . . .”

  I snorted. “I told her I’d get to the toilet tomorrow. She has two bathrooms.”

  “Let me talk to her,” Tinker said, pushing my hands off her knees. She stood and had started toward the door when the pounding came a second time, and a man shouted, “Are you okay, Ms. Garrett? This is Tony Allen, with Hallies Falls PD. Can you open the door?”

  Fucking hell. Tinker hesitated, then shot me a quick question with her eyes. Did this have anything to do with me? I shook my head in quick denial, following and standing behind her as she opened the door. A young deputy—hardly old enough to shave—looked at us with wide eyes.

  “Um, we got a call requesting a welfare check,” he said slowly. “A friend of yours called, said he was concerned about a man coming into your home. Can you step outside, Ms. Garrett?”

  Oh, that fucker. That cowardly little fucker. Guitar Boy hadn’t had the nerve to stand up to me so he’d called in the cops for no damned good reason. Just what I needed.

  “Of course,” she said, following him. I knew the drill here. He’d talk to her separately, make sure I wasn’t forcing her to do anything. If she truly wanted to jack me up, now would be her opportunity. I considered that. Tinker was pissed at me—really pissed. She could tell him I’d lied about my identity, not that much would come of it. The club’s lawyers could fix anything that needed fixing, and the local cops followed the Nighthawks’ lead. Still, I was a little surprised when she finished talking to the guy and came back inside.

  “Sorry about that,” she said as we watched him walk down the street to his squad car. “I think Joel called them. He was worried you’d hurt me or something.”

  “Must’ve been real concerned,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “He made that phone call just as soon as he got his own ass a safe distance from yours. Sounds like a real winner to me.”

  She looked up at me. “You know, for a lying asshole you’re sort of cute when you’re jealous.”

  “What?” I asked, thrown off-balance.

  “You heard me,” she replied crisply. “Let’s finish talking. I’m tired and
want to go to bed. Alone, for the record. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

  “You have a way of making a man feel appreciated,” I said wryly, and she shrugged as she closed the front door before sitting on one of the wingback chairs in the living room. I settled on the couch, leaning forward with my arms on my knees to pin her down with my stare.

  “Okay, so you were busy avoiding admitting that you’re part of a criminal organization,” she said quietly.

  “If that’s what you really believe, why didn’t you have that cop haul me out of here?”

  “Would he have done it?” she asked. “Because most of my life, I’ve heard that the Nighthawks own the local police. According to my ex-husband, bikers come hand in hand with crime and corruption. What’s your side of the story?”

  “You know, it’s a lot easier to hook up with girls who don’t ask so many questions,” I muttered, frowning.

  “Feel free to hook up with someone else, then,” she snapped. I studied her face, then let my eyes slowly slide down her body. Jesus, the woman really was perfect. Cute jeans shorts that cupped her ass just right, another of those halters she loved so much. It was red with big white polka dots, and for once she wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was loose and tangled.

  “You look good like this,” I said. She raised a brow.

  “Not wearing so much makeup, and the fancy hair,” I clarified, taking her in. “Not that I don’t love it when you dress the other way—it’s hot as hell. But this works, too.”

  “You’re trying to distract me,” she whispered. I slid forward off the couch, standing in front of her. Stepping forward just a little too close, my knees bumped hers. Looking down at her from this perspective, it almost seemed like she was about to give me a blow job. Christ, what I wouldn’t give for that to be the case. Giving my lips a lick, I reached down, sinking one hand into her sleek hair.