Reaper's Fall
Silence fell across the table. I looked over to find Duck smiling his big, shit-eating grin at me.
“So, I want her to be my old lady,” I said, watching Pic’s face. If anyone gave me trouble, it’d be him.
“You sure?” Pic asked. “She’s a nice kid, but she doesn’t really know our life. Might be better to give her a little more time first. This is happening fast.”
“But it hasn’t happened fast,” I reminded him. “I’ve known her for more than a year and we wrote letters that whole time. She’s pretty, she’s smart—the whole package. I’m taking her.”
Pic looked around, and I waited for someone to say something.
“I like her, and it’s not like it’s a huge surprise,” said Ruger. “I mean, he did loan her his car for a goddamn year. She pussy-whipped him long distance—that takes talent.”
Horse laughed, and I took a deep breath, wondering how long they were going to drag this out.
“She’ll probably be good for him,” Bolt said more seriously. “You’re smart, Painter, but you’re fuckin’ reckless. You can’t do the club any good back in prison—maybe having an old lady will motivate you to be more careful. Give you something to lose.”
He would know—he’d lost his woman, Maggs, for a while. They were back together now but it hadn’t been easy.
“It’s a good point,” Pic said. “You may see yourself as cannon fodder, but you’re not. Wouldn’t hurt if you were a little more settled. It’s fine with me.”
“Now what, a group hug?” Horse asked, rolling his eyes. “Enjoy your girl, try not to break her. I don’t think you should patch her just yet, though—give her some time to adjust. Get used to all of us. Save both of you a lot of hassle down the road.”
“He’s right,” Pic said. I frowned, not liking where this was going. “It’s probably for the best if you take it slow. Your call, but if you care about her, you’ll give her time to adjust. Any more business?”
Nobody spoke, so he raised his gavel, hitting the table with a sharp whacking noise.
“Fantastic. Let’s get out of here. Loni’s got dinner waiting at home and I’m fuckin’ starved. Not only that, Kit’s staying over at a friend’s place tonight, which means I’ll finally get some time alone with her. Girl’s hardly been home a week, but it feels like a year. Painter?”
“Yeah?” I said.
“I hope you and Mel live happily ever after and all that shit, but don’t have daughters. That goes for all of you—no more daughters in this club. I can’t handle it.”
“She ever going back to Vancouver?” Duck asked. Pic shrugged.
“Dunno,” he admitted. “She says she is, but all of her classes are online this semester. I think there’s shit going on she hasn’t told me about but I’m not gonna push her. She’s been stoppin’ by to see that cowboy a lot—the one the bull tried to kill.”
“What’s the story there?” I asked. “She into him or something?”
“Hell if I know. Doubt even she does. Whatever. At least the guy’s still alive. Now, if you don’t mind, I want out. Loni made dumplings, and if they’re cold by the time I get home I’m shooting one of you. I’ll let you decide who.”
Duck snorted, and that was that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ONE MONTH LATER
PAINTER: Wanna meet for dinner?
MEL: Sure
PAINTER: My place—I’ll buy if you’ll cook
MEL: So you don’t want to meet for dinner so much as have me cook for you
PAINTER: No—I want to fuck you, too. See? I’m about a lot more than eating
MEL: Complicated guy!
PAINTER: Damned straight. see you at my place
MELANIE
“Painter has never dated anyone longer than a week, let alone a month,” Em said in my ear. I was standing outside his apartment, holding the phone cradled against my shoulder while digging through my purse for the key. “I think he’s really serious about you.”
“He acts serious,” I said. “He even says he loves me, but aside from that one time he’s never mentioned anything about me being his old lady or anything. And he doesn’t tell me where he’s going when he takes off on trips, just says it’s club business, like I should know what that means already.”
My fingers found something solid and pointy. Ha! I pulled my keychain out triumphantly.
“I keep forgetting how much you don’t know about club life,” Em replied, sighing. “They don’t talk about their business. Ever. It’s just the way it is, not something personal that has to do with you.”
“Never?” I asked, finding that hard to believe. “But what about you and Hunter? Do you seriously mean to tell me that he’s gone all the time and you have no idea where?”
“This is . . . a sticky thing,” she said slowly. “Let’s talk hypothetically. Women aren’t supposed to know this stuff. We’re supposed to be good old ladies and support our men and just trust that they know what they’re doing and that they have our best interests at heart. In reality, I think a lot of guys talk to their women—pretty sure my mom was in on most of the club’s business, although I don’t know about Loni. How much they share depends on the relationship and how involved she is with club life. Consider this, though—do you really want to be in a position where you’d have to testify against Painter?”