Chapter 5 Reaper
I’m half-tempted to chase after her and demand answers to the questions that have been plaguing me for years. Why’d she bail on me? On us? Was it really something as simple as being pissed off about Valentine’s Day, or was there more to it? Also, I don’t believe that her connection to Blackstone is a coincidence. There’s something else going on, and I’m going to figure this shit out. But first, I need to stop thinking about how tight her pussy felt back when we fucked like animals five times a day.
Chains of self-restraint rattle in my head. I can’t go after her for all the reasons I couldn’t commit to her back then. The truth is as stark as the tattoos etched into my skin—I fight, I fuck, I execute the scum of the earth. That’s my trinity. That’s all I’ve got room for.
A woman will never understand that about me. Hell, even I can’t understand why I have to fuck after I kill. I should be balls deep in pussy right now, but instead, I’ve got the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had, and there’s no end in sight.
Padding out of my room and into the kitchen, I pull a heavy oversized shot glass out of a cabinet. I open the cupboard full of booze and choose my favorite whiskey. This should do the trick.
I toss back a shot of whiskey, but it’s like throwing gas on the flames licking up my insides. My knuckles still itch from the right hook that sent some lowlife to the ground earlier tonight. The kill had been clean—a bullet to the brain of a man who’d had it coming. It should’ve given me relief, a release, but it didn’t. Nothing’s scrubbing the edge off. Not even this top shelf shit.
Returning to my room, I throw myself on the bed. I feel like a damn raft lost at sea as I lie here, every muscle coiled, every nerve alight. Sleep’s a no-show. All I can think about is how badly I need something—someone—to burn this energy off with. It’s laughable, really. I don’t cuddle. I don’t spoon. I fuck women hard and leave ‘em begging me for more. That’s how shit should be tonight, but it’s not. I am alone, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m not leaving Lexi and Ace with a handful of prospects. I’m convinced she’s in some kind of danger, but I have no idea what it is because she won’t tell me the full truth about anything.
A frustrated growl rumbles from my throat. Need claws at me, relentless and raw. The old me would’ve already been out the door, hunting for a warm body to sink into. After I kill, I need to lose myself in sweat and skin, long enough to forget the reality of my existence for a while. But tonight, I’m just staring at the ceiling fan, its blades slicing through the stale air, an echo of the chaos spinning in my skull.
“Damn it, Lexi,” I mutter to the shadows. Nothing’s straightforward when it comes to her. It’s never been easy with her, and I doubt that will ever change.
It’s too hot in my room. I’m a live wire, buzzing with a need that’s got no outlet, no release. The walls feel too close. The air’s too still, like the world’s pressing down on me, waiting for something to explode.
I shift on the mattress, trying to find a position that doesn’t remind me of Lexi’s curves fitting against mine. But it’s useless; she’s imprinted in my memory. Her scent lingers in the room, intoxicating me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut against the images that flood my brain—the way her hair spread like wildfire across my pillow, the taste of her sweat as I kissed down her neck …
It’s torture, knowing she’s just one thin wall away. If it weren’t for the kid—Ace—I’d be over there now, consequences be damned. She used to ignite something primal in me, a blaze that only she could stoke. And damn if she doesn’t do it still.
My hand drifts lower, palming the evidence of my unsatisfied lust. I can almost feel her beneath me, the catch of her breath, the arch of her back. I’ve been hard since she walked out, leaving me with nothing but the memory of her heated gaze. Lexi always was transparent when it came to desire. I could read her body like a book. I knew what she wanted just by the tilt of her head or the smirk in her eyes. Back then, it didn’t take much before we were tearing each other’s clothes off.
A groan tears from deep inside me as I give in, letting my mind reel back to a time when things were simpler, rawer. When she was mine and I was hers in every carnal sense. I remember the wild abandon in her eyes, the way she clawed at my back, urging me deeper.
The fantasy takes hold, vivid and unrelenting. Her moans fill my ears, not echoes of the past but cries of pleasure as if she were here, now, writhing beneath me. My hand moves in rhythm with the memory, each stroke a bitter reminder of what I’ve lost and of what I crave.
“Lexi …” I grunt her name like a curse, a prayer, a plea. My body tenses, every muscle strung as tight as guitar strings about to snap. The pressure builds to an unbearable pitch until, suddenly, like a gunshot echoing in my skull, release rips through me. I spill into my clenched fist, the relief sharp and fleeting.
The aftermath leaves me gasping. Her name still whispers across my lips. Sweat beads on my brow, my chest heaves, and for a moment, I’m lost in the aftershocks, clinging to the fragments of pleasure before they slip away.
Then reality drags me back into the cold and unforgiving present. I’m alone. The rush is gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that settles in my bones. In the quiet that follows, I’m left with nothing but questions and the relentless throb of a wound seven years old.
The sheets are twisted, knotted around my legs like the unanswered questions tangling in my skull. I’m supposed to be numb after the release, but instead, there’s this restlessness clawing up from within, unquiet as a storm on the horizon. I turn over and punch the pillow, but it’s no use. Sleep isn’t coming to claim me tonight.
I’ve always had instincts sharper than a shiv. They’ve kept me alive more times than I can count, and right now, they’re screaming that Lexi’s sudden appearance at Blackstone’s ranch isn’t a random twist of fate. There’s got to be a damn reason she’s here, under my nose, stirring up things better left buried.
“Who tried to ice you, Lexi?” I mutter into the darkness.
My gut churns with the need to protect her, even though I swore off being anyone’s hero a long time ago. But someone marked her, and it eats at me. Who wants her dead, and why?
I throw the covers off and sit up. My mind races with possibilities. For seven years, she’s been gone. She vanished without a trace. She never said goodbye. She never gave me an explanation. And now, seeing her again is like ripping open a sealed wound. Fresh blood, fresh pain.
“Lexi.” I say her name like it’s a key, like maybe if I say it enough, it’ll unlock all her secrets. She’s lying. I can feel it in my bones. Not about everything, maybe, but there’s something she’s holding back, something dark and heavy. And I need to know what it is. Because it’s not just about her anymore—it’s about us, about the club. Weakness can get you killed, and secrets are the deadliest weakness of all.
I stand, pacing the small confines of the room, feeling caged. The need to confront her is overwhelming. I want answers, yeah, but there’s more to it than that. I’m enslaved by the pull of my attraction to her. After she left, I compared every other woman against Lexi. I never managed to shake the feeling that no one could ever measure up to her. But then again, I wasn’t really looking for anyone. That wasn’t part of the plan. Lexi’s never been someone I could hold onto, but I never expected to miss her as much as I did. That shocked the fuck out of me.
I glance at the clock. It’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it—and the clubhouse is silent. Everyone else is lost to their own dreams or demons. Me, I’m stuck in limbo, caught between past and present, truth and lies.
Suddenly, the crack of gunfire shatters the night. The staccato rhythm of bullets being fired jerks me out of my brooding. I’m on my feet before my brain clicks into gear, instincts honed from years on the edge taking over. My hand slips inside my cut. My fingers wrap around the cool grip of my gun, the one thing I trust more than any living soul.
I stalk out of my room and through the living room. Each step is deliberate, measured. There’s no hesitation as I bypass the alarm panel, leaving it armed so I can trip it on the way out. Let the shrill sound be a war cry for the club, a signal to Matrix and the rest to rally. The clubhouse isn’t just walls and leather; it’s a fortress, a family, a place where we bleed and fight for each other. When they get the alert, they’ll be on their bikes riding like they’re being chased by demons from hell.
Tucker’s already there when I hit the front door, his eyes wide with the same adrenaline-fueled readiness pumping through my veins. Two prospects flank him, looking like they’re about to jump out of their skin, itching for action or scared shitless—it’s hard to tell.
“Perimeter check,” I bark, the words automatic. “Tucker, take the east side. Prospects—” I nod at them, “—stick with him. Watch his back. Move!”
They don’t need to be told twice.
Tucker leads the way like a damn battle commander, while the new blood trails him, eager to prove their worth.
I shove the door open, the chill of the outside air biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the rage boiling in my gut. No one comes onto club property without permission, and they sure as shit don’t fire their weapons here.
As I crouch down and walk along the edge of the porch, the night erupts with another volley of shots. I zero in on the source—the bar and grill, where some of our boys are pinned down. Rounds of ammunition chew up the dirt and wood around them.
I recognize one of the shooters by his cut. A Demon Rider. Those bastards have been a thorn in our side for too long. They’re a rival club funded by Blackstone—unofficially, of course. We almost shut them down completely a few years ago, but they keep growing back like a cancer in our territory.
Anger surges, hot and violent, as I take aim. I see one of the Demon fuckers, his gun spitting fire into the darkness. My finger tightens on the trigger. Bang! The recoil’s a familiar punch against my palm. One down. But there’s more, always more.
“Reaper!” someone shouts, a warning or maybe a call to arms.
“Got your back, brother!” I’m the end of the line for anyone who fucks with my club, my family. And tonight, the Demon Riders will pay for crossing that line.
As much as I want to run back to protect Lexi and Ace, I can’t. So far, no Demon Rider has made it past the bar and grill. As long as I keep them on this side, no one will be able to get to my woman and her kid. With one last glance back at the clubhouse, I surge forward, firing a spray of bullets into the night.