Reaper's Legacy (24 page)

His lip twitched.

“Good thing your vagina’s so gosh-darned hot,” he whispered. “Because I really, really want to stick my penis in it and have repeated sexual intercourse, bringing us to a mutually satisfactory culmination of our desires. How’s that sound?”

“Almost dirtier,” I said, mouth quirking. Fucking ridiculous. All of it. I wanted to kill him and screw him and scream at him, so now he made jokes? I almost laughed, but his fingers rubbed right up against my G-spot while his thumb played with my clit. I couldn’t figure out how he made me so wet, so fast, every single time.

“Oh, it’s dirtier,” he told me, nuzzling me again, tugging on my ear with his teeth. “If I let go of your hands, are you gonna try to get away?”

I considered the question seriously.

“No,” I admitted. “But this is a one-time deal. We’re never having sex again after this time.”

Ruger gave me that lazy panther smile of his and didn’t answer. He did let me go, though, and I reached up, pushing him over and back down into the hay. Then I straddled him. I had one shot at this, I realized. One last chance to play with Ruger’s body. What should I do with it?

I went for his nipple ring, sucking it deep into my mouth as he groaned, hands twisting into my hair.

“That’s good, Soph,” he whispered. “But could you grab my dick while you’re at it? All I can think about, it’s fuckin’ killing me.”

I reached down and found him, hard steel bound in silk. I trailed my fingers over the head of his cock, catching the barbell, brushing back and forth.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “Too much, babe. Just the shaft for now, okay?”

His hand covered mine, showing me exactly how he wanted it—slow and deep, with a bit of a twist that should’ve been painful. I remembered he liked it rough so I didn’t hold back, and soon his hips arched under me.

That’s when I gave his nipple a final flick and started working my mouth down his stomach. Ruger wasn’t like some guy in a magazine ad. He had a model’s perfect abs, but he also had just enough hair to remind me I was dealing with a real man, not some pre-fabbed fantasy of clean, waxed sexuality. I rubbed my chin against the dip of his navel, savoring the power I held over him before going lower.

Some girls love giving head.

I’ve never been one of them, so I didn’t have a lot of experience to work with. What I did have was a hell of an imagination, and I’d been thinking about taking his cock into my mouth since that first night on his deck. I remembered sitting there, seeing him outlined
in front of me through the thin flannel of his lounge pants, wanting to touch him more than anything.

Now I could.

Ruger tilted his head up, one arm folded back and under his neck, watching with hooded eyes as I rubbed the head gently against my cheek, considering my next move. I reached out my tongue and flicked the notch at the bottom of his glans. Then I swirled it around the little metal knob.

Ruger’s breath hissed and I felt a surge of pure, feminine power.

I licked it again, playing with his piercing before sucking him in hard. The metal post was weird, but it wasn’t like I planned to deep-throat him, so it didn’t matter. I started bobbing my head up, working him with my hand at the same time. His fingers burrowed deep into my hair, guiding me.

“You’re killing me, Soph,” he muttered, groaning. “Stop. I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

I liked that idea. For once it would be nice to see Jesse “Ruger” Gray lose control. But just when I’d decided to make it happen, his fingers tightened in my hair, dragging my mouth away from his cock.

“Ride me,” he ordered.

Oh, I could work with that …

I climbed over him, reaching down to guide him into my body. Even though I was probably wetter than I’d ever been in my life, taking his full length went slowly. From this angle I felt every inch of him, stretching me so wide it almost hurt. I stopped several times to let myself adjust, his eyes boring into me the whole while. When I finally had all of him I stilled, catching my breath.

Ruger still watched me, his face full of need and intensity and desire. He leaned up on one elbow, the flex of his stomach muscles almost painful against my oversensitized clit. He reached out and caught a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear, and then cupped my cheek, his face almost tender.

I closed my eyes.

Angry Ruger? Fine. Horny Ruger? I’d gotten used to that, too. But Ruger as a gentle lover? I didn’t have room for that in my head, not if I wanted to survive and move forward with my life. I started rocking back and forth on him, the movement ever-so-slight but almost painfully pleasurable. His hand dropped from my face to my hip, urging me to go faster, so I did.

It didn’t take long to bring him back to the edge. At some point I leaned forward on his chest for leverage, digging my nails into his pecs, which seemed to turn him on even more. Ruger liked a touch of pain, I decided, so I did my best to crush him with my inner muscles.

I’m generous that way.

I was close to coming myself when he lost patience, rolling me over and taking control again. He grabbed my legs, shoving them up and over his shoulders. Then he pounded me hard until I screamed out my orgasm.

Ruger followed right behind, and when he came, he called out my name.

I fell asleep with him wrapped around me, both of us on our sides, one of his hands resting lightly against my stomach. He’d gone downstairs and grabbed a blanket, covering the hay and creating a nest for us.

At some point I woke to find Ruger’s hand between my legs, slowly stroking me as I drifted. He rolled me to my stomach, spread my legs, and slid into my body gently and carefully. I sighed, the delicious pressure building and exploding with a subtlety I’d never experienced before.

Then he wrapped himself around me again and I drifted back into sleep. I woke up when my cell rang at six the next morning,
finding myself alone on my futon, surrounded by his smell. I didn’t recognize the name and the caller hung up. Fucking wrong number.

I rolled to my side and saw the empty pizza box, still sitting on the coffee table.

Damn. What the hell was I supposed to do with a situation like this? Insane. All of it.

“God, I love dancing,” Kimber said, sucking on a cigarette. It was just shy of midnight on Friday, and we stood on the sidewalk outside a club in downtown Spokane. I had a nice buzz going.

“My feet are gonna hurt so bad, but totally worth it,” I agreed, swaying a little. I felt my cheeks flush, which was funny, so I started laughing. Kimber shook her head at me.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” she said gravely. “Lightweight. Where the hell did Em go? I want to check out this guy of hers. I thought the deal was we’d look him over and decide whether he’s worth her time. She’s cheating.”

“No shit. Bitch. I hate her.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Kimber replied, stabbing the air with her smoke for emphasis. “How am I supposed to live the single life vicariously if I don’t get any details?”

I shook my head and shrugged mournfully.

“I’m doing my part. I tell you everything.”

“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it,” she said, tearing up slightly. We gave each other a drunken hug.

We’d hit the first bar around ten, and by ten thirty Em had disappeared to meet her online hottie, Liam. She was supposed to bring him inside to meet us, but they snuck off to a bar down the street instead. I would’ve suspected kidnapping and murder by eleven thirty, when we moved on to the next club, but she’d been sending us regular text messages that made it clear she was enjoying her evening.

Long story short—Liam was gorgeous, we’d get to meet him in a while, she was definitely going to sleep with him, and she was pretty sure he could handle her dad. Apparently Liam was Em’s perfect man.

She promised not to leave the other bar without us, so we called it good.

“Hopefully they’re in some corner booth making out,” I said glumly.

“Not too much,” Kimber said darkly. “If she fucks him before I give my approval, she’s losing her margarita privileges.”

Talking about making out reminded me of Ruger, and thinking of Ruger made me want to drink more. I still couldn’t believe I’d fucked him. Again. I couldn’t shake the man. Thank God we didn’t need to be back in Coeur d’Alene until noon, because I had a lot more alcohol to drink. Kimber’s husband was definitely taking one for the team tonight, watching both kids. I needed to bake him cookies or something …

“Is it creepy that I want to bake for your husband?” I asked her. She burst out laughing and I started laughing, too, and then my phone buzzed.

EM:
I want to go back to the hotel. He’s defintely THE ONE

I read it and squeed, handing the phone over to Kimber. She started thumb-typing furiously.

Kimber:
Dont u dare! We have to chck him out frist. Ur NOT follwing the plan

EM:
Yu’ll meet him in a minut come down to Mick’s and we can head from there. We’ll wait outside

I yanked my phone back and glared at Kimber.

“That’s mine! I get to yell at her first.”

“We can’t yell at her in front of Internet Hottie!” she told me. “That’s a cockblock. We’ll yell at her tomorrow.”

I considered this.

“Okay,” I said. “But I still call dibs on first yelling once we ditch his ass.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever.”

We didn’t see them outside Mick’s. It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place we almost missed because it was next to a good-sized club with a long line. I texted Em and got no response.

“She’s probably just peeing or something,” Kimber said, eyeing a group of collegey-looking guys standing in a clump on the sidewalk. They eyed her back and she smiled.

“Hey!” I hissed. “Married, remember?”

She laughed.

“I’m just looking, don’t be so uptight. I promise not to touch, okay?”

My phone buzzed.

EM:
Heading out

We stood on the sidewalk for another five minutes. Nothing. I started getting a little nervous. I texted again. No reply.

Another ten minutes passed and I’d had enough. This didn’t feel right.

“I’m gonna go check on her,” I told Kimber. She’d lost interest in the college boys when they’d come over and tried to pick us up. They’d been pretty to look at, but not exactly brilliant conversationalists.

She nodded, concern on her face.

“I’ll wait out here,” she said, looking up and down the street. “Just in case they show up.”

“I don’t want you outside by yourself,” I replied. She jerked her chin toward the bouncer at the club next door.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Anything happens, I’ll scream for him. Go find our girl.”

“All right,” I said, my voice grim. “But when I find her, we’re kicking her ass. This isn’t cool.”

The place was small and dark—just a tiny, narrow little bar, way rougher than I expected. No wonder the college boys stayed outside. The men in here would crumple them up and throw them away like used … um … something. Straw wrappers? No, something worse. I shook my head, foggy from the booze.
Focus.
There were more men than women, and most kept their eyes on their drinks. My quickly sinking opinion of Liam went down another notch. What kind of guy took a girl to a place like this?

We shouldn’t have let Em out of our sight,
I realized.

I didn’t find her in the main bar so I wandered to the back, where a long hallway led past some grotty-looking bathrooms and an office. It ended with a fire door that had been propped open with a brick.

I texted Kimber.

ME:
Any sign of them?

KIMBER:
No this is bllshit

ME:
Not in bar. I’ll look in the ally then com back

I stepped up to the fire door cautiously. Would Em really go out there with a guy she didn’t know? Except she probably felt like she
did
know him. They’d been calling each other for a while now. Hell, I’d gone on dates with guys I’d only met a few times. Still … I pushed the door open and peeked outside to find a tall, dark-haired man in faded jeans and motorcycle boots leaning against the side of a battered cargo van.

He smiled at me like a shark and winked.

Oh my God. I recognized him. It was one of the guys from that other club, the Devil’s Jacks. The ones who’d come to my apartment in Seattle.

Hunter.

What was he doing here? Holy shit … Coincidence?

Or were Hunter and Liam the
same person
?

I opened my mouth to scream when someone shoved me from behind, knocking me out into the alley. I stumbled and nearly fell. Then Hunter’s arms caught me, swooping me up and carrying me toward the back of the van. I shrieked as loud as I could—kicking and fighting as he tossed me in—but the pounding music from the club next door almost guaranteed nobody heard me. Em lay on the floor, arms cuffed behind her back, a bandana gagging her mouth. Her legs were tied tight with what looked like white clothesline.

Hunter climbed in after me, wrestling me down and wrenching away my phone. Within seconds my own mouth was gagged and he’d closed another set of cuffs around my wrists. I lay facedown on the floor, eyes wide and staring at Em, who stared right back at me. I felt someone else climb in and heard a door slam, and the engine roared to life.

Hunter spoke, his voice cool and detached.

“Sorry, girls. Hopefully this won’t get too ugly and you’ll get to go home soon.”

The van started moving.

RUGER

His beer had gotten warm.

For once, there wasn’t a party at the clubhouse or a barbecue or anything happening, which was a fucking shame because all he could think about was Sophie out dancing in Spokane with her slut of a best friend. He should be focusing on his trip to Portland tomorrow, but he really couldn’t bring himself to give a damn.

Jesus, he’d nearly shit his pants when he realized who she was going out with tonight. Kimber’s stage name had been Stormie, and the bitch was famous for having a mouth like a vacuum. Even he’d taken her home one night … It’d been okay, but not worth breaking his no-repeats rule.

Now he wondered if she’d been filling Sophie’s head with stories about him all along. Also explained why she’d been interested in working at The Line—Kimber had made a goddamned fortune there, one of their most popular dancers.

She’d been an even bigger hit in the VIP rooms.

He’d considered simply physically stopping Sophie from going, but figured that would do him more harm than good in the long run. She’d been dodging him since their night in the hayloft and he’d let it go. The first week of a new job was stressful, so he’d given her a break. This ladies’ night thing had caught him off guard. He’d only found out because Noah had a big mouth.

Kid was full of all kinds of useful information.

Picnic walked into the main lounge with a girl trailing him. She looked about sixteen, although Ruger knew she had to be older. No jailbait in the Armory—that was trouble they sure as fuck didn’t need. Pic wore the look of man who’d gotten well laid, and he sent her on her way with a smack on the ass. Then he walked over to Ruger.

“What’s with you?” he asked, dropping into one of the mismatched chairs across from the couch.

“I’m bored,” Ruger said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And apparently I’m getting old, because my neck hurts from sitting at my bench today, taking care of that special order.”

“You’re fuckin’ pathetic,” Pic said.

“That’s the truth.”

“I hear your girl moved out.”

“Yeah, we can talk about something else now.”

Picnic laughed shortly.

“First Horse and now you,” he said. “Whole damned place is turnin’ up pussy-whipped.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Ruger replied. “The only reason I’m sitting here right now instead of fuckin’ her face is I’m not willing to hand her my cock on a leash. And you should talk. Screwing kids younger than your daughter? Creeps me out, thinkin’ of your old ass doing a chick like that.”

“At least I got laid tonight,” Pic answered mildly. “Unlike some.”

His phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the ID.

“It’s Em,” he said shortly, standing and ambling across the room. Then Pic froze, his body language screaming tension. Thirty seconds later, Ruger’s phone rang.

Sophie.

“You better not be—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Shut up and listen,” she said, her voice tight. Ruger sat up. “Those guys you met in Seattle? The Devil’s Jacks? They’ve got me and Em. We’re in Spokane and they—”

He heard her scream as someone grabbed the phone. Adrenaline slammed through him, taking him from relaxed to ready for action in a heartbeat. Instead of acting on it, he forced himself to stay calm and listen with everything he had. They’d need every clue they could to find Sophie … and Em? What the fuck? Jesus, Em should know better than to go out without giving Pic a heads-up. How had Em gotten mixed up in this?

“Ruger,” a man said. “This is Skid. From Seattle. We got a bit of a problem.”

“You’re dead,” Ruger replied, his voice flat, and he meant it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Picnic grab a bar stool and smash it against the wall. Horse was on his feet, pushing a trio of girls out the door as Painter grabbed a sawed-off shotgun from behind the bar.

Slide wandered in from the bathroom and glanced around, brows rising.

“Yeah, we’ll talk about my death later,” Skid said, sounding bored. “Listen up. Your boy in Portland—Toke—he went apeshit on two of our brothers a coupla hours ago. Just broke into the damned house and started shooting. There’s cops everywhere, a couple of bitches who saw it all go down, total clusterfuck. Girls are talkin’ to the cops, too, just to make things perfect. Docs are working on one guy right now, no idea if he’ll make it. Toke dragged the other off.”

“You’re full of shit,” Ruger said. Toke might be a wild card but he wouldn’t ignore a vote by the full club.

“Process later,” Skid snapped. “It’s time for you to get your boy under control and our man back to us. Safe. Until then, we’ll take good care of—what’s her name again? Sophie? We’ll take good care of sweet little Sophie for you. She’ll be just fine once we clear this up. Our boy goes down? Her prospects don’t look so good. Got a real nice ass. Might tap it before I shoot her. Got me?”

He hung up.

“Fuck,” Ruger muttered, kicking over the coffee table as he stood up. Pic yelled as Horse and Bam Bam held him back. Ruger ignored the drama, striding down the hall, past the office, and into the large workshop where he did his special projects. He flipped open his laptop and pulled up the tracker, narrowing his search.

There they were—Sophie’s and Em’s phones were near the river, downtown Spokane. They’d be in the water soon. By the time he
could get there, the Jacks would be in the wind, along with their girls.

Goddamnit. Ruger turned and punched the wall, smashing through the sheetrock. Sharp pain hit, helping him focus. He pulled an unregistered .38 semi-automatic out of his bench drawer and shoved it into his ankle holster, then grabbed extra clips. Then he turned and went back down the hall to find Picnic and the others arguing over what they should do. Pic wanted to ride now—Horse, Bam Bam, and Duck all wanted to take the time to make a plan, which Ruger knew needed to happen. Couldn’t do shit in Spokane until they had more info.

Toke had lost the vote but he’d won the battle.

The Reapers and the Devil’s Jacks were going to war.

SOPHIE

I don’t know how long we rode in the back of the van. It felt like forever. Then I heard the sound of a garage door opening. We pulled in and it shut behind us. Hunter and the driver stepped out of the van, coming around to open the back doors.

Hard hands—not Hunter’s—grabbed my ankles, pulling me out roughly. My cheek scraped, and if the kidnapping hadn’t fully sobered me, the pain finished the trick. He half carried, half dragged me into the house. Then he dropped me down on the couch and I struggled to sit up. Hunter set Em down next to me, far more gently. He stepped back and joined his friend. Guy number two was Skid—the other Devil’s Jack I’d met in Seattle. They stood over us, faces grim, and I knew we were well and truly fucked.