Page 7 of Reaper & the Lioness
I raised my brows in surprise. We hadn’t been introduced, but he knew who I was. The weathered patch on his cut indicated he served as the club’s vice president. This was Thane’s right-hand man.
“And you are?”
His eyes narrowed at me. “Reaper. Mavericks VP.”
The air between us crackled with tension. I sensed his distrust and the frustration that his attempt to unsettle me with his predatory gaze was failing miserably. I offered Reaper a smile and a handshake. This biker, menacing as he seemed, presented just another challenge. And I loved a challenge.
My smile shifted into a smirk as my eyes met his, unflinching, and I sipped my whiskey. I savored the burn as it slid down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. “Reaper? I’m guessing that’s not the name your mother gave you.”
Reaper’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “What gave it away?”
“Your warm persona,” I replied, my tone light. I probably shouldn’t have needled him, but my drink emboldened me.
He raised a brow as he lifted the glass to his lips, drawing my gaze to how his crisp white T-shirt stretched across the planes of his chest. I bit my lip as I tried to refocus on the conversation.
“Let me guess … you’re not thrilled about an outsider like me coming in to help clean up this boycott mess.”
He leaned against the bar, his muscular frame towering over me. “I’m not. Thane shouldn’t have hired you. We don’t need your help. And you won’t be working with my company at all. PR isn’t my style.”
“And what exactly is your style?” I stared up at him with a disarming smile as if I were facing a harmless librarian rather than an ex-Marine biker with a penchant for violence. “Intimidation? Maybe some light torture? Sharp knives and bullets?”
A low chuckle rumbled through Reaper’s chest as he tilted his head. His dark eyes studied mine. “You’re not easily rattled.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes at his observation. “You can try to intimidate me all you want, but I’ve dealt with much worse than bikers with an image problem. You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are.”
“Is that so? And what exactly have you dealt with that’s worse than us?”
A shiver licked down my spine, but I schooled my face into a neutral expression. Memories I’d tried to bury clawed their way to the surface, making my heart race as the conversation drifted into a pool I had no intention of swimming in with this stranger.
“My non-disclosure agreements prevent me from discussing client details. All you need to know is that I’m here to help. My job is to improve your club’s image and manage the fallout from this boycott.”
“How?” Reaper asked, his tone challenging.
“By showing this town there’s more to the Mavericks than they think. You’re not just hardcore bikers. The businesses impact the community in a real way. My job is to reveal your softer side. To show the good you bring to Conroe.”
Reaper scoffed. “What if we don’t have a softer side? What if we aren’t the good guys you want to pretend we are?”
I leaned in, close enough to catch the scent of leather and cedar emanating from his chest. “Then I guess I’ll have to dig deep, won’t I?” I raised a brow in challenge.
Reaper was silent for a moment, appraising me before he straightened to his full height. A condescending smile played on his lips. “Good luck, PR girl. You’ll need it.”
Annoyance coursed through me. Some people thought of Samantha Jones fromSex in the Citywhen they heard I worked in PR. They didn’t realize the closer comparison was Beth Dutton fromYellowstone. My job wasn’t schmoozing overcocktails. It was ruthless strategy, calculated moves, and playing the long game.
He continued to stare at me quietly. I knew I shouldn’t ask my next question, but I couldn’t resist.
“Tell me, Reaper. What does a VP do?” My curiosity would kill me one day.
“None of your fucking business.” He turned his body back toward the bar in dismissal.
I shrugged, unsurprised by his reaction. “Well, I’m on retainer. Call me when you need me.”
His gaze burned into my back as I returned to Rhetta. Her eyes twinkled with amusement as I approached.
“You met Reaper,” she said, nodding toward the bar where he stood, his massive frame a dark silhouette against the neon signs. “He owns Grimm Construction.”
“He’s pleasant. A real delight,” I said dryly as I glanced at him.
Rhetta laughed heartily as she noticed his steely gaze focused on me. “Thane told me he’s skeptical. Where Thane sees opportunity, Reaper sees risk.”
