Reaper's Fall

“You know—me and Jess. I’ll tell you what happened, because you’re obviously wondering. Didn’t she tell you the details?”

“Um, not really,” she admitted, frowning. I opened the door, reaching for the cord next to it to turn on the lights. I found the switch and the room flooded from the six work lights I’d hung along the ceiling. “I know part of it, but I’m not sure that I want to know the rest. It’s kind of—oh, wow . . .”

She stepped inside, looking around my studio space. Lining the walls were narrow workbenches, one side covered with motorcycle parts and the other with my art supplies. There was the mural I’d started for the Armory there, but I’d forgotten about another half-done painting I’d leaned against the wall. I’d been working on it when I got arrested. It wasn’t in the greatest condition (the girls had done their best, but they hadn’t known how to handle it), and I was trying to decide whether to toss it or not.

Now I watched as Mel walked over to study it, eyes wide. I came up behind her and she glanced back at me.

“You’re good.”

I laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. I do this shit for a living, you know.”

She gave a rueful smile.

“Sorry. I guess I thought you painted flames on bikes and stuff like that, but this is real art. How did you learn how to do it?”

“I picked things up here and there,” I said. “Although for the record, depending on the design, what you see on motorcycles is real art, too. Not just anyone can do that.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to insult anyone.”

“No worries, I understand. Just wanted to clarify,” I said, wondering what she’d look like naked and covered in paint. Pretty fuckin’ good, probably. “So I took a bunch of art classes when I was in juvie. They were pretty basic, but the teachers always seemed to reach out to me—I learned a lot from them. Then I took some more classes when I got out. I mostly just sketched down in Cali. They didn’t have art classes or anything.”

“Well I really like them,” she said, and I felt my pride swell. Okay, something was swollen—no need to get into specifics.

“Thanks,” I told her, heading toward the stairs. “My place is up here. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet.”

I hadn’t had the apartment long enough to get it truly dirty, thank fuck. Not that I worried too much about impressing anyone, but for some reason I didn’t want her thinking I was a total pig.

“So, this is it,” I said, flipping on the light. Mel looked around, and I wondered what she thought. It wasn’t big—just a small living room and kitchenette under the eaves. There was a separate bedroom and bathroom behind us, too, but considering I’d been living in an eight-by-ten cell for the last year with two other guys, it felt like a palace to me. “The studio space below is what really sold me . . .”

“It’s great,” she said, turning back toward me with that shy smile that went straight to my cock. “I mean, it’s a dump, but it’s yours and I like it.”

I burst out laughing and she joined me, wandering over to sit down on the couch.

“Nice,” she said, running her hands across the faded, dirt-brown upholstery. “Vintage. I’m pretty sure I saw this at the Idaho Youth Ranch thrift shop last week.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that. You want something to drink? I have water and beer.”

“How about a beer?” she said. I grabbed a couple cold ones and came back to sit next to her on the couch. It felt good to have her here. Good and weird and wrong, all at the same time.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. I had a decent one, too. Giant-ass flat-screen—homecoming present from the club.

“Sure,” I said, reaching for the remote. I didn’t have cable, but Ruger had set up some kind of box thingie for me so I could stream stuff. “Whatcha in the mood for?”

“Not horror,” she said quickly, and I laughed again, remembering that first evening I’d spent with her at Pic’s house. She’d been so young and scared and vulnerable . . . I’d wanted to eat her up.

I still wanted to eat her.

“I can’t believe that you and Puck were supposed to be watching over me, and then you put in a slasher movie. That’s not how you make a girl feel safe.”

“No horror,” I agreed, although the thought of holding her for a couple hours while she was scared shitless appealed way more than it should. Watch it, asshole. “How about Star Wars?”

“You like Star Wars?”

I shrugged. “Everyone likes Star Wars. You know, I’m pretty damned sure Han Solo was a biker.”

She giggled. “A space biker?”

“See, when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“I wanted to be Princess Leia. She’s badass,” Mel said, taking a deep drink of her beer. I watched as her lips wrapped around the neck, her throat swallowing. That was a little too sexy for my comfort. She set the beer down on the coffee table with a clink, then let loose with the biggest burp I’d ever heard.

“Fucking hell,” I said, stunned. “I didn’t think girls could burp like that. Shit. Impressive, Mel. Very impressive.”

She grinned.

“We’re friends,” she told me. “And friends don’t need to worry about this stuff. Let me guess—you’ve never had a female friend before?”