Текст книги "Reaper's Property"

Автор книги: Joanna Wylde

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“Babe, I can’t wait to see you in some of this shit,” he said. “Your old job is not my priority here. I don’t give a fuck what you tell her so long as she doesn’t file a missing persons report and make my life a pain in the ass. She does, things aren’t gonna go well. We clear?”

“Okay,” I said, biting my lip. His eyes caught on my mouth and grew dark, so I quickly pulled away and wandered toward a rack of panties—simple ones. Pretty but not slutty, plain cotton hip-huggers. Horse followed me, watching as I picked out a couple and shook his head.

“Get a few of those, you’ll want ’em when you’re on the rag,” he muttered, fingering one distastefully. “But the rest of the time I want you in something sexier.”

His tone didn’t leave any room for negotiation, so I didn’t bother arguing when he turned me bodily and pushed me toward the racks of higher-end stuff. A saleswoman came up to us, all fluttering lashes and smiles for Horse. Before I knew it, I was in a changing room with her, she had measured me and there was a pile of stuff for me to try on. Horse wanted to come in too, but I held my ground, so he waited outside and I called him in to look at each set once I had it on. I don’t know what the store policy was on couples in the rooms alone, but apparently it didn’t apply to giant bikers.

Unfortunately, this meant that he made the final decision on both what I tried on and what he planned to buy. In the end, I had six new pairs of sexy panties with matching bras, in addition to six pairs of plain cotton ones. Some of them were thongs, some were boy cut high across my ass, but all of them showed off my figure in a way that even I had to admit was hot. Then he started picking out corsets and nighties. Some of them looked like something from a bordello, all black lace, cutouts and bright red satin. Others were more tasteful, including a long, lacy nightgown and matching silk robe that looked almost virginal. My favorite piece was an ivory corset and bustier trimmed with faintly pink ribbons shaped like tiny roses. There were matching panties, and the look on Horse’s face when he saw them turned me liquid.

We ended up spending more than a thousand bucks. I almost had a heart attack, but Horse just ignored me as he paid the girl in cash. I don’t know whose eyes were wider when he pulled out that wad of bills, hers or mine. Then he handed me a black pushup bra and matching thong, saying, “Go put them on.”

I did what he said.

I figured that was the end of our shopping, but when we got back in the car he drove me to a motorcycle dealership. There he bought me a couple of Harley-Davidson tank tops that were way, way tighter than anything I’d ever worn in public before and a lightweight leather jacket. Next we stopped at a place called the Line—a strip club with an attached store full of women’s clothing. Apparently it belonged to the Reapers, and while the place wasn’t open yet for the day, the staff had arrived and were busy getting ready.

“I don’t like this place,” I told him as I followed him through the club toward a door in the far wall. Everywhere I looked were girls wearing almost nothing, some of them naked except for thongs and high heels while others wore silky robes. A few of them took his arm, pressing against his side. Some looked at me speculatively. One reached down and slid her hand over his fly, squeezing as she kissed his neck.

“Back off,” Horse said, clearly annoyed. She pouted and turned, glaring at me. “Fuckin’ bitches,” he murmured, unlocking a door leading into the store next door.

It wasn’t open for the day and I was thankful for that. This place made Vicky’s Secret look like a burkha warehouse. Edible panties, stripper heels, leather and lace and sex toys everywhere, including a few that made Horse’s equipment look small, which kind of frightened me. I literally couldn’t find a safe place to put my eyes, so I watched Horse instead as he picked out an outfit best described as “post-modern slut”. It included a dark-brown leather corset/bustier that stopped mid-stomach, exposing my bellybutton and the curves of my waist. He threw in a skirt so short I seriously wondered if I’d get arrested if we went out in public.

“I can’t wear this,” I told him, shaking my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. He stood by the counter, ignoring me. “I can’t, Horse. I’ll die.”

“You’ll wear it,” he replied, obviously preoccupied as he wrote something in a ledger.

“No.”

He looked up at me, taking in my belligerent stance. His eyes narrowed and we stood frozen for nearly a minute, neither of us blinking or giving an inch.

“We gotta go over the rules again?” he asked finally. “Because the way I remember things, you were begging to do whatever it took to save your pansy-ass brother, despite the fact that he came to us, asked us to back him and then screwed us over. In my world, that’s a prepaid funeral. You changing your mind about our deal? Door’s right over there, babe.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said, voice low and unsteady. “You can be so nice sometimes. Why do you do this?” I asked, gesturing to the horrible outfit he’d picked. “Do you really hate me so much? I don’t think I deserve this, Horse.”

He shook his head, reaching up and gripping the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.

“I don’t hate you, babe,” he said. “You piss me off, but I can live with that. Hell, fuckin’ turns me on most of the time. But you just don’t understand all that’s happening here and I can’t tell you without fucking things up. If this bothers you I’m sorry, but there’s a good reason for it. You’ll just have to trust me.”

He turned back to the ledger, ignoring me for another minute. I watched him, seriously considering whether or not to back out of our deal, but I couldn’t do that to Jeff. He needed me.

“Shit, I forgot,” Horse said suddenly. “You need some shoes too. Go pick something out. Doesn’t matter which ones, any of ’em will do.”

Happy for a distraction, I wandered over to the wall of shoes, thankful that for once I could pick for myself. Then I realized why he didn’t bother telling me what to get, because each and every pair were clearly designed for stripping and nothing else. I settled on a pair of patent leather Mary Janes that would have looked almost demure if they didn’t have a four-inch spike heel.

Amazingly, almost every other shoe had even higher heels, some of them on platforms so tall I doubted I’d be able to take a single step wearing them. I grabbed the shoes and gave them to Horse, who didn’t say anything. His eyes darkened though, and he reached down to adjust his pants. I felt a little thrill of desire and power roar to life, which bugged the crap out of me. Why couldn’t I decide whether I liked him or hated him? How could I go from being angry to horny so incredibly fast? It wasn’t fair. I changed back out of my clothes and he bagged them, along with some teeny tank tops and baby doll t-shirts that read “Support your local Reapers Motorcycle Club”.

At least the trip to the grocery store wasn’t bad. It took us about an hour to get everything on the list. Once again, people took care to stay out of his way, which worked just fine for me. We didn’t even have to wait in line to check out, everyone just waved us ahead of them.

“Is it always like this?” I asked him as we loaded up the groceries.

“Usually,” he replied. “We’re not the biggest club, but we’re definitely in charge around here. So long as they give us respect, it’s all good. Not many citizens up for taking on a Reaper, that’s for damned sure.”

“What happens if they do?” I asked. He gave me a sharp look.

“What do you think?”

Stupid question.

When we got home Horse insisted on unloading the groceries, telling me to go upstairs and put away my new things. While just thinking about the stripper skirt gave me hives, I had to admit that the shoes made me feel sort of sexy. I couldn’t resist trying on the bustier again, which wasn’t so bad with my hip-hugging jeans. I couldn’t see my whole body in the mirror on the top of the dresser, but I saw enough to know I looked good.

Really good.

Once I finished pulling off tags and putting things away I wandered downstairs. Horse was gone, but I found a note on the table.

Got shit to do—hang out and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back around seven. Have dinner ready. We’re going out tonight.

Not exactly the master of conveying information.

I grabbed Horse’s cordless house phone and a book, then settled myself on the front porch to call Denise and let her know I wouldn’t be back to work. I felt like a complete ass when I told her I couldn’t give any notice. She didn’t buy my excuse for a minute.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Don’t bullshit me, Marie. Your trailer burned down last night and now you tell me you’re living with some man you barely know? What’s really happening? Tell me why I shouldn’t call the cops.”

It was hard to do, but I tried to put just the right amount of concern about the trailer burning into my voice while still sounding happy about my new circumstances.

“Jeff called me last night and told me about the trailer,” I said, trying to sound earnest and sad. “He said he started it, I guess he left his pipe on the floor before going on a beer run. I’m bummed that it burned down but I’m lucky because I already had all my stuff packed up and moved out. Jeff told me he’s crashing with a friend. He doesn’t want me to come back, says it’s his problem and he doesn’t have a place for me to stay anyway.”

“I see,” Denise said, although clearly she didn’t. “I don’t think that’s the whole story, but I guess it matches the newspaper story. Marie, I hate to say this, but I’m not going to be able to give you a reference.”

“I understand,” I replied, feeling depressed. She sighed heavily.

“You call me if you need me. I’ll respect your decision but things go bad fast sometimes. I’ll drive up and get you any time.”

“Thanks, Denise,” I said, eyes watering up. I didn’t deserve her kindness, yet she offered it without strings. As I put the phone down, I decided that sometimes kindness hurts more than getting hit physically.

Go figure.

True to his word, Horse disappeared until a little before seven. I spent my time alone reading and exploring the property. There were several outbuildings, including an old barn and a bunkhouse. The barn had been cleared out and converted into a shop where Horse seemed to be rebuilding a couple of different bikes. I found a fridge out there with some beer in it, which made me think of Picnic, Max and Bam Bam visiting me and Jeff in better times. Horse also had a big fire pit out back, surrounded by stumps that appeared to do double duty as seats and chopping blocks as needed. There were four picnic tables too, obviously hand-crafted.

I guess Horse was good with his hands in more than one way.

I fixed chicken and dumplings for dinner, one of my favorites because it always filled the house with a welcoming and comfortable smell, perfect for day’s end. I heard Harley pipes outside and then Horse walked in through the mud room.

“Smells great in here,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. I leaned back into him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine. Apparently nice Horse would be joining me for dinner instead of his evil twin. “After we eat, we’re going out. I want you to wear the clothes we picked up at the Line.”

I stiffened, pulling away from him. So much for nice Horse. He sighed but didn’t pull me back. Instead he walked over to the stove and peeked into the simmering pot. I glared at him, deciding he could serve his own damned food. He shrugged, taking a bowl and filling it before he put some salad on a plate. He carried it all to the table, sitting down and tucking in.

“You gonna eat?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell with his strippers and their lurid, nasty clothing, but my stomach picked that moment to growl, totally ruining the moment. I grabbed food and sat down across from him.

“This place we’re going tonight,” he said. “It’s another MC’s clubhouse, Silver Bastards, outside of Callup.”

“Where’s Callup?”

“Silver Valley, between here and Montana. Middle of nowhere, really. They’re a Reaper support club, run the valley for us.”

That led to about a hundred questions, all of which I suspected would fall under the category of “club business”. I decided to focus on logistics instead.

“How am I getting there?”

“Back of my bike,” he replied, like the answer was obvious.

“In that skirt and those heels? Not a good plan, Horse.”

“Not the most comfortable,” he agreed. “But we need to do it.”

“Why?”

“Gotta make the right impression,” he replied. “Enough questions. Listen up—when we get there, you stick with me, and I mean all the time unless I tell you otherwise. You got no property patch, you’re not an old lady. Every biker in the place’ll tag you in the first five minutes. That means open season, and wearing clothes like that will attract a lot of attention.”

“Then don’t make me wear them.”

“Just do what you’re told. Don’t take a drink unless I okay it. Don’t dance with anyone. You gotta pee, you tell me and I’ll walk you back to do it. Some bitch gets in your face while you’re in the bathroom, you scream loud so I can hear you. Got it?”

I agreed, not liking the sound of this at all.

“Go upstairs and get ready now. Your hair’s gonna be blown to shit on the bike, so don’t worry too much about it. I want to see a lot of makeup though. And don’t bother bringing a bag, just your ID. I’ll carry it for you.”

I grimaced. Of course he’d carry it for me. Stupid stripper clothes didn’t exactly come with pockets.

This was gonna suck.

Chapter Thirteen

I don’t know quite what I expected from the Silver Bastards’ clubhouse. Some dark pit full of bikers and sluts screwing on tables maybe, or drugs changing hands in the street out front while armed guards with machine guns patrolled restlessly.

Not so much.

We pulled up around ten at a low, squat building that looked like every other small-town bar on earth. It sat outside the thriving metropolis of Callup, Idaho, located just six short miles from Bumfuck, Egypt. I saw a faded sign reading “Silver Bastards” over the door, and there had to be at least thirty bikes parked out front. A couple of guys hung outside, watching over the bikes, and when Horse pulled up they exchanged friendly grunts.

“Prospects,” he murmured, putting his arm around my neck possessively and pulling me tight into his side as we walked through the door. His body heat felt good. Even with my jacket (left with the bike, of course—wouldn’t want to risk covering up that classy corset!) the ride had been chilly. “See how they only have a bottom rocker, not three patches? That’s how you tell. They watch the bikes, run errands, shit like that. They’ll keep an eye on my bike even though they aren’t Reapers because this is a support club.”

I wasn’t too sure what all that meant, but remembering his warnings about club business, I didn’t ask. Inside, the mountain-side watering hole motif continued. Scuffed wood floors, a long bar on one wall with a hallway beyond, presumably leading to rest rooms. Lots of high tables with stools stood in the center of the room, with couches lining the walls and arranged in groups for conversation. The music was loud but not too loud, and several women dressed remarkably similar to me were dancing in an open area toward the back. A guy stood behind the bar, and when he turned away I saw he was another prospect.

Men stood up as we walked in, all rough-looking, all wearing cuts. A girl in a bikini top and Daisy Dukes asked us if we wanted anything to drink. The guys didn’t speak to Horse unless he spoke first, which was weird, because clearly they were eager to talk to him. I decided Horse must be the biker equivalent of visiting royalty. He did say this was a support club, so the attitude of respect and deference must be part of that. Strange that a whole different world of bikers, complete with their own bars and laws and leaders, could exist without regular people like me even knowing about it—yet here we were, smack-dab in the middle of that world.

I stayed close to Horse as he exchanged back-thumps and manly hugs with some of the other guys. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him toward a couch against the back wall, which magically cleared for us. I nearly fell over trying to keep up in my ridiculous heels. He took a spot on one end, spreading out and relaxing as he pulled me down onto his lap sideways, my back against the arm rest, legs dangling down over his. His left arm cradled me and he dropped his right hand down to my leg, fingers sliding up the inside of my thigh. This pushed my skirt high enough that the big, burly man who sat down on the other side of the couch had to see my bright-red thong-style panties. Not cool.

I leaned over and whispered in Horse’s ear, “Why don’t you just pee on me and get it over with?”

“Don’t flip me any shit, Marie,” he replied softly. “You wanna fight with me, do it in private. It makes me hard when you run that mouth of yours. Right now I’m picturing it wrapped around my cock. That’s between you and me. But tonight, in public, you do what I say or things will get ugly. Nobody insults a Reaper in front of an audience, not without consequences, and they are always extreme.”

He squeezed my thigh for emphasis, brushing a fingertip against the front of my panties to make his point. His cock grew under my ass and I shivered. Horse talking tough turned me on in a way that my brain insisted was flat-out wrong. My body remembered exactly how good it felt to take him inside though, and it wouldn’t be happy until he filled me up again. At least I wasn’t the only one suffering. I wiggled a little more to get back at him, enjoying the sharp intake of his breath as my butt teased his dick.

“Kelly, get your ass over here with a drink for the man,” the guy next to us bellowed. He was probably ten years older than Horse, with just a hint of gray in his hair. A lot of the bikers seemed to wear beards, but his face was clean-shaven, and he wasn’t shy about checking me out. I didn’t get the impression that his appraisal was personal though. More like he was sizing me up, trying to judge me on some level I couldn’t understand.

Bikini girl showed up with a tray full of beers and shots, which she unloaded on a little table in front of us. The guy next to us handed a beer to Horse, who reached around me to take it in his left hand. The man offered me a beer next. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I looked to Horse.

“Have at it,” he told me.

“Damn, that didn’t take long,” said the other man, laughing. “Mousie knows her place, I take it?”

I stiffened, and Horse’s hand squeezed my thigh again in warning.

“She’s learning,” he said. “Gonna be interesting. You heard the news?”

“I heard something. This is her, I take it?” the man replied, glancing toward me. I chugged down almost half my beer, more than ready for a little liquid courage.

“Collateral,” Horse replied and his friend grunted. They ignored me as they started talking about people I didn’t know, so I let my eyes wander around the room, starting with the guy sitting next to us. He had tousled, deep-brown hair and greenish eyes. His cut had “President” written on it, along with a one-percenter patch and a few others I didn’t recognize. Picnic had a president patch too, but I’d never seen anything identifying Horse as an officer. The Reapers must be pretty powerful if a regular guy like Horse got this much respect from the president of another club. I took another long chug of my beer, surprised to discover I’d finished it. That seemed funny to me, and I had to catch myself before I burped.

What can I say? I’ve always been a lightweight.

I looked longingly toward the remaining beers on the table, thinking another would really hit the spot. Bikini girl reappeared, winding her way toward the couch. She leaned down low to take my empty, boobs hanging right in Horse’s line of sight, ass pointed at the other guy. That sort of pissed me off, but when I tried to glare at her she just offered a friendly wink and handed me another beer.

Not such a bad sort, I decided.

I glanced at Horse, catching his eye before I started drinking again. He nodded absently, fingers starting a slow slide back and forth across my thigh as the conversation continued. The guys ignored me for the most part as they shot the shit, talking bikes and business, using words that had to be code because the conversation didn’t make any sense to me at all. Occasionally other men walked up and took a chair for a while, then they’d drift away. Certain words and phrases jumped out at me as being potentially important, but I couldn’t put it all together. Respect. Something about a charity run for toys (which seemed totally out of sync with the criminal-biker-vibe hanging in the air). Meeting up with the Mexicans, whoever they were. Border patrol and “fucking homeland security”.

I tuned them out because there were far more interesting things to do. Drinking a third beer, for one. Watching the crowd. There had to be fifty or sixty people in the room. Most of the men wore Silver Bastards cuts, with big patches on the back that had a stylized picture of a man with a pickaxe, flames shooting out behind him. There were lots of women around too. Most of the women were dressed like me—slutty as hell—and they circulated through the crowd, handing out drinks, picking up empties and occasionally settling in to make out with one of the Silver Bastards. There was a lot of groping, and not limited to individual couples. The guys seemed to have a real thing for being double-teamed. I saw several girls disappear down the back hallway, giggling as men dragged them away.

Then the front door opened and a tall blonde woman with tasteful makeup and an air of authority walked in. She looked around for a minute, spotted us and cut straight through the crowd. She was different from the other women, anyone could see it. For one thing, she wore jeans that were tight enough to show her figure, but not painted on. She had on a black tank top with a Silver Bastards’ emblem on it, which displayed her rather well-developed cleavage perfectly. Her hair had been highlighted by a professional who knew his shit and she wore a black leather vest.

Most of the women circulating seemed to get their asses grabbed regularly, but nobody tried it on the blonde. Men moved out of her way, several of them calling out a welcome, but I didn’t catch a single one checking out her boobs or ass.

The president-guy sitting next to us stood up as she walked our way, a look coming over his face that could only be described as deep satisfaction. She ignored everyone else as she reached him. He pulled her close, one hand tangled in her hair and the other on her butt as he gave her a long kiss so intimate I felt embarrassed to watch them. He reached down with both hands now, urging her to wrap her legs around him as he lifted her high and nuzzled between her breasts. She laughed and smacked him. As he turned and set her back down I made out the patches on the back of her vest.

“Property of Boonie, Silver Bastards MC”.

Horse’s hand tightened on my thigh again, and I didn’t dare look at him. For the first time, I almost got what he’d been trying to tell me. This woman, Boonie’s property, fell into a whole different category from the rest of us girls, and it showed. Her man clearly thought she was the shit, and he wasn’t afraid to let everyone know it—even I could see the invisible aura of untouchability surrounding her.

So that’s what Horse had offered me…

His hand fell away from my thigh and he urged me to my feet. He stood and waited until the president and his blonde stopped making out, turning to face us.

“Darcy, this is Marie,” Horse said. She looked me up and down, eyes questioning.

“Hey, Marie,” she replied. “You’re new around here, I’m thinking.”

I glanced at Horse, unsure if I should be talking to her or not.

“Go with Darcy,” he told me. “She’ll take good care of you. Boonie and I need some privacy.”

I must have looked a little panicked, because he leaned over and whispered in my ear. “She’s Boonie’s old lady, she won’t let anything happen to you. You stick to her like shit on a blanket. Tell her why you’re with me, about your brother and the money. Got me?”

I agreed. Darcy offered me a soft smile, then leaned up for one more kiss from Boonie before gesturing me to follow her. Horse smacked my butt as I walked away, making me jump. I felt immediately exposed, men’s eyes falling on me speculatively as Darcy led me down the back hallway. We passed some bathrooms and seeing them made me aware of my full bladder.

“Can we make a pit stop?” I asked.

“Sure,” she replied, pushing open the door for me. I don’t know what I expected, some kind of setup with stalls and a couple of sinks. Instead I found a single, dingy room with a toilet and sink. She followed me in, which surprised me. I must’ve had a funny look on my face because she laughed softly. Of course, I usually hit the bathroom with my friends when we went out, but I didn’t even know this chick.

“Oh, sugar, we got no secrets here and privacy’s hard to find. What’s a girl like you doing with Horse?”

I stood there, uncertain whether to answer or pee first. I decided to multitask, pulling down my panties.

“I’m with him because my brother owes the club a lot of money,” I said, going as quickly as I could. I pulled up my panties and found her staring at me.

“You’re with him because your brother owes money?” she asked very carefully, crossing her arms over her chest. “Explain. Now.”

“Um, I guess my brother was working with the Reapers on something, I don’t know what,” I said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. “They found out he was stealing from them. They decided to kill him, but Horse wanted to fuck me and so they gave him another shot to pay the money back. I’m the collateral. Something about paying in blood.”

She just looked at me for a minute, eyebrows raised, and I shuffled nervously, wondering if I’d said too much. Then her face softened.

“Oh you poor baby,” she said, reaching out and pulling me into her arms. I started telling her everything about me and Horse in a disjointed tumble of words. I didn’t know this woman, but it felt so good to talk about it. At some point I cried, and she just held on and rubbed my back, making soothing noises until I settled down into snuffles and hiccups. A woman’s voice called through the door, demanding that we get our asses out. Now. Darcy yelled back, “Go pee outside, you fucking skank!”

That startled me out of my little pity party. I pulled away, wiping my eyes, fingers dark with mascara. I’d piled on the makeup just like Horse’d asked. Wasn’t going to be easy to fix that.

“Um, how did you know she was a skank?” I asked, voice wavering. Darcy smiled at me encouragingly, holding my shoulders and looking down into my face with a grin.

“Darlin’, they’re all skanks,” she replied, smiling. “You and I are the only females in the entire place that aren’t human petri dishes. Old ladies aren’t into bullshit parties like this, and despite what the boys might pretend in public, a man who fucks around on his old lady at one is gonna discover just how cold things can get at home. We don’t tell them what to do. We just tell them what we’re gonna do and let them figure it out for themselves. The system works.”

I giggled a little bit at that, feeling better than I had since arriving.

“What I don’t get is why he brought you here,” she said, grabbing some paper towels and dabbing at my face. I turned toward the mirror, but she stopped me. “Trust me, babe, you don’t wanna see what you look like right now.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m here either. And I really don’t know what’s going on with me and Horse. For a while things were great. Well, great on and off.”

“So why are you ‘off’ at the moment?” she asked, biting her lip as she carefully wiped below my eye.”

“Well, I think I hurt his feelings,” I said. She stopped, giving me a look of patent disbelief.

“You hurt his feelings?”

“I told him I wouldn’t be his old lady for a million bucks. By text.”

“Shit. That’s a big deal, kid.”

I nodded.

“He told me it was, but I blew him off when he tried to explain. He stopped talking to me and I got drunk and sent him a bunch of texts and that’s when things really fell apart. Then I found the Reapers holding a gun to my brother’s head and Horse told me they’d give Jeff another chance if I came with him, so I did.”

Amazingly, Darcy didn’t accuse me of making it all up or some other normal, reasonable reaction to my crazy story.

“Okay, you can look now,” she said. I was impressed with what she’d accomplished. My eyes were smudged from the mascara but she’d blended it so they looked more smoky than scary. Darcy put her hands on my shoulders, meeting my gaze in the mirror as she stood behind me.

“Horse is a good man,” she said, and I didn’t doubt her sincerity. “But he’s clearly fucked in the head. This is not good shit.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “He told me that if I didn’t want to be an old lady he wouldn’t treat me like one. I apologized for the texts I sent but I don’t think it mattered.”

She gave a little laugh then shook her head.

“Sounds like you’re right—you bruised his precious little man feelings. But he can’t just acknowledge that, they never do.”

I smiled back at her, but it died as I thought about Jeff.

“What about my brother?” I asked. “Got any insight into that one?”

She sobered and shook her head.

“He’s in deep shit. Wish I could tell you something else, but the Reapers don’t fuck around when it comes to their rep. They lose that, we’re all at war. Lotta clubs just waiting to step in and take over this territory.”

“That’s what Horse said.”

“Here’s a piece of advice, whether you want it or not. Your brother’s a dead man unless he makes things right with the club. Horse can’t change that and you can’t either. Sounds like you’re buying him some time, but don’t think for a minute that they won’t follow through if he doesn’t pay them. So remember—it’s not your fault if things don’t go well for him.”