Page 94 of Resurfaced Passion

No sooner had he pulled up in the compound and his phone rang.

Hopeful it was Paige, he frowned seeing the boss’s name. “Prez?”

“I need you over at the fight club tonight.”Fuck. So much for crashing out with a movie and his girl. He had plans to pick up a few pints of the birthday cake ice cream she’d loved the other night.

From the first moment she was on his bike, Paige had loved it and begged for more rides every time he saw her. He had plans after their movie and ice cream to take her for a midnight ride up the mountain. Maybe fuck her over the seat. Something romantic like that. And now Rider was killing him.

“Is there no one else?”

“Need a ghost’s eyes, brother. Some shit with Grigori, got word he’s got hooks in the fighter against Tag tonight. Capone and Arson will be around. You blend in and listen for that fucker trying to get his bets through my place.”

Instead of switching the engine off, he held the phone under his chin and refastened the helmet. It was gonna take him at least thirty to get over to the fight club through the traffic and there was no way he wasn’t seeing Paige, even if it was just for a second.

For a couple weeks now it had been quiet with the Russians.

Talk was, ties were severed between them and the mayor. It had been a short unsatisfactory relationship.

Reaper had owned cartons of milk that lasted longer.

They’d suddenly vacated that building downtown out of nowhere.

Lawless had followed a fleet of their Mercedes to the airport and watched them board a plane to Kazan where theirpahkanand the base of their operations was situated.

It appeared as if Grigori was heeding to Rider’s one-time-only warning to get out of town with his life still intact.

“I’ll string that fuckin’ promoter up by his dick if he’s bringing drugged up fighters through my place.” Rider warned.

So the objective tonight was simple.

Be eyes and ears while Capone and Arson were visible to the crowd and check for signs of drug use in the fighters, and any indication it was Russian motivated.

Most nights this kinda work kept Reaper occupied. Tonight he wanted to be with his girl.

He found her cleaning off the counters in the diner. He rapped knuckles on the locked door, and she turned a beaming smile on him, rushing over to unlock and let him in.

“I gotta work.” He told her once he let her lips go free and her taste was well and truly locked in his mouth.

She soon corrected her fallen face, but he felt like dog shit for disappointing her.

“You have repairs to work on this late?”

“No, baby. I’m going to the fight club.”

She frowned and didn’t fire off the questions he expected her to. “You’ll be careful?”

“Always,” he kissed her forehead.

They hadn’t talked about their new relationship, but they’d fallen into it so quickly. Reaper couldn’t help himself.

Maybe it was wrong.

Maybe it was a mistake.

He knew the risks.

He still couldn’t help himself.

“It’ll be late when I’m done.”

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