1
REAPER
The invoice numbers blur together, and I rub my temples, trying to ward off the migraine that’s been threatening to take me out all day. Leaning back in my chair, I take a deep breath and tilt my head up as if to drain the tiredness from my eyes.
A quick look at my phone tells me I’ve been in the back office of the Wicked Riders MC repair shop for over three hours, going over paperwork. So much fucking paperwork. I was practically raised in the Wicked Riders motorcycle club, and I always wanted to be the president one day. Five years into achieving my dream, and I realize the position comes with a lot more office work than I had planned for.
Normally, the president of a motorcycle club spends his days in the clubhouse. I split my time between my regular office at the club and my office here, where I’m the manager. It keeps me busy, and I usually don’t mind. Until it’s time for the boring paperwork.
I stand from my seat, unfurling myself from the uncomfortable position I was in, bent over my desk. Stretching my arms above my head, I feel a few joints pop, as well as a satisfying crack in my lower spine. Even though the coffee inthe front of the shop is at least six hours old, I’m going to need something to wake me up if I’m ever going to get through these invoices.
The lobby area in front of the shop is empty, which is pretty typical for this time of day. Our clientele is mostly fellow MC brothers, a few nomads, and the occasional weekend warrior who likes to feel tough by getting his fancy bike fixed up by real bikers.
Peering through one of the doors to the garage bays, I nod when I see Wraith, our Sergeant in Arms, and Rogue, our Road Captain, working on their bikes. I’ve spent more hours in that garage, elbows deep in a project, covered in oil, than I have pretty much anything else in my life. But ever since becoming president, I’m less hands-on. There’s hardly any dirt under my fingers anymore. Just paper cuts.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that my brothers unanimously voted me for president five years ago when our previous leader stepped down. It’s an honor, and damn right humbling to see their confidence in me to this day. I like to think I’ve lived up to the highest standards of the club and have bettered our community during my time in charge so far. At Wicked Riders MC, we may skirt the law at times, but above all, we’re loyal, and we protect what’s ours. That goes for our community as well.
I grab a mug from the cupboard above the coffee maker and pour the stale, steaming hot liquid inside. The coffee smells like dirt and battery acid, and tastes even worse. Good. It’s exactly what I need to kickstart my system.
Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest and continue sipping the rancid brew. My eyes widen in surprise when I see a curvy young woman in a flowery red dress pacing back and forth in front of the shop window. I tilt my head to theside, studying her more and trying to figure out what she’s doing here.
The woman has long, straight, jet black hair and olive-colored skin. When she turns around and begins pacing in the opposite direction, I see a hint of her facial features. I can’t quite tell the color of her eyes, but her pretty pink lips have caught my attention.
What am I doing?I ask myself. I haven’t looked at a woman that way in… I can’t even remember. This club has been my whole life ever since I got out of juvie at fifteen. Women never played a factor in becoming President of the MC, so I didn’t bother. And I’ve been fine with that.So then why can’t I stop looking at this mysterious woman?
As if sensing my scrutiny, the dark-haired woman faces the front door fully, takes a deep breath, and clenches her jaw. She stares at the door like it’s her personal Mount Everest. I have no idea what a little thing like her is doing out front of my motorcycle shop, but it can’t be good.
I watch as she pulls the door open and steps inside, brushing off her dress and tucking her hair behind her ear before looking around. When her eyes land on me, my heart does the strangest thing. It beats for the first time in years. No, it’s more than that. One look into those endless emerald eyes of hers, and my entire nervous system jump-started. My heart isn’t just beating; it’s pumping blood through my veins so forcefully I have to gasp for air.
“Hi,” the woman says, her voice far too light and sweet for the dirty environment she’s surrounded by.
I blink at her several times, still taking in her delicate features, freckled nose, dark green eyes, and the curvy package they’re all wrapped up in. When I don’t say anything, she continues.
“I was wondering if you had a job available.”
A dry chuckle falls from my lips, and I eye her up and down skeptically. She’s young. Too damn young. At least fifteen years younger than my thirty-nine. Her brow furrows, the corners of her lips turning down in a slight frown. The fact that she doesn’t know how ridiculous her request is says it all.
“This is no place for a little girl like you,” I tell her harshly. For a moment, I think she’s going to back down. But I’m not lucky enough for that.
“Let’s start over,” she says, pasting on a bright smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“It’s not the foot that matters,” I mutter under my breath.
The woman shocks me by giggling at my grumpy response. Not exactly what I was going for.
“I’m Lynx,” she informs me, holding out her hand for me to shake.
I stare at it, for some reason noticing the chipped light pink nail polish on her nails. Something tells me that if I touch her, I won’t be able to let her go. Which is absolutely ridiculous. My brain must be scrambled from all the paperwork.
Lynx drops her hand, but the smile never leaves her face. “And you are…?” The woman rocks back on her heels and looks up at me expectantly.Why is she so damn cute? Did I really just think the word cute?
“Reaper.”
“Reaper,” she repeats. I shouldn’t like the way my name sounds rolling off her tongue. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of other things rolling off her tongue. “Is that a… Family name?”
Her green eyes are round and innocent as she looks up at me, but her little smirk tells me she’s proud of the joke she made. The craziest thing is, it’s taking a considerable amount of effort to not smirk back.
“Road name.“
