Reaper's Property (Reapers MC, #1)(32)

Horse narrowed his eyes at Max, who met them straight on. The man didn’t flinch.

“It’s a good point,” Bam Bam said, his voice mild. “Of course, we take him out now, we never see that money again anyway, Max.”

“Well maybe we wouldn’t have our asses hanging out so far if Horse’d done a better job watching him.”

Picnic sat up.

“Careful, brother,” he said, his voice cold. “Horse did his job. It was my call to let this play out, and I had good reason. That little shit made half a million bucks for this club, easy, in the last two years. You don’t just throw something like that away if you don’t have to. Fucker’s got a gift, can’t just replace him. That’s why I like this idea, maybe we can still save the situation.”

“I’m not voting for it,” Max said. “We need to put him down.”

“Why don’t I buy her?” Horse said. Everyone turned to look at him, startled. “I’ll buy Marie from the club, and we give Jensen another shot. Fifty grand, outta my pocket and into the club account. We wait and see if Jensen comes up with the money and interest. He does, I get paid back, the club makes a profit. He doesn’t, it’s on me.”

“That’s f*cked up,” muttered Bam Bam. “No cunt worth that.”

“She’s not a cunt.”

“They’re all cunts,” Max snapped. Horse caught his eye, staring him down.

“Play nice, boys,” said Picnic. “I think you’re crazy, Horse, but this works for me. That good enough for you, Max?”

Max dipped his head in agreement.

“I’m with Picnic, you’re crazy,” said Bam Bam. “Should be a hell of a show. She hates you, Horse. Jensen told me.”

“Well, I’m pretty pissed at her myself,” Horse said. “We gotta work through that. But she’s mine and that’s the way it is.”

Picnic rolled his eyes and Ruger snorted.

“Nice to see youngsters acting like men instead of chorus girls,” Duck grunted, looking around the table in approval. “Let’s vote. I want beer.”



Horse left the meeting feeling pretty good. Paying out the money was gonna hurt, no question. But he’d been thinking about putting up a new shop on the property, so he had the cash. He damned sure wanted Marie more than a shop. He couldn’t wait to come home to her after a tough day, the smell of her cooking in the house, the sight of her in an apron and nothing else.

Nice.

Horse grabbed his phone out of the box, thinking he should have called her before now. He’d gotten her sweet little text messages and knew she was hurting. Hell, he’d wanted her to hurt, he could admit it. She’d hurt him, so he let her dangle for a few days…

But now that them being together was a reality? Time to let it go. He stepped out of the clubhouse and into the sunlight, powering up the phone. It pinged repeatedly, letting him know he’d missed a bunch of text messages from the night before.



Marie: Horse, muss yu

Marie: Why dont anser?

Marie: Horse like yur name. Horsey. I’d like to rid u horsey, LOL. You sleeping? Or busy with someone?

Marie: I know yur there. I bet you got a new gurl alredy. Screw you.

Marie: Screw you and your slut. I hate you. Take yur club and shove it up yur ass I wudn’t be yoor old lady for ten milion dollrs.



Fuck.

She’d been drunk, no question. And when people were drunk they said stupid shit, but they also told the truth. Marie might want his body, but she definitely didn’t want to be his old lady, despite all her sweet little texts to him trying to mend fences.

“Goddamit!” he yelled, throwing the phone at the concrete block wall of the clubhouse. It hit hard, shattering, as Ruger stepped outside.

“Problem?” he asked, raising a brow and looking from the phone to Horse.

Horse shook his head.

“No problem,” he said, tamping down his anger. He’d made his choice, taken a stand in front of the club. He’d play it out. But Marie was damned well going to pay him back that fifty grand one way or another. “Decided it’s time to get a new phone, that’s all.”

“What was wrong with the old one?” Ruger asked, his voice mild.

“It broke.”



Sept. 17—Present Day

Horse looked down at Jeff, feeling detached.

The man knelt in the middle of the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, Picnic standing over him with a gun. Blood ran down his face—they’d given him a decent beating, but not serious enough to need a hospital. Just bad enough to make him really, really uncomfortable and hopefully scare the hell out of Marie.

He’d have a few permanent scars to help him remember not to f*ck over the Reapers too.

“I wonder if sissy’s gonna bail you out?” Picnic asked Jeff. “You really screwed yourself this time, little man. Do you not know our motto? Fuck with us and we will f*ck with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff whispered, eyes wild behind his puffing eyelids. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, you’ve got to give me another chance.”

“How many chances do you need?” Horse demanded. “It’s hard to keep a straight face, listening to you talk.”