Reapers MC: Devil's Game Part 45

"Maybe I should leave the club, Em. We can pull free of all this."

She stilled. Some women wouldn't get what I'd just offered, but Em was a child of the Reapers. She knew. Then I felt her body relax and her hands came up and covered mine where they lay across her belly.

"But would letting him use me really be that bad, if it's for peace?" she asked softly. "My club doesn't want to hurt me, and if I'm helping you create neutral ground, that'll make me even more valuable to yours. Isn't that about as safe as we get in this life? This could be good for all of us, Liam."

Something in me unclenched, and I felt such incredible relief I could hardly stand. I loved my club so much ... it was just that I loved Em more.

"Are you sure?" I asked her. Em tugged away from me and turned in my arms, looking up as she cupped my face between her hands. Her eyes met mine and she held my gaze, her expression utterly serious.

"I'm sure," she said. "There are things I don't like about your club, but they also helped make you who you are. They're your family, and now they're my family, too. I'm not a civilian and I didn't fall in love with a stockbroker. I fell in love with a Devil's Jack. I know what it means to wear a cut."

Then she gave me that same beautiful, goofy smile that'd made me fall in love with her in an instant so many months ago in that parking lot. f.u.c.kin' punch to the gut. Every. Time.

"Now do you want to move in with me?" she asked lightly. "Maybe create a little safe patch of peace here in Portland? The house has potential-I could be happy living here. But only with you. Skid and the boys can come visit, but they have to keep their own place. I don't want to live in a frat house."

"Easy call," I said, wondering what the f.u.c.k I'd done to get this lucky. "He doesn't smell nice like you."

"Well, I guess if smell is the criteria, I probably do win," she said, leaning forward, arms tightening around my waist. I could hold her like this forever. "I like the idea of keeping the peace. And we're practically living together already. I guess if things get bad, I could always go back to Cookie's house."

I clenched up again.

"No," I said firmly. "If things get bad, you'll stay right here with me and we'll work through it."

"Okay," she whispered, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear. Then she popped up on her toes and kissed me gently. "Want to get started right now?"

"Started on what?"

"Working through things. Because I think you need some clarification on the whole lying issue ..."

I froze. What had I done now? I searched my memory, wondering if I'd lied without even noticing? f.u.c.k.

"I know I said to only tell me the truth," she whispered. "But for future reference, when a woman asks a man if something makes her look fat, the answer is always no. Always. Think you can remember that?"

Oh, thank Christ.

"You're f.u.c.ked up."

"But can you remember it?"

"Yeah," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Then I guess I'll move in with you. But I'm serious about Skid. He has to stay at the other house with the guys."

"That's fine, so long as your dad stays at the clubhouse when he comes to visit."

"No problem," she said, giggling. She squeezed me tighter. "Love you, babe."

"I love you, too."

It wasn't a lie.

JANUARY.

COEUR D'ALENE, IDAHO

PICNIC.

"Pic, check this out."

Picnic glanced up from his desk toward Gage. The club's enforcer sat in front of four screens streaming security footage.

"What?"

"New cleaning b.i.t.c.h," Gage said. "Marie's out, says she can't handle it and her homework. n.o.body else is available, so Bolt hired a civilian. She runs a service or something, got a good rep."

"And I should care because?"

"Look at her a.s.s, then rethink the question."

Picnic pushed up slowly and walked around his cluttered works.p.a.ce in the p.a.w.n shop office. He'd spent the last hour trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l he'd done with the ticket for the red and gold Harley out back in the yard. Some dumba.s.s rich kid had p.a.w.ned it, probably to buy pot or something equally stupid. He'd had his eye on it ever since. Spoiled little s.h.i.t had defaulted that morning.

Gage leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach.

"Nice, hmm?"

Pic leaned forward and took her in, then gave a low whistle.

"She know there's a camera on her?"

"Probably not," Gage replied, smirking. "They're not hidden, but they don't jump out at you, either."

The new cleaner was down on her hands and knees, a.s.s pointing toward the camera mounted in the corner. And what an a.s.s it was ... Her faded jeans had ridden down, exposing the very top of her rear. No crack, but d.a.m.ned close. It was shaped like a heart, nice and bouncy and curved exactly how he liked 'em.

She leaned forward a little more, and he realized she was using a knife to sc.r.a.pe something up off the floor, under the overhanging lip of the display cabinet. She wiggled again and Pic shifted, reaching down to adjust his pants. f.u.c.k that was hot.

"Her face as pretty as her a.s.s?"

"Yeah," Gage said, leaning forward to fiddle with the controls. The camera zoomed in on her crotch as she spread her legs slightly. Pic bit back a groan.

"This her first night?"

"Yup."

"Anyone tap that yet?"

"Nope."

"No f.u.c.kin' the help allowed. Make sure it's known."

Gage glanced up at him and smirked.

"Since when is that a rule? You've slept with half the girls at The Line. h.e.l.l, you took one home last night."

Pic grunted, eyes glued to the screen. "New dancers are easy to find. A good cleaner isn't."

Gage shook his head, then zoomed back out. The cleaner stood up, stretching her arms high over her head. She turned and said something to another woman working across the showroom. The reply made her smile and Picnic caught his breath. d.a.m.n, she was stunning, despite the fact that her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her jeans and sweatshirt had seen better days. Thick, dark eyelashes. Deep brown eyes that sparkled. Big, pouty lips.

Lips that belonged around his c.o.c.k.

Then she pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a blue spaghetti-strap tank top. It showed off her t.i.ts just right-good size, and he'd bet his life the nipples hiding underneath would fit his mouth perfectly. Tossing the sweatshirt lightly on the counter, she leaned over, grabbed a spray bottle of blue window cleaner, and started attacking the display case.

"Jesus, I wanna f.u.c.k those t.i.ts," Gage muttered. "You sure she's off-limits?"

Pic growled. "Yeah. I'm sure. Anyone who touches her will answer to me. D'you think she's puttin' on a show for us? I don't need that kind of trouble."

"No idea," Gage replied. "She's missed her calling. b.i.t.c.h should be doin' p.o.r.n."

Couldn't argue with that.

"Fire her," he said suddenly. "Find someone else."

"We've had the prospects cleaning for a week now. We need them on other things, and I guess Bolt had a h.e.l.l of a time finding her in the first place."

She stood, then leaned back against the counter, c.o.c.king her head as she said something to her co-worker. The fact that the counter was the perfect height to shove her down and f.u.c.k her on didn't escape his notice.

"We got a file on her?"

Gage leaned over and opened a drawer, pulling out a folder. Pic flipped it open. Not much there. London Armstrong, owner of London's Cleaning Service. Thirty-eight years old, which surprised him. She looked younger. A lot younger. Not that the security cam had the best resolution, but still ... She'd been in business six years, solid reputation. Total civilian. And she might be single, but she had custody of a kid-some high school girl. Not hers. A cousin.

s.h.i.t.

London didn't sound like the kind of woman who'd be down for a one-night stand. Nope, despite her s.e.xy little dance, she had a clean, wholesome look, which killed him, because he didn't do clean. He liked his girls filthy dirty and without strings ... not to mention young enough to follow his orders without too many questions. Women her age were old enough to know better.

"Tell Bolt to find someone else ASAP," he muttered. "And until then, hands off. I'm serious."

Gage laughed.

"Just f.u.c.k her and get it over with. It's obvious you want to."

"Eat s.h.i.t," Pic muttered, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin, because Gage was right. He did want to f.u.c.k her.

He wanted to f.u.c.k her a lot.

Author's Note.

Devil's Game covers some of the same time period and events in Reaper's Legacy, but if you've read other books in the series you'll note that this book is slightly different in tone. I've had several people ask me why, and the only explanation I can offer is that the characters are younger and this is how their story played out. In many ways this is a New Adult book, and the structure reflects that.

A note on motorcycle club culture: One of the most common questions I hear from readers is, "How real is the Reapers MC?" It's difficult to answer because my books are romantic fantasies, and aren't intended to delve into the inner workings of a club or explore the ethical implications of club life. They're meant to entertain, and have been sensationalized to make that happen.

Having said that, as a former journalist, I started the series determined to make it as realistic as possible in terms of culture and language. To that end, Devil's Game has been reviewed for accuracy by a woman currently attached to an outlaw club, and the club details are relatively true to life (with a few minor exceptions, where I allowed myself some artistic license). MC culture is diverse and the lives of women living in clubs are relatively undoc.u.mented. It has been my privilege to get to know many of these women through my research, and I have come to believe that stereotypes about their existence are often inaccurate and even damaging. Their input on this story has been extremely valuable, and I am deeply appreciative of their ongoing support.

Acknowledgments.

I live in terror of leaving out someone important at the beginning of every book, because so many people have worked together to make Devil's Game possible. Special thanks to Cindy Hw.a.n.g, my editor, and Amy Tannenbaum, my agent, for all your ongoing support. I am also very appreciative of the entire team at Berkley, especially Jessica Brock, who has worked so hard to help me achieve success.

I want to thank my writing friends and beta readers, who give me daily encouragement. These include Kylie Scott, Kim Jones, Renee Carlino, Kim Karr, Katy Evans, Kristin Ashley, Cara Carnes, Raelene, Sali, Hang, and Lori. You ladies are amazing.

Without the support of reading groups, bloggers and super readers (you know who you are), no author would ever reach her audience. I love you Maryse, Jenny, Gitte, Lisa, Giselle, the ladies of the Triple M, the ladies of Kristen Ashley Anonymous, and all the incredible women in my Junkies group. I also want to give a special shout-out to the girls I originally met on Maryse's Facebook page-I'm so honored to have your support as I've built my writing career. I hope you know how much I treasure you in my life!

Finally, I need to thank my family for their endless support. My husband, my kids, my parents, and my brother kick a.s.s. I love you guys so much!

THE BEGINNING.

ISBN: 978-1-405-91728-5.