Reaper's Fall (Reapers MC, #5)(83)

PAINTER

Melanie’s ass twitched as she walked away with Isabella. My daughter—how unreal was that? I could see the differences in Mel’s body since the pregnancy—she’d filled out. Her boobs were bigger, too. A lot bigger. I’d missed her so f*cking much since I’d gotten locked up. This was different than it’d been before. Worse. Not that spending time in a cell is ever good, but knowing I was missing out on something so amazing—so important—turned it into pure torture.

And this time I didn’t even have letters from her to get me through.

I hoped it wouldn’t take long to change Izzy. We had only a limited time for visitation, and I didn’t want to waste any of it. God only knew when—or if—she’d ever make it down again. Christ, I loved the kid more than I ever thought was possible, and now I might not see her again for months.

“How’s it going?” Puck asked, his voice low as he eased into the seat across from me. I shrugged.

“Well, aside from the fact that I’m in prison and I missed the first five months of my kid’s life, it’s f*ckin’ great. How are things on your end?”

Puck gave a slow smile. “Better than yours. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on her for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I f*cked up bad this time, bro. Real bad.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

I bit back a laugh, leaning forward over my legs.

“Love how you always try to make me feel better.”

Puck cocked a brow. “Like you want me blowin’ smoke up your ass?”

“Fair enough. How was the trip down?”

“Good,” he said. “Weird, traveling with a baby, but she was good. Cried a little bit during takeoff. Mel had to nurse her on the plane. Think that made her a little uncomfortable.”

Frowning, I gave him a hard look. “You check out her tits?”

“Yeah, because I’ve got a milk fetish,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a sick motherf*cker, you know that?”

That made me laugh again, and he joined me.

“So you keepin’ safe in here without me?” he finally asked.

“It’s tougher this time,” I admitted. “But I got Pipes at my back. This shit goin’ down in Hallies Falls has him worried and a lot of the alliances have fallen apart. We lean on each other a bit. And of course there’s Fester . . . He was real happy to have me back.”

Puck snorted. “How is the Prince of Perverts?”

“You’ll be shocked to hear he’s still a disgusting little twat,” I said. “But get this—they’ve started a new art program. I’m helping teach it, and he’s one of my students. He’s not half bad, so long as you keep him focused. A little more interested in anatomy than I’d like. Sort of obsessed with how muscles and joints come together . . . and what they look like ripped apart.”

“Have fun with that,” he replied, smirking. I flipped him off and we both sat back, staring at each other. There was a whole lot more I could say, but what would be the point? Nothing ever changed on the inside. “Not gonna lie—glad I’m not in here with you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Got some updates for you,” he said quietly. “I know you heard some of this, but figured I’d fill you in on the rest. They tell you Marsh was carrying a shitload of meth?”

“Yeah, Pic mentioned it, back up in Coeur d’Alene,” I said.

“Well he finally pled out. Between stabbing the cop and the drugs he was carrying, he’s going away for at least three years. Maybe more, depending on his behavior—guy’s not exactly known for holding his shit together under pressure.”

“That’s good news. And the rest of them?”

“They locked up two others. Talia’s in the wind, nobody knows where. Marsh is pissed—he’s blaming you for what went down, not that it matters.”

“Good riddance.”

“Yeah. Gage is still in Hallies Falls. Helping those who are still left rebuild. Those who are worth keeping, that is . . . There’s been some talk of them patching over as Reapers.”

“Might be for the best,” I said, thinking of Cord and the other brothers who’d been so unhappy under Marsh. “Pipes has filled me in some, but his intel is limited. We’re too far away to stay in touch, you know?”

Puck nodded.

“Well, I got good news, too,” he said. “Pic wanted me to go over it with you, actually. They still have your work hanging in the custom shop, and that guy who talked to you about painting his bike has been in a couple more times. Apparently he’s friends with an art dealer, and he showed him some pictures of your work. They’re interested in doing a gallery show.”

“Huh,” I said, not quite sure what to do with that information. Puck cocked his head.

“Thought you’d be more excited.”

“I am. I mean, I think I am. But I’m not quite sure how it would work . . . Don’t have very many pieces, and it’s not like I can do more from inside. And he knows I’m locked up—I wrote to him already, telling him I’d have to pass on the commission.”

Puck coughed. “This is where it gets weird. I guess you being in prison—you know, hardened felon, motorcycle club, and all that shit—makes you more interesting. Guy says the dealer got off on it, called you dangerous.”