Reaper's Stand(106)

I’ll always miss you, I told Heather. But it’s time to let you go.

She didn’t answer.

Another star shot by in the darkness, and London raised her head.

“You okay, Reese?”

“I love you.”

Silence.

“You’ve never said that to me before.”

“Wasn’t ready. I’m ready now.”

“I love you, too.”

She settled back into my body, and I felt right in a way I’d almost forgotten existed. Darkness surrounded us, broken only by the meteor shower. I waited for Heather to say something. Nothing.

Now it was just London and me.

Felt good.





Epilogue


THIRTEEN MONTHS LATER

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

PUCK

“Can’t decide—should I get drunk first and then get laid, or the other way around?”

“Shut the f*ck up,” Puck muttered, staring at the ceiling. He lay back on the top bunk, trying to ignore the annoying mouth breather he and Painter shared a cell with. At least they had a cell. Given how crowded the prison was, half the guys didn’t have any space of their own at all.

“Yeah, I’m gonna start with sex,” Fester continued, oblivious to the threat in Puck’s voice. The guy was a complete moron, but at least he was harmless. Over the past year, he and Painter had needed to fight off the cartel boys at least once a month. An annoying cell mate was better than getting shanked in your sleep. “There’s this chick I saw once who—”

“If you don’t shut the f*ck up right now, I’ll cut off your dick,” Puck muttered. Fester laughed, because they’d had this same conversation at least once a day for the past six months. But today they were in lockdown, which meant Puck couldn’t get away from the little shit.

Painter snorted in amusement across the room, because he knew exactly how much the man got on Puck’s nerves.

“How ’bout that girl of yours?” Fester asked Painter, shifting directions abruptly. “She have anything interesting to say? I always think about her in that blue sundress she was wearin’ in that one picture. You know, the one where her tits were sorta pokin’ through? I swear to f*ck, those were her nipples. They taste good? I’ll bet they taste good.”

Puck closed his eyes and shook his head. Fester had no f*ckin’ sense of self-preservation at all. Painter didn’t like questions about his girl. This was not new territory.

“You say one more word and I’ll kill you on the spot,” Painter replied, his voice like stone. “She’s not my girl and whatever you think you saw, you forget. You’re not good enough to look at her picture, *.”

“Sorry, Painter,” Fester said quickly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you. You just keep readin’ your letter and I’ll go over here for a while. Maybe draw a picture or somethin’.”

“You do that,” Painter said, then Puck heard Fester move across the room, followed by the sounds of crayons dumping out across the desk. Man had the mind of an eight year old, no joke. Puck wondered how he’d survive when they got out in two weeks, but he didn’t put too much energy into it. Fester was like a cockroach—he’d find a way.

“Any news from home?” Puck asked, although “home” wasn’t really the right word. Painter’d gotten a packet of notes and pictures from Coeur d’Alene, all gathered together by one of the Reapers’ old ladies and sent down at once.

“Not really,” he said. “Looks like Bolt and Maggs are back together.”

Puck grunted, trying to remember who Maggs was. Bolt he remembered, but they hadn’t talked much. He’d only been in Coeur d’Alene a few days before everything fell to shit. After their first four months inside together, Painter had suggested he come prospect with the Reapers when he got out. Wouldn’t be happening. Puck’s dad had been a Silver Bastard, and that’s who he wanted to ride with.

Assuming he ever got to ride again.

“Mellie got a scholarship,” Painter added after a few minutes. “Says she’s excited, because it means she won’t have to work during school this year.”

Puck grinned, but he didn’t say shit. Painter had it bad for the girl—* whipped, despite the fact he’d never even gotten a whiff. He’d never fall for that, no f*ckin’ way. Life was hard enough without some bitch whinin’ all the time.

Not only that, who wanted to pick just one?

The warning bell rang for lights out, and Fester scrabbled around, presumably picking up his crayons. Freak had a talent for drawing, strangely enough. He could draw pictures of anything, all shaded and complicated and shit. Puck wouldn’t have thought you could pull that off with crayons, but what did he know?

The lights went out and Puck closed his eyes, ignoring the howls and moans of inmates up and down the block. This was the best time in prison. He might be stuck in a concrete box with Painter and their pet f*ckwit, but with the lights off he could imagine being somewhere else. Outside.


Get drunk first or get laid?

Damned fine question, he had to admit. Christ, but he missed women. Specifically, he missed f*cking them … But he also missed their softness, and the way—when he smiled just right—their eyes went all liquid and they’d do whatever the hell he asked, no matter how f*cked up it might be.