Chapter Seven
Maybe this wasn’t the greatest of her ideas.
Grace put on her most full-coverage pajamas because she didn’t want him to think she was a whore and trying to have a one-night stand or something. She was grateful he was there under the circumstances, but the sleeping arrangements were going to be rough.
As she was pulling down the extra pillows and bedding from her closet, she realized the one thing that never entered her mind was being taken advantage of.
It should be the only thing in her head.
He was a biker. They inherently had no values.
But she would bet her life on him being a gentleman all night long.
Once she was on her side of the bed with her own set of blankets, she awkwardly waited for him to get on his side.
She watched him as he put his belongings on the nightside table and then proceeded to pull his t-shirt up over his head.
The movement of every tattoo-covered muscle caught her attention.
His body was a work of male art. It was hard to believe the man was real.
But she also saw the scars.
There were a lot of old scars, some thin white lines and others larger and jagged. She had a lot of questions but kept her mouth shut. When he started to turn around, she averted her eyes.
“What is this? A double?”
“Yeah.”
He grumbled his displeasure as he squeezed his oversized body next to her. The entire mattress dipped.
“Are you used to something bigger?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah. I have a king-size bed.”
“For one person? Sounds like a waste.”
“It’s not,” he said.
“For one person?” Part of her wanted him to tell her he’d never had a woman in his bed, but that would be a joke.
Those motorcycle clubs were teeming with loose women ready to screw the entire crew day and night.
The thought made her nauseous. She didn’t want to think about Reaper with anyone else but her. She made her own self blush. Idiot.
“I like my space,” he said. “Didn’t know people still bought doubles.”
Grace scoffed. “Some of us are still living paycheck to paycheck. This is the biggest apartment I can afford, and as you can see, I don’t have another inch of space to spare in my bedroom.”
“True.” He rolled to his side to face her. “So, what are your plans? I mean, besides the coffee shop and volunteering?”
“It’s a bubble tea shop,” she corrected. “And the only plans I have are getting enough shifts to pay the bills.”
His simple question made her feel defensive. She’d forgotten about dreams years ago. Her daily grind was all that mattered. The only pleasure she had in life was her volunteering and her cat. Oh, crap, her life sounded pathetic.
“Not those kinds of plans. What did you want to be when you grew up?” he asked.
“That’s silly,” she said. “Childhood dreams don’t mean anything now.”
“I just want to know. Humor me.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay, I wanted to have my own café. There was a diner near our home when I was little, and I loved when we’d go there. The atmosphere, the staff who treated you like family, and the delicious food. Silly, I know.”
He was staring at her. She felt it before she even looked at him.
“Not silly at all.” His voice had changed. The words soft, almost a whisper. She felt like he really got her, cared, and it made her feel emotional. It had been so long since she’d been alone in life, and it was refreshing to have someone who gave a damn.
“What about you? Did you always dream of being a biker? Were you the little boy who played with toy cars and bikes?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Sometimes people don’t have a lot of choices. Sometimes circumstances choose for you,” he said.
“So, what did you want to be?” She guessed things like firefighter, police officer, mechanic.
“Safe.”
She felt tears prick her eyes. It’s the way he said it, she felt it all the way down to her marrow. “What do you mean, Reaper? You can tell me. A little boy without a single dream?”
“I gave up on dreams a long time ago. After spending my childhood watching my mom get the shit beat out of her, nothing else really mattered.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s the past.”
“Is that why you volunteer?”
“I don’t know. When I see a woman being abused, it all comes back, you know? I have to step in, have to make a difference if I can. Back then, I wasn’t strong enough to protect us. Now I am.”
She’d judged him. Like everyone else. Guilt filled her. She wanted to touch him, to make him feel better, heard.
And without realizing it, she did. Grace cupped his cheek, then trailed her fingers along his jawline.
He put his hand over hers before she could pull away, holding her against his face. Then he turned his head slightly and kissed the inside of her palm.
“Why do you hate bikers?”
That was a loaded question. But how could she let him open up if she stayed closed and private?
“Long story.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he said.
She had to do this. “It started because of my sister. She was dating a biker. Now she’s dead.”
He narrowed his eyes a bit. “He killed her?”
Grace always told herself that bikers killed her sister. It gave her an outlet, someone else to blame. It felt good. The hate helped the grief. But it wasn’t entirely true. It was hard to give up the lie, the safety net.
“She was an addict,” she said.
He nodded, not in a judging way, but understanding.
“Belle started dating this biker because she could get drugs free or cheap. Her addiction got out of control. She wouldn’t listen to me or our parents.
It tore our family apart long before she died.
I believed in her right until the end, even when she stole from me and lied to my face.
One day she was here, the next she’d overdosed.
” Grace took a breath. “And you know what? She would have with or without him. He was actually heartbroken when she died. But my parents needed someone to blame, needed to make sense of such a tragedy. I should have know better, but it was so easy to go along with them, so easy to make my sister into a victim when she wasn’t. ”
She started to cry now, and it wouldn’t stop.
The grief came all at once, violent and unstoppable.
Every sob seemed to pull another piece of her apart—the pain, the guilt, the grief, the loneliness.
Grace had never said any of those words aloud, or even to herself in her head.
Those words felt raw, real, and she was experiencing this in front of a near-stranger.
She rolled around, giving him her back so he wouldn’t see her losing herself so completely. But she felt his big body behind her, his warm arms wrapping around her. He hushed a soothing sound in her ear.
“There was nothing you could have done,” he said. “Nothing was your fault.”
And just like that, she calmed. Felt safe and heard. Before long, Grace fell asleep in Reaper’s arms.
****
Reaper had already showered and dressed and was sitting on the love seat when Grace finally woke up. She stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.
“You’re here,” she said. “I thought you were gone.”
“I told you I was staying.”
“About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he said.
The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable around him.
He’d never judge her or her late sister.
Reaper had dealt with a lot of addicts in his years, and there was usually a story behind everyone.
He wasn’t one to judge. He was just glad that she’d admitted there was no reason to hate bikers. No reason to hate him.
“Okay.” She hugged herself, still wearing her grandma dress. “What happens now?”
“What do you mean?” He didn’t want to assume anything. Reaper wanted to believe she was talking about them and where their relationship was going. That was unlikely.
“Do we go to the police?”
He chuckled. “Even Gena knows that’s not the answer,” he said. “You’re going to move into the clubhouse until I can figure this shit out.”
“What? No way.”
“It’s not optional, sweetheart. It’s the safest place for you.”
“I’m not moving in with a bunch of bikers and ... sweet-butts!” She turned to return to her bedroom.
He got up to calm her down, but she was already changing clothes in an angry frenzy.
She froze when she saw him, standing at the dresser in just her bra and panties.
Fuck, her body was thick and to die for.
Strong hips and huge, soft tits. His mouth watered just looking at her.
He should have apologized and tapped out right away.
Only he didn’t. Reaper walked toward her, and she hadn’t moved or yelled for him to fuck off yet.
“Damn, you’re perfect,” he said. Reaper smoothed a hand over her hair and gripped the back of her neck. She let out a barely audible gasp. They stared at each other. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. He leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth.
The moment their lips met, weeks of restrained longing shattered.
It wasn’t a tentative kiss or a careful one—it was everything they’d swallowed down, denied, and fought against crashing free in a single, breathless heartbeat.
He kissed her like he’d been starving for the chance.
Her lips were soft and sweet, those little mewling sounds driving him crazy.
She immediately reciprocated, kissing him back, and wrapping her arms up over his shoulders.
“I don’t want a sweet-butt,” he said, close to her lips. “I want you.”
“I can’t share. I’m not that kind of girl, and I’m too sensitive to deal with it.”
He ran his hand down her back, then over the globe of her ass. “Who said you had to share? You prejudging me again?” He kissed her neck, pulling her lower body against him.
All he could think about was throwing her on the bed and spreading her legs. But he had to restrain himself, had to remember she was a good girl.
“You’re a man. A biker.”
“And I’m all yours.”
They kissed again, once, twice. Softly this time. Her anger had dissipated.
The room was too quiet, a bit of awkwardness creeping in.
“How did this happen?” she whispered.
He smiled. “I guess it was there all the time. I felt a spark from the first time I saw you. You had fire.”
“And I was an idiot.” She let out a little laugh.
How could he fall in love so fast? So intensely. Reaper was an expert at guarding his heart and hiding his pain. With Grace, it was so easy, so natural to let it all go.
“You can’t stay here, Grace. The world isn’t always a safe place.”
“But it’s my home. I can’t leave Bob, either.”
He froze, his hackles up as he leaned away from her. “Who the fuck is Bob?”
She smirked, nodding to the door of her bedroom.
He turned around quickly and looked to the entrance. That big, fat cat was sitting there watching them.
“The cat?”
“Bob.”
Reaper instantly relaxed. He’d always hated cats because he couldn’t read them. And they scratched. But he couldn’t deny Grace anything.
“You can bring him, I guess.”
“I won’t be comfortable in a place like that,” she said. “And I never will.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be with me. I have a big king bed, remember?”
She was sulking but he knew she’d already given in to the idea for her own safety.
“I don’t drive and I still have work and volunteering. This is just until you figure out who’s following me, right?”
“Yeah.”
He planned to keep her. He was never letting her go.