Hunter: MC Romance (Hell Reapers MC Book 1) (2 page)

I smiled, like I usually did when I wanted to rip off someone's head. Hard to expect the best out of your employee's when your boss treats them like garbage.

"Sit," Gates pointedly insisted, steepling his hands together.

Finding my way over to the seat, I sat down and settled in. "I am sorry, sir," I did my best to assuage the man's temper. Was probably wasting my breath, but in the world of politics only two things got you further up the shit ladder: kissing ass and juking statistics. And on the
truly
rare occasion, doing hard, honest work.

He gave a single chuckle, "Don't want sorry, Ives. You know Amanda's sick, everyone does. You're lucky to be sitting here, you know," Gates pulled himself up from the large, red leather chair. "I could have pulled anyone from the pit, so trust me on this, Ives," a throne hand-stitched for assholes. The man slowly crept over towards me. His eyes narrowed and his face darkened, "I will not tolerate failure."

I can hardly tolerate you, "I understand, sir."

He said nothing about that, but instead gave me a concerned look. "I know what's going on with your mother," he said, his tone turning softer, gentler, like he was reconsidering his hard position. "She's good people."

A finger of warmth pressed against my chest, and I found that a pebble had made its home in my throat, "She is."

"Let me cut this down to the brass tacks," Gates backed away from me then, moving over to his giant, rich, cedar wood desk. "If you agree to take this job, and by no means is this going to be easy, mind you. I'm not going to lie to you, kiddo," his eyes told me more than his mouth ever could - it was strange, to have him come across as so cruel, but now so concerned. "You do this, and I'll put you on the clock for every billable hour you can give me, and I'll pay you at double your rate. If you can deliver me a truly substantial piece, I'll throw in a bonus and have you as first in line, come promotional rounds."

Fire went through my flesh freely. All of that for Amanda's assignment? This has got to be huge. Just what am I getting myself into? "Sir, that's very generous of you - but I'm, I'm not in the know," I admitted, confused. The wire of my well-worn bra poked at my breast when I moved in my seat, "what was Amanda tasked for?"

A smile walked along the lines of Mr. Gate's face. "You ever hear of the Hell Reapers? Notorious guys, I’ll tell you that much."

I narrowed my brows and tilted my head, I hadn't heard of a hell nor a reaper. "Can't say that I have, sounds pretty grimdark, though."

He nodded his head, "They're bikers. Gangsters even, to me at least. They style themselves as kings of the underworld, Ives, and what they do? The people need to know. They're out there, and they're bleeding this city for all she's worth." It looked like Mr. Gates needed to have a drag of a cigarette just talking about these people, could they really be that bad? I wasn’t convinced.

"I've literally never heard about them on the news, sir," surely they couldn't all be such terrible people. I honestly thought most of those 'gang' type clubs were for shows, like Sons of Anarchy or something. "Not in the paper; not on SM, radio or anything." SM being paper slang for Social Media. Facebook and twitter, along with reddit and tumblr, even occasionally LiveJournal; they were all strangely reliable sources for people admitting to things they shouldn't.

People can be so stupid. Stupid and cruel and always looking for an audience. An idiot on his smartphone provides, in turn, a journalist smiles and describes.

"They keep things low key," Gates waved a hand, "but to those who have their ears to the ground, you'll find that they are the biggest, nastiest players in the game. The good book would burn at their feet in repulsion, if they were ever inclined to own one," Gates looked stressed, he shifted along the edge of his massive desk, his custom tailored suit moving along with him. “Drinkers. Smokers. Hitters. Dealers. They’re all of the above, Ives,” he pointed a fatherly kind of finger at me, “there’s a sin, you’ll find it in every corner of their house. They style themselves as a ‘club’ but they’re only a small step above gangbangers.”

Tingles ran through me at the thought of what those men might look like. I used to be all about the cute, bookish types - and I guess, maybe, a part of me still is. But I could never resist the inner, typical fangirl lust in me; the thought of some tatted up, muscular man-with-a-plan made my lady bits ache delightfully. "What do these guys look like? If you don't mind me asking." Please don’t mind.

"Probably how you imagine them," Gates offered. Naked and wet from a fresh shower? Yes please. "My sources tell me the Club President, Brad, has a real gruff beard," check, "and of course, these guys do time, they live it rough. They're all looking like roided out freaks, to me," delicious, so long as they’re ‘cut’ and not ‘roided out’. "And when you live the life, Amanda was telling me, if you're patched in, then you're tatted in as well. Guys wear lots of ink." Sounds like heaven to me.

"Sounds like these are some pretty rough guys, where can I find them?"

"Not a lot is known about their legitimate spots, but there is one location that Ms. Childes had scoped out. Couple of the mid-level players like to hang out at Club Vivid."

"The one down on Evelyn street?" I tried my best to look innocent. I could feel my inner self crossing her arms and giving me a pointed look. Good luck with that, Jess.

Gates gave me a funny look, his brows furrowing, making him look like an owl that wanted to peck my face off. "Yes..." he trailed off, "the one on Evelyn. Amanda theorized that it's probably a legit front."

"You mean like, a place where they clean money? So that the dirty money comes across as if it’s from legitimate business?"

Gates shook his head in acknowledgment. "I want you to infiltrate these guys, I'll give you three, maybe four weeks, to gather what you can - and I'll let you keep a log of your hours spent on this."

"That's very kind of you sir, very kind."

Gates smiled then, "I'm a kind guy, Ives, don't you know?" Your daily yelling and monthly firing of personnel tells me otherwise, sir.

"I do now," I felt a smile stretch out the lines of my face.

"This won't be easy, Ives. I can't give you any advice on how to actually approach this, but I do wish you luck. Gods know you'll be needing it. I need information on the drugs, guns, or whatever else in the hell they could be running. Tear these guys to shreds, Ives, they're the scum of this city - and it's going to be our paper that brings them out into the light."

I felt a small laugh escape me, and I threw back my wild hair over my shoulder, “Don’t worry, Boss. Us women have our ways,” men are like dogs. Show them a bone and they’ll scurry to your heel; give them what they want and they’ll tuck tail and run.

Gates looked pleased, “Of that I have no doubt, Ms. Ives,” he said, “of that, I have no doubt.”

Chapter 2

"There's no way in seven hells this is gonna work, Jess," Sabrina insisted like she hadn’t just got done telling me that same thing a dozen, dozen times before. If hell existed, the devil would have a hard time convincing her where she was – even if the whole damn place was on fire and there were a chorus of pained screams in the distance.

"So make it work," I expressed, "it's not like I'm overflowing with options here, Winters," she hated it when I called her by her last name. That is, she hated it in a playful way. It was too much fun to not poke at her so.

"I'm going to make you look like you just served a john and forgot to clean up, I swear it. You should know better than to mess with a girl holding an eyelash curler." She waved the curler around my face menacingly.

"Fair enough," I laughed, "better to have you as a friend than an enemy anyway."

Sabrina smirked, "You're as wise as I always thought you were. Look here now," she grabbed my chin and adjusted me, the lights of the mirror were becoming particularly annoying, but I knew that I needed some help on this one. I took pride in doing my own makeup, but I had to look believable as some kind of biker chick. Or something like that.

"I'm looking," I insisted, sounding a bit like a child.

“Heard from He Who Must Not Be Named?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“You know even if it wasn’t rape, as defined by a court of law, it’s still something you could be going to the police about.” I hadn’t told her the real story, and I skirted the details. Shame crawled through my skin, but I somehow felt that if she, or anyone, knew the full extent of it, that I’d never be the same.

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, “I just want to forget. I just want to put it all behind me. What happens if I fan the flames?” I waited for her to reply, but she never did, “if I drag that asshole, who so unceremoniously boasted to me that he was getting a personal trainer, to court – I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Don’t you think—“

“No!” I practically snapped, and I could feel the white hot kiss of anger flowing through me, playing me like it’s mortal instrument. Sucking in a breath of air, I apologized to Sabrina, who, by the grace of her own good heart, did not chastise me.

She should yell at you for that. You can’t treat her like shit just because of what happened – no, I…I don’t want to think about it. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, sniffling now.

“It’s okay honey,” she pushed out a long breath through her nose, “I’m sorry too. It’s just, I can't believe you're going to go through with this," Sabrina shook her head, "you know it's crazy, right?" She was always protective of me, even when we were just kids in grade school. She was the big bad wolf, and I was the little lamb. For a time, anyways. She's got a good head on her shoulders, smarter than I could ever hope to be at least. She has a full head of gorgeous black hair that cascades almost to her butt. My favorite thing about her, since the day that I met her, was probably her kind eyes.

"I know," I admitted, "but I have to do it. You know that."

Sabrina didn't say anything. Instead she opted to silently agree.

"So what's going on with you?" I asked, "I haven't heard from you in weeks. That's unlike you," I said in a matter of fact tone. We were always keeping up with one another. She was a constant in my life, and I was a constant in hers. If I was her earth, she was my moon.

"I try to keep you away from guys that I like," she joked, "lest they get the hots for you instead of me. Mama's gotta get hers, you know?" Her lips formed into a sly grin.

A giggle moved through me. Most at the office would be shocked to see me acting so carefree, but Sabrina brought out the best in me. I let my walls down around her, the walls that I spent so much of my life building brick by brick. The serious demeanor, the jests and the focusing on work. I couldn't even comprehend who I was anymore, after what happened with Jerry.

How could you be so stupid?

"I don't know," Sabrina said lazily, putting down the curler and picking up a hair brush. She brought it to the crown of my head and started crafting my hair to perfection. "Jeremiah's…well..."

"He's hot, you can say it. You like hot." I’d be a hypocrite if I said otherwise.

"And you don't?" She gave me the stink eye, "please. I remember years ago when we were at the club, you had some nobody on your shoulder - I felt bad for the kid," she laughed and I could feel the happiness bubbling beneath me then, "god. He was like a lost puppy when he saw you drooling at the sight of that hottie. That dragon tattoo you thought was to die for." She took in a breath, “I mean, yeah, that dude was hot – but really? A dragon tattoo? You know that dude’s got problems.”

"Okay okay, I admit it," I put my hands up, "I have my weaknesses. But nobody's perfect."

Sabrina furrowed her brows then, implying that she was somehow different and possibly even above the rest of 'us' mere mortals. She was some of the best people that I'd ever known though, so I only shrugged instead of arguing.

"Well, anyway, you're just about done here. If I could wrap Jeremiah around my finger, I'd have done it by now. But you know, I feel too guilty, I mean she's a skank and all, but I know it's wrong to pine after a guy in a relationship." Sabrina was crushing pretty hard on Jeremiah Gold, basically a prince of the city. Couldn’t say that I blame her, really.

"Yeah but you're a better match for him, Sabrina, and you know that. He's not married or anything, I think you should lay it on thick and let the best woman win. I’m not saying have him
cheat
, but at least put yourself out there."

"Maybe," she didn't sound so confident. She grabbed a bottle of Vi D’Lune hairspray and gave my hair a squirt, mussing up the strands, making a fashionable mess of me. “How’s that?”

I turned my head from side to side, appraising myself. I looked good, she had a way of things, I’ll give her that much. “I think that you’re a demon and your colleagues must live in fear of your wicked magics.”

Sabrina smiled, “And live in fear they shall,” she whispered darkly in my ear, leaning in close. “I think you look good,” she added, verbally patting herself on the back.

“Do I look trashy enough?”

Sabrina wrinkled her nose, “I don’t know,” she admitted, “was that what we were going for?”

“Trashy, but sexy. Isn’t that what biker girls look like?”