Rome's Chance: A Reapers MC Novella

by Joanna Wylde

  Fuckin’ adorable.

  Back then, she was sheltered. Her mom had been out partying every night, but Randi spent all her time working and taking care of her little brothers and sister. I’d decided to move slow. Let her get comfortable—not to mention well and truly hooked—before closing the trap.

  And once I trapped her, I’d planned to keep her.

  Then the fires came, and I’d had to fight to save my valley. When she evacuated, I’d felt nothing but relief. That summer was pure hell. New fires exploded around us daily, until the skies were black and the ashes fell like snow. It was no place for a girl like Randi.

  Hell, it was no place for humans, period.

  It took real snow falling to put out the last of the fires, and by then it was too late. She hadn’t just evacuated—they’d moved to Missoula, and Randi had started school there. I was a selfish bastard, no doubt, but not even I was selfish enough to fuck that up for her.

  Still…there’d always been a part of me that’d wondered what might’ve happened if I hadn’t been so careful. I could’ve fucked Randi the night of the party, easy. Not only was she primed and ready to go, she didn’t have the experience to hide it. When she’d smiled at me over her red Solo cup, it took everything I had not to drag her out past the firelight and spread her right there on the ground.

  A few days later, I’d picked her up for our one and only date. She’d climbed onto the back of my bike and then sat there, trying to figure out how to hold on without touching me too much. Sweet and shy. Then I’d felt her tits against my back when she realized not touching wasn’t one of the options. Nearly blew my wad when her fingers spread across my stomach, yet I’d still dropped her off practically untouched.

  Fucking idiot.

  Now I had another chance, and I’d learned my lesson. Randi wouldn’t be ending the night safe in her own bed.

  My balls tightened at the thought.

  Deepening the kiss, I reached down and caught her leg, wrapping it up and around my hip. Better. My cock begged for more. Randi was all in, one hand clenching in my hair and the other fumbling at my waist. Then her hand slid up under my shirt, fingernails digging into my back. My hips thrust against her stomach. Christ. This was close, but not enough.

  She was too short for me to hit the target.

  It only took a second to boost her up against the wall. Both her legs wrapped around my waist, and finally my dick found the right place. All of her heat and warmth cradled my hips, just waiting to be fucked. In a perfect world, she’d have worn a skirt. Then I could’ve ripped open my fly, shoved aside her panties, and banged her on the spot. The bar was dark and nobody was paying attention to us.

  I knew more than one guy who’d gotten his rocks off in here.

  But once again, I’d been stupid. I’d wanted to take her on my bike, and now her perfect cunt was locked up behind a pair of jeans. Pure torture. Grinding into her gave me some relief, but nowhere near enough. I wanted—no, needed—to get inside. Had I ever been this hard before?

  I couldn’t remember—probably because my brain was suffering from a very serious blood shortage.

  Suddenly Randi’s mouth pulled away from mine. For an instant, I thought it was over. Then her head pushed back against the wall and her eyes closed. Her nails dug deep into my back, and her other hand all but ripped my hair out by the roots.

  Holy shit.

  She was gonna come.

  Sweet little Randi Whittaker was going to cream her pants right here against the wall of the Starkwood Saloon. Not only was God real, he obviously loved me, because the look on her face was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life. My balls tightened, and my dick hurt like a motherfucker.

  This dry humping shit wasn’t gonna cut it.

  I’d been patient enough. Time for the main event. I’d carry her out the back door and fuck her in the parking lot. Yeah. That’d work. But I had to wait a little longer, because I wanted to see the looked on her face when she came.

  Randi started panting, eyelashes fluttering as I pumped upward, scraping the length of my jeans-covered cock over her clit. Somewhere behind us there was music. People were drinking and dancing. There was a whole world of life outside our little circle of darkness.

  None of it mattered, though, because in that moment, Randi shuddered and her entire body went stiff. Her neck arched back and her eyes closed. She moaned, and my cock throbbed.

  Then pain exploded down my back with a crash.

  My body slammed into Randi’s. It took a minute for my brain to shake the haze of lust, then I heard men shouting and chairs crashing all around us. Holy shit, had someone hit me with a chair?

  I dropped Randi, grabbing one arm to make sure she didn’t fall, and spun around to see what the hell was going on.

  Bad news.

  Dry fucking her against the wall had been good. Damned good. So good that I hadn’t even noticed that a full-on bar fight had started. The Reapers were right in the middle of it, too. Fuck.

  That little sister of hers had been right.

  I should’ve taken Randi somewhere nice, because this wasn’t going to end well.

  Not even a little bit.

  Chapter Three

  Randi

  I couldn’t figure out what’d happened.

  One minute I’d been having one of the most exciting sexual experiences of my life. The next my ribs were being crushed as Rome slammed into me. Then I was on my feet, trying to catch my breath, as people shouted all around us. The music had stopped. Thankfully, Rome’s big body formed a barrier between me and the rest of the room, because everyone else in the place had lost their minds.

  For an instant, I thought maybe I’d be safe behind him. Then some guy in a cowboy hat launched toward us, fists flying. I don’t know what I expected, maybe that Rome would start punching him—you know, like they always do in movies—but instead he ducked, then started dragging me toward the bar. More shouting. I saw a man lift a chair and slam it down against another guy’s back from behind. The poor bastard went down hard, so hard that his head literally bounced on the floor. He couldn’t even get his hands up in time to break the fall.

  This definitely wasn’t a movie.

  I needed to get the hell out of here. Now.

  Rome didn’t need to drag me any more—adrenaline had set in and sexy times were forgotten. My instincts said to run, and I wasn’t going to argue. Running wasn’t really possible, though, what with people and bottles and tables flying all around us.

  It felt like it took an hour just to get across the room, although it was probably just a few seconds. Nothing touched me. Every other step, he was pushing me to the side, standing over me, or slamming into someone to get them out of the way until we reached an opening at the far end of the bar. He shoved me down behind it, toward a group of women huddling under the safety of the ledge.

  “Stay here and keep your head down!” he said, catching my eyes to make sure I heard him. “I’ll be back soon.”

  With that, he left to wade back into the crowd.

  Someone wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I turned my head to find Tinker sitting next to me. Beyond her was another woman who’d been with the Reapers earlier. Peaches crouched just past them. I widened my eyes at my old classmate, shooting her a nonverbal, What the actual fuck?

  She rolled hers back at me and shrugged like it was no big deal, even as a bottle flew over the top of the bar, hitting the row of hard liquor on the shelf above. I ducked as booze and glass exploded all around us, covering my face.

  When I raised my head again, Peaches’ expression had changed. She’d gone from slightly exasperated to outraged. Apparently she didn’t mind a scuffle, but bottles breaking and booze on the floor pissed her off. Fair enough. Someone was going to have to clean up this mess, and the smart money was on her. She leaned over and grabbed a baseball bat, then stood up and took a swing at someone who must’ve been trying to climb over the bar.

  “Holy shit!” I said to
Tinker, terrified. “What the hell is going on?”

  “No idea. It’s our job to stay out of the way,” she replied firmly, and I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t freaking out. I mean, she didn’t look happy to be there, but she wasn’t in a state of raw panic, either. Me? I was getting there. Fast.

  Someone shouted, and suddenly Peaches jumped up onto the bar, standing tall as she yelled at the crowd, waving the bat menacingly.

  “I can’t believe this is happening!” I hissed at Tinker. The wooden bar sheltering us shuddered as a body slammed into it. Somewhere along the way, someone had turned on the bright overhead lights, and then a shotgun exploded, echoing through the building.

  We all froze. The distinctive sound of the gun being cocked again rang through the room—a clear threat. I tucked my head down and huddled close to Tinker. Peaches kept her stance on the bar, which scared me. She was an easy target up there, and now someone was shooting. Why the hell wasn’t she hiding with us?

  “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Time to end it!” a man shouted, his voice surprisingly calm. “Cops are coming, and the ambulance. If you were part of the fight, now’s the time to get out. You go fast enough, maybe you won’t get arrested. We know who you are, and we’ll be happy to help you find your way if you can’t remember where the door is. As for everyone else, we’ll have this cleaned up in about twenty minutes and get the band playing again. Thanks for your patience.”

  Peaches glanced down at us and winked. Tinker sighed, giving me an extra squeeze.

  “I guess we better make sure our men are still intact,” she said. “I so didn’t need this tonight.”

  I swallowed, wondering how she knew we were really safe.

  “What about the gun?”

  “Oh, that’s just Gus. He owns the bar,” she said, flashing me a quick smile. “Sometimes he likes to give people a little reminder of who’s in charge—don’t worry about it. He’s never actually shot anyone. Just the ceiling.”

  I swallowed, realizing that maybe I should’ve taken stories about the Starkwood Saloon a little more seriously.

  “Although I have to admit this seems a little worse than usual,” Tinker added, her face thoughtful. “Honestly—the fights are mostly small, and they tend to shut them down fast.”

  “You know all this and yet you still come here on purpose?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the situation. I’d just been in a bar fight. I’d had to hide for my own safety.

  On a date.

  That would be the same date where I dry humped a guy against the wall, I realized. In public. Oh my God. There were whole layers of fucked-upedness going on here.

  Beyond the bar, I heard the scrape of chairs and muttering as people started moving. Someone was crying, too, and I thought I heard a few moans of pain.

  “The club likes to hang out here,” Tinker replied. “And we always have a good time. Honestly—this only happens a couple times a year, and usually it’s not this bad. Somehow tonight got out of control fast.”

  “It’s safe now,” Peaches said, reaching down for my hand. She’d jumped off the bar without me noticing. “It was just some drunk cowboys fighting over a girl or something. All good. They’re hauling them out, and then we’ll get things cleaned up. The fight wasn’t as big as it felt. We were in the thick of it, so it seemed worse than it really was.”

  I took her hand and stood up slowly, turning to look around the room, wondering what’d happened to Rome. A chaotic mess of people moved toward the exits, some of them still looking pretty pissed off. About half the tables and chairs had been knocked down in the section right in front of us, surrounded by broken glass and spilled drinks.

  A clump of crying girls huddled against the back wall. Not far from where Rome had kissed me was a group of about ten men—maybe half of them bikers—surrounding something and speaking in low voices.

  Surprisingly, most of the people didn’t seem like they were in a hurry to get out. Quite a few were hanging out over by the patio door, drinking and watching as a couple of big guys who had to be bouncers talked to some angry-looking cowboys.

  They seemed to be encouraging them to leave quietly.

  The cowboys started moving to the door. They were almost out when one of them stopped and turned, snarling at some imagined insult from someone who’d been watching them. One of the Reapers stepped out of the crowd and crossed his arms, blocking the man’s way. For an instant I thought we might have another fight on our hands, but then another Reaper joined him, and the cowboy backed off.

  “Was the club part of the fight?” I asked Tinker as I searched for Rome’s familiar form. Where was he? Had he gotten hurt? Oh, God. I hoped he wasn’t hurt. My stomach twisted thinking about it.

  “The Reapers didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told me. “But they aren’t afraid of a fight, either. Gage and I were just dancing. Suddenly people started hitting each other, and he told me to hide back here. They don’t abandon each other in a fight, so I’m assuming he went back out to help one of the brothers.”

  The group of girls against the wall had started arguing. I looked over, wondering what their story was. Several wore short shorts with their ass cheeks hanging out, while the rest wore miniskirts. Plaid western shirts had been tied up around their bare tummies, and they had cheap boots that’d never seen any dirt. Fake blond hair and long red nails completed the picture.

  Buckle bunnies.

  They couldn’t seem to decide whether they should leave. Most of them clearly wanted to go, but one kept shaking her head. Tears ran down her face in long, black tracks of cheap mascara and she gestured toward the clump of men I’d noticed earlier.

  Peaches pushed past me and walked over to them purposefully, cutting off the argument and pointing toward the door.

  The girls shared nervous looks, then nodded and started for the exit. Peaches headed to the group of men next. I wondered how she was going to get past that high wall of male backs, but the girl wasn’t shy. Not even a little bit. She marched right up and poked one until he got out of her way. The rest parted for her like the Red Sea.

  “Ambulance is coming. Make room for the EMTs,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry across the room. They all started backing away, still muttering but clearly willing to cooperate. Now I could see what they’d been looking at—two men kneeling next to what had to be a body. One of them was big guy in a white T-shirt with dark hair. The other was Rome’s friend with the fire and rescue.

  For one horrifying minute, I thought someone had died. Not only that, I still hadn’t found Rome. My heart started speeding up as I narrowed my eyes, trying to see who was laid out on the floor. Calm down, I told myself sternly. It’s probably not him, but even if it is, panicking won’t make anyone’s life easier.

  The man on the floor groaned and moved his hand—he was alive. Oh, thank God. Breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding broke free. The big guy in the white shirt reached down, steadying his patient before looking up at Peaches.

  It was Rome.

  Relief flooded me. He’d taken off his MC colors, and his flannel shirt had somehow disappeared, but I didn’t see any bruises or blood. Peaches listened to him carefully, then turned and looked to the bar, catching my eye.

  “There’s a first aid kit under the counter in front of you,” she yelled. “Can you bring it over?”

  Thankful for a chance to do something useful, I ducked down, trying to find it.

  “There,” Tinker said, pointing to a bright orange box that’d been pushed toward the back of a shelf. Grabbing it, I stepped out from the bar and headed for Rome.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing it over. He reached for it, his face absolutely focused as he opened the kit and pulled out a roll of bandages. The poor man on the floor was blinking up at the lights, looking confused. With a start, I realized that I recognized him from the fight—it was the guy who’d gotten hit with the chair.

  I’d literally watched his hea
d bouncing off the floor.

  There were a couple of flannel shirts balled up and braced on either side of his head. One was Rome’s, I realized. I wondered why he’d done it, and then some detached part of my brain remembered a first aid class I’d taken once upon a time. There’d been something about stabilizing people until you knew for sure whether they had a spinal injury.

  Scary.

  The poor man’s face was covered in blood, with more spattered across the floor. His shirt had been torn at one shoulder, and there seemed to be blood everywhere.

  “Hang in there,” Rome said, his voice steady as he grabbed a handful of gauze and started wrapping the guy’s hand. Someone had used paper napkins to try and stop the bleeding. Now they were bright red with blood. The cut must’ve been bad, because more was already seeping through.

  This guy is really lucky they’re here tonight, I realized.

  “Fuck…” the man moaned, trying to look around. Rome’s friend kept his head still, a hand on either side to stabilize it. He must have medical training, too.

  “Best to play it safe for now,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve got a neck injury, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Ambulance should be here soon.”

  “Don’t want an ambulance,” the guy muttered, his eyes dazed. “Competition’s not over yet. Just give me my hat and…”

  His voice trailed off, and his eyes closed.

  “Oh fuck,” Peaches said, startling me. I’d forgotten she was standing next to me. “Is he dying?”

  Rome glanced up at us, and to my relief, he didn’t seem overly concerned. “No, I think he’s mostly drunk. Pulse is strong and he’s breathing. He’s probably fine except for the hand, maybe a concussion, but they’ll make sure at the ER.”

  “Heads up,” his friend said suddenly. “We got blood underneath. It’s seeping through his pants.”

  “Okay,” Rome replied, all business as he turned back to his patient. “Peaches, would you clear everyone out of the area?”

  I took that as my cue, stepping back as I tried figure out what to do with myself. My heart was still pounding too fast, and the air in the bar felt stifling. I could feel myself sway. Crap. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I could feel the alcohol again.