Reaper (Kings of Korruption MC Book 4)

by Geri Glenn

  Priscilla meows again, and I still hear nothing from inside, so I try the door, only to find it locked. As much as it bothers me, Sharon has always insisted on keeping a spare house key inside of a little fake rock in the front flower bed. She said that Laurie would know where to look for it if she ever needed to come home. Always looking out for her daughter.

  I go down and search out the fake rock, which isn’t hard to find. It’s the only one with an obvious seam around it from the plastic mold it had come from, just one of the reasons I hated this placement of her spare key. As I slide the key in the lock, I send up a silent prayer to the God my grandmother had taught me so much about as a kid and push the door open. It creaks heavily on its hinges, but no other sound comes from inside the house.

  It’s barely seven o’clock in the evening; too early for bed, and too late for a nap. Where is she? “Hello?” I call out, but the only sound is Priscilla’s fat ass running up the stairs, sounding more like a Rottweiler than a fluffy cat. “Sharon?”

  I walk into the kitchen, but nobody’s there. There are no dishes in the sink, no coffee in the coffee pot, and no music coming from the small radio on top of the fridge that is always turned to the local country music station. A quick tour of the main floor proves to be just as deserted.

  I pause at the bottom of the stairs and look up. Priscilla sits at the top, her cat eyes trained on me, her tail flicking back and forth in front of her. She lets out another wail and turns to run down the hall. I take a deep breath and start climbing. With each step, my dread grows and my heartbeat thrums in my ears.

  At the top of the stairs, I look down the hall and once again, there’s Priscilla, sitting on the floor outside of Sharon’s bedroom door, her tail flicking, her meow turning to a wail. My feet feel like bricks as I walk toward the door. I knock first, but no sound comes from inside. I glance down at Priscilla and she’s standing now, ready to bolt inside the second I open it. I reach for the handle and turn it slowly, pushing the door open with my breath held.

  Sharon lays on the bed, feet on the floor, her body flopped to the side with her phone still in her hand. Her eyes are open, but there’s no life there. Not anymore. Her mouth is agape, her lips a strange blueish purple colour that stands out against the pale blue tinge of her skin.

  I don’t move for several seconds. Priscilla jumps onto the bed and nudges her head up against Sharon’s hand, a low keening noise coming from her furry body. Ever since my grandmother died, Sharon has been the only family I’ve had left in this world, and staring at her lifeless body, I feel helpless for the first time in a very long time.

  Anna

  It’s after midnight when Reaper walks into the bar, his shoulders slumped and his face looking…sad? He’s not exactly a man of many expressions, so it’s hard for me to tell, but I know him well enough to know that something is seriously wrong. He walks right up to the counter, his gaze boring into the man at the barstool beside him. That man takes one look at Reaper and hauls ass to the other side of the room. Reaper takes a seat at the barstool and holds a finger up for me to get him a beer.

  I grab a glass and pull a draft from the tap, my eyes flicking between my task and him as the golden liquid rises higher. “You’re early,” I say softly as I place the beer in front of him.

  He doesn’t answer. He just tips the glass and drains it in a few gulps, his eyes staring right through me. When he’s finished, he wipes the foam from around his lips and puts the glass on the bar top, motioning for another.

  I fill his glass again and set it down in front of him, and he tips that one back too, though he only drains half before setting it on the bar. “Everything okay, Reaper?” I ask, even though I know I’m the last person he’d confide in.

  Reaper runs a hand over his forehead and shakes his head. “No.”

  “You want to talk about it?” As a bartender, I get to hear the problems of all kinds of people, and it usually drives me crazy. I’ve got my own issues, so hearing about theirs is depressing as hell, but Reaper’s different. I want to know what’s eating at him.

  “No,” is all he says before draining the other half of his beer, motioning once again for another.

  I fill it up and leave him to it, going about my business, serving customers and mixing drinks. I feel Reaper’s eyes on me as I work, but every time I look over, he’s just staring into his glass with a ‘leave me alone’ aura emanating from every pore.

  I serve him a fourth glass without a word, but I’m starting to wonder if I should call Ryker. There’s no way Reaper can drive me home after having that much to drink. I’m sure it takes way more to get a giant like him drunk, but if the cops pull him over, they’d have grounds to hold him, and I know that’s the last thing any of the Kings need right now.

  When I hand him the fifth glass, I finally work up the courage to speak to him again. “You want me to call Ryker?” There’s still over an hour left of my shift, and if Reaper keeps this up, he’ll need a ride home himself.

  He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, hard, like he’s trying to figure me out. Finally, he shakes his head. “You know how to drive a motorcycle, Anna?”

  I do, a little. Knox had taken me out a couple times and let me drive his, but always in a big parking lot, never on a street with actual traffic signs and pedestrians to run over. “Kind of?” I say, the words coming out more like a question than a confidence inducing answer.

  “Tell you what,” he says. “You keep the tap flowin’, and I’ll let you drive my ride.”

  I stare back at him, not sure if I’d heard him right. Guys like Reaper don’t ever let women drive their motorcycles. It’s like, against biker code or something. The intensity in his eyes has me nodding my head and leaving him to drown his thoughts in amber liquid. It bothers me to see him so upset.

  The Reaper I know has two moods—pissed at the world and ready to kill, or relaxed and calm, but always watching. This mood is not one I’ve seen before, and I don’t know how to deal with this version of him.

  For the rest of my shift, I do my best to clean up between customers, anxious to get out of here as early as possible. I keep the beer flowing in Reaper’s direction and shrug my shoulders when Jake shoots me a questioning look. He’s just as curious as I am. I’ve seen Reaper have a drink here and there, but I’ve never seen him like this, like he’s on a mission to drink himself into oblivion.

  By the time the bar is empty and tidied up for the next shift, Reaper’s swaying slightly in his seat, his elbow to the bar, his head in his hand. I grab my purse and walk around until I’m standing behind him. “You ready?”

  He turns and stares at me, his eyes all squinty in a way that shouldn’t look adorable on a big long-haired biker, but somehow it does. “I can’t figure you out,” he says.

  I don’t hide my surprise. “Likewise.”

  “Who? Me?” he asks, jabbing his thumb at his chest. “I’m an open fucking book, Sunshine. You’re the one with secrets.”

  My heart falls at those words. I glance up at Jake, who’s standing by the door, waiting to lock up behind us when we leave. “Come on,” I say, changing the subject. “Let’s get you home.”

  He stands and walks beside me as we head outside. He sways a little, but his footing is fine. I just hope he doesn’t sway while we’re on the road. With his size, I’d wreck us for sure. He grabs his helmet and pulls it on, fiddling a little with the chin strap. As I put mine on, he reaches out a finger and points at me.

  “You can’t wear that fuckin’ shirt anymore.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  “When you wear that shirt, I can’t stop starin’ at your goddamn tits, and neither could anyone else with a dick in there tonight.”

  “The tips are good when I wear it, though,” I say with a laugh.

  “I bet,” he grumbles and hands me the keys.

  Reaper

  I’ve never allowed a woman to drive my ride anywhere, but as I settle onto the seat behind Anna and wrap my arms ar
ound her tiny waist, I wonder why. She’s soft in all the right places, and even though I can smell the remnants of the bar on her, the scent of something fruity drifts up from the hair cascading from beneath her helmet and reaches my nose.

  I haven’t been this drunk in a long time, and the feel of Anna’s body only distracts me until we start moving. That’s when my concentration goes to keeping my ass on the bike and not dumping us on the road, or passing out.

  As we drive, the vision of Sharon’s cold body draped across her bed floods my memory, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed to forget about it. My time as a medic in the army had brought along its fair share of memory flashes and dead bodies, all of them in much worse shape than Sharon had been, but not fucking one of them had gutted me the way hers did.

  The paramedics that had come for her had said it was likely a heart attack that took her, but that an autopsy would tell them more. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t her next of kin, so they weren’t going to tell me shit, even if they did find something. Hell, I wasn’t related to her at all anymore, technically speaking. To them, I was nothing to Sharon, even though in many ways, she had been all I had left, aside from the club. All because of Laurie.

  The bike slows then, pulling me from my wallowing, and I hold on as Anna tries to park it. It lurches forward a couple times and ends up on an angle, but she does a decent job. She sits still as silence fills the night, and waits for me to climb off.

  I have to hold her shoulders to keep from landing on my ass, but eventually, I manage a dismount that I thank fuck none of my buddies can see. I’d never hear the end of it.

  Anna climbs off after me and stashes her helmet in the saddlebag. The world spins around me as I stare back at her. Fuck, I really am wasted.

  “I’ll just call a cab,” she says, pulling out her phone and sliding her thumb along the screen.

  “I found my mother-in-law dead in her bedroom tonight,” I say, not sure why I’m even telling her this.

  Her thumb stops moving and her lips form a tiny O shape as she gapes up at me. “Oh, my God. That’s terrible! What happened?”

  “Don’t know.” I sigh, swaying a little on my feet. “And they likely won’t tell me ’cause technically, I ain’t even her family anymore.”

  Anna stashes her phone back inside her purse and moves up beside me. She lifts my arm and fits her tiny body into the side of mine, draping my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you inside,” she says softly.

  I don’t argue with her. To be honest, I’m barely able to stand as it is, and all I want to do is fall into bed and get the vision of Sharon’s face disappearing behind the closing zipper of the black body bag out of my head. Anna bears most of my weight as we move toward the front door. She tries several keys before finding the right one, but finally manages to get the door open.

  “Which one’s yours?” she asks, her voice strained as she struggles to hold me upright and get us down the hall.

  “First one.”

  Together, we struggle to the bed, Anna’s knees threatening to buckle under my weight. I have a hundred pounds on her, easy. When we reach it, she removes my arm from around her neck and I flop down on the bed with a thump, right on top of the blankets.

  I feel Anna at my feet and open my eyes a crack to see her unlacing my boots. She looks up at me a tilts her head to one side. “When were you married?” she asks, her voice soft and curious.

  Normally, I’d tell her to go fuck herself and mind her own business, but not tonight. Tonight, I feel empty. “Eighteen years ago, I married the first girl I ever loved. Lasted two and a half years, then she fucked everything up.”

  Anna pulls off one boot, then starts working on the lace of the second one, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip as she processes that information.

  “I went off to war, a married man with a baby on the way. Came home six months later to an empty house and an abortion receipt on the kitchen table.” Anna gasps and stops messing with my laces. “Bitch took off with one of my best friends two days before I got home. Cleaned me out too. Took fuckin’ everything.”

  Anna goes back to her task and slips my second boot off, dropping it on the floor beside her. “God, Reaper. That’s terrible.”

  I stare back at her, taking in the sincerity on her face. “Laurie was a liar and a cheater, and to this day, only looks out for number one. Today, though, she finally did it. She broke her own mother’s heart. Literally.”

  A tear slides down Anna’s cheek as she kneels at the foot of my bed. “I’m sorry, Reaper.”

  I shrug and let my eyes fall closed.

  The feeling of a warm blanket landing on me has me opening them a crack. Anna spreads the comforter over me and smiles softly, her hand coming up, as if to touch my cheek, but she stops. “Good night, Reaper.”

  She turns to leave, but I reach up, snagging her wrist in my hand. It’s so tiny, my fingers wrap all the way around it with room to spare. “Stay,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it, or even why I want her to, but I do. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I don’t want to lie in this empty bed, in this empty house, and think about how empty my life is.

  She hesitates, her eyes flicking from me to the empty side of my king-sized bed. I don’t know what she sees in my face that finally makes up her mind, but after just a few moments, she pulls her arm free and walks around to the other side and slips her own shoes off, dropping them to the floor.

  I watch in the dim light filtering through the window as she climbs in beside me, lifting the blanket and settling under it. I stare at her shadowy outline in the darkness, then reach for her, pulling her to me, adjusting her arm under my neck and settling my head on her shoulder.

  Anna

  He cuddles. Reaper fucking cuddles. I lay in the darkness, his heavy body pressed against my side, his head resting on my shoulder, wondering how the hell I got here, in bed, with Reaper.

  I think about what he told me about his ex-wife aborting his baby, and taking off with his best friend. I think about him finding his mother-in-law, dead in her home. I think about his normally tough attitude and how for the first time, I can see through it, to the vulnerability he hides so effortlessly.

  Mindlessly, my fingers comb through his hair as his heavy breaths come in and out, rhythmic and deep. His hair is neither long, nor short, but trails down the nape of his neck, hitting his shoulders in a messy shag that I’m not so sure is so much deliberate as much as a lack of caring enough to get a haircut. It’s surprisingly soft and silky, and smells like Head & Shoulders shampoo.

  Eighteen years ago. That’s when he said he’d married his ex-wife. I have a hard time picturing Reaper as a young man. I mean, he’s not old now, but he’s always so serious. So angry. It’s hard to imagine him being young and carefree, and in love.

  What kind of woman aborts her own husband’s baby and leaves the receipt on the table to let him know? As the queen of poor choices, I try my hardest never to judge another human being based solely on their pasts, but I can’t think of a single reason that would ever be acceptable.

  I lay like that for over an hour, holding him to me, trying to ignore the tingling in my shoulder as it falls further into a numb sleep. My mind goes over and over what little I know of Reaper and his past, and I realize that maybe his hatred of me is because of his ex-wife. A woman like that would be enough to make any man bitter, and unable to trust anyone.

  The next thing I know, it’s morning, and I feel hot. Roasting, actually. The sun is shining through the window, it’s beam centered right on the bed, the birds chirping happily outside. I’m still in Reaper’s bed, but we’ve adjusted our positions sometime during the night. I’m on my side, my knees drawn up to my chest and a warm heat at my back. Reaper’s behind me, his body a raging furnace that’s curled around mine, his arm draped over my waist, his knees tucked up beneath mine.

  I can feel the beginnings of his morning erection pressing against the crack of my ass and close my eyes, trying my har
dest to ignore the wave of need that washes over me. He’s still sleeping, for God’s sake. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s barely eight o’clock in the morning. I have nowhere to be, and I’m still exhausted.

  I force my eyes closed once again and will myself back to sleep. Reaper groans a little from behind me, his body stretching slightly, forcing his erection harder against my behind. His steady breathing stops, and I hear him suck in air as his body freezes. He’s awake now too.

  I lie as still as I can, hoping he’ll think I’m still asleep. His arm across my waist tightens and my eyes pop open. His hand rests against my belly, his fingertip slipping under the hem of my T-shirt. I don’t say anything as my heart knocks against the wall of my chest so loud, I’m sure even he can hear it.

  Slowly, he flexes his hips, pressing his cock against my ass once more, and his fingertip under my shirt moves aside to make room for the palm of his hand. It’s hot against my bare belly, but the heat pools even lower south.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice a rumbly whisper in my ear.

  Is it? I’m not sure. I lay beneath his hand, my mind racing, trying to come up with a clear thought or justification of what we’re about to do. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man, and never with one that both scares me and turns me on quite like Reaper does. Before my head comes to a decision, my body answers for me.

  I rock my hips a little, my ass brushing against his cock, the zipper of his jeans stretched tight beneath his erection. His face lands in the crook of my neck, his lips and tongue sliding against my skin as his palm comes up, meeting the underside of my bra.

  Oh, God. What am I doing?