Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(53)
Author: Joanna Wylde

Skid offered a twisted smile.

“He called you first, ass**le. You didn’t answer. What were you doin’ that’s more important than takin’ a call from your VP? Seein’ as I found you on the phone with your dick hangin’ out, you might wanna consider what you plan to tell him very carefully.”

Shit. I shut my eyes and shook my head, rubbing my temples.

“Jesus, Skid,” Grass snapped, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Stop being such a little bitch. What are you, jealous?”

We both looked at him, startled. Grass threw up his hands, clearly frustrated and even twitchier than before. He wasn’t done yet, either.

“What does Burke want from us?” Grass demanded. “I’ll bet it’s the Reapers that took him out. He f**ked them over, and now they’re tryin’ to blame us. Use it as an excuse to end the truce.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Skid snarled. “Jesus, Grass. You need to lay off that shit, it’s makin’ you paranoid. Reapers want peace, too. They don’t need an excuse to go to war. They wanna fight, they’ll just start shooting. It’s entirely possible they killed Toke—fucker betrayed his club, no surprise there. But I don’t think they’d come callin’ if that was the case.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot!”

“Shut the f**k up!” I roared. The two men jumped. “Christ, what are we, f**king children? Skid—did Burke have anything he wanted us to do?”

Skid scowled.

“No,” he admitted. “Although he said to watch out. Until we know who killed Toke and why, we need to assume there’s a new player.”

“Cartel?” Clutch asked. “You think they have the contacts this far north to pull off a hit in protective custody?”

We all stilled. Shit. Not a comforting thought.

“Okay, we need to assume there’s someone local we don’t know about, someone with that kind of power,” I said slowly. “Time for more security. Make sure you check in with each other, and we all start carrying. Grass, when you stop seein’ shit that isn’t real, I want you to make sure Clutch has a place in his truck that’s safe from a search, okay? Can’t risk a parole violation. Anyone else need help rigging up something for their bikes?”

“It’s covered,” Skid said, sighing. “Sorry, Hunter. Didn’t mean to be such a dick.”

“Fair enough,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. Christ, what a night.

“I f**king hate Portland,” Grass announced suddenly. “This town is like hell, only cold. It rains all the time, like we’re living underwater, and now we have to worry about the cartel, too? Getting away from them was the only good part about moving north.”

“We’re doing our jobs,” I reminded him, my voice cooling as I moved into enforcer mode. Enough of this shit. “Burke needs us here—we all agreed to it—so stop whining. He wants active intel, and that means we’re in Portland until he says otherwise.”

Skid crossed his arms, silently backing me up. God, I wanted to kill him sometimes, but I had to give him credit—he always put the club first, and that meant keeping discipline. He never let it get personal.

Grass glared at me, but he closed his mouth. He knew damned well I was right. He also knew I’d make an example of him in a heartbeat if I had to. We couldn’t afford kindness, not with the club divided and elections coming.

“We have a problem?” I asked Grass bluntly. He held my gaze a moment longer, then shook his head. I glanced down at Clutch, deciding I was way too sober for this shit.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Leg hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ll pop some pills so it’s all good.”

“Pussy,” Skid taunted, rolling his eyes. “Been a full two months since Toke tortured you. You still whining?”

Clutch let out a choked snort and shook his head. The tension broke and just like that, it was all good. Thank f**k for Skid—it’d been a long stretch in this water-logged city without allies, but every time we found ourselves at each other’s throats, he’d step in and somehow make it better. The guy had a gift when he chose to use it.

• • •

I flipped the guys off and climbed back upstairs.

The chicks on the couch had passed out, and I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. I used my foot to roll the girl on the floor out of my way, grabbed a beer, then flopped down in a chair and clicked on the TV.

Porn. Of course.

Naturally, that made me think of Em fingering herself, and I wondered if I should call her back. I decided not to—it was late and the mood wasn’t right. Not only that, I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing her husky, sexy little voice calling me Liam again. My balls f**king hurt, and not in a good way.

A few minutes later, Clutch hobbled in and sat down on the couch next to the girls. Together we watched some redhead with giant implants get f**ked up the ass on the big screen.

“Shit,” Clutch said after a few minutes. “The high-def has totally ruined  p**n . Are those ingrown hairs?”

I choked on my beer, and he grinned at me.

“Jackass.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Em filled my dreams.

Her ice-blue eyes—surrounded by thick, dark lashes—peeked up at me as she thoughtfully licked the tip of my hard-on, then slowly sucked it into her mouth. I knew she didn’t have a hell of a lot of experience, but damn she sucked dick like a pro.

Her hand wrapped around my shaft and I bucked up.

Fuck, that was worth the wait.

Then she drew me even deeper, taking me into her throat, catching me off guard.

How the hell did she know how to do that?

I felt a sudden desire to kill the owner of whatever c**k she’d been practicing on. Her tongue flicked the underside of my dickhead, fluttering, and I forgot all about my upcoming murder plans. I stiffened, my balls tight and ready to blow, but my brain was starting to question the whole situation.

What was wrong here?

Em sucked hard, humming deep in her throat as she bobbed faster and faster. Her other hand reached down between my legs, rolling my balls with her fingers as she sped up. I was close, so I reached down to touch her head, give her a warning.

Wait. Em’s hair wasn’t this short.

But her mouth was so goddamned hot and wet. Shit. I couldn’t think. I’d never dreamed she’d know so many tricks, and some small part of me started to consider murder again. My Em wasn’t so innocent anymore, and whoever taught her would answer—