Reaper's Stand
Page 11
Nate. Reese. Jessica and Amber.
Right now I didn’t want to see or talk to any of them.
Defiantly, I poured a second glass, followed by a third. Then—feeling warm and giddy and relaxed for the first time in forever—I called my college roommate, Dawn, and we talked for two hours, laughing like we were still twenty years old. By three in the morning I still hadn’t heard anything from Jess, but for once I didn’t care. I just collapsed into bed, reveling in the peace and quiet.
It was fantastic.
You know, there’s a party game I’ve played before, where people try to decide where they’d go or what they’d do if they could travel back in time. Some people say they’d go back and meet Jesus, or kill Hitler, or talk to Albert Einstein … But if I could go back and change one thing, it’d be the fact that I went to bed that night without finding my girl first.
Instead, I’d use my time machine to smash that damned wine bottle and chase Jessica down the road. Stop her. Find some way to convince her that she deserved better—more—than following her mother’s path.
But did I do it?
No, I went to sleep and didn’t get up until nearly noon on Saturday. Then I went to the gym, following my workout up with a pedicure. I felt all empowered about it, too, because I knew she’d be back.
Only Jessica never came back.
CHAPTER FIVE
REESE
I spent my weekend horny and pissed off.
London’s mouth, her smell, those amazing tits … I wanted those lips wrapped around my cock, I wanted those hands buried in my hair, and I wanted my dick in her cunt. Maybe her ass. Hell yes. Then I’d fuck her boobs because I wouldn’t want them to feel left out, now would I?
Instead I jerked off and tried to remind myself of all the reasons getting involved with her would be a massive mistake.
Then I’d picture her touching Nate Evans. Nearly sent me over the fuckin’ edge, because I’d actually smelled him on her Friday night. Like gangrene.
Gave serious thought to killing him for touching what was mine.
But London wasn’t mine. The thought drove me crazy, because I had zero desire to claim a woman, at least not for longer than a night. Still, my gut insisted she should belong to me¸ which scared me shitless. Wanting someone like that leads to needing them, and loving them leads to … hell.
Heather died slowly.
I remembered everything about that day—worst fuckin’ hours of my life. Her frail body, nothing more than pale skin stretched tight over bones gone brittle. Our daughters drifting in and out of the room, crying and begging while the light in her eyes faded. Then the beautiful girl I’d fallen in crazy love with my senior year of high school left me.
Forever.
Never wanted more than one woman and then I had to put her in the ground, cold and alone. I’d sworn that day to never let myself care like that again.
Couldn’t risk it.
But London filled my head until I couldn’t hardly think straight. Apparently I wasn’t a joy to be around, either, because by Sunday afternoon the guys actually kicked me out of the Armory. Said I could come back when I stopped being an asshole, and that situation wasn’t looking promising.
I’d stomped around the courtyard, yelling at the prospects until Bolt took pity on me, dragging me up into the National Forest lands behind the clubhouse to harvest some firewood. We’d make the prospects split and stack it for seasoning once we got back, but there’s something very primal and satisfying about felling a tree and cutting it up with a chainsaw. Gotta love power tools and destruction. Not quite as good as getting laid, but better than losing your mind imagining a very unavailable cunt squeezing some other man’s dick.
Never cared for the good deputy. Taking him out would be a public service, right? But ultimately not even I could justify taking out a lawman over a woman. Maybe I should just steal her out from under him, maybe rub it in his face. Yeah. That’d work. I liked that idea a lot, and the more I considered it, the more it grew on me.
Now Bolt and I were out in the middle of nowhere and things were coming clear. I felt sweaty, tired, and more sane than I had since leaving London’s place, thanks to my club brother’s timely intervention. Nobody ever really understood me like Bolt and I’d missed the hell out of him while he was doing time these past three years. He was more than a solid vice president—he was the man I trusted more than anyone else on earth.
He’d come back different, though. Harder, more cynical than I’d ever seen him before. I guess getting locked up for a crime you didn’t commit changes a man.
Didn’t help that his old lady, Maggs, had ditched his ass.
Sore subject, and not one he liked to talk about. She had her reasons and I guess from her perspective leaving him made sense. But a man inside does whatever it takes to get by. Bolt hadn’t had any allies to protect him during that final stretch, so he’d done what he had to do. She never quite understood that.
Shit happens, I guess.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked him as he tossed the chainsaw into the back end of the truck. Between it and the trailer, we’d cut and loaded nearly two cords. Good haul for an afternoon’s work.
“No plans,” he said, opening the crew cab and digging into the cooler. He pulled out a beer and cracked it, offering one to me. I turned it down, grabbing a water instead. “Thought I might head over to The Line.”
“Been spendin’ a lot of time there,” I said casually.
“Nothin’ quite like pussy,” he replied, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He’d acquired some new ink inside, of varying quality. “Went a long time without, gotta make up for that.”
I nodded, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. He might not’ve gotten the one he wanted, but he hadn’t gone without, either. Got me thinking.
“How’s the baby?”
Bolt snorted.
“What baby? Startin’ to doubt it was real.”
Damn.
“So Maggs left you over nothin’?”
“No, she left me because I cheated on her. Now that cunt Gwen says she lost the kid—assuming she was actually knocked up in the first place. I don’t know what to believe about that anymore.”
I stilled.
“You think she wasn’t really pregnant?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, taking another drink. “At least I’m rid of the bitch, so I guess that’s something. And tonight I’ll get laid, so life is good.”
I nodded slowly, knowing life was anything but good for my club brother. He missed the hell out of his old lady. We all did. She’d been solid the entire time he was gone, stood by him when he went down in the first place and then worked day and night to bring him home again. Women like that weren’t easy to find.
“You wanna come with me?” Bolt asked. “Get laid. Clear your brain.”
“Yeah.” Bolt was right—The Line was a great place to find no-strings snatch, which was exactly what I needed. If I spent one more night jerking off while imagining London, I’d have to shoot myself. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of those tits, the way she’d melted under my touch.
Did she have pink nipples or brown?
Maybe Evans was sucking on them right now. Fucker wasn’t working this weekend. Already checked, even tried to get Bud to call him in, but the bastard had taken personal leave and not even the sheriff could cancel that. Not without a state of emergency.
Probably spending that time with London. Comforting her.
Maybe even fuckin’ her right at this minute.
I imagined slowly strangling the man, watching his face turn purple and his eyes bulge while his legs kicked and bucked in desperation. Nothin’ fucked up about that, right?
Christ, but I wanted inside that woman.
Knew from the minute I’d seen her six months ago she’d be the end of me. Put her off bounds that same night, although I’d been hell-bent on staying away from her. Women like that were trouble—definitely not club whore material, which meant she’d probably get all pissy about a one-night stand, and not in the market to be an old lady, either. Nope, women like her wanted picket fences and nine-to-five husbands so pussy-whipped they forgot their own names.
Add in the fact that she was the first reliable cleaner we’d found in nearly three years? Recipe for disaster.
Now I’d hit uncharted territory, because I’d tasted her and the taste wasn’t going away—time to face reality. Sooner or later I’d take her, and that fuckwad of a boyfriend wasn’t going to get in my way. Hell, if she knew all the games he was playing, she’d get down on her knees and beg me to step in.
The image of her down on her knees … now that was a thing of beauty.
Maybe I should blow off The Line, track her down. Evans was the biggest problem—so far as she knew, he was still Prince Charming. I’d planted the seed, but now I had to step back, wait for him to fuck things up.
He would, of course.
Man like that could only pretend for so long. London needed to see his shit for herself, otherwise she’d always wonder, which would be damned inconvenient for me.
Fuck me … Why should I give a shit about her regrets?
Losing my damned mind.
“I’ll hit the strip club with you,” I told Bolt. “See if the brothers want to join us. Been a while since we all went out.”
Bolt grunted and we climbed into the truck, big diesel engine roaring to life. I felt the weight of the trailer tug at the rig as I started cautiously down the mountain. By the time we hit the halfway mark my phone came to life, pinging as the messages and texts I’d gotten while we were out of range downloaded.
“Shit, sounds like Grand Central,” Bolt said, raising a brow. “You think we got a problem?”
I slowed the truck to a stop in the center of the narrow logging road, grabbing the phone for a quick look. First up was a text from Horse saying we needed to talk—maybe news from the south? Seemed like we heard new stories about the cartel every day now. They were plowing through the Devil’s Jacks’ territory way too fast, which was very bad news for the Reapers. The Jacks were our buffer zone, the first line of defense against the southern gangs.
But Horse’s message wasn’t what really caught my attention.
Nope.
The fact that London Armstrong had called three times and left two voice mails stopped me dead in my tracks. I hit the button.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” she said, voice strained but still full of that strange formality she used to distance herself. Fuckin’ ridiculous—I’d sucked on her lips and dug my fingers into her ass. Time to start using first names. Instead of pissing me off, though, it kind of turned me on. ’Course everything she did turned me on.
“It’s London. I have a favor to ask—do you think you could ask around about Jessica? See if maybe she’s gotten in touch with anyone in your club? She was pretty angry Friday night after you left. In fact, she took off. I thought she’d come back by now, but she hasn’t.”
She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice shaking. “I’m starting to get worried.”
Fucking great. Not enough that the little brat got herself into constant trouble—now she had to go running off, too? I seriously doubted that she’d talked to anyone at the club. They all knew she was hands off, not than anyone gave a shit. Girls like her came and went, and nobody paid much attention. If one disappeared, there was always another to take her place.
London was in a different class and I didn’t like the idea of her worrying. Woman had enough shit to deal with already. I hit play on the second message, which she’d only left about half an hour ago. This time she dropped the pretense of formality.
“Reese, I’m really worried about Jess. Can you call or message me? I know things are … awkward … between us, but I’d like to rule out whether she’s with someone from the club. Nobody has seen her.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, then glanced over at Bolt. “Give me a sec?”
He nodded and I stepped out of the truck, hitting the callback button. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Reese?”
Her voice was tense, but I still liked the sound of my name on her tongue. Of course, it’d sound sweeter if she was screaming it into a pillow while I pounded her from behind. Funny how that worked.
“Got your messages, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll check with the brothers, but if she’d shown up at the Armory, they would’ve told me. They know she’s not supposed to be out there.”
“You don’t think she could’ve gone to someone’s house?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Maybe one of those men we found her with the other night?”
“No way. Painter and Banks wouldn’t touch her, not after I put her off-limits. Hate to break it to you, but she’s nothing special. Not worth a fight at the club.”
“I see,” she said, although she probably didn’t. Outsiders never did.
“What does Deputy Dick have to say? He helpin’ you out?”
She made a strange, strangled noise, which she tried to cover with a cough.
“Nate told me kids her age take off all the time and not to worry about it. And no, he’s not around. I’ve only talked to him once—he didn’t return my calls yesterday, and he’s working this morning. I guess they’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Mandatory overtime.”
Lying asshole. What kind of game was he playing with her? My inner caveman decided it didn’t matter. Fuck safety, and fuck picket fences. London Armstrong obviously couldn’t take care of herself, which meant someone needed to step in and fix this shit. If that meant claiming her, so be it. As for Evans, I’d put that fucker in the ground a hundred miles from the nearest town with a clear conscience the next time he decided to play games.
Right now I didn’t want to see or talk to any of them.
Defiantly, I poured a second glass, followed by a third. Then—feeling warm and giddy and relaxed for the first time in forever—I called my college roommate, Dawn, and we talked for two hours, laughing like we were still twenty years old. By three in the morning I still hadn’t heard anything from Jess, but for once I didn’t care. I just collapsed into bed, reveling in the peace and quiet.
It was fantastic.
You know, there’s a party game I’ve played before, where people try to decide where they’d go or what they’d do if they could travel back in time. Some people say they’d go back and meet Jesus, or kill Hitler, or talk to Albert Einstein … But if I could go back and change one thing, it’d be the fact that I went to bed that night without finding my girl first.
Instead, I’d use my time machine to smash that damned wine bottle and chase Jessica down the road. Stop her. Find some way to convince her that she deserved better—more—than following her mother’s path.
But did I do it?
No, I went to sleep and didn’t get up until nearly noon on Saturday. Then I went to the gym, following my workout up with a pedicure. I felt all empowered about it, too, because I knew she’d be back.
Only Jessica never came back.
CHAPTER FIVE
REESE
I spent my weekend horny and pissed off.
London’s mouth, her smell, those amazing tits … I wanted those lips wrapped around my cock, I wanted those hands buried in my hair, and I wanted my dick in her cunt. Maybe her ass. Hell yes. Then I’d fuck her boobs because I wouldn’t want them to feel left out, now would I?
Instead I jerked off and tried to remind myself of all the reasons getting involved with her would be a massive mistake.
Then I’d picture her touching Nate Evans. Nearly sent me over the fuckin’ edge, because I’d actually smelled him on her Friday night. Like gangrene.
Gave serious thought to killing him for touching what was mine.
But London wasn’t mine. The thought drove me crazy, because I had zero desire to claim a woman, at least not for longer than a night. Still, my gut insisted she should belong to me¸ which scared me shitless. Wanting someone like that leads to needing them, and loving them leads to … hell.
Heather died slowly.
I remembered everything about that day—worst fuckin’ hours of my life. Her frail body, nothing more than pale skin stretched tight over bones gone brittle. Our daughters drifting in and out of the room, crying and begging while the light in her eyes faded. Then the beautiful girl I’d fallen in crazy love with my senior year of high school left me.
Forever.
Never wanted more than one woman and then I had to put her in the ground, cold and alone. I’d sworn that day to never let myself care like that again.
Couldn’t risk it.
But London filled my head until I couldn’t hardly think straight. Apparently I wasn’t a joy to be around, either, because by Sunday afternoon the guys actually kicked me out of the Armory. Said I could come back when I stopped being an asshole, and that situation wasn’t looking promising.
I’d stomped around the courtyard, yelling at the prospects until Bolt took pity on me, dragging me up into the National Forest lands behind the clubhouse to harvest some firewood. We’d make the prospects split and stack it for seasoning once we got back, but there’s something very primal and satisfying about felling a tree and cutting it up with a chainsaw. Gotta love power tools and destruction. Not quite as good as getting laid, but better than losing your mind imagining a very unavailable cunt squeezing some other man’s dick.
Never cared for the good deputy. Taking him out would be a public service, right? But ultimately not even I could justify taking out a lawman over a woman. Maybe I should just steal her out from under him, maybe rub it in his face. Yeah. That’d work. I liked that idea a lot, and the more I considered it, the more it grew on me.
Now Bolt and I were out in the middle of nowhere and things were coming clear. I felt sweaty, tired, and more sane than I had since leaving London’s place, thanks to my club brother’s timely intervention. Nobody ever really understood me like Bolt and I’d missed the hell out of him while he was doing time these past three years. He was more than a solid vice president—he was the man I trusted more than anyone else on earth.
He’d come back different, though. Harder, more cynical than I’d ever seen him before. I guess getting locked up for a crime you didn’t commit changes a man.
Didn’t help that his old lady, Maggs, had ditched his ass.
Sore subject, and not one he liked to talk about. She had her reasons and I guess from her perspective leaving him made sense. But a man inside does whatever it takes to get by. Bolt hadn’t had any allies to protect him during that final stretch, so he’d done what he had to do. She never quite understood that.
Shit happens, I guess.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked him as he tossed the chainsaw into the back end of the truck. Between it and the trailer, we’d cut and loaded nearly two cords. Good haul for an afternoon’s work.
“No plans,” he said, opening the crew cab and digging into the cooler. He pulled out a beer and cracked it, offering one to me. I turned it down, grabbing a water instead. “Thought I might head over to The Line.”
“Been spendin’ a lot of time there,” I said casually.
“Nothin’ quite like pussy,” he replied, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He’d acquired some new ink inside, of varying quality. “Went a long time without, gotta make up for that.”
I nodded, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. He might not’ve gotten the one he wanted, but he hadn’t gone without, either. Got me thinking.
“How’s the baby?”
Bolt snorted.
“What baby? Startin’ to doubt it was real.”
Damn.
“So Maggs left you over nothin’?”
“No, she left me because I cheated on her. Now that cunt Gwen says she lost the kid—assuming she was actually knocked up in the first place. I don’t know what to believe about that anymore.”
I stilled.
“You think she wasn’t really pregnant?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, taking another drink. “At least I’m rid of the bitch, so I guess that’s something. And tonight I’ll get laid, so life is good.”
I nodded slowly, knowing life was anything but good for my club brother. He missed the hell out of his old lady. We all did. She’d been solid the entire time he was gone, stood by him when he went down in the first place and then worked day and night to bring him home again. Women like that weren’t easy to find.
“You wanna come with me?” Bolt asked. “Get laid. Clear your brain.”
“Yeah.” Bolt was right—The Line was a great place to find no-strings snatch, which was exactly what I needed. If I spent one more night jerking off while imagining London, I’d have to shoot myself. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of those tits, the way she’d melted under my touch.
Did she have pink nipples or brown?
Maybe Evans was sucking on them right now. Fucker wasn’t working this weekend. Already checked, even tried to get Bud to call him in, but the bastard had taken personal leave and not even the sheriff could cancel that. Not without a state of emergency.
Probably spending that time with London. Comforting her.
Maybe even fuckin’ her right at this minute.
I imagined slowly strangling the man, watching his face turn purple and his eyes bulge while his legs kicked and bucked in desperation. Nothin’ fucked up about that, right?
Christ, but I wanted inside that woman.
Knew from the minute I’d seen her six months ago she’d be the end of me. Put her off bounds that same night, although I’d been hell-bent on staying away from her. Women like that were trouble—definitely not club whore material, which meant she’d probably get all pissy about a one-night stand, and not in the market to be an old lady, either. Nope, women like her wanted picket fences and nine-to-five husbands so pussy-whipped they forgot their own names.
Add in the fact that she was the first reliable cleaner we’d found in nearly three years? Recipe for disaster.
Now I’d hit uncharted territory, because I’d tasted her and the taste wasn’t going away—time to face reality. Sooner or later I’d take her, and that fuckwad of a boyfriend wasn’t going to get in my way. Hell, if she knew all the games he was playing, she’d get down on her knees and beg me to step in.
The image of her down on her knees … now that was a thing of beauty.
Maybe I should blow off The Line, track her down. Evans was the biggest problem—so far as she knew, he was still Prince Charming. I’d planted the seed, but now I had to step back, wait for him to fuck things up.
He would, of course.
Man like that could only pretend for so long. London needed to see his shit for herself, otherwise she’d always wonder, which would be damned inconvenient for me.
Fuck me … Why should I give a shit about her regrets?
Losing my damned mind.
“I’ll hit the strip club with you,” I told Bolt. “See if the brothers want to join us. Been a while since we all went out.”
Bolt grunted and we climbed into the truck, big diesel engine roaring to life. I felt the weight of the trailer tug at the rig as I started cautiously down the mountain. By the time we hit the halfway mark my phone came to life, pinging as the messages and texts I’d gotten while we were out of range downloaded.
“Shit, sounds like Grand Central,” Bolt said, raising a brow. “You think we got a problem?”
I slowed the truck to a stop in the center of the narrow logging road, grabbing the phone for a quick look. First up was a text from Horse saying we needed to talk—maybe news from the south? Seemed like we heard new stories about the cartel every day now. They were plowing through the Devil’s Jacks’ territory way too fast, which was very bad news for the Reapers. The Jacks were our buffer zone, the first line of defense against the southern gangs.
But Horse’s message wasn’t what really caught my attention.
Nope.
The fact that London Armstrong had called three times and left two voice mails stopped me dead in my tracks. I hit the button.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” she said, voice strained but still full of that strange formality she used to distance herself. Fuckin’ ridiculous—I’d sucked on her lips and dug my fingers into her ass. Time to start using first names. Instead of pissing me off, though, it kind of turned me on. ’Course everything she did turned me on.
“It’s London. I have a favor to ask—do you think you could ask around about Jessica? See if maybe she’s gotten in touch with anyone in your club? She was pretty angry Friday night after you left. In fact, she took off. I thought she’d come back by now, but she hasn’t.”
She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice shaking. “I’m starting to get worried.”
Fucking great. Not enough that the little brat got herself into constant trouble—now she had to go running off, too? I seriously doubted that she’d talked to anyone at the club. They all knew she was hands off, not than anyone gave a shit. Girls like her came and went, and nobody paid much attention. If one disappeared, there was always another to take her place.
London was in a different class and I didn’t like the idea of her worrying. Woman had enough shit to deal with already. I hit play on the second message, which she’d only left about half an hour ago. This time she dropped the pretense of formality.
“Reese, I’m really worried about Jess. Can you call or message me? I know things are … awkward … between us, but I’d like to rule out whether she’s with someone from the club. Nobody has seen her.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, then glanced over at Bolt. “Give me a sec?”
He nodded and I stepped out of the truck, hitting the callback button. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Reese?”
Her voice was tense, but I still liked the sound of my name on her tongue. Of course, it’d sound sweeter if she was screaming it into a pillow while I pounded her from behind. Funny how that worked.
“Got your messages, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll check with the brothers, but if she’d shown up at the Armory, they would’ve told me. They know she’s not supposed to be out there.”
“You don’t think she could’ve gone to someone’s house?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Maybe one of those men we found her with the other night?”
“No way. Painter and Banks wouldn’t touch her, not after I put her off-limits. Hate to break it to you, but she’s nothing special. Not worth a fight at the club.”
“I see,” she said, although she probably didn’t. Outsiders never did.
“What does Deputy Dick have to say? He helpin’ you out?”
She made a strange, strangled noise, which she tried to cover with a cough.
“Nate told me kids her age take off all the time and not to worry about it. And no, he’s not around. I’ve only talked to him once—he didn’t return my calls yesterday, and he’s working this morning. I guess they’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Mandatory overtime.”
Lying asshole. What kind of game was he playing with her? My inner caveman decided it didn’t matter. Fuck safety, and fuck picket fences. London Armstrong obviously couldn’t take care of herself, which meant someone needed to step in and fix this shit. If that meant claiming her, so be it. As for Evans, I’d put that fucker in the ground a hundred miles from the nearest town with a clear conscience the next time he decided to play games.
