Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(71)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“That never happened. I’ve never fallen down after a pedicure—I’d remember. That would totally ruin the nails.”

“Well, you missed the curb but still managed to catch yourself,” I told her, smiling at the memory. “Your phone fell down and broke, I think. I remember you looked up, right at me in my truck, and started laughing at yourself. Then you waved at me, grabbed the phone, and got in your car.”

She frowned.

“I actually remember that,” she murmured thoughtfully. “That was you?”

“Yup, that was me.”

“That’s . . . creepy. And weird, because why didn’t I recognize you when we met again?”

“I had a full beard, my hair was shorter, and I was wearing sunglasses,” I said. “Not only that, the window was tinted. I guess my point is this—I’ve spent days f**king women whose names I couldn’t remember if my life depended on it. But you? I remember everything about the first time I saw you, even though we didn’t even talk to each other. That’s when it started, whatever this is between us. ‘Love’ is a word that doesn’t mean a damned thing to me. ‘Em,’ though? That’s a word that means everything. I’d die for you, babe. Kill for you, too. I stood up to my club for you and I don’t regret any of it, not for a minute. So, you wanted to know how I feel? I don’t even have a word for what I feel, sweetheart. I just know it’s really f**kin’ good.”

Em sniffed, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around me. She squeezed me tight, then pulled back and took my face in both of her hands, studying me intently.

“I love you, Liam.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of the words. Then I said the only thing I could think of, even though I knew it was f**king pathetic.

“Thanks.”

Her face fell, although she caught it, smiling at me a little too brightly.

Telling the truth sucks ass.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FIVE DAYS LATER

EM

On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I walked into the upstairs bathroom to find black beard hairs all over the sink. Ugh. Boy cooties.

“I really need to get an apartment,” I muttered.

“No shit.”

I jumped as Skid spoke behind me. I swung around to face him, glaring. God, the man was like a f**king cat—always sneaking up and freaking me out. I think he got off on it.

I’d been staying with Hunter since he’d liberated me from Cookie’s house, which started out fun. I’d gone back a few times, of course, and still kept most of my stuff there. I couldn’t live at her place long term, though, not if I wanted to have Hunter sleeping with me. Cookie didn’t want me bringing guys home, and the last thing we needed was another confrontation between Deke and my boyfriend. Somewhere Hunter could stay over had become a very high priority.

God, this house was a cesspit.

I’d made excuses for the guys at first. It’s hard to keep up with housework, especially if you’re not used to it. Clutch still couldn’t get around very easily, and they had so much to worry about with all the drama.

Yeah, after five nights here I could officially call bullshit on the excuses. Sure, they had to worry about the cartel. That consisted of keeping their eyes open for anything suspicious (nothing) and bitching (endlessly). I knew Hunter and Skid ran errands for Burke, and I knew that Grass held down a job of some sort . . . But so far as I could tell, their other primary activity was watching  p**n .

Oh, did I mention the extensive  p**n  collection?

And I do mean extensive.

Kelsey and I got drunk together Sunday night and she filled me in. She was sleeping with Skid, something I couldn’t quite understand a woman doing voluntarily, but she assured me she was just using him for sex. According to her, the place was a clubhouse in every way but name, seeing as Portland wasn’t an official charter. Unofficially, Hunter was acting as president, with Skid as his VP/sergeant at arms. Grass and Clutch were muscle.

All of them were pigs.

I turned to look at Skid, who stood in the doorway behind me.

“Got any suggestions?” I asked. “I need somewhere cheap that doesn’t smell like feet.”

He sniffed, then gave me a puzzled look.

“It doesn’t smell like feet in here.”

“No, in here it smells like mildew.”

He shook his head, frowning.

“Did Kelsey talk to you?”

“About what?” I asked.

“Her place,” he said. “She’s got a spare room and she’s having trouble making rent. I had to buy her groceries this month. She was going to see if you wanted to move in.”

“She didn’t say anything.”

“I wonder if Hunter told her not to,” he said slowly. “He’s worried she’ll be a bad influence on you. He might’ve mentioned something to her about backing off and leaving you alone. If you ask about the room, I bet she’ll say yes.”

“What the hell is up with you two, anyway?”

“Me and Hunter?”

“No, you and Kelsey.”

“Fuck if I know. When she’s horny, she comes to see me. Sometimes. Pretty sure she has at least one other guy on the side.”

“And you’re cool with that?”

He shrugged.

“I can get laid other ways, too,” he said. “No shortage of pu**y. But I don’t like seeing her struggle—sharing a place would be a good solution for both of you. You should talk.”

“I will, thanks.”

Huh . . . That was almost . . . nice?

Skid nodded and took off down the hallway. Weird guy. I wasn’t nearly as scared of him these days, but I wouldn’t mind seeing less of him. I closed the toilet seat, setting my stuff on it while I grabbed a chunk of toilet paper to wipe down the counter. That’s when my phone started ringing. I glanced at the Caller ID.

Dad.

I swallowed, trying to decide if I should answer. Things were a little awkward between us, although he kept tabs on me through Kit. To say our initial conversation about Hunter hadn’t gone well was an understatement. A big understatement.

Fortunately, nothing new had happened in the whole Reapers/Devil’s Jacks/cartel triangle since the original shootings, but people weren’t exactly breathing easy these days. I think we all assumed it was just a matter of time.

I sighed and grabbed the phone. I didn’t want him worrying about me, and I knew he would if he couldn’t track me down.

“Hi, Dad.”