Devil's Game (Reapers MC, #3)(28)

Skid laughed.

“There’s karma for you … You at least get laid up there?”

“I’m not gonna answer that.”

Skid started laughing so hard he choked on his drink.

“You f*cking *,” he muttered finally. “She’s got your balls in her pocket already. When’s the last time you got some ass? Haven’t seen any coming out of your room lately.”

“I’m not gonna answer that, either.”

“You think Princess Emmy’s got a bike?” he asked me, an unholy gleam in his eyes.

“No idea.”

“Better find out. You’ll look cute riding bitch.”

I considered tackling him, but it seemed like too much work. I flipped him off instead, then reached for a game controller.

“Wanna play?”

“Sure.”

It felt good to zone out, and for a little while I was able to pretend we were back at our house and this was just like any other Friday night. Well, except for being f*ckin’ sober and having two girls cuffed to the beds upstairs.

Well, except for being f*ckin’ sober. Heh.

After a while Skid spoke, not bothering to look at me.

“Just remember you can’t keep her.”

“I know.”

“Just checkin’, bro.”

“No worries. I got my orders.”

“Don’t forget—Jacks first. You really like her?”

“Jesus. What is this, Oprah?”

“If you give a shit about her at all, you’ll hurt her bad. Make her give up on you now. Burke wanted her to fall for you, but with this kidnapping shit nobody’ll think twice about her hating your guts after it’s over.”

I snorted.

“Considering she’s cuffed to a bed after being lied to, you really think I need to go out of my way to hurt Em more? Seems like overkill.”

“You got scratches on your back, dickwad. They don’t look like defensive wounds to me, so no, it’s not overkill. You need to hurt her so much she never looks back.”

I considered his words and sighed.

“You’re probably right.”

We played a few minutes more, and then I turned on him and shot his character point-blank. Animated blood spattered the TV screen.

Skid started laughing again.

“You got anger issues, bro. Or maybe just blue balls. Not my fault you’re a *.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’m gonna eat a pizza pocket. You want one?”

I considered the question carefully.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

I climbed back upstairs around five in the morning.

Skid had camped out on the couch, still playing games and bitching that he’d given up a perfectly good bed so Sophie could have her beauty sleep. A bed that had more than enough room for him and her …

I pointed out that if I couldn’t have Em, he couldn’t have Sophie.

He pointed out that I could’ve had Em. I reminded him that Burke wanted peace, which probably wouldn’t happen if I screwed Emmy Lou Hayes while she was prisoner handcuffed to a bed frame. We settled the argument by calling each other *s and glaring at each other for a while, which seemed to do the trick.

Now I found myself back upstairs, looking down at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Before I left this room, I’d make her cry.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She’d rolled onto her stomach, kicking off the covers. One leg was cocked to the side, which curved her ass perfectly, nicely set off by the fact that her low-rise jeans didn’t quite cover the top of a red thong.

And there, right in the center of her back, was a f*ckin’ tramp stamp.

I looked closer, trying to figure out what the hell it might be. Some kind of Chinese symbol surrounded by angel wings. Pretty goddamn awful. Cliche as shit.

I loved it.

It made me think of every porno I’d ever watched, and because I’m an evil bastard my dick got so hard I felt my heartbeat pulse through it. I wanted to pull off those jeans and f*ck her *, then hit her ass. I’d finish up blowing my wad right in the center of that tat.

Shit.

Yeah. She wouldn’t be down for that.

I slid into bed with her anyway, because she hadn’t been through enough. I tugged her into my body, wrapping my arm around her. Her corset had ridden up, leaving a thin strip of flesh across her stomach. I found myself stroking it, wondering what it would feel like to run my cockhead across that smooth skin. Em squirmed, stretching forward in her sleep. This pushed her ass back into my crotch, which was both the best and worst sensation I’d ever experienced in my life.

Then she stiffened and I heard her breathing change.

“Good morning,” I said quietly.

“Crap, this really happened, didn’t it?” she asked, and her voice sounded small and soft. She was only a few years younger than me, but that softness reminded me just how different our lives had been. Compared to her, I was an old man.

“Yeah, it really happened,” I told her, sniffing her hair. Flowers. “I’ll meet with your dad today, see if he’s found Toke. Maybe end this whole thing before it gets any worse.”

She made a little noise, a sort of hopeless moan that she immediately cut off. Shit. She hadn’t faked that. Either Toke really was in the wind, or she knew the Reapers wouldn’t give him up, even to save a couple of their women. If the whole club decided to take a stand, probably wasn’t much Hayes would be able to do.