Reaper's Property (Reapers MC, #1)(44)

“What happens if they do?” I asked. He gave me a sharp look.

“What do you think?”

Stupid question.

When we got home Horse insisted on unloading the groceries, telling me to go upstairs and put away my new things. While just thinking about the stripper skirt gave me hives, I had to admit that the shoes made me feel sort of sexy. I couldn’t resist trying on the bustier again, which wasn’t so bad with my hip-hugging jeans. I couldn’t see my whole body in the mirror on the top of the dresser, but I saw enough to know I looked good.

Really good.

Once I finished pulling off tags and putting things away I wandered downstairs. Horse was gone, but I found a note on the table.

Got shit to do—hang out and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back around seven. Have dinner ready. We’re going out tonight.

Not exactly the master of conveying information.

I grabbed Horse’s cordless house phone and a book, then settled myself on the front porch to call Denise and let her know I wouldn’t be back to work. I felt like a complete ass when I told her I couldn’t give any notice. She didn’t buy my excuse for a minute.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Don’t bullshit me, Marie. Your trailer burned down last night and now you tell me you’re living with some man you barely know? What’s really happening? Tell me why I shouldn’t call the cops.”

It was hard to do, but I tried to put just the right amount of concern about the trailer burning into my voice while still sounding happy about my new circumstances.

“Jeff called me last night and told me about the trailer,” I said, trying to sound earnest and sad. “He said he started it, I guess he left his pipe on the floor before going on a beer run. I’m bummed that it burned down but I’m lucky because I already had all my stuff packed up and moved out. Jeff told me he’s crashing with a friend. He doesn’t want me to come back, says it’s his problem and he doesn’t have a place for me to stay anyway.”

“I see,” Denise said, although clearly she didn’t. “I don’t think that’s the whole story, but I guess it matches the newspaper story. Marie, I hate to say this, but I’m not going to be able to give you a reference.”

“I understand,” I replied, feeling depressed. She sighed heavily.

“You call me if you need me. I’ll respect your decision but things go bad fast sometimes. I’ll drive up and get you any time.”

“Thanks, Denise,” I said, eyes watering up. I didn’t deserve her kindness, yet she offered it without strings. As I put the phone down, I decided that sometimes kindness hurts more than getting hit physically.

Go figure.



True to his word, Horse disappeared until a little before seven. I spent my time alone reading and exploring the property. There were several outbuildings, including an old barn and a bunkhouse. The barn had been cleared out and converted into a shop where Horse seemed to be rebuilding a couple of different bikes. I found a fridge out there with some beer in it, which made me think of Picnic, Max and Bam Bam visiting me and Jeff in better times. Horse also had a big fire pit out back, surrounded by stumps that appeared to do double duty as seats and chopping blocks as needed. There were four picnic tables too, obviously hand-crafted.

I guess Horse was good with his hands in more than one way.

I fixed chicken and dumplings for dinner, one of my favorites because it always filled the house with a welcoming and comfortable smell, perfect for day’s end. I heard Harley pipes outside and then Horse walked in through the mud room.

“Smells great in here,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. I leaned back into him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine. Apparently nice Horse would be joining me for dinner instead of his evil twin. “After we eat, we’re going out. I want you to wear the clothes we picked up at the Line.”

I stiffened, pulling away from him. So much for nice Horse. He sighed but didn’t pull me back. Instead he walked over to the stove and peeked into the simmering pot. I glared at him, deciding he could serve his own damned food. He shrugged, taking a bowl and filling it before he put some salad on a plate. He carried it all to the table, sitting down and tucking in.

“You gonna eat?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell with his strippers and their lurid, nasty clothing, but my stomach picked that moment to growl, totally ruining the moment. I grabbed food and sat down across from him.

“This place we’re going tonight,” he said. “It’s another MC’s clubhouse, Silver Bastards, outside of Callup.”

“Where’s Callup?”

“Silver Valley, between here and Montana. Middle of nowhere, really. They’re a Reaper support club, run the valley for us.”

That led to about a hundred questions, all of which I suspected would fall under the category of “club business”. I decided to focus on logistics instead.

“How am I getting there?”

“Back of my bike,” he replied, like the answer was obvious.

“In that skirt and those heels? Not a good plan, Horse.”

“Not the most comfortable,” he agreed. “But we need to do it.”

“Why?”

“Gotta make the right impression,” he replied. “Enough questions. Listen up—when we get there, you stick with me, and I mean all the time unless I tell you otherwise. You got no property patch, you’re not an old lady. Every biker in the place’ll tag you in the first five minutes. That means open season, and wearing clothes like that will attract a lot of attention.”