Ride and Reap (3 page)

Chapter Two

“Fuck, do I hate days like these,”
Sweet grumbled.

Reaper didn’t know what his brother
had to complain about. Sweet had his mate between his legs, sucking him off. In
Reaper’s estimation, that was a good morning. The clubhouse looked the same as
ever. Hellhounds woke from under tables, on the floor, on top of the bar,
bodies tangled with naked or half-naked club whores or rent boys.

Pretty soon, someone important was
going to holler at them to get their lazy asses up. Most would complain about
babysitting the townies when they would rather ride out on the road to meet
with a supplier for new stock shipments, or deal with a group of assholes
foolish enough to cross their territory lines.

Reaper sighed. He was the same.
Riding out in the desert with nothing but the road and arid air whipping at his
face sounded mighty fine compared to being in a crowd full of drunk and happy
idiots.

It was one long fucking day ahead.
To make matters worse, for some unexplainable reason, Reaper’s wolf kept on
restlessly pacing inside him, like it caught the whiff of a coming storm.
 

“You’re up early today, big boy. Up
for some morning fun?” a voice purred.

Reaper glanced at Steve, one of his
regulars when Reaper had an itch to scratch. The lean twenty-something blond
gave him a lazy smile, before leaning over to press a palm up the bulge in his
jeans. Steve winked. Reaper shoved his hand aside. He sent the young man away
with one hard look.

“What’s gotten you in such a
fucking foul mood today?” Sweet asked. His flame-haired mate, Phoenix, finished
up, and gracefully slid up his brother’s lap like he rightfully belonged there.

Watching Phoenix wrap his arms
around Sweet’s neck and nuzzle his head against Sweet’s shoulder, Reaper
grunted.
Christ.
He should be happy
for his little brother, not be insanely jealous every time he caught a glimpse
of something he could never have. Besides, Sweet and Phoenix went through a lot
to get where they were.

Phoenix had belonged to a sick
fucker, The Collector, a major player who traded in flesh and rare sustainable
water technologies. Sweet stole Phoenix, made Phoenix his, and screwed the
consequences after. Half the town burned, still suffering from the damage from
the Hellhounds’ little war with The Collector’s men. The Hellhounds hadn’t been
happy about Sweet’s choice. Sweet was still under probation, but most agreed
there came a time ridding the world of one evil fucker balanced the scales.

Their head honchos decided having
this little festival would boost the morale of the townsfolk. Remind them
everything was peachy.

“Nothing,” Reaper mumbled,
surprised to catch Phoenix’s curious crimson gaze on his. Sweet’s little mate
had claws. Could burn a man to cinders if he wanted, but that wasn’t what
Reaper was worried about. Phoenix saw too much for his own good.

“You sure?” Phoenix asked,
distracted when Sweet started nibbling his way up his neck. Sweet’s hand
slipped to the zipper of Phoenix’s jeans.

“Yeah.” Reaper was relieved when
Viper, the club’s Road Captain came down the stairs.

“Get up, you lazy bastards. Up, or
Mace will rip you a new one. You know your jobs. Fucking get to it.”

For once, Reaper was relieved to
get his ass off the couch. He swiped up his leather jacket beside him, glad to
rid himself from the sickening company of his brother and Phoenix.

“Catch you later, brother.” Reaper
was surprised to see Sweet tugging at the hem of his sleeve. Being on
probation, Sweet’s job was to keep an eye on the clubhouse. Normally a task
Sweet disliked, but he couldn’t complain much, since he had Phoenix for
company.

“Hey, be careful,” Phoenix said quietly.
Sweet gave Phoenix a querying look, but Phoenix shook his head.

Reaper frowned, but nodded. It was
hot and arid as usual outside, but the feel of the engine vibrating between his
legs was a damn comfort.

“Can’t wait for this day to be
over,” Mercy said, mounting his bike, which was parked next to Reaper’s ride.

Mercy was one of the Hellhounds who
had to take the early morning watch with Reaper.

“I know you ugly fuckers think this
festival bullshit is a waste of time,” said their club president and pack alpha,
Mace. Other Hellhounds hooted, groaned or yipped. Reaper knew Mace had others
watching the borders of the town, and more were already by the town square.

Mace continued, “I fucking get it,
but this is part of the package. So shut up and do your shit right.”

“Let’s go,” Reaper told Mercy,
revving up his engine.

They left the compound in a
disciplined line with Mace taking the lead together with their Vice President
Revo and RC Viper. Their bikes kicked off a cloud of dirt. The rumble of
engines and the laughing voices of his brothers trading crude jokes should have
given him relief, but the uneasy feeling Reaper sensed earlier hadn’t left.
Reaper’s wolf remained on edge. Twitchy, and eager for Reaper to trade human
skin for his beast’s. Even Mercy noticed.

“Hey Reaper, you feeling all right?
You seemed…off today,” Mercy yelled over the wind and roar of engines.

“None of your business,” Reaper
muttered.

Why the hell was Reaper being so
testy? He’d always trusted his wolf’s instincts. The beast never led him wrong,
and without it, he wouldn’t have come out of most of his tough spots alive.
What was it about today? Did the animal sense some kind of menace the others
couldn’t?

Reaper would feel like an idiot if
he mentioned this and nothing happened. He considered it some kind of fluke,
until they reached the town center. Voices wove in and out. Happy faces. Reaper
wanted to puke. To start something so he could invert those grins upside down.
He sighed, calming himself. Reaper parked his bike alongside Mercy’s in a
relatively empty alleyway, and dismounted.

“Well, at least we’ll never run out
of beer,” Mercy joked.

Reaper pulled his favorite
sawed-off shotgun from the back of his bike and strapped it over his shoulder.
Quality liquid poison to warm his insides sounded swell, but he refused the
temptation. He had a bad a feeling and he’d rather be alert when something
happened.

“Go ahead, I’ll do a round,” Reaper
told Mercy.

Mercy grinned. “Suit yourself,
brother.”

Reaper walked around the town
square, sticking to the shadows. Post-fall country music blared from public
speakers. Folks drank, laughed and danced—Christ, did Reaper want to beat up
someone. It was tempting to drag some random stranger off the street and into
the dark alleyway so he could let out a bit of his rage.

Inflicting misery on someone else
so he wouldn’t be the only miserable bastard seemed petty, so he held it off.
Gnashing his teeth, he managed to send off some of the happy-go-lucky pricks
who offered him a drink with a glare. The women and men, who wanted to have a
little fun, were a lot harder to scare away.

Sweet would have told him to calm
the fuck down. Relax, get merry and sink his cock in some willing tight cunt or
ass. Sound advice too, but Reaper brushed the thought aside. To distract
himself, he volunteered to do some heavy lifting. Broke up a couple of fights,
and handed the easy cases to the local police. By the time Mercy came back
silently to his side, smelling of beer, Reaper’s shirt was soaked with sweat
underneath his jacket.

“You could use this.” Mercy offered
him a bottle of locally brewed beer.

Reaper took the bottle and sniffed.
“What the hell, you’re right. I need to take it easy.”

He took a long pull, grunting when
Mercy slapped his shoulder.

“That’s the fucking spirit.”

Damn the false alarm and his
fucking nerves.

“Word has it, some of the strippers
from Riker’s club are hanging by the fountain, hunting for a couple of
Hellhounds to show them a good time.”

“Yeah? Lead on.” Reaper followed
Mercy.

He spotted the town fountain and
eyed his potential conquests. Reaper could be pretty creative if he wanted to
and he planned on telling Sweet how Mercy and he decided to raise merry hell.
Pretty shitty thing to do, taunting his brother, but who told Sweet to take the
one-way path to monogamy? Shifters mated for life and Sweet gave his freedom
away willingly for one pretty piece.

Reaper snarled when someone in a
hurry bumped into his chest. The young man carrying the carton of empty bottles
yelped. Reaper easily caught the box, before it reached the ground and
shattered.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” the guy in
the hoodie mumbled.

All the hairs on Reaper’s skin
stood on end. His wolf woke inside him, eager and hungry. He sniffed, catching
wind of an unbelievably alluring scent. Sharp and tangy, bound to have a
bite—why did this human smell so fucking good?

Reaper wanted to drop the damn box
and shove it aside, so he could have a closer whiff. He was about to do just
that, give the man a second, more intimate examination, when Mercy growled in
warning. Reaper whipped his head around, seeking the source of the threat, when
he felt the kiss of a metal barrel shoved under his chin. He narrowed his eyes
in sudden realization. His skin felt unbelievably hot.

“Got you, fucker, you won’t believe
how long I’ve been searching for you,” the man hissed in a low and careful
voice.

Reaper took stock of his potential
killer. Six-foot, dark-haired and tanned, he looked vaguely familiar. Jailbait
would be the two words Reaper used at first glance, but he thought better of it
when he noticed the hard line of his mouth, and the tight feral hunger in his
narrowed gaze.

Did the handsome little assassin
possess the guts to pull that trigger? Where the hell did he come from? The
hunter certainly wasn’t from around these parts. Why target Reaper
specifically? The crowd around them, those who took notice, fell silent. Did
the outsider know the repercussions of his actions? Reaper was ready to die,
accepted that fact long ago, but was the assassin?

Sweet would hunt the bastard down,
make sure he didn’t die an easy death, and so would the rest of the Hellhounds.

“Are you sure about this, human?”
Reaper asked calmly.

The world narrowed its scope to the
two of them, killer and victim, hunter and hunted, but roles could be easily
reversed. Adrenaline sung in Reaper’s veins. A smile found its way on his lips.
If the human wanted him dead, he could have pulled the trigger any time he
wanted, but he seemed like he had a couple of things to say.
 

“Why the fuck are you smiling?
Don’t you realize I’m seconds away from blowing your brains out? I’m packing
silver.”

“I know,” Reaper answered, baring
his teeth. “I can smell it on you, along with your fear.”

All the muscles in the shooter’s
face tensed.

“Fuck you.”

“Reaper,” Mercy growled, but Reaper
couldn’t risk breaking eye contact.

So much anger existed in the human.
The outsider’s hand shook. Reaper’s indifferent reaction unnerved him. He must
have imagined a hundred scenarios, how this play could go down, but this hadn’t
been one of them. An amateur. Reaper didn’t know the last time he’d been so
thoroughly entertained.

What did he do to this spirited
human?

“Let me guess. A ghost from the
past?” Reaper couldn’t help but ask.

“You murdered my brother. Kept him,
tortured him, and burnt him,” the human accused.

Reaper frowned. He’d done his share
of vile things over the years, but he never took sick pleasure in torture.
Bright electric blue eyes searched his own, demanding Reaper admit to a kill he
didn’t commit. It took him another second to realize why the human looked so
familiar. The same pleading shade of blue from a ruined face haunted his sleep
for the longest time.

The realization must have shown on
his face, because his would-be killer’s lips curved to a bitter smile. “Rattled
your memory now?”

“You misunderstood one vital fact,
little killer,” Reaper pointed out.

He didn’t know why he bothered, why
he needed to justify his actions when he’d be better off letting the assassin
pull the trigger. Hadn’t Reaper lingered long enough, year after year, waiting
for someone with the balls to end his miserable existence? Why did this unnamed
stranger, who badly craved his death, igniting the dead parts inside him?

“Don’t make excuses.”

Reaper pawed at the unraveling
threads of his memory. He knew this stranger’s name, because his dying brother
had uttered it.

“Kane,” Reaper said, wrapping the
syllable around his tongue like it was edible. Kane looked at him, startled,
mouth opening and closing—ran out of words. “I wonder, did you blindly set
yourself on this one-way road, without getting the full story?”

“The story? I know what I saw. The
facts are all there. I’ve collected a paper trail,” Kane said, but Reaper heard
the flicker of hesitation in his voice.

“I killed your brother out of
mercy. He begged me to, but I didn’t take him. I don’t get off owning and
hurting humans.”

Kane’s face twisted to rage. “Liar.
You’re nothing but a heartless sadistic fucker who deserves to die.”

“Fine. If that’s your fucking opinion,
then do it.” Reaper couldn’t help himself. His lips tugged wider when Kane’s
fingers began to shake.

“What?” Kane whispered. “This…you…”

“Disappointed this didn’t turn out
the way you wanted, Kane?” Reaper dropped the box. Glass shattered on impact.
Kane jerked, gun going off when Reaper gripped the barrel with one hand. It
harmlessly fired shots into the air. Someone let out a scream.

“Calm the fuck down, no one’s hurt.
The situation’s under control,” Mercy yelled to the crowd. “No fucking need to
panic.”