Reaper's Rise

by K. L. Savage

  “They won’t even know I’m there. I can be quiet.”

  “That I don’t doubt, brother,” I mumble, knowing just how quiet he can be. “I’m going to say no, for now, until something else happens.”

  “Like another dead body?”

  “You think they’re behind it?” I lean forward and lock my fingers together on the table. “They would be stupid to turn their backs on us. We fund each other’s pockets.”

  “Maybe they want more money.”

  “Doesn’t explain the bodies. Mob is smarter than that. You’re just wanting to cut someone’s tongue out,” Knives growls.

  Tongue is out of his chair and chest to chest with Knives. “Like yours? It would be my pleasure.”

  I slam the gavel down on the table to try to call them to order. When that doesn’t work, I take my gun out of my cut, point it toward the ceiling, and fire. My ears ring for a minute, but it works—they all shut up. Knives shoves Tongue away and fixes his cut. Both of them sit back in their seats, and I rub my temples, wishing like hell they’d all start acting like the grown men they are.

  “Okay. We’re done here. Bring me information on the bodies next meeting.” I slam the gavel down again and sag against the chair, watching each member file out of the room. The only person who stays behind is Tool.

  “They’re itching for some action. It’s been too quiet. Tongue is right.”

  “I know. I know. Quiet can be a good thing too. It doesn’t have to be bad. Maybe everything is running smoothly.”

  Tool taps his screwdriver on the table. “I know you don’t believe that.”

  Something in my gut tells me things are about to blow up. Silence is never good when you’re in our line of work.

  “Fuck, I know,” I groan. “I want you to run the strip. Put your ears to the ground, see what you can find out. Take Tongue with you. I’m afraid if he doesn’t get out soon, he’ll hurt someone here. You seem to be the only one he doesn’t get pissed at.”

  Tool snorts in disbelief. “We have a common ground, remember?” He spins the Philips head in his hand before placing it behind his ear for safekeeping.

  “Right. A bunch of psychopaths is what I have in my club.”

  “You love it.”

  I do. It gets shit done, but I’d never admit that. I slide my phone out of my pocket when it vibrates against my chest. “Damn it. It’s the school. I swear if this kid is lighting something on fire again, so help me...”

  “Skirt’s beard still hasn’t grown back the same.”

  I chuckle. It’s a bit patchy now. The big brute hates it. His beard was his treasure.

  “What did Jenkins do now, Principal?” I ask right as I answer the phone. I clench my fist and hit it against my head when the annoying man rambles on the other line. “He blew up another boy’s locker. There had to be a good reason.”

  Tool gets up from his chair, laughing on the way out, saying something about, that kid being too much.

  “Well, yeah. I always believe there’s a good reason for doing things like that, Principal.” My eyes narrow. “Of course, I believe that. You do know what I am, don’t you?” Blah, blah, blah. “Yes, I’m on my way. I got it,” I sneer at him before hanging up. Jenkins doesn’t usually do things that big. So if he did, I firmly believe he did it for a reason.

  He’s suspended for five days.

  I’m mad, but I need to keep my temper in check until I figure out what’s going on.

  Four Years Later

  Never figured out who was leaving the bodies all those years ago. It still happens now, just not as frequently. The teens are usually almost always clothed, beaten, and have the same mark around their necks.

  That’s all we know.

  It’s driving me crazy, but I have to put it out of my mind because the kid’s birthday is tomorrow. He’s going to be eighteen; a man, an adult.

  Fuck if I don’t feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

  I kept him alive long enough to be a legal adult. I need to get drunk and fuck. Ever since he caught me and Millie all those years ago, I’ve never had sex in the clubhouse again.

  That’s going to change. He’s a man now. I can do whatever the fuck I want.

  “We have a problem, Prez.”

  “No, don’t go telling me that before the kid’s birthday. What did he do?” I ask, taking off my reading glasses. Only Tool knows about them. It’s hard to read fine fucking print sometimes. Makes me feel like an old man too. I haven’t even hit forty yet. I’m just a seasoned buck.

  “It has nothing to do with him. He’s actually outside with the rest of the crew,” Tool says.

  My brows pinch together when I think about what could possibly be going on out there. Jenkins isn’t a troublemaker anymore. He has mostly calmed his destructive tendencies these days. He actually made it through his senior year of high school without getting suspended. Feels good, like I didn’t actually fuck up all this time, like I did something right.

  “Oookay,” I draw out. “Want to tell me what’s going on first before you throw me to the wolves?”

  “There’s a girl out there. A young girl. She’s asking for the person in charge. She’s looks banged up pretty bad. Doc is checking her out.”

  “A teen?”

  Tool nods. “Same marks on her neck, Prez. I think we got ourselves someone who survived that fucker’s wrath.”

  Before he can say another word, I’m pushing by him and tossing my readers on the table. My boots pound against the wooden slates, a bit of dust and dirt kicking up a sore reminder that the place needs a good cleaning. I can’t think about that right now.

  I slam the saloon doors open, and the members part like a wave when I make my way through the crowd. It’s a hot fucking day, and sweat is already gripping my neck. A few men are straddling their bikes. Millie is sitting next to the young girl, petting her hair gently as the teen cries.

  “Shit,” I curse. “What the fuck, guys? Let her in the clubhouse to get out of this heat. What the fuck is wrong with you all? Kid, I taught you better than that. She’s just a girl.”

  “She could be anybody,” Jenkins says, standing his ground.

  “Boy, she can barely walk. She’s bleeding. Doc is out here on his hands and knees, bandaging her up in one-hundred-degree weather, and that’s what you have to say to me? Help her into the club, now.”

  Jenkins must realize his mistake because he runs to the girl and falls to his knees, lifting her into his arms. The girl cries out when Jenkins picks her up, and he has a look on his face that I know all too well.

  Guilt.

  “Give them room,” I grunt, and the members part again. A few them go inside and get the couch set up and comfortable for her.

  The girl has blonde hair, almost white, and I can hardly see a part of her skin that isn’t decorated with bruises and cuts. She’s young, pretty, and with the way her brown eyes are staring at me, a piece of me breaks off.

  For some reason, I know I have to protect her.

  With everything in me. Jenkins lays her down on the couch, being careful with her head as he lays it against the green pillow. He is still looking at her with confusion. I know the feeling. Something about her seems so familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  “I’ll go get you something to drink. Okay?”

  “No!” she cries out, and her fingers wrap around my wrist. “No, don’t leave me. Please.” Her voice is weak from whatever trauma happened to her throat, and one of her eyes is swollen shut. “Please, don’t go.”

  Her fingers can’t even touch as they grip me. Her knuckles are all cut up, and I think one of her fingers is broken because it’s crooked.

  The coffee table groans when I sit on it. I’m worried it won’t be able to handle my weight. I unwrap her hand from my wrist and lay it on the couch. She’s too young to touch me. Jenkins sits down next to me, and the table groans again.

  “This table isn’t big enough for the both of us,” I grumble.<
br />
  “Yeah, I’m going to go. I need to go,” Jenkins stands again, staring at the girl again once more before bolting out the front door.

  “Tool? Follow him.”

  “You got it, Prez.”

  Staring at the young girl, who can’t be more than sixteen, her one good eye darts around to all the faces of the strange men surrounding her, and the eye that is open is wide and full of fear. Tears stream down her cheeks, even managing to leak out of the eye that’s swollen shut and black and blue.

  “I’m going to have to relieve the pressure on that eye. It’s swelling too much,” Doc says. It’s good to have him here. He’s young, a resident at the nearby hospital and a legacy of the club. Eric is going to be helping the MC a lot.

  The girl shakes her head and clutches my hand again. Great. Just what I need. She’s locked onto me. I don’t know why or how, but I do not need this right now.

  The pleading look in her eyes has the voice in the back of my head screaming for the blood of the person who did this to her. Her blonde hair has blood in it, and it’s a bit stringy and matted and crusted in blood, like she hasn’t showered in a few days.

  “Everyone, except Doc and Bullseye, get the fuck out!” I bark.

  Dutifully, all the members start heading outside, the sound of their boots pounding against the floor. Once the last of them is gone, Bullseye slams the door and locks it.

  “Is that better?” I soften my voice when I talk to her, and Bullseye clears his throat. I ignore him. The girl needs a soft hand right now.

  “Thank you,” she rasps.

  “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t try to talk. Save your voice.”

  She nods and another tear leaves her eye as she attempts to blink. The white of her eye is red, but at least it isn’t swollen like the other one.

  “I know we look like a rough bunch, but we aren’t so bad. I promise. We’re good guys. We need to know who did this to you and what brought you where, can you do that? After you rest, of course, okay?”

  “No, I can talk.” Her voice sounds strained, as if it’s been through the shredder.

  “There’s no rush, okay?” Then why did I send everyone away? It’s because she’s scared, and you want her to be comfortable.

  Doc kneels in front of her, blocking my view of this stranger inside my clubhouse. Part of me wants to rip him away from her. She’s needs protection. She doesn’t need men hovering over her.

  I grab his cut from the back and move him to the left. “Doc?”

  “I need to examine her, or she needs a hospital.”

  She jolts forward and latches onto my damn hand again. “No! Anything but that. You can examine me.” She holds her hand to her throat and swallows. “No hospitals.”

  “Prez, Bullseye, she’s going to need some privacy. Just get dressed in this gown, okay?”

  “Why the hell do you need her to undress for you? What the fuck, Doc? She’s a minor.” I stand over him and grab his cut, slamming him against the wall. “Do injured teens get it up for you?”

  “What the fuck?” He slaps my hands away. “I need to make sure she has no broken bones or any damaged organs or...” His eyes slide to her, and they soften. Doc lowers his voice and sighs. “I need to make sure nothing else happened, Prez.”

  I let go of his cut, and the look on my face must show that I don’t understand what he’s saying.

  “I need to make sure she hasn’t been raped,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s the hardest part of this fucking job.”

  “You think so?”

  She’s too young to have something so awful happen to her.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, considering her injuries now. The more people around, the less she is to confide in me, though, so when we leave to give her privacy, I can’t have you guys coming back.”

  “No!” the girl shouts. “Please, they can stay. It’s okay.” Her voice is a whisper. “I wasn’t raped. I swear. I’m not just saying that.”

  Eric looks at her skeptically and eventually nods. “I still need to check your torso and make sure you don’t have any internal bleeding.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right outside, okay?” I tell her, not wanting to leave, but knowing I have to. Is this because I’m a father now? I raised Jenkins, and now I have this urge to save every stray that comes in the door?

  “Please, don’t go.”

  “Kid...” I sigh, watching Bullseye disappear into the kitchen. “I’ll be in the next room.”

  “Please.”

  “Prez, can I talk to you for a second?” Doc asks.

  We step to the side where the bar is, and he slaps his hand on my shoulder. I’m not a fan of people touching me, but when he leans down, I know whatever he has to say is serious. “She looks at you to protect her. You can’t go. Psychology, you’re the one who is going to keep her safe.”

  “How long will this last, Doc?”

  “Until she’s healed, and she feels safe, but don’t be surprised if she always needs to be right next to you, all the time.”

  “Doc, come on. I’m not a fucking babysitter. Jenkins is eighteen tomorrow; my daddy duties are over.”

  “Sorry, Prez. That’s just how it is. Now, come hold her hand while I drain that eye. After we get some meds in her, maybe we can figure out what happened.”

  My boots scuff against the hardwood, and I bend my knees and sit on the table again. I reach for her hand, letting it hover for a minute before taking it. “Doc has to drain your eye, girl. It’s going to hurt.”

  She squeezes my hand with all her skinny might when Doc places the blade against her skin.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, right as he cuts into her; the blade opens her skin, and the blood beads out.

  Not many screams make me wince. I’ve done my fair share of inflicting pain in my day, but her screams are different. They make my bones ache and my teeth grind. A waterfall of blood flows down her face. If it hurt for her to talk before, there is no way she’s going to talk now.

  “Okay, we’re done, we’re done.” Doc places a bandage on her face to soak up the blood, and a sheen of sweat covers her neck and chest. “I’m going to give you some painkillers, okay.? They’ll knock you right out, and whatever you want to tell us can wait until the morning.”

  “I don’t want to stay out here,” she groans when Doc pushes an IV in her arm and hooks her up to fluids it.

  I don’t have a room set up for her yet. We have a few spares, but they are empty with a few members moving out and getting their own homes. “You can stay in my room, and I’ll sleep on the couch, okay? Until we get a room set up for you.”

  She fights to stay awake when the medicine starts to take hold of her.

  “Okay, Prez,” she says with half a grin. Poor kid. Half her face is swollen.

  “What’s your name?” I’m careful as I lift her into my arms, and Doc follows with the IV bag.

  “Sarah,” she whispers. “Sarah Richards.”

  I pause mid-step and look down at her again.

  It’s impossible. There’s no way.

  My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m thinking back to all those years ago when Hawk was dipping his cock into anything he could find, but with her face all bruised up, I can’t tell if her last name is just a coincidence, or if I’m actually staring at Jenkins’ sister. It’s impossible. There’s no way.

  We would have known about her. We would have taken care of her. Hawk wouldn’t have let his kid go without a father.

  “Sarah, I’m Jesse,” I whisper. “Or Reaper.”

  “Jesse,” she mutters right before she passes out.

  I’m not sure why I told her my name. A lot of the members don’t even know it, but there’s something about this girl that makes me more vulnerable than Jenkins’ did.

  Maybe it’s because she’s a girl. I’ve always had a soft spot for women. I don’t like it when they get hurt, especially like this.

  I lay her down on my bed and b
ring the blanket to her chin, wondering just how much more complicated my life is going to be. I know one thing, I haven’t felt blood on my hands in a while, and when she tells me who did this to her, I’m going to make sure he never hurts anyone ever again.

  I’ll reap his fucking soul.

  I wake up in a cold sweat, and the shadow of my abuser hovers over me. I can’t stop the scream that tears from my throat. My cheeks are wet. The tears won’t stop. I taste blood.

  The dark. I hate the dark. Why is it so dark?

  He’ll get me. He always gets me.

  “Hey! Hey, shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

  “No! Get away from me. Get away! Don’t touch me!”

  I scream when I hear his voice. He’s here. He found me. He always said he would find me.

  He grabs my wrist, and my body bends as I try to get away.

  “Please, stop. No more. Get away from me,” I wail at the top of my lungs, managing to get one arm free and swinging it forward. I can’t see anything, but it’s with some satisfaction I feel my knuckles land on someone’s face.

  “Fuck you!” I spit.

  “Damn it, Prez!” the man shouts.

  Prez? There’s someone else here to hurt me.

  I swing my arm again, hitting him across the cheeks. My knuckles ache in protest, but I still have fight in me.

  I still have some fight.

  But I’m getting tired. The constant fighting. The constant nightmare. I can’t do it anymore.

  Just kill me.

  I want to die. Another bruise, another kick to the rib, another broken arm, the pain is just too much.

  “Just put me out of my misery, and stop this,” I sob, hoping the nightmare is about to stop. What do I need to do? Do I need to beg for him to kill me? I don’t understand.

  Let my body fall, let it break; let it go.

  “What happened?!” A voice that makes my fear diminish booms through the room. The sound brings me peace. It shouldn’t. He’s here to hurt me, but at least his voice is soothing.

  “She started having a nightmare,” another man says. “I tried to wake her up to calm her down, but it’s a night terror; she’s reliving an experience. Waking her is dangerous. I need to sedate her.”