Devil’s Game (Reapers MC #3)(72)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“Hey, Emmy,” he said. Thankfully, I could tell from the tone of his voice that there wasn’t an emergency. Lately my default assumption was disaster. “I’m just calling to find out if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. There’s supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, figured I’d check in. You’ll want to drive during daylight tomorrow, if you plan to be here . . .”

I smiled despite myself. No matter how weird life got, some things about Dad never changed.

“It’s killing you that you’re not here to check the tire pressure on my winter tires, isn’t it?”

He stayed silent for a minute.

“Not gonna answer that,” he said finally. “But since we’re talking vehicles, when’s the last time you changed your oil? I think it’s just a matter of time before that car starts burning it. You should really be thinking about getting something newer.”

“My car is fine, Dad,” I said, feeling a little squishy inside. Sure, he drove me crazy. But I also loved the way he was always watching out for me. I missed him, I realized. I wanted to go home for the holiday.

“I need to talk to Hunter about Thanksgiving,” I said slowly. “We’d discussed cooking something here, with his brothers.”

Silence fell.

“You could bring him to Coeur d’Alene,” Dad said.

I almost dropped the phone.

“Can you repeat that? I think I heard you wrong. Did you just invite Hunter for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Not to the Armory, of course. I know you’re convinced he’s all innocent and shit, but a lot of the guys don’t buy it. But I’ll let him into the house if you come home.”

I tried to process this.

“Where would he sleep?”

I heard a strangled noise on the other end of the line.

“He could stay in your room with you.”

“Dad?” I asked carefully. “Are you dying?”

“What the f**k is that supposed to mean?”

“Like, do you have cancer or something? This isn’t you. You’re being . . . nice.”

“I want my daughter home for f**king Thanksgiving,” he snapped. “If that means I have to put up with her douchebag boyfriend, I will.”

“He’s my old man, and he’s not a douchebag.”

“Talk to your sister,” he said suddenly, and then Kit was on the phone.

“I think Dad’s about to have a stroke,” she told me, her voice excited, the words tripping out almost too fast to follow. “Seriously. He’s clenching his fists and his face is all red.”

“He just told me Hunter could sleep in my room for Thanksgiving.”

Dead silence.

“That is so f**king unfair,” she burst out. “You know how many guys I’ve tried to bring home? He never lets any of them stay with us.”

“That’s the problem,” I heard Dad say in the background. “Guys. Plural. I don’t agree with Em’s choice, but at least she made one. You’re just using them up like tissues.”

“Like you should talk?” she demanded. “You’re worse than a f**king alley cat!”

Great. Once they started, they could go on like this for hours. I hung up, knowing Kit wouldn’t even notice. I’d talk to Hunter after my shower, I decided. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. I wanted to be with my family for the holiday, but I didn’t entirely trust Dad not to shoot Hunter. He’d nearly killed at least two of my boyfriends in the past, and they hadn’t even done anything to piss him off.

I shut the door and locked it, then stripped down and stepped into the shower with a shudder. I’d bleached the hell out of it the first morning I’d stayed there, but whatever lived in there was vigorous and fighting back. Nasty black crap was already creeping in along the seams.

Kelsey, I thought. Talk to Kelsey, see if she has room. No matter how much you love him, you can’t live in a house where the shower is hostile and sentient.

And to think, all this time I’d been afraid of the Devil’s Jacks and their guns—it’d never occurred to me that the real danger was their disgusting, moldy bathroom.

Chemical warfare.

Hopefully Hunter would go to Dad’s house with me. At least there, I knew the bathroom would be cleanish. I’d only been gone from Coeur d’Alene a month, nowhere near enough time for this kind of damage, even if Dad deliberately sprayed the mold with magic mold-food every day.

HUNTER

Em sat on my lap, her legs on either side of my hips, facing me. She was a smart girl—it’s pretty damned hard for a man to say no to a woman when her pu**y’s snuggling up to his cock. Would’ve been perfect if it weren’t for her clothes. I really needed to steal those, maybe set them on fire . . .

“So you’ll come with me?” she asked. “I won’t leave without you, but I really want to go. You can even bring Kelsey.”

I snorted.

“Kelsey hates holidays. Says they make her think of kittens vomiting, too much nice family crap.”

Em frowned and cocked her head.

“That makes me sad,” she said softly. “You guys deserved so much better.”

“It’s better now, babe.” I leaned up and kissed her, sucking her lower lip into my mouth. She wiggled against my dick, with predictable results. Would I ever get tired of holding this woman? Couldn’t imagine it happening, that’s for damned sure.

Then she pulled away and I groaned.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, smiling at me eagerly. “Will you come for Thanksgiving?”

“You’re not being particularly subtle,” I told her, raising a brow.

“I’m all about direct communication. What’s the verdict?”

“I need to talk to Burke about it,” I said, considering. “I know it’s about seeing your family, but there could be larger implications. But if Burke’s okay with it, I can’t imagine anything more fun than spending a holiday in the home of the man who wants me dead. Like our own f**kin’ Hallmark movie, but with live ammo.”

Em squealed, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing tight. This crushed her boobs against my chest, which I approved of completely. Did Hallmark movies have sex scenes?

“You’re the best,” she whispered. “I can’t wait to show you everything. And I promise, I’ll protect you from Dad.”

I burst out laughing.