Reapers and Bastards: A Reapers MC Anthology

by Joanna Wylde

  “She did have a head injury,” London pointed out, her voice tart. She held my arm protectively, staring between me and Painter with worry written all over her face.

  “Sort of thought the car was implied,” said Reese, sighing.

  “You didn’t say and it’s not like she’s really hurt or anything,” Painter replied with a shrug. He glanced at me. “You got a headache?” I did, but he was so pretty and perfect and I didn’t want to jinx this. Blond, spiky hair. Strong, straight cheekbones and muscular arms that I just knew would be strong enough to pick up a girl like me and carry me wherever I needed to go.

  “No, I don’t actually,” I said, feeling nervous but excited, too. I shot another look at the bike, imagining what it would feel like to sit behind him, holding him as we flew down the highway. “Although they said no sudden movements.”

  “So you’ll hold on tight,” Painter said, eyes playing with mine. He licked his lip and I felt my insides twitch.

  Ohmygodhe’ssohotandhe’slookingrightatme!

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reese said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call someone else.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping Mr. Hot Bod wouldn’t change his mind about giving me a ride. “I’ll try riding the bike.”

  I’ll try riding you, sexy . . .

  Wow. Those kind of pervy thoughts weren’t like me at all. Painter winked and I would’ve fainted on the spot if I wasn’t so damned healthy and not the fainting type. Shame, too, because he’d totally catch me with those muscular arms of his. I could sense it. I gave him a little smile, hoping I wasn’t coming off as dorky.

  “You watch yourself with her,” London snapped, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. I stared at her, shocked—that wasn’t like Loni at all. Had she just ruined it for me?

  Painter raised a brow.

  “Fuckin’ priceless, prez,” he said, then smiled at me again, a smile so beautiful that it made me dizzy. You’re dizzy because you have a concussion, my common sense pointed out.

  I gave it a mental finger, because fuck common sense.

  “You comin’ or not?” he asked, swaggering over to his bike and climbing on. Deliberately avoiding London’s gaze, I followed him, hopping up behind before he had a chance to change his mind.

  “Hold on, babe,” he told me, his voice low and smooth. Like whiskey. Not that I drank much whiskey, but I’d had some at our high school graduation party, at the beginning of the summer. Putting my hands up, I touched the sides of his hips hesitantly. He caught them, pulling them tight around his stomach. I could feel his hard abs through the thin fabric of his shirt, and smell the leather of his motorcycle vest thingie. My entire front was leaning against his entire back, and I felt dizzy again. Then he reached down and touched my knee, giving it a quick squeeze.

  Oh. My. God.

  ________

  The ride took about ten minutes. Ten glorious minutes that included a short stretch of highway as we left Coeur d’Alene behind, which meant we got to go fast. Then he was pulling off and parking in front of an old farmstead that had a well-lived in, well-loved kind of wear around the edges. He turned off the bike, and the sudden absence of noise and vibration left my ears ringing. We sat there for a minute as I collected my thoughts. He touched my knee again. “Gotta let go if you want off the bike, babe,” he said softly.

  I jerked my hands back instantly, wondering how big of an ass I’d made of myself. Then I was scrambling to get off, looking everywhere but his face because I couldn’t bear to see him looking disgusted, or worse yet, sorry for me.

  “Come on,” he said, touching the small of my back gently, guiding me toward the porch. “I’ve got the code to get you inside. You can go crash for a while, get some rest.”

  “Thanks,” I said, daring to look up at him. His eyes were everywhere, scanning the yard for what, I had no idea. Five minutes later we were upstairs, looking at what had to be a girl’s bedroom.

  “You can stay in here, Em won’t mind,” he told me. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

  “Who’s Em?” I asked.

  “President’s daughter,” he answered, and his voice held a hint of something. Not sadness, but . . . something. “She’s a little older than you, about my age. Get some rest.”

  I waited until I heard his footsteps going down the stairs before I pulled off my jeans and climbed into the bed. My head really was hurting now, and while they’d given me pain meds at the hospital, I wouldn’t be able to take another dose for a while longer. Lying there, I stared at the ceiling, wondering what Painter was doing downstairs.

  Did he have a girlfriend?

  Right, like it even mattered. He’d been sweet to me, but he was probably sweet to little old ladies, too. Guys like that didn’t go for girls like me.

  Girls who were nothing.

  The thought hurt, but eventually I drifted off. When I woke it was nearly five. Wandering downstairs, I found Loni and Reese sitting in the living room, her perched on his lap as they talked quietly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I said, feeling like an intruder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Reese replied, sounding resigned. Loni pushed off him, then came over to study me carefully. She was shorter than I was, and I felt awkward and gawky next to her.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes sharp.

  “Good, my head hardly hurts at all,” I said, and this time it was the truth. “Although I’m starving.”

  Then I snapped my mouth shut, because it sounded like I was begging for food, which I guess I was. I mean, I was sort of trapped here, out in the country at a strange house owned by a man I didn’t even know, and whose only tie to me was that he was sleeping with my best friend’s aunt.

  That’s pretty damned tenuous.

  Loni smiled. “If you’re hungry, that means you’re healthy. I picked up some new clothes for you earlier. They’re in the bag.”

  She pointed to a Target bag sitting on the floor next to the stairwell. I’d just leaned over to grab it when Painter walked into the room from the back of the house.

  “How you doin’?” he asked.

  “Better,” I managed to reply, feeling shy.

  “Get changed and we’ll go out to dinner,” Reese announced. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Okay,” I said gratefully, then ran upstairs to put on my new clothes. Hopefully Loni had gotten me something cute.

  ________

  Painter invited himself along with us, which pissed Loni off for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. I knew she was protective, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything.

  Sure, he’d insisted that I ride with him to the restaurant (which kicked ass, I might add). And he was sitting next to me in the booth, his thick, male thigh pressed up against the side of mine, which gave me little flutters and chills. A couple times he leaned over to ask if my food was all right, and when we finished he draped his arm across the back of the booth, right behind my head.

  I’d sat there, wanting him so bad it took everything I had not to shiver. I’d have given anything to kiss him. At one point he even reached down and gave my knee another of those little squeezes, nearly giving me a heart attack.

  Loni glared at him throughout.

  Reese rolled his eyes and ordered another beer.

  Afterward, Painter gave me a ride back to Reese’s house, and I swear if he’d asked me, I would’ve done anything for him. To him. But he didn’t . . . Nope, he just dropped me off.

  But as I got off his bike, he tucked a strand of my hair back behind my ear and skimmed his fingers across my cheekbone. I really did shiver then, because how could I not?

  ________

  Two days later I was bored out of my mind.

  I’d found myself in a weird limbo out at the Hayes house, because I had no transportation or way to get to work. There wasn’t anyone to talk to, either—Reese and Loni were gone most of the time, her working and
him doing club stuff. There had been some big party the night before, but yours truly wasn’t invited.

  Instead I just sat around, waiting for something to happen. Reese still made me nervous, but I trusted London and it wasn’t like I had any other options. Even the money I’d managed to hide from my dad was gone, burned up in the explosion. Now all I had were the clothes Loni had given me.

  Two pairs of panties. One bra. A pair of shorts and a pair of jeans, two tank tops and a sweatshirt.

  That was it—the sum total of all my worldly possessions.

  I needed to take action, figure things out . . . But when I tried to talk to Loni and Reese about the next step, neither of them had time for me. Loni had work stuff, Reese had club stuff, and they both just kept telling me to rest up and let my head heal.

  A girl can only rest so much, though.

  That’s why I was just sitting on the porch Saturday afternoon, trying to read when I heard the bikes coming. Now, if I’d learned anything over the past two days, I’d learned that there were always bikes coming and going from Reese Hayes’ house, so I didn’t think too much of it when I saw the motorcycles turn into the driveway. Then I recognized one of the riders as Painter, and my heart clenched. (Okay, so it wasn’t my heart that clenched, it was something centered a lot lower in my body, but don’t judge me. Painter was the kind of hot that no sane woman can resist. It never occurred to me to try.)

  “Hi,” I managed to say as he swaggered toward the porch—and yeah, he had the swagger down cold, trust me.

  “Hey,” he replied, giving me that same slow grin that’d first melted me at the hospital. (And the house. And the restaurant . . .) “This is Puck. Me and him are gonna hang out here tonight.”

  I shot a look at his friend, who was a tall, solidly built guy with darkish skin, darker hair and a nasty scar across his face. He didn’t look much older than me, but the flatness of his eyes sort of freaked me out.

  “Reese didn’t say anything about someone coming over,” I replied, torn. I wanted Painter around, but his friend? Not so much. “I should probably check with Loni.”

  “Feel free,” Puck said. “But we got orders. President says we’re watching the house and keeping an eye on you, so that’s what we’re doing.”

  Painter scowled at him. “Way to scare her, fuckwad.”

  Puck didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear he was here to stay. Okay. This was getting weird fast.

  “You know, why don’t you just come in?” I said quickly. I hated it when people fought. Mom and Dad fought all the time, at least until she stopped giving a shit and started smoking pot constantly. “I think there’s some pork chops in the fridge. I’ll make them for dinner, does that sound good?”

  Painter smiled at me again, and this time there was something strained about the expression. “Sounds perfect, babe. Can’t wait.”

  ________

  Dinner was weird. For one thing, we didn’t talk. None of us. We just sat and ate in the same room together, the clicking of our knives and forks almost painfully loud. Painter was nothing like he’d been before . . . He was still nice to me, but distant. No little knee touches, no lingering glances.

  Nothing whispered in my ear.

  The situation with Puck was strange, too. I’d assumed they were friends, but soon realized they hardly knew each other. Not that it mattered—they’d been sent to the house with orders to watch over me, and that’s what they planned to do. This burst my bubble in a big way, because I’d been secretly hoping that Painter had wanted to see me again. In reality, I was an assignment. I didn’t know why Reese thought I needed a babysitter, but he obviously did.

  I’d just finished my pork chop when Painter suggested we watch a movie.

  “It’ll help pass the time,” Puck agreed, anything but friendly. “I’ll see what’s available. Good food—thanks.”

  He stood and carried his plate into the kitchen, then passed by us again on his way to the living room. Painter leaned back in his own seat, looking me over.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, and it sounded like he was actually interested in the answer. I shrugged.

  “Good,” I said. “Although it’s a little weird . . . I don’t feel safe going home. Loni’s place is gone. I’m not quite sure what I’m still doing out here, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, either. I can’t even get to my job, because I don’t have a car. Loni and Reese are never here. It’s hard to wrap my head around what comes next, you know?”

  Huh. That was a lot more than I’d planned on sharing. I stared down at my plate, wondering if I sounded like a whiny little girl. Painter didn’t respond, so I shot him a look under my lashes. He was studying me intently, although I couldn’t read his expression.

  “Wish I had an answer for you,” he finally said. “It’s a fucked up situation and I got no idea what happens next.”

  That caught me off guard, because it was so honest. Whenever I managed to corner Loni, she’d just tell me that everything would be okay, and that she’d take care of me. Reese said to calm down, that it would all work out.

  Hearing the truth was scary, but refreshing, too.

  “Thanks,” I blurted out.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For being honest. Everyone is telling me that things are fine, but they aren’t. I’ve got no home, no family to help me, no transportation and if I don’t find a way to get to work soon, I’ll lose my job. Not that I’d even know if I got fired, because my phone blew up with the rest of the house. And I’ve probably got a bazillion dollars in medical bills, too. It is a fucked up situation, so why is everyone pretending it’s not?”

  He seemed startled by my sudden burst of speech, which I could understand. I’d startled me, too.

  “You know, the house probably wasn’t your fault,” he said slowly. I shook my head, wishing it was true.

  “I think I left the gas burner turned on after I made my macaroni and cheese,” I admitted. “What else could’ve caused it?”

  “Melanie, leaving on a burner for a couple hours doesn’t blow up a house,” he told me, the words gentle. “I mean, it’s not something you want to go around doing, but whatever happened, it was because of something bigger than you cooking macaroni. It’s not your fault. And Loni’s insurance will probably cover your medical bills, too.”

  “I really hope that’s true about the house,” I said, although I knew in my gut it wasn’t. I’d caught a whiff of gas earlier that evening and had meant to investigate. Instead I’d gotten distracted thinking about my mom. “And I guess the medical bills don’t really matter anyway. Not like they can collect.”

  He nodded, reaching for the beer he’d grabbed from the fridge earlier. Taking a long drink, he glanced toward the living room, where I could hear Puck rummaging around.

  “You don’t have to watch a movie with us if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “You can go upstairs and rest.”

  “I’ll watch it,” I insisted, and not just because I wanted to spend more time with him. I’d had my fill of rest over the past two days. Just having another human being around to talk to was a relief—the fact that he was a super sexy human made it that much better. “Here, let me get your plate.”

  “No, that’s all right, I’ll take it,” he said, so we carried the dishes into the kitchen together. He stood and watched while I loaded the dishwasher. Every time I passed him, I caught his scent. Leather and something strange . . . like paint thinner.

  “Is Painter your real name?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.

  “Nope, my real name is Levi Brooks,” he said. “But I like to paint, and most guys in the club use a road name, so there you have it.”

  “Like, paint houses?”

  He laughed. “No, pictures. I’m into art.”

  That surprised me. It must’ve shown on my face, because he gave another low chuckle. “Let me guess, you assumed bikers aren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate art?”

&nb
sp; I coughed, looking away. I’d be damned if I’d answer.

  “You’re cute when you blush,” he said, reaching over to catch a lock of my hair, tugging on it gently. He called me cute! My heart stopped for an instant, and it was hard to follow the rest of his words. “And yeah, I like art. I do a lot of the custom work down at the body shop. All the gold on my Harley is my own, too. Sometimes I do bigger projects. Usually painting on boards for customers who want portraits of their bikes, believe it or not.”

  “Wow,” I said. God, he was so out of my league—hot and talented.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

  “Well, right now I’m waiting tables,” I told him, wishing I had a more interesting job. “But I’m starting school in the fall, at North Idaho College. And once I get all my prerequisites done, I’m going to study nursing. I like taking care of people.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. You’re friends with Jessica, right? London’s niece?”

  I nodded.

  “You take care of her a lot?” I shrugged, because I took care of her all the time, but he didn’t need to know that. At least, I’d taken care of her until she’d run off to California to live with her mom. She’d been super pissed at London for dragging her out of a party at the Reapers clubhouse, which was my fault in a way.

  I was the one who ratted her out.

  I’d heard a lot of rumors about those parties, about how wild they were. How a girl could get into trouble. Looking at Painter, I believed those rumors, too—if he crooked his finger at me, I’d come running like a shot.

  The thought caught me off guard, and I frowned. Since when did I come running for a guy?

  “You okay?” Painter asked.

  “Sure,” I said, although I was feeling more than a little off balance. Not physically, but mentally, because in the past two days I’d gone from being afraid of bikers to really, really liking this particular one.

  How many girls did he have waiting for him, back at that clubhouse of his?

  I looked up to find him staring at me, his face thoughtful.