Reaper's Till Death (Devils Rejects MC 3)

I shake my head and get on the road.

———

Sitting on my Harley outside the bus stop I watch as the Greyhound comes to a stop. I don’t know what this chick looks like, but Hades said I’d know her when I see her. Whatever the fuck that means. I hope she hurries the hell up. Been sitting here roasting for thirty minutes. I’m tired, horny, and hungry. Not a good combination. I’m a cranky son of a bitch.

Two older women step off followed by a skeevy looking fucker with a bloody nose. As soon as he catches sight of me the fucker takes off running.

I’m tempted to chase after him for the hell of it. I’m in a raw mood and need to kick the shit out of something or someone. He’d do just fine. I start to get off my bike when a pair of yellow high heels start down the bus steps attached to tan legs, that I can’t help but gaze at and travel the rest of the way up her body. Low cut Daisy Dukes hug her hips. Her finger circles her navel ring, drawing my attention to the exposed skin. The shirt she is wearing leaves very little to the imagination as the white lace of her bra plays peek-a-boo teasing at giving me a view of her Goddamned nipples.

I suck in a breath as she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and her eyes meet mine.

A coy smirk stretches across her thick red lips and she stalks toward me. This must be Harley Black. There is no mistaking her striking resemblance to Sara, Hades’ old lady. She’s shorter, curvier, and in my opinion ten times sexier as she struts, knowing damn good and well I am liking what I see. I never much cared for the BRRMC, but one damn thing is for sure, their bitches got damn good genes.

My Prez was right, I see her and definitely know exactly how off limits and motherfuckin’ big ass trouble she has written all in her smile and hidden behind her big innocent blue eyes as she approaches me.

I cock an eyebrow at her. “Harley, I presume?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s right. You must be my handler.” Her long red fingernail pecks at my name patch on my cut. “Reaper.”

I can’t help but notice specks of blood on the toe of her shoe. “You wanna tell me what happened on the bus between you and that fucker with the bloody nose?”

She sighs, letting out a whoosh of air that smells of cinnamon when it hits my face. “Soo, I closed my eyes for like ten seconds and ol’ boy thought it was a good idea for him to help one of my shoes off my foot and proceed to suck my toe. Long story short—I kicked him with my other foot. And I may have told him there was a big mean gay biker waiting at the station who wanted nothing more than to claim his ass cherry.”

“You told him what?” I growl.

With a roll of her shoulders she brushes me off. “It’s nothing really. Unless…are you into taking men’s ass cherries?”

Ten seconds with the brat and I already want to shove my cock down her throat to shut her up. I’m not going to survive this. I’m taking her to Hades’ house and leaving her ass. He can beat me, cut off a finger. Nothing is worth this torture.

As thoughts of all the punishments Hades could dole out run through my mind, her finger goes back to playing with her navel piercing, distracting me. Nearly hypnotizing me as she continues the circular motion, stroking the silver ring adorned with a skull charm.

“You got any other bags besides your purse?”

“Nope.” She pops the P.

“Well get on, girl. I got shit to do.” Like bending her over my knee for that dumb shit she said about me.

Without a word or any help, she climbs on the back of my motorcycle easily, wrapping her arms around me, snuggly.

Her body presses into mine and my chest tightens. I shouldn’t like the way Harley feels on the back of my bike, but I instantly do.

Too damn much.

Chapter Three

—Harley—

Reaper…I remember him from the wedding, but I don’t think he remembers me. Sara told me about him fucking a clubwhore on the pool table during her wedding reception at the Roadhouse. He’s hotter than I remember. Buzzed on the sides, long on the top sandy brown hair, that’s stylish for a biker. His facial hair is clean cut. His biceps bulge out from the sleeves of his cut and sleeveless tee, covered in colorful tattoos. He doesn’t appear to be a beefy guy in build, but he still looks like a tough guy you wouldn’t want to piss off.

He’s wearing his Devils Rejects’ cut and looks dead sexy in his leather. The Devil emblem of the club is prominent on the side of his neck.

I’m tempted to trace the design but refrain from touching him any more than I have to. He is a bastard biker who probably fucks anything with legs that are willing to spread for him. I saw the way he was looking at me, and I would be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy his attention, but that is as far as we will ever go—looking.

He’s only here for me because he has to be.

I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how things work. He has been assigned to look after me. As much as my folks tried to steer me from the club life it is what I know. Kyler told me a lot of things about the inner workings of the club. Things they would never tell me themselves. I don’t hold it against them or resent them. I only want to be free to make my own choices. Kyler may not have been the guy for me or the love of my life but being with him should have been my choice.

My father said I would thank him someday. I don’t know about that. He treats me like a child who is incapable of caring for herself.