REAPER'S KISS(3)

I threw the sheets off me and got out of bed. I was in jeans and nothing else.

Amy reached for me, her fingertips running down my chest. “I’m going to miss you, Jace.”

“Cut that,” I said and swatted her away. “Go home to your kid.”

“Don’t be a f*cking * to me.”

“I’m not. You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. Now leave.”

“Fuck you, *.”

I walked to the door and opened it. “Hurry. Before the rest of the guys see you. They’ll applaud you all the way to your f*cking cab.”

“My cab?”

“I called one twenty minutes ago.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “Are you f*cking kidding me?”

“Listen to me,” I said. “You’ve worn out your welcome here. Go be a mom now.”

“You think I asked for this?”

I put my hands up. “I’m not your therapist here. Go home to your kid.”

Amy swung her hand but stopped short. She then touched my face. “Can I call you next weekend?”

“Probably not.”

“You’re such a f*cking *, Jace. But your cock is amazing.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said.

Amy leaned in for a kiss and I got the hell out of the way. There was no kissing goodbye with me. Once we were done f*cking, you were out. I gave Amy a pass and let her sleep in my bed only because she passed out hard.

When she left the room without slapping me I considered that a victory for the day. Normally when I booted women out, they always gave me a nice slap across the face. Which I always deserved.

I watched her tight little ass wiggle in her jeans until she was out of sight.

“Not bad,” a voice said next to me.

I turned and saw the President of the Bitter Aces standing there.

“Sid,” I said. “You’ve been in that, right?”

“Who the f*ck knows?” he said with a grin. “I don’t keep track. As long as I shoot my load, I’m good.”

“Well said, Prez,” I said.

He nodded to me and said, “Put on a shirt. We need to talk.”

I went back in my room and grab an old t-shirt and my leather cut. I ran my hand through my messy black hair and walked down to main hallway to the clubhouse. To the right was a door and that’s where we all met to talk business.

Sid sat at the head of the table with the gavel and the rest of us sat, listened, talked, argued, drank whiskey, and voted.

I sat down in between Logan and Niko.

“Ready for this?” Sid asked. He reached for a bag and dumped out stacks of cash. Clean cash. Beautiful cash. Real cash.

Gunner and Gage let out a whistle.

“This is what we’ve been working on,” Sid said. “Serious money by keeping things safe around here.”

“Where’d that come from?” Diesel asked.

“A little side project,” I said with a grin.

“You were in on this?” Luka asked.

“It was me, Bret, and Jace,” Gage said. “Just a little thing on the side.”

“Busting up some bullshit gambling rings,” Sid said. “That brings a lot of bad heat into town. Too many eyes on it. The PD couldn’t keep tabs because of the political bullshit in and out of the department.”

“So they kicked it down to us,” Gage said.

“Chief is on board,” I said. “Not necessarily a friend of the club but he’s willing to let us do what we need to do.”

“That’s big,” Diesel said.

“That’s what she said about my dick,” Logan said and slapped the table.

“Who? Your sister?” Brady asked.

“Fuck you, man,” Logan said.

“Fuck everyone,” Sid said. He pointed to the cash. “This brings risk to the club. A lot of eyes on us. So we play it straight. This gets tucked away for a long time. But we need to keep an open eye around Bishop. Make sure the town is clear. When that’s done, we need to survey outside the area. Just keep this shit out of this town. Because it’s not just about gambling and cash. There’s movement of drugs and *.”

“Can we move some of the * in here?” Niko asked.

“Trust me, brother,” I said, “you don’t want that kind of * here.”

“So what’s our move on this?” Gunner asked. “Why are we getting involved if this is so deep?”

Sid picked up a perfectly stacked wad of cash and waved it like a fan. “Money. This is clean. This cannot come back to hurt us ever. There’s no record. There’s nothing that matters with this cash.”

“Except the people we took it from,” Gunner said.

“They know the risk of bad investments,” Gage said.

“So what now?” I asked.

“We vote to tuck this money away for a rainy day. Then we get out there and do what we always do.”

The table took a vote. All yay’s to put the money away. We had a great accountant who had done time in prison for cooking some books, but now he was straight. He spoke to high school and college kids about prison. He handled our money in a legit way - except the fees he skimmed off the top that he never reported to Uncle Sam. But that was his problem, not ours.