Reaper's Property (2 page)
Authors: Joanna Wylde
Half an hour later the weeds seemed to be
winning so I decided to take a break. I climbed up on top of the picnic table,
resting my feet on the bench seat on one side and lying back with my arms over
my head, dangling off the far side. It felt fantastic to be so relaxed and free
in my own yard without a care in the world.
Naturally, that’s when all the bikers
showed up.
Who were these guys?
It didn’t occur to me that I was glistening
with sweat and wearing a bikini top until they turned off the bikes, pulled off
their helmets and turned to scope me out. To make my own personal cliché
perfect, Def Leppard’s
Pour Some Sugar on Me
blasted through the radio.
I winced—I must look like a white-trash princess from hell, basking outside my
trailer in a bikini to outdated butt rock. I actually felt their eyes crawling
over me, and while all three seemed to appreciate the view, it was the one in
the middle who really caught my attention. The man was big. I don’t just mean
tall (which he was—he had to be nearly six and a half feet compared to my
petite five foot four) but large. Broad shoulders, muscular arms with tattooed
tribal cuffs around his wrists and biceps. I’d bet I couldn’t put my two hands
around those arms, and thick thighs I wanted to squeeze…and maybe lick.
He got off his bike and walked toward me,
eyes holding mine hostage. I felt a startling flush of warmth between my legs.
I’d gone a long time without feeling sexual at all, to be honest. The last few
years with Gary had been frustrating at best and painful at worst. But
something about the way this biker swaggered, taking up space and the very air
around him with his presence, caught me off guard and knocked me right in the…
Well, you know.
My nipples hardened and I swayed a little
as he stopped, reaching out with one finger to trace my collarbone from my
shoulder inward, then running it down between my breasts, grazing the sides. He
raised it to his mouth, tasting my sweat. He smelled like motor oil and sex.
Holy shit.
“Hey, sweet butt,” he said. That broke the
spell. Sweet butt? What the hell kind of guy called a girl he’d never met
something like that? “Your man here? We need to talk.”
I scrambled backward off the table, away
from him, nearly falling off in the process. The music stopped abruptly, and I
glanced away from him to see that one of his buddies had reached into my car
and pulled out my car keys. He put them in his pocket.
Uh oh.
“You mean Jeff? He’s in town,” I replied,
trying to compose myself. Shit, should I have admitted I was alone? I really
didn’t have a choice. I mean, I could have said I needed to go get Jeff from
inside and then locked the door, but the trailer was thirty years old. The
deadbolt had been rusted shut since I was a kid. Not to mention that they had
my keys. “Why don’t you wait out here while I call him?”
The big man studied me, his face cold and
expressionless. I couldn’t be entirely sure he was human, I decided. More like
a Terminator. Unwilling to hold his gaze, I let my eyes drop to his vest. Beat
to hell, black leather, lots of patches. One of them caught my attention in
particular, a bright red diamond that had a number one with a percent sign next
to it. I didn’t know what it meant, but I was pretty sure I wanted to get into
the house and put on some more clothing.
Maybe a burkha.
“Sure thing, babe,” he said, straddling the
table’s bench and taking a seat. His friends sauntered over to join him.
“How about a drink, girl?” one of them
asked, a tall man with short dark hair and startling blue eyes. I nodded and
walked quickly toward the trailer, using every bit of my self-control not to
break into a run. I heard them laughing behind me. Not a friendly laugh.
Thankfully, Jeff actually answered his
phone on the first try.
“There are some guys here to see you,” I
said, peeking out through the kitchen window, careful to keep the faded
curtains decorated with pictures of little flying vegetables closed. “They’re
bikers. I think they might be dangerous. They look like murderers to me, but
I’d like to think I’m crazy on this one. Tell me I’m being paranoid, please.”
“Fuck…” Jeff replied. “That’s the Reapers
MC, Marie, and they don’t fuck around. Do what they say, but don’t get too
close to them. Whatever you do, don’t touch them or talk to them unless they
talk to you first. Don’t even look at them. Just stay the hell out of their
way. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”
“What’s an MC?”
“Motorcycle club. Stay calm, okay?”
Jeff hung up on me.
Now I was really scared. I’d expected him
to laugh at me and tell me they were just harmless guys who liked to ride their
bikes and play badass. I guess this was the real thing. I ran into my room and
pulled on a baggy t-shirt I liked to sleep in. I dropped my shorts and put on a
pair of capris, pulling my long, dark-brown hair back into a messy bun. A quick
look in the mirror was enough to convince me that I was worrying too much—they
might have been crude and suggestive toward me, but I was no man’s dream girl.
I had dirt smudges on my face, my nose had burned bright red and I’d somehow
gotten a giant scratch across my cheek. It contrasted nicely with the fading
yellow and purple of the bruise Gary’d given me.
My hands trembled as I poured three big
plastic tumblers of iced tea, wondering if I should put sugar in them. I
decided to bring some sugar in a cup and stuck a spoon in it. Then I wedged two
of the tumblers between my right arm and my torso, grabbing the third with my
hand. I snagged the sugar with my left and managed to get through the door with
some careful maneuvering. They were talking to each other in low voices when I
came out, watching me as I walked to the table. I pasted a bright smile on my
face, just like I used to wear when I waitressed back in high school. I could
do this.
“You call your man?” the big one asked. I
glanced at him, forgetting I was supposed to avoid his gaze because his eyes
were so deep and rich and green.
“My man?” I asked.
“Jensen.”
Shit, I forgot about that. They thought I
was Jeff’s girlfriend. Should I tell them? I couldn’t decide. I studied the
biker, trying to figure out the safest answer. He met my gaze without giving
anything away. His hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail and his chin was
covered with thick, dark stubble. My stupid body came alert again as I wondered
what that stubble would feel like if I rubbed my lips against it slowly.
Probably pretty damned good.
“Girlie, answer the fuckin’ question,” said
the blue-eyed man. I jumped, splashing some of the tea against the front of my
shirt. It drenched my right boob, of course, and my nipple came to instant
attention when the icy drink hit it. The big guy’s eyes followed it, his eyes
darkening.
“Jeff’s coming,” I said, managing not to
stutter. “He said he’d be here in twenty minutes. I’ve got tea for you,” I
added inanely. Big Guy reached out and took the cup from my hand. That left me
in a bind because I couldn’t unload the other two glasses without my other hand
free. I could either give him the sugar or I could lean past him and put it on
the table. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to do that.
He solved the problem for me, reaching out
again and wrapping his fingers around one of the cups I held clasped against my
body. I felt all sorts of tingles as they slid between the cold plastic and my
skin, standing frozen as he repeated the gesture. Then he took the sugar. He
caught my hand and pulled me up against his thigh, until my stomach almost
touched his face.
I couldn’t breathe.
He reached up to take my chin, turning my
face so he could study the bruise. I held my breath, willing him not to ask me
about it. He didn’t. Instead, he dropped his hand to my waist, rubbing down and
up slowly along the curve of my hip. It took everything I had not to lean in
and push my breasts into his face.
“Jensen do that to you?”
Dammit. I had to tell them, I couldn’t let
it look like Jeff hurt me. He didn’t deserve that.
“No, he’d never do that. Jeff’s my brother,”
I said quickly, jerking away, blushing. Then I turned and ran into the house.
They sat at the table drinking their tea
and talking until Jeff got home. It felt like he took hours, even though he
made it in record time. At one point the big guy reached over and peeked under
the towel covering the bread dough, which was in danger of rising way too high
if I didn’t get it into the oven soon.
Crap.
I wasn’t going out there though. Not until
they were gone.
Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be in
the mood to leave. When Jeff rolled up in his aging Firebird they all stood
around and talked for a while. Then they got up and walked toward our front
door. Big Guy glanced toward my window and even though I knew he couldn’t
possibly see me, his eyes seemed to lock on mine.
As they came inside, Jeff was smiling and
looking relaxed. The others were too. Everything was friendly and I frowned,
wondering if I’d imagined just how serious he’d been with me on the phone.
“Sis, my associates are going to stay for
dinner,” he announced grandly. “You better go get your bread, I think it’s done
rising. You guys are gonna love this, Marie’s bread is amazing. She’ll fix you
a fuckin’ great dinner.”
I smiled at him a little shakily, cussing
him out in my head. What the hell? Sure, I cooked for him, but I didn’t want to
cook for this group. They scared me, which combined oddly with my disobedient
body’s desire to jump Big Guy’s bones. I couldn’t think of a way out of it
though, not without breaking our little pretense that there was nothing weird
about three scary biker dudes showing up out of nowhere.
Not only that, the bread would be ruined if
I didn’t cook it soon. I had spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and it
smelled amazing. I couldn’t even claim it was too hot to use the oven because
we had a couple of those little window air conditioners chugging along like the
Little Engine That Could, so the interior was pretty comfortable. The men
settled themselves in the living room, except for Big Guy, who pulled out one
of the stools at the kitchen bar, which was also our table. He sat down,
leaning back against the wall comfortably, arms crossed in front of him.
He’d be able to watch me cook the whole
time while still following the action in the living room.
I ran out to get the bread while Jeff
turned on the TV. When I got back there was some kind of fighting on. Not
wrestling this time, but real fighting in some sort of cage.
“Grab us some beers, sweet butt,” said the
third guy, a dark-haired man with slightly pock-marked cheeks. I bit my lip. I
really didn’t like being called that. Not only was it degrading, there was some
sort of nasty implication in the way he said it. But Jeff glanced up at me and
mouthed “please”, so I set down the bread, went to the fridge and pulled out four
beers. They ignored me for the most part while I fixed dinner, except for my
Big Guy. Every few minutes I’d look up to find him watching me, pensive. He
didn’t smile, he didn’t talk to me, nothing. Just studied me, with special
attention for my boobs (smaller than some but perkier than most) and ass
(slightly larger than I’d like).
I grabbed a beer for myself, relaxing after
a while and rolling with it. I supposed I should be indignant that he just sat
there, blatantly checking me out, but it felt kind of good to have a man
appreciate me.
It’d been a long time.
By the time I pulled the bread out of the
oven the fight on TV had ended. I set out some hot pads for the pasta and sauce
and grabbed the salad. The guys fell on the food like a bunch of starving animals.
“This is amazing,” the man with blue eyes
said, as if seeing me as a person for the first time. He had strong, sculpted
features and I decided he was pretty hot for an old guy. “You can really cook.
My old lady used to cook like this.”
“Thanks,” I said, hoping I wasn’t blushing.
This might go down as the oddest dinner party of my life, but I loved to cook
for people who appreciated good food. In fact, during high school I’d planned
on going to culinary school.
Thanks for nothing, Gary.
Big Guy didn’t say anything, but I noticed
he took seconds and then thirds of everything. While they finished, I started
cleaning up, but he reached across the bar and grabbed my arm.
“You might want to go for a drive,” he
said, jerking his chin toward the door. “We’ve got business.”
I glanced over at Jeff, who offered me a
placating smile.
“Do you mind, sis?” he asked. I shook my
head, although I felt a twinge at leaving without even learning their names.
Somehow over the course of dinner they’d stopped scaring me, turning alarmingly
human. I knew when I wasn’t wanted though, and I owed it to Jeff not to cause
trouble. I smiled brightly at everyone and went to the door, grabbing my purse
off the rack next to it.
“Well, nice to meet all of you, um…”
Mr. Blue Eyes, who I noticed had the word
“President” written on his vest, grinned.
“I’m Picnic, and these are my brothers,
Horse and Max,” he said.
I glanced over at Big Guy.
Horse?
What kind of name was that? And they really didn’t look like brothers…
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Picnic,” I said,
holding back my questions.
