Reaper's Property
Page 32

I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. When I’d first met him, I’d half wondered if Horse was a Terminator.
“Did you know Bagger?” I asked. She nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Yeah,” she said without elaborating. “He was crazy about Cookie, you know. He didn’t cheat on her. Horse isn’t a cheater either. Last night, that wasn’t anything, what you saw with us. We were just talking. I hope you believe that.”
I shrugged, not sure what to believe. Cookie’s life was in ruins and I supposed that at some point I should check my email to see what fresh games Jeff was playing. Things kept hitting so hard and fast I couldn’t keep up.
“Hey,” she said, shaking my shoulder a little. “Wake up, look at me. This is important.”
“What?” I asked, trying to make myself focus.
“He loves you,” she said, holding my gaze with hers. “I know all about what happened, everyone does. They spread it around, wanted to be sure people know they didn’t give your brother a pass. You’re collateral for him, and all that shit. But the reason you’re really here is that Horse loves you. Do you get that?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think about any of this,” I replied. “All I know is that Cookie is in hell and I can’t do anything for her.”
“You can help me get this shithole whipped into shape,” Serena replied sharply. “There’s going to be a funeral, and they’ll have tons of people coming in from out of town. Three states worth of bikers will be here to show their respects. We have to get ready. It’s something you can do for Cookie, she knows Bagger would want a hell of a wake. This is where it’ll happen. We have to get it cleaned up and ready, you up for that?”
I looked around. She was right. The place needed cleaning in a big way. And we’d need food too. Lots of it. I knew there was a kitchen somewhere on the ground floor, but I wasn’t sure how good it was. Could it handle that many people?
“That’s better,” she said, smiling at me. “Nice to have you join us this morning. I knew there was a reason Horse shelled out so much for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, caught off guard.
She tilted her head at me, eyes speculative.
“Horse paid a shitload of money for you, girl,” she said softly. “Didn’t you know that? Maybe not, that’s not part of the public story…”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, eyeing her suspiciously. I wasn’t sure I could handle another shock, I really wasn’t. But I needed to know what she meant by that comment.
“Horse paid the club $50,000 out of his own pocket to give your brother another chance,” she said bluntly. “They were going to kill him outright, but Horse wanted you for his old lady and he knew how much your brother means to you. He paid the club to give your brother another chance. How do you not know this?”
I shook my head, feeling dizzy.
Horse paid the club to save my brother. Horse was a murderer who killed women and children. Horse offered to send me to college, knew how to fight hand to hand and taught me to shoot. Multiple personalities? Two certainly weren’t enough… But I’m a practical girl. I’d spent a good chunk of the past day feeling dazed and confused, but now I had a job.
“Okay,” I said, pushing all that away. I’d think about it later, like so many other things piling up. “So how do we want to do this?”
“Let’s get the girls together in the game room,” she said. “We’ll figure out who’s just party leftovers and who’s willing to pitch in and help.”
Eventually we rounded up about twenty women in various states of undress, a few of the guys watching in interest without interfering. Serena stood up and introduced me as Horse’s old lady, which made all of them sit up a little straighter. Then she looked over toward me, obviously waiting for me to speak. That was a surprise, I thought she’d take the lead but apparently not. Clearly, as the only old lady in the room, I was supposed to be in charge.
“Okay, so it sounds like most of you heard the news,” I said. “Bagger is dead, he died in Afghanistan. I didn’t know Bagger, but I know his wife and daughter. Obviously this is a big deal, and if you want to do something to help, I need to get the clubhouse clean and ready for company. I don’t know how much time you have or how much work you can do, but anything is a help. Who can stay and clean?”
A few raised their hands, but most of them looked away, unwilling to meet my eyes. One, definitely not a girl but a woman, walked over to me.
“I’ll be in charge of getting the guest rooms and studios ready,” she said. She was a tall brunette who looked to be in her early thirties, with tight jeans and a lot of swagger. Unlike the others, she looked sexy but not slutty, which was impressive considering how many were sporting giant raccoon hangover eyes. “A lot of them are full right now, but we’ll need to find room for more people to camp out. Some’ll get hotel rooms, but a lot will stay here. What’s your name? Aside from Horse’s old lady?”
She offered me a genuine, if sad, smile, and I decided I liked her. This sweet butt situation was more complicated than I’d realized, because obviously they weren’t all brainless sluts.
“I’m Marie. What’s yours?”
“I’m Claire,” she replied, holding out her hand for me to shake. Her grip was firm and reassuring. “I’ve been a friend of the club since high school but I’m not with any of the guys. Just came by last night to see some friends from out of town, you know how that is.”
I shrugged, not quite sure what she meant and not too worried about it. Her obvious respect surprised me, although I was starting to realize it shouldn’t have. There seemed to be a hierarchy of Reaper women, with old ladies at the top, but right now I didn’t care what their status was if they’d help me get the armory ready for Bagger’s funeral.
“I’m glad to meet you,” she said, genuine kindness in her eyes, tempered with a fatigue that had nothing to do with being hung over. “We’ll get this done, don’t worry. Don’t take shit from anyone, okay? You’re an old lady, and not one of these girls has a right to tell you a damn thing. Not even me,” she added ruefully. “But if you don’t mind, I think some asses could use a little kicking and that’s one of my favorite things to do. You mind?”
I glanced at Serena.
“Works for me,” she said. “She takes the upstairs, I’ll take the main floor and you can coordinate food. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds great,” I said, feeling grateful.
Claire turned the group and clapped her hands for attention.
“You heard Marie,” she said loudly. “She’s nice and polite, but I’m not. Get off your asses and get working, or get the hell out.”
Nobody moved for a minute, and she put her hands on her hips and glared around the room.
“I’m serious, bitches!” she yelled, and I believed her. “If you’re a friend of the club, now’s the time to show it. Otherwise get the f**k out and don’t come back. You won’t be welcome. Got me?”
About four girls got up and left quickly, but the rest seemed to break out of their stupor, sorting themselves out quickly enough and breaking into teams. Within minutes half had followed Claire upstairs and most of the others followed Serena downstairs. I found myself alone with a woman I recognized with horror—she’d been the one on the second floor, screwing an entire room full of men.
“Hey, I’m Candace,” she said quietly. “I’m a caterer. Can I help you get the food situation figured out? I know my way around the kitchen and have a pretty good idea what to expect.”
She smiled at me like a perfectly normal person, rather than a woman who’d had sex with five men in a row the night before. How could she even walk? I shook my head, and she gave me a quizzical look. Of course, she didn’t realize I’d seen her.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said, and we started downstairs. She led me through the lounge to the far end of the building, where double doors opened to reveal a dining room with a serving bar separating it from a kitchen. Not a full-on, modern industrial one, more like the kind you’d find in a church. Several big fridges, big dishwasher, that kind of thing. Empty platters and bags of chips littered the counters, debris from the night before, I assumed.
“I’ve done a lot of parties for them,” she said, flipping on lights and going to the fridges, opening them and checking out the contents. “I give them a deal, they take good care of me. A few years ago my ex decided to use me as a punching bag. I knew one of the girls who likes to party here and she passed the word along to Ruger. He and a couple others offered to take care of the problem for me in exchange for some help in the armory kitchen and things grew from there.”
“Horse beat up my ex,” I said, feeling a sudden sense of sisterhood with her.
“It’s a relief when it stops, isn’t it?” she replied, with a sad little smile. She started grabbing food wrappers and tossing them in a big plastic garbage can. “He’s a real good guy. You’re lucky to have him.”
I nodded, not sure I wanted to go there. Everyone seemed to think he was so great—did they know the real man? Did I? I felt my phone vibrate and I pulled it out to find a text from Em. Cookie is home again. They gave her some drugs to help her sleep. Maggs asked if you can stay on top of things at the armory, some of us will be over in a couple hours to help. ((Hugs))
Already on it, I sent back, relieved I could tell her something positive, no matter how small. Candace and I finished cleaning up and sat down to plan food for the day. Then I sent her to the grocery store with my debit card, which still had about five hundred dollars on it and another hundred in cash. I was torn about that—if I had to get away, I’d need the money. But I wanted to help, and the realization that Horse had already spent fifty grand on me still floated around in the back of my head, waiting to be processed.
It seemed like the least I could do.
By the time Horse took my hand and pulled me upstairs to bed that night I was exhausted. The day had been endless, a blur of people crying, yelling and worst of all, just sitting in silence and staring into nothing.
Candace had been amazing. She’d gone from gangbang hoochie to kitchen goddess apparently without need for transition. Around noon she came back with a ton of food, so much I couldn’t imagine we’d go through it all yet it disappeared almost entirely by the end of the day. The party girls worked hard to clean the armory before melting away when the old ladies started showing up—a club dynamic I still couldn’t wrap my head around. Surprisingly, Serena and Candace stayed. They kept to themselves back in the kitchen, but every time I turned around they were quietly serving people, bringing them drinks or food, helping the few remaining guests find a place to sleep.
Most of the visiting charter members left, although I got the impression they’d be returning for the funeral. At one point Horse cornered me and told me that the situation with the Jacks was under control, but that I’d still need to stay in the armory.
We waited for news on Bagger’s body.
Cookie stayed at her house, but Maggs brought Silvie over after her nap. I took her up to the game room and we played for a couple of hours and ate dinner together. I gave her a bath in our room and dressed her in jammies before Maggs took her back home. The poor girl didn’t have a clue what was really going on but she obviously felt the tension in the air.
Now Horse and I were finally alone in our room and I wasn’t sure what to say. Some of the guys had been visibly broken up, while others were stoic. Horse was just blank. Nothing. No concern, no sorrow, nada. He’d found me a few times during the day, asking if I’d heard from Jeff. I hadn’t, from either email account, which made things easier. I wasn’t sure if I could pull off a lie tonight. I watched as he stripped down to his boxers mechanically, then sat down on the side of the bed. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, just looking toward the window. I went to use the bathroom and get ready for bed. When I got back he hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure what to do.
“It’s bad over there,” he said softly. I went and stood in front of him, reaching down to run my fingers through his soft, silky hair. I didn’t know where this was going, but I wanted to be close to him, absorb some of his pain. “You have no idea, nobody does. They’re crazy, they kill little kids and women and entire families. Every day, Marie. At one point my team set up shop in some town and there were these two boys who liked to come and play with us. Probably about ten years old. They were cute and we liked them, would kick a soccer ball around with them, give them candy, that kind of shit. It was my buddy’s ball, but we let the kids take it home, figured they’d enjoy it more than us. Just a ball. One day only one of them came back, threw the ball at us and he took off running. We found out later his friend and his mom were shot in the street for being friends with the Americans. It was just a ball, babe, and he died for it and because we gave him candy. That’s so f**ked up. And shit like that happened all the time. You wouldn’t believe how many civilians are dying over there.”
I massaged his scalp, feeling the tension tying him in knots with every touch. I wanted to ask him about the article but I couldn’t do it. Words seemed so incredibly trite compared to the pain that radiated off him.
“Another time we found an entire village massacred,” he said, voice rough. “Whole damn place shot to hell. Kids. Women. Men. Fucking donkeys. Goats. All of them dead, houses burning, you name it. You know what’s totally f**ked up? We go in there and find this, call it in, but the next day we’re the bastards under investigation. Apparently there’s all kinds of people saying we did it. You know how f**ked that is? You go to a country, you try to help the people there and they spend all their time and energy either trying to kill you or set you up.”