Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(38)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“Sorry,” she said lightly, in a tone that clearly wasn’t sorry at all. “I suppose you could report me to the cops.”

I had to smile. Cops. Yup, that was unsexy enough to do the trick.

“I guess you earned it,” I admitted.

“Oh, I earned more than that,” she said, the gun unwavering. “You kidnapped me, you f**ked me over, and then you took pictures of me naked. Gonna take more than pretty panties to make that right.”

“I’ll concede the point,” I said, considering the photos. I might regret everything else, but damned if I’d regret those. “Anything I can do to make it up to you? More shit from Victoria’s Secret sounds perfect to me, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“You know, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought over the past week, and I keep coming back to one idea . . . How about I shoot you in the balls? Payback seems only fair, right?”

My eyes widened. Em laughed, the sound delicate in the darkness. Then she shook the gun at me like a little finger “tsking” me for being too loud in a library.

“Hey, you asked,” she said. “I’m going back inside now.”

“No, stop,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have shit to tell you. About the situation between our clubs.”

She frowned.

“Why should I trust you?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I said. “But I owe you my life. Thanks for that phone call, by the way.”

She flinched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, well, assuming you had done something for me—theoretically, of course—I’d want you to know how much I appreciated it,” I said softly. “I’d also want to tell you what’s happening with the truce, maybe make sure you know you’re safe now.”

I reached toward my pocket. She straightened her arms into a shooting stance.

“I’m just grabbing some weed,” I told her. “Been a hell of a week, could use a smoke. You want some?”

She shook her head, but when I pulled out the joint, I saw her relax a little.

“Go ahead, sit down,” I told her. “Keep your gun on me if it makes you happy. But I’d rather you didn’t. Knowing my luck, a spider will fall on you or something and the f**kin’ thing will go off.”

“Sexist much?” she asked, frowning. “Poor little Em, scared of spiders. Can’t handle her gun. Afraid I won’t remember which end goes bang?”

I started laughing. In fact, I laughed so hard that I couldn’t talk at first. She glared at me the whole time, but she also lowered the pistol.

“Babe, I nearly shot Skid in the ass one time because a spider fell on me while I was holding a gun,” I finally managed to say. “Those things freak me right the hell out. They got eight f**kin’ legs, and that ain’t natural. That’s some Dr. Seuss shit right there.”

She cocked her head at me and a smile crept across her face.

“It’s really hard to take you seriously when you’re afraid of spiders and Dr. Seuss,” she murmured. Damn, I loved the sound of her voice. If I ever found myself alone with Toke, I’d be killing him with my bare hands. Not because of what he did to Clutch—no, I owed the bastard for ruining my chance to f**k this gorgeous girl.

“So, what’s the proper, Devil’s Jacks–approved policy regarding scary spiders and children’s books?” she asked lightly. “Do your bylaws stipulate extra points for making more than one reference in a conversation? ’Cause I’m not really a Dr. Seuss fan.”

I stared at her, startled.

“Em, you gotta be a f**kin’ communist, you don’t like Dr. Seuss. Jesus.”

She started laughing and relaxed her stance. The gun was still out, but she came over and sat down about six feet away from me, back to the bunkhouse wall. I lit up and took a hit, feeling the harsh smoke slide down my throat and into my lungs. I wasn’t a huge stoner, but I figured I’d earned a little relaxation.

“So what did you want to tell me?” she asked. I took another hit, then let my arms rest on my knees.

“Well, the cops caught Toke,” I said. “You probably knew that.”

“Nope,” she muttered. “I’d guessed things were settling down, seeing as we’re not at war, but nobody confirmed it for me.”

“You sound a little tense. Sure you don’t want some?”

“No. I want to shoot you in the balls.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that,” I said slowly. “I’m startin’ to think it’s not a joke?”

She smiled at me. Not a nice smile.

“Nope. Not a joke. Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this all week. Just because I’m not screaming and yelling doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

I studied her face, trying to decide how to play this out. I took another long drag, enjoying the cloudy feeling in my head.

To this day, that’s the only explanation I’ve got for what I did next.

“Okay, let’s compromise,” I said, standing slowly. “No shooting, but you can kick me if it means you’ll forgive me? I get that it’s over between us, but I don’t want you hating me. It’s important.”

The whites of her eyes grew huge in the moonlight.

“Are you serious?” she asked, scrambling to her feet.

I shrugged.

“I know I’ve earned it,” I admitted. “Probably earned more. Just do it and get it over with. Before I change my mind.”

I took one last inhale and then tossed the joint into the dirt. I think some part of me didn’t actually believe she’d follow through . . . I mean, in a movie she’d be overcome by the gesture and fling herself into my arms.

But Em? Not so much.

She straight-up kicked me in the balls, her pink Converse hitting me hard. Damn f**king hard. Agony erupted in my crotch, and I fell to the ground, biting my lip to keep from whimpering like a baby. Christ, what a bitch. Then she made it worse, because she laughed at me.

“Wow, that felt really good.”

“Jesus, I can’t believe you did that,” I grunted, stars still exploding behind my eyes. It was all I could do to keep breathing. Couldn’t f**king believe she actually did it. And I let her. I should’ve just asked the nice ass**le Reaper inside to shoot me and be done with it.