Chapter Three
Reaper
Standing there, watching the sadness sweep across Amber’s face, Reaper knew he was in trouble. He never liked to talk about his life before the Henchmen. At thirty-three, it hadn’t been anything like he thought it would.
He always wanted to be a career military officer. Elite Special Forces, a US Navy SEAL, that’s how he met her brother. He and Sledge were on the same team. Sledge was his Commander. But after their last mission, all of that ended. The career he wanted so badly turned in only twelve years. It felt like a lifetime ago, but his leg was a constant reminder of everything he lost.
Reaper blew out a sigh. “Devin and I were on the same SEALs team. He was my Commander,” he finally said, drawing Amber’s attention from the floor.
“So y’all have known each other for a long time?” she asked.
Reaper nodded yes and continued, “Almost fifteen years. We met in basic training and then ran into each other again during SEAL training in Coronado and became fast friends. We were lucky when we were placed in the same unit,” he relayed as if he was talking about the weather.
He hated talking about that part of his life, but for some reason, he wanted to let her in. Let her see the real him and not just the Enforcer and VP of the Devil’s Henchmen. But he had no idea how.
There were some parts he would rather not speak about - the ambush, Rebecca, months of rehab - all of it destroyed a part of his soul. How do you tell someone that? And what was it about this woman that made him even want to tell her?
Telling himself to calm down, Reaper leaned against the doorframe.
Amber continued watching him, waiting for him to continue. “There isn’t much I can tell you. Our missions were Top Secret, classified shit,” Reaper said.
“So is your limp part of that classified shit?” Amber asked. “I noticed it when we were walking over. Did you get injured overseas?”
Reaper looked down at his leg. He hadn’t noticed himself limping. He knew his leg hurt like a motherfucker tonight, but didn’t think anyone else had noticed.
He worked really hard to keep that from everyone. Taking a bullet to the thigh during a firefight, three and a half years ago, definitely left a lasting mark and not just on his leg. It ended everything he worked so hard to accomplish, ruined the only serious relationship he ever had.
“No, that isn’t classified,” he said in an irritated voice. “That was blasted all over the news before the Nightstalker could even land the Black Hawk to pick up our SEAL team.”
“Nightstalker?” Amber asked.
“That’s a military term for a stealth helicopter,” Reaper explained.
Wanting to end this entire line of questioning he turned back to the door. “Goodnight Amber, sleep well,” he said and he walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Walking back down the hall to his own room, Reaper wondered what the fuck his problem was. He had no clue why he was being such an ass to her, all she did was ask a few questions.
But Reaper already knew the answer. He was a prick because he had to protect himself. If there was one thing he learned from having to see the psychologist at Walter Reed, it was that his shitty attitude manifested when he felt the need to defend or protect himself.
Yeah he hated talking about his bum leg, it pissed him off really, but still, Reaper knew, it didn’t justify being rude to Amber. He would have to apologize to her tomorrow, he thought in frustration.
Just as he was entering his room, his cell phone buzzed letting him know he had a text message.
It was Sledge. “My office,” was all it said.
Turning around he made his way back to the clubhouse and walked into Sledge’s office without knocking. He was tired, and not in the mood for club shit tonight.
“What’s up?” Reaper asked as he sat in the chair across from Sledge. His friend looked at him with a half-smile.
“Amber get settled in?” he asked.
“Yep,” Reaper replied, “Is that what you called me back over here for? Because if it is, you could have just sent me a text to ask that shit.”
Sledge raised an eyebrow at Reaper’s tone. “No, as a matter of fact, that’s not why I told you to come here asshole. What the fuck is your problem?” Sledge demanded.
“Nothing man, I’m just tired and my damn leg is kicking my ass tonight,” Reaper grumbled. Sledge was one of the few people who knew how much Reaper’s leg still bothered him.
“Okay, well get some ice or something on it later. For now, I found some info on the goop chute my sister was dating. Turns out Joe Stephens is actually Ratchet, as in - the founder of the Velvet Blood.”
Velvet Blood was a bunch of fucknuts that ran drugs and guns for the Mexican Cartel. Headquartered in Dallas, they carried out business for the Cartel throughout the entire southern United States. They also had their hands in human trafficking and prostitution. Last month, the Henchmen had to chase a group of their guys out of Tank’s bar. They were giving some of the waitresses shit and causing trouble.
“Damn! Man, this shit is going to get nasty,” Reaper said. The Bloods were a messy organization.
“Very,” replied Sledge. “Fuck dude, my sister couldn’t have picked a worse bastard to get mixed up with. This isn’t just going to go away. He’ll look for her, Zander,” Sledge sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“I think that’s a good possibility,” Reaper agreed.
“I know I said that he probably wouldn’t, but we know how this group operates. That asshole isn’t going to let her go without a fight. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me he was a fuckin’ drug dealer!” Sledge fumed. He stood up and started to pace the room. With each step, Reaper could see him getting angrier.
“Calm down Devin, maybe she didn’t know. Your sister seems to have a good head on her shoulders. Talk to her in the morning. Then we’ll call the club members in for a meeting. We have to prepare for what may come.” Both nodding their heads in agreement, Reaper stood up and headed to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long damn day.