Reaper's Stand
Page 3
“You wanna talk to the prez or not?” Gage asked, his voice cool. “Pick your battles, babe. You want this one or your cousin’s kid?”
I swallowed, realizing that the Parental Voice of Authority might not be so welcome here. Oops.
“I’m here for Jessica,” I told him. He smiled at me, his teeth bright and shiny in the dim light.
“Great, so let’s leave them alone, all right? Girls, get out of here.”
They brushed past us quickly, whispering with thrilled and excited eyes.
“Do you always have underage girls out here drinking?” I asked him, unable to just let it go completely.
“We’re not serving anyone underage,” he said flatly. I raised a brow, wordlessly calling him on his bullshit. He grinned. “You wanna look me in the eye and tell me you never had a drink until after you were twenty-one?”
I sighed. Of course I had. Not only that, I’d had lots of them and I hadn’t turned into an alcoholic or gotten pregnant or anything horrible.
Nancy Reagan had been wrong—at least in my case. Amber probably should’ve just said no.
“Can we just get on with it?”
Gage shook his head, not even bothering to hide his amusement, then stepped forward and knocked on the unmarked door to our left.
“Pic? You busy?”
REESE
I sat on my office couch, wondering why the hell I didn’t give a shit that a beautiful girl was currently sucking my cock. Sure, I enjoy a good blow job as much as the next guy. But tonight I wasn’t engaged, just couldn’t bring myself to care. This was unfortunate, because the babe kneeling between my legs had a mouth like a Hoover and a very loose sense of morals. She was the new headliner over at The Line—the boys had brought her out tonight just for me.
Birthday present.
Forty-three fucking years old.
Her fingers dropped low, running under my balls with a light touch as her tongue swirled around my dickhead. I reached over and grabbed my beer, taking a long, slow pull. The cold liquid slid down my throat and I decided I didn’t give a fuck if she finished or not.
I want you happy, baby, but you can do better … Heather seemed to whisper in my ear.
I’d been hearing her voice since the day she died. Christ, I missed that woman, and I wished to hell those little whispers were more than my own sick subconscious. But I knew they weren’t, because if Heather’s spirit was really beside me offering advice, I wouldn’t have fucked up so bad with my daughters.
I glanced across the room to the black metal filing cabinet. A picture sat on top of it, in a tarnished silver frame. My old lady. The shot was from one of the last family parties we’d had—right after she recovered from the mastectomy, but before that final round of chemo. Her arms wrapped tight around our two beautiful girls, all three of them laughing at something just out of the frame.
Hoover chose that moment to suck me in deep down into her throat and I closed my eyes. Damn, Bolt had told me she sucked cock like a pro, but he hadn’t given her full credit. The woman had a gift. Every inch squeezed tight and I wasn’t small. I groaned, letting my head fall back.
Why did it still feel like I was cheating on Heather?
Hoover popped back up, giggling at me annoyingly. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but she sucked me back in before I had the chance. Shit, that was good. My boredom disappeared, leaving the clarity I only got during sex or a good fight. My body felt incredible, but my mind floated, blessedly detached. No guilt over Heather, no worry about the club, not even thoughts of my girls could touch me here.
I was like a machine, powerful and free.
My phone buzzed next to me on the couch and I glanced down to see a text.
BOLT: Enjoying your party? I sent you another present. Try not to break it.
I glanced down at the brown-haired head bobbing in my lap and decided that my life might not be perfect, but damned if my friends didn’t take care of me. If there was a God in heaven, I was about to meet this bitch’s twin sister.
A loud knock came from the door.
“Pic? You busy?” Gage called. “You got company. Bolt sent her.”
Reaching down, I caught the stripper’s hair and gripped it, slowing her down.
“Send her in.”
The door opened and a short, curvy blonde dressed in a dirty T-shirt and ragged jeans stumbled into the room, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Generous tits filled out the design on the front of her shirt, which read “London’s Cleaning Service.”
Fuck. FUCK.
That cocksucking bastard. Bolt was gonna pay for this, because London Armstrong was the last woman who should be in this building. This bitch and her gorgeous rack had been making my life a living hell for the past six months, because she was the last thing I needed in my life and I’d never wanted to fuck anyone more.
Not even Heather.
And that was a problem.
It didn’t matter how nice London’s tits would look squeezing my dick until I came all over that pretty face of hers. She was too nice, too clean, and way the fuck too grown up. Ms. Armstrong was a regular citizen walking the straight and narrow, and she had no place in my world. She’d run off screaming in the darkness if I cut loose with her …
To make things worse, I sort of liked her as a person, too.
Hoover made a sudden choking noise, and I realized I’d trapped her head, cutting off her air. I let her go and she jerked back, looking up at me in confusion as she panted, mouth red and wet. I patted her head, reassuring her.
Like a dog. Christ.
What the hell was Bolt thinking, sending London here? I sucked in a deep breath, because the woman—who was staring at me across my office as if I was an ax murderer—looked like she was about to turn and run for the hills.
I wanted to chase her when she did it … run her down, rip off her jeans, and shove deep inside while she screamed at me. Yeah, nothin’ wrong with that scenario.
Fuck it.
Six months I’d jerked off picturing her boobs, but I’d done the right thing and left her alone. Not my fault she walked into my damned office and not my responsibility to save her now that she’d come here. Clarity washed through me again and I decided there was only one way to end this.
I offered her a predatory smile and raised a hand, waving her toward the couch.
Happy birthday to me.
CHAPTER TWO
LONDON
I’d never considered myself a prude.
I was wrong. I was definitely a prude, because I had nowhere in my head to put what I saw when I walked through that door. I don’t know why it was so shocking. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen people going at it publicly in the other room, and of course a private office like this would be perfect for a quick blow job … But when Reese Hayes yelled that he was busy, I’d expected him to be busy with some sort of nefarious, biker gang–related activity.
You know, laundering money or something.
Then he smiled at me, the kind of smile a shark gives a castaway right before it rips her leg off. He raised his hand, beckoning me toward the couch.
I stared at him (oh my God he’s got a woman’s head in his lap!) feeling something like panic, and opened my mouth to say I could come back later. Then it hit me—no, I couldn’t come back later. I needed to find Jess and I needed to find her right now before she started wreaking havoc. And as much as I wanted to judge the club members for leading her astray, I knew darned well she could find trouble all on her own. If anything, taking her out of here would be an act of mercy.
They had no idea what kind of destruction she was capable of.
You can do this.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” I said briskly, deciding a businesslike tone was the best way to set myself apart from his other … friend. Nope. I was a woman with a purpose and I didn’t have time for fooling around.
Still, it took everything I had not to look at his lap, see if I could catch a glimpse of his endowments. This would be so much easier if I hadn’t spent at least two or three sessions with my vibrator picturing a scenario just like this one, but with me playing the staring role. Pull it together, Armstrong.
“I’m London Armstrong and I run the cleaning service that works for your club.”
I stepped into the office but didn’t go so far as to walk over and offer my hand for him to shake.
There’s only so much a woman can handle at once.
Hayes gave me the same look he always gave me. Calculating. Hungry with just a hint of speculation as his eyes swept down my body. He lingered a bit on my breasts, but didn’t make a show of it. Nope. He was all business, except for the uncomfortable fact that a woman was actively giving him a blow job. I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flush.
His eyes flickered back up to mine.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. Sexy. I shivered, because I could think of all kinds of things I’d like him to do for me. Maybe even to me, although I hated to admit it. It’d been a long six years, and I hadn’t slept with Nate yet … We’d been dating for nearly two months, but between our schedules we didn’t get to see each other all that often. Hell of a dry spell.
I forced myself to consider Hayes’s question seriously, despite the squelching, squishy noises coming from his lap. How did that woman keep sucking on him like that, oblivious to what was going on? It was very distracting.
“You needed something, sweetheart?” Hayes asked again, taking a swig of his beer. “If you’re here to join in, fine, but otherwise come sit down and tell me what you want.”
Join in?
My cheeks radiated heat and I knew I was lost. I’d done so well staying matter-of-fact up to this point, but there are limits. Just get it over with! Then you can go home and have a very large glass of wine.
I’d need a bucket to hold all the wine I’d be drinking tonight, I decided.
“I’m looking for my cousin’s daughter. She lives with me.”
“Have a seat,” he told me again. Gage gave a laughing snort behind me, shutting the door on us. I glanced down at the couch, an old plaid monstrosity that had to be twenty years old. With my luck, I’d catch a disease from it.
“I can stand.”
“Sit. Down.”
His voice snapped, and I felt myself tremble. Reese Hayes was a scary man. He’d been playing nice so far, but I was all too aware of the rumors surrounding him. Nate was a sheriff’s deputy, and he was full of stories about the Reapers, particularly their president. I’d blown him off, because the MC were good clients and I figured he was just prejudiced against them. No criminal gang could just exist in the middle of the community so openly, could it? Looking at Hayes now, I realized those stories might have been true after all.
His eyes were like cold chips of blue ice, and the hint of gray at his temples and in the scruff covering his chin gave him an air of authority that I wanted to obey almost instinctively. His arms were thick, banded with heavy muscles, and his thighs … I glanced away quickly, because those thick thighs of his framed the half-naked woman sucking his penis perfectly. Like I’d walked into a particularly high-definition porn shoot.
I wanted to die.
Under the best of circumstances this man made me uncomfortable, and I’d done my best to avoid him. So far I’d done a pretty good job, too—wasn’t like he hung around Pawns in the evenings when my crew came in. Well, sometimes he did, but he stayed back in the office.
Maybe that was where he did his money laundering?
Feeling just a smidge hysterical, I wondered exactly how one would go about washing money. I flashed briefly on a vision of Hayes working an old-fashioned, crank-handled washing machine while a group of aproned bikers carefully hung hundred-dollar bills on clotheslines in a sunny meadow.
“Babe?”
I blinked, trying to remember why the hell I’d thought this could be a good idea.
“Yes?”
“Are you gonna sit down or not?” he asked.
“I’m really uncomfortable with”—I gestured toward the woman—“this.”
“That’s not exactly my problem,” he said, dropping a hand to rest on her head. “But if it’s an issue, you can take her place.”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then sit the fuck down and tell me why you’re here.”
His voice tightened, and I realized he was running out of patience. Fair enough—he obviously had other things on his … ahem … mind. I carefully perched on the edge of the couch, facing the door. This was actually better, I realized. I didn’t have to look at him now. Although I could feel the woman’s movements through the furniture frame and that was very creepy.
“My cousin’s daughter is somewhere at this party,” I said quickly. “Her name is Jessica, and she has very poor judgment. I’d really like to get her out of here and home before she does something completely stupid.”
Like set the building on fire.
“You got shit timing.”
I didn’t respond, because what the hell would I say? So far as I knew, Hallmark didn’t make a “Sorry I Interrupted Your Oral Sex” card.
Maybe I should write their corporate office to suggest it?
Hayes grunted, and the movement of the couch stopped.
“Go find Gage,” he muttered to the woman, who pulled free with a smacking noise I really, really didn’t need to hear. A second later she stood and wiped her mouth, glaring at me. I shrugged, offering a faintly apologetic smile. The couch trembled again as Hayes shifted, and for one horrible minute I thought he was actually going to grab me and push me down into her place. Then I heard the sound of a zipper.
“It’s safe.”
I swallowed, realizing that the Parental Voice of Authority might not be so welcome here. Oops.
“I’m here for Jessica,” I told him. He smiled at me, his teeth bright and shiny in the dim light.
“Great, so let’s leave them alone, all right? Girls, get out of here.”
They brushed past us quickly, whispering with thrilled and excited eyes.
“Do you always have underage girls out here drinking?” I asked him, unable to just let it go completely.
“We’re not serving anyone underage,” he said flatly. I raised a brow, wordlessly calling him on his bullshit. He grinned. “You wanna look me in the eye and tell me you never had a drink until after you were twenty-one?”
I sighed. Of course I had. Not only that, I’d had lots of them and I hadn’t turned into an alcoholic or gotten pregnant or anything horrible.
Nancy Reagan had been wrong—at least in my case. Amber probably should’ve just said no.
“Can we just get on with it?”
Gage shook his head, not even bothering to hide his amusement, then stepped forward and knocked on the unmarked door to our left.
“Pic? You busy?”
REESE
I sat on my office couch, wondering why the hell I didn’t give a shit that a beautiful girl was currently sucking my cock. Sure, I enjoy a good blow job as much as the next guy. But tonight I wasn’t engaged, just couldn’t bring myself to care. This was unfortunate, because the babe kneeling between my legs had a mouth like a Hoover and a very loose sense of morals. She was the new headliner over at The Line—the boys had brought her out tonight just for me.
Birthday present.
Forty-three fucking years old.
Her fingers dropped low, running under my balls with a light touch as her tongue swirled around my dickhead. I reached over and grabbed my beer, taking a long, slow pull. The cold liquid slid down my throat and I decided I didn’t give a fuck if she finished or not.
I want you happy, baby, but you can do better … Heather seemed to whisper in my ear.
I’d been hearing her voice since the day she died. Christ, I missed that woman, and I wished to hell those little whispers were more than my own sick subconscious. But I knew they weren’t, because if Heather’s spirit was really beside me offering advice, I wouldn’t have fucked up so bad with my daughters.
I glanced across the room to the black metal filing cabinet. A picture sat on top of it, in a tarnished silver frame. My old lady. The shot was from one of the last family parties we’d had—right after she recovered from the mastectomy, but before that final round of chemo. Her arms wrapped tight around our two beautiful girls, all three of them laughing at something just out of the frame.
Hoover chose that moment to suck me in deep down into her throat and I closed my eyes. Damn, Bolt had told me she sucked cock like a pro, but he hadn’t given her full credit. The woman had a gift. Every inch squeezed tight and I wasn’t small. I groaned, letting my head fall back.
Why did it still feel like I was cheating on Heather?
Hoover popped back up, giggling at me annoyingly. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but she sucked me back in before I had the chance. Shit, that was good. My boredom disappeared, leaving the clarity I only got during sex or a good fight. My body felt incredible, but my mind floated, blessedly detached. No guilt over Heather, no worry about the club, not even thoughts of my girls could touch me here.
I was like a machine, powerful and free.
My phone buzzed next to me on the couch and I glanced down to see a text.
BOLT: Enjoying your party? I sent you another present. Try not to break it.
I glanced down at the brown-haired head bobbing in my lap and decided that my life might not be perfect, but damned if my friends didn’t take care of me. If there was a God in heaven, I was about to meet this bitch’s twin sister.
A loud knock came from the door.
“Pic? You busy?” Gage called. “You got company. Bolt sent her.”
Reaching down, I caught the stripper’s hair and gripped it, slowing her down.
“Send her in.”
The door opened and a short, curvy blonde dressed in a dirty T-shirt and ragged jeans stumbled into the room, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Generous tits filled out the design on the front of her shirt, which read “London’s Cleaning Service.”
Fuck. FUCK.
That cocksucking bastard. Bolt was gonna pay for this, because London Armstrong was the last woman who should be in this building. This bitch and her gorgeous rack had been making my life a living hell for the past six months, because she was the last thing I needed in my life and I’d never wanted to fuck anyone more.
Not even Heather.
And that was a problem.
It didn’t matter how nice London’s tits would look squeezing my dick until I came all over that pretty face of hers. She was too nice, too clean, and way the fuck too grown up. Ms. Armstrong was a regular citizen walking the straight and narrow, and she had no place in my world. She’d run off screaming in the darkness if I cut loose with her …
To make things worse, I sort of liked her as a person, too.
Hoover made a sudden choking noise, and I realized I’d trapped her head, cutting off her air. I let her go and she jerked back, looking up at me in confusion as she panted, mouth red and wet. I patted her head, reassuring her.
Like a dog. Christ.
What the hell was Bolt thinking, sending London here? I sucked in a deep breath, because the woman—who was staring at me across my office as if I was an ax murderer—looked like she was about to turn and run for the hills.
I wanted to chase her when she did it … run her down, rip off her jeans, and shove deep inside while she screamed at me. Yeah, nothin’ wrong with that scenario.
Fuck it.
Six months I’d jerked off picturing her boobs, but I’d done the right thing and left her alone. Not my fault she walked into my damned office and not my responsibility to save her now that she’d come here. Clarity washed through me again and I decided there was only one way to end this.
I offered her a predatory smile and raised a hand, waving her toward the couch.
Happy birthday to me.
CHAPTER TWO
LONDON
I’d never considered myself a prude.
I was wrong. I was definitely a prude, because I had nowhere in my head to put what I saw when I walked through that door. I don’t know why it was so shocking. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen people going at it publicly in the other room, and of course a private office like this would be perfect for a quick blow job … But when Reese Hayes yelled that he was busy, I’d expected him to be busy with some sort of nefarious, biker gang–related activity.
You know, laundering money or something.
Then he smiled at me, the kind of smile a shark gives a castaway right before it rips her leg off. He raised his hand, beckoning me toward the couch.
I stared at him (oh my God he’s got a woman’s head in his lap!) feeling something like panic, and opened my mouth to say I could come back later. Then it hit me—no, I couldn’t come back later. I needed to find Jess and I needed to find her right now before she started wreaking havoc. And as much as I wanted to judge the club members for leading her astray, I knew darned well she could find trouble all on her own. If anything, taking her out of here would be an act of mercy.
They had no idea what kind of destruction she was capable of.
You can do this.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” I said briskly, deciding a businesslike tone was the best way to set myself apart from his other … friend. Nope. I was a woman with a purpose and I didn’t have time for fooling around.
Still, it took everything I had not to look at his lap, see if I could catch a glimpse of his endowments. This would be so much easier if I hadn’t spent at least two or three sessions with my vibrator picturing a scenario just like this one, but with me playing the staring role. Pull it together, Armstrong.
“I’m London Armstrong and I run the cleaning service that works for your club.”
I stepped into the office but didn’t go so far as to walk over and offer my hand for him to shake.
There’s only so much a woman can handle at once.
Hayes gave me the same look he always gave me. Calculating. Hungry with just a hint of speculation as his eyes swept down my body. He lingered a bit on my breasts, but didn’t make a show of it. Nope. He was all business, except for the uncomfortable fact that a woman was actively giving him a blow job. I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flush.
His eyes flickered back up to mine.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. Sexy. I shivered, because I could think of all kinds of things I’d like him to do for me. Maybe even to me, although I hated to admit it. It’d been a long six years, and I hadn’t slept with Nate yet … We’d been dating for nearly two months, but between our schedules we didn’t get to see each other all that often. Hell of a dry spell.
I forced myself to consider Hayes’s question seriously, despite the squelching, squishy noises coming from his lap. How did that woman keep sucking on him like that, oblivious to what was going on? It was very distracting.
“You needed something, sweetheart?” Hayes asked again, taking a swig of his beer. “If you’re here to join in, fine, but otherwise come sit down and tell me what you want.”
Join in?
My cheeks radiated heat and I knew I was lost. I’d done so well staying matter-of-fact up to this point, but there are limits. Just get it over with! Then you can go home and have a very large glass of wine.
I’d need a bucket to hold all the wine I’d be drinking tonight, I decided.
“I’m looking for my cousin’s daughter. She lives with me.”
“Have a seat,” he told me again. Gage gave a laughing snort behind me, shutting the door on us. I glanced down at the couch, an old plaid monstrosity that had to be twenty years old. With my luck, I’d catch a disease from it.
“I can stand.”
“Sit. Down.”
His voice snapped, and I felt myself tremble. Reese Hayes was a scary man. He’d been playing nice so far, but I was all too aware of the rumors surrounding him. Nate was a sheriff’s deputy, and he was full of stories about the Reapers, particularly their president. I’d blown him off, because the MC were good clients and I figured he was just prejudiced against them. No criminal gang could just exist in the middle of the community so openly, could it? Looking at Hayes now, I realized those stories might have been true after all.
His eyes were like cold chips of blue ice, and the hint of gray at his temples and in the scruff covering his chin gave him an air of authority that I wanted to obey almost instinctively. His arms were thick, banded with heavy muscles, and his thighs … I glanced away quickly, because those thick thighs of his framed the half-naked woman sucking his penis perfectly. Like I’d walked into a particularly high-definition porn shoot.
I wanted to die.
Under the best of circumstances this man made me uncomfortable, and I’d done my best to avoid him. So far I’d done a pretty good job, too—wasn’t like he hung around Pawns in the evenings when my crew came in. Well, sometimes he did, but he stayed back in the office.
Maybe that was where he did his money laundering?
Feeling just a smidge hysterical, I wondered exactly how one would go about washing money. I flashed briefly on a vision of Hayes working an old-fashioned, crank-handled washing machine while a group of aproned bikers carefully hung hundred-dollar bills on clotheslines in a sunny meadow.
“Babe?”
I blinked, trying to remember why the hell I’d thought this could be a good idea.
“Yes?”
“Are you gonna sit down or not?” he asked.
“I’m really uncomfortable with”—I gestured toward the woman—“this.”
“That’s not exactly my problem,” he said, dropping a hand to rest on her head. “But if it’s an issue, you can take her place.”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then sit the fuck down and tell me why you’re here.”
His voice tightened, and I realized he was running out of patience. Fair enough—he obviously had other things on his … ahem … mind. I carefully perched on the edge of the couch, facing the door. This was actually better, I realized. I didn’t have to look at him now. Although I could feel the woman’s movements through the furniture frame and that was very creepy.
“My cousin’s daughter is somewhere at this party,” I said quickly. “Her name is Jessica, and she has very poor judgment. I’d really like to get her out of here and home before she does something completely stupid.”
Like set the building on fire.
“You got shit timing.”
I didn’t respond, because what the hell would I say? So far as I knew, Hallmark didn’t make a “Sorry I Interrupted Your Oral Sex” card.
Maybe I should write their corporate office to suggest it?
Hayes grunted, and the movement of the couch stopped.
“Go find Gage,” he muttered to the woman, who pulled free with a smacking noise I really, really didn’t need to hear. A second later she stood and wiped her mouth, glaring at me. I shrugged, offering a faintly apologetic smile. The couch trembled again as Hayes shifted, and for one horrible minute I thought he was actually going to grab me and push me down into her place. Then I heard the sound of a zipper.
“It’s safe.”
