Devil's Game (Reapers MC #3) (30 page)

We climbed up the stairs to join them.

Burke stuck a key in the door and opened it, gesturing for us to go inside. The place was completely empty, and while you could tell it had gorgeous lines, the house clearly needed work. The floors were all wood, but they were scratched to hell and back. It had a shotgun layout—living room, dining room, and kitchen all in a straight line. I assumed bedrooms were upstairs.

“What do you think?” Burke asked Hunter. “In addition to this, there’s an old carriage house out back. You’d never know it, but it’s a double lot. Spans the block.”

“It’s solid construction,” he said. “But not quite sure why we’re here.”

“I’m buying it,” Burke said. “Figured you and Em might like a house of your own. What do you think?”

I stared at Burke, wary. Em’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t say anything—proof positive that she was her father’s daughter. She’d drill me later, but she wouldn’t give away shit in front of witnesses. Good thing, too, because Burke was a twisty fucker, and for all I knew this was some kind of elaborate test of some kind.

“Skid, why don’t you take Em upstairs, show her the rest of the house?”

“Sure,” Skid said, his tone neutral, but I saw a hint of something dark in his eyes. Whatever was happening here, Skid was already
in on it. We’d have words about that later. He led Em away, and I turned to Burke.

“What’s this all about?” I asked bluntly.

“Investment property,” Burke said, offering a fatherly smile. “The market’s still recovering, and it’s a good value. Plenty of room out back. I might want to store some things there at some point. You kids do the work to fix this place up, you live here for free. In a few years, you can buy it from me. Hell, maybe I’ll just give it to you. You’re the closest thing I have to a son, Hunter. If you’re really ready to settle down, I want you in a good place.”

I stilled, not buying it for an instant.

“What’s the game?”

Burke dropped the pretense, eyes hardening.

“That’s why I like you so much, always have. No bullshit. It’s a fucking shame you can’t go higher in the club, at least not for now. Until then, I like the idea of you playing house here in Portland. We’ve got a decent presence started, but it’s touch and go. I set you up here with Princess Emmy, the Reapers will think twice about shooting up the place if things go south. Instant safe house.”

I shook my head.

“I won’t risk Em,” I said, and I meant it. “Deal breaker.”

“It’s not a risk,” Burke said. “She’ll be safer here than anywhere else. We won’t hurt her, and they sure as shit won’t, either. That girl is walking, talking neutral territory, and putting her in this house brings us one step closer to establishing a real chapter in Portland. The only place she’d be safer is in her daddy’s house, but I’m willing to bet you won’t be moving in with him.”

“She’s a person, you know. Not just a pawn for you to play with.”

“We’re all pawns,” he replied softly. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he looked almost human. “And the cartel will keep coming. This game doesn’t end and we both know it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. Proud, too. You know, back when we first cooked this whole Em plan up, we figured she’d be a good old lady.”

“Best
ever,” I agreed warily. God damn, but he was a wily old bastard.

“Then treat her right. You know, I used to be married. Didn’t work out too well …” he said, looking away. “I regret that, I honestly do. You got something good with that girl, so don’t fuck it up. Now go upstairs and look around, see if Em’s on board. If she is, I’ll call the real estate agent.”

Em stood by the window in the front bedroom, overlooking the street. There were two smaller rooms and a bathroom, too. I came to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her small figure and dropping my chin to her shoulder. Burke wanted me to use this beautiful girl again, and I fucking hated him for it. I’d hurt her once already on his orders. It had to stop here … although he’d been right about a couple of things. The first was the game—it wouldn’t end. And the second was that I had something real good with Em.

Too good to lose for anything. Even the Jacks.

“Thoughts?” I asked, her small body tucked against mine, the feel of her completing me in a way even my club couldn’t. It reinforced my decision and I felt a sense of something like peace about what I had to do. Sure, the thought of it still sickened me, but the thought of losing her sickened me more.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Was he serious?”

“Yup. He wants to buy it and have us fix it up. In exchange, he’ll let us live here for free.”

“That seems a little … out of character? I mean, based on what you’ve told me about him.”

“You could say that,” I answered. “He’s not doing it out of the goodness of his heart, that’s for sure. He wants neutral territory, and figures putting you in a house with me will help keep the peace.”

I felt her stiffen, but then she nodded. “I can see that. What do you think?”

“I
don’t like the idea of using you again,” I told her honestly. “I love you and I realized something down there, listening to him.”

“What’s that?”

I paused, taking a deep breath, my heart suddenly pounding. The club had been my life. My family. My brothers. Everything.

Jacks first.

I’d lived by those words for eight years.

“Maybe I should leave the club, Em. We can pull free of all this.”

She stilled. Some women wouldn’t get what I’d just offered, but Em was a child of the Reapers. She
knew
. Then I felt her body relax and her hands came up and covered mine where they lay across her belly.

“But would letting him use me really be that bad, if it’s for peace?” she asked softly. “My club doesn’t want to hurt me, and if I’m helping you create neutral ground, that’ll make me even more valuable to yours. Isn’t that about as safe as we get in this life? This could be good for all of us, Liam.”

Something in me unclenched, and I felt such incredible relief I could hardly stand. I loved my club so much … it was just that I loved Em more.

“Are you sure?” I asked her. Em tugged away from me and turned in my arms, looking up as she cupped my face between her hands. Her eyes met mine and she held my gaze, her expression utterly serious.

“I’m sure,” she said. “There are things I don’t like about your club, but they also helped make you who you are. They’re your family, and now they’re my family, too. I’m not a civilian and I didn’t fall in love with a stockbroker. I fell in love with a Devil’s Jack. I know what it means to wear a cut.”

Then she gave me that same beautiful, goofy smile that’d made me fall in love with her in an instant so many months ago in that parking lot. Fuckin’ punch to the gut. Every. Time.

“Now do you want to move in with me?” she asked lightly.
“Maybe create a little safe patch of peace here in Portland? The house has potential—I could be happy living here. But only with you. Skid and the boys can come visit, but they have to keep their own place. I don’t want to live in a frat house.”

“Easy call,” I said, wondering what the fuck I’d done to get this lucky. “He doesn’t smell nice like you.”

“Well, I guess if smell is the criteria, I probably do win,” she said, leaning forward, arms tightening around my waist. I could hold her like this forever. “I like the idea of keeping the peace. And we’re practically living together already. I guess if things get bad, I could always go back to Cookie’s house.”

I clenched up again.

“No,” I said firmly. “If things get bad, you’ll stay right here with me and we’ll work through it.”

“Okay,” she whispered, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear. Then she popped up on her toes and kissed me gently. “Want to get started right now?”

“Started on what?”

“Working through things. Because I think you need some clarification on the whole lying issue …”

I froze. What had I done now? I searched my memory, wondering if I’d lied without even noticing? Fuck.

“I know I said to only tell me the truth,” she whispered. “But for future reference, when a woman asks a man if something makes her look fat, the answer is always no. Always. Think you can remember that?”

Oh, thank Christ.

“You’re fucked up.”

“But can you remember it?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Then I guess I’ll move in with you. But I’m serious about Skid. He has to stay at the other house with the guys.”

“That’s fine, so long as your dad stays at the clubhouse when he comes to visit.”

“No
problem,” she said, giggling. She squeezed me tighter. “Love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.”

It wasn’t a lie.

“Pic, check this out.”

Picnic glanced up from his desk toward Gage. The club’s enforcer sat in front of four screens streaming security footage.

“What?”

“New cleaning bitch,” Gage said. “Marie’s out, says she can’t handle it and her homework. Nobody else is available, so Bolt hired a civilian. She runs a service or something, got a good rep.”

“And I should care because?”

“Look at her ass, then rethink the question.”

Picnic pushed up slowly and walked around his cluttered workspace in the pawn shop office. He’d spent the last hour trying to figure out what the hell he’d done with the ticket for the red and gold Harley out back in the yard. Some dumbass rich kid had pawned it, probably to buy pot or something equally stupid. He’d had his eye on it ever since. Spoiled little shit had defaulted that morning.

Gage leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach.

“Nice, hmm?”

Pic leaned forward and took her in, then gave a low whistle.

“She know there’s a camera on her?”

“Probably not,” Gage replied, smirking. “They’re not hidden, but they don’t jump out at you, either.”

The new cleaner was down on her hands and knees, ass pointing
toward the camera mounted in the corner. And what an ass it was … Her faded jeans had ridden down, exposing the very top of her rear. No crack, but damned close. It was shaped like a heart, nice and bouncy and curved exactly how he liked ’em.

She leaned forward a little more, and he realized she was using a knife to scrape something up off the floor, under the overhanging lip of the display cabinet. She wiggled again and Pic shifted, reaching down to adjust his pants. Fuck that was hot.

“Her face as pretty as her ass?”

“Yeah,” Gage said, leaning forward to fiddle with the controls. The camera zoomed in on her crotch as she spread her legs slightly. Pic bit back a groan.

“This her first night?”

“Yup.”

“Anyone tap that yet?”

“Nope.”

“No fuckin’ the help allowed. Make sure it’s known.”

Gage glanced up at him and smirked.

“Since when is that a rule? You’ve slept with half the girls at The Line. Hell, you took one home last night.”

Pic grunted, eyes glued to the screen. “New dancers are easy to find. A good cleaner isn’t.”

Gage shook his head, then zoomed back out. The cleaner stood up, stretching her arms high over her head. She turned and said something to another woman working across the showroom. The reply made her smile and Picnic caught his breath. Damn, she was stunning, despite the fact that her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her jeans and sweatshirt had seen better days. Thick, dark eyelashes. Deep brown eyes that sparkled. Big, pouty lips.

Lips that belonged around his cock.

Then she pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a blue spaghetti-strap tank top. It showed off her tits just right—good size, and he’d bet
his life the nipples hiding underneath would fit his mouth perfectly. Tossing the sweatshirt lightly on the counter, she leaned over, grabbed a spray bottle of blue window cleaner, and started attacking the display case.

“Jesus, I wanna fuck those tits,” Gage muttered. “You sure she’s off-limits?”

Pic growled. “Yeah. I’m sure. Anyone who touches her will answer to me. D’you think she’s puttin’ on a show for us? I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“No idea,” Gage replied. “She’s missed her calling. Bitch should be doin’ porn.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

“Fire her,” he said suddenly. “Find someone else.”

“We’ve had the prospects cleaning for a week now. We need them on other things, and I guess Bolt had a hell of a time finding her in the first place.”

She stood, then leaned back against the counter, cocking her head as she said something to her co-worker. The fact that the counter was the perfect height to shove her down and fuck her on didn’t escape his notice.

“We got a file on her?”

Gage leaned over and opened a drawer, pulling out a folder. Pic flipped it open. Not much there. London Armstrong, owner of London’s Cleaning Service. Thirty-eight years old, which surprised him. She looked younger. A lot younger. Not that the security cam had the best resolution, but still … She’d been in business six years, solid reputation. Total civilian. And she might be single, but she had custody of a kid—some high school girl. Not hers. A cousin.

Shit.

London didn’t sound like the kind of woman who’d be down for a one-night stand. Nope, despite her sexy little dance, she had a clean, wholesome look, which killed him, because he didn’t do clean. He liked his girls filthy dirty and without strings … not
to mention young enough to follow his orders without too many questions. Women her age were old enough to know better.

“Tell Bolt to find someone else ASAP,” he muttered. “And until then, hands off. I’m serious.”

Gage laughed.

“Just fuck her and get it over with. It’s obvious you want to.”

“Eat shit,” Pic muttered, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin, because Gage was right. He did want to fuck her.

He wanted to fuck her a lot.

Devil’s Game
covers some of the same time period and events in
Reaper’s Legacy
, but if you’ve read other books in the series you’ll note that this book is slightly different in tone. I’ve had several people ask me why, and the only explanation I can offer is that the characters are younger and this is how their story played out. In many ways this is a New Adult book, and the structure reflects that.

A note on motorcycle club culture: One of the most common questions I hear from readers is, “How real is the Reapers MC?” It’s difficult to answer because my books are romantic fantasies, and aren’t intended to delve into the inner workings of a club or explore the ethical implications of club life. They’re meant to entertain, and have been sensationalized to make that happen.

Having said that, as a former journalist, I started the series determined to make it as realistic as possible in terms of culture and language. To that end,
Devil’s Game
has been reviewed for accuracy by a woman currently attached to an outlaw club, and the club details are relatively true to life (with a few minor exceptions, where I allowed myself some artistic license). MC culture is diverse and the lives of women living in clubs are relatively undocumented. It has been my privilege to get to know many of these women through my research, and I have come to believe that stereotypes about their existence are often inaccurate and even damaging. Their input on this story has been extremely valuable, and I am deeply appreciative of their ongoing support.