Reaper's Stand

Author: P Hana

Page 22


Instead, I’d use my time machine to smash that damned wine bottle and chase Jessica down the road. Stop her. Find some way to convince her that she deserved better—more—than following her mother’s path.

But did I do it?

No, I went to sleep and didn’t get up until nearly noon on Saturday. Then I went to the gym, following my workout up with a pedicure. I felt all empowered about it, too, because I knew she’d be back.

Only Jessica never came back.



I spent my weekend horny and pissed off.

London’s mouth, her smell, those amazing tits … I wanted those lips wrapped around my cock, I wanted those hands buried in my hair, and I wanted my dick in her cunt. Maybe her ass. Hell yes. Then I’d fuck her boobs because I wouldn’t want them to feel left out, now would I?

Instead I jerked off and tried to remind myself of all the reasons getting involved with her would be a massive mistake.

Then I’d picture her touching Nate Evans. Nearly sent me over the fuckin’ edge, because I’d actually smelled him on her Friday night. Like gangrene.

Gave serious thought to killing him for touching what was mine.

But London wasn’t mine. The thought drove me crazy, because I had zero desire to claim a woman, at least not for longer than a night. Still, my gut insisted she should belong to me¸ which scared me shitless. Wanting someone like that leads to needing them, and loving them leads to … hell.

Heather died slowly.

I remembered everything about that day—worst fuckin’ hours of my life. Her frail body, nothing more than pale skin stretched tight over bones gone brittle. Our daughters drifting in and out of the room, crying and begging while the light in her eyes faded. Then the beautiful girl I’d fallen in crazy love with my senior year of high school left me.


Never wanted more than one woman and then I had to put her in the ground, cold and alone. I’d sworn that day to never let myself care like that again.

Couldn’t risk it.

But London filled my head until I couldn’t hardly think straight. Apparently I wasn’t a joy to be around, either, because by Sunday afternoon the guys actually kicked me out of the Armory. Said I could come back when I stopped being an asshole, and that situation wasn’t looking promising.

I’d stomped around the courtyard, yelling at the prospects until Bolt took pity on me, dragging me up into the National Forest lands behind the clubhouse to harvest some firewood. We’d make the prospects split and stack it for seasoning once we got back, but there’s something very primal and satisfying about felling a tree and cutting it up with a chainsaw. Gotta love power tools and destruction. Not quite as good as getting laid, but better than losing your mind imagining a very unavailable cunt squeezing some other man’s dick.

Never cared for the good deputy. Taking him out would be a public service, right? But ultimately not even I could justify taking out a lawman over a woman. Maybe I should just steal her out from under him, maybe rub it in his face. Yeah. That’d work. I liked that idea a lot, and the more I considered it, the more it grew on me.

Now Bolt and I were out in the middle of nowhere and things were coming clear. I felt sweaty, tired, and more sane than I had since leaving London’s place, thanks to my club brother’s timely intervention. Nobody ever really understood me like Bolt and I’d missed the hell out of him while he was doing time these past three years. He was more than a solid vice president—he was the man I trusted more than anyone else on earth.

He’d come back different, though. Harder, more cynical than I’d ever seen him before. I guess getting locked up for a crime you didn’t commit changes a man.

Didn’t help that his old lady, Maggs, had ditched his ass.

Sore subject, and not one he liked to talk about. She had her reasons and I guess from her perspective leaving him made sense. But a man inside does whatever it takes to get by. Bolt hadn’t had any allies to protect him during that final stretch, so he’d done what he had to do. She never quite understood that.

Shit happens, I guess.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked him as he tossed the chainsaw into the back end of the truck. Between it and the trailer, we’d cut and loaded nearly two cords. Good haul for an afternoon’s work.

“No plans,” he said, opening the crew cab and digging into the cooler. He pulled out a beer and cracked it, offering one to me. I turned it down, grabbing a water instead. “Thought I might head over to The Line.”

“Been spendin’ a lot of time there,” I said casually.

“Nothin’ quite like pussy,” he replied, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He’d acquired some new ink inside, of varying quality. “Went a long time without, gotta make up for that.”

I nodded, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. He might not’ve gotten the one he wanted, but he hadn’t gone without, either. Got me thinking.

“How’s the baby?”

Bolt snorted.

“What baby? Startin’ to doubt it was real.”


“So Maggs left you over nothin’?”

“No, she left me because I cheated on her. Now that cunt Gwen says she lost the kid—assuming she was actually knocked up in the first place. I don’t know what to believe about that anymore.”

I stilled.

“You think she wasn’t really pregnant?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, taking another drink. “At least I’m rid of the bitch, so I guess that’s something. And tonight I’ll get laid, so life is good.”

I nodded slowly, knowing life was anything but good for my club brother. He missed the hell out of his old lady. We all did. She’d been solid the entire time he was gone, stood by him when he went down in the first place and then worked day and night to bring him home again. Women like that weren’t easy to find.

“You wanna come with me?” Bolt asked. “Get laid. Clear your brain.”

“Yeah.” Bolt was right—The Line was a great place to find no-strings snatch, which was exactly what I needed. If I spent one more night jerking off while imagining London, I’d have to shoot myself. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of those tits, the way she’d melted under my touch.

Did she have pink nipples or brown?

Maybe Evans was sucking on them right now. Fucker wasn’t working this weekend. Already checked, even tried to get Bud to call him in, but the bastard had taken personal leave and not even the sheriff could cancel that. Not without a state of emergency.