Reaper's Fire

Tinker had to be thinking the same thing, because the expression on her face was priceless. Startled as hell, and a little disappointed. Hell, it’d be funny if I weren’t so pissed off that the asshole had been there in the first place. He brushed past me on his way out, and I stood with Tinker in the doorway, watching as he drove off in a little Toyota Corolla.

“Nice guy,” I said slowly. “Love the way he fought for you.”

That snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned on me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m sorry I hurt you at the grocery store, but there’s nothing else we need to talk about. Certainly not anything this late at night.”

I backed her inside, shutting the door behind us as she kept talking.

“In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you found some other kind of living situation.”

“Sure,” I answered, catching her shoulders and pushing her gently toward the couch. “I can move in anytime you like. Although, I gotta admit, wasn’t expecting an invite this soon.”

Fire flashed in her eyes.

“You know what I meant,” she snapped. I did, but I didn’t care because it didn’t matter. No way I’d be leaving my apartment unless it was to sleep closer to her, and if she didn’t understand that yet, that’s what I was here to clarify.

“Sit down,” I said as the backs of her knees bumped against the couch. She sat, glaring as I walked over to the windows and carefully lowered the shades. No reason to give the whole town a show.

“Gage, you have to know I can’t keep you on as a handyman,” she was saying. I walked over to the sideboard and performed the same little ritual I’d done the night before. Gun out, knife off, belt coiled. Her eyes widened as I did this, and her words came faster. “I understand that you were lying for reasons that probably make sense to you, but I can’t have someone living here who—”

“Shut up, Tinker,” I said casually, turning back toward her. Her mouth dropped, and then I saw a hint of fire in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” she asked, the words slow and deliberate. If looks could kill, I’d have been gone already.

“Shut up,” I said again, grinning at her. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew pissing her off was the last thing I should be doing, but something about it was just so much fun. “First we’re gonna talk, and then we’re gonna fuck. This time I want you to really listen to what I’m saying and consider it with an open mind. Think you can do that?”

She stared at me, blinking.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“You have no right to be here,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “And I don’t owe you a damned thing.”

“Yeah, well I’ve done a hell of a lot of work for you over the past few weeks,” I pointed out reasonably. “How much is rent on that apartment? Enough to cover all those hours? I put in that time to help you, Tinker.”

“You did it so you’d have cover.”

“No, I did it because it needed to be done,” I said bluntly. “You were in a bad spot and . . . Hell, I don’t know, Tinker. It seemed like the thing to do at the time, and seeing as I’m not some kind of charity, I obviously did it for a reason. I haven’t figured all that out yet. I do know that I want you, and I’m not the kind of guy to sit back and wait for good things to come to me. These weeks I’ve spent here have been hell. I think about you every night. I can’t remember—”

“Did you think about me while you were screwing your girlfriend?” she asked, her tone snide.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did,” I answered, and her mouth dropped. “I probably shouldn’t have copped to that, but you don’t like being lied to, so here’s reality—I do what I have to do for my club. Sometimes I won’t be able to tell you all the details, but I won’t lie to you again. You hear that? I will not lie to you again. Period. All I want is for us to start over—you think that’s workable?”

I knelt down in front of her, putting my hands on her knees. Tinker met my eyes and we looked at each other. Wished to hell I could see what she was thinking. At least she was listening.

“You’re full of shit,” she said softly.

I shook my head. “No, this time I’m really not.”

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Tell me about your motorcycle club. I’ve heard about them, and what I’ve heard isn’t good. Of course, most of that was from my ex-husband and he’s a bit of a douche, so enlighten me.”

“Were the Nighthawks around when you were growing up?” I asked. She nodded. “Things have changed since then, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “They used to be regular guys who were part of the community. Then a bunch of them got caught up all at once and went to prison, so obviously there was more going on than what we saw on the surface.”

“My club—the Reapers—are more like the original Nighthawks,” I said. “We’re part of our community. We do a lot of charitable things, we hang out together. We’re a family. A big, loud family that has a shitload of fun.”

“But you commit crimes together, too,” she replied, meeting my gaze steadily. “Brandon prosecuted a major case against a club. I’m not an idiot.”

“We’re one percenters,” I told her. “Do you know what that means?”

“Not a clue.”

“It means we don’t let the law get in the way of living our lives,” I continued. “We ride our bikes, we party. We have a hell of a good time, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep that life. For the most part it has nothing to do with the civilian world—our battles are our own, and you should know that the Reapers are the dominant club in this region. That means we have alliances with smaller clubs like the Nighthawks, but ultimately we call the shots. What the Nighthawks have been doing—harassing the community, that kind of thing—that’s what happens when a club falls out of balance. I came here to fix things. Marsh Jackson is going to prison, and so are his boys. It’s time to rebuild the club in Hallies Falls, turn it back into what it was when you were growing up.”

A sudden pounding on the door startled us, and Tinker sighed.