Reaper (Valhalla Rising MC #3)

Prologue

REAPER

June 23, 1983…

“ Y ou’re just gonna have to wait until tomorrow.”

I groan into the phone and do my best not to rip it from the wall. My ex-wife, Belinda, is supposed to be bringing our kids, Paul and Erica, to my apartment because it’s my weekend to have them, but as always, she’s being an epic bitch about it.

“My car’s in the shop,” I remind her, thinking of the used Toyota Camry I bought after the divorce. “It’s not like I can put a car seat on my Harley. Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Don’t know what to tell ya, Craig,” she snipes. “I’ve gotta date and can’t bring them over.”

“Who the hell’s watching them while you’re on a date?” I demand.

“Gretta,” she says. “Their babysitter.”

“So, you’d rather pay a babysitter than bring them to see their father?”

Heaven forbid she make the ten-minute drive to bring them to me.

“I don’t have time for this,” she snaps. “I’ll bring them over in the morning.”

Without another word, she hangs up the phone, and I yank mine out of the wall in frustration.

Great. Now I can’t call to tell my kids goodnight.

Needing some air, I storm out of my apartment, grabbing my keys along the way. The elevator creeks and jerks its way to the first floor, and when the doors slide open, I release the breath I was holding so I wouldn’t smell the stench of stale body odor that always seems to fill the space.

My apartment building sucks, but it’s all I can afford after paying child support. My paychecks are just enough for me to survive and ensure my kids have the necessities, with a little left over for gas so I can get a ride in every once in a while.

When I reach my Harley, a sense of calm washes over me. Other than Paul and Erica, this machine is the only thing that brings me any peace. Well, that and booze on occasion.

I ride around for an hour or so before pulling into the lot in front of the liquor store down the street from my apartment. The neon ‘open’ sign greets me as I walk toward the door, and the familiar trill of the bell alerts the clerk that I’ve entered.

“Hey, Craig,” the clerk greets. “Thought you had your kids this weekend.”

Scowling, I shake my head. “Bitch has a date and wouldn’t bring them over.”

“Aw, man, that sucks.” He points toward the back of the store. “Got your favorite beer stocked for ya.”

“Thanks, man.”

After checking out, I head outside, and as I’m putting the twelve-pack in my saddle bag, a scream fills the air.

“Stop it!” A woman shouts. “Leave me alone!”

I glance around the lot and don’t see anything out of the ordinary, so I walk around the side of the building to the alley. A man dressed in all black has a woman—a girl really—pinned against the brick wall with one arm pressed to her neck and a gun pointed at her temple.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand, racing toward them without thinking.

He whips his head in my direction and shifts the gun to aim it at me. I skid to a stop, raising my hands.

“Let her go,” I order.

“I don’t think so,” he snarls.

With his attention on me, the woman shoves him and runs when he stumbles backward.

“Hey!” I shout when he twists to go after her.

He halts and slowly turns to face me again. I have no time to move before he lifts the gun, squeezes the trigger, and a bullet tears through my chest.

Pain like I’ve never felt spreads through my body, but it isn’t more than a few seconds before I go numb and the world around me fades to black. When I’m able to open my eyes again, the dark has become a bright white, and I’m no longer lying in the dirty alley.

Turning in a slow circle, I take in my surroundings, confusion marring my every thought.

“What the fu?—”

“Welcome to Valhalla.”