by Simone Elise
Reaper’s Claim
Simone Elise
Copyright © 2017 by Inkitt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Prologue
It was a love so strong that it was undying, impossible to destroy. It was the type of love that filled novel pages and romance movies aimed to feature. Every bone in my body ached with warning; every muscle stiffened with fear at the thought of him, but the stubborn person I was didn’t listen to my own body’s warning.
He was a flame able to burn through me. He was the flame, and I was the moth, unknowing of the harm this man could cause or the power that he would one day hold over me.
If I knew then what I know now, would I still let myself be drawn to him? I often asked myself this question.
As I stared into his misty gray-black eyes, I had my answer; I would do everything the same because I loved him, and this love was worth everything I faced for being with him—every torment, every second glance, every argument I was sure to have with my father. It was all worth it.
Chapter 1
Abby
Everyone gets an upbringing. Everyone is taught the essentials of life by their parents, and sometimes the parents’ essentials of life aren’t always the best. I learned to roll a cigarette before I was taught to tie my shoelaces. I suppose in most families this is considered odd, but in ours, it was normal.
My father, Jed Harrison, was President of Satan’s Sons Mother Charter. He was a hard, rough man who was absent for most of my childhood. My sister, Kim Harrison, was tall and blonde, and eyes were naturally drawn to her. She had the ability to draw the attention of any man and didn’t have to do much to hold it. She was also my twin.
We shared similar features—both tall, slim, and blonde, but if you looked closely enough, we had noticeable differences. To most people, the differences were too small. It didn’t help either that we lived with only males.
The MC was positioned in the bushland on ten acres at the top of a large hill. The main house, garage, and pub were fenced off with barbed wire, which sent the clear message—fuck off.
The clubhouse wasn’t a traditional one. It was a large four-story brick house. Dad had renovated it to fit the needs of the club. This meant extra bedrooms, a boardroom, and an open living space.
When we had larger functions, the larger bar was opened. It was complete with pool tables, TVs on every wall, and rooms down the hall for when couples could not make it back to the main house.
Kim and I were brought up on the brother’s code and understood the world that to most was a mystery. We knew the differences between club women and “old ladies.” Dad always said, a brother’s old lady only knows what he tells her, and we are never to interfere. So we kept our mouths shut.
Dad often made us tag along on club runs, the non-dangerous ones. He took our safety seriously and didn’t trust anyone with it.
Mom left us, but she didn’t do it by choice. Breast cancer took her from us. Kim and I were only young, barely ten. It didn’t just hurt losing her; it tore us apart. Kim and I once got on. After Mom’s death, we couldn’t be in the same room without wanting to kill each other.
Dad did his best, but he wasn’t born to be a parent and hell, he never wanted to be a dad. He was meant to be the distant dad that showed up every once in a while, told us he loved us, then rode off again, but he had to take us on full time, and that really threw a firecracker in his idea of parenting.
So we grew up in the clubhouse; not the best of places to raise two growing girls, but the boys took us under their wings, too, and not once did they hurt us.
My best memories are ones around bikers—tattooed, criminal bikers.
Kim threw herself into shopping, flirting, and makeup. I threw myself into art, study, and removed myself as far away from people as possible. Kim loved high school; I hated it.
Dad, or Roach as he was known around the club, didn’t care what we did as long as we were happy, and I guess in our twisted way, we were.
Kim was happy stealing smokes from biker’s jackets and sneaking off with boys. I was happy in my room drawing in my notepad. The years slowly moved on, and before long, I was sixteen; or should I say, we turned sixteen.
My interests stayed the same: I drew, went to school, and I guess, all in all—minus swearing and the occasional punch-up—I was a model student and the daughter that didn’t cause Dad’s head to explode every five minutes, unlike my sister.
Kim’s interests in boys had disappeared, and while I strongly believe it was because she screwed her way through them all already, she would say it was because she grew up. The real reason was that she had the hots for Dad’s Vice President, Trigger.
My dad was blind to Kim’s open attraction for Trigger, but the rest of the world wasn’t; at least, I wasn’t. Every time I looked up, it seemed one of the two was giving the other suggestive looks.
What Kim saw in him I didn’t know and why she would want to go there—where oh so many other women had been before—was beyond me. He was a man, she was barely a girl, and yet those factors didn’t seem to stop either of them.
Trigger was the stereotypical biker. When he wasn’t checking out my sister, he was either bashing someone’s brains in or working on his Harley. He had the height that
shadowed everyone, muscles that bulged, and he wore a pissed-off look really well.
Dad had told me Trigger was the best Vice President he could have asked for. He was one that didn’t mind to “get his hands dirty.” Personally, he creeped me the fuck out and if I could avoid him, I would at all costs.
Being brought up in a clubhouse meant two things—I knew what sex was before any other kid my age, and I was bartending as soon as I could hold a glass and pour a steady drink, which pretty much led me to this point of my life—me serving drunken, swearing bikers from behind a bar and Kim over in the corner giving Trigger “fuck me” eyes.
***
I poured Gitz—his real name Brad—another stiff shot. He, unlike everyone else, wasn’t into the roaring party that Dad held for a visiting charter gang. He hadn’t left the bar, and he hadn’t stopped pushing his empty glass back to me, either.
Gitz was in his early twenties; he swore a lot and slept with a lot of the club women, but one called Lilly always had his attention. She had left the previous week, and even though Gitz had voted against it, Dad let her leave the club after seven years of service.
Club women are owned by the club and, like the bikers, they are sworn in. Unlike the bikers, though, they aren’t given respect and are usually referred to as club pussy.
I guessed that was why Gitz drank so heavily and ignored the party around him. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked Lilly, and it was his stupid pride that stopped him from claiming her as his old lady. From what Lilly told me, that was part of the reason she left.
“Abby, sweetheart!” Dad slammed his beer down on the counter, his face red and flushed with excitement. “Ya need a break, darling?”
Bartending was not where I saw my life heading, but I didn’t fight it. “No, Dad, I’m fine.” I flashed him a smile, refilled Gitz’s drink, and then pulled a few beers out of the fridge.
“Have a break, sweetheart; you’ve been filling Gitz’s drink all day now.” Dad waved his drunken hand for me to leave and not wanting to get into an argument, I stepped out of the way and let another guy, Tom, take over.
“I might get some fresh air then.” I patted Dad on the shoulder and walked past him. When Dad drank, his hard exterior slowly softened. It was one of the rare moments when I was reminded of my childhood father. Not the ‘Roach’ that everyone knew my father as.
I weaved my way through the crowds until my hand landed on the back door and I stepped outside into the fresh air.
The dimly-lit alleyway was centered between the pub and the house. It was where we kept the rubbish bins, and it wasn’t the door we mainly used, but it was my quick getaway. I headed up the alley when I heard the back door open behind me.
I turned around, interested. No one else used that door, and I froze when my eyes landed on his drunken ones. My blood ran cold, and I knew instantly I was fucked.
Reaper
A drunken man has a happy soul—my dad brought me up believing that, and there I was, twenty years old, staggering out of the back door of the clubhouse. The Mother Charter knows how to throw a welcome party.
I leaned against a rubbish bin, trying very hard to keep the booze down, when I heard a scream. Glancing around the darkened backyard, I couldn’t see anything out of place. Then I heard the scream again followed by a hushed conversation. The thumping music from the clubhouse and loud roar of drunken men muffled the sounds, and I couldn’t be sure if it was my drunken mind playing tricks on me.
Placing one hand on the wall, I followed it around until I reached the end of the pub. She screamed and slammed her tiny fists on the man’s shoulder. I blinked away the drunken blur that was creeping across my vision, fighting not to pass out.
“I’m not Kim!” she yelled, frantic, and continued to hit him.
The more she moved, the more she was trapped. He had her pinned against the wall, rubbing himself against her. He wasn’t interested in what she was saying, and I knew there was only one thing going through his mind.
I took a step back and thought to back away completely—it wasn’t my place to get in the way—but found myself moving towards them.
“Get off, Trigger!” she yelled. The terror and panic in her voice coated each word.
“Oi!” I screamed down the alley, and I knew he would have heard me, but being the drunken prick he was, he ignored me. “You heard her. Get off her!”
Trigger got his name because he was always the first to pull the bloody thing. He was a full-on dick, and we had been in numerous punch-ups.
“Fuck off, Reaper. This is between me and my girlfriend.” Rage spread across Trigger’s face as he spat the words at me.
Although the Brother’s Code was to never get in the way of another brother’s dick, I took one step closer to him, giving him plenty of warning. “She’s not into it. Now back the fuck off.”
Temper control wasn’t my strong point, and the alcohol fueled my rage. I glanced at the girl; she was terrified, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“I’m not fucking Kim,” she yelled in his face and pushed him again with all her strength, but it didn’t even move him.
She was weak, small, and after taking a second glance, it was apparent that she was young, too.
I warned him; he didn’t listen. I let my temper get the best of me, moved forward, and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Did ya not fucking hear me? I said get the fuck off her!” Grabbing his collar, I threw him backward, ripping his flirty hands off her.
He fumed. I could nearly see the steam coming out of his ears. I baited him with my eyes, wanting him to charge at me—nothing like a fight over a woman—though, in this case, it might be a girl.
“Whatever.” He glanced at her, his eyes scorching. “I’ll fuck you later, Kim.”
I watched him stagger off, bastard of a VP he was. Prez actually had respect for that little shit.
I turned back to look at her. Her breathing was heavy as she leaned against the wall. Her eyes met mine, and that was it; she went into meltdown. Her tears flowed faster, and they weren’t stopping. I hated crying women more than I hated the fucking law, but I didn’t leave her.
“Come on, darling, calm down. He’s gone now.” I placed my hand on her shoulder, dropping my head so I could look into her blurry eyes.
I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I stood there, looking more like a noob with every second that passed.
Her sobs soon turned into hysterics, causing her breathing to sharpen.
Fuck. What the hell do I do? I wished I had paid more attention to fucking Dr. Phil, or some other shitty daytime TV program.
I brushed the blonde hair from her face, which stuck to her pearly white skin. I had never seen anyone cry as much as her.
“Come on, darling, calm down.” I rubbed her shoulder, standing in front of her awkwardly. I was so far out of my fucking depth; I should have just stayed at the fucking rubbish bin.
She dropped her head onto my chest and I wrapped my arms around her, and she continued to weep, soon soaking my tee shirt with tears.
My heartbeat drummed faster. This young girl trusted me enough to let me touch her. She didn’t even know me, but she clung to me for dear life. Her small frame curved into my chest perfectly. I kept my arms wrapped around her, feeling like I was protecting her from the whole darn world.
“I… he…” she stuttered into my chest. “If you hadn’t come…” She pulled her head away from my chest and looked up at me. “Thank you.”
I stared down into her crystal blue eyes, which were framed by red puffy circles.
“Thank you, Kade.” Fat tears slid down her cheeks, but she kept her eyes locked on mine.
“You know me?” I would remember meeting her because she didn’t have a face or a body any man would ever forget.
“You’re Satan’s Sons Western Charter’s VP.” She swallowed sharply. “Everyone knows you.”
“Not everyone, sweetheart.” My lips twitched into a smirk, and I couldn’t st
op myself from wiping underneath her eyes with the back of my sleeve. “You ok now?”
She nodded her head. “I think so.” Her long eyelashes blinked up at me. “Thanks, Kade. I owe you one.”
I could count on one hand how many people called me Kade: my mother, father, my brother, my Prez when he was pissed off, and this sweet girl.
I was called ‘Reaper’ before stepping into the VP position I was in charge of, ridding the world of dead weight.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I asked the girl, watching as she continued to wipe away angry tears. Though when I thought about it, I was far from a fit state to be in control of any motor vehicle.
How a sweet little thing ended up here, I didn’t know, but hopefully, this would teach her to stay the hell away from places like this and the people that dwelled in them.
“No.” She shook her head. “I live here.”
At the Satan’s Sons clubhouse? I looked her up and down again. She looked too young to be a club whore or as some refer to them, club property. She didn’t look like one either. She didn’t look like the type of girl that should be hanging around a clubhouse filled with dirty bikers. She looked like the type of girl a guy like me would never have a chance with.
“How old are you?” I asked her. I felt my curiosity build each time I stared down into those crystal blue eyes.
“Sixteen.” Her eyes locked with mine. “Why?”
If you were legal, baby girl… damn the gods for creating such temptation.
“Bit young to be hanging around here, aren’t you?” I placed my arm on the wall, keeping her there. Her eyes did not drop from mine once.
Darn, girl, you don’t even know how powerful those blue opals of yours are yet.
“Like I said, I live here.” She closed her eyes briefly and then looked down at the ground. “Can I ask something of you?”
She could ask me anything, and I would answer. Her beauty was worth going to war for. I could only imagine what she looked like in the sunlight. I was sure these dark shadows and the night sky were hiding most of her beauty from me.
“Sure, sweetheart, ask away.”
