Reaper's Stand(6)

Certainly the point of no witnesses.

A door opened up ahead and two girls stumbled out, giggling. Jessica? No, but I recognized one.

“Kimberly Jordan, does your mother know where you are right now?” I asked, my voice cracking like a whip.

Everyone in the hallway froze, including Gage.

Kim stared at me, her eyes wide.

“N-no,” she said. She peered around me, as if wondering if her mother might jump out at her next. Good. Maybe that would make her think.

“You wanna talk to the prez or not?” Gage asked, his voice cool. “Pick your battles, babe. You want this one or your cousin’s kid?”

I swallowed, realizing that the Parental Voice of Authority might not be so welcome here. Oops.

“I’m here for Jessica,” I told him. He smiled at me, his teeth bright and shiny in the dim light.

“Great, so let’s leave them alone, all right? Girls, get out of here.”

They brushed past us quickly, whispering with thrilled and excited eyes.

“Do you always have underage girls out here drinking?” I asked him, unable to just let it go completely.

“We’re not serving anyone underage,” he said flatly. I raised a brow, wordlessly calling him on his bullshit. He grinned. “You wanna look me in the eye and tell me you never had a drink until after you were twenty-one?”

I sighed. Of course I had. Not only that, I’d had lots of them and I hadn’t turned into an alcoholic or gotten pregnant or anything horrible.

Nancy Reagan had been wrong—at least in my case. Amber probably should’ve just said no.

“Can we just get on with it?”

Gage shook his head, not even bothering to hide his amusement, then stepped forward and knocked on the unmarked door to our left.

“Pic? You busy?”

REESE

I sat on my office couch, wondering why the hell I didn’t give a shit that a beautiful girl was currently sucking my cock. Sure, I enjoy a good blow job as much as the next guy. But tonight I wasn’t engaged, just couldn’t bring myself to care. This was unfortunate, because the babe kneeling between my legs had a mouth like a Hoover and a very loose sense of morals. She was the new headliner over at The Line—the boys had brought her out tonight just for me.

Birthday present.

Forty-three f*cking years old.

Her fingers dropped low, running under my balls with a light touch as her tongue swirled around my dickhead. I reached over and grabbed my beer, taking a long, slow pull. The cold liquid slid down my throat and I decided I didn’t give a f*ck if she finished or not.

I want you happy, baby, but you can do better … Heather seemed to whisper in my ear.

I’d been hearing her voice since the day she died. Christ, I missed that woman, and I wished to hell those little whispers were more than my own sick subconscious. But I knew they weren’t, because if Heather’s spirit was really beside me offering advice, I wouldn’t have f*cked up so bad with my daughters.


I glanced across the room to the black metal filing cabinet. A picture sat on top of it, in a tarnished silver frame. My old lady. The shot was from one of the last family parties we’d had—right after she recovered from the mastectomy, but before that final round of chemo. Her arms wrapped tight around our two beautiful girls, all three of them laughing at something just out of the frame.

Hoover chose that moment to suck me in deep down into her throat and I closed my eyes. Damn, Bolt had told me she sucked cock like a pro, but he hadn’t given her full credit. The woman had a gift. Every inch squeezed tight and I wasn’t small. I groaned, letting my head fall back.

Why did it still feel like I was cheating on Heather?

Hoover popped back up, giggling at me annoyingly. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but she sucked me back in before I had the chance. Shit, that was good. My boredom disappeared, leaving the clarity I only got during sex or a good fight. My body felt incredible, but my mind floated, blessedly detached. No guilt over Heather, no worry about the club, not even thoughts of my girls could touch me here.

I was like a machine, powerful and free.

My phone buzzed next to me on the couch and I glanced down to see a text.

BOLT: Enjoying your party? I sent you another present. Try not to break it.



I glanced down at the brown-haired head bobbing in my lap and decided that my life might not be perfect, but damned if my friends didn’t take care of me. If there was a God in heaven, I was about to meet this bitch’s twin sister.

A loud knock came from the door.

“Pic? You busy?” Gage called. “You got company. Bolt sent her.”

Reaching down, I caught the stripper’s hair and gripped it, slowing her down.

“Send her in.”

The door opened and a short, curvy blonde dressed in a dirty T-shirt and ragged jeans stumbled into the room, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Generous tits filled out the design on the front of her shirt, which read “London’s Cleaning Service.”

Fuck. FUCK.

That cocksucking bastard. Bolt was gonna pay for this, because London Armstrong was the last woman who should be in this building. This bitch and her gorgeous rack had been making my life a living hell for the past six months, because she was the last thing I needed in my life and I’d never wanted to f*ck anyone more.