CHAPTER EIGHT
RUGER
“Huge f*ckin’ mistake,” Deke declared. He stood in the center of the Armory’s second-story game
room, surrounded by officers from almost every Reapers charter. Usually they had church downstairs,
but there wasn’t enough space for all the visiting brothers below. This group included both national
and local chapter officers, and whatever decisions they made would be binding on the whole club.
“We can’t trust them, we all know that,” Deke continued. “What kind of dumbf*ck sticks his head in a noose? We do this, we deserve everything we get.”
Picnic sighed and shook his head. Ruger leaned against the wall behind him, wondering how much longer they’d be going over the same points. He wanted this over with, because he’d been wound up tighter than hell since yesterday morning.
Sophie tied him in f*ckin’ knots.
Not even a blow job from one of the club whores had helped. She’d barely gotten his pants open when he’d started thinking about Sophie and Noah, and it was all over. Last night he’d been
surrounded by thirty of his best friends and brothers, more booze than he could drink, and free p-ssy on tap, and he was still f*ckin’ bored. All he really wanted was to go home, read Noah a bedtime
story, and then f*ck Sophie’s brains out.
Picnic shifted, the sound of his chair scraping pulling Ruger out of his thoughts.
They’d been at it for nearly two hours, and so far nobody had changed their positions on the truce.
Most of the men wanted to give it a shot. Ruger agreed. He thought the Jacks were walking, talking
bags of shit, but at least they were a known quantity. They understood the lifestyle, and all other issues aside, they were still bikers. He wasn’t ready to throw down for a Devil’s Jack, but backing off for the duration? That made sense.
Deke disagreed.
Strongly.
“Anyone else want to talk?” asked Shade. The big man with spiky blond hair and a nasty scar across
his face was the national president, a position he’d held for less than a year. Ruger didn’t know him
well, but what he’d heard was good. Shade lived in Boise, although he’d made noises about moving
farther north.
“I got somethin’ to say,” Duck announced, boosting his big body up off the couch. In his late
sixties, Duck was the oldest member in Coeur d’Alene. One of the oldest members in the entire club, actually. He wasn’t an officer, but nobody was stupid enough to tell him he couldn’t talk. Ruger knew whatever he said could be the tipping point.
“I hate the Jacks. They’re cocksuckers and a*sholes, we all know it. That’s why it hurts me so much to admit this, but I think we should give the truce a shot.”
Ruger cocked his head—hadn’t seen that coming. A Vietnam vet and fighter from day one, Duck had never been the voice of peace.
“Here’s the thing,” Duck continued. “That little prick Hunter is onto something. We’re the same
kind of men where it counts. We know what life is really about, and that’s the freedom to ride and live
on our own terms. We joined this club because we don’t give a shit about citizens and their rules. I’ve
always taken what I wanted when I wanted it, no apologies. I live free. Any laws broken along the way
are just collateral.”
Brothers around the room murmured in agreement—even Deke.
“These kids moving in, though, they’re not like us,” Duck said, looking around, pinning each man with his eyes in turn. “They’re. Not. Like. Us. They got no freedom and no reason to live, aside from making money. They wake up every morning plannin’ to break the law, which means the law rules their lives. I’m not scared to fight, you all know that, but why fight when we can let the Jacks do it for us? Live to ride, ride to live. Not just words, brothers. Anything gets in the way of living and riding is a waste of my time, and that includes fighting the cartel.”
Men all over the room voiced their approval. Deke shook his head, and Ruger knew him well
enough to realize he was pissed. He’d been beat, and Deke wasn’t used to losing. And Toke? He was practically vibrating, he was so pissed off. At least he kept his mouth shut—kid like that had no
business speaking here.
“We’re all gonna pay for this,” the Portland president said. “But we’ve hashed it out. No reason to keep talking at this point. Let’s vote and get it over with.”
“Anyone got a problem with that?” Shade asked. Ruger shot a look at Toke, concerned. Nobody spoke up. “Okay, then. All in favor?”
A chorus of “ayes” echoed around the room, which held close to forty men. “Opposed?”
Only six guys disagreed, four from Portland and two from Idaho Falls. No surprise, Toke was one of
them. That was unfortunate, Ruger thought, given Hunter’s location. Not that he gave two f*cks about
the man, but he liked him better than any other Jack he’d met. What he’d told them about the cartel
added up—it was a big problem, one they’d have to deal with sooner or later. Ruger didn’t want their
shit in his territory, and neither did his brothers. Might as well let the Jacks be their cannon fodder.
“We gonna have a problem here?” Shade asked Deke bluntly.
“They keep out of our way, we won’t have a problem,” Deke said after a pause. “Right or wrong, we’re Reapers. We stand together.”
“Gonna hold you to that, brother,” Shade replied.
“The girls have been workin’ hard, putting together food for us,” Picnic said, rising to address the
room. “Pig won’t be ready for another hour, but the kegs are tapped. Thanks to everyone for comin’ up here. We always appreciate the company. Reapers forever, forever Reapers!”
“Reapers forever, forever Reapers!” echoed through the room, rattling the windows. Toke didn’t
look happy, but Ruger knew he’d do his part. Men stood to talk, some heading downstairs to the party, others standing in clumps.
“A word?” Picnic asked Ruger before he could escape. He stopped, turning to his president. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Em’s pretty hungover this morning,” Pic said, eyes speculative. “How about your girl?” “Not my girl,” Ruger grunted. “And no idea—didn’t go home last night.”
“Really?” Pic asked, raising a brow. “That ’cause you had business here or ’cause things are f*cked
up at the house? Em seems to think they’re f*cked up. That gonna be a problem for the club?”
“Em sure talks a lot,” Ruger said, narrowing his eyes.
“Em still hasn’t figured out she can’t fool her daddy when she’s drunk,” Picnic said. “It’s useful to me. She seems to think you’re claiming this girl for your property. Says you told her she can’t talk to any other guys. What’s the story?”
“Not sure that’s any of your business,” Ruger replied, his tension growing. “Sophie knows the situation and so do I. That’s enough.”
“That’s great, so long as we don’t have any misunderstandings,” Picnic said. “If she’s yours, fine.
She’s not? Lot of guys here today, guys who aren’t usually around. You can’t explain the situation to
me, how do you plan on explainin’ it to them?”
“Won’t be a problem,” Ruger replied, his voice firm. “Made things clear to her and she knows what she needs to do.”
Picnic eyed him thoughtfully.
“Send her home,” he said. “Bring her around for a family party, start small. See how it goes. This is throwing her into the deep end and that’s gonna backfire on you.”
“Scare her off, you mean?” Ruger asked. “That might be best. I don’t know what the hell I want with her—”
“You want to f*ck her,” Picnic said bluntly. “You can tell when your dick gets hard, did you know that? Probably tough for you to understand, seeing as most of the time you’re just jacking off, but most men like to stick their cocks—”
“Shut the f*ck up,” Ruger said, wondering whether it’d be a bad move to punch out his president in front of so many witnesses. Probably. Might be worth it.
Picnic laughed.
“So you gonna send her home?” he asked. Ruger shook his head.
“I send her home, she wins,” he said. Picnic raised a brow.
“What is this, junior high? You’re the man, lay it out for her.”
Ruger took a deep breath, forcing himself to think instead of just lashing out. He needed a good fight or something, some way to blow off the tension. There’d be boxing later. That would do
it … hopefully.
“I lay it out, she wins,” he admitted finally, scowling and running a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem. She called me on my bullshit and I can’t talk my way out of it. I make her leave, it’s like I’m saying she was right about the club being dangerous and a bad influence for Noah. Not to mention making me look like a f*ckin’ p-ssy in the process, because I can’t handle having her around.”
“One, you’re a dumbass,” Picnic said. “Two, she’s right. Club is dangerous for an unclaimed woman, particularly tonight.”
“I get that,” Ruger said. “That’s why I’m gonna protect her. You got a cure for the dumbass thing? That part’s kickin’ my butt, gotta admit.”
“Nope,” Pic said, clapping a hand to Ruger’s shoulder. “But I know something that’ll make you feel better about the situation.”
“What’s that?”
“Pulled pork sandwich,” Pic replied. “Beer. Then—if you’re smart, which I’ll admit is a stretch—
you’ll take your girl somewhere and f*ck her ’til she can’t walk straight. She may win, but who gives
a damn, ’cause she’ll be suckin’ your cock for the foreseeable future. I find that works wonders.”
“You’re a f*ckin’ a*shole.”
“I get that a lot.”
SOPHIE
I wasn’t horribly hungover the next day, but I wasn’t eager to start drinking again, either. This was
probably just as well. Despite my alcohol-fueled tough talk, I really didn’t want to make trouble at the
party. I Googled the address, then drove out to the Armory early that evening, after I dropped off Noah
with Kimber. She’d ended up spending the night on my couch, waking up more than a little worse for
the wear.
I suspected she’d be in bed about five minutes after she got the kids down.
I was nervous driving out to the party. The Reapers’ clubhouse was a couple miles off the highway, toward the end of an old state road. I passed a group of four motorcycles headed for the highway,
ridden by men dressed a lot like Ruger. Tattoos, jeans, boots, and black leather jackets. Loaded
saddlebags.
They didn’t appear to be happy campers.
The building itself surprised me. I guess I hadn’t expected the Armory description to be so literal, because this was an honest-to-God converted National Guard building. Three stories tall, walls built to withstand tanks, and an enclosed courtyard with a gate big enough to drive a large truck through.
There were quite a few people there already. Lots of guys, all of them wearing their distinctive
colors. They had different states or towns on their lower patches, but the Reapers’ symbol and name were the same.
Unsurprisingly, there were lots of motorcycles, but also quite a few cars, most of which had been
parked in a gravel lot off to the side. A younger guy wearing a cut without very many patches waved
me over in that direction, so I pulled in next to a little red Honda. Four girls who’d clearly been
drinking for a while poured out. They were young, slutted up, and ready to party. Last night I’d
noticed that the club women weren’t afraid to show off their bodies—Dancer rocked a pair of jeans
and backless top in a big way—but the Reapers’ old ladies looked somehow more classy and confident
than this bunch.
Maybe it was about the attitude? I got the impression these girls were on the prowl, and that they weren’t necessarily planning to be too picky.
They ignored me entirely, giggling and taking shots of each other with their phones. I guess I didn’t
rate their attention, which was both depressing and a bit of a relief. Not that I cared how I looked—I’d
gone with a basic T-shirt, my standard cutoffs and a pair of flip-flops. Despite my fight with Ruger
yesterday morning (not to mention my margarita-fueled belligerence last night), I really did want to
keep things low-key.
I wasn’t sure what to expect at a Reapers party but I figured I’d be fine if I stuck with my girls.
I’d sent a text to Ruger letting him know I was coming. He’d replied with a reminder about our
conversation, which almost convinced me to change into something sluttier just to spite him. Then I pulled my head out of my ass. Ruger losing his shit was not something I wanted see, no matter how satisfying it would be to defy him.
Defy him? Christ, how old was I?
I also texted Maggs, Em, Dancer, and Marie. They said to come straight through to the back, where they were setting up the food outside. They’d asked me to stop off and buy a bunch of extra chips, so I’d hit Walmart on the way.
Now I trailed behind the slut brigade, their big hair, loud makeup, and microscopic clothing
providing plenty of cover as we walked toward the big gate in the courtyard. A couple of guys stood outside, obviously monitoring the entrance. The gaggle flirted with them and then passed on through. They probably thought I was a total hag in comparison, I realized glumly. A little lip gloss wouldn’t have killed me. Apparently giant shopping bags full of chips counted for something, though, because the men welcomed me enthusiastically enough.
Sex appeal is great, but there’s nothing quite like food to win a man’s heart.
“I’m Ruger’s almost-sister-in-law,” I told one of the guys, who nodded me on through. I followed the narrow driveway that ran along the side of the building until I reached the main courtyard out back —a broad, open space that was a mixture of parking lot and grass. Loud music blasted through giant box speakers, and evergreen-covered mountains surrounded us on all sides. It really was a gorgeous place—much nicer than I’d expected.
A good-sized group of children darted through clumps of adults and took turns playing on a giant,
clearly homemade swing set, complete with a fort at the top. There were men everywhere, far more
men than women, although another group of girls followed me. I guessed the men had been there
earlier and now the rest of the guests were arriving?
Ruger was nowhere to be seen. I spotted a row of long folding tables near the back wall of the
building covered with a mismatched series of tablecloths. Off to one side stood a black-barreled BBQ
smoker almost as big as my car, mounted on a trailer. Smoke drifted out and the scent of roasting pig
filled the air.
“Sophie!” Marie called, waving me over toward one of the tables. I moved quickly toward her,
trying not to stare at anyone, but it was hard. The guys were almost all at least a little scary-looking. I mean, some of them were regular enough, I guess, but somehow rougher. They had tanned skin and a disproportionate number of beards. Others were less normal-looking. I saw a lot of tattoos and
piercings, and very few shirts, although they all seemed to be wearing their leather vests. All of them were Reapers and most seemed to be in a pretty good mood.
I also noticed a few of the little boys wearing their own tiny vests. Not real ones, but play ones
clearly meant to copy their daddies’. Shit. Knowing my luck, Noah would be begging for one of those if he saw them. Good thing I hadn’t brought him along.
“Want some help with the bags?” a man asked. I opened my mouth to refuse, then looked up and
realized it was Horse. I smiled, relieved to recognize someone besides just the girls I’d met last night.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “I met Marie. She’s great.”
“No shit,” he replied, offering me a movie-star grin. Damn, but he was beautiful. “Worth every penny I paid for her.”
That caught me short. I stopped, wondering if he could possibly be serious. He didn’t look like he was joking.
“You coming?” he asked, glancing back at me. I pulled myself together and started walking again.
What the hell had he meant by that?
“Sophie!” Em called, spotting me from behind one of the tables. She darted forward and gave me a
big hug.
“I’m so glad we’re going out next weekend,” she whispered in my ear. “I talked to Liam this
morning about meeting in real life, and he’s all over it. Thank you so much!”
“That’s fantastic!” I replied, pulling back to look at her. She was so pretty this afternoon, the
excitement in her eyes bright and shining. “Just remember, we’re going to stay safe. Don’t tell him
where you live or anything. We’ll check him out, and if he’s a creeper, we’ll ditch his ass.”
Em laughed.
“Actually, telling him my address would be perfectly safe,” she answered. “Remember who I live with? Our house is a fortress. Which reminds me, I want to introduce you to my dad.”
She took my hand and pulled me across the courtyard to the giant black BBQ. Several men stood
around it drinking from red plastic cups. They turned as we walked up, openly checking me out. Clearly, subtlety wasn’t a highly valued trait here at the Armory.
“This is my dad, Picnic,” Em said, stepping forward to wrap her arm around the one standing
closest to us. He pulled her close, offering her an indulgent smile. He was tall and fairly well-built. He shared her piercing light blue eyes and his hair was a couple months overdue for a trim. I could tell he was older by the faint lines around his eyes, but his hair held only a hint of gray at the temples. And his body? Nice. Em’s dad was hot for an old guy.
Not that I’d tell her that—who wants to hear that their dad’s hot?
The most compelling thing about Picnic, though, was his air of command, mixed with just a hint of menace. I would’ve known he was club president even without the patch on his cut to tell me.
No wonder guys were scared to ask her out.
“Dad, this is Sophie,” Em continued. “She’s Ruger’s … Um, what are you, anyway?”
“I’m sort of his stepsister-in-law,” I said, smiling awkwardly. “His stepbrother, Zach, is my son’s
father.”
“He mentioned you were back in town,” Picnic said. His face gave away nothing, and I couldn’t tell if he was happy to meet me or annoyed I’d crashed their party.
“This is Slide and Gage,” Em continued, nodding toward the other men.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. Slide was a short, middle-aged guy with a bit of a gut and a beard that wasn’t totally white, but close. He didn’t actually look old enough for such white hair, so maybe he was just one of those guys whose hair changes early? He had a real Santa vibe going for him. Well, if Santa wore ripped jeans and carried a giant knife on his belt.
Gage was another hottie. He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black, and his skin held just
enough color to make me think his ancestors hadn’t all been of the milky-white variety. Latino or
Indian, most likely. Because sometimes God is generous and kind, Gage wasn’t wearing a shirt,
offering me glimpses of his bare chest, which was every bit as ripped as Ruger’s. He had fewer
tattoos, though. His cut had a little patch under his name that said “Sgt. at Arms,” which surprised me. I guess I hadn’t expected bikers to have so many officers and such. It just seemed so … organized?
Not only that, they obviously had to pass some sort of minimum hotness test to join up.
“You Ruger’s woman?” he asked, breaking the spell I’d fallen into. I blushed, hoping my pervy
thoughts weren’t totally written all over my face. The smirk on his face wasn’t comforting.
“Um, no,” I said, glancing over at Em. She grinned. “But he’s letting us stay in his basement. I have
a seven-year-old. Our old place in Seattle wasn’t working out.”
That was the understatement of the year, for sure.
“Where’s the kid?” he asked, glancing around.
“He’s with a sitter,” I said. “This is my first club event, and I sort of wanted to check things out for myself before dragging him along.”
Picnic raised a brow, and I realized I’d probably just insulted them. Great.
“Also, I hear the parties go pretty late,” I added quickly. “I didn’t want to have to leave just when things were getting fun. A friend offered to watch him, so here I am.”
Em grinned at me and I gave a sigh of relief. Okay, apparently my quick save had actually worked.
“Well, you get bored, come and see me,” Gage said, offering a slow smile. “I’d be happy to show
you around, maybe even take you for a ride later.”
“Um, thanks,” I replied, Ruger’s warning ringing through my head. Gage was cute, but despite the fact that I didn’t acknowledge Ruger’s right to give orders, I also didn’t want to get into a huge fight with him. “Nice to meet you all. I’m gonna go find Marie and Dancer now. I want to make sure they don’t need any help setting things up or something.”
“I’ll come with,” Em said, popping up on her toes to give Picnic a quick kiss on the cheek. For all
her whining about him, she obviously adored the man. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Even before they’d
kicked me out, my parents were never the kind of people you’d just casually walk up to and kiss.
Nope, not in the Williams household. I’d been devastated when they said they’d have nothing to do
with a daughter who was a whore, let alone her bastard. Now I realized I was way better off without
them. Noah’s circle might be small, but everyone in it loved him unconditionally, and they weren’t
afraid to show it.
My parents didn’t deserve to meet their grandson.
We found Dancer, Marie, and Maggs arranging a mountain of food on the tables, laughing and smacking hands playfully as guys tried to steal bites before it was ready.
“Thanks for picking up the chips,” Maggs said. I noticed all three women wore black leather vests. “I thought you said only guys could be club members?” I asked, nodding toward them.
“Oh, these aren’t club cuts,” Dancer said. “Check it out.”
She turned around and I saw a patch on the back that said “Property of Bam Bam,” along with a
Reapers symbol. My eyes widened.
“I didn’t realize the property thing was so … literal …”
“The guys have their colors and we have ours,” Maggs said. “Civilians don’t get it, but all the
patches mean something. The guys fly their colors because they’re proud of the club, but their cuts tell stories, too. You can learn a lot about the guy by the patches he wears. It’s like a language or
something. Everyone knows where everyone else stands.”
“The great thing about a property patch is that you’re totally covered,” Dancer added. “There’s not a man here who’s gonna touch me, no matter how drunk or stupid he gets by the end of the night. Not
that I’m too worried here at our own clubhouse, but we go on runs where there are hundreds of riders, even thousands. Everyone who knows a damned thing about the MC world takes one look at this and
they know not to f*ck with me.”
“Yeah,” Em said. “You f*ck with one Reaper’s property, you better be ready to take down every guy in the club.”
“Huh,” I said, trying to sound noncommittal. I liked the idea of protection as much as anyone, but
there was something very uncomfortable to me about a woman choosing to call herself property.
Shades of Zach and how possessive he was, maybe. But Maggs and the others didn’t seem too terribly
oppressed, either.
I glanced around, taking in how many women were starting to fill the courtyard. Only a handful wore property patches.
“What about the rest of them?” I asked. Em shrugged.
“They’re not important,” she said bluntly. “Some of them are sweetbutts and club whores, which means they’re around a lot—the guys share them. Some are just random girls looking for a walk on the wild side. But none of them really count, not compared to us. They’re all fair game.”
“Fair game?”
“Free p-ssy,” Maggs said, her voice matter-of-fact. “They’re just here to party, and if we’re lucky, they’ll help clean up. They give anyone shit, their asses are out the door. Good news is, they know their place. Half these girls work at The Line anyway.”
“What about me?” I asked, unnerved. “I don’t have a patch.”
“That’s why you’ll stick with us,” Dancer said, her voice serious. “Despite his general dickitude,
Ruger’s right about one thing. You really don’t want to f*ck around with the brothers. Don’t flirt if
you aren’t interested in following through. And for f*ck’s sake, don’t go off alone or into the Armory
with anyone, particularly upstairs. There’s some wild shit that happens up there. You don’t want to be
part of it, trust me.”
“Jesus, you’re gonna scare her,” Em said, frowning. “Look at it this way—would you go to any
party or bar without taking some basic safety precautions? Only take drinks you’ve poured yourself, or ones that we’ve given you. You ever been to a frat party? Think of it that way. Dad, Horse, Ruger, and Bam Bam are safe. Don’t go off with someone you don’t know, though. Stay in public areas. Use
common sense and you’ll be fine.”
Oookay.
“Hey, the good news is I saw Buck earlier,” Em added. “He manages The Line. I’ll introduce you at some point, you can ask him about waitressing. I’m definitely not on board with you stripping, but waitressing could be a pretty good gig.”
“Would you work there?” I asked her. Em burst out laughing, joined by Maggs and Dancer.
“My dad would kill me before he let me work at The Line,” she said when she finally caught her
breath again. “Or maybe his head would just explode? He’s still trying to convince me I shouldn’t
work at all. He’d love it if I just stayed home and kept house for him, maybe did some charity work on the side. He hasn’t decided to join us in this century quite yet.”
I thought about the tall, stern man I’d just met and had to smile. I could totally see him being
overprotective like that.
“Doesn’t he want grandkids some day?” I asked. “There’s a middle step, you know.” “I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead,” Em replied with a giggle.
The whistle of a firework shooting off cut through everything, and we all looked up to watch an explosion of red, white, and blue above the courtyard.
“Isn’t that illegal?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dancer told me. “We’re so far out nobody gives a shit. And if they did, they’d just call the sheriff’s department, and we’ve got a good relationship with him.”
“The Reapers get along with the cops?” I asked, stunned.
“Not all of them,” Dancer said. “But the sheriff is a pretty good guy. What a lot of people don’t
realize is that there’s always gangs trying to move into the area. The sheriff can’t begin to keep up
with them. Even if he knows about them, he can’t do shit without evidence. The Reapers help keep
some of those problems under control, in our own special way. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, no question. City cops are a different story, though. They hate us.”
Another rocket shot up, this one exploding with a mighty flash and a bang. It wasn’t dark yet, but the light was fading enough for it to mess with my vision. When I stopped blinking from the bright light, I saw Ruger watching me from across the courtyard.
“There he is,” I muttered to Maggs. “I haven’t seen him since we had our little blowup. You think I should go over?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Gotta face him sooner or later. Remember what we talked about—you lay it out, and if he won’t play, leave. You’ve got choices. Always.”