3. Chapter 3
“Let’s hear the rest.”
I struggle with what to say to the guy sitting across the table from me. The entire situation is overblown and I don’t really want Miguel dead, which is what generally happens when Hell’s Jury gets involved. Or so I’ve heard.
I didn’t know what to expect when I decided to approach Reaper, but it was nowhere near what I’d thought. I’ve seen enough tatted bad boy types, more than I ever wanted, but this guy, Reaper. He’s on a whole different level.
He is unbelievably sexy for starters, but he doesn’t come across like he knows. There’re no airs, no flirting, and his swagger’s genuine, not put on like so many guys. I’m relieved, because I’m a good Catholic girl and the last thing I want to do is have to offer sexual favors to get Miguel off my back. Now, seeing Reaper, I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind.
But this biker, he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in that way. Sure, I caught him looking a couple of times, but I’ve yet to meet a heterosexual man that doesn’t take a quick glance or two. I know I’m not perfect. Too mouthy, too impatient and I can’t organize a riot, let alone keep my life sorted. Still, I inherited the genetic jackpot when my parents decided to make a baby. Curves, pouty full lips, big brown eyes. Sure, I’m short, but I know how to showcase my assets.
I conjure Reaper in my mind, between my legs, us making love. It makes me squirm in my chair.
“Where’d you go?” the man of my fantasy says.
I know I’m blushing, but I recover quickly. “Just thinking about how to explain this.” I remind myself that the jerk in front of me is a thug and a criminal, stealing money from my pop and other respectable business owners. I shouldn’t be thinking things about him that are sure to end with me dead in a barrel floating down the Truckee River. I don’t have enough control of my tongue to spend too much time around the guy.
“Just say it straight.” He glances at his watch like he has some place to be.
The act deflates me. Of course, he does. A guy like him, swarthy good looks, lean but well-muscled, he probably has a harem at home waiting for him. “Yeah, okay.” I bite my lip. “After I fed the key to the dog, Miguel really got pissed. I’m getting threatening messages from him. My ex-friend, the one he was sleeping with? She kept calling too. I blocked her number, but now she’s emailing.”
“You can block that too.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows. “Thanks for the solution, Mr. IT. Guess we’re done here.”
“Guess we are,” he replies blandly as he starts to rise.
Damn my stupid mouth. “Wait!” I bite my lip. I hate apologizing, but let a strangled “I’m sorry,” leak out. “I’m on edge is all. I don’t mean to disrespect you.” Not right now anyway.
“What do you want, X? Get to the fuckin’ point.”
I flick my hair behind my ear as I focus on Reaper’s face. “I don’t want him dead, you understand. I just want him to leave me alone. Tracy too. And no more late-night visits from his friends.”
His eyes bore into me in a way that raises goosebumps on my arms and he says nothing while the seconds tick away. Finally, he nods. “Okay. I’ll have a meaningful conversation with him. I got no patience though – if he doesn’t back off after one warning, I break his legs. You got the stomach for that, pulci?”
Did he really just call me a flea? “One warning will be enough. Miguel’s a coward.” Then curiosity gets the better of me. “How do you know Italian?”
“You think because I’m a one-percenter, I lack intelligence?”
I kind of did. “Of course not. But you’re clearly not Italian. I wanna know.”
He taps the table, then stands. “None of your business.” He stares at me long and hard enough to make me uncomfortable, then adds. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.” He catches Poppy’s eye. “Show her out.”
“Wait,” I say, almost desperately because I don’t want the conversation to end. “You don’t know where he lives.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Then he turns his back and strolls out of my life.
Poppy jerks her head towards the stairs with a sneer that rivals Stallone”s. “Let’s go.”
She tries to lead the way but I step in front of her. “I don’t need an escort.” I lift my chin and walk down the stairs like I’m Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind.
Outside, I linger, wondering about the man I just enlisted to threaten my ex. Reaper. What a road name. My shudder turns into trembling as tingles run up and down my body.
It’s not gonna happen, a voice in my head sounding remarkably like my pop growls. It’s not gonna happen, Bella.
But then my mom’s laughter rings inside me. I’ll handle your papa. You go have the best sex of your life.
I blink my eyes to clear the sting of tears. Mom died when I was 10 and I think of her every day. First thing in the morning and last thing at night. And when the going gets tough, or when I have those little moments of joy. A girl needs her mama. My pop, he’s great, the best there is. I see the guilt in his eyes, like he’s responsible for the cancer that took her. But then I have his eyes and when I look in a mirror, I see that same guilt staring back at me.
I walk to the road and take a wary look down the sidewalk. Hook’s is on a main strip in Reno, lit up like the 4th of July, so I shouldn’t worry about being accosted by another friend of Miguel’s, but my stomach does a nervous dance as I head to the bus stop. I have a car, but it’s a clunker, lacks the juice for long trips and while the ride into Reno isn’t exactly a cross-country marathon, my beat-up old chevy seems to think it is.
There’s a couple of young men at the bus stop, a little drunk, a little loud. They look me up and down. “Hey, chiquita. You wanna good time?”
I roll my eyes as I near them. “Wow. Original. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna see what’s inside these shorts.”
The other guy snickers. “I already know. I have x-ray vision.”
They’re harmless, even drunk, but I try to be a good girl and tell the truth as I see it. “I like you guys, but my pop won’t. He’s got a baseball bat and won’t be shy about caving in your head.”
“I’ll fucking do it too,” a voice behind me snarls.
My stomach takes a left a turn as I swing around to face the guy I was going to fantasize about tonight when I got home.
“Sorry man,” the snickerer says as they both take a step back. “Didn’t know she was your girl.”
Reaper doesn’t correct them as he turns his venom on me. “What the fuck are you doing takin’ the bus?”
I meet his aggression straight on, even though I know I probably shouldn’t. “I wasn’t actually gonna take the bus. I was gonna borrow it to get me home.”
“It’s three o’ clock in the fuckin’ morning. Do you have a death wish?”
Jesus. Uh. Sorry Jesus, but it’s better than using your old man’s name in vain. “I have a wish to get home and since I don’t have my car, it’s the only way it’s happening.”
“Why don’t you have your fuckin’ car?” he barks.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the men who wanted to show me a good time, walking quickly away from the bus stop. “My heroes!” I shout at their retreating backs.
“I’m talking to you!” Reaper growls.
I turn back to him as I tell myself to settle down. He’s doing me a favor and I need to be more respectful. My mouth seems to disagree. “Why are you here? I want you to look after my ex, not me.”
He grabs my arm and starts hauling me back to Hook’s. “Where the fuck do you live?”
Any other guy, I’d climb up his back and scratch his eyes out, but my body suddenly goes boneless. My mouth though, is still in action. “Where do you think I live? An apartment!”
He stops so suddenly I smack into his back, my face shoved up between his shoulder blades. His back is as his hard as his front, and I want to lick it like a lollipop. The scent of leather floats to my nostrils, but heat too. He smells like six serrano peppers mixed into a chili verde. The burn, yes, but it would be so worth the taste.
Dear God, I pray knowing full well he’s gonna make me regret it - God the holy guy, not the god in front of me - please let me see this man naked just once.
Reaper’s eyes are blazing as he faces me. “Don’t get smart with me. You live in Reno?”
I can’t help but curl my lip. “The bakery’s in Sagebrush. So’s the college. So’s my pop. So take a guess.”
He presses his lips together as his eyes sweep me up and down. “We’re gonna start again. I’m doing you a favor?—”
“You aren’t actually,” I interrupt because, well, my mouth. “You’re doing what my pop is paying you to do.”
I see Mom shake her head. You’re never going to get him between the sheets if you don’t settle down.
Apparently Reaper thinks so too. “I’m not your fucking errand boy, X, so don’t push me. I have limits.”
He’s right. He’s a bloody Hell’s Jury member. Remember that, mouth! It kinda of does. “Why are you following me? I thought we were done.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as he looks skyward. “Because I’m a fucking masochist.”
A bubble of laughter bursts from me. “Sorry,” I say as I cover my mouth to stem the giggles.
He shakes his head. “I decided to do it tomorrow. Thought I’d let you know so you were on your toes in case there’s blowback.”
The bus pulls up. “Great. Thanks.” It sounds dismissive, so I add, “I mean it. I really appreciate what you’re doing.” I turn to leave but he grabs my arm.
“No fucking way you’re getting on that bus. I’ll take you home.”
“On your motorcycle?”
“How else do you think?” He’s starting to sound like me.
My stomach vaults off the high diving board and does a gold medal flip. I get to ride on a motorcycle! And better yet, I get to press my face between Reaper’s shoulder blades again.
Don’t lick him, chiquita, my mom says.
I have some self-control, I protest. We both know I’m lying.
He’s still holding my arm as he steers me back towards Hook’s. The lights are off and the parking lot’s empty.
“Over here,” he grumbles as he pulls me into a dead-end alley.
“Wow,” I breath as I see the beast he rides owning that alley. “It’s the nicest motorcycle I’ve ever seen.”