Reaper's Fall (Reapers MC, #5)(5)

I dropped my pencil, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea. I wasn’t going to send it, of course. I’d send her some friendly little note and tell her she should be dating and having fun. But some part of me thought writing my real thoughts out might fix my obsession. Instead my dick was like a rock. Again.

Still.

Always.

I started shredding the paper into thin strips, because no f*ckin’ way I wanted Fester to read it. He always scrabbled through our garbage like a rat. Puck didn’t need to see it, either. He was my brother—best brother I could have, and he’d proven it a thousand ways since they locked us up—but damn if he needed to know how *-whipped I’d gotten.

Right . . . Who was I kidding?

Puck was probably laughing his ass off about it right now.

I grabbed another piece of paper, thinking I should write her a real letter. Congratulate her on her grades and then tell her she should find a decent boyfriend. The words wouldn’t come, though. Too busy thinking about her lips, I guess. They were round and pouty. Created by God expressly to suck cock. My cock. Right on cue, it went from hard to painful, a pillar of concrete in my pants, desperate for some action.

“I drew you a picture,” Fester said, offering me a goofy grin from his bunk. He held up a piece of paper covered in bright orange and red crayon. The red was blood seeping out of stick-figure bodies he’d drawn. I had no f*ckin’ idea what the orange spirals were supposed to be. Maybe the voices in his head?

He liked to talk about his art with me, like we had something in common. Sometimes I could almost see where he was coming from. Scary f*ckin’ thought.

“Leave my brother alone,” Puck told Fester, his voice hard. He was already down for the night, reading some history book. World War II snipers—he loved that shit. “Lights out soon anyway. Put away your crayons and go to bed, cocksucker.”

Fester giggled, and I stood painfully. My bunk was only three steps away, but each one hurt worse than the last. Felt like my dick might split wide open, there was so much blood trapped in there. I collapsed onto my back, waiting for the lights to go out.

That’s when I’d jerk off.

Again.

We all would.

Fester better not get jizz on my pictures of Mel. I really would kill him. The lights went off with a thudding noise, like something out of a movie. Never understood that—didn’t seem like flipping a switch should be so loud.

Downright ominous.

Seconds later my hands were on my pants, shoving them down as I lifted my hips. My dick sprang free and I wondered for the thousandth time how I’d be able to keep my hands off her when I got home.

Fester grunted in the darkness as I grabbed my meat.

Christ.

Two more weeks.

If I had any decency at all, I’d leave her alone. Yeah. I could do it. I’d probably imagined how beautiful she was anyway. Men built all kinds of crazy fantasies on the inside—always fell to shit when they got out again. Mel was just another bitch, one with too much baggage. I didn’t really want her. Sure as hell didn’t need her.

Right. Who the f*ck was I kidding?





CHAPTER TWO





ONE MONTH LATER

COEUR D’ALENE

MELANIE

“So he never even called you?” Kit asked, eyes wide. “I mean, I get that guys can be confusing, but to loan you his car for a f*cking year, write you tons of letters from prison, and then have you drop his keys off with my dad so he doesn’t have to see you? That’s bizarre.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered, shooting a death glare across the table at Jessica, the rat. My soon-to-be former best friend seemed deeply unconcerned by the fact that she’d betrayed me.

Wench.

“I don’t blame you,” Em announced, reaching for the wine bottle. “I don’t like talking about Painter, either. He f*cked with my head for way too long. I had the biggest crush on him when he was a prospect.”

“You let him mess with you,” Kit said, shoving her glass in front of Em’s for a refill. Em smacked at her hand, and suddenly the sisters were wrestling over the bottle like kindergartners with a cookie.

I glanced over at Jessica? wondering how our Friday afternoon had turned into a random drunkfest with two women I barely knew, because Kit and Emmy Hayes were a trip. Jess gave me a “don’t look at me” kind of shrug before draining her own glass of wine. I reached for some crackers off the little round cheese/meat platter thing Em had been carrying when she’d shown up at our house out of nowhere. (Kit had been in charge of booze.)

“Ha!” Em gloated, holding up the bottle triumphantly. “Suck it, Kit. Back to business—we have to figure out the perfect thing for London’s bachelorette party. So far we’ve got a night out dancing and surprise strippers.”

“I don’t think Reese is going to like her having strippers,” I mumbled, spraying crumbs because I’d forgotten about the cracker I’d just popped into my mouth. Ick. I grabbed my water glass, chugging. Liquid fire poured down my throat. I choked and then Jess was thumping my back while they all stared at me. Slowly I caught my breath, knowing my face must be beet red.

“That was straight vodka,” I gasped, staring down into the green plastic tumbler. I’d grabbed Kit’s cup instead of mine—obviously she wasn’t a water drinker.