Page 7 of Reaper's Justice


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"No one will come in here," he says, his voice hardening. "You're under my protection. That means something in this club."

"Until when?"

"Until you don't need it anymore."

The door closes behind him. The bed looks impossibly inviting, but I can't bring myself to sleep there, in his space, surrounded by his scent. Instead, I take a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and make a nest in the corner of the room, back against the wall where I can see both the door and the window.

Old habits from the captivity. Always face the entrance. Always be ready.

As exhaustion pulls me under, one thought circles in my mind: I've escaped one monster's den only to find myself in another's.The difference is that this monster has gray eyes that sometimes look almost human when he thinks I'm not watching.

And that makes him infinitely more dangerous.

Chapter 3 - Reaper

I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and down it in one burning swallow. It doesn't help. Nothing will, not with her scent still clinging to my skin from the ride. Evelyn. Even her name feels different in my mouth.

Ghost watches me from across the bar, his face neutral. "You okay, boss?"

"Fine."

"Right." He nods toward the hallway leading to my quarters. "So, we're harboring trafficking victims now?"

"We're getting information," I correct him, though we both know it's more than that. "Those Vultures MC are moving into our territory. Using Pine Haven as a pipeline."

"And the girl staying in your room? That's just for information too?"

I fix him with a hard stare. "Watch yourself, brother."

Ghost raises his hands in surrender. "Just asking what everyone's going to be wondering."

"She's off-limits. So is this conversation." I check my watch. "How long has Blade been with our guest?"

"About forty minutes." Ghost refills my glass without being asked. "Viper's with him."

I nod, leaving the second drink untouched. I need a clear head. "I'm going to check on them. Keep an eye on things here."

"Always do."

The night air is crisp as I cross the compound to the weathered shed we use for storage, and occasionally, for conversationsthat require privacy. Two prospects stand guard outside, straightening when they see me approach.

"Anyone come by?" I ask.

"No, sir," the younger one responds. "Just you."

I nod. "Keep it that way."

The interior of the shed is dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. The air smells of blood, sweat, and fear. Blade stands over our prisoner, who's zip-tied to a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor. Viper leans against the far wall, cleaning his fingernails with a knife.

"How's our guest?" I ask, closing the door behind me.

Blade turns, a grim smile on his face. Blood spatters his knuckles and shirt. "Stubborn. But getting more chatty by the minute."

The biker spits blood onto the floor. His face is a mess. One eye swollen shut, lip split in multiple places. But his uncovered eye holds nothing but defiance.

"You dead men," he slurs through broken teeth. "You don’t know who you fuck with."

I approach slowly, pulling up a folding chair to sit directly in front of him. "That's where you're wrong. I know exactly who we're fucking with. The Vultures MC. Moving west from Chicago, using small towns as distribution points for your human merchandise."