7. Riley
If the Reapersare going to be at the bar Tai mentioned, it’s not going to be until after dark, so I have several hours to kill before I can begin my search. It’s hell waiting around all day, trying not to think about what Chloe is going through, but I distract myself by doing as much research on the gang as I can. When seven o’clock rolls around and the sky starts to darken to an inky indigo, I finally head into the bathroom to get ready.
If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s get men to say yes to me. But these aren’t just men. They’re ruthless men. Criminals. Killers.
My hand shakes as I apply eyeliner, jerking the small brush across my eyelid in a jagged black line.
“Dammit,” I mutter, dropping it into the sink and squeezing the edge of the counter until I get ahold of the trembling. I have to be in better control than this.
I tilt my head to inspect the damage, then make quick work of fixing it. After spending the last couple of years on stage, I can do my makeup in my sleep, but tonight, no amount of makeup can hide the truth.
My eyes are too wild. I feel strung out, and it shows.
I do the best I can anyway, going a little heavier on the concealer than usual to try to hide the slight puffiness around my eyes from crying.
Finally satisfied, I head into the bedroom to get changed, then survey myself in the full-length mirror on one wall.
I smooth my hands down my thighs, twisting to the side to get another angle. I decided to go with something that walks the line between badass and sexy, and I feel like I’m dressed for battle as I take in my black leather pants, motorcycle boots, and fitted white shirt with a distressed calfskin jacket over it.
Something still isn’t quite right, though, and it takes me a minute to realize what it is.
My mood ring. Fuck.
My hands start shaking again as I unfasten the small teardrop-shaped blue gem I slipped into my nose piercing after my crying jag this morning. It’s a sentimental piece of jewelry, something Chloe gave me right after I moved her out of our dad’s house, but it reminds me too much of her, and I can’t afford to cry anymore.
Stepping toward the dresser, I open the chipped music box I can still remember our mother humming along to and riffle through my options. There’s only one that fits.
I fit the black faux-diamond skull into my piercing and step back to get the whole effect in the mirror.
“Uh-oh,” I can almost hear Chloe saying, laughing as she gives me shit. “That one? Looks like you’re pissed off and ready to do something about it, sis.”
She’s right.
Or she would be right, if she were here.
With one more backward glance in the mirror, I turn on my heel and head out.
The dive bar I go to first is the one Tai told me would be my best bet, since apparently the leader of the Reapers spends a fair amount of time there with his seconds. Unlike the West Point Gang, the Reapers don’t wear flashy jewelry or, like some of the other small-time gangs in Halston, make their members get tattoos to show their affiliation.
That doesn’t matter. If they’re as dangerous as their reputation says, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out who they are.
I pull up outside the place, taking in the flickering neon sign in the window that reads Clancy’s. The bar isn’t anything special, clearly a dive that’s been around for a long time and seen better days, and the door sticks a little as I yank it open and step inside.
Music pours from the speakers, providing a background for the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Several grizzled looking men are hunched over glasses of whiskey or beer at the pocked wooden bar, but I ignore them, scanning the rest of the place quickly.
There.
My heart lurches as my gaze lands on a table near the back. Three men are sitting around it, and even though no one else in the bar is paying them overt attention, there’s a subtle energy in the way everyone avoids eye contact with them that shows just how very aware of them each and every person in here is.
Two of the men are facing the door, and one has his back to me, but none of them looked up when I entered.
I take a breath, grateful to have a few seconds to get a read on them and convince myself again that I can make this work before I approach their table.
From the digging I did today and the bits and pieces I’ve overheard from people in our neighborhood, I recognize one of the men right away.
Maddoc Gray.
The leader of the Reapers.
I’ve heard people talk about him, and I have no trouble picking him out as the hard-looking man on the right. The dark lines of a few swirling, intricate tattoos are faint shadows poking out from under his white shirt, and his hair is so dark it’s almost black. More tattoos decorate the backs of his hands, the inked designs curling over his fingers. There’s a calculating look on his brutally handsome face as he nods along with whatever the leanly muscled man at his side is saying, and even from a few yards away, his eyes are striking,
The irises are a light, frosty gray near the center, transitioning to something stormy and dark at the outer edges. He bleeds power and dominance, saturating the air around him.
The man on Maddoc’s left is blond and lean, his muscles as perfectly defined as his jawline. There’s something about him that’s almost too perfect, nothing out of place, making him look like a statue that somehow came to life. He radiates a deadly sort of intensity as he listens to something Maddoc is saying, his ice-blue eyes narrowing just slightly.
The third man has his back to me, but even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s just as broadly muscled as the other two—maybe even more so. He’s got even more tattoos than Maddoc does, covering nearly every part of him that I can see.
They all look like they could snap me in half without even breaking a sweat. Not that they’d need to, since I’m sure they’re all packing and could put a bullet between my eyes just as easily.
Adrenaline floods my system. The idea of walking over there, of getting anywhere near these men, has my palms sweating and sends my pulse into overdrive.
But I don’t have a choice. I found exactly what I came here looking for, and I can’t bail out now. So I force my feet to move, one step and then another carrying me closer and closer to the table at the back.
The big man with all the ink shifts in his seat as I approach and finally looks my way, the first one to take notice of me. Our gazes lock, and I almost trip over nothing.
Fuck.
I know him.
It’s the man I broke my own rules for.
It’s Dante.
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as recognition crosses his face, and my heart skips a beat.
Dammit. I had no clue that I was getting laid by a goddamn Reaper last night. I had no idea who he was or who he associated with when I begged him for his cock.
His lips twitch the tiniest bit at the corners, something hot and possessive flaring in his eyes, and I swallow, all the nerves I just shoved down flaring to life again like a swarm of angry locusts.
Maddoc and the other man are still talking, but Dante’s gaze moves over me lazily, snagging on the hickeys I covered so carefully with makeup before coming here tonight.
I know he can’t see them. There’s no way—not in this lighting, not with my makeup skills—but the way his eyes pause on each one makes me doubt myself for a moment.
My fingers twitch, but I force myself not to touch the places he marked me, even though I swear I can feel them start to tingle. My feet feel like lead, and I’m dying to turn and run as those locusts spill into my bloodstream, buzzing through every inch of me until I’m on the edge of panic again.
But I can’t.
I can’t walk away without at least trying.
Dante hasn’t said a word, but Maddoc and the man with flat, ice-blue eyes both stop talking at the same time and look over at me, absolutely nothing about their gazes welcoming in the least.
Forcing my feet to keep moving, I walk up to the table, keeping my eyes locked with Maddoc’s.
“What?” he finally says, the gravelly tone of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
“Maddoc Gray? I’ve got a business proposition for you.”
He doesn’t even blink, but the lean man next to him goes motionless, his body so still that it’s unnerving as every ounce of his focus locks on to me. Dante, on the other hand, stays sprawled out and so relaxed that I’d almost think he wasn’t paying attention… if I couldn’t feel his eyes drilling into me too.
I ignore them both and keep my eyes on Maddoc. He’s the one who matters right now.
He looks me up and down without changing his expression, cold and uninterested. The silence lingers for a long moment before he speaks.
“No, you don’t,” he says. Then he turns back to his men, dismissing me.
Dammit.
“How do you see that playing out without pissing off The Six, Logan?” Maddoc asks the man next to him, obviously picking up the thread of the conversation I interrupted as if I’m not still standing right fucking here, and when the other man’s—Logan’s—eyes flick my way, I get the sense that whatever they’re talking about, Logan doesn’t approve of Maddoc airing it out in front of me.
After giving me a quick, appraising glance, Logan lowers his voice and murmurs a reply that I don’t even try to follow, dismissing me as thoroughly as Maddoc did.
When I shift my attention to Dante, he gives me a bland look in return, no sign at all of the heat that flashed in his gaze a second ago.
I feel like an idiot standing in front of their table while they ignore me as if I’m invisible. But I lick my lips and force myself to forge ahead.
“I need your help,” I say, a little more forcefully this time.
Maddoc and Logan carry on as if I haven’t even spoken, and after the tiniest hesitation, Dante follows their lead, leaning forward to join the conversation they’re having.
Goddammit. They can’t turn me away. Not without at least hearing what I have to say.
I slam my palm down on the table, the loud smacking sound cutting across the noise of the bar. A few people glance our way before quickly turning back to their drinks, and my heart pounds like a drum, a sudden surge of adrenaline making my voice shake a little when I speak again.
“I said I need your help. And I’ll make it worth your while.”
Maddoc turns his gray eyes on me, and if I thought Logan’s were icy, they’ve got nothing on the cold look this man pins me with. “And I said… not interested.”
“I don’t care if you’re not interested,” I say bluntly, and it’s true. I’ve got nothing at all if I can’t save Chloe. “I need you. My sister—” My throat tightens, but I swallow hard and keep going. “My sister was taken by the West Point Gang this morning. I need your help getting her back.”
“Why?” Logan demands at the same moment Dante speaks.
“West Point?” His brows draw together, and he drums his fingers on the table top. “You sure about that, princess?”
I’ve suddenly got their attention, all three of them fully focused on me.
“I’m sure.” My voice is tight as I nod. “They were wearing...”
I hold up my hand and run my fingers over the base of my knuckles, and the three Reapers nod.I don’t even have to describe it with words. Of course they know about the gold rings that West Point members wear.
“And I caught two of their names,” I add. “Brett and Austin.”
Logan goes unnaturally still again, and Dante stops drumming his fingertips against the table.
Maddoc’s gaze sharpens like a knife.
“Austin,” he repeats in a cold voice. “Austin McKenna?”
I’m wound so tight I want to snap back with something snarky about not having remembered to ask for his ID, but I resist. Now that I’ve got their attention, I need to get them to say yes to helping, not piss them off even more.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “He has dark hair, wears it slicked back, and scowls a lot. He’s pretty tall, maybe six foot even?”
“Definitely sounds like McKenna,” Dante murmurs.
I swallow hard. “I’ve heard that the Reapers… don’t get along with West Point,” I say, my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest as all three of them react subtly to my words.
It’s the first time I’ve actually called them out as being Reapers, and for a second, I wonder if it was a mistake.
Then Logan leans forward. “And what exactly is it that you’ve heard?”
He doesn’t blink, and the leashed intensity in his gaze is mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time.
Shit.I need to make it clear that I’m not a threat to them. Bringing up West Point is treading perilously close to the line of sticking my nose into gang business.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “And I don’t care about any of that shit. I just need to get Chloe back. I’ll… I’ll do anything to help my sister.” I lay the envelope of cash I brought on the table in front of Maddoc. “I can pay you.”
It’s everything I could scrape together in a day. Everything I’ve set aside for Chloe’s college and our living expenses. I wasn’t kidding, though. I’ll do anything, and if they need me to come up with more money, I will.
But Maddoc pushes the envelope back toward me like it’s offensive.
“We’re not fucking mercenaries,” he growls. “And I don’t know who the fuck you are, or why you think you can just show up on our turf and try to hire us out to do whatever the fuck you want, but—”
“I do,” Dante drawls, cutting in on Maddoc’s rant.
Maddoc turns to glare at his second, and Dante raps his knuckles on the table and smirks.
“I know who this chick is. Her name is Riley. She dances at Club M. We fucked last night after my meeting with Ruiz.”
Something twists in my stomach at the blunt way he lays it out, like it was just some average, run-of-the-mill, forgettable hookup. I never expected to see him again, but still, his tone pisses me off.
Logan and Maddoc both narrow their eyes, staring at me in a way that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“That’s a hell of a coincidence,” Maddoc murmurs in a low voice.
“You told her where to find us?” Logan asks Dante, cutting his gaze sideways.
“’Course not.” Dante scoffs, and it pisses me off even more for some reason. Then he turns a speculative eye on me, cocking his head to the side as his fingers start drumming the table again. “Maybe West Point sent her.”
“Fuck you,” I bite out, the same fury that made me want to rip Austin’s eyes out this morning rising up too hot and fast for me to censor it. “I fucking hate West Point. They took—”
My breath hitches, but I power through anyway, blinking back the rage induced tears that burn the back of my eyes.
“They took Chloe. I’d die before I’d do anything for those assholes.”
“And yet you just told us you’d do anything to help your sister,” Maddoc throws back.
“Not that,” I insist in a hard voice. “Never.”
He smirks. “So… you lied.”
“I—”
“You wouldn’t do ‘anything’?”
“No, that’s—”
“You wouldn’t help West Point out if it would get your sister back?” Maddoc leans forward, and I’m not just pissed, I hate him a little bit right now.
I feel more trapped by his burning stare than I did when Musclehead pinned me to the fucking wall outside the club and tried to assault me, but even if Maddoc would let me get a word in edgewise, I can’t tell him to go fuck himself. Can’t punch that cold, suspicious look off his face.
I still need his help.
But if he’s too stubborn to even listen to me, if he won’t help me get Chloe back, then I’ll be back to square one with no other options.
“I’ve got nothing to do with West Point,” I insist. “All I want is—”
Maddoc holds up a hand, and my mouth snaps shut, my jaw clenching. He jerks his chin toward an empty booth. “Go wait over there. We need to discuss your proposal.”
I hesitate. I want to stay and fight for this. Fight for Chloe. But just like with every other shitty thing in my life, I don’t really have a choice.
I give Maddoc a stiff nod, then do what he told me to and walk away, taking a seat at the booth he indicated with my heart lodged in my throat.
Please take the deal. Please.