Reapers MC: Devil's Game Part 19

"h.e.l.l," I said shortly.

Silence fell again.

"I miss you, Em."

She didn't answer. I yawned as something dark flew over us, followed by a second shadow.

"What are those?" I asked.

"Bats."

"No s.h.i.+t?"

She laughed.

"Yeah, I'm lying to you about the bats, Liam."

Christ, I loved hearing my name from her lips. Without thinking, I reached out and caught her, pulling her over and into me. She stiffened.

"Relax," I whispered. "You're safe."

She pulled away for an instant, then sighed and nestled her head against my shoulder, slowly relaxing. Just holding her in the darkness kicked a.s.s.

"You know, you were wrong about something," she said after a while.

"What's that?"

"I'd make a s.h.i.+tty old lady."

"How do you figure?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, among other things, I have a habit of warning my club's enemies so they can get away before they're killed," she said slowly. "You won't tell anyone about that, will you? Dad would never forgive me."

"Of course not," I said, my voice firm. "You saved my f.u.c.kin' life. I wouldn't do that to you. h.e.l.l, I don't want to do anything to hurt you. Should've stayed away tonight, but I wanted you to know it was all over."

Bulls.h.i.+t. I wanted to see her. Touch her. Smell her hair.

"It's hard to know what you'd do," Em said. "You taught me an important lesson-you can't trust guys you meet online, remember?"

I winced.

"Yeah, about that ... I'm sorry. It was a d.i.c.k move."

"But you were cool with romancing me and using me to manipulate my father in the first place?"

"Well, to be fair I did it to get laid, too. Wasn't all business."

She gave a little snort. Not an angry snort, more of a snuffly, surprised laugh that caught her off guard.

"Are you going to erase those pictures?" she asked, finally, her voice sobering. "I don't want them out there. You owe me-I saved your a.s.s, I saved Skid, and I saved this precious truce of yours."

She made a good point. But there was no way I'd erase those pictures. f.u.c.kin' crown jewels in my spank bank.

"I'll get rid of them," I lied. s.h.i.+t, if that was the worst one I told today, it'd be a d.a.m.ned record.

"How do I know you're telling the truth? For all I know, you've emailed them to your whole club already."

"Naw, if I'd done that, it would've made the rounds of your club, too," I told her. "No way my brothers would be able to resist sending them to your dad. I'll take care of it. You never have to worry about seeing them again, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, her voice drifting. She was falling asleep, I realized. I held perfectly still. After a few minutes I heard a very soft, very feminine little snore.

Note to self: Pot knocks Em on her a.s.s.

I smirked, and then it faded because not like I'd have a chance to use that information. Pretty sure I wouldn't be seeing her again after tonight. h.e.l.l, best-case scenario, the peace would hold and I'd see her across a campfire in a few years at some kind of gathering between the clubs. She'd have an old man by then ... I'd just have to deal.

Unless it was that c.o.c.ksucker Painter. I didn't like that guy.

My last thought before I fell asleep was that if I ever saw him with Em, I'd have to kill him.

Just no escaping it.

EM.

The birds woke me up. I was freezing cold on my right side, which seemed to be resting on ... the ground? My back was warm, though, and a man's arm lay heavy over my body.

What the f.u.c.k?

Then it came to me.

Liam. Hunter. Whatever the h.e.l.l his name was. He'd met me outside last night. I'd kicked him in the b.a.l.l.s, and the memory warmed me immediately. Then we'd talked and smoked and it hadn't been bad at all. s.h.i.+t. That'd probably been stupid. But even with the ground all cold and damp beneath me, I felt fantastic cradled in his arms. His bicep made a h.e.l.l of a nice pillow.

Ewww. I'd drooled on him.

I felt carefully in my pocket and pulled out my phone. Five thirty in the morning. I needed to get back inside, I realized. Not that Painter was my boss or anything, but he was a d.a.m.ned good spy for my father. I slid out from under Hunter's arm carefully, then stood over him, taking him in one last time. Like so many people, sleep made him look young and innocent. Sure, he was still a big man made up of strong muscles and sharp angles, but his face had softened. Dark stubble covered his chin, and his near-black hair flopped forward over his eyes.

He wore his Devil's Jack cut, too-the first time I'd seen it.

It looked good on him, I decided. Of course, everything looked good on him. He was such a beautiful son of a b.i.t.c.h, I thought wistfully, and now I'd probably never see him again. I couldn't help but wonder what could've been.

Pulling out my phone, I took a couple quick pictures, figuring he'd done far worse to me. Then I walked carefully around the side of the bunkhouse and back to the house. I felt like a teenager sneaking inside after a date, a more accurate a.n.a.logy than I'd realized because Dad's bike was parked in the driveway. Sometime in the night he'd come home, although how I'd missed the sound of his big black Harley I couldn't imagine.

Oh yeah. I'd been stoned off my a.s.s. Oops.

I opened the door carefully. Then I snuck past Painter and climbed the stairs. I pulled out the phone and the gun, setting them on my bedside table before crawling under the covers. On Monday I'd give the folks at the aesthetician's program a call, I decided. Follow up, see what they'd think of me coming to Portland for cla.s.ses when the next quarter started.

It was a city, after all. Not like I'd ever see Liam at all.

Part Two

Chapter Nine.

SIX WEEKS LATER.

COEUR D'ALENE, IDAHO

EM.

I considered the playlist I'd put together on my phone, and smiled.

Then I hit play on the stereo system's control app.

Ba.s.s filled the front of the house, rattling the windows. Dad's room was in the addition off the back, so it wouldn't be too loud in there. Just loud enough to make a hangover much, much worse, if you were unfortunate enough to have one.

Odds were whoever came home with him last night-giggling hysterically, because the endless s.e.x noises weren't quite annoying enough-had a hangover and a half. It'd been the club's Halloween party. I'd gone for a cla.s.sic, the Playboy Bunny (in honor of Bridget Jones), which had been rather satisfying. Painter was all over me, something I would've killed for six months ago. Now? f.u.c.k him.

f.u.c.k all of 'em.

Men, I mean. I was done with people who had p.e.n.i.ses, especially bikers. Liam (he'd disappeared off the face of the earth after his late-night visit, so far as I could tell). Painter (who only wanted me when he couldn't have me). My dad (ugghh).

I'd decided to start campaigning for a woman's right to marry her vibrator. So far I'd collected signatures from ... well, mostly just Maggs. Her old man, Bolt, was coming up for parole soon, but she didn't think he'd get out. He wouldn't admit he'd done anything wrong. We all knew he was innocent. h.e.l.l, we even knew the DNA would exonerate him.

Convincing the state to actually get off their a.s.ses and test it, though? Good luck.

Maggs had dressed up like a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, declaring it was her current version of s.l.u.tty. Said she'd started a.s.sociating prison jumpsuits with s.e.x, seeing how the only time she got laid was during the very occasional conjugal visit.

I considered the music volume levels, then turned them up just a notch. I wasn't blasting the back bedroom too loud-but listening to perky dance songs is a great way to wake up and get moving, right? Not only that, it seemed only civil to make a nice brunch for them.

A new song started, and I heard stirrings from the back of the house. Guessing who would come out of Dad's bedroom any given morning was a real c.r.a.pshoot. I kept fantasizing that he'd bring home someone over the age of thirty, but no joy so far. Knowing my luck, it was yet another chick I'd been in high school with.

I should start carding them to make sure they were legal.

It hadn't always been this way. When Mom died, my dad went dark on us for a while, an angry lion who prowled around the house and occasionally swatted at things that got in his way. That first year I hadn't seen him with a woman, not even once.

After that? It's like a switch went off, and now he screwed around more than Ruger did before Sophie, which was saying something. But I might as well make Dad's "friend" feel welcome, I told myself piously. After a long, hard night she would be hungry. I started whipping up pancakes, singing loudly as songs cycled through.

By the third song, the griddle was hot and the batter ready.

By the sixth I had a dozen pancakes cooked and ready. I'd also heard some thudding from the back of the house, and a high-pitched squeal. His latest party favor sounded just like a baby pig, I decided uncharitably.

Sure enough, when the girl marched into the kitchen, I recognized her. Yet another one I'd gone to school with. Officially icky. I eyed her as I took a sip of coffee. Then I raised my cup, wordlessly offering her some. She shook her head, wincing from the motion. I took another sip of sweet caffeine, hiding my smirk.

I set the cup down and poured a measuring bowl of whipped eggs into the frying pan. I heard a gagging noise behind me as she took off running for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dad wandered into the kitchen. He wore nothing but flannel pajama pants, leaning against the counter as I pa.s.sed him a cup of coffee without comment.

He took a sip, then spoke.

"You have plans for today?" he asked.

He didn't ask about the girl or complain about the loud music.

He never did.

I had a secret theory that he liked how I chased off his women first thing in the morning. Sort of like letting out the dog, or hauling the trash to the curb. It was just one of the many small things I did to make his life more pleasant. In return he made it impossible for me to date and tried to micromanage my life.

Didn't seem quite fair, something I needed to discuss with him. I took a deep breath, figuring there was no time like the present.

"Actually, I've got a project today," I told him.

"What's that?" he asked. A loud barfing noise came from the bathroom, and we both winced.

"Cla.s.sy, Dad."

A pained look crossed his face.

"Yeah, you got me there. So what's this project?"

"Well, you know I've been looking into getting my aesthetician's certification? I found a program and they've accepted me. You know I love doing nails, but I think this would be a great step forward."