Reaper's Claim

ABBY

Everyone gets an upbringing.

Everyone is taught the essentials of life by their parents, and sometimes the parents’ essentials of life aren’t always the best.

I learned to roll a cigarette before I was taught to tie my shoelaces.

I suppose in most families this would’ve been considered odd, but in ours, it was normal.

My father, Jed Harrison, was president of the Satan’s Sons Mother Charter.

He was a hard, rough man who was absent for most of my childhood.

My sister, Kim Harrison, was tall and blonde, and eyes were naturally drawn to her. She had the ability to get the attention of any man, and didn’t have to do much to keep it.

She was also my twin.

We shared similar features—both tall, slim, and blonde, but if you looked closely enough, we had noticeable differences. To most people, the differences were too small.

The Mother Charter that we called home was positioned in the bushland on ten acres at the top of a large hill.

The clubhouse wasn’t a traditional one.

The main house where we lived, the garage, and the bar were fenced off with barbed wire, which sent a clear message…

Fuck off.

The bar was complete with pool tables, TVs on every wall, and rooms down the hall for when couples could not make it back to the main house.

Kim and I were brought up on the brothers’ code and understood the world that to most was a mystery.

We knew the differences between club women and “old ladies.”

Dad always said, “A brother’s old lady only knows what he tells her.”

We were never to interfere. We saw a lot of things, but always kept our mouths shut.

Dad often made us tag along on club runs—the non-dangerous ones. He took our safety seriously and didn’t trust anyone with it.

Mom left us, but she didn’t do it by choice.

Breast cancer took her when Kim and I were still young, barely ten.

It didn’t just hurt losing her; it tore us apart.

Kim and I once got on. After Mom’s death, we couldn’t be in the same room without wanting to kill each other.

Dad did his best, but he wasn’t born to be a parent, and, hell, he never wanted to be a dad.

He was meant to be the distant dad who showed up every once in a while, told us he loved us, then rode off again, but he had to take us on full time, and that really threw a firecracker in his idea of parenting.

So we grew up in the clubhouse: not the best of places to raise two growing girls, but the boys took us under their wings, too, and not once did they hurt us.

My best memories are ones around bikers—tattooed, criminal bikers.

Kim threw herself into shopping, flirting, and makeup. I threw myself into art and study, and removed myself as far away from people as possible.

Kim loved high school; I hated it.

Dad, or “Roach” as he was known around the club, didn’t care what we did as long as we were happy, and I guess in our twisted way, we were.

Kim was happy stealing smokes from bikers’ jackets and sneaking off with boys. I was happy in my room drawing in my sketchbook.

The years slowly moved on, and before long, I was sixteen; or should I say, we turned sixteen.

My interests stayed the same: I drew and went to school.

Minus swearing and the occasional punch-up, I was a model student and the daughter who didn’t cause Dad’s head to explode every five minutes, unlike my sister.

Kim’s interest in boys had disappeared. At first I believed it was because she’d screwed her way through them all already.

But the real reason was that she had the hots for Dad’s vice president, Trigger.

My dad was blind to Kim’s open attraction for Trigger, but the rest of the world wasn’t; at least, I wasn’t.

Every time I looked up, it seemed one of them was giving the other suggestive looks.

What Kim saw in him I didn’t know, and why she would want to go there—where oh so many other women had been before—was beyond me.

He was a man, she was barely a girl, and yet those factors didn’t seem to stop either of them.

Trigger was the stereotypical biker. When he wasn’t checking out my sister, he was either bashing someone’s brains in or working on his Harley.

He had the height that shadowed everyone, muscles that bulged, and he wore a pissed-off look really well.

Dad had told me Trigger was the best vice president he could have asked for. He was one who didn’t mind “getting his hands dirty.”

Personally, he creeped me the fuck out, and if I could avoid him, I would at all costs.

Being brought up in a clubhouse meant two things—I knew what sex was before any other kid my age, and I was bartending as soon as I could hold a glass and pour a steady drink.

Which pretty much led me to this point of my life: serving drunken, swearing bikers from behind a bar while Kim sat over in the corner giving Trigger “fuck me” eyes.

***

I poured Gitz—real name Brad—another stiff shot.

He, unlike everyone else, wasn’t into the roaring party that Dad was holding for a visiting charter gang.

He hadn’t left the bar, and he hadn’t stopped pushing his empty glass back to me, either.

Gitz was in his early twenties; he swore a lot and slept with a lot of the club women, but one called Lilly always had his attention.

She’d left the previous week—even though Gitz had voted against it, Dad had let her leave the club after seven years of service.

Club women are owned by the club, and, like the bikers, they are sworn in.

Unlike the bikers, though, they aren’t given respect, and are usually referred to as “club pussy.”

I guessed that was why Gitz was drinking so heavily and ignoring the party around him.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he liked Lilly, and it was his stupid pride that had stopped him from claiming her as his old lady.

From what Lilly had told me, that was part of the reason she left.

“Abby, sweetheart!” Dad slammed his beer down on the counter, his face red and flushed with excitement. “Ya need a break, darling?”

Bartending was not where I saw my life heading, but I didn’t fight it.

“No, Dad, I’m fine.” I flashed him a smile, refilled Gitz’s drink, and then pulled a few beers out of the fridge.

“Have a break, sweetheart; you’ve been filling Gitz’s drink all day now.” Dad waved his drunken hand for me to leave.

Not wanting to get into an argument, I stepped out of the way and let another guy, Tom, take over.

“I might get some fresh air then.”

I patted Dad on the shoulder and walked past him. When Dad drank, his hard exterior slowly softened.

It was one of the rare moments when I was reminded of my childhood father. Not the “Roach” that everyone knew him as.

I weaved my way through the crowd until my hand landed on the back door, and I stepped outside into the fresh air.

The dimly lit alleyway was centered between the bar and the main house.

It was where we kept the rubbish bins, and it wasn’t the door we mainly used, but it was my quick getaway.

I was heading up the alley toward the house when I heard the back door open behind me and someone step out.

I turned around. No one else used that door, and I froze when my eyes landed on his drunken ones.

My blood ran cold, and I knew instantly I was fucked.

REAPER

A drunken man has a happy soul.

My dad brought me up believing that, and there I was, twenty years old, staggering out of the back door of the clubhouse.

The Mother Charter knows how to throw a welcome party.

I was leaning against a rubbish bin, trying very hard to keep the booze down, when I heard a scream.

Glancing around the darkened backyard, I couldn’t see anything out of place.

Then I heard the scream again, followed by a hushed conversation.

The thumping music from the clubhouse and loud roar of drunken men muffled the sounds, and I couldn’t be sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me.

Placing one hand on the wall, I followed it around until I saw her…

Screaming and slamming her tiny fists against a man’s shoulders as he grabbed her hips.

I blinked away the drunken blur that was creeping across my vision, fighting not to pass out.

“I’m not Kim!” she yelled, frantic, and continued to hit him.

The more she moved, the more she was trapped.

He had her pinned against the wall, rubbing himself against her.

He wasn’t interested in what she was saying, and I knew there was only one thing going through his mind.

I took a step back and thought to back away completely—it wasn’t my place to get in the way.

But I found myself moving toward them.

“Get off, Trigger!” she yelled. The terror and panic in her voice coated each word.

“Oi!” I screamed down the alley, and I knew he would have heard me, but being the drunken prick he was, he ignored me. “You heard her. Get off her!”

Trigger had got his name because he was always the first to pull the bloody thing. He was a full-on dick, and we had been in numerous punch-ups.

“Fuck off, Reaper. This is between me and my girlfriend.” Rage spread across Trigger’s face as he spat the words at me.

Although the brothers’ code was to never get in the way of another brother’s dick, I took one step closer to him, giving him plenty of warning.

I was going to show him why they called me the Reaper.

“She’s not into it. Now back the fuck off.”

Temper control wasn’t my strong point, and the alcohol fueled my rage.

I glanced at the girl; she was terrified, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“I’m not fucking Kim,” she yelled in his face, and pushed him again with all her strength, but it didn’t even move him.

She was weak, small, and, after taking a second glance, it was apparent that she was young, too.

I warned him; he didn’t listen.

I let my temper get the best of me, moved forward, and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

“Did ya not fucking hear me?" I said. "Get the fuck off her!”

I threw him backward, ripping his dirty hands off her.

He fumed. I could nearly see the steam coming out of his ears.

I baited him with my eyes, wanting him to charge at me. Nothing like a fight over a woman—though, in this case, it might’ve been a girl.

“Whatever.” He glanced at her, his eyes scorching. “I’ll fuck you later, Kim.”

I watched him stagger off, bastard of a VP he was. I could never believe Prez actually had respect for that little shit.

I turned back to look at her.

Her breathing was heavy as she leaned against the wall.

Her eyes met mine, and that was it; she went into meltdown.

Her tears flowed faster, and they weren’t stopping.

I hated crying women more than I hated the fucking law, but I didn’t leave her.

“Come on, darling, calm down. He’s gone now.” I placed my hand on her shoulder, dropping my head so I could look into her blurry eyes.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I stood there, looking more like a noob with every second that passed.

Her sobs soon turned into hysterics, causing her breathing to sharpen.

Fuck. What the hell do I do?

I wished I had paid more attention to fucking Dr. Phil, or some other shitty daytime TV program.

I brushed the blonde hair from her smooth, white face.

I had never seen anyone cry as much as her.

“Come on, darling, calm down.” I rubbed her shoulder, standing in front of her awkwardly.

I was so far out of my fucking depth; I should have just stayed at the fucking rubbish bin.

She dropped her head onto my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her, and she continued to weep, soon soaking my T-shirt with tears.

My heartbeat drummed faster.

This young girl trusted me enough to let me touch her. She didn’t even know me, but she was clinging to me for dear life.

Her small frame curved into my chest perfectly. I kept my arms wrapped around her, feeling like I was protecting her from the whole damned world.

“I… He…,” she stuttered into my chest. “If you hadn’t come…” She pulled her head away from my chest and looked up at me. “Thank you.”

I stared down into her crystal-blue eyes, which were framed by red puffy circles.

“Thank you, Kade.”

Fat tears slid down her cheeks, but she kept her eyes locked on mine.

“You know me?” I’d have remembered meeting her because she didn’t have a face or a body any man would ever forget.

“You’re the Satan’s Sons Western Charter’s VP.” She swallowed sharply. “Everyone knows you.”

“Not everyone, sweetheart.”

My lips twitched into a smirk, and I couldn’t stop myself from wiping underneath her eyes with the back of my sleeve.

“You okay now?”

She nodded her head. “I think so.”

Her long eyelashes fluttered up at me.

“Thanks, Kade. I owe you one.”

I could count on one hand how many people called me Kade: my mother, my father, my brother, my prez when he was pissed off, and this sweet girl.

I was called “Reaper” even before I’d stepped into the VP position, because I rid the world of dead weight.

“Do you want me to take you home?” I asked the girl, watching as she continued to wipe away tears.

Though when I thought about it, I was far from a fit state to be in control of any motor vehicle.

How such a sweet little thing had ended up here, I didn’t know, but hopefully, this would teach her to stay the hell away from places like this and the people who dwelled in them.

“No.” She shook her head. “I live here.”

At the Satan’s Sons clubhouse?

I looked her up and down again.

She looked too young to be a club whore or, as some refer to them, club property.

She didn’t look like one either.

She didn’t look like the type of girl who should be hanging around a clubhouse filled with dirty bikers.

She was the type of girl a guy like me would never have a chance with.

“How old are you?” I asked her. I felt my curiosity build each time I stared down into those crystal-blue eyes.

“Sixteen.” Her eyes locked with mine. “Why?”

If you were legal, baby girl… Damn the gods for creating such temptation.

“Bit young to be hanging around here, aren’t you?”

I placed my arm on the wall. Her eyes did not drop from mine once.

I bet she doesn’t even know how powerful those blue opals of hers are yet.

“Like I said, I live here.” She closed her eyes briefly and then looked down at the ground. “Can I ask something of you?”

She could’ve asked me anything right then, and I would’ve answered.

What the hell is happening to me?

I couldn’t believe the amount of power she suddenly held over me. But she had the kind of beauty worth going to war for.

I could only imagine what she looked like in the sunlight.

I was sure these dark shadows and the night sky were hiding most of her beauty from me.

“Sure, sweetheart, ask away.”

“Don’t tell my father.” She placed her hand on my chest. “He loves Trigger. Kim is just a fucking idiot.”

Who the fuck is Kim?

More important, who the fuck is her father?

I was about to ask her both questions but stopped when someone called my name.

“REAPER!” Banger roared. His drunken arse walked around the corner.

I hurried to block her from Banger’s view. “What?” I roared at him.

“Prez wants ya.”

He took a long drink of his beer and then tossed the bottle to the side.

I glanced back at the girl, but she wasn’t looking at me; she stared down at the ground.

The black Metallica T-shirt gripping her body had worked its way up, exposing the soft skin of her midriff.

“Are you all right by yourself?” I asked. I really didn’t want to leave her, and that bothered me.

Why the hell did I care if this girl was all right or not?

I had done the gentlemanly thing—my duty to her was over.

But still I didn’t move.

“Yep.” Her blonde hair fell to the side as she glanced up at me. “I’ll be fine.”

I didn’t believe her, but Banger snapped at me to hurry up.

I nodded my head regretfully and started walking back towards the bar.

“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon,” I heard her whisper behind me.

Her words made me stop in my tracks. I looked back at her.

“Yeah...and I wish you were fucking legal.”

“The forbidden is always more desirable.” The corners of her lips twitched upward, and for the first time, I saw her smile.

I knew right then it wasn’t something I would ever forget, and I wanted to punch myself for admitting that.

I nodded my head, shooting her a grin before walking up the alley to Banger, who was ranting about me taking my sweet time.

I didn’t look back at her, but I fucking wanted to.