by Bijou Hunter
But I can’t explain those harsh realities to Raimi. She wants sweet lies, and a child deserves to believe the best in the world. One day, she’ll accept what most of us do.
“Is Nev your girlfriend?” she whispers as we look back into the kitchen, where everyone jokes about how Fred and Pricilla keep the romance going.
“Looks that way.”
“Don’t you know?”
“It’s not always obvious how people feel. But Nev and I are having fun together.”
“Can we go to her house so I can see her dogs?”
“I’m sure we can arrange that. You can meet her cats, too. They’re really friendly except for the fat orange one.”
“Cornflake,” Raimi says and laughs. “We saw a video of her hissing at the other cats. And a video of her hissing at the dogs. And then another video where she hissed at a pillow. Nev’s cat is silly.”
“That she is. I’ll ask Nev if we can visit. That way, Cornflake can hiss at you.”
Calm again, Raimi walks with me to the kitchen, where she smiles at Io still in Avery’s arms. The little girl decides the world isn’t so bad, after all. She climbs down and asks to play in the back.
Brick moves the party to the large enclosed courtyard. Unlike Nev’s lush yard, this one is stone-and-rock-filled. The puppy runs around with the kids. Caesar sticks close to Nev, who talks to him about guns.
“Look, in an ideal hippie weapon-free utopia,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’d give up my guns in a heartbeat and stick to settling fights by punching people in the face. But we’re not living in nirvana here. That’s why I’m staying locked and loaded until the last crazy armed fucker is gone.”
“When did you get your first gun?” he asks.
“My parents bought me one at sixteen. Before then, I learned with my parents’ guns. Only when I was old enough to stop rolling my eyes at everything did they give me my own.”
“I got mine at fifteen,” Avery brags, smiling proudly before suddenly frowning. “Savannah got hers at fourteen.”
“Not so identical after all,” Nev taunts. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she whispers, “Is Raimi okay?”
“Just missing me is all.”
“I don’t blame her.”
Nev seems to hear the need in her voice. Startled by her raw honesty in front of an audience, she tries pulling away. I keep her stuck in place by wrapping my arm around her shoulders and focusing on Avery.
“Months ago, Brick mentioned something about you two getting officially hitched once I was released.”
“We’re getting married at my parents’ farm,” she says and lunges for Brick. “My dad will walk me down the aisle. You can do the same for Kiefer.”
“No,” he mutters, fending off her excited hands on his ass. “Goes without saying, I’d want Sam to be my best man.”
“I’ll send a card,” Nev says and smiles at Caesar. “You ought to drive down with your dad to Ellsberg. My parents have pet pigs that will sniff the hell out of your crotch.”
“Why would I want that?”
“Based on my brothers’ tolerance for it, I suppose it feels good.”
Caesar grins. “I’m not doing that.”
“Well, they’re still funny. For Savannah’s wedding, Dad put little top hats and bow ties on the pigs. They looked very dapper.”
“Hat-wearing pigs,” Fred says, chuckling. “That’d be a sight to see.”
“You can all come down,” Avery announces. “We have space at my parents’ house. There’s also an apartment owned by the Reapers for out-of-town guests. Whatever works best. It’ll be great.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Pricilla says. “Who would watch the birds?”
“I could,” Nev says.
“Bitch, you know you’re coming, too,” Avery snarls at her sister.
“Just stream the fucking thing, and I’ll watch that way,” Nev growls back at Avery.
Caesar forgets to be angry with me and shares my smile as the sisters give each other grief. I keep my cool until Io hears her mom venting and runs over to shoot a dirty look at Nev. Seeing the three sassy blondes going feral at one time is too much, and I lose my shit laughing.
Just like that, I’m a member of this group rather than a stranger looking in from the outside.
THE CRACKERJACK
By the end of dinner at Avery’s, I’ve agreed to travel with the Donners to Ellsberg for the wedding. No fucking clue what’ll happen if Sam and I hate each other by then. Well, I’m not so sure he hates anyone. If he does, Sam hides his ugly feelings well.
I wish I could say I felt comfortable hanging out with his kids and parents. They never bothered me before. Now, every question from the kids or comment by his parents means more. I feel under a microscope.
“How did you handle Yulia’s family?” Alyn texts after I share how I volunteered her to watch the Donners’ parakeets.
“I gave zero fucks.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Yulia didn’t have kids to inspire panic heartburn.”
“Face your fears, my dear Nev. And stop volunteering me for shit!!!!!!!!!!!”
Her exclamation marks go on for a long time. I’m still receiving new “!!!!” texts the next day as I open up Whiskey Kirk’s.
Last year when I decided to move to Pema, I got the idea of opening a Whiskey Kirk’s here. The Reapers’ former clubhouse—Belly Up—didn’t interest me. I’d worked at the Ellsberg’s Whiskey Kirk’s since I was sixteen. For the last few years, I was the bartender and manager. I loved the feel of the bar Kirk Johansson built. The décor, aromas, and sounds reminded me of my dad and the men I admired growing up.
Kirk’s youngest daughter runs the Reapers’ restaurants. After I killed the perv and bought his house with my savings, I drove to Conroe to convince Sawyer to invest the club’s money into a new Whiskey Kirk’s.
I love working here. Occasionally, my gaze will fall on the photo of Kirk and Jodi at the front door. I feel like I’m back in Ellsberg. I even find myself imagining my father strolling in with his friends.
Though Dad isn’t around to brighten my Monday, Sam shows up to make me smile. He walks through the front door and removes his mirrored sunglasses to reveal those hypnotic blue eyes I see in my dreams.
I meet him at the bar top and wrap my arms around his neck. Once our lips meet, I breathe right again. I stop worrying about the Ellsberg trip or if his kids are a dealbreaker. I only know Sam tastes better than anything I’ve enjoyed before.
“You showed up earlier than I expected,” I say, tugging at his shirt and making goo-goo eyes at him.
“Couldn’t help myself. It was a long weekend without you.”
“Same here,” I say, relieved to have picked up my sick employee’s shifts to avoid sitting at home and missing Sam. “However, I won’t be able to sit down and entertain you until after the lunch rush.”
“No worries, Nev,” he says, flashing his casual smile. “I can settle into a spot, watch something on one of these TVs or check out my phone or simply sit back and watch you work. I know which option has the best view.”
Shivering, I take a step back. “I don’t know why that works on me.”
“No one does,” he says, smirking. “It’s magic, I suppose.”
I grin at his expression and grab a menu. “If you want to hang around for a few hours, that’s up to you. I’ll sneak over when I can. But I don’t want you thinking you have to wait.”
Sam doesn’t buy my casual bullshit. I suspect my face isn’t nearly as chill as my voice.
I get him situated in a booth in the back, where he can stretch out and entertain himself. After bringing him a beer and chips, I start working the now-filled tables.
Whiskey Kirk’s does solid business, picking up steam since the holidays. Word of mouth is good. At first, people figured this was just a biker bar and stayed away. We had a few lunch specials and paid some teenagers to hand out flyers at the farmer’s m
arket. People trickled in, liked what they saw, and told their friends. Now, I have a group of regulars.
The Reapers often drop by, but this isn’t the place for club girls or wild parties. That shit stays at the Belly Up, which is more of a honky-tonk than a bar and grill.
But Whiskey Kirk’s is designed with a private back room with full surveillance. When the Reapers want to talk securely, that’s where they go.
Today, the only club guys who show up aren’t looking to party. They drop by to get lunch and quickly head out. Well, except for Shit-For-Brains and his buddy Douche-Nozzle.
I don’t know much about Archie and Ellard beyond they often harass Kiefer. One of them even broke his ribs in the past. These days, neither asshole has the balls to act that way when Avery is around. Yet, I heard they still love to razz him.
I stick them at my table since I don’t want them sexually harassing the waitress. They behave well enough with me. Until they’re ready to leave and—finally—notice Sam in the back booth. I don’t know the ins and outs of the Reapers, but I certainly hope these two oblivious dipshits never get stuck on lookout duty.
Archie—who goes by the road name Mutt—stands up and says as loud as possible without yelling, “I thought you didn’t like cock.”
With the lunch rush over, the restaurant is fortunately relatively empty. One of the local Reapers sits in a back booth with a woman I strongly suspect is not his old lady. There’s an old-timer who likes to spend his afternoons in the restaurant watching one of the overhead TVs and occasionally plays pool alone. And, of course, Sam keeps himself busy, patiently waiting for me to join him for lunch.
However, I notice him slide out of his booth once Archie mouths off.
“Are you talking to me?” I ask the asshole when he follows me toward the bar top.
“I heard you were a lezzie. Now, you’re riding cock. I thought that was a no-no.”
“I bet you get confused about a lot of stupid shit, Mutt,” I say, emphasizing his stupid name.
“Well, hell, then I want in,” he announces, not catching the hint. Ellard joins his buddy and grins at me while Archie asks, “Why are you settling for an old man when you can have a young buck?”
“Wait, are you under the impression youth trumps sexiness? Because I hate to tell ya, fella, but women want hot men. And his road name has the word ‘handsome’ in it while you’re named after a mixed breed dog.”
“You hear that, Sam?” Ellard says to his club brother, who joins us. “She’s only riding your dick for your looks.”
“What sane man would have a problem with that?” Sam asks, wearing a cocky grin.
“If I wanted you,” I say to the two younger men, “you wouldn’t give a shit why.”
“Sam’s nothing more than a relic,” Ellard says, losing his smile.
Glancing at Sam, I shrug. “Arguing with them feels like a waste of time.”
“I could knock them around if that’d help,” he says in a casual tone.
Archie snorts. “You couldn’t take us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mutt,” Sam says, giving the men the once-over. “You’re looking a little soft in the middle. You’ve let yourself go after living on easy street with the Reapers.”
“Sam, just keep pushing, and we’ll see how soft I am.”
“Consider yourself pushed, then.”
Mutt throws a sloppy punch. I struggle between the fear of Sam getting hurt and my irritation at how badly certain local Reapers fight. Maverick needs to whip these guys into better shape, or the club’s heavy lifting will land on the same six strong guys each time.
Of course, I didn’t need to worry about Sam. He easily ducks the punch and sends his fist into Archie’s rib cage. The guy stumbles aside, startled by the pain. I don’t know who this turd’s been fighting if he goes down this easily.
“We done, Mutt?” Sam asks in a fatherly tone.
“I’m going to break your back.”
“I don’t imagine that’ll happen, but you’re free to try.”
Archie looks to Ellard for help. I instantly kick the back of the second man’s knee, causing him to fall on his ass.
“There’s no fighting in the bar!” I announce as if that’s something I’ve ever cared about.
Hell, in Ellsberg, when I got bored, I’d start fights just to have something to break up. Besides, fucking with those guys kept my skills sharp.
“We’re Reapers,” Ellard whines to me from the ground. “You ought to treat us better.”
“Aww, bud, you think I’m doing wrong by you, huh? Maybe I should call up my brother to see if he agrees,” I say, pulling out my phone. “No, even better, let me call the big guy in Ellsberg and see if Cooper puts me in a timeout.”
Sam smiles at my taunting. Not in a nasty way, of course. He doesn’t gloat. Even faced with these ungrateful shits, he keeps his cool.
“You’re embarrassing the club,” I growl in a quiet voice when I notice Colton enter with Stella. “Get up off your ass and honor your patch, you fucking troglodyte.”
Ellard stops pouting and stands up to face a frowning Colton.
“What the fuck am I looking at?” asks their chapter president in a hostile voice these guys rarely hear.
Colton Johansson had the world handed to him back in Ellsberg—third-generation badass, effortlessly handsome, only son of a powerful family, babied like crazy by his kindhearted mom. As a result of his blessings, he loves to joke around and play the fool.
But Colton views disrespect of the club as an attack on his family. His grandfather founded the Reapers. His father built it stronger. Now, Colton runs his own chapter. If these guys don’t step up, they’ll be replaced without the Johanssons losing any sleep.
“We were screwing around. No harm meant,” Ellard says.
Unwilling to bite my tongue, I snitch them out by sharing, “These two twats gave Sam shit, so he put them in their place.”
“You kicked me,” Ellard mutters, again forgetting his status in the world.
“Yeah,” I hiss, moving toward him with my finger in his face, “and I’ll do worse if you cross me again, asshole.”
While his pregnant blonde wife inches away to somewhere safer, Colton barks at Mutt, “What’s your problem?”
“I never liked Sam,” the idiot says.
“And I never liked you, so what should I do about that?” Colton growls, nearly snarling and losing every bit of his fun-guy charm.
I do love when the Johansson men throw their weight around. Though I never got to see Kirk switch into his badass mode, I was lucky enough to witness Cooper go from likable leader to snarling beast on several occasions.
“We’ll drop shit,” Mutt grumbles like a scolded baby.
“So will I,” Colton says, suddenly smiling.
Though I can’t be totally sure, I suspect Colton just decided to fuck up these two dipshits. If so, good. If not, whatever. Neither Archie nor Ellard is the least bit intimidating. I grew up around far scarier men. One of those terrifying badasses enters Whiskey Kirk’s with Violet.
“I’m going on break,” I grumble and gesture for Sam to follow me. Walking past Maverick, I throw my wiping rag down angrily and stomp to the back office. Once the door shuts behind Sam and we’re alone, I smile. “You have a sexy right hook.”
“And you had my back.”
“Always,” I say, forgetting to edit myself.
I’m against him before the word leaves my lips.
Out in the bar, my brother and Colton can do whatever the hell they want with the twats. Reapers’ business isn’t my problem. Only this particular biker interests me.
“It’ll take forever to remove my boots and pants,” I mumble as I nip at his lower lip. “Throwing a fit gives me an uninterrupted ten minutes at most.”
“All very important facts,” he says as I pop the button on his jeans and slide my hand inside to enjoy his impressive erection.
Sam tugs up my shirt, nuzzling his face between my bre
asts and squeezing my nipples through the bra. I groan approvingly while stroking him.
“I don’t know how wet I am,” I say, lifting his face and staring into his eyes. “But I need you inside me.”
Undoing my khaki pants, I slide them and my panties down to my knees. Aware of the time, I give his dick a welcoming lick as he frees it fully from his jeans.
I turn around and lean against the desk while giving my ass a tilt for easier access. I’ve never been fucked in this position before, but how difficult can it be?
Sam proves me right by thrusting inside with little effort. I’m apparently wetter than I think. Moving together, I give my clit the right kind of stimulation while Sam rekindles his love affair with my tits. I tilt my head back and meet his waiting lips.
Back when I asked Sawyer to open this Whiskey Kirk’s, I never imagined myself drawers down in my office with a member of the Reapers balls-deep inside me. But life in Pema got incredibly complicated as soon as I met Sam.
Fucking in my office leaves me temporarily satisfied, but I want nothing more than to ditch work and spend the rest of the day with him. Hell, I even think of how his bedroom is on the bottom floor at the Donner house. Sneaking in and out without alerting the kids ought to be easy.
But I start worrying about rushing things. I’ve already agreed to the Ellsberg trip. I’ll be under pressure from his family and mine. What the fuck am I doing?
Once he pulls out, Sam turns me around and kisses me softly. It’s the leisurely kind of embrace people share when fucking is part of something deeper.
Stroking his cheek, I swear I’ll stop trying to reason myself out of wanting this man. Tomorrow, we may call it quits. We’ll be awkward at every club function. The absolute worst shit could happen.
But until then, I’m all-in with Handsome Sam Donner.
THE CHARMER
Nev and I don’t enjoy lunch alone. My president and VP give the impression they figure we’ll join them and their women. I sense Nev is ready to tell them to fuck off but remains silent instead. Maybe she realizes I’m essentially the new guy with these Reapers. I might have run with the club for years, but Colton and Maverick don’t know me.
