Reaper’s Stand (Reapers MC #4)(68)
Author: Joanna Wylde

I squirmed, desperate for air.

“Fuck,” Bam Bam said, his voice urgent. “Pic, let her the fuck go. You don’t wanna do this, bro. Believe me.”

Reese let me go, stepping away as I collapsed down in the handcuffs. I gasped for oxygen, vision hazy as Reese stalked around me, tossing his knife back and forth between his hands. He wasn’t looking at me, though. No, he stared down his club brothers like a force of nature.

“Get the fuck out,” Reese said, the words soft and calm and more terrifying than anything I’d ever heard before in my life. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“Fuck, bro—” Gage started. Reese shook his head slowly.

“Not playin’ games,” he told them. “Get out. My woman, my business.”

Horse cocked his head, eyes assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod and left the room. Bam Bam followed, smacking his hand hard on the wall as he passed through the door. Gage stayed, studying us.

“Don’t kill her,” he said. “You’ll regret it. Walk away.”

“Last chance,” Reese said, the words quiet and cold. Gage sighed and gave a sharp nod.

Then he walked out, leaving me alone with a madman.

He turned and our eyes met. I searched his, trying to identify what I saw there. Hate? Anger? Maybe rage or betrayal?

None of those words were strong enough to describe the air of cold menace filling the space between us. Menace, but also a flicker of awareness. There was something broken in my libido, I decided. I shouldn’t be turned on by this. Not even a little bit. He started stalking toward me, lifting the knife and touching the side of the blade to one cheek.

“You went to Nate.”

I closed my eyes and swallowed.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” I whispered. “It’d gone too far. Looking for papers is one thing, but shooting a man is another.”

“Yet you pointed a gun at me and pulled the trigger.”

“That’s because of Nate,” I replied. He lowered the knife and raised his hand, brushing a finger down my cheek. Then he caught a strand of my hair and slowly wound it around his fingers, until it pulled and I couldn’t move my head. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against my cheek and whispering in my ear.

“Did you fuck him?”

The hot touch of his breath sent a thrill through me, some sort of twisted lust mixed up with fear and adrenaline, and a sick, savage pleasure that he wanted to know, ’cause nothing fucked up about that, right?

“No,” I said, the word hoarse. “I met him at a diner. I told him what was happening, and what they were trying to get me to do. Then he said he knew all about it and that he’s the one that blew up my house.”

“Told you he wasn’t a very nice guy,” Reese said, sucking my earlobe into his mouth. I moaned, and he twisted my head back, forcing me to look up at him. His mouth ghosted across my skin, and he nipped at my lip. I gasped, almost expecting a kiss, but instead he asked another question. “Let me guess—he’s buddies with the guy holdin’ Jessica, and this was all a setup?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “He said he … He said he had sex with Jessica. That he gave her money. Melanie told me she had an older boyfriend who bought things for her. I think it must’ve been him. He told me I had to kill you and that the police couldn’t do anything to help me.”

“So you came home and tried to shoot me?”

“Yes.”

“That was very, very stupid,” Reese said, his voice growing hard as he pulled back from me. “And now you’re going to pay. But you’re a very lucky girl, did you know that?”

“Why?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

He offered a feral smile.

“Because I still want to fuck you.”

More of that sick lust tore through me, all mixed with fear as he raised his knife. Grasping the neckline of my shirt, he slowly slit the fabric in half, exposing my upper body and bra. Then he tugged the bra down, popping my breasts out the top.

I saw the pulse pounding in his neck, smelled a hint of musky sweat. It was messed up and horrible and wrong in every way, but I wanted him inside me. Desperately. That’s my only explanation for what I did next.

Licking my lips, I spoke, taunting him.

“You wanna talk or you wanna fuck? ’Cause I know which one I’d prefer.”

His cheeks flushed dark red and then the knife whipped upward, slashing through the rope holding my handcuffs. I collapsed instantly, and he caught me, throwing me roughly over his shoulder as he carried me out the door. I had a vague impression of bare concrete, bright white lights, and a grim-faced Gage as we found the little room with the cot. Reese slammed the door shut behind us with his foot.

I hit the bed hard, knocking the wind right out of me. Then I heard a slithering, whipping sound, and Reese was cinching my hands to the top of the bed with his belt. Seconds later my pants came down around my ankles. His hands grabbed my hips, lifting them high and I felt his cock at my entrance.

Then his eyes caught mine and he snarled.

I screamed when he slammed home, because it hurt and I was scared and it felt incredibly good and my brain just wouldn’t work anymore. Reese wasn’t a gentle lover under the best of circumstances, but this was brutal. He stilled and braced above me with those strong arms of his, smiling.

It wasn’t a friendly or loving smile.

No. This smile was a baring of teeth, and in his eyes I saw rage, pure and simple. Rage and hate and some kind of unholy, twisted desire that cut through both of us, no matter how sick that was. Holding my gaze, he pulled back and thrust again, this time harder. It burned and I cried out, but he didn’t stop. I didn’t want him to, either. I wanted more—I wanted him to pin me and fill me with his come and I didn’t care anymore whether that was wrong or right.

I just needed this terrible tension building between us to break. I needed him.

“That the best you can do?” I demanded, laughing almost hysterically. He growled and my laugh turned into a shriek as he showed me that no, it wasn’t the best he could do. It was just the beginning, because Reese started thrusting into me so hard my body could hardly take it. My legs spread wide and my hips pressed back into the thin mattress and I screamed again. I had never, ever in my entire life felt anything so amazingly good as the sensation of his body tearing into mine.

This wasn’t sex—this was revenge and it was perfect.

He pounded into me without mercy after that, our eyes glued to each other, lips snarling. There were no tender kisses, no playful giggles. Just the raw desire of two people whose lives had crashed together in the worst possible way. My orgasm didn’t build slowly and wash over me. Nope. It slammed through me, ripping apart my existence until I cried out and tears ran down my face.