by A. J. Downey
“Nope. Don’t bother contacting her again either, you do and you’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of it. Nope, not a threat, just a very real promise there Junior.” He ended the call and looked me over.
“Yeah, fuck. No more of this,” he said and held up my phone. I reached for it and he turned and flung it in a high sweeping arch into the surf. I blinked, open mouthed at the shiny glint of a splash the phone made as it entered the water.
“Are you serious!?” I cried and rounded on him, “Do you know how much that thing cost!?”
“Buy you a new one later Sweetheart.”
“Not good enough! All of my clients were in there! My calendar! Oh my god why couldn’t you have just turned it off!? What is the matter with you!?” I railed at him. He simply stood there impassively, a slightly bored expression on his face.
“Your clients will reach out to you. If I just turned it off you’d find it and turn it on again and I’m not going to let you torture yourself over the next four days. Between that douchebag and your mother you would seriously lose your shit. As for what’s the matter with me? Good question. When you figure it out will you let me know?” and then the bastard grinned. My jaw dropped incredulous at his audacity and his smile got bigger.
“You’re fucking unbelievable!” I shouted.
“Oooo such a dirty mouth. I like it,” he said.
I turned around and gave him my back, staring out to where my phone had gone in the drink.
“Hayden,” he said and I turned, the serious look on his face jolted me a bit.
“Stop Baby. It’s a phone. Just stop obsessing, stop stressing; stop worrying. I brought you out here to get you some distance. Put some healing on yourself. You only got a few days and you gotta go back to it. I can’t protect you from it forever, though Lord knows I would if I could.” I blinked at him, speechless and before I could stop myself the question was out of my mouth.
“Why?” I asked.
Reaver simply smiled a mysterious little Mona Lisa smile and lifted a shoulder in an indelicate shrug. I swallowed. It was about this time I realized he was shirtless wearing only a pair of brown, cut off, cargo shorts that fell just below his knees. The hot sand could not be comfortable on his bare feet but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Come on, you need to eat breakfast,” he said gently.
“I’m not hungry,” I responded miserably.
He grasped me by the shoulders and turned me, propelling me back to the bed and breakfast.
“Didn’t ask if you were hungry Baby. Don’t care. You need to eat something.” I really didn’t feel like eating but damn. Reaver was being so nice to me, taking a genuine interest and was trying to take care of me. It was so unexpected and so… confusing.
“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked him again as we trudged through the sand towards the B&B’s back gate.
“Because I can,” he said enigmatically. I sighed.
The dining table was set for six when we got inside and one other couple was already seated. Newlyweds by the look of things. I took a seat beside Reaver and tried not to look at them. They were leaned in over a tourist map and talking excitedly about what to do first.
“Ah there you are!” The hostess set a platter of pancakes on the table and I tried not to wince.
“Did you sleep okay?” It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me.
“What?” I asked and blinked, “Oh, yes!” I tried a smile and it felt so artificial I abandoned the effort pretty quickly. The hostess gave me a sympathetic look and blinked at Reaver.
“Mr. Butler, may I please impose upon you a little and ask that you put on a shirt at the table?” she asked gently, not a single note of admonishment in her tone.
“Yeah sure, and it’s Reaver. Be right back.” He got up and took the stairs two at a time. The couple across from where we were seated looked up from their map and after Reaver blinking.
“That’s your husband?” the woman asked and I grimaced.
“No…” I said softly but didn’t expand on things. The hostess gave me a sympathetic look. Reaver came back to the table and I looked at him curiously.
“So your last name is Butler?” I asked him. He scowled at me, his blue eyes gone wintery and predatory. He didn’t say anything, just started loading his plate.
“Wait until I tell Ashton,” I said and smiled a real smile this time, albeit impish. His eyes thawed just a little.
“You tell Sunshine, I can’t promise I won’t retaliate in horrible ways,” he said and the way he said it had my toes curling under the table. Not in an ‘oh my god that was so hot’ way but more like an ‘I feel like I’m five years old’ almost exactly like the time I spilled almost all of my daddy’s expensive cologne. Rich upper crust family or not, I’d had to pick my own switch off one of the orchard trees that day. I grimaced at the memory. Not so much at the memories of the licks I’d taken but more that I disappointed my father. I turned my head and looked out the windows my eyes misting with fresh tears.
I still didn’t know what I’d done… but I felt fresh awful well up at the sharp memory of my mother’s words the day before… of how I had disappointed my daddy all over again by driving Andy away. Gentle fingertips grazed my chin and I looked up into steady blue eyes the color of the sky outside. As warm as I had ever seen Reaver’s eyes get.
“Eat something. Try not to think about it right now,” he urged gently and the couple across from us exchanged looks. I nodded and wiped at my eyes and tried a bite of pancake.
“Eat some protein,” Reaver ordered and after I swallowed the pancake I took a bite of eggs. He smiled.
“I’m Marcy,” the woman said and I smiled, but it was weak. She was tan and tall and thin with brown hair and kind brown eyes. She wore an aqua colored sundress that looked lovely on her figure.
“Hayden,” I said and complimented her on her dress.
“Aww thank you! This is my husband Tom,” she said.
“Nice to meet you,” Tom said and took a bite of bacon. He was handsome, blonde haired and brown eyed and filled out his red and white striped Rugby shirt like he might actually play.
“Reaver,” Reaver said by way of introduction and took a bite of food.
“I don’t want to sound rude but what kind of name is Reaver?” Marcy asked and she looked apologetic.
“Road name,” he answered shortly and I elbowed him in the ribs. He put a hand on my knee and before I could figure out what he was up to he squeezed in a place that shot pain through the joint. I jumped and yelped and remembered him doing it on the bike. I slapped his shoulder and scowled at him. He grinned feral at me.
“I take it the bike outside belongs to you then?” Tom asked.
“Yep,” Reaver answered and eyed him speculatively.
“Oh my God Reaver stop being rude!” I snapped and he looked at me.
“I apologize, apparently social interaction isn’t the caveman biker’s strong suit,” I said, getting thoroughly annoyed. Reaver barked a laugh.
“Yeah, what she said,” he said grinning, “Sorry man.” There was a lull in conversation.
“What is it?” Marcy asked curiously.
“What’s what?” Reaver asked.
“Your motor cycle. What is it?” she clarified. Reaver beamed at her.
“Baby is a 2011 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic.” He answered with pride.
“Oh, it is a Harley?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“How come it doesn’t have any logos on it?” she asked. Reaver shrugged.
“I laid her once doing some stupid shit,” he shrugged as he said it. “When I got her fixed I got her skin repainted the glossy black and decided I liked her better with no logos so I kept it,” he smiled and gave another one shouldered shrug and shoveled some more eggs into his mouth. He shot me a sideways look and raised an eyebrow. I took another bite of food reading the look clearly.
“Where you all from?” Tom asked. I opened my mouth
and Reaver cut me off before I could answer.
“Around eight, nine hours north,” he said. I looked at him. That could be anywhere! He gave me a cool appraising look that said he had his reasons and I let it go. I drank some orange juice.
“I got to take this,” he said and I looked at him. He pulled his cell from his pocket and sure enough it was buzzing. He answered it with, “What have you got Prez?” and wandered a short distance away.
“Yeeeah got in towards evening, she was falling asleep on the back of the bike. Didn’t even think about it, came riding onto their turf flying colors with no heads up…” He sounded rueful, someone, I assumed Dragon, was speaking on the other end of the line.
“I figured I was seen when I saw you was callin’ They take it the wrong way?” he asked.
“Shit. Best get ahead of it before shit goes sideways. Who do I need to go talk to?” He asked.
“Seriously? Who the hell is a Kraken?” he asked and Marcy looked up.
“A Kraken is a mythical creature in seafarer lore. It was said when a ship was lost inexplicably at sea it was taken by the Kraken, a giant squid like beast. All aboard were then committed to Davey Jones’ locker. He was said to be a frightening figure, akin to death.” She smiled, Reaver had turned around and was looking at her blankly. The voice buzzed out of his phone…
“Just got a lesson on what a Kraken is and who the fuck Davey Jones is… Kind of bad ass, but still who the hell names their MC after a giant squid?” Dragon’s familiar laugh boomed out of the cellphone.
“Who the fuck cares Reaver just make it right!” we heard all the way over at the table and I swallowed hard, feeling a little guilty. I had an inkling about how dangerous and cutthroat the world of motorcycle gangs could be a little over a year ago. I’d provided Ashton with a safe place to stay and helped with an alibi for Reaver and Ashton’s man Trigger as well as some other Sacred Hearts members when Ashton’s husband had committed suicide.
I looked at Reaver. It was easy to forget with his typically easy smile and laughing affectation that he’d killed at least one man that I knew of. Granted that man had deserved it. I still couldn’t ever shake the images of the bruises staining Ashton’s slightly smaller body. They’d made her look so frail.
Reaver’s eyes were on mine when he said, “Got it boss,” and hung up the phone. I instantly felt lousy with guilt. Had him bringing me here gotten him in trouble? Would these people hurt him?
“Do you want me to go with you?” I asked.
“Not only no but Hell no. I got it handled.” He dropped into his seat to finish his breakfast.
Marcy and Tom exchanged a look and looked Reaver over. He smiled his most disarming smile and reached for the bacon. Ten minutes later he came down the stairs dressed to ride. I looked him over. He’d traded the shorts for jeans and a white tee shirt. His white Adidas were on and he left off his jacket and simply wore his vest, or cut over the tee.
I looked the vest over. On the left side it had a small patch that said ‘Sacred Hearts’ blue on a white background up on the breast, below that was a bar of a patch with our state on it. On the same side, a patch they called a ‘rocker’ splayed out along his ribs, the patch was dirty and white with big blue letters spaced evenly that said S.H.M.C. which, of course stood for Sacred Heart’s Motorcycle Club.
On the opposite side of the vest there were two small patches up on the breast that matched the left side in size and shape except the top one read ‘Reaver’ and the bottom ‘Treasurer’. Below them, neatly ironed and stitched on were six switchblade knife patches in a neat row. The one at the bottom ragged, but markedly newer than the rest.
That one, I was pretty sure, belonged to Chadwick. Dray had one put on his vest around the same time, though his patch was of a modern looking assault rifle. Either way, they meant the same thing. The men had killed for the club. Reaver had told me when I’d asked one night when we’d all been out drinking.
The stillness that radiated from his eyes, which had iced over at the question, had left me breathless and frightened… which had strangely warmed his expression with a very different but no less primal heat, that in some ways had thrilled me, and in others terrified me even more.
It was never boring around Reaver. That was for sure.
The rocker below the switchblade patches bore the geographical location of where his chapter was located and a square patch below that bore the letters SHFFSH, which meant Sacred Hearts Forever, Forever Sacred Hearts.
He smoothed down his hair along the top of his skull, between his eyes and I sighed inwardly. After a year of knowing him I knew his tick for being agitated or nervous and that was it. He picked up his coffee cup and slugged the rest of it back. Marcy and Tom were staring at his vest unabashedly.
Truth be told, the back may have fewer patches, but I always found it to be the most impressive. The top rocker proclaiming the name of the club loud and proud, white background, dark blue letters like the patches on the front.
Below it though, set on a white circle was a red human heart veined in blue. The heart was wreathed in silver barbed wire and the valves of the heart morphed from tissue to steel tailpipes which spewed fire, hovering over the image in a bastardized version of the Catholic’s sacred heart of Jesus. Beside the disc that the rough and tumble men called the club’s ‘colors’, on the right, was a square patch, white that bore the letters MC in thick letters in the same blue script as the top and bottom rockers.
Of course the bottom rocker on the back of the vest also declared where Reaver came from, all though I had seen some men bear the word ‘Nomad’ on their bottom rockers. I always thought it was sort of neat that the clubs colors were red white and blue.
“C’mere,” Reaver said and I went to him. He led me out front of the bed and breakfast out of earshot of the other couple.
“Might come back with a bit of an ass whoopin’ on me, might not. Depends on my winning personality.” He grinned and I felt myself frown.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly.
“You look worried,” he said.
“Of course I’m worried,” I said and he touched a finger to my lips to hush me. My lip tingled from the touch and I closed my eyes.
“I also need you to know that whatever does happen, it’s through no fault but my own.” I opened my mouth to speak and he fixed me with a stern look.
“Stop,” he said and the one word was full of steel.
“No one’s fault but my own,” he repeated, and when I didn’t speak he dipped to meet my gaze with his.
“You get me?” he demanded. I searched his face and finally gave him what he wanted to hear.
“Fine, I get you,” I said and it sounded petulant even to me.
“Do what you wanna do but stay close around here. I should be back by lunch if not, then by dinner. You got money?” he asked.
“Yes but without you here I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said.
“Bullshit, there’s plenty inside walking distance,” he said.
“You just told me to stay close to here!” I objected and he grinned.
“Good, wanted to make sure you were listening to me.” I glared up at him and suddenly felt way more tired than I ought to. Keeping up with Reaver’s thought patterns was maddening on a good day. The half cracked bastard.
“Be back soon,” he said and went down the steps and got on his Harley. He put on his helmet, didn’t bother with the chinstrap and checked his phone before sliding in into an inside pocket of his vest.
He gave a wave and pulled out of the old brick circular drive and I watched the fade of his tail light as he went below the shade trees and out into the street.
“He’s a character,” Marcy commented dryly from behind me.
I made a noise of agreement and went back up to our room to lay down. I suddenly had a headache and no interest in social interaction of any kind. All I wanted was a nap…
Chapter 3
Reaver…
/> I found the club house for the Kraken’s fairly easily. The town wasn’t that friggin’ big and once I saw the bikes it wasn’t that tough to deduce this was them. Their clubhouse wasn’t much to speak of as far as club houses go. Just a hole in the wall bar that I was pretty sure more than one unsuspecting tourist had stumbled into. Likely they were made so uncomfortable with scowls and looks they quickly finished their drinks and GTFO’ed. Actually looked like some fun times.
I parked out front and set Baby apart from the rest of the bikes so as not to step on any toes and took off my helmet. I smoothed my hair down and got off the bike, nodding to a prospect keeping watch over the bikes just outside the door. He gave me an unreadable look from behind the fiery orange and red lenses of his black framed wraparound sunglasses.
“Sup? Boss man in?” I asked him.
The man was older, maybe late forties early fifties with a salt and pepper handlebar mustache. Jeans and black chaps, black tee with the sleeves cut off. Beefy motherfucker with his arms crossed over his broad chest and ample beer gut. He had on a black do-rag of the faded, thicker material and screamed ‘do not fuck with me’ by the set of his body language alone. I found it odd that for a dude who looked like he’d been there and fucking done that, that he’d be prospecting at his age.
He jerked his head behind him indicating the man I sought could be found inside.
“Thanks,” I said and barely kept my smartass in check. What I’d really wanted to say was ‘Thanks, Silent Bob,’ but I really didn’t feel like taking a bunch of these m’fer’s out. Pissin’ off their MC, pissin’ off my MC and comin’ back and putting a worry on Hayden wasn’t on my list of priorities for the day. So I went into the dimly lit interior of the bar and peeled off my own sunglasses, putting them around the back of my head for later. I was stopped by a hand in my chest just inside the door.
Oh, so they wanted to play it this way? Okay, I was cool. I assumed the position, arms out, feet shoulder width apart and submitted to their pat down and wouldn’t you know it? They missed every single damned one of my blades and I carried a lot of fucking hardware.
