Chapter Thirty-One
Adriana
This is what I get for telling him I love him. I make myself vulnerable, and life reminds me that letting anyone in — especially Reaper — comes with serious consequences. It’s a mistake. And now, it’s cost me everything.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die, killed by a bunch of Russian thugs, because I stuck my nose into a bunch of business it doesn’t belong in, all because I fell in love with my dead sister’s ex.
It’s a cold clarity that comes in the depths of the black bag over my head that I realize I’ve very much fucked up my life.
And still… I love Reaper.
The sound of Reaper's grunt of pain cuts through the fabric covering my face like a blade through my chest, and something primal tears loose inside me. Love and rage fuse into pure violence.
I slam my elbow backward, feeling it connect with soft flesh. Someone curses in a deep, balaclava-muffled voice. Good. I twist, throwing my weight into a blind punch that lands solid against what feels like a jaw. The satisfying crack of knuckles against bone sends electricity up my arm.
"Get the fuck off me!" I snarl, thrashing against the hands trying to pin my arms. Another wet thud echoes from where they have Reaper, followed by his ragged breathing, and my heart explodes into shrapnel that tears through my ribcage.
I love him. God help me, I love him so much it's turned me into something feral; As I scream, my knee shoots up, seeking the vulnerable space between legs, and I'm rewarded with a high-pitched wheeze as one of my captors doubles over.
The bag shifts, letting in a sliver of light, and I glimpse a concrete floor splattered with dark drops.
"Fucking bitch!"
I don't care. Let them be angry. I can hear Reaper taking hit after hit, and each impact reverberates through my bones like I'm the one being beaten.
This man who bakes cookies for abuse survivors, who fixes broken things with gentle hands, who looked at me like I was something precious instead of something dangerous. The man I love.
My fist connects with someone's solar plexus, and I twist again, driving my heel down hard on an instep. Another snarl, another strike, another flash of fear through my chest that, no matter what I do, it won’t be enough to get to him, to help him, to save the man I love, the first man I’ve felt safe letting close.
I scream and swing again; the love I feel for him isn't soft or sweet — it's molten metal in my veins, turning me into a weapon.
But there are too many hands, too many bodies pressing in. My wrists are yanked behind my back with brutal efficiency, zip ties cutting into skin. The bag is pulled tighter, stealing what little air I had left.
"Enough," a new voice commands — deep, resonant, powerful.
The beating stops on a dime. In the sudden, shocking quiet, I can hear Reaper's labored breathing, and it's the most beautiful and terrible sound in the world.
That commanding voice and the footsteps with it head to Reaper’s side. I listen, my heart thudding in my chest, as I hear a grunting noise. “You’re lucky, brother.”
Reaper chuckles. It’s a busted, bleeding chuckle, but a chuckle all the same. It ends with a wet cough. “Oh, sure, been feeling lucky a lot lately. This is just one lucky event in a fucking stream of them in my life.”
“Don’t even take that fucking tone with me, Ricky.”
“It’s Reaper now, Tank.”
“Right. Sorry, brother, it’ll take me time to adjust. Idiocy isn’t second nature to me. Not even third. While for you, it’s fucking first.”
“Love you too, brother.”
I finally speak up, because I hear the unmistakable sound of hands slapping against backs. “Are you two hugging? What the fuck is going on?”
“Will someone take the bag and zip ties off that woman?” Tank says.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. She can throw a punch,” says one voice.
“And knows how to really put her knee into my fucking crotch. I may never have kids,” says another voice, strained.
“Oh, are you and Sam really planning on having kids anytime soon, Diesel?" Tank says. After a pause, there’s the sound of snapping fingers. “Mayhem, seriously, set her free. Diesel, go take a fucking nap if you’re going to keep bitching.”
The bag comes off my head, and my hands get free.
I keep my fists clenched, ready to throw if I need to.
I see Reaper. He’s standing, leaning with one arm around the big man — and big is an understatement; the man is thick like the trunk of an ancient redwood — who must be Tank.
Next to me is a man with an unusual hairstyle that looks like it once was a mohawk, but had been mutilated by a machete, and there’s a glint in his eyes that makes me wonder if there’s a mental institution nearby.
Standing further away, with one hand still clutching his groin, is a handsome, heavily tattooed man who must be Diesel.
He’s giving me a look that isn’t friendly, though not outwardly combative.
He might be a threat, but if he is, I know just where to hit him.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on here?” I say.
“First, identify yourself,” Tank says.
“Excuse me?”
“He wants to know who you are, lady,” says the one named Mayhem. “It’s supposed to be a question, except he didn’t really say it as one. Tank’s not in a good mood. I don’t know if he’s ever been in one. I’ve never seen him in one.”
“My good moods only happen when you’re not around, Mayhem,” Tank replies.
“Well, I’d like to be around to see you in one sometime. Bianca says you have a nice smile, and, since you’re a heavier guy, I bet you’ve got a nice laugh, too. I’ll bet your belly jiggles.”
“Tank, meet Adriana. Adriana, meet Tank. They’re my brothers in the Twisted Devils MC,” Reaper says, mercifully cutting in, as there’s a vein twitching in Tank’s forehead that looks like it signals either a massive coronary or an incoming physical assault.
“Why did they try to kill us?” I say.
“No offense, Adriana, but if we wanted to kill you, there’s a million better ways we could’ve done it rather than giving you the opportunity to punch us in the face or knee Diesel in the balls.
Even if that last part was pretty great.
Diesel, you should’ve seen the look on your face.
Your eyes, they got so big… It was like you’d turned into a bullfrog,” Mayhem says.
“Ribbit,” Diesel says, grinning. “And fuck you for enjoying my testicular pain.”
“I’ll give you more if someone doesn’t tell me why you assholes put a bag over my head, ziptied me, and fucking attacked me,” I say.
“Reaper, you want to tell your…” Tank pauses and raises an eyebrow at Reaper.
“She’s with me. That’s what’s important,” Reaper says.
I nod and shrug and appreciate his vagueness — because with everything that’s happened between us, we haven’t even had time to sit down and talk about what ‘this’ is, other than he’s mine and no one is taking him away from me.
“Adriana, what you just witnessed is me getting off easy.”
“No, I’ve witnessed that, and this was nothing like that,” I say.
Diesel whistles and winks at Reaper. “So she’s that important, huh?”
“Yes, we’ve had sex. What are you — five?” I say. Then, I turn my attention back to Reaper. “I’ll repeat my original question: what the fuck just happened?”
Tank clears his throat, and when I open my mouth to tell him I don’t want an answer from him, I want an answer from Reaper; he raises a bushy eyebrow at me, a frown crosses his thickly bearded face, and suddenly, I realize maybe I’d better be quiet for a second and hear him out.
“Reaper’s actions warranted punishment. Abandoning the brotherhood the way he did, with no notice, no warning, and doing so to brothers who risked their own lives to pull him out of the shit in Boise, it was a fucking disgrace.
There were some who advocated for harsher punishment.
There were others — fools who have a fondness for you, Reaper — who put their asses on the line to mitigate your punishment. ”
Mayhem leans in towards me and whispers. “Tank’s talking about himself.”
I look back at Mayhem and blink once, slowly. “Really? I didn’t pick up on that.”
“It was subtle, I know. But if you had been in church when this came up, you would’ve picked up on it.”
“Thank you for the clarification, Mayhem,” I say, wondering, if I’m going to become more a part of Reaper’s life — and what the hell am I even thinking, wondering about that, and why am I even imagining myself, right now, as being a part of his life in the future when I don’t even know if I’m going to live through tomorrow — do I need to start keeping stickers or coloring books around for Mayhem?
“You’re welcome.”
“Rabid wanted your head. The vote was close. If it hadn’t been for me, Hunter, and Goldie — who I fucking pulled aside and made a fucking promise that I’d go to a yoga class with him, fucking hot yoga, which has me even more fucking worried, because, what the fuck makes it hot, is it a sexual thing? — you’d be dead.”
Reaper casts a hurt look at Diesel and Mayhem. “You two both voted to kill me?”
“After the shit we went through to save your ass, and the way you just fucking ran off, all because Vanessa died, fuck, yes I’m fucking pissed at you,” Diesel says.
Mayhem leans in again. “Diesel used to be married. His wife, she died when — ”
I cut him off. “ — I get it. And… are you well, Mayhem?”
“Very. Thanks for asking, though. It’s considerate of you, considering I threw a bag over your head and you punched me in the face. You throw a solid punch, by the way.”
“Why’d you vote to kill the man I lo — the man I like?” I say, wincing at how poorly I cover up that word. The other bikers — except for Mayhem, who seems oblivious — give me a curious look, then look at Reaper. Reaper smiles, and his brilliant eyes grin.
“It wasn’t cause I don’t like him. I like him. But I just looked at the facts of the case and judged based on that. It wasn’t personal,” Mayhem says.
“You were humming the fucking Law & Order theme most of the goddamn time, and any time you asked a question, you spoke like that one old lawyer guy,” Tank says. “It was fucking exhausting. Reaper, I nearly gave up on you just to get away from this fucking lunatic.”
“That ‘old lawyer guy’ is Jack McCoy, a living legend of the New York City justice system and one of the foremost — “
“Enough,” roars Tank. “Reaper, we’ve given you the punishment you deserved for abandoning the MC to go do whatever the fuck it is you are doing here… which looks like you were just shacking up with Vanessa’s sister and fucking with the Russian Mob?”
“I came here to kill myself, Tank, and got involved with Volkov in the process,” Reaper says. “Adriana came here to kill me, too. Then, well, she and I got involved.”
“Would have been a lot easier if one of you two had just finished the fucking job instead of dragging me away from Bianca to come down here and… what.. save your ass from the Russians?” Tank pauses, sighs, then shakes his head.
“That wasn’t fair of me. It’s been a long ride, brother.
And a whole fucking lot of talking to people.
You know what that does to me. How can we help you? ”
“It’s OK, Tank. I understand, and I appreciate you being here. I love you, brother,” Reaper says. He sighs, slips his arm around Tank, then continues. “And Adriana and I are going to need your help with the Russians, yes, but there’s something else we need your help with, first.”
“Whatever you need, brother. Now that we’ve got that shit from earlier out of the way, we’re here to help.”
Reaper nods, hesitates, then pulls Tank into a hug. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Because tomorrow night we’re going to rip off the Triads.”
Tank shakes his head. “I hate you so fucking much.”
“I love you, too, Tank.”