Reaper's Legacy
Page 27

“Shouldn’t we call the cops?” I asked as the screaming died down. Now I heard crying and angry shouting. “Someone’s hurt. What the hell is going on?”
“No idea what happened,” Ruger replied. “We’ll get help, no worries. But don’t call the cops. We handle things ourselves, within the club. Do what I say for once and wait for me to send someone over. Then go home and stay there. I can’t deal with this and worry about you, too.”
I nodded and he kissed me hard, then ran off toward the Armory gate. In the distance I heard bikes roar to life and then a gunshot. I slid down the wall and sat, knees drawn up tight against my chest, and did my best to obey Ruger perfectly.
Maggs came over ten minutes later. Her face was grim and she had streaks of blood on her arm. I stood and threw my arms around her, clutching her tight.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“Fucking Toke,” she muttered. “There’s some sort of club shit going down. They voted on it today, supposed to be a done deal, but Toke—he’s out of Portland—had a few too many beers and decided there should be a recount. He started fighting with Deke and pulled a goddamned knife, waving it around like a jackass.”
“Who was screaming?” I asked. I pulled away and looked down at her arm. “You’re all bloody. Who got hurt?”
Her eyes hardened.
“Em,” she said. “Cocksucker caught Em with his knife.”
Shock hit me and I felt myself sway.
“Did anyone call an ambulance?” I asked, glancing around the courtyard. Beyond the fire I saw someone sitting on the ground, surrounded by women.
“She’s fine, thank God,” Maggs said, her voice harsh and angry. “It’s not a bad cut at all. We’ve got a guy who’ll give her a few stitches, keep the whole thing off the radar.”
“What about that gunshot?”
“Pic wasn’t too happy about his baby girl getting cut,” she said, which I figured was a bit of an understatement. “Had to be him. Toke took off, right over the wall, and I’ll bet he’s setting a new land-speed record right now. If he’s smart, he won’t stop ’til he hits Mexico. Em’s a special girl, everyone loves her. Not to mention pulling on his own president. This is more than a fight—it’s club business. Toke just stepped in a giant, steaming pile of shit.”
I shivered.
“Let’s go,” Maggs said. “They want all the girls cleared out. Marie and Dancer’ll stick with Em, but the rest of us are no longer welcome. We need to stay out of the way. Hell, at this rate we’ll be posting bail … Be sure to sleep with your phone tonight.”
“You serious?” I asked, eyes wide.
“If Pic catches Toke, shit’ll get ugly,” she said. “But don’t worry—our boys are smart. They’ll keep the situation under control.”
“And the bail thing? That was a joke, right?”
“Just keep your phone close, okay?”
Holy hell.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My hands shook so hard I had trouble getting the keys into the ignition. Maggs offered to follow me home but I wanted to go by myself. I had a lot to think about and I didn’t feel like company. Clearly, Ruger and I had different definitions of what normal, appropriate behavior looked like.
For one, I felt that long-term relationships should be monogamous. He felt they should be monogamous for me and open for him. Another issue? My parties usually wound down when people ran out of food and got tired.
His occasionally ended with stabbings and high-speed chases.
And last, but certainly not least, I tended to think sex should be private. He liked rubbing his sperm on my stomach in front of his friends after branding me with hickies.
I needed to move out.
Immediately. No more messing around.
The more I thought about what had happened, the angrier I got. Em could’ve been killed. I might already have a f**king STD, seeing as I screwed the King of the Man-whores—condom-free—in a damned shed, because I’m classy like that. Oh, and what’s-his-name might’ve raped me in the darkness, just because I’d had the nerve to take out the trash when it needed emptying.
What the hell was wrong with these people?
Two hours after pulling into Ruger’s driveway, I’d nearly finished packing up our stuff. We’d only been at his house for a week, so it wasn’t exactly hard. I just threw shit into boxes and then hauled them out to my car. I could probably get it all in one trip, seeing as Noah was still at Kimber’s. I’d call her first thing in the morning and ask if she could put us up for a couple of days.
Fuck Ruger. Fuck his beautiful house and f**k the Reapers. Fuck their motorcycles, too. I hoped they all got food poisoning at one of their damned pig roasts.
I’d already finished packing my clothes, the living room, and the bathroom by the time I heard Ruger’s bike pulling into the driveway. Well, wasn’t that just craptastic … I’d planned to be gone before he got home, but if he wanted a fight, I’d give him one. I might not have my life entirely together, but I was pretty sure about one thing—parties that ended with stabbings weren’t part of the long-term plan.
Neither was being tied to a man in prison, working as a stripper, or worrying about whether or not I was safe without a goddamned brand across my back like a f**king cow.
I’d started throwing Noah’s clothes into the suitcase when Ruger’s boots thudded down the stairs. He paused in my kitchen and I heard the sound of water filling a glass. So, now it wasn’t good enough for him to put me in danger and invade my privacy? He had to get my glasses dirty, too? I threw Noah’s stuffed dragon, Puff, into the case with a disgusted thud.
Wait.
Why the f**k should I care where he got water?
I wouldn’t be here to wash the damned dishes. Wasn’t my house. The ridiculousness of the night, the horrible way the party ended, packing to move God-knew-where at three in the morning—it all hit me at once. I grabbed Puff and slid down next to the bed, laughing at my own craziness.
Why had I ever, for even a second, thought we could live in Ruger’s basement?
I laughed as Ruger walked down the hall. I laughed as he came in the room, and I kept laughing when he knelt down in front of me. I ignored the waves of frustrated anger rolling off him because I just didn’t give a damn. He reached out and caught my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. They cut through me accusingly—like he had the right to an opinion?
I stopped laughing and gave him my most evil smile.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked.
“I’m packing,” I told him, holding up the dragon for him to see. “We’re leaving. I’m not your whore and Noah’s not your son. Your club is insane and I don’t want a damned thing to do with any of you.”
“Do you remember when I said coming to the party was a bad idea?” he asked me, raising a brow.
“Yeah, I remember that,” I snapped. “But you know what would’ve really driven the point home? Mentioning that when your parties get wild, girls get stabbed … Because I’m pretty sure we didn’t cover that part. I would’ve remembered, Ruger.”
“She’ll get her justice,” he said, eyes darkening. “Toke will pay. Deke and Picnic are on it.”
“Um, hate to break it to you, but Em doesn’t need justice,” I pointed out, voice heavy with sarcasm. “She needs to not get cut with a knife in the first place. Women are finicky that way—we like not getting cut.”
“It was a horrible accident,” he said slowly. “And despite whatever crazy shit you’re imagining, it’s not something that’s ever happened before.”
“You’re telling me with a straight face that you never have fights at your clubhouse?”
“No,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “I’m telling you that they don’t usually involve innocent women. Two men want to fight, that’s their business.”
“And what about women who aren’t so innocent?” I asked. “Where do you draw the line on that one? Do you like to hit girls, Ruger? Is that okay in your stupid club?”
The air changed between us, growing cold. Oh, that got to him … A whole new level of angry rolled into the room between us, and I suddenly realized taunting him might not be such a great idea.
“Don’t talk about the club like that,” he said, face like stone. “Show respect if you want to be treated with respect. And you know what? Damned straight I’d hit a woman, if she hit me first. I’m not a knight in shining f**king armor, Sophie. What part of this don’t you get? I’ve been honest with you all along, no bullshit. And yeah, a woman who attacks a man deserves what she gets. She wants to act like a man, she can damned well fight like one.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I asked him. He shook his head.
“Not a bit. You want equality, babe? That’s equality.”
“Yeah, you’re practically a feminist,” I muttered. “Em wasn’t fighting, Ruger. She’ll have a scar the rest of her life. And how is it women have equality when it comes to taking a hit but the rest of the time they’re just some guy’s property?”
“Stop talking shit about things you don’t understand,” he growled. “‘Property’ is a term of respect. It’s part of our culture. You start judging us for that, you better start judging every woman who changes her name the day she gets married, because it’s the same damned thing.”
He stopped, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“When you’re someone’s property, you’re a woman the brothers will die to protect,” he continued, his voice softening. “They’ll die to protect your kid, too. Don’t turn that kind of loyalty into something ugly because you don’t like the words we use. Dancer, Marie, Maggs? They’re proud to be property, because they know what it means. Nobody forcing them to do anything.”
I swallowed, processing that.
“So tell me this,” I asked. “Why did Horse tell me that Marie’s ‘worth every penny he paid for her’? Because that sounded a little f**ked up, and I don’t think he was joking.”
“You’re at the clubhouse for less than a day and you’ve already heard about that?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Jesus. A little f**kin’ discretion would be nice.”
“Yup, don’t want to scare away the new girls with reality, do we?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Marie and Horse are fine, and they’re getting married next month, so I think it’s a moot point.”
“Holy shit, did he really buy her?” I asked, eyes widening. “Ruger, that’s—I don’t even have words for that!”
“Good, maybe you’ll shut up,” he said. “If you’re interested, I have an update on Em for you. You know, your friend you’re so worried about? Maybe a little more important than lecturing me about women’s rights, ya think?”
I froze, shamed. Ruger was right. I’d been more focused on fighting with him than on Em. How shitty was that?
“Yeah, I’d like to hear how she’s doing,” I said. I tossed Puff to the side and rose to my feet. He stepped forward into my space, doing that intimidation thing he was so good at. “So how is she?”
“She’s fine,” he said after a long pause. “It wasn’t much of a cut. About three inches long and not deep at all. We got a friend of the club who came by, gave her some stitches to make sure she stays all pretty when it heals. Antibiotics, just to be careful. Last I saw her, she was high as a kite on oxy and singing some kid song about kittens and mittens. Picnic’s not feelin’ quite so festive, gotta admit.”
“That’s good news,” I replied, staring at his chest blankly. He really was way too close. “I got a text from Maggs an hour ago, but I wasn’t sure if she was downplaying things or not. I don’t like your parties, Ruger.”
“First part wasn’t half bad,” he said slowly, a knowing smile stealing across his face. “You know, in the shed?”
He reached out and touched my neck lightly, then wrapped his fingers around it.
“My marks look good,” he continued. “Might keep ’em on you long term, haven’t decided yet. But you need to learn not to flirt with other guys, babe. You’re claimed now.”
“One, take your damned hand off me, because I am not claimed,” I said. He ignored me. “And two, I didn’t flirt with anyone!”
“You flashed your tits at the whole damned club,” he said. His hand tightened ever so slightly on my neck. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to show he could.
Oh, I didn’t like that at all …
“Take. Your. Fucking. Hand. Off. Me,” I growled. This time he did, but at the same time he pushed me forward with his body, unbalancing me. I fell back on Noah’s bed, almost hitting my head against the wall. Before I could roll away, Ruger dropped down over me, trapping me just as surely as he had back in my Seattle apartment.
“I was wearing a bra and Maggs told me to do it,” I hissed, not bothering to fight him. That’d probably just turn him on. Perv. “She said he needed to check me out if I wanted to waitress at The Line. I need a damned job, Ruger. Didn’t seem like a big deal. Half the women there weren’t even wearing shirts. It’s not like I took off my bra.”
“You’re a f**kin’ idiot,” he snapped. “Of course Buck checks out potential waitresses … at the club. During business hours. He did that to piss me off and get me out of the ring. He played you to win a bet, Soph—he’d never hire you without my permission, anyway.”