Page 4 of Reaper

"I need to fucking get it together," I mutter, turning the water to cold."I've got a job to do."

By the time I emerge, wrapped in a towel because, of course, I forgot clean clothes in my bag, Reaper's back.He's stretched out on the bed, boots off but still fully dressed, looking like every fantasy I've denied myself for five years.

His eyes darken as they track water droplets running down my neck."Trying to kill me, Rebel?"

"Not yet." I grab clothes from my bag, ignoring how his gaze burns against my skin."Save that for when you start snoring."

"Still not funny." But his lips twitch."Meeting's in twenty. Timer's bringing food."

I dig out my favorite sleep shirt--an old Jagged Saints one I definitely didn't steal from him years ago.His sharp intake of breath when he recognizes it makes the risk worth it.

"That's mine."

"Was yours." I drop the towel, glad I remembered to put on underwear in the bathroom.The shirt falls to mid-thigh, well within decent range, but from his strangled growl, you'd think I was giving him a strip show."Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Road Captain."

"This is a dangerous game you're playing." His voice is rough andheated."If you continue on this route make damned sure you can handle theconsequences."

I meet his eyes in the mirror as I brush out myhair."I always did like playing withfire."

"Yeah." He stands, moving behindme.Close enough that I feel his breath on my neck but not quitetouching."That's what scared me most aboutyou."

The admission hangs between us, heavy withimplications.Before I can respond, someone pounds on ourdoor.

"Food's here!" Timer's voice breaks thespell."Put some clothes on and getdecent!"

Reaper steps back, that carefully constructed wall sliding back intoplace."Weshould..."

"Yeah." I pull on sleep shorts, trying to slow my racingheart."Can't keep the crewwaiting."

I follow him out to face whatever chaos tonight brings, his frequent glances over his shoulder making it clear I'm not the only one still haunted by what welost. The familiar thought ofwhat might have been if I'd told him the truth five yearsago lingers at the forefront of my mind, but I shove it back. I'm not here for all this. I have one job.

Right. Stop a weapons deal. Prevent a clubwar.Don't fall back in love with the one man who could blow my cover wideopen.

Simple.

I am so screwed.

3

REAPER

Timer's idea of a crew meeting involves enough pizza to feed a small army and beer that tastes like piss.But it gets everyone in one place, which is what matters when you're trying to coordinate two MCs through hostile territory.

I'm definitely not watching Sandy lean against the vending machine, my old Saints shirt riding up her thighs as she talks strategy with Doc.And I'm absolutely not remembering how that shirt looked even better on my bedroom floor five years ago.

"You're staring." Tank drops into the chair beside me, voice low enough that only I catch it."Thought you were gonna avoid her?"

"I'm strategizing." The lie tastes bitter."Making sure she's not causing trouble."

"Right." He takes a long pull of his beer."That why you let her take point on mapping tomorrow's route?Because you're avoiding trouble?"

Point to Tank. Sandy's always been brilliant with logistics, seeing patterns others miss.Watching her work the map earlier,confidently marking alternate routes and potential choke points, reminded me exactly why I fell for her in the first place.

"She knows her shit." I keep my tone neutral, professional."Would be stupid not to use that."

"Uh-huh." Tank's not buying it."Just remember what happened last time you trusted her with club business."

The memory hits hard. Sandy, tears streaming down her face as she threw my club ring that I'd given her at my feet.I can't watch you die for this life.I won't.

---