Reaper
I’ve barely planted my ass on the seat of my Harley the next morning when the cop car pulls up across the end of my driveway, lights whirling. I narrow my eyes and watch as that douchebag Belanger folds himself out of the vehicle and sets off in my direction, his hand on the butt of his weapon.
“Please turn off the engine, Mr. Landry,” he shouts over the sound of the idling motorcycle.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck now? I reach up and turn the key, the air around us plunging into silence. “Was I speeding, Officer?” I ask with a sarcastic smirk.
He lets out a humourless chuckle and stands with his feet apart, hand still on his piece. “No, not speeding. I just have a few questions for you on this fine morning.” His own smirk is vicious and full of loathing. Such a prick. “I couldn’t help but notice that you disappeared for a while. You go on a little vacation?”
So that’s what this is about. I shrug. “You could say that.”
“What do you say?”
“I say wherever I go is none of your goddamn business.”
He cocks a brow. “Well, I say it is. We’re in the middle of an investigation, Landry. You disappearing in the middle of it seems awfully suspicious.”
I scoff. “Your investigation is a fuckin’ joke and you know it. I have no reason to answer to you, and I don’t intend to either, so if you don’t mind, get your piece of shit car out of my way so I can get to work.”
“Is that what you biker trash call it now? Work?” He chuckles softly. “That’s a new one.” My jaw hardens, and I have to remind myself that it wouldn’t do me any good to pound this fuck into the ground, even if it would be mentally rewarding. “You go,” he says. “Go to work. I’ll be seeing you, though, Landry. I’ll be seeing everything.”
He turns and walks back toward his car, and I know he’s planning on following me. The nice thing about a motorcycle is, roads and driveways aren’t always necessary. Before he even makes it off the paved drive to his car, I gun the engine and zoom by him, hitting the street on a skid and taking off down the quiet residential road.
I see Belanger through the rearview mirror, running to his car. Stupid fucker. Catch me now. He hasn’t even gotten into the driver’s seat before I turn and am out of sight.
Cam had nothing of use to us last night when I’d called, which is surprising because if you have any skeletons in your closet, Cam will find them. How can this dirty cop be so fucking clean? It doesn’t make sense. None of this shit makes sense.
I pull down a side street, then make another turn. I know I’ve lost him when he goes zooming by two blocks down, the cherry red of his brake lights never coming on. What a douche.
I make my way to the clubhouse, keeping a constant eye on the road behind me, watching for a tail, but it never comes. But when I get to base, there he is, calm, cool and confident, arms folded, ass resting against the hood of his car. He gives me a two-finger salute as I pass. I return the salute using only one.
Ryker meets me outside the building as I park my motorcycle in the long line of rides, his eyes narrowed on Belanger out on the street. “You have a visitor,” he says, tearing his gaze from the cop and pointing at a man in a suit, leaning against the brick wall on the other side of the lot. He looks uncomfortable and out of place amongst the grease covered and tattooed bikers coming and going from the garage part of the compound.
“Who the fuck’s that?”
Ryker chuckles. “Let’s just say you have a common enemy.”
I turn and walk toward the man, still not able to place his face as it becomes clearer. He pushes away from his place on the wall and walks toward me, his hand extended. “Lucas Landry? Michael Lancaster.”
I grip his hand, giving it a firm shake, but I don’t say anything. I have no clue what this man wants with me. As far as I’m concerned, as soon as Sharon’s estate is settled, Laurie Welland is ancient fucking history. Unfortunately, as the executor of her will, I at least have to do that much, but luckily, Sharon’s lawyer deals with her on my behalf.
He glances around at the others, then back to me. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.” I just nod and watch as he shifts uncomfortably. “I just wanted you to know that Laurie had her baby.”
Jesus. “You think I give a fuck about that bitch?” Anger boils up from deep within my belly. Anger at Laurie, and anger at this fuck for bringing her back into my mind at all. I’d gone at least two weeks without thinking of her, and here he is to remind me.
“I think you did once,” he says quietly. “And I thought you’d like to know. I also thought you’d like to know why I kicked her out in the state she was in.”
“That’s your story, man. I don’t need to hear it.” I turn to walk away.
“She lied to me,” he blurts out, and I freeze. “She lied about everything. She lied about loving me. She lied about you and she lied about her family. She told me her parents were terrible people. She told me you had beaten her and she barely escaped with her life. She told me she wanted to marry me because she loved me, and then I caught her fucking my gardener in my bed.”
“Christ,” I mutter, turning back to the other man Laurie had fucked over. “You know for sure it’s not your baby?”
He nods. “I do. We had a preterm paternity test done, and if that didn’t prove it, the fact that the baby came out with dark skin certainly did. I don’t know whose baby that is, but it certainly isn’t mine.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He sighs and shrugs with a sad smile on his face. “I guess I just wanted you to know I get it, you know? She sucks you in with her gorgeous smile and her sweet words, but the woman is a black widow in disguise. She’s selfish and vain, and she doesn’t ever care who she hurts in the process of getting what she wants.”
His words wash over me and give me the most unexpected sense of peace. I guess part of me had always wondered what I’d done wrong, why Laurie couldn’t love me like I’d loved her. Why she’d hated me so much that she killed my unborn child. But it wasn’t me. It was her. All along, it was her.
Anna
“Okay, Anna, this is going to be a little cold.” The ultrasound technician squirts the blue gel onto my skin and she’s right, it is cold, but I have to pee so bad, I just want to get on with the show.
It’s insane the amount of water they instruct you to drink before an ultrasound. My already overactive bladder has been screaming at me for the last thirty minutes, and mostly, that’s all I can think about. That is, until she puts the little handheld wand onto my belly and moves it around a bit.
It only takes her a minute to find it, but when the image of my growing baby appears on the screen, all thoughts of washrooms and running water disappears. All I have room for is that tiny little peanut shape and the flickering of its fluttering heartbeat.
“There it is,” she says with a smile, doing lots of clicking and notations on the screen in front of her.
She continues to do her thing, taking measurements and entering the information she sees, but I don’t pay any attention to her. I stare at that baby. My baby. Mine and Reaper’s baby. I’d been scared when I first realized I was pregnant, but now, looking at the strong and steady beat of its tiny heart, my fear is gone. All I feel is love. Love and determination. I’m going to be a mother.
“All done,” she says as she wipes the goo from my stomach. When she’s finished, she takes my hand and helps me to sit up. “You can go ahead and get dressed. We’ll send these over to your doctor for you. And this,” she holds out a small square of paper to me, “is for you.” I take it from her and stare down at the image she’d captured of my little peanut. “Congratulations.”
She takes her leave so I can get dressed, but I stare at the picture for a moment. I’ve fucked up so many goddamn things in my life. Hell, I’ve fucked up more things than I’ve gotten right. But this, being a mother, I’m not going to fuck it up. I’m going to be the best mother any baby has ever had.
It only takes me a few minutes to get myself dressed, finally use the washroom and leave the office. Nobody’s waiting for me in the waiting room. Nobody knows I’m here. As I leave the building, passing expectant fathers sitting beside their wives and girlfriends, my gut twists.
It’s been two weeks since Reaper came home, and still he hasn’t called, texted, or even stopped by Ryker’s like he used to. He’s been avoiding me, and normally, that would hurt, but at this point, it just pisses me off. I didn’t do anything to deserve this silent treatment. I’m not the one that hurt him. Laurie’s the one who did that, but somehow, he’s lumped me in with her and now, holding this picture of our unborn child, I’m ready to kick some giant biker ass.
It takes me twenty minutes to drive to the clubhouse. When I get there, I see the long lineup of motorcycles, and I’m able to pick out Reaper’s immediately. There won’t be any avoiding me today.
Marching into the clubhouse, I nod and wave at a few of the brothers. Only a few of them wave back. I may be under the protection of the Kings of Korruption, but I don’t have any friends here.
Ryker is standing at the bar, talking to another one of the brothers. When he sees me, his jaw flexes. “This isn’t a good time, Anna,” he says, walking toward me.
“Where’s Reaper?”
“Like I said, now’s not a good time.” Ryker comes to stand in front of me and folds his arms across his chest.
“Now’s the time I have,” I say, folding my own arms across my chest, glaring at him. “Where is he?”
Ryker sighs, his arms dropping. “It’s your funeral, woman. He’s in the back, workin’ on the security system.” He points a finger down a long hallway. “Third door on the right.”
I push past him, my head focused, but my heart thrumming in my chest so hard, I fear it’ll burst from my chest. The door he’d directed me to is ajar as I approach, so I push it open with my fingertips.
“Reaper?” As the door opens completely, I see him, frozen in his task, eyes trained on me. He doesn’t say a word. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
He tears his gaze from me and goes back to what he was doing. “Not a good time.”
“So I hear.” I step inside and close the door behind me. “I really need to talk to you.”
He keeps working, but I can tell he’s not paying attention to me at all. “Then talk,” he says, his tone distracted.
“Can you look at me?”
A loud bang rings through the enclosed room as he slams down the pliers he’d been using and spins to face me. “What the fuck do you need to talk to me about? Bitch, I haven’t talked to you in weeks. If that wasn’t a clue that whatever the fuck we had was over, then I don’t know what I could have done to make it more clear. Now get the fuck out of here so I can get my shit done.”
He turns back to his work. I stand there, immobilized by the anger and hatred in his tone. Hot tears fill my wide eyes and spill down my cheeks, and I hate those tears. At the moment, I even hate him.
“Fuck you,” I say, my voice quivering with emotion. “You can be a hateful, lonely bastard all you want. That’s your problem. I have my own problems that I fight like hell to get through every damn day. But you, you’re broken, Lucas Landry. I get that. Hell, we’re all a little broken. But I’ve been there for you. I didn’t do one thing to hurt you. I came here to tell you something, and then I’ll go, but you will never talk to me that way again.”
His shoulders are dropped, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. “Tell me,” he growls.
“I’m pregnant.” The words cut through the air like knives, and it feels like the entire world stops spinning.
Reaper doesn’t turn to look at me. “You trying to say it’s mine?”
He might as well have punched me in the gut. All the air is knocked from my lungs at his question, and words fail me. I need to get out of here. But first, I reach into my purse and pull out the ultrasound picture. “I’m eight weeks today. Congratulations,” I whisper, laying it on the counter beside him. And then I get the hell out of there.