Reaper's Fall

“Gotcha, brother.”

• • •

Talia’s friend—a brown-haired girl named Sadie—was wrapped tight around me, squealing as we tore down the highway. Her fingernails were long and red like talons, and they were currently digging deep into my stomach. For reasons completely beyond me she seemed to think this was sexy.

Gage was ahead of us, leading the way to the Nighthawk Raiders’ clubhouse, Talia on the back of his bike. The girls were already wasted when we’d pulled up to their place. Sadie had done her best to crawl inside my pants while Gage disappeared into the bathroom with Talia for a quickie. I could hear her screaming “Harder, Daddy!” through the door the whole time, so I guess it was good we sent Gage after her instead of me—according to Sadie, Talia thought “old guys” were hot.

I had every intention of sharing that little tidbit with all the brothers back home, too.

Now we’d reached the Nighthawk clubhouse, an old commercial building on the northern edge of town. A chain-link fence lined with razor wire surrounded a large, open parking lot to one side of the building.

We parked our bikes on the street, away from the line of club bikes in front of the building. A couple of prospects were lurking around outside. They didn’t particularly impress me. Neither did the club’s motorcycles, for that matter. Most of them were dirty and a couple were flat-out rat bikes. Back home, our prospects would be all over that shit, shining up the chrome and making sure everything stayed clean.

No fuckin’ pride.

Loud music poured out as we walked toward the large rolling gate into the fenced area. Talia dragged Gage along proudly, like a cat with a particularly juicy mouse. Sadie was giggling and hanging all over me. Much as I wanted to hate her, she didn’t strike me as nasty like Talia—just young and fucking stupid. I could already see her in a few years, all played out and broken-down. Girls like her didn’t last long in this life, not if they couldn’t find themselves a good old man.

Talia headed straight for the prospects. “Is Marsh here?”

“He’s out back.”

“This is my friend Cooper,” she said. “And his friend Levi. Keep an eye on their bikes. I find one scratch and you’ll pay, got it?”

The fuck? I could hardly believe what I’d just heard . . . No fuckin’ way she should be talking to a prospect like that—that was business for patch holders. Gage shot me a quick look, as if to say Told you so. The Nighthawk Raiders had really fallen to shit.

The prospect gave me an evil glare as he turned toward the gate, and I couldn’t blame him. We were out of line.

The party wasn’t much better. There was the usual mess of club whores, all fucked up on God knows what. A few old ladies here and there, some loud music. Kegs. The brothers were a bit of a mix—there were a couple who looked pretty solid to me, which matched what we’d heard from Pipes. Most of the others were high as shit.

No wonder they kept running short on product.

As we went to grab some beer, Talia started introducing us around. I noticed the Nighthawk brothers fell into two distinct groups. Those with newer, shinier cuts were falling all over themselves to suck up to her—at least to her face—while a slightly older group with more faded colors kept their distance. I caught a few of them staring me down, and the looks weren’t friendly. The rumors about Marsh recruiting heavily had to be true, because no way this many new members had prospected in. I wondered how the hell things had gotten this far. Something was deeply, deeply fucked in this club.

We wandered over to the keg and pumped ourselves some beer, which Sadie sucked down like her life depended on it. After a while I started swapping cups with her, letting her drink my share, too. They had a couple of fire barrels set up around the back side of the building—also fenced in—and Talia herded us toward a big man standing in the center of a group.

He had long, dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a girl under one arm and a bottle of tequila in the other. His patches identified him as the president. Marsh.

Showtime.

Talia slipped up to him, and I noted how the other girl ducked away from Marsh, making room for his sister without being told. He wrapped his arm around Talia, giving her a squeeze.

“How’s my baby girl tonight?” he asked, his voice strong and booming.

“Great,” she said, popping up on her toes to kiss his cheek. He looked closer to Gage’s age than mine, so she had to be a good ten, fifteen years younger than he was. Interesting. “You remember Cooper? We met him at the bar the other night—he’s that independent rider I was telling you about. And that’s his friend Levi.”

Marsh looked us over, nodding toward Gage.

“Good to see you again,” he said. “You find drinks?”

Gage raised his cup in salute. “Thanks for the invite. I’m new to the area, still finding my way around.”

“You’d mentioned that. What’s a long-haul trucker doing in Hallies Falls? Isn’t this a little out of the way for you?”

Gage shrugged.

“Had to get away from my bitch of an ex,” he lied smoothly. “The cunt’s tryin’ to take away my kids. She’s got a new man down in Ellensburg—figure this is close enough to go see ’em but not so close I have to see her fat ass on a daily basis. You got any kids?”

“No, but I raised this one here,” he said, smiling at Talia proudly. Huh. That explained a lot. “She’s been my little shadow her whole damned life.”