Reaper's Property (Reapers MC, #1)(65)

I sighed, trying to think. I wanted it—I wanted him. I still didn’t like the whole property thing. But I’d seen Darcy and Dancer and Cookie in action—they weren’t helpless victims and what they had with their men might be different, but it was good. Much better than I’d had with Gary—and that was another whole load of baggage. Horse would be taking on a woman who was still married to another man, a woman with no assets and no skills.

I guess it just came down to a leap of faith.

“I want to try,” I said slowly, holding his gaze. “If we do it, I think we need to give each other a fresh start. Only look forward, leave all the past behind us. Let go of the anger. Otherwise we could spend the next year fighting over things we can’t change.”

“That works for me,” he replied, face still grave. “But I need to know—are you ready to wear my patch? That’s how it works in the club, babe, and there’s no leaving the club. If you can’t live with that, I’ll find another place for you to stay until this shit with your brother resolves. It’ll kill me, but I’ll do it. I’m ready to let you go if that’s what you need. No strings.”

“I want to be with you,” I said, reaching down to run my fingers along the length of his rapidly hardening cock. I moved my mouth toward his, letting my lips hover over his. “I’ll be your old lady and I’ll wear your patch. But if you ever let some bitch shove her tits in your face again, I’ll shoot you myself.”

At that, I wrapped my fingers around his dick and squeezed a little too tight for comfort.

“Noted,” Horse said, smiling against my mouth. “You got a gun?”

I laughed, shaking my head, brushing my lips against his.

“Okay, we’ll take care of that today,” he said, nuzzling my mouth. “Gonna f*ck you first though. Honest to God, you wouldn’t believe the checklist I’ve got in my head for us to work through.”

Horse wasn’t kidding about the checklist. We got a good start on it, but after a couple hours I needed a break for food. We ate breakfast together and cleaned up, basking in each other’s presence.

Then he took me out to the barn and I learned Horse wasn’t kidding about the gun either.



“Okay, hold it straight like I showed you. Left hand down low to brace your right. Keep your finger off the trigger until you line up the sights. Good. Now put your finger on the trigger and pull back until it just stops. Double-check your aim and fire.”

I shot the little semi-automatic .22 pistol at the target pinned against a hay bale three times, then pulled my finger off the trigger like he’d taught me and pointed the gun at the ground.

“You like it?” Horse asked, looking pleased with himself. He’d presented me with the pistol like it was a diamond ring or something. Probably best not to think about that too much.

“It kicks ass,” I said, because it did. Firing it made me feel sort of powerful and tough. “But are you sure it’s big enough? Those are really tiny little bullets, Horse. If I’m gonna be a badass biker chick, shouldn’t I have a bigger gun?”

“A .22 was big enough to kill Bobby Kennedy,” he replied, and I stopped smiling and raised my brows.

“Damn.”

“No shit. Honestly, it’s about accuracy, not size, babe.”

“Did I seriously just hear you, Marcus “Horse” McDonnell, tell me it’s not about size?”

“Yeah,” he said, ignoring my little jab. “It’s true it doesn’t have the stopping power that a bigger gun does, but I’d be more afraid of a woman with a .22 who really knows how to shoot than a man with a .45 he bought because his dick’s too small. It’s not like the movies, Marie. A handgun isn’t gonna stop someone in his tracks unless you hit something important, not even a big handgun. You need a shotgun for that. It’s just physics.”

“So even this little thing could kill someone,” I asked, looking at the pistol with new respect. I handed it to him very carefully. “It just looks like a TV prop or something, you know?”

“No shit,” he replied. “I want you to practice with it, really get used to it. We’ll do it every day. Just remember, you ever point this at a person, you shoot it right at his heart and you shoot to kill. Never point a gun unless you’re ready to end a life. And don’t fool yourself that you can shoot them in the foot or some such shit. If it’s bad enough to shoot, it’s bad enough to kill. And nobody’s that good a shot anyway.”

“What about that night at the party?” I asked, my voice soft.

“What about it?” he asked, grabbing another, larger pistol out of his bag and sliding in the magazine with a click.

“You pointed a gun at that man. You didn’t kill him, you shot next to him. But you could have killed him.”

“Yep, I could’ve,” he said. “I got real lucky that night because when he shot near you, he didn’t hit you. Then he got lucky, because I put him in the same situation and he didn’t get hit either. The difference is, he chose to pull his gun on a bunch of innocent women at a party. Then he chose to pull the trigger three times. No excuse for that. He deserved more than he got.”

“You’re scary sometimes, you understand that, right?”

Horse grinned at me, leaning over to kiss my nose.