Or Reaper now, apparently. President of the Dead Knights MC. King of the monsters.
Last time I saw him, he was Jay, my brother’s best friend. The one who called me ‘Little Kane’ and always made sure I got the last slice of pizza. The one who lit my first cigarette behind the garage and gave me that stupid crooked smile when I coughed for ten straight minutes.
The one I’d crushed on so hard, I thought my chest might crack open from it.
The gun was loaded. The phone was charged. I held the collar of the hoodie to my face and inhaled, imagining the jacket still smelled like Caleb.
It was time. If I didn’t leave then, I would’ve lost my nerve. I tucked the weapon into the back of my jeans and shoved my hair into a rough knot, copper strands still falling free. Caleb used to tease me about never being able to tame it.
I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror by the door. I didn’t look scared, and that was good because I was.
I locked up behind me and walked out into the night. Next stop, the Dead Knights’ bar.
If Reaper really was the monster I thought he’d become, I’d have to remind him who he used to be.
I got into my car and drove east, past the rusting refinery, past the trailer parks and shut-down pawn shops, and towards the edge of town where the Dead Knights MC kept their clubhouse. The sun was already going down by the time I pulled up in front of the building and sat watching. It had been a long day, and it was about to get longer.
The clubhouse looked like a converted mechanic’s garage and probably had been once upon a time, with sheet metal siding and a black reaper skull painted across the front door. A ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY’ sign hung lopsided on the chain-link fence, bullet holes clustered around the corners like decoration.
A couple of Harleys sat outside, chrome and black and mean as hell. Not much had changed in the seven years since I’d beenhere last. Except now, they had a new President, Reaper, the man Caleb had trusted and loved like a brother.
I took a deep breath and steeled myself then flung open the car door and stepped out, boots crunching on the gravel. I’d put on the jeans and Caleb’s old hoodie on purpose, figuring if I looked enough like grief, maybe no one would question me until I was inside.
As if they had been watching me, the door creaked open just before I knocked. Of course they had been watching. Nothing happened around their properties that they didn’t know about. They were dangerous, but there were other bad men out there, too. Many of whom would love to take down the Dead Knights.
A man stood in the doorframe, big and bearded with eyes like stormy clouds.
“You lost, sweetheart?” His voice was gruff, like he smoked twenty cigarettes a day. Maybe he did.His kutte read ‘Keno.’
I swallowed, but I wasn’t about to give up.
“I’m looking for Jay Maddison . . . Reaper.” I hated that my voice was low and a little shaky. I knew they would eat me alive if I showed weakness. So, I thought of Caleb, his smiles, the sound of his laugh, and the feel of his hugs when the world had all become too much for me.
Keno tilted his head. “Ain’t seen you before.” I thought he was trying to figure out if I was one of the club whores or maybe even one of the old ladies.
“I’m Caleb Kane’s sister, Lucy.”
His jaw tightened, barely, but I saw it.
“He’s dead,” I said, in case he wanted to pretend otherwise. “I have questions.”
He looked me over slowly, eyes flicking to my hands, boots, and car. I held still, fighting the urge to shift from one foot to the other. I didn’t blink and barely even breathed.
Finally, he stepped aside. “You’re gonna want to be respectful,” he said quietly. “Reaper’s not in a friendly mood.”
Reaper.A man who not only came to claim my brother after he died, like his namesake, but a man who caused death himself.
When I stepped inside, the lights were low and the room was heavy with smoke. The place smelled like old whiskey and oil, the kind of scent that soaked into leather and skin.
Low-hanging lights buzzed over the pool tables. A few women lounged across patched laps or hovered by the bar, laughing too loud, too fake.
One of them noticed me right away—a tall brunette, poured into black leather pants. Her lips were pulled into a slow, assessing smile and then cooled when her gaze slid from me to Jay.
She leaned on the bar, quietly saying something to him that I couldn’t hear over the jukebox. He didn’t look at her long, just nodded and moved on down the bar towards me, but she kept her eyes on me.
I told myself it was nothing, just the way women in those types of places sized each other up. Still, I felt the weight of that glare even as Keno led me deeper inside.
“Reaper. Here about Caleb,” Keno bellowed from behind me.
