Page 8 of Reaper & the Lioness
While I found it annoying, it didn’t phase me. I’d often been hired by leaders, much to the dismay of their teams. I didn’t aim to make friends or mince words when calling out shitty practices that would make reputation repair harder for an organization. Reaper wouldn’t be the first man who didn’t want to work with me. He sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last.
“Wait? Is his last name Grimm?” I tried to stifle a laugh, but it slipped out anyway. “And he goes by Reaper?”
Rhetta offered a small smile. “I wouldn’t make jokes about it. Especially not where these men can hear. Road names are earned. From what Thane told me, Reaper’s had that name since he was a Marine sniper. It stuck for a reason.”
I glanced at the man in question. The weight of his name settled in my mind. He looked every bit the personification of death, and I wondered how many people one would need to kill to earn that type of road name.
As more members walked in, the air thickened. The scent of cigarette smoke mingled with sweat, leather, and stale beer. Gruff laughs and the low timbre of conversations competed with the TV in the corner. Sweat began to bead at the nape of my neck as the clubhouse started to feel crowded.
As we wove through the room, I glanced over my shoulder, catching Reaper’s intense stare. Our eyes locked, making my heart thunder in my chest.
“So, how are you settling in?” Rhetta asked, drawing my attention back as Reaper turned away. “I know it’s a change from the big city.”
I smiled, hearing the twinge of concern in her voice. “I like it here. It’s nice to finally have a chance to breathe. All I did before was work and sleep. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but D.C. never felt like home either.”
“How’s the foster pup? Have you decided to keep him yet?”
I gave Rhetta a fake grimace. “Hawk is a heathen. He’s already destroyed a throw pillow and a pair of shoes. He’ll be up for adoption once he gets his last round of shots.”
Rhetta laughed. “You’re in love already. I can tell. Fifty bucks says you end up adopting him. You should bring him by sometime. The guys might act tough, but they’re suckers for dogs.”
“Maybe I will,” I mused. Bringing Hawk to the clubhouse could humanize me, making me more than an outsider in expensive boots.
A sudden crash cut through the air like a gunshot as the clubhouse door flew open. Heads whipped around as two men stumbled in, half dragging a third whose face was a mess ofblood and bruised flesh. The coppery scent of blood hit me, turning my stomach.
The atmosphere in the room shifted. I watched as several Mavericks, including Rhetta and Reaper, moved to assist. Rhetta cleared a spot on a table, allowing Reaper to help lift the broken man onto the oak-grain surface. There was no panic or fear—just cold, precise action that spoke of far too much experience with situations like this.
I retreated to the bar, setting down my empty glass with a soft clink. The pink-haired bartender raised an eyebrow, silently offering another, but I shook my head. I had to drive home.
The commotion overwhelmed me, a maelstrom of raised voices and male aggression. I needed air, space, and a moment to process.
I slipped away from the crowd, finding a dim hallway near the bathrooms. The sounds from the main room were muffled here, allowing me a moment of relative peace.
Photos and newspaper clips from the past few decades lined the walls, along with a framed vest, the weathered patch indicating it had been worn by one of the club’s founders nearly fifty years ago. Most of the newspaper clips highlighted photos from rallies or funerals attended by hundreds.
I breathed in, enjoying the quiet moment, until boots scuffed behind me. A figure loomed in the shadows at the end of the hallway. He took a step forward, and I noticed the prospect patch on his cut. Not a Maverick, but someone aspiring to be.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone back here?”
I straightened my spine, forcing steel into my voice. “Just getting some air.”
He moved closer, blocking my path to the main room. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”
I squared my shoulders, refusing to cower despite the alarm bells clanging in my head. “Unless you’re a club member who owns a business, there’s no reason Rhetta would have introduced us.”
As I moved to push past him, the man grabbed my arm roughly. I pulled back as another voice cut through the tension.
“What the fuck are you doing back here, Scott?”
The man released his grip on my arm. Relief flooded through me as Reaper stepped into view, his massive frame filling the hallway. Irritation rolled off him in waves as his eyes fixed on the prospect.
The man’s menacing demeanor changed in an instant. “Just welcoming our new friend, VP,” he mumbled.
Reaper’s gaze flicked to me, a silent question in his eyes, before returning to the man.
“Why don’t you go make yourself useful at the bar.” It wasn’t a question.
The prospect didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried away, leaving Reaper and me alone in the hallway.
