Chapter 12 - Reaper
Reaper
“Get him out of here,” I yelled, not turning to see if they were following my orders.
I could hear the prospect whimpering as they took him to the medical room.
I stalked out the room and up to my bedroom.
Most brothers had rooms on the main floor, but mine was upstairs, more like an apartment than a room.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, the taste of Lucy still burning in my mouth.
Fuck.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to scream at me, walk away, hate me enough to keep herself safe. Not kiss me back like she wanted it just as bad.
I could still feel the fight in her, the way she pushed back against me like no one else dared.
But she was Caleb’s little sister, off-limits since the day he first patched in. Now Caleb was gone, and the only way I knew how to keep her alive was to make sure I never touched her again.
Even if my body hadn’t gotten the memo. I’d enjoyed the kiss, and my whole body still thrummed with the feel of her lips against mine.
The door creaked behind me.
Riot.
He leaned in the doorway, arms folded, shades hanging from his collar. He didn’t say a word until I finally looked up, chest still heaving, knuckles bruised.
“You’re slipping, Pres.” His voice was steady, stating a fact.
“I handled it.”
“You kissed her.” His chin tipped. “In front of the sharks. That ain’t handling it. That’s blood in the water.”
My jaw locked. “It was a mistake.”
He shook his head slow. “Bullshit. You’ve been circling her since the funeral. Everyone sees it. Gabby’s already sharpening her claws, and Gage will twist it ‘til it breaks you.”
I had no response.
Riot pushed off the wall and came closer, his voice quiet. “I’ve always had your back, always will, but you’re already in too deep with her, brother. Question is, what’re you gonna do about it?”
The silence between us was thick as smoke.
Then his hand clamped down on my shoulder, solid, grounding. “Figure it out fast. If she’s your weakness, she’s already a target, and I’m not losing you the way we lost Ghost.”
He started to move past me then paused. His thumb brushed his shades before he slid them on.
“You think I didn’t notice back then?” His tone dropped lower. “When she left, you rode all night. Didn’t come back ‘til sunrise. Thought nobody clocked it, but I did.”
My chest tightened.
“You wore the kutte like armour, but you were bleeding underneath. Same way you are now.”
I flexed my fist but said nothing.
“She cut you deeper than you’ll admit,” he added, quieter, “and you let it scar over without healing. That’s why this”—his chin jerked towards the hallway—“ain’t just trouble, it’s old wounds torn open.”
My eyes met his, hard. “What, you think I should walk away?”
His stare didn’t flicker. “I think you should stop lying about what she means to you. Figure it out, Pres, before someone else does.” Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my mind swirling.
The door creaked again. “Interesting show,” Gabby purred. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk painted across her face.
I didn’t move. “Not now, Gabby.”
She ignored that, stepping closer, her perfume almost choking me. “So, that’s why Kane thinks she can strut around here. She’s got the President’s mouth on hers.”
My jaw ticked. “Watch it.”
She laughed, low and knowing. “You can lie to them. Hell, you can lie to yourself. But I saw it, and so did she.”
I finally looked at her. “You’re out of line.”
Gabby’s smirk was razor-sharp, her voice dripping venom. “Maybe. But one day, Jay, you’re gonna regret letting her in.”
I couldn’t let her see how close to home she was. Couldn’t let anyone else see how that kiss had torn through me. My hand shot out, wrapping around Gabby’s wrist and pulling her so close, I could feel her breath hitch.
My voice was gravel. “I haven’t chosen her over anyone, least of all you.”
Gabby’s hungry eyes glittered. “Then prove it.”
My control snapped. I shoved her down until her knees hit the floorboards, but she didn’t flinch. She smiled.
“That’s right,” she whispered, breathless, “make me yours.” Her hands made quick work of my belt and zipper, and she pulled my erection free and pumped it tight and fast.
I fisted her hair, forcing her to look up at me, and she moaned, as if the roughness was what she craved. To her, it was a victory, proof Lucy meant nothing.
I forced myself to believe it too, only for a second.
Forced myself into the lie, pushing my cock into her warm mouth, letting her lips, her tongue, her heat scrub at the fire Lucy had lit inside me.
Every move was harsh, punishing, like I could bury the taste of Lucy down Gabby’s throat.
Her mouth was hot, slick, eager. She moaned like she’d been starving for me, like every rough pull of her hair was a reward.
Gabby loved every second. She whimpered around me, her nails biting into my skin, taking the roughness as if it crowned her queen. She wanted the power shift, wanted to kneel for me because, in her mind, it meant she’d won. But inside, all I felt was hollow.
Every thrust, every groan, every desperate second, none of it erased Lucy. None of it even came close. Every sound she made, every desperate scrape of her nails, every smug moan, did nothing for me.
In my head, it was Lucy’s mouth, Lucy’s energy, Lucy’s kiss replaying in an endless loop. The thought of Lucy on her knees, of all that fire surrendering to me, was what pushed me over the edge. I had to fight from calling out Lucy’s name.
When I was done, Gabby smirked up at me, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked triumphant, convinced she’d claimed me.
She sauntered back to the bar, hips swaying, leaving me alone with nothing but blood on my hands and Lucy still burning on my lips.
The sound of Gabby’s heels faded down the hallway, but the echo of her words lingered, sharp and insistent.
I closed my eyes, dragging a hand down my face again.
Lucy. Her mouth. That kiss. The fury in her eyes.
I hated her. I should hate her. She was Caleb’s little sister, off-limits and a liability I couldn’t afford. Every part of me screamed to push her away, to erase the taste of her from my memory.
But my body... my body refused to cooperate. My hands itched to grab her, my chest ached to hold her close, and every nerve was alive with the memory of her fight, her fire, her insistence.
I pressed my hands to my eyes and took a deep breath. I needed to see Link about the missing cash. Hurrying from the room, I made my way downstairs, desperate for the distraction.
I found Link in the back office, hunched over a ledger like the numbers might confess if he stared hard enough.
He was a muscular bastard, glasses crooked on his nose, tattoos running down both arms, but his hands were steady as a surgeon.
That’s why he was Treasurer, because Link didn’t flinch where money was concerned.
“Tell me it’s a mistake,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
He looked up, eyes flat. “No mistake. The cash is short. Not by a little either. Ten grand gone.”
My jaw tightened. “Club funds?”
“Club funds,” he confirmed, tapping the ledger. “From the shipment we lost. Someone is talking, but we already knew that.”
“And that someone wears a patch?”
Link didn’t answer right away. He closed the book, slow. “If it was an outsider, we’d have blood already. This quiet? This close? It’s inside, Pres.”
The words sat heavy on my chest. Missing money wasn’t about bills or whiskey. It was about weakness, cracks in the brotherhood.
“So, now we got two bodies and missing cash,” I muttered. “That’s not a coincidence.”
Link leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You think Ghost found out?”
My throat tightened at the mention of Caleb’s road name. “He was asking questions before he died. Said he didn’t trust anyone, not even some of the brothers. Maybe he figured out who was leaking info.”
Link’s jaw worked. “If he knew and he was about to bring it to you—”
“Then someone made sure he never got the chance,” I finished, the weight of it sinking in.
I left Link in the office with the ledger closed, but the burden pressing in on us. Ten grand gone, maybe a brother’s hand behind it, and Ghost zipped into a bag for knowing too much.
The walls of the clubhouse felt too tight, the air too heavy. I needed out.
I stormed back into the main room and found the brothers already scattered, beers and cards in hand. Their voices dropped when they saw my face.
“Gear up,” I barked. “We’re riding out.”
Bishop straightened. “Now? It’s past midnight—”
“Now.” My voice cracked like a whip. “Move.”
They didn’t question me again. Chairs scraped and boots thudded.
Ten minutes later, engines roared through the night, like thunder rolling down the street. I tore out at the front, the wind biting hard at my face, the road a blur beneath my tires.
But I wasn’t riding to clear my head—I was riding to lose it.
Looking for a fight, for fists and blood and anything brutal enough to burn the thought of Lucy Kane from my mind. I wanted chaos and violence, the kind of storm only steel and speed could deliver.
Because if I didn’t bleed it out, it was going to consume me whole.