Devil's Game (Reapers MC #3) (2 page)

“I know,” I said, miserable. Not that I wanted to get laid—not quite yet.

But it’d be nice to go to homecoming. I sighed.

“I’m gonna die a virgin, Quinn.”

She nodded gravely, eyes full of sympathy.

“I think that’s a given,” she said. “But look on the bright side.”

“What’s that?”

“Nuns don’t have to wear those penguin costumes anymore, so at least you won’t have to buy all new clothes.”

I looked over at Jason, who was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

My dad was the meanest parent ever.

Ugh.

Natalie wiped off her mouth and looked up at me, her beautiful face sly and calculating. I shoved my softening cock back into my pants and zipped up, pushing forward off the brick wall behind the gas station. Nat rose to her feet, giving me a little smile and biting her lip. I think she was going for playful.

It came off desperate.

“So?”
she asked. I raised a brow, questioning.

“So what?”

“Um … I was wondering if you could hook me up?”

Fucking typical. Rich bitches.

Not that I should be surprised. In Natalie’s world, I’d never be more than a quick fuck with the right connections. That wasn’t a problem. In the end, business is business, and Nat had plenty of money.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” I asked, hoping she didn’t expect a discount for the blow job. She was okay, but nothing special. She’d been all over me, and who was I to turn down some chick who wanted to suck my cock? Now that she’d swallowed, she’d turned annoying. Before Natalie could answer the question, my phone vibrated.

Kelsey. Shit.

I answered, turning away from Natalie. “Hey, Kels.”

“Jim got laid off at the plant today. You need to get home fast, because he’s drunk and I’m scared.”

My entire body tensed and my vision narrowed.
That cocksucking bastard. If he touches her …

“I’ll be there in a few, okay? Stay calm, Kelsey,” I told my foster sister. “Try and get out of the house and take off for the park. If that doesn’t work, lock yourself in the bathroom. Just hang on—I’m coming for you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and I heard Jim’s loud, booming voice roar in the background. James Calloway was the foster father from hell, not to mention a complete fucking asshole. I ended the call and glanced over at Natalie, keeping my face blank. I’d learned the hard way to never give away more than I had to.

“I need to get back home,” I told her. “Can I have a ride?”

She smiled, trying to play coy and innocent.

“Of course,” she said, tracing little circles in the dirt with the toe of those fuck-me shoes she always wore. They’d seemed a hell of a lot sexier half an hour ago. “But before we go …”

Shit.
I didn’t have time for this.

“Give me the fuckin’ keys,” I said shortly, out of patience. She opened her mouth to protest and I narrowed my eyes, letting them go flat and dead. I’d perfected the look over the years and it never failed. She sucked in a quick breath and dug out her keys, handing them off to me. At six foot three, I knew I was a scary fucker.

Terrifying a girl didn’t bother me one bit, either.

I strode around the building to Natalie’s cute little Mustang—a sixteenth-birthday present from Daddy. I slid in and the engine turned over with a roar I might’ve enjoyed at any other time. Natalie jumped into the passenger seat, obviously worried that I’d leave without her.

I would’ve, too, but I didn’t want more attention than necessary. Last time I’d pulled Jim off Kelsey, I promised to kill him if it happened again. Christ, she was only thirteen and had already learned to sleep with a knife. I had a bad feeling things were going to get ugly, and the last thing I needed was a police report about a stolen car.

Five minutes later the Mustang screeched to a halt outside my foster father’s decaying ranch house, which was surrounded by a dying lawn and rusting swing set. His own kids were long gone, and I suspected he’d lose the place without the state payments he got for me and Kels. The social workers hadn’t noticed that his wife, Autumn, had taken off nearly six months ago. Who could blame her? This was only short term for me. But to stay here, rotting for the rest of your life? Fuck no. I’d have run, too.

Usually I didn’t even mind living in his shithole. I liked having my own space. I had the whole basement, although I let Kelsey sleep down there with me. She wasn’t comfortable in her own room upstairs. Too close to Jim. Smart kid.

I jumped out of the car and started toward the house.

“Wait!” Natalie called, following me.

“Yeah?” I asked, not slowing. I heard Jim yell something inside and froze, trying to think. What was the best plan of attack? A
loud, clanging noise from next door broke my concentration. That old guy must be out in the garage, working on his bikes again …

“You said you’d hook me up?” Nat asked, offering a weak smile.
Jesus, is she still here?
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a baggie, and threw it at her. Hard.

“There,” I said. “Now get in your fuckin’ car and go.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and I seriously wondered why I’d let her wrap it around my dick. Then Kelsey’s voice tore through the air again, and my vision went red. Making plans was for pussies—that asshole needed to experience pain. I took off toward the back gate, hoping Natalie was happy enough about her freebies to forget anything she’d seen or heard.

Goddammit.

It was locked.

I boosted myself up and over the tall privacy fence, catching a glimpse of Natalie in the process. She wasn’t paying me any attention. Nope, bitch was way too busy scrabbling in the dry grass for her goody bag. Kelsey screamed again. I tore around the house, sliding down through a narrow window into the basement.

Jim always kept the doors locked and I wasn’t allowed a key. Not that it mattered—I’d yet to find a lock I couldn’t pick—but right then I didn’t have the time. I ran up the stairs and toward Kelsey’s room, freezing in the doorway.

She cowered back on the bed, shirt ripped almost to her waist, exposing the little flesh-colored bra I’d had to buy for her. Fuckin’ awkwardest shopping trip of my life. A bright red handprint covered her cheek, and blood was seeping from her bottom lip.

Jim loomed over her, sweaty and reeking of booze, shoulders heaving as he took deep breaths. His pants were already loose, hanging off his flabby, narrow hips, and his skinny dick bobbled like a drunken cobra.

“Leave her alone,” I said, letting all the hate constantly boiling inside me show. Jim turned toward me and grunted, his red, bloated nose a rotten tomato in the center of his face.

“Or
what?”

“You’ll die,” said a low voice behind me. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

We all froze as our next-door neighbor walked slowly into the room. He held his pistol casually, more like a TV remote than a weapon. An older guy—probably in his midfifties—and so far as I could tell, he spent most of his time out in his garage, tinkering with motorcycles he fixed up and sold.

In fact, I’d been eyeing his latest project, mentally tallying whether I could afford to buy it.

Burke.

That was his name. No idea if it was first or last. He was badass, too, with a long, graying beard and faded tattoos all over his arms. I knew he was part of a motorcycle club called the Devil’s Jacks from the patches on the leather vest he always wore. This was the first chance I’d gotten a good look at it. On one shoulder there was a red and white patch with “Burke” over the word “Original.” The other shoulder had a diamond that said “1%” on it. Down below was a long line of smaller patches listing names and dates.

His heavily tanned hand didn’t waver as he held the gun, his eyes as cold and dead as my own.

“Kelsey, get your ass out of here,” I ordered, keeping my voice steady. I really didn’t know Burke for shit, and I had no idea what he planned to do … But if I got Kels out safe, I honestly didn’t give a fuck.

“Do what the kid says.”

Kelsey nodded, eyes wide, sliding off the bed and scuttling along the wall to get out.

“Go down to my room and wait,” I told her. “Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone but me.”

Time hung heavy as she disappeared.

“So whatcha gonna do, shoot me?” Jim slurred, his voice belligerent. Not the brightest man at the best of times, but when he got drunk, things really fell apart.

“Depends,”
said Burke.

“On what?”

“The kid, here,” he replied, jerking his chin toward me. “You want to shoot this asshole, son?”

I glanced over, startled. His face was cold and serious—Burke wasn’t joking. Shit.

This was real.

“Think hard,” Burke said. “You pull the trigger, you can’t go back. But you won’t have to worry about him rapin’ your sister, either. We can make the body disappear.”

Jim’s eyes darted between us, wild with terror.

“Don’t listen to him,” he whispered. “You’ll go to jail. Death penalty. He’s talking about
murder
.”

“Unlikely,” Burke told him. “Never cared for you, Calloway. In fact, I don’t think one person on earth gives a fuck if you live or die. Your wife is gone, your kids hate you, and according to the papers on your kitchen counter, you got no job. It’ll be like you never existed. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“The social workers,” Jim gasped in desperation. “The social workers have to come check on the kids. They’ll notice.”

I couldn’t help myself—I started laughing. I hadn’t seen my social worker in over a year. If it weren’t for the state checks Jim drank up every month, I’d assume they’d lost my file. My foster father’s face reddened in rage, and I saw the exact moment his brain turned off and he forgot about the gun.

“I’ll kill you, you little shit,” he growled. “You think you’re so special but you’re trash. That little slut of yours is trash, too. Two piles of garbage stinking up my house.”

“Probably should decide soon, kid,” Burke muttered. “You wanna take him out or not?”

Did I want to kill him?
I thought about Kelsey crying, and the time he’d broken my ribs when I refused to hand over a cut of my sales.

Fuckin’ A.

I
definitely
wanted to take him out.

“Give me the gun,” I said, the words tasting sweet.

Jim lunged toward us and the sudden, cracking echo of a gunshot rang through the room. My foster father screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his shoulder. Bright red blood oozed out between his fingers.

Burke didn’t even blink.

He just held his weapon firm, still trained on Jim, and reached around his back to pull a second pistol from his pants. Then he handed it to me.

It fit my hand perfectly.

“You know how to use it?” he asked.

I flipped off the safety and cocked it in answer.

“Finish him off, boy,” Burke said, smiling for the first time. Almost like a proud father. “You’re already in deep, so you might as well make it count.”

I centered the barrel on Jim’s chest and fired.

Looking back, the neighborhood had been exactly what we needed that day—nobody in it gave a fuck about each other, because they didn’t give a fuck about themselves. All of us were already dying slowly. When Burke and I sped up the process for my foster father that afternoon, the neighbors didn’t even notice.

Nobody complained about the shots.

Nobody bothered calling the cops when I carried a hysterically crying Kelsey next door to Burke’s house.

They didn’t look outside when a cargo van pulled down the alley to stop behind Jim’s place. Ten minutes later it left again, carrying a human-shaped package wrapped in black plastic garbage bags.

Jim ceased to exist. So did me and Kelsey.

The next week, we were living in a different town with new birth certificates, courtesy of Burke’s cousin and his old lady. He
gave me a hell of a deal on that motorcycle, too. I paid him with the wad of cash I found in Jim’s wallet. A year later, I celebrated my eighteenth birthday by becoming an official prospect in the Devil’s Jacks MC.

Burke couldn’t have been more proud if I were his son by blood.

In a way, I guess I was.

“Who the fuck gets a pedicure in February?” Skid asked. “Won’t her feet freeze?”

“You don’t know any women at all, do you?” I asked, cracking open a Mountain Dew. We’d driven all night to get here from Portland. What I really wanted was sleep, but Burke’s orders were clear. Scope out Reese “Picnic” Hayes’s daughter and figure out a plan of action. With all the drama that’d happened between our clubs, Burke insisted now was the perfect time to make a move, maybe even rewrite the future for the Devil’s Jacks.

Leverage with the Reapers would be critical—maybe even make the difference between a successful takeover of our club or a shallow grave if we failed. Leverage this little bitch was supposed to provide us, apparently. I wasn’t entirely sure what the old bastard had planned, but I’d do my part. I always did.

I glanced down at the picture of her taped to the truck’s console, then looked at the storefront again. Pretty girl. According to her Facebook page, she was meeting a friend here this morning. I’d
spotted her car as soon as we pulled in. Now we waited. I wanted to study her, maybe trail her a little. Get a sense of who she was before making my move. There were so many different ways to play a woman—I found it never paid to make assumptions.

“I know your sister,” Skid announced out of nowhere.

I gave him a blank look.

“You asked if I know any women. Does she count? ’Cause her toes are cute as hell, but I don’t see her walkin’ around in flip-flops in the snow.”

“Why the fuck are you lookin’ at my sister’s toes, cocksucker?”

“I look at a lot more than her toes.”

“Don’t make me kill you, bro.”

He snorted and shrugged. “You could try.”

I adjusted my sunglasses, deciding to ignore him. The truck windows were tinted, but I’d still taken a few basic precautions to change my appearance. Hipster beanie, which matched the full beard I’d grown for my last job. Long-sleeved shirt that covered my ink. Even if she saw me, all I needed was a quick shave and change to turn into a different man.

The shop door opened and I sat up as two girls stepped out. There she was.

Emmy Lou Hayes.

“That’s our girl,” I said, with a jerk of my chin. She was studying her phone and, sure as shit, she wore flip-flops. Bright pink foam thingies threaded through her toes, separating them, and I wondered how the hell she could even walk. Fuckin’ crazy. At least the sidewalk was mostly clear of snow. Her brown hair sat on top of her head in one of those messy topknot things girls always seem to have, and she wore tight little jeans and a black leather jacket.

Damn, Em was cute. Way cuter than her sister.

Something fell out of her pocket, and she turned away, leaning down to grab it.

“Nice ass,” Skid said. “Very sweet. If you have to fuck her, at
least you’ll be able to keep your eyes open, unlike that last bitch you did for the club.”

I snorted, but he raised a good point. Fucking Em had just jumped up a couple notches on my list of possible ways to manipulate her into helping the Jacks. She glanced down at her phone again, waving good-bye to her friend absently.

Then she walked right off the curb and almost fell on her ass.

Her phone flew across the ground and under a car, like something out of a TV show. Em staggered to one side and then the other, somehow managing to stay on her feet, arms flailing. Skid choked back a laugh, but I just watched, mesmerized, as she finally caught herself. That’s when Em looked up and across the parking lot, right into my face. Her expression was startled but fucking gorgeous. She broke into a brilliant smile, offering me a goofy wave.

My cock stiffened and a burst of adrenaline hit me like a punch to the gut. Sticking my dick inside Emmy Hayes had suddenly become a very high priority. It took everything I had not to throw open the truck door and toss the girl over my shoulder before hauling her back home for a long, hard fuck. Instead I sat back and watched.

There’s a reason the club calls me Hunter.

She lifted one leg slightly, pointing at her toes and giving a triumphant thumbs-up in my direction before turning away to search for her phone.

“Christ, there’s something wrong with that chick,” Skid muttered, but I ignored him. Instead I grabbed my phone and dialed Burke, my mind made up.

“Burke, I’m lookin’ at her right now.”

“You got a plan for me?”

“Gettin’ there,” I told him. “But whatever direction we take, Emmy Hayes stays my target. Nobody fucks with her but me.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Make it work for the club, son, and I could give a fuck. But no
matter how much you want the bitch, don’t forget where your loyalties lie. Jacks first. Forever.”

“Jacks first,” I agreed, watching as she dug her phone out of the snow.

This was gonna be fun.

“If you don’t make a move on Painter tonight, I will personally charter a plane, fly up there, and kick your ass.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered into the phone at my sister. “But you don’t get a vote. I’m still pissed at you for not coming home this summer.”

“Riiight,” she drawled. “Let me see—internship in San Francisco or yet another summer of Dad growling at me … Sooo tempting. If you had half a brain, your ass would be down here with me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s not that easy, Kit.”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice sharp. “It
is
that easy. Let me walk you through the conversation. ‘Dad, I’ve decided I want a life. Deal with it.’ Then get in your car and drive south.”

I sighed.

“It’s not that easy for
me
,” I said, looking over at the Reapers clubhouse. The big, isolated former National Guard Armory was fully lit, a beacon in the summer twilight. The trees surrounding it felt familiar, like old friends. I’d played in them as child—hide-and-seek, pixies … oh, and motorcycle clubs. We’d played MC a lot.

Pisser about that—now the boys got to play Reapers for real and I still couldn’t land a fucking date.

“I don’t like that disappointed look in Dad’s eyes,” I said, fully
aware my voice held a hint of whine. “You know, how they get cold and icy right before he starts punching walls?”

“Jesus, it’s like you’re still in high school,” Kit replied. “So what if he gets pissed off? That’s what he does—he gets pissed, he yells, it’s over. Yell back, for Chrissake.”

“Easy for you to say,” I replied. “You’re the baby. You can get away with anything. He has all these expectations of me.”

“Enough,” she snapped. “I’m not going to listen to you feeling all sorry for yourself all night. I’m the youngest, but
you’re
the fucking baby. Either shit or get off the pot.”

“That’s kind of mean,” I said, frowning.

“No, that’s reality. You’re twenty-two years old and still bitching about Daddy not letting you out to play. You want to be his little-girl doll the rest of your life? Fine. That’s your choice. But if you do, you don’t get to complain about him. Grow a fucking pair already.”

Then she hung up on me.

I sat in the car, stunned. Kit never hung up on me. We talked, we fought, we laughed … but she always had my back.

Shit.

A loud knock on the window nearly gave me a heart attack. I looked up to see my friend Marie standing outside, arms crossed, face expectant. Must be almost time. I climbed out of the car and she caught me up in a hug.

“You excited?” she asked, eyes shining. “Because you don’t
look
excited. You look like someone stole your last M&M. You know, one of the red ones? I always keep those for the end. They taste best.”

I stared at her.

“You’re weird, you realize that, right?”

She laughed and shrugged.

“I’m okay with it. You didn’t answer the question.”

“I guess I’m excited,” I said, although my little chat with Kit had
put a damper on things. “I mean, it’s great that Painter’s getting his patch …”

Marie widened her eyes at me and smirked.

“Don’t give me that,” she said. “You’ve got a thing for him. I
know
you’ve got a thing for him, because you tell me all about it whenever you get drunk.”

I shrugged, a smile catching me off guard.

“Okay, so I have a thing for him,” I admitted.

“And he definitely has a thing for you,” Marie replied. “He’s like a puppy whenever he sees you.”

I grunted, my smile fading.

By some miracle, I hadn’t spilled the story of when I’d cornered Painter last month and made him an offer no red-blooded man should’ve been able to refuse … An offer he’d shot down without a second thought. In fact, I’d tried to seduce him several times over the past year. A year I’d spent watching him, lusting after him, and thinking about what things might be like between us.

I didn’t get why he wouldn’t sleep with me. I knew the attraction was mutual. Everyone saw it. His eyes followed me around the clubhouse, and when I went out, he menaced anyone who hit on me. Dad wasn’t too hot on the thought of me with any guy, but he’d told me that someday he’d like to see me settled with a Reaper.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” I asked, grabbing my bag. “Sorry I couldn’t come out to help set up. I had a late appointment and really wanted to get her in. I already canceled on her once, so her nails were way overdue for a fill.”

“No worries,” Marie said, tucking her arm through mine. We started toward the gate to the courtyard, and despite my concerns her mood was contagious. Tonight was a happy night—after more than a year of prospecting, Painter would become the newest full member of the club.

In fact, he probably was already.

I’d just gotten here, but I’d seen this happen my whole life. First the guys would drag him off with some story about this shitty job
he needed to do, or tell him he’d fucked up something important. They’d scare the crap out of him, and then when he was just about ready to die from a heart attack, they’d surprise him with the new patches for his cut.

Those patches marked him as a Reaper, now and forever.

As for us ladies? It was our job to put together the party, and I was sorry to have missed out on that … It might be work, but it was laughter and drinking and joking, too. Made me think of my mom—five years ago we’d buried her, and I never missed her more than on nights like tonight. One of my earliest memories was of playing under the tables in our backyard while she set up for a club party. This was a celebration for Painter, but it was also a gathering of my family. They weren’t exactly typical … They were mine, though, and I loved them.

Tonight that family was getting bigger.

“I really wish Mom was here,” I said. Marie smiled at me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and hugging me tight. Then she dragged me past Banks, the unfortunate prospect left behind to watch the clubhouse, and we walked into the courtyard.

The guys were late.

It’d been about forty-five minutes—just enough time for me to drink two beers and exchange texts with my friend Liam. I’d never actually met him except online … But I knew he wasn’t a total serial killer because he was a regular at my friend Cookie’s coffee shop in Portland. He posted on her Facebook page all the time.

That’s how we’d first started talking, a few months back. He’d comment on one of my posts, then I’d comment on one of his, and then one day he sent me a private message and things took off from there. Now we texted each other all the time. He was funny and interesting and he actually listened to me. Total opposite of Painter, now that I thought of it. It was nice to have a friend who wasn’t all tied up in club life—Liam was nice and normal and safe.

I frowned down at the phone. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Liam didn’t like Painter, and he could be kind of a jerk about it. He’d even made a joke once about Dad selling me off for six goats and some aftermarket Harley parts. It hit a little too close to home …

That didn’t mean he was right about Painter, though.

I frowned. It
was
complicated. Painter had been prospecting, which meant he wasn’t exactly free. But Liam didn’t know that—I hadn’t told him about the club for some reason, although he knew Dad was a biker. I guess I liked having one person in my life who didn’t see me as the president’s daughter. Hell, in some ways Liam was the only person I could really be myself with. Tonight, though …

Tonight he was pissing me off.

Enough.

I muted my phone, then shoved it in my pocket. Then I grabbed another beer and wandered toward Marie and the other girls, who were laughing over some story she was telling about her old man, Horse. Good music was playing, and as the alcohol warmed me from the inside out, I felt optimistic, despite Liam. What did he know, anyway?

I fully intended to end the night in Painter’s bed.