Reaper's Stand (Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 4)(123)

Reese froze, groaning as I started to giggle. Then he leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“Children,” he muttered. “Shit for timing. Always.”

He lowered me and I straightened my clothing. Horse didn’t look away or give us even a hint of privacy. Nope. He just stood there smirking like a total creeper.

“You like to watch?” I asked him.

“Fuck yeah, I like to watch. Doesn’t everyone?”

Reese glared at him, which seemed to make him smirk even harder.

“Okay, let’s go see Em,” I said, tugging at Reese’s hand. “Just ’cause she’s a big girl doesn’t mean she doesn’t need her daddy.”

Reese rolled his eyes, then gave me a strange, almost sheepish smile.

“Thank f*ck for that.”

? ? ?

“Hi, Dad,” Em said softly when we walked into her hospital room. She looked pale and weak, but her eyes were bright and she still managed to give Reese a smile.

Hunter stood next to her, his eyes watchful and concerned. He was still the badass biker I’d first met in Coeur d’Alene, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t devoted to his girl. He’d do anything for Reese’s daughter—I saw it written all over his face.

I decided I liked him, despite the fact that he’d locked me in a storage room.

“Hey, baby,” Reese said, dropping my hand as we crossed over to her bed, which was by the window. Em didn’t have a roommate. I wondered if that was because she’d gotten lucky, or if Hunter had scared the nurses into giving her space.

Probably best not to ask.

Reese leaned over and kissed her forehead, then sat down on the bed next to her. I stood beside him, which should’ve felt awkward but it somehow didn’t.

I was just happy to see Em alive and well.

“So I hear you saved my ass,” Em said to me, her eyes full of gratitude. Not a hint of blame or wariness—she obviously had no idea I’d been a prisoner when I discovered her bleeding. Guess that was on a need-to-know basis, something I found very comforting. I’d just as soon she didn’t find out I’d tried to kill her dad. I had a feeling she’d hold a wicked grudge.

“I did my best,” I said quietly. “You scared me—thought we might lose you. How are you feeling now?”

“Weak,” she replied. “Sad. They told me it was a girl. It’s strange . . . I was kind of scared when I saw the positive pregnancy test, but I loved her. I wanted her. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Em nodded, a hint of red around her eyes. I glanced up at Hunter, seeing shadows written in his face. They’d obviously both wanted her. I hoped they’d get another chance . . . Ectopic pregnancies could do a lot of damage.

“You tired, little girl?” Reese asked, reaching out to catch Em’s hand. “You want some rest? We can go wait outside.”

“No,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Hello, Reese,” a new voice said, and I looked up to see a girl standing in the door frame. This had to be Kit, the daughter I hadn’t met yet. I recognized her from her pictures, although they’d all been taken before she’d adopted her current style. She looked like a Betty Page pinup, all vintage clothes, sculpted black hair, red lipstick, and tough-girl attitude.

Like Em, she was stunning, but in a completely different way.

Reese stood and walked toward her. She flung herself into his arms, squeezing him tight as he lifted her up for a hug. He’d told me she liked to pick fights with him—and I had a feeling calling him by his first name was part of that dynamic . . . But clearly when shit hit the fan, the Hayes family stood together. After long seconds he let her slide back down to the ground and she stood back, smiling at him with a hint of vulnerability in her face.

Then her eyes found me, and they narrowed.

“This her?” she asked, her voice sharp. Em sighed heavily and Hunter rolled his eyes. Time to step in and diffuse, I decided.

“I’m London Armstrong,” I said in a clear, friendly voice as I walked over and held out my hand. “You must be Kit. I’ve seen so many of your pictures, but none of them are recent. I love your look—very classic.”

She sniffed, signaling clearly that it would take more than flattery to win her over. Alrighty, then. I’d try another tactic.