Reaper's Property (14 page)

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.”