Reaper (Kings of Korruption MC Book 4)

by Geri Glenn

  A Kings of Korruption MC Novel

  Book Four

  By

  Geri Glenn

  ©Geri Glenn, 2017

  Reaper is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  Cover Art

  Wicked by Design

  Editing

  Rebel Edit & Design

  Formatting

  Tracey Jane Jackson

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Geri’s Ramblings

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Holy hell, it’s finally done! This book has been a labour of love, hate and ugly grey hairs.

  I’d like to start off by saying a huge thank you to all of you readers for being so patient (or not in some cases). I’ve changed the release date on this book so many times on you, and you’ve all been extremely supportive. What did I do to get so lucky?

  Anyway, I just wanted to pop in and tell you that I love you all, and I’m going to work like hell to make sure it’s not such a long time before I release Bosco. His story is next and I’m dying to tell it!

  For Christina

  My biggest supporter, my best friend and my hardest critic. I love you for every hard truth, every encouraging word, and every laughter filled plotting session. Reaper has been yours all along and I couldn’t have breathed a single breath of life into him without you.

  Reaper

  16 years ago

  “Babe?” I call out as I bound through the door. Where the hell is she? I peek into each room on the main floor of our tiny house, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be found. As usual, dirty dishes are stacked high in the sink. A questionably clean pile of laundry lies unfolded in a heap that takes up most of the couch, and the seldom used vacuum cleaner sits in the centre of the floor, plugged in, but otherwise untouched.

  My jaw clenches as a trickle of annoyance at the rapidly declining state of our home clouds my excitement, but I quickly tamp it down. I hadn’t married Laurie for her housekeeping skills, or to have my own personal Molly Maid, but I can’t help but wonder what the hell she does around here day in and day out. It’s clear that cleaning isn’t high on her list of priorities.

  “Laurie?” I take the stairs two at a time, anxious to tell her my news. Laurie and I had met in high school, and I’d fallen hard and fast. Not only was she one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen, but the sex was fucking incredible. Two years ago, after we’d both turned eighteen, we ran off to Niagara Falls and tied the knot. It hasn’t been a fairy tale come to life, but I’ve always heard that the first couple years of marriage are the hardest, and I know we’ll come out okay in the end. I’d like to think that we love each other enough to overcome anything.

  I walk into the bedroom, but still no Laurie. Her asshole cat, Priscilla, lifts her head from her cozy nest of blankets on the unmade bed and blinks up at me through squinted eyes. I glare down at her, still not happy about my jacket that she had pissed all over the night before. That fucking cat hates me, and frankly, the feeling is mutual.

  The faint sound of a muffled sob drifts from the bathroom down the hall. Turning, I cock my head to the side, ears straining. When I hear it again, I rush out of the room, a lump forming in the back of my throat as I approach the bathroom door.

  “Laurie?” I call, my hand moving to the doorknob. “You okay, babe?”

  There’s no answer from behind the door, and I don’t waste another second. Finding the door locked, I put all my weight into my shoulder and slam into it. The cheap lock pops open with a crack, and slams against the inside wall of the bathroom. Stepping inside, I see my wife sitting in the tiny bathtub, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her lowered face is hidden behind her curtain of gorgeous, messy hair.

  “Baby? What the fuck?” I rush toward her, worry overwhelming me, causing my words to come out choked. I reach the edge of the tub, just as Laurie lifts her head. Her puffy, tearstained face peers up at me, but she doesn’t answer. “Babe. You’re killing me here,” I say as I kneel down beside her. “What’s going on?”

  Her eyes meet mine as she holds out her hand, a white plastic stick clutched tightly in her fist. My brow furrows. Looking down at it, it takes me a second to realize what it is. When I finally figure it out, my breath catches in my throat. My gaze shifts to Laurie’s as a warm, welcome heat slowly builds in my chest. “You’re pregnant?” I ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

  Laurie’s face crumples, and the tears in her eyes slide down her face like a waterfall. “Yes,” she sobs, burying her face in her hands.

  “You’re pregnant,” I say, louder this time, testing the reality of the words on my lips. Her head lifts and her sobs fade, her face twisted in an expression I don’t understand. “Laurie, we’re having a fucking baby!”

  I shout the words in an exalted cry as I jump to my feet, grinning down at her. Adrenaline flows through my veins as excitement takes hold. We hadn’t yet discussed when we were going to start a family, and we always use precautions, but the idea that I have a baby growing in my beautiful wife’s belly has me on cloud nine in an instant. I pace around the room, a wide grin taking over my face before I look back down at her.

  Laurie’s face is like stone, her eyes hard. “Are you kidding me, Lucas? You can’t be happy about this.”

  I blink, shocked by her anger. “Of course I’m happy. I’m going to be a daddy, and you’re going to be a mommy.” I kneel down beside the tub and take her hand in mine. “Baby, we’re going to be parents. What’s not to be happy about?”

  Laurie flings the little white test stick across the room where it clatters to the floor. “We can’t afford a damn baby, Lucas! Think about it. We can barely afford to keep ourselves fed.” Anger sparks in her eyes as she yanks her hand from mine. “You’re nowhere near ready to be a father, and I know I’m not ready to be a mother.”

  I take her hand again and pull her toward me, pressing my lips to her hair. “You’re going to be a fucking amazing mom, Laurie. And I’m going to be an amazing dad. Who cares that we don’t have a ton of money? We’ll be together, and the rest will fall into place. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Laurie blows out a shaky breath and presses her face into my neck. “I’m scared,
Lucas,” she whispers.

  Her emotion startles me. Laurie has never been one to show any kind of weakness whatsoever. “You don’t need to be scared, baby. We got this.” We sit in silence as I hold her. Internally, I’m doing the fucking running man, I’m so excited. Then I remember my good news. “I have news too,” I say, pulling back so I can see her face. “I’m being deployed.”

  She blinks, long and slow. “Deployed?”

  I nod. “Yep. I head out in a couple of weeks for training, then I’m off to Bosnia for six months.”

  Laurie looks stunned, and I suddenly realize that this news may not be as exciting for her as it is for me. I need to make her understand. “Don’t you see, baby? This is fucking perfect. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the baby to be born. I’ll most likely be promoted when I get back, which means a raise in pay, and the best part is, I’ll get a big fat check when I return.”

  I can tell by the look on her face that she still doesn’t get it. “We won’t have money issues anymore, Laurie. It’s already falling into place. Don’t you see?”

  Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she studies me; then finally, she lets out a soft sigh and nods her head. That’s all the answer I need.

  My smile is so big, my face hurts. I hug her to me and place my hand on her belly. “You hear that, baby?” I ask. “Daddy’s going to make sure you have everything you could ever want. You’re going to be the luckiest baby in the world.”

  Anna

  Butting out the joint on an empty pop can, I step away from the bathroom window and fan the air to help dispel the smoke. The bathroom is shrouded in a cloudy haze, and I watch in awe as it slowly slips into the outside air. The welcome feeling of floating has settled over me in such a way that I can no longer feel the pain he’d inflicted on me last night.

  I move toward the mirror and stare back at my reflection. My eyes are bright, pupils large and round, obscuring almost every part of the blue iris. The dark circles underneath are a shocking contrast against my pale skin. My dark hair is twisted up in a dishevelled bun at the top of my head, and my cheeks are more sunken that I ever remember seeing them before. This is what that son of a bitch has reduced me to.

  “Anna!” The loud banging on the door nearly causes me to jump out of my skin. “Anna, I have to pee!”

  “Be right out,” I call to my sister. Charlotte is only twelve years old, and one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever known. I would do anything for her. I do do anything for her. In fact, lately, it seems that everything I do is for her.

  Slowly, I unzip my sweater and slide the material off my shoulders, allowing it to pool around my wrists as I stare at my reflection. In a tank top, the bruises are unmistakeable. Dark, huge, finger-shaped bruises that never get a chance to fade before a fresh set are put in their place. I hate the bruises. I hate my body. I hate him.

  “Anna, I mean it! I really gotta pee.” Another round of pounding on the door is enough to get me moving. Righting my sweater, I zip it back up, hiding my marred skin beneath the soft warm plush. For good measure, I snatch up a nearby can of air freshener and give the room a heavy dose of potpourri before opening up the door.

  Charlotte charges past me and turns, shoving me out of the room, closing and locking the door behind me. I’m about to walk back to my bedroom when I remember the empty pop can, covered in ashes, that I had forgotten on the window ledge. Nibbling on my lower lip, I stand in the hall, staring at the closed door, praying that my sister just does her business and leaves, none the wiser.

  I listen to the sounds of the toilet flushing and Charlotte’s footsteps shuffling to the sink. Hearing her washing her hands, I back away as she approaches the door. When it opens, there stands Charlotte, pop can in hand, an angry look twisting her young freckled face.

  “You forgot something,” she says angrily, thrusting the can out toward me. “Why do you do this, Anna? You know it’s bad. You’re gonna get in trouble, and you’re gonna upset Mom.”

  Snatching it from her, I curl my lip. “I don’t give a shit if I upset her. Why don’t you mind your own business for once in your goddamn life, Charlotte?”

  The wounded look on her face instantly makes me wish I could take back my words, but I don’t apologize. Instead, I turn and march toward my room, hating myself more with every step. I hate hurting my sister. I don’t know why I get so angry sometimes, but I wish more than anything I could make it stop. It’s not Charlotte’s fault. She doesn’t know; I’ve made sure she doesn’t know.

  The older she gets, the more she notices, and I’m finding it hard to hide who I have become from her. I wish more than anything we could go back to the Charlotte and Anna from when we were young. The Charlotte and Anna who used to watch movies together, color together, and play with Barbies on a blanket under the big oak tree out back together. Though Charlotte might be the same, that Anna is long gone. Dead, even.

  I open the drawer in my bedside table and look down at the razor nestled on a folded piece of paper towel. My belly twists as I think about what I’m about to do. I’ve been trying so hard to stop doing this, but I can’t. Cutting takes away just a little bit of the pain. It opens up a tiny slice in my otherwise perfect skin, and allows some of that agony to slip outside and give me just the teeniest bit of the relief I so desperately need.

  Reaching a shaking hand out, I pinch the blunt edge of the razor between my fingers. I’m just pulling it out of the drawer when there’s a soft knock on the door behind me. Startled, I drop it back in and slam the drawer shut.

  Stepping to the door, I pull it open and glare down at Charlotte, who looks miserable. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  My entire soul deflates. Why do I do this to her? My arms fly out and I wrap them around her, pulling her tiny body to mine. I press a kiss to the top of her head and squeeze her with every ounce of love I can muster. “I’m sorry too. And you’re right, I shouldn’t be doing that stuff.”

  “Why do you do it, Anna?” she whispers, her voice full of sadness.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back. But I do. I do know.

  I do it so that she doesn’t have to. I do it to numb the pain of what my life has become. I do it to keep my sanity. I do it because I live in a world that isn’t fair; a world without hope. I do it because I hate myself. I can never tell her why I do it. I could never hurt her like that.

  “I’ll stop, okay?” I say, still holding her tight. I feel the nod of her head against my shoulder and squeeze her even tighter. “I won’t do it anymore.” But I’m lying. Charlotte is too young to see it, but I’m lying through my teeth. I just want her to keep loving me, because if Charlotte didn’t love me, then nobody would, and there would be no need for me to exist anymore.

  Reaper

  I accept the glass of iced tea, nodding my thanks and turning my attention back out to the yard where Bosco and two other prospects are hard at work, cutting the grass and weeding the flowerbeds.

  “Thank you again for doing this, Lucas. I just can’t get down on my knees to garden like I used to anymore,” she says, taking the seat on the chair beside me.

  I glance over and hold her eyes. “You’re family, Sharon. This is the kind of shit we do for family. No thanks needed.”

  Sharon smiles and reaches over, placing her hand on mine and squeezing. “You’re a good boy, Lucas. And I’m grateful all the same.”

  I nod and take a sip of my tea. Settling back in my seat, I enjoy the serenity of the old farm. From the very first time I’d come here as a teenager, I’d loved this old house. It’s set back from the gravel road, far from the city. The only sounds to cut through the air on a summer day come from the birds at the feeders, and the heat bugs in the fields surrounding the property.

  It hasn’t been a working farm in years; not since Sharon’s husband died seven years ago. She’d kept chickens for a while, but last year, she’d finally given them up too, unable to keep up with the work that went into them. To be honest, I was glad when she got rid of t
hem. In the summer months, it was no big deal, but in the winter, I often worried about her slipping on the ice and hurting herself as she trekked out to the coop.

  “I’ve got something to tell you, Lucas, and it’s not going to make you very happy.” My eyes meet hers, and I know what she’s going to say before she even says it. “I got a call from Laurie the other day.”

  I let my eyes fall closed and try to tamp down the anger I feel at the very mention of that woman’s name. Laurie Welland; my ex-wife. I haven’t been in the same room as her in almost fifteen years, and fifteen more would be too soon.

  “How much did she want this time?” I ask, trying to mask the growl in my voice.

  “Eleven hundred dollars,” she says softly.

  “Jesus,” I mutter. “What did you tell her?”

  “The truth.” Sharon sits forward and sets her iced tea on the railing of the wraparound porch. “I don’t have eleven hundred dollars to pay my own bills, let alone to just give to her.”

  She sits back in her chair, her eyes searching mine, likely trying to figure out what’s going through my head. She doesn’t want to know. Sharon is too kind-hearted to know just what I’m thinking about the woman she gave birth to. Her daughter is a con artist—a freeloader. A scammer worthy of every ounce of my hatred, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how she can be blood related to the hard-working, moral and honest woman sitting in front of me.

  “Are you in trouble, Sharon?” I hate asking. I know that her pride will never allow her to give me an honest answer, but I don’t like the thought of her struggling. How could she be? Her late-husband and her had worked too hard all their lives for her to be in financial trouble now, unless she’s been dishing out extra money I didn’t know about to that ungrateful bitch.

  Sharon gives me a tight smile. “Now, you know better than to ask a lady about her financial status.” She leans forward and pats my hand. “I’ll be just fine. I don’t need much to keep me going out here.” Her sad eyes turn back toward the men in her yard. “I know that Laurie hurt you. She hurt me too, but she’s still my daughter. I can’t bear the thought of her on the streets with no money.” A tear slides down her cheek, but she doesn’t look at me. “I’m worried about her, Lucas.”