Reaper's Legacy (13 page)

“Crystal,” I whispered. “I understand you completely.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered, letting me go and stepping back. Finally. I took a deep breath, dizzy with relief. He ran a hand across his hair, glaring a hole through me. “Now get your ass out of my house. Go for a car ride, go shopping, whatever the fuck you want, but don’t come back until you’ve picked Noah up from school. I’ll be gone by then.”

“Where are you going?”

“You seriously think that’s any of your business?” he asked, raising his brows. “Because we aren’t fuck buddies, you aren’t my old lady, and I sure as fuck don’t remember puttin’ you in charge of my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said.
But you don’t get to control me, either,
I thought, way too chicken to say it out loud. “And I’m sorry. You aren’t anything like Zach. I know that. But this isn’t just about us, it’s about Noah. He’s not losing another home because we can’t keep our pants on, Ruger.”

“Have I ever done anything—
anything
—to hurt that child?” he asked.

“I don’t think you’d do it on purpose.”

“Get the fuck
out
before I change my mind, Sophie. Jesus.”

I got the fuck out.

KIMBER:
No fucking way!!!!! Ur fucking with me!!!!!! His dick in ur hand and u still said NO?!??

ME:
I wish it was a joke. It happened, tho

KIMBER:
Part of me thinks u made a lucky escape … Rest of me thinkgs u shud have fucked him

ME:
That would make it all worse. You told me to stay awy from him, rmemember?

KIMBER:
Um, it’s worse already, dumbass, u blew it. Ur screwed and there’s no out. Sex is just the symptom. This is about u guys being all twisted up with each other. He wants u way more than I thought

ME:
No shit

KIMBER:
U are so dens. This morning was gamechanger. Remember—I kno him. He’s not like this with other women. I take back what I said about it being a bad idea. U should have sex. Mite as well get the fun if ur paying the price—it’s already fucked up past the point of no return

ME:
Thats the truth. Weirder every day. Harder every time I see him

KIMBER:
HARDER!!!!! Love it <-;

ME:
Perv

KIMBER:
Ur just jealous of my pervy deliciousness. So I think maybe he WANTS u. Like, to keep

ME:
Like a pet? I’m not a kitten

KIMBER:
I WILL make pussy jokes if u don’t pull your head out of ur ass. Serosly. Think about it

ME:
Hate you. Even if he wnats me, he’s stil gonna fuck around. Deal breaker

KIMBER:
I know … We need a plan. We also need margaritas. Cures everythng. Come over tonight?

ME:
Um, Im meeitng the girls from the club tonite. My place

KIMBER:
What time

ME:
7

KIMBER:
I’ll bring mix and booze. Make sure u have ice

ME:
Um …

KIMBER:
Easier if u just give in now Soph. I’m coming over to figure this out. Rugers gonna fuck u sooner or later, so it’s time to decide how to make him play nice. We can talk and then I’ll tell u what to do

ME:
I think he’s got dibs on telling me what to do! Bossy asshole

KIMBER:
Ha!

ME:
Bitch

KIMBER:
You love me. See you tonight <3

My eyeballs were going to explode.

Or maybe just pop out of my head?

I’d never tasted anything quite like the flaming shot prepared by my new best friend, Em. I nearly snorted it out my nose, but managed to hold on to token dignity as my throat ignited and my eyes watered. The circle of women around the deck table burst out cackling like a bunch of witches, so I flipped all of them off.

They laughed louder.

My morning encounter with Ruger might’ve been bizarre and tense and frustrating as all hell, but the evening had shaped up nicely. Four lady Reapers had arrived a little after seven—Maggs, Em, Marie, and Dancer. They brought pizza, beer, and a bunch of those tiny bottles of hard liquor, the kind you get on airplanes. I’d been a little overwhelmed at first, trying to keep everyone straight, but by now I’d figured them out.

Maggs was Bolt’s old lady, and he was in prison. She looked very normal for a woman with a man in jail, and not “old” at all. I didn’t think much of this whole “old lady” business, but the Reaper girls seemed to use it with pride. Maggs had shaggy, shoulder-length blonde hair full of wild curls. She was petite and perky and had such an infectious smile you couldn’t help but smile back at her.

I really, really wanted to ask why her man was locked up, but managed to keep my mouth shut for once.

Dancer was tall and elegant, with bronzed skin and long, straight hair. Had to be part Indian, I decided. Coeur d’Alene Tribe? I didn’t want to ask, but it seemed likely, since she’d grown up here. She was married to a guy called Bam Bam, and Horse was her half brother, born right after her mother married his father when she was two years old. Em was young, probably younger than me. She had the most amazing sky-blue eyes with dark rings around the edges of her irises. She was about my height and had brown hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was Picnic’s daughter, whoever he was.

The last of the old ladies was Marie, a short girl with lots of long, brown, wavy hair and a bright, bubbly personality. She was with Horse, which I found hard to picture. He was huge—you’d think he’d break her or something. She wore an unusual engagement ring, a blue stone surrounded by sparkling diamonds. Apparently the wedding was at the end of the month. The big, intense biker I’d met in Seattle hardly seemed like the type to get hitched, but he was obviously ready to sign on the dotted line for Marie.

She made it clear I was invited to the wedding and her bachelorette party, the likes of which would put the Reaper men to shame.

Attendance was not optional.

When they’d rung the front doorbell on arrival, it was the first time I’d come back upstairs to see the ruins of the kitchen and living room. Surprisingly, Ruger had cleaned up quite a bit since that morning. The place didn’t shine like before, but the bottles were gone and he’d put the love seat back on the floor. The women came through the door in a wave, all hugs and smiles and bags of food and drink. I showed them downstairs and introduced them to Noah, who’d spent the afternoon picking wildflowers in honor of our dinner together. My grubby little boy melted them instantly, of course.

“I have a son who’s a year older than you and another who’s a year younger,” Dancer told him. “Maybe you can meet them sometime.”

“Do they have Skylanders?” Noah asked, never shy. “If they have Skylanders, we should play at your house. Otherwise they should come here, because I want to show them the pond.”

“Um, I’ll talk to your mom and get it figured out,” Dancer said.

Noah shrugged and took off outside again. He wasn’t one for wasting time on useless conversation.

The only awkward moment was when Kimber arrived, shortly after I put Noah to bed. She marched down the stairs smiling brightly, but when they saw her, Maggs and Dancer got funny looks on their faces. Whatever they knew about her, Em and Marie clearly weren’t aware of it.

“Hi, I’m Kimber,” my friend said, setting a blender on the counter. She surveyed the room and crossed her arms, planting herself firmly. “Let’s get this over with. I used to work at The Line and I screwed Ruger and a lot of other guys. Mostly customers, but a few from the club. Anything else we need to talk about, or does that about cover it?”

“Holy crap,” Em said, eyes wide. “You make a hell of an entrance.”

“It would’ve been better if I could carry the vodka and mix with me in one trip with the blender,” Kimber replied seriously. “Now—you girls into huckleberry margaritas? I’m kind of a margarita artist, or so I’ve heard. We can hang out and have a great time and drink together if you like. Or you can take turns calling me a whore, which is a lot less fun for all of us, but still doable. Either way, I’m not leaving, so let’s process and move on.”

“You screw Bolt, Horse, or Bam Bam?” Em asked, clearly fascinated. The tension in the air suddenly grew heavy.

Kimber shook her head.

“Nope,” she said. “Don’t even know who Horse is. Met Bolt and Bam Bam a few times, but never got close to them. They’re whipped—at least that’s what I heard.”

“Like the sound of that,” Dancer murmured, a slow smile crossing her lips. “We’ll just skip the whore thing, then?”

The tension broke, and Kimber demonstrated that she was, indeed, something of a margarita artist.

Now it was nearly midnight and we’d progressed past blender drinks. Kimber had been queen of the party girls in high school, and clearly she hadn’t given up her title entirely.

“You have to understand,” she said, her voice grave as we sat in a circle around Ruger’s deck table. “I love being a mom. But I need to get
out
sometimes, you know? I had no idea their little bodies held so many fluids!”

Dancer started laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair.

“Know the feeling,” she gasped. “Sometimes it starts spraying out and out and out and you’d think they’d deflate or something!”

I gave Kimber a loud high five, happy she had a kid she loved and even happier mine was mostly past the spraying phase.

“That’s why I’m not having babies anytime soon,” Em declared. “Lose your freedom and your mind, apparently. You’re pathetic, all of you.”

“Gotta have sex first to have a kid,” Marie said, waggling her eyebrows dramatically as she poked Em’s shoulder. “I keep telling you, we need to just go out and get you laid. Get it over with, punch that V-card.”

“If I get ten punches, do I get a free pizza?” Em asked her. “Seriously, I don’t know why I’m waiting at this point.”

“Well, don’t bother waiting for Painter,” Maggs said, rolling her eyes. “He’s had his full patch for three months now. He hasn’t manned up yet, it’s not gonna happen.”

Em frowned.

“It’s not like that,” she said, shaking her head. “I was into him,
okay? Liked him a lot, actually. But he blew it. He cares more about not pissing off my dad than being with me.”

“To be fair, your dad has a bit of a reputation,” Dancer said, her voice dry. “He shot your last boyfriend. Thinking about that’s gotta mess with a man’s head.”

I looked at Em with new interest, trying to remember who her dad was. Oh, yeah. Her dad was Picnic.
Picnic?
What kind of name was that? Almost as weird as Horse …

“What the hell is up with all these names?” I demanded abruptly, swaying in my seat. They all looked at me blankly. “Picnic? Bam Bam? Horse?!? Who names their baby Horse? And what the hell is Ruger all about? His name is Jesse, for God’s sake. I met his mom and she
told me
.”

They all burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, feeling put out. It was a serious question.

“You thought they were real names!” Marie asked, losing it again. “It’s funny because I know exactly how you feel. I asked the same question. Horse is a fucking ridiculous name, isn’t it?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Is that a trick question? I don’t want to insult the guy you’re marrying. Also, he’s scary. He has a metal bat and likes to carry around duct tape. All he needs is black plastic garbage bags and he could be a serial killer.”

I leaned forward and jabbed a finger to make my point.

“I know these things. I watch TV.”

Marie snorted so hard margarita came out her nose.

“Horse’s real name is Marcus,” Dancer said, giggling and rolling her eyes. “He’s my brother, by the way. Horse is just his road name—like a nickname, you know? Most of the guys have ’em. Girls, too. Dancer’s my road name.”

“What’s your real name?”

“No comment,” Dancer replied primly.

“Agrippina,” Em declared proudly. “I shit you not.”

Dancer blew a stream of frozen margarita at Em through her straw.

“Traitorous bitch.”

“Are you fucking with us?” Kimber asked, looking between them. “Agrippina? After Agrippina the Younger or Agrippina the Elder?”

We all looked at her blankly.

“Mom had a thing for Roman history,” Dancer said after a pause. I shook my head, trying to follow the conversation. The drinks weren’t helping. Oh, yeah. Road names.

“So why is he called Horse?” I asked. Marie blushed bright red and looked away.

“Ha!” Dancer said, smacking the table for emphasis. “Horse says he’s called that because he’s hung like one. But I know the real reason. When he was a kid—like three, four years old maybe?—he used to carry around this little stuffed horsie all the time, slept with it and everything. One day he and I got in a fight and he started hitting me with it, over and over again. Mom took it away from him and gave it to me. He started following me around crying, ‘Horsie, Horsie,’ all the time, and it stuck.”

Marie’s eyes opened wide.

“Are you fucking serious?” she asked. Dancer nodded, her face full of the kind of evil glee only an older sister can express. “Holy shit, that’s hysterical.”

“His dad insisted it was because he had a big dick, right to the day he died,” she continued. “But I swear to you—it’s because of that stuffed animal of his. Don’t let him fool you.”

“Did you ever give it back to him?” Em asked breathlessly. Dancer shook her head.

“I still have it,” she declared. “And I promise you this, Marie.
The day you marry his stupid ass, I’ll give it to you. That’ll keep him in his place.”