Reapers and Bastards: A Reapers MC Anthology (13 page)

“It’s okay—I’m kind of excited about it, too.”

“Then why were you crying?” I asked, suddenly remembering what she’d looked like when I’d come in. “You do want the baby, don’t you?”

“Of course I want the baby,” she said, her face puzzled. “And I didn’t even realize I was crying. Must’ve been the hormones or something. But I was nervous about telling you—this isn’t what we planned.”

I shrugged.

“Waiting was your plan, not mine. I just wanted you to be ready before we started trying, that’s all.”

“So you’re ready to be a daddy?” she asked, looking up at me. “Because it’s a big deal . . . Everything is going to change for us.”

“Life is change,” I pointed out. “And I like the idea of you all big and round with my kid in you—it’s cute.”

Marie frowned. “I’m gonna get fat.”

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.

“Carrying a baby is not the same as getting fat,” I pointed out reasonably. “And I think it’s sexy.”

“You get turned on by pregnant chicks?” she asked, her voice dry. “I know you’re a perv, but this is a new one. How long have you had this fetish?”

Dipping my sponge back into the mix, I laughed.

“Don’t worry, it’s recent—specific to you. I’m fuckin’ crazy about you, babe. You know that, right?”

Marie smiled at me, and I swear to God, she started glowing like some pregnant lady cliché, right in front of me. Beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful girl . . .

“I love you,” I said, my voice dead serious.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. “I even love your dog. But let’s get him clean, sound good?”

Nodding, I agreed, although the smell wasn’t even bothering
me that much anymore. How could it, after getting news like this?

_______

By the time we finished, we reeked. Both of us.

I had a feeling it was worse than we realized, because I’m pretty sure at least half the nerves in my nose had committed suicide. Our clothes were outside in the plastic garbage bag, along with the paper towels and the sponges. I’d wanted to throw away the bowl, too, just on general principles, but Marie wouldn’t let me.

Apparently pregnancy can make women stubborn.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of closing the windows,” Marie mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste as I stepped out of the shower. She sat on the toilet, still wrapped in a towel from her own shower. Normally we’d clean up together, but tonight she was obviously exhausted, and I wasn’t sure I could handle a slippery, naked Marie without fucking her. Hell, I was so tired I’d probably drop her or something. Not that being exhausted had ever slowed me down before, but things had changed.

There were three of us now.

Right on cue, I felt that dumbass grin take over my face again.

“It’s not that bad, we can handle it,” I said, shrugging. She raised a brow.

“Go into the bedroom, and then tell me that again.”

I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out into the hallway, heading toward our room. As soon as I opened the door, I realized she was right—we’d fucked up. The windows had been open on all three sides when the skunk hit, and now the place was so thick with stench that you could practically see toxic green tendrils hanging in the air. The windows were still wide open, which I guess made sense at this point—the damage was done.

Fucking great.

Walking over to the dresser, I found a pair of briefs and pulled them on, followed by jeans and a shirt. Then I grabbed one of
Marie’s pretty panty and bra sets (damn, but I loved those) and a sundress before heading back to the bathroom.

“Here you go,” I told her, setting them on the counter. Then I turned away, because the last thing she needed was me shoving my dick in her face. (And now I was thinking about my cock in her mouth . . . Fucking great—I officially had the worst timing on earth.) “I settled Ariel out in the barn for the night. We’re gonna go get a hotel room.”

“We don’t need to do that.”

She stood up, and I turned to find her dressed.

“You’re knocked up, you puked all day, and the house smells like a skunk died in it. We’re getting a hotel room.”

Marie walked over to me, then wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her head against my chest.

“Are we really okay?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

I hugged her back, running one hand up and down her back.

“No, we aren’t okay,” I said softly. “We’re trapped in a skunk house full of toxic fumes. But once we get away from here, I think things will be perfect. And just think about what a great story we’ll have to tell the kiddo.”

Her hand slipped down to my ass, giving it a squeeze, and I groaned.

“Speaking of, you sure you don’t wanna celebrate the baby before we head out?”

Groaning, I caught her butt and pulled her into me, rubbing my dick against her stomach. God, I wanted to be inside her . . . Then it hit me—my kid was inside her, too. Right next to where I planned to shove my cock. I jerked away, because that was a mind fuck I wasn’t quite ready for. Shit. I’d have to find a way to wrap my brain around that.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning. I shook my head, realizing this wasn’t a conversation we needed to have just yet.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said quickly, staring down into her face.
Her brown eyes were deep and her beautiful, curly brown hair was hanging around her face and across her shoulders. God, but I loved this woman. Right on cue, my dick made its needs known, and I realized that wrapping my head around things might not be so difficult after all . . . I just needed to let the right head do the thinking.

I grinned, leaning over to kiss the tip of Marie’s nose. Then I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. The sooner we found a room, the sooner we could celebrate. “C’mon. Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough of being skunked.”

Marie’s Emergency Skunk Solution

NOTE:
Don’t let the dog wait in the house while you mix up the solution. Seriously. Also, some people (Mr. Wylde among them) feel that cleaning up after a skunk goes a little more smoothly if you have a very strong drink available. Straws help, allowing for hands-free access
.

Supplies

Rubber gloves, preferably long ones
Paper towels (or tissues in a pinch)
Plastic garbage bags

Ingredients

1 quart hydrogen peroxide
¼ cup baking soda
1 tablespoon liquid dish soap

Preparation

Mix all ingredients in a bowl. Put on gloves and use paper towels to blot as much skunk oil off the dog as possible, throwing them into the plastic bag as soon as you finish. Do your best not to allow the dog to brush against you or transfer the oils. Using a washcloth or sponge, gently rinse the hydrogen peroxide mixture through the dog’s fur two times, mixing up more as needed. (Avoid the dog’s eyes, and flush with water if the mix gets into the eyes.) Rinse the dog with water thoroughly. You will notice that he still smells like wet dog and a bit skunky, but it will be a huge improvement (when a skunk first sprays, the smell is so powerful that it burns your eyes and nose). Remove your clothing and dispose of gloves while still outside, if possible.

Allow dog to sleep in garage, enclosed porch, or bathroom (somewhere well ventilated and safe, but not part of the main section of your house). By morning, the dog will be dry and very little skunk scent will be noticeable.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This is a prequel short story about the first time Melanie and Painter met. Their book
, Reaper’s Fall
, will be published on Nov. 10, 2015. “Sugar and Spice” takes place one year before the beginning of
Reaper’s Fall
, against the background of action from Reaper’s Stand. I thought you might enjoy reading it
.

Sugar and Spice

I fell for Levi “Painter” Brooks the first time I saw him, although in all fairness I did have a head injury at the time.

It was a weird start to a relationship, too.

You see, I blew up a house.

It wasn’t on purpose, and in my defense I’d had a really shitty day. My mom had taken off earlier in the week. Just up and left while I was at work on Monday, and she never came back. Neither me or my dad heard a thing from her, and while she’d always been sort of flaky, she’d never done anything like this before. By Wednesday night, I broke down and asked him if we should report her missing to the police.

He’d thrown his beer bottle at me, shouting about how “the whore” must’ve gotten herself a new man. She’d left me because I was nothing, just like she was nothing.

Then he’d told me to go buy him more beer. I decided to call Loni instead.

Not long afterward, I blew up her house.

________

London Armstrong was my best friend’s aunt. Jessica and I had been tight for years, and as my own mother drifted further and further from reality, they’d become my second family. She’d told
me to head on over to her place and let myself in, that she’d see me later that night. I went over there and made myself some macaroni and cheese on her gas stove.

A couple hours later the house exploded.

Gas leak.

Nobody said it was my fault, but I knew it had to be. I’d been the last one to use the stove, so there you have it. Anyway, fate has a weird sense of humor, because that’s how I met Painter. The next day, I mean. At the hospital.

He gave me a lift on his motorcycle, and I fell in love. God I was young. Young and stupid.

________

“I sort of thought you meant a car when you said you’d give me a ride home,” I whispered, staring at the tall, beautiful, terrifyingly perfect man standing in front of a shiny black Harley with custom gold trim. He’d been introduced to me as Painter, and apparently he was part of the same motorcycle club as Loni’s new boyfriend, Reese.

“She did have a head injury,” London pointed out, her voice tart. She held my arm protectively, staring between me and Painter with worry written all over her face.

“Sort of thought the car was implied,” said Reese, sighing.

“You didn’t say and it’s not like she’s really hurt or anything,” Painter replied with a shrug. He glanced at me. “You got a headache?” I did, but he was so pretty and perfect and I didn’t want to jinx this. Blond, spiky hair. Strong, straight cheekbones and muscular arms that I just knew would be strong enough to pick up a girl like me and carry me wherever I needed to go.

“No, I don’t actually,” I said, feeling nervous but excited, too. I shot another look at the bike, imagining what it would feel like to sit behind him, holding him as we flew down the highway. “Although they said no sudden movements.”

“So you’ll hold on tight,” Painter said, eyes playing with mine. He licked his lip and I felt my insides twitch.

Ohmygodhe’ssohotandhe’slookingrightatme!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Reese said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call someone else.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping Mr. Hot Bod wouldn’t change his mind about giving me a ride. “I’ll try riding the bike.”

I’ll try riding you, sexy
. . .

Wow. Those kind of pervy thoughts weren’t like me at all. Painter winked and I would’ve fainted on the spot if I wasn’t so damned healthy and not the fainting type. Shame, too, because he’d totally catch me with those muscular arms of his. I could sense it. I gave him a little smile, hoping I wasn’t coming off as dorky.

“You watch yourself with her,” London snapped, crossing her arms and jutting out a hip. I stared at her, shocked—that wasn’t like Loni at all. Had she just ruined it for me?

Painter raised a brow.

“Fuckin’ priceless, prez,” he said, then smiled at me again, a smile so beautiful that it made me dizzy.
You’re dizzy because you have a concussion
, my common sense pointed out.

I gave it a mental finger, because fuck common sense.

“You comin’ or not?” he asked, swaggering over to his bike and climbing on. Deliberately avoiding London’s gaze, I followed him, hopping up behind before he had a chance to change his mind.

“Hold on, babe,” he told me, his voice low and smooth. Like whiskey. Not that I drank much whiskey, but I’d had some at our high school graduation party, at the beginning of the summer. Putting my hands up, I touched the sides of his hips hesitantly. He caught them, pulling them tight around his stomach. I could feel his hard abs through the thin fabric of his shirt, and smell the leather of his motorcycle vest thingie. My entire front was leaning against his entire back, and I felt dizzy again. Then he reached down and touched my knee, giving it a quick squeeze.

Oh. My. God.

________

The ride took about ten minutes. Ten glorious minutes that included a short stretch of highway as we left Coeur d’Alene behind, which meant we got to go
fast
. Then he was pulling off and parking in front of an old farmstead that had a well-lived in, well-loved kind of wear around the edges. He turned off the bike, and the sudden absence of noise and vibration left my ears ringing. We sat there for a minute as I collected my thoughts. He touched my knee again. “Gotta let go if you want off the bike, babe,” he said softly.

I jerked my hands back instantly, wondering how big of an ass I’d made of myself. Then I was scrambling to get off, looking everywhere but his face because I couldn’t bear to see him looking disgusted, or worse yet, sorry for me.

“Come on,” he said, touching the small of my back gently, guiding me toward the porch. “I’ve got the code to get you inside. You can go crash for a while, get some rest.”

“Thanks,” I said, daring to look up at him. His eyes were everywhere, scanning the yard for what, I had no idea. Five minutes later we were upstairs, looking at what had to be a girl’s bedroom.

“You can stay in here, Em won’t mind,” he told me. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

“Who’s Em?” I asked.

“President’s daughter,” he answered, and his voice held a hint of something. Not sadness, but . . .
something
. “She’s a little older than you, about my age. Get some rest.”