Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(104)

Then he looked up at me and smiled, pale blue eyes creased with warmth, obvious pride written all over his face.

“C’mon in,” he said.

I glanced at Kit, but she ignored me. Em winked, patting the side of the bed. I walked over and sat down awkwardly in the tiny sliver of space, wondering what the future held for me with this family.

Only one way to find out.

“Who wants coffee?”





CHAPTER NINETEEN




ONE MONTH LATER

LONDON

I leaned forward into the bathroom mirror, carefully brushing mascara over my pale lashes. Outside the bathroom door I could hear Mellie and Jessica arguing about something—the cabin was only about a thousand square feet and I was very, very happy that Melanie would be moving into student housing in a few weeks.

Wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.

Loud music started blaring as I brushed my hair, changing abruptly to rap as I smoothed on lipstick. That would be Jessica taking control of the stereo.

It switched back again and I realized a full-on musical battle royale was starting outside the tiny bathroom. Taking one more quick look at myself—not perfect, but I’d do—I stepped out, prepared to start yelling. Before I could, the music stopped completely. Both girls stood in the living room, glaring at each other. Melanie had started standing up to Jessica in recent weeks, something I’d always wished she would do. Now I regretted that wish because I lived in a war zone.

“You’re a f*cking idiot,” Jessica growled. I took a deep breath, prepared to tell her off. Melanie beat me to it.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“I will if it’s true. I saw that letter. He’s just another *-chasing *, and writing to him in jail is desperate and pathetic. You’re smarter than me, so why don’t you act like it?”

Mellie’s mouth dropped and so did mine.

Then the doorbell rang.

Melanie stomped past me toward their shared room, leaving Jessica standing in the center of the living room, eyes bright with fury. The bell rang again and I decided they were big girls who could figure this out on their own. Grabbing my backpack, I walked over to the door and opened it.

Then I smiled because everything was okay again.

Reese was here.



REESE

Christ, but she was gorgeous.

I took London’s hand and tugged her out onto the porch for my kiss, because I didn’t feel like dealing with whatever girl drama was brewing in the cabin. And there was major drama brewing—after raising Em and Kit, I could f*ckin’ smell that shit in the air.

Fortunately, the sweet softness of London’s lips more than made up for the girls and their games. My hands found her ass, lifting her up and into my body. As always, my cock was as happy to see her as the rest of me.

Rap music blasted out through the window, all but knocking us off the porch. Just as fast it turned off again.

That’s when the screeching started.

“We have to get out of here,” I growled, dragging London toward my fully loaded bike. Being the clever woman she was, she didn’t argue. Let the girls kill each other—this was our weekend, and they weren’t gonna f*ck it up for us.

Five minutes later we were pulling off the road and onto the highway, heading north toward the Canadian border. Over the past month London had gotten more comfortable riding with me, which was great for the most part . . . Although I sort of missed the way she used to cling to me like her life depended on it. Now she felt comfortable enough to raise her hands, weaving and dancing them through the air as we flew down the road.

Things had been f*cked up and tense for a while when we’d gotten back. Some of it between me and her, but mostly just getting shit settled with the club. Painter and Puck were facing jail time no matter how you looked at it, and of the three brothers lost, one had been from the Moscow chapter, ninety miles south of Coeur d’Alene. He was a good man, and I’d known him more than a decade. London had come down with me for the funeral. Our relationship might be new, but she’d earned no small amount of respect when she killed that Medina f*ck back at the warehouse.

She’d handled herself well at the memorial, too, and afterward more than one brother asked me why she wasn’t my old lady already.

Hard question to answer.

This weekend wasn’t about answering questions, though. It wasn’t about the club, the girls or anything to do with the cartel. Nope, this was about camping out, spending time together, maybe gettin’ my girl drunk and takin’ advantage of her. Perfect.

? ? ?

It was still early by the time we reached my favorite campsite up on the Pack River. Calling it a river was a bit of an exaggeration, at least this time of year. The Pack was fed by snowmelt, and by late summer it wasn’t much more than a foot deep in any given spot. It meandered through a wooded valley, the central channel running across a wide bed of rounded rocks, small sand banks, and waterfalls two or three feet high at most.

Our campsite wasn’t anything particularly special—tucked away off a dirt road, just a little clearing in the trees with a fire pit next to the river. I’d been coming here since I was a kid.

Had to be one of the most gorgeous places on earth. Couldn’t wait to share it with London.

I set up the fire while she rolled out the sleeping bags. Still too early to light it, which was fine because I had other things I wanted to do. And no, I’m not talking about f*ckin’ her, although that was on the list, too.