Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(15)

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” Ruger snapped. “She doesn’t want me, *. Trust me, I have reason to know this. Our history is f*ckin’ complicated—way too complicated for a dumbass cocksucker like you to understand.”

“You struck out,” Horse declared, a slow grin stealing across his face. “And you’re still drivin’ across the state in the middle of the night so you can set her up in your house? You are well and truly screwed, brother.”

“I didn’t strike out,” Ruger replied, eyes narrow. “It wasn’t like that. And I don’t think of her that way.”

“Here’s a suggestion for future reference, then,” Horse said. “Try jerking off before answering the door if you want me to believe you don’t think of her that way. Wood like you were sportin’ usually implies the opposite. Unless it was for me? If that’s the case, I’m genuinely flattered. No judgments.”

“Why hasn’t Marie shot you yet?”

“Because I’m not in denial about what my cock wants,” Horse replied. “I piss her off, I get no *. Watch and learn. Now let’s get them locked down and start hauling your girl’s shit out to the truck. Jacks’ll be here in a couple more hours, and I don’t particularly care to stay and discuss techniques for removing dumbasses’ ink with them. What kind of suicidal idiot doesn’t black out his tats when his club cuts him loose?”

“Well, he joined the Devil’s Jacks in the first place,” Ruger replied, shrugging. “That doesn’t say much for his intelligence. Hope he has health insurance. Probably gonna need it.”

“Only if he’s lucky. So tell me, brother. How many times you seen The Notebook? ’Cause that’s information the boys back home are gonna need to know.”

“Asshole.”

SOPHIE

Noah slurped down his cereal, hopping in his chair like a bouncy ball.

“We’re going to Uncle Ruger’s today, right? Do you think he has Skylanders?”

“Yup, we’re going to Uncle Ruger’s. No idea about the Skylanders, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” I replied. My rush of adrenaline had died down, making it harder to sustain any real anger. Instead I surveyed my studio and finally admitted the truth.

The place was a total shithole. Not only that, I had no excuse for not putting on the window alarms. They sold them at the Dollar Store, for God’s sake.

I didn’t like letting Ruger win, but reality was on his side. I was broke, I’d lost my job, and I couldn’t protect my own child. Waiting tables hadn’t paid enough to support us anyway, and I wouldn’t have been working there in the first place if I’d had better offers. My folks certainly wouldn’t help. I’d been dead to them ever since I refused to “terminate” Noah.

Turning down a safe, free apartment would be insane.

I still wasn’t quite ready to forgive Ruger, though. Intellectually that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Sure, he’d been a dick to me. He’d also dropped everything to drive hundreds of miles and save Noah when he’d needed help. The two should probably balance each other out, if I wanted to be fair. Not only that, Ruger had made a point I couldn’t shake.

I really didn’t want to do my own dirty work.

Ruger and Horse had assessed the situation, made a tough call, and fixed things. And that was a huge relief. Ultimately, I’d gotten mad at Ruger for scaring me, not for scaring Miranda. Well, that and his bullying.

He could’ve just talked to me about moving to Coeur d’Alene instead of playing creeper man in the night.

“We have to pack before we leave,” I said as Noah finished up his cereal. He carried his bowl carefully to the sink, spoon teetering. “We aren’t just going for a visit, we’ll be living there for a while. I’m going to get most of your stuff, but I want you to pick out some jammies and clothes to wear tomorrow. Tuck them in your backpack. You should also grab some books to read in the car, okay?”

“Okay,” Noah replied, dragging his bag out from under his bed. He didn’t seem bothered at the thought, which said a lot about our existence. He’d moved at least once a year his entire life. I shook my head, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settle over me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get it right.

I rinsed out his bowl and put on some coffee. Then I grabbed a box to start packing.

“Want some music?” I asked Noah.

“My pick?”

“Sure,” I said, handing him my phone. He plugged it into our little speaker set like an expert. Here Comes Science started playing, and after a few minutes we were both singing along about the elements and the elephants. As kid stuff went, it wasn’t too bad. Beat the hell out of Disney crap.

We didn’t actually own much, so packing wasn’t hard. Coffee helped. Three boxes of stuff for Noah. Two boxes for me, plus a suitcase. I had to stand on a chair to take down our big tie-dyed wall hanging. We’d made it together last summer, on one of those glorious days where the sun is so bright and beautiful you don’t even consider making your kid go in at bedtime. I used it to wrap the framed family portrait I’d splurged on when Noah was three.

Then I looked around the room—not much left. Just the kitchen and bathroom stuff … Packing up two lives should take more than an hour, I thought wistfully. I decided to take a quick shower before clearing out the bathroom.