Reaper's Rise

by K. L. Savage

  Part of me wonders if she really means that shit, or if she’s blowing smoke up my ass. It’s probably smoke. They’ll tell us anything they think we want to hear. It sounds good. It feels good. And past the lust and all the bullshit, I know it’s a lie, but I go with it anyway.

  “If you don’t stop, you’re going to taste me here in a few seconds,” I warn her as my mouth drops open when she sucks the tip between her lips and traces the helmet of my cock with her tongue.

  I’m not sure how long it will be before I’m able to feel this again, so instead of coming in her mouth, I reach into the drawer again and grab a condom. She lifts her green eyes to me and smiles, taking my cock out of her mouth with a soft pop. I roll the latex on my shaft and tap my thigh. “Come on. Ride me.”

  She takes her time straddling me, lifting one leg and then the other over my lap, and then she sinks her warm, used, swollen pussy down my dick. Both of us groan in unison, and her hands fall on my chest as she starts to rock.

  She looks like a fucking porn star, grinding against me, but I can’t help but feel like something is missing. Having sex with her feels great, but it’s the same damn thing, and it’s starting to numb me. Not wanting to get inside my head, I wrap my arms around her, flip her over and press her against the wall as I smack her ass and fuck into her from behind.

  “Yes! Fuck yes, Reaper. Harder. Give it to me,” she begs, pushing her ass against me with every thrust I give her.

  I hold her head against the wall, not wanting to look at her face. I stare at her ass, watching it move as I pound her pussy relentlessly. She’s screaming so loud that I don’t hear the door open.

  “Is everything okay, Uncle Reaper?” Jenkins voice has me stopping mid-thrust, and instead of lust pumping my veins, it’s pure panic.

  Millie screams and covers her breasts.

  “Shit! Kid. Fuck! Close the goddamn door!” I grab the sheet on the bed and cover our bodies up with it.

  “Sorry! I thought something was wrong with how she was screaming.”

  A nightmare. A fucking nightmare is what this is.

  “Damn it, kid. Shut the door!” I shout at him, seeing the whites of his eyes from the damn things being so round with shock.

  Suddenly, Tool is behind Jenkins, yanking him back by the shirt and slamming the door shut.

  My erection is gone, along with any lust, passion, and pleasure I felt just seconds ago. Seconds.

  “Fuck.” Nothing like a kid to interrupt and ruin the damn mood.

  “Think he saw us?” Millie asks.

  I lay my forehead on her shoulder and know for a damn fact he saw us. He probably just saw his first pair of tits, and if he didn’t know what sex was before, he was about to learn now. Damn it. Sliding free, I rip the condom off and toss it in the trash, grab my pants off the floor, and throw her mini shorts to her. “Here. Get. I have to go deal with this.”

  “Sorry, Reaper. I was too loud. I forgot about the kid.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I light a cigarette. “It was fun, babe. Have one of the prospects take you home. I’ll see you later.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and slap her ass as we head out the door at the same time.

  And wouldn’t you know Jenkins is there with tears in his eyes, and Tool is rubbing his head with his eyes pinched closed like he has a headache.

  “Millie, was my uncle hurting you?” Jenkins asks, and I bury my face in my hands from the question. I have no idea how to handle this situation. Why doesn’t parenting come with a ‘How to Guide” for dipshits like me?

  Millie handles it like I pro. She kneels on the floor and smiles. “No, he was helping me. Your Uncle Reaper is good at helping people.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmhmm,” Millie stands back up and pats his head. “Good luck, Reaper,” she whispers in my ear before turning around and rushing away so fast, I swear her heels are on fire.

  I blow out a cloud of smoke and stare down at Jenkins. “We need to talk about knocking, kid. Actually, I think we need to have a few talks. Is it too early for beer?”

  “For this situation? No. I’ll get us some.” Tool enters the kitchen first and grabs a few beers and an apple juice for Jenkins.

  We’re all silent. I steal a glance at Tool, who glances at the kid, and the kid then stares at me. I have no idea where to begin. I bet Hawk is laughing his ass off in the afterlife right now. I take another drag of my cigarette and then wash it down with some beer as I adjust myself on the chair and watch Jenkins drink his juice.

  Like nothing is wrong.

  I drop my head in my hands and scrub them over my head. Tool kicks my leg. “What the fuck?” I mouth to him, and he slides his gaze over at the kid, telling me to get on with it. “I don’t know what to say.” This is something I’ve never had to deal with before. I know nothing about kids, especially when it comes to this shit. When I was his age, I was drinking beer and staring at tits in Hustler magazine.

  “Jenkins, what do you know about sex?” Tool blurts, sipping on his beer casually.

  Jenkins’ eyes round, and his cheeks turn a bright red. “Um, not much. Sometimes kids at school talk about it.”

  “Do you know where babies come from? Do you know anything about what happens when a male and female get together? Or male and male. Or female and female. No judgments here.”

  Oh, great clarification, Tool.

  “Um—I...” he stutters and plays with the straw in his apple juice box. “No.”

  Just put me out of my misery. He will learn like the rest of us did, stumbling through it with awkward erections and no one to talk to. “Okay, good to know. Tool, we need to run by—”

  “Sit down, Prez. Kid, you too. Both of you. How am I the adult here?”

  “How am I the adult here?” I mumble, mocking him in a high-pitched voice.

  Tool turns to me, lifting a big, bushy brow, and I can tell he’s itching to grab that screwdriver over his hear. “Really? Really, Prez?”

  Jenkins laughs, and the tension is broke. I shoot Tool a wink. I know what I’m doing. Not really. It’s a complete accident that the kid laughed at that, but I don’t want my VP to cut me in my sleep, so I’m going with it.

  “Okay, kid. What you saw me and Millie doing. You aren’t allowed to do that. Ever. Never. You understand? Unless you’re married.”

  “You aren’t married.” He casts his narrow, judgmental eyes on me. It’s clearly a look he learned from his father because Hawk used to give me the exact same one.

  “You want to be better than me.” I take a long chug of my beer and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “Most of the time people have sex when they love each other. Millie and I let our lust get the best of us, and we shouldn’t.”

  “What’s lust?” he asks.

  “Yeah, Prez. What is lust?” Tool leans back in his chair and gives me a wicked grin.

  I hate this so much. If Hawk were here, I’d kick his ass and maybe kill him all over again. I’m not made for this. And I’m going to punch Tool in the face later. I’m glad it’s him and not Poodle or Skirt who woke up when the kid did, or this would get way out of hand.

  “Lust is an emotion one ... uh ... feels when they ... uh...” I scratch the back of my head, at a loss for words. “When they really, really desire someone.”

  “What’s desire?”

  “Yeah, Prez. What’s desire?” Tool repeats the same question and places his elbow on the table to hold his head in his hand. “I’m so interested.”

  “I hate you,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’re going to get punished for this.”

  “Fucking worth it,” he singsongs on a laugh.

  “Okay, screw it. Kid, you’re getting to the age where you’re about to hit puberty. Okay? Once that happens, you’re going to notice things about yourself and whoever you’re attracted to and you’re really going to want to do someone about it. Sex can be oral, too.”

  “Oral?” He crinkles his nose.

  “Right? Gross.” T
ool shudders. I know for a fact the fucker loves a blow job because Candy was on her knees last night with her mouth full of him.

  “One step at a time. Anyway, sex is when your—”

  Jenkins throws his head back and laughs. I mean belly-aching laugh. “Oh my god, your faces.”

  “What?” Tool and I say at the same time.

  The kid slaps the table with his hand and the smile on his face shows the little space between his two front teeth. He’s going to need braces. A few weapon trades should cover the cost of it.

  He points at me. “Your face. I’m sorry. I can’t pretend anymore. Dad told me about sex when I was like seven. I really didn’t mean to walk in on you and Millie. She sounded like she was dying, but go, Uncle Reaper.” The little shit holds up his hand for a high-five.

  Tool howls with laughter, and I’m left there stunned.

  “You know?”

  “Are you kidding? Do you know how many times I walked in on Dad? He sat down and explained everything to me, but your face this morning? I just wanted to see how you’d talk about it. Oh, man. Woo!” He tries to calm down and takes deep breaths. “That was funny.”

  “You’re ground for like ... fucking life!” I roar, slamming my beer down so hard foam spews from the top. “And so are you!” I point to Tool.

  “What did I do?” he balks.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  “Uncle Reaper, I’m sorry. It was too good of an opportunity to see how you would react. I do appreciate your effort, though,” Jenkins says on with a snarky grin.

  “Go light something on fire.” I wave him off and thud my hand against the table.

  “Sweet!” He gets up and runs off, grabbing the lighter from the counter before bolting into the main room.

  “I’m a grown man. You can’t ground me,” Tool scoffs.

  “Fuck! Kid! Not the damn beard. Shite!” Skirt screams.

  I groan and I swear, I’m getting chest pains from the stress this kid is causing me. “Stop lighting beards on fire, Jenkins, or so help me, I will make sure you don’t see the light of day until you’re thirty.”

  “Sorry!” he shouts, but the maniacal laughter that follows tells me he isn’t.

  “He’s just like his dad,” Tool says.

  “I’m so fucked. And you’re on shitter duty for a month.”

  “Prez!”

  “That will go to show you, won’t it?” I get up, snag by beer, and walk into the main room, seeing a bunch of hungover bodies and Skirt waving his hands on his face. His beard is smoking, and a few embers are leftover, reminding me of a cigarette.

  Which sounds fucking good right now.

  With how this day is going, I’m going to need an entire pack.

  Two Years Later

  While the kid is at school, it’s time to get shit done.

  “Church in ten,” I shout as I walk through the saloon doors and head toward my office to place the stack of cash in the safe. Mr. Cellini paid me this morning for the security detail the Ruthless Kings have been doing for him over the last week. Apparently, there is a bounty on his head for a hefty sum of two million dollars. Mr. Cellini is a damn good client, but I’d be a dumb fuck if I didn’t admit that the thought of shooting him myself hasn’t crossed my mind.

  I keep a few stacks out to pay my men. We do well for ourselves. I also still put away Hawk’s earnings. He may not be here, but when the kid is eighteen, I’ll give him a good chunk of cash to get his life started. For all I know, he may want to be away from me and this life, and as much as I’ll miss him, I won’t stop him from getting out if that’s what he wants. I’ll bet he’s counting down the days until he can leave. This life isn’t for everyone.

  Hell, he saw me just last year with a bullet hole in my shoulder, and he watched as Doc sewed up the wound.

  I push the door open to church where we meet a few times a week to discuss what’s going on with the club. I lean against the frame and think about the years that have gone by. Memories play out like ghosts before me, brothers long dead who used to sit at this very table here, like Hawk. Hawk’s cut hangs behind the President’s chair, a cut I know I’ll have to take down when the kid comes of age and wants to prospect.

  The table is old as fuck, covered with engravings, spit, and bloodstains. There have been many of days where we met after a fight or near-death experience to discuss retaliation against those who dared fuck with the Ruthless Kings. I’ve bled on this table, my father had, and so had his father before him.

  Most of the members now are the living legacies of this very club.

  I sit at the head of the table and grab the gavel that’s been a part of the MC since it was formed. The first founding member of the MC carved this gavel out of his enemy’s bones. It has our emblem engraved in it and a fist at the end where the knee used to be. Damn, I don’t know who this was that I hold in my hand when I call meetings to be adjourned, but the guy really was an unlucky son-of-a-bitch.

  The patched members start pouring in and take their respective seats. As my VP, Tool takes the seat next to me, and Bullseye takes the other since he is the Sergeant at Arms. I don’t say anything as I silently hand out everyone’s cut from the security detail. Poodle ruffles the cash and fans it in front of his face, and Skirt shoves the stack in his kilt.

  “That’s for the security detail,” I say finally, leaning back in my chair and lacing my fingers over my stomach. “Anyone have any updates?”

  “Another body was found, teenage girl this time,” Slingshot says, and the news makes the mood in the room turn to something dark and sinister.

  Last month, the news covered a story about a teenager’s body being found on the side of Loneliest Road. We said we would keep an eye on it if it got closer to town, and then we would try to take care of it.

  “Right outside the strip.” Slingshot continues to carve the arrows for his weapon. It’s how he got his name. He blows the dust off the stone and tests to see how sharp the tip is. Clearly unsatisfied, he continues to sharpen it to a finer point.

  I slam my fist down on the table while a few of the men grumble in return. No one is happy about this. This doesn’t happen in our town. Vegas is ours. We protect it. No one hurts kids. And what scares me most, is one day, I’ll get the news that it wasn’t just any kid, it was my kid. Jenkins, lying dead on the side of the road.

  I fucking refuse to let that happen.

  “I don’t care what we have to do. We have to figure out who is doing this. Knives? You’re friends with the chief of police.”

  “You could say that.” He rolls the blade between his fingers while staring at me.

  “Find out everything you can. We’ll take this fucker down.”

  “Atlantic City chapter invited us out again.”

  I glance over at Pirate who’s holding a bottle of rum like he always is, regardless of what time of day it is.

  “You boys are more than welcome to take a trip whenever you want, but after this shit is settled,” I tell him.

  “You have to come, Prez.”

  “Did you suddenly forget about Jenkins?”

  “Damn kid,” Pirate muttered.

  I stand up so fast and have my hand wrapped around his throat quicker than he can blink. “What the fuck did you just say about my nephew? What did you say about Hawk’s son?” I squeeze his throat a bit harder, watching him choke and gasp for breath.

  “Tell me,” I snarl, spitting in his face. “Why don’t you go join the Atlantic chapter if you’re so bummed about being a part of this one? I won’t have Jenkins feeling like a burden. Anyone else feel that way?”

  I keep a tight hold on Pirate’s neck and look around the room, meeting each members’ gaze.

  “No way. I love that kid,” Tool says.

  Each member nods. I release Pirate’s neck and slam his head against the table, busting his nose.

  “If I ever hear you talk about my kid like that again, I’ll fucking gut you. Do you get that?”


  He groans, tilting his head back to try to stop the gush of blood flowing from his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He spits blood onto the table, adding to the collection. and I plop back down in my seat, rubbing my fingers between my eyes.

  For the most part, we keep pretty good tabs in Vegas and have tightened the leash on criminal activity. Even the police know who runs the show.

  “Anything else anyone needs to say?” I demand.

  “Mr. Cellini wants more protection. Just got word,” Bullseye says, lifting his phone. Usually cell phones aren’t allowed in meetings, but I make an exception for him.

  “Tell him I want double pay then.” I lift a shoulder, uncaring if it’s fair or not.

  “Moretti has been quiet lately.”

  My brows raise when I hear Tongue speak. He rarely ever says anything, preferring to lurk in the dark. He’s pretty well known for making other people mute. He’s the person we go to when we need intel from someone, and half the time, he gets what we need, only to cut their tongues out afterward.

  He’s sick, but damn, he is useful.

  I clear my throat to swallow the shock from hearing his voice. He doesn’t look at me. He carves something into the table with his blade.

  “I think they’re up to no good,” he whispers, and the tone sends a chill down my spine. The room drops a few degrees. If one man can make Hell freeze over, it’s Tongue. Not a lot scares me, but he does. He creeps me the fuck out. Despite that, I trust him with my life. He is a loyal brother to the MC. “Too quiet. I can go underground. Find out what they’re doing.”

  “Goddamn, Tongue. Can you be any creepier? Your tone is so....”

  “What?” he bites, placing his blade against Poodle’s neck. “It’s what?”

  “Is the sound of an angel playing the harp,” Poodle sputters, eyes wide with fear.

  Tongue curls his lip before removing the knife from Poodle’s throat, and the young brother scoots closer to Skirt, and Tongue returns to his previous task, carving into the wood. “They need to be watched.”

  His icy monotone voice makes me want to agree, but Tool’s next comment is smarter than that. He shakes off the impending doom of Tongue’s presence. “We don’t want the mafia on our bad side.”