A Deal With the Reaper: A Dark MC and Serial Killer Romance (The Saints of Purgatory Book 1), page 8
Unfortunately, the euphoria from outsmarting Theo evaporates when he arrives to pick me up, holds out his hand, and says, “Gun and drugs, please.”
My jaw drops. “How—”
“Did you really think I didn’t plan for you to do something like this? Come on, little reaper. I’m not an idiot.”
Fury coaxes the fire. “What did you do? Plant a tracker on me? Put cameras in my house?”
“You can keep the other knife, but not the gun or drugs. I’ll give them back at the end of the month.”
“No.”
Theo smirks. “Want a repeat of Tuesday night? Maybe this fight will end differently and won’t leave you so… frustrated.”
My face burns. I know we can’t fight in the middle of the office, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him that close to me again. So, I retrieve the gun and little bag and drop them in Theo’s still outstretched hand. He tucks the gun in the back of his pants and zips open the bag, studying each vial to ensure I didn’t take out any drugs or syringes.
“Alright, let’s go. We have church to get to.”
~
The Saints of Purgatory’s Friday “church” meeting feels eerily familiar. Sitting among the group of people who all want their voices heard, I try to locate the origin of this odd sense of familiarity. There are simultaneously a dozen fights brewing between the bikers and, somehow, a strong undercurrent of unity and love.
Then it hits me. The foster family I lived with from ages seven to thirteen, the best years of my life. The family consisted of two biological children, two adopted children, and two to four foster kids at any given time. It was constant chaos in that house. There was never a quiet moment, even in the middle of the night, and my foster parents encouraged input from all the kids, which meant there were a lot of discussions. Arguments, however, were banned. I remember always being on edge, prepared for an imminent fight. But whenever it got close, our parents would shut down the conversation, postponing it until everyone calmed down.
That’s what this meeting feels like. I wouldn’t be surprised if the group walked away with dozens of broken noses and black eyes and an even stronger familial bond between them. It’s disorientating.
Theo doesn’t look immune to the stress of the meeting either. I have the perfect view of him from my spot in the corner. I see every time his fingers flex in annoyance and how he grows tenser by the minute, the veins in his arms threatening to pop. He sits at the front, James next to him, and only speaks to steer the conversation back on topic or shut someone down.
No one acknowledges me until an hour into the meeting when Daryus says, “Are we just going to ignore the fact that a hang-around is here?”
A dozen heads spin in my direction, as if his question was permission to look. I straighten my spine, carefully not lowering my eyes.
“She’s not a hang-around,” Theo says.
“Well, she’s not a member or prospective,” Daryus argues.
“He’s right. No one else brings their girl to church,” Raphael says. Then he adds in a heavier voice, as if referring to a collectively painful memory, “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure she should be here, boss,” another guy says.
A few others voice their agreement. I bite down hard, fighting the desire to stab someone.
“That’s enough.” Theo doesn’t yell, but the words are the most threatening he’s said so far. Every single person goes silent and alters their posture, either cowering back or straightening like soldiers falling in line. “June is here as my guest, and she will continue to come as long as I want her to. She’s to be treated like one of us until I say otherwise. And if I hear one more complaint, I’ll start assigning dirty work and stripping patches and privileges. Understood?”
I scan the faces of the bikers. Some, like Daryus, look angry. Others, like James, nod. Luna’s wide, cheery smile nearly making me laugh.
“Anything else?”
No one speaks, though several must want to.
“Fine. Then we’re finished. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Luna told me their weekly churches are typically several hours long, so Theo ending it after an hour sends a ripple of unease through the group. Those looking at me quickly turn their attention away, like they’re afraid of staring too long and pissing off their leader.
Theo stands and crosses the room, meeting my eyes and jerking his head forward in a silent command to follow. My instinct is to stay seated, not to follow the big angry biker while armed only with a knife, but my legs push me up anyway. I find Luna in the crowd, and though she’s not smiling anymore, she does give me an encouraging nod. Taking a breath, I head outside, preparing for another fight.
Except when I reach Theo on the front porch, he doesn’t look mad. If anything, he looks sad.
I stand a foot behind him, wondering if he expects me to apologize. But I didn’t do anything wrong. This was all his idea. I’d gladly stay at the house while he attends these dumb church meetings.
Despite that, I’m still shocked when Theo breaks the silence with a soft, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to cancel the meeting. I can walk back to your house.” Or I could go to Sadie’s. It’s not like he’d know. Though he does have cameras in his house, so he may check on me.
He shakes his head. “James can finish up.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to go back in, June. Let’s just go.”
Hearing him call me June is jarring, and my next question, if he ever took one of his previous girlfriends to club meetings, vanishes from my throat. I distinctly remember Jennifer complaining about Amber going to meetings with her “gang-banger boyfriend,” fearing that it meant she was being initiated. Except Raphael said no one brings their girls.
Instead of asking, I nod and follow Theo in silence to his bike. We don’t speak until we’re at the house and I’m heading to my bedroom.
“You can stay out here if you want. I was going to watch a movie.”
The last half hour has thrown me so off kilter that I don’t automatically say no. The therapeutic analyst side of my brain kicks into gear, replaying recent events and scrutinizing Theo’s words.
The club members are suspicious of outsiders, that much is plain. Hang-arounds, people like me who aren’t members but spend time with the club, are normal, especially at the clubhouse or Iron Cage when they’re just relaxing. But they’re more protective of formal events, like meetings. Something specific happened to make them especially distrustful of strangers—girlfriends—hearing club business.
And that distrust not only angered Theo but sucked the fight out of him. I doubt he’s just telling me I can watch the movie with him if I want to. He’s asking me to stay with him, in his own way. He won’t let himself appear vulnerable or weak, especially in front of me, a known enemy, but he doesn’t want to be alone.
Whatever the experience was that created a distrust of strangers among the Saints must’ve affected Theo more than the others.
Was it Amber? I can’t see how. She was an innocent twenty-one-year-old girl. Maybe what he did to her put them at risk, and instead of getting angry at their leader, the club collectively blamed Amber.
I need to know. Everything Jennifer told me was second-hand information from the perspective of a worried parent. I’m fairly certain how the relationship ended, but I have no idea what got them there. I assumed Theo was just a violent asshole who went too far one day, an unfortunate ending to many abusive relationships.
I’m not so sure about that anymore. And I won’t learn the truth by avoiding Theo.
So, I shrug and say, “What are we watching?” I ignore the visible relief in his eyes and how his muscles relax.
“What kind of movies do you like?” He kicks off his shoes and drops onto the couch, snatching up the TV remote. “Let me guess, Saw and John Wick are your favorites.”
I roll my eyes, sitting on the other end of the couch. “First of all, those are great movies. But for your information, my favorite movie is Across the Universe.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “The hippie one where they’re all on drugs? You do realize those people are pacifists, right?”
“It’s The Beatles. How can you not love that movie?”
“Okay, well, we’re not watching that.”
“Fine. What’s your favorite movie, then? Ghost Rider?”
“Ha ha, very original.”
“Well?”
“I’m not telling you.”
My lips tug into a smile. “What is it?”
A barely noticeable red tint spreads across his cheeks.
“Oh, my god. It’s some stupid chick flick, isn’t it? Sweet Home Alabama? The Notebook?”
“Isn’t it misogynistic to call traditionally female-loved movies ‘stupid chick flicks’?”
“You’re not going to distract me from this.”
“It’s Interstellar,” he says, though I don’t need to be a therapist to know he’s lying.
“It is not!”
“Drop it, little reaper.”
“I’m going to ask James. Or Luna. I’ll bet they know.”
The blush deepens, and he reaches over to stop me from lifting my phone. “Okay! Fine. It’s Tinkerbell.”
For a moment, I think he’s still joking, but the truth is etched in the lines of his forehead and shining on his cheeks. I lean back, staring at him with more confusion than ever before.
“Tinkerbell?”
He nods.
“The 2008 animated film?”
“It’s a good movie.”
“I’ll have to trust you on that.”
He averts his eyes. “Right. So, what do you want to watch?”
I permit the subject change because I can sense pushing this further would be a bad idea. “The new Marvel movie?”
“No, those are all the same movie. It’s boring.”
“That’s the point. You know what you’re getting. Awesome fight scenes and witty jokes.”
“What about Rocketman? You like musicals.”
“I like the one musical.”
“Alright, no musicals. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood?”
“Gross, that’s one of those stupid movies the critics rave about but actually has no point. Let’s do National Treasure. It’s a classic.”
“Really, little reaper? Are you obsessed with Nicolas Cage or something?”
“He’s an enigma, okay?” I shout, throwing my hands out.
“Whatever you say. Let’s just scroll Netflix.”
So, we do. It takes thirty minutes and several arguments until we agree on a movie.
“I still don’t think we should watch a Christmas movie in January,” I mumble even as I pull my legs under me and reach into the bowl of popcorn Theo prepared.
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Is to.”
“Just because it’s set at a Christmas party does not mean it’s a Christmas movie.”
“Are we really doing this again?”
“Just as long as you know you’re wrong.”
“Alright, Tinkerbell.”
He glares at me, but there’s no real heat in the look. We settle into a comfortable silence of watching the movie with occasional commentary. James gets home halfway through and drops onto the couch between us without a word.
“Jamesy,” I venture, pitching my voice up an octave. “Tell Theo that Die Hard is, indeed, a Christmas movie.”
“Oh, my god! It’s not!”
“Sorry, T, but she’s right.”
“HA!”
“I hate you,” Theo mumbles to James, who just shrugs. I’m still grinning when I turn back to the screen, and by the end of the night, I’ve nearly forgotten about the awkward club meeting or my earlier fight with Theo.
Chapter Eleven
Theo
I’m able to shake off the memories faster than I ever have. The anger was fleeting and the grief was only crippling for a few minutes. Even the mention of Tinkerbell didn’t launch me into an inescapable pit of sorrow. Watching a movie with June, teasing each other like we’re not enemies who might kill each other any second, felt so normal, so light and easy, that I could smile and laugh without drowning in guilt.
The night ended so much better than I could’ve expected.
I shouldn’t be surprised when it doesn’t last.
“I’m not going to waste a day riding on your motorcycle for no reason,” June says, her arms crossed as she stands in her bedroom doorway.
“This was part of our deal.”
“Why do you care? You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to burn your house down while you’re gone or run away. I know I can’t leave without you turning me in.”
I frown. “Because the point of this is for you to get to know me and the club. I won’t always make you ride with us, but Saturday rides are important. Everyone goes.”
“Everyone? Including ‘hang-arounds’?”
I nearly flinch at the memory of Daryus and Raphael’s anger last night. They have valid reasons not to want outsiders at our meetings, but the way they looked at me, the way they looked at June…
I shake my head. “Girlfriends and Ol’ Ladies join rides. So do prospects.”
“How long are these rides?”
“A few hours. Typically, we ride a couple hundred miles.”
“Hours?!” June shouts. “Absolutely not.”
“Come with me today, and you can skip next week.”
“How about I skip today and go next week?”
“No.”
June throws her head back with a groan. Then she turns back into her room and slams the door. I wait a few minutes. Before I can barge in to throw her over my shoulder, the door opens.
My breath catches. She’s wearing the riding clothes I got her, the jeans hugging her every curve and her shirt low enough to give a hint of her tits. Despite how covering the outfit is, my dick still twitches at the sight.
“Perfect.” I bite my cheek, trying to put a leash on my libido. She’s wearing a jacket and jeans, not lingerie, for fuck’s sake.
We pull on our helmets and gloves, then head to my Springfield. On the motorcycle, her hands move from the seat to the back of the bike, like she’s afraid of touching me, even though she’s ridden with me several times already. Rolling my eyes, I reach back, grab her wrists, and yank her forward, forcing her arms around my waist. She lets out a little yelp, and I smirk. The smile grows as her hold tightens with every second.
We meet the crew outside of the clubhouse, and everyone falls into formation, James at my side and Daryus and Kip behind us. Raph, as the tail gunner, picks up the rear on his custom Harley chopper.
As soon as we’re rolling, my head clears and my muscles loosen, finally free from all the shit pulling me in different directions. Then June shifts an inch, her fingers curling into my shirt beneath my cut, and the brief freedom is punctuated by thoughts of the little reaper pressed against my back. The feeling of her body molding into mine as we ride is torturous, and I consider rerouting our ride just so I can get rid of her. But then she’ll feel like she’s won, and she already got too much power last night. So, I suck it up and use all my willpower to ignore how painfully tight my jeans become each time June’s fingers flex their hold a few inches above the waistband.
She relaxes when we reach the open road outside city limits. I feel the moment her fear melts into joy, then elation. My little reaper is addicted to thrills. She thrives on the risks of life, like me. Pretty soon, she’ll be looking at bikes at three in the morning.
Several hours later, our ride ends at the Iron Cage. We rhythmically pull into the lot, parking our bikes side by side. The absence of the roaring exhaust pipes is louder than the ride itself, and as soon as I swing my leg off the bike, tension begins creeping back into my muscles.
June stumbles as she tries to follow, her legs wobbling. I grab her arms to steady her. “You okay?”
She shakes me off. “I’m fine.”
“It’s like trying to walk on land after a month at sea!” Luna says, bounding over. “Don’t worry, killer, you’ll get used to it.”
“Doubtful.” Without another word to me, June pulls her helmet off and follows Luna into the Iron Cage.
“Looks like Luna might be stealing another one of our girls!” Raph shouts. I turn, aiming a death glare at him. His mouth snaps shut, and he has the decency to look sheepish.
“Chill, dude,” James whispers.
“Fuck off.” I carefully don’t look for June inside, instead heading behind the bar. The bartender, a young woman much tougher than she looks, dips her chin in my direction. I pour a glass of whiskey, down it, and fill another, which I take to the back office. James follows and sits in the chair in front of my desk.
“Did you see Matthew when we were on 80?”
I nod. “He broke formation twice. Something’s going on with him.”
“Think it’s Krissy?” he suggests, referring to Matthew’s fiancé, who is, frankly, a bitch.
“I don’t care what it is, he needs to get his shit together.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks.”
“And you?”
“Look, June is—”
“No,” James interrupts. “I mean last night. The meeting. I know that wasn’t about June. At least, not completely.”
