Reaper's Legacy

Reaper's Legacy by Joanna Wylde




Author’s Note


After writing Reaper’s Property (the first book in this series, although Reaper’s Legacy stands alone), the most common questions I heard from readers were about my research and the characters’ names. Specifically, how accurate are the books, and why do some of the names sound almost silly? The answer is that I started my career in journalism and researched outlaw motorcycle club culture extensively for my stories. This included talking to people in club life, many of whom answered questions for me throughout the writing process. The Reaper’s Legacy manuscript was reviewed and corrected by a woman attached to an outlaw MC.

Many readers have questioned the accuracy of the road names I chose, feeling that they aren’t fierce or intimidating enough (Horse, Picnic, Bam Bam, etc.). Some have suggested that no real badass would be called “Picnic,” but they don’t realize that road names are often whimsical or flat-out funny. Not every biker has a name like “Ripper” or “Killer.” The “Picnic” in my book is named after a real man—although his name wasn’t just “Picnic.” It was actually “Picnic Table.” The majority of the names in my book were taken from real life.

Ultimately, this book is a romantic fantasy, which means I didn’t let the reality of MC culture get in the way of the story I wanted to tell. If you are interested in learning more about real women living in MCs, I highly recommend the book Biker Chicks: The Magnetic Attraction of Women to Bad Boys and Motorbikes by Arthur Veno and Edward Winterhalder. The book explores stereotypes about women and motorcycle clubs by allowing real women to tell their own stories, rather than drawing conclusions based on secondary information provided by male sources.





Prologue


EIGHT YEARS AGO

COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO

SOPHIE

“I’m gonna stick it in now.”

Zach’s voice was rough and full of urgent need.

I smelled him all around me, sweaty and hungry and so beautiful I could die. After tonight he’d be mine for real. His hand reached down between us, guiding the round, rubbery head of his penis as it nudged my opening. It felt weird. He pushed at me and I guess he missed, because it hit me too high and—

“Ouch! Shit, Zach, that hurts. I think you’re doing it wrong.”

He stopped immediately and grinned down at me, the gap between his front teeth teasing. Holy crap, I loved that grin. I’d had the biggest crush on Zach since we were freshmen, but he never noticed me, not until a couple of months ago. My folks didn’t let me out much, but in July I’d managed to get permission to stay with Lyssa for a night and we’d snuck out to a party. Zach had homed in, and we’d been a couple ever since.

I’d gotten really good at sneaking out.

“Sorry, babe,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss me. I softened immediately, loving the feel of his lips ghosting across mine. He adjusted himself and started sliding into me again, slow and steady. This time he didn’t miss, and I stiffened as he stretched me open wide.

Then he hit a barrier and paused.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He looked back down at me and I knew right then and there I’d never love anyone half so much as I loved Zachary Barrett.

“Ready?” he whispered. I nodded.

He shoved into me and I squealed, pain ripping between my legs. Zach kept me pinned with his hips as I gasped, shocked. Then he pulled out and I tried to catch my breath. Before I could, though, he’d thrust back into me. Hard. Ouch.

“Holy shit, you’re tight,” he muttered. He pushed himself up on his hands, throwing his head back as he pumped into my body, over and over, eyes closed and face straining with hunger.

I don’t know what I’d expected.

I mean, I wasn’t stupid. I knew it wouldn’t be perfect the first time, no matter what the romance books said. And it didn’t hurt that much. But it sure as shit didn’t feel good, either.

Zach moved faster, and I turned my head on the couch to look across the small apartment. His brother’s, apparently. We had it for the night—it was supposed to be our special, perfect time together. I’d expected flowers or soft music and wine or something. Stupid. Zach had pizza and some beer from his brother’s fridge.

“Ouch,” I muttered again as he paused, face twisting.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” he gasped. I felt his penis throb deep inside, almost twitching. It was weird. Really weird. And nothing like I’d seen in movies—not even a little bit.