Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(99)

Apparently a drifting veil wasn’t a serious road hazard to a bike going twenty-five miles an hour, because he avoided it easily enough. The prospect following him—one I’d seen at the Armory party but hadn’t met—pulled off to go fetch it.

Nice.

“That’s good service,” I told Marie. She started giggling, and then she fell down into the limo, officially drunk off her ass.

I popped back down, too.

Dancer lay back across one of the seats, laughing so hard she was crying. Maggs had her shirt up, flashing her boobs while Kimber took a picture. Wasn’t sure I wanted the whole story on that one. A woman I’d just met named Darcy was pouring champagne in that very slow, very deliberate way drunk people have. Unfortunately she’d forgotten the glass.

I hoped whoever arranged the rental had coverage for that kind of thing.

A woman with short, curly, reddish-blonde hair sat giggling in the corner. Back when she could still speak in full sentences, Marie had introduced her as Cookie. She used to live in Coeur d’Alene but had moved, and now Marie managed the coffee shop she still owned in town.

Em and I looked at each other and she rolled her eyes.

I’d decided not to drink too much because I had work in the morning, but I was still in a pretty good mood. Definitely planning on a cab ride home. Em, though … She had a haunted look in her eyes that bothered me. No wonder the girls had been worried about her—something was obviously wrong.

“So why don’t they just go home?” I asked Em, scooting over to sit next to her.

“Who?”

“Painter and the other guy, Banks.”

“Banks will stick with us all night,” she said quietly. “He’s supposed to keep an eye on us, make sure we make it home safe. I guess Painter’s just along for the ride—maybe he’s worried after what went down with Hunter and Skid.”

“He was watching you while you were dancing,” I said. “He may not have seemed interested before, but he’s definitely interested now.”

“I could give a f*ck,” she replied, her voice flat. “Painter, Hunter … men in general. I think I’m swearing off them entirely. Too bad I can’t just flip a switch and go lesbian.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way,” I said, sighing. “Men really are a giant pain in the ass, aren’t they?”

“Speaking of, how’s Ruger?” she asked. “I hear you’re fighting with each other.”

“Um, that seems a bit strong,” I said. “I’d say we’re just not talking much, which is what I wanted. No offense, but after what happened, I don’t think I want anything to do with the club.”

She sighed.

“I can understand that,” she replied. “You didn’t exactly get a good intro. I know it probably doesn’t seem this way, but they’re actually really good guys. It’s not like this shit happens all the time.”

The car swayed, and Dancer crashed into us.

“You are boring!” she yelled in our faces. “We’re having a good time here. If you don’t sing me something good at the bar, I’m making you ride with Painter.”

Um, no. I would rather have my eyes poked out than do karaoke.

I didn’t say that, though. I just smiled politely and decided this was a sign—I’d call a cab after Marie sang her song. I had to be up in six hours, so that was probably for the best anyway. At least I didn’t have to worry about Noah—Elle had taken him, offering to keep him overnight and get him ready for school the next day. That was a huge help.

“Oh my God!” Maggs squealed suddenly. We all froze. “We haven’t done presents yet!”

“Presents!” Marie yelled, clapping her hands. “I love presents!”

Maggs lurched down to the front of the limo and pulled back a big basket full of unopened packages and envelopes. She grabbed one at random, throwing it to Marie.

“Who’s it from?” Darcy asked. Marie tried to focus on the writing, then shook her head.

“Can’t tell,” she said. “They have really, really messy handwriting.”

“Here,” I said. “Let me look.”

She handed it over.

“The tag was printed off a computer,” I said, snorting. “It’s not even a fancy script or something. You’re too drunk to read. Oh, and it’s from Cookie.”

Marie pouted.

“It’s not my fault you guys bought all those shots,” she said. “It’s not like I could let them go to waste! That’s just wrong.”

Darcy nodded sagely.

“She’s right—if you throw away booze at your bachelorette party, the marriage is doomed.”

“You say that about everything,” I accused. “The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t order the steak and the shrimp. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t dance with at least ten guys. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t tell us how big Horse’s dick really is. How can all of that be true?”

“I know these things,” she declared. “Am I right, ladies?”

“Hell yes,” Dancer chimed in. “Darcy knows her shit. If she says the marriage is doomed if Marie doesn’t drink enough, it’s time to start pouring shots down her throat!”