Down & Dirty Reaper （UNEDITED sneak peek）
CHAPTER ONE
With his chair tilted back, his ankles crossed, his baseball cap pulled low, and his boots propped up on the desk, Reaper studied the back of his eyelids.
A noise nearby had him dropping his boots to the floor, jackknifing upright, and glancing toward the door. He wasn’t surprised at who he saw. But then, she always tried to sneak up on him.
She always failed.
It had turned into a game between them. One they both liked to play.
She took a couple of steps into the room. “Need a nap?”
One side of his mouth hiked up. “Was getting one ’til you interrupted me.”
“Your boss doesn’t mind you sleeping on the job?”
“Don’t know. Let’s ask her.”
“Don’t need to ask her. You know the answer.”
Reaper chuckled under his breath and took his time letting his gaze slide over Violet Dougherty.
Her long, dark brown hair was tightly pulled back into her normal, no-nonsense pony tail. He’d never seen it loose yet. Though, truth be told, he had that on his to-do list.
His eyes continued on its path. Over the snug, white racerback tank that clung to her tits and showed off her toned arms, black denim leggings with rips at the knees and hugged her rounded hips, and ended with her black shit stompers.
Some men might think what she was wearing wasn’t sexy, but Reaper would disagree.
Anything would look good on Vi’s body.
Well, maybe not a baggy, green muumuu and a pair of purple Crocs.
When his eyes returned back to her face, she asked, “Are you done?”
“Not ’til you turn around and let me check out the rear.”
“If you weren’t aware, that’s sexual harassment and against our employment policy.”
“Guess I’ll report myself to HR, then.” Of course, In the Shadows Security had no HR.
Vi’s lifted a single dark eyebrow. “You didn’t read the employee handbook?”
“The stained copy that’s in the shitter?” In the Shadows Security also had no employee handbook.
“Great reading material for when you’re taking a dump.”
“Prefer Hustler.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He unfolded himself from the chair. “What’s up, boss?”
“I have something for you.”
“You certainly do.”
“You want to come to my office?”
“Is that code for…?”
Her dark brown eyes flickered with half amusement and half heat. “It’s code for: I’m not asking you to come to my office, I’m ordering you to.”
“Damn,” he murmured. “A bossy woman is a helluva turn-on.”
“Then you must walk around with a hard-on all day, every day.”
“It’s fucking tiring. Hence the nap. This continues, I might need a new job.”
With a shake of head, she turned and headed back down the hallway.
Of course, he followed. He was a sucker for a badass woman with a spine of steel not afraid to get a little dirt—or blood—under her fingernails. Or kill a bad motherfucker with a single shot between the eyes.
Vi was all of that.
And more.
Since day one on the job, they had danced around each other.
While flirting was fun, fucking would be a hell of a lot better.
But as much as he wanted to, that didn’t mean he would hit that. Mixing business and pleasure was always a bad idea.
And he liked his job. It paid very well.
He also liked his team. They were solid.
And of course, he liked his boss most of all.
“Want me to close the door?” he asked as he stepped over the threshold.
“No need.”
Well, that was a fucking pity. “You know how to tease a guy.”
She grabbed a cardboard box off her desk and shoved it at him. It wasn’t sealed but the flaps had been folded together to keep whatever was in it from falling out.
“What is it?” He put it to his ear and shook it, knowing it would annoy her.
She rolled her eyes. “Open it.”
“It isn’t my birthday.”
“When is your birthday?”
“Should be in my employee file.” He pressed his lips together.
“I’ll check with HR.” She leaned back against her desk and crossed her bare arms over her chest, emphasizing both.
He pulled his eyes from her cleavage and turned them back to the box. Unfolding the flaps, his head jerked back once he saw what it contained.
A cut.
Not just any cut, but a Dirty Angels MC cut.
He knew he’d been voted in but hadn’t been told when he’d be getting the proof he now belonged to an MC. He had also expected it to come from the club’s officers, not Vi.
Lifting the black leather vest with both hands, he let the empty box fall to his feet.
“I got your patches put on for you.”
So, that was why she had it. “Doesn’t the club normally do that?”
“Yes, but I told Zeke I’d do it after he told me the membership voted for you to be patched in.”
He saw his call name, now also considered his MC road name, on the front. When he turned it around to look at the back, he saw a full set of patches. Not one said “prospect.” Thank fuck.
“Why didn’t you just give this to me in Badass Central?” The first time he saw that sign hanging over the door to the electronics/communications room that held the desks and computers, he almost bust a gut.
Apparently, Vi’s mother Jewel hung that over the door many moons ago when she helped Diesel run the Warehouse.
“Because I like giving you orders and watching you do them.”
One thing he appreciated about Vi, she was brutally honest. Luckily he was a big boy and could take whatever she had to say.
Plus, he’d probably heard it all, anyway.
“One thing you learn in the military is how to take orders,” he murmured, sliding his fingertips over the embroidered rockers.
“Whether you agree with them or not,” she responded.
He grunted. That was too damn true. “Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of ceremony?”
“Do you want one?”
“No.” He didn’t want to make a big deal out of becoming a fully patched member of the club, especially after not having to prospect.
He heard the rumblings about how all the fourth generation DAMC had been forced to prospect.
Here he was an outsider, just walking in the door and enjoying the perks of being an Angel without the year-long suffering.
Yes, the membership vote had to be unanimous but that didn’t mean some of the other members wouldn’t be salty about it and he certainly didn’t want to rub it in their faces.
He was someone who didn’t like to attract attention until it was absolutely unavoidable.
“Then why bring it up?”
He jerked up a shoulder. “Just asking.”
Pushing herself off her desk, she held out her hands. “Let’s see it on you and make sure it fits.”
He let her have it and turned his back to her so she could slip it over his arms and onto his shoulders.
She smoothed her hands over the stiff leather. “Fits perfectly.”
“Needs broken in.”
“That’s one good thing about prospecting for a year. By the time you get your full set of patches, your cut’s more worn and you look like you belong when you join the club runs.”
“Never asked…do you have the women prospect for Angels of Fury?”
“If we had an outsider want to join, we would. But as long as she belongs to one of our allies, then no.”
“So, you make an exception.”
“Our whole club is an exception.“ Amusement colored her tone.
“The guys don’t like that you started your own club.” He knew this for a fact. He’d heard T-Bone, Grim and Ghost mention it. Not once. Not twice. But so many fucking times, Reaper lost track.
“Of course not.”
“You did it anyway.”
She smiled. “Of course we did. We needed to out-stubborn the stubborn.”
That was another thing he appreciated about Vi. She never ran from a challenge. He was pretty damn sure none of the DAMC woman would.
Reaper released a soft snort. “You feel the need to be a thorn in their sides.”
“Of course we do. If they had let us ride with them—on our own sleds, not as backpacks—we never would’ve taken it that far.”
“They have their traditions.”
“Traditions can evolve. Look how prehistoric cavemen turned into our modern day bikers. That’s undeniable proof of evolution.” She circled him, slowly looking him up and down.
“Are you done?” he echoed her from earlier.
“Unlike you, I took it upon myself to check out the rear. You could be the model for the club’s recruitment campaign.”
Fuck that. No way he’d ever want to be the face of the DAMC. “They have one?”
Her lips twitched. “No.”
He tugged on the black leather cut. “What’s the tradition on when and where I have to wear this?”
Her dark eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Zeke didn’t tell you?”
“Nope. Guess he assumed I’d know or that someone else would clue me in. Know it’s a given on club runs, but are there other instances where I’d need to represent?”
“Rallies, parties, any club activities or events with other clubs present. Other than that, it’s up to you. Of course, never wear it here or while on assignment. When you are working, you’re a Shadow and your loyalty is to the team first, not the DAMC.”
He was already aware of that rule due to the three other DAMC members on Vi’s crew. They didn’t even wear their cuts on the property. Of course, Vi and Indie never wore their AFMC cuts, either.
“What about the tradition of inking the club’s colors onto my back?”
“While that’s another tradition, when it comes down to it, it’s optional.”
“Anyone opt out?” While he had a lot of ink already, his back was still a blank canvas. He figured one day he’d fill it up with a big piece. He just never thought it would be with the patches and rockers of a motorcycle club.
“Not that I know of. But if you want to wait, do so. Don’t feel pressured to have the colors permanently added to your back.
Because if you decide being an Angel isn’t for you, it’ll suck removing them.
And you would have to remove them. It would be a requirement.
If you don’t, they’ll do it for you and, trust me, you don’t want that. ”
“Can imagine.” When Vi hired him, he only had a basic knowledge of motorcycle clubs. Since then, he’d watched more in-depth documentaries since his new gig was tied to one. But he was also aware that every MC was different and each had their own bylaws and rules.