Page 2 of Reaper

Bulldog raised the shotgun, but Reaper didn’t give him the chance. He squeezed off two shots, the first missing by inches, the second catching Bulldog’s front tire. The explosion of rubber and the screech of metal filled the air as Bulldog’s bike toppled, throwing him into the mud.

Reaper slowed his bike to a stop, keeping the Glock trained on Bulldog’s prone form. The man groaned, clutching his shoulder as he struggled to sit up.

“Stay down,” Reaper warned, his voice cold.“Andtell your men to think twice before running me down again.”

Bulldog glared up at him, his eyes filled with hate. But he didn’t move. Reaper revved his engine and peeled out, leaving the Blood Fangs’ leader in the dirt.

The ride back to the Iron Sentinels’ club garage was quiet, save for the steady hum of the Harley beneath him. The adrenaline ebbed, leaving Reaper with a bone-deep weariness. He was too old for this bullshit.

Pulling into the garage, he killed the engine and swung off the bike, his boots crunching against the oil-streaked floor. The familiar scent of grease and motor oil greeted him, grounding him in the safety of home.

He barely had time to let out a breath before he noticed her.

Savannah.

She stood near the far wall, her arms crossed, her expression equal parts frustration and relief.

Savannah looked like a firecracker wrapped in leather, her dark hair tumbling in loose waves over her shoulders, damp from the drizzle outside. Her jacket, scuffed but well-fitted, hugged her slim figure, while ripped jeans clung to her legs like a second skin. Her boots were worn but sturdy, the kind that had seen their fair share of miles.

Reaper’s gaze lingered for a beat too long, catching the curve of her cheek and the defiance in her almond-shaped eyes. They were a warm, honeyed brown, the kind that could soften a man’s edges if he wasn’t careful. Even now, with grease smudged on her fingers and a scowl on her face, she radiated a raw, unpolished beauty that hit him square in the chest.

He cursed under his breath and dragged his eyes away, focusing on the busted chain hanging from her bike instead.

She was too young—early twenties, by his guess—and too fresh-faced to be caught up in his world of dust and danger. He’d seen what this life did to women like her, chewing them up and spitting them out with scars too deep to see.

Reaper ran a hand through his graying hair, trying to smother the flicker of attraction before it grew into something he couldn’t control. She deserved better than some battle-worn biker with a bad temper and a past that would scare most people off. Better keep his distance. Reaper focused on her bike.

Her bike—a smaller, sleek model that looked like it had seen better days—was propped up on the lift, its chain dangling loose like a broken limb.

“Trouble?” Reaper asked, his tone rough but laced with a hint of amusement.

Savannah shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.“You could say that. Damn thing broke down on the highway. I had to push it here.”

Reaper chuckled, despite himself.“Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a day.”

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back, her gaze flicking to the mud and grime streaked across his jacket.“What happened to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said, brushing past her to grab a rag from the workbench.

He wiped the worst of the dirt from his hands before turning back to her.

She was still watching him, her tough exterior cracking just enough for him to catch the worry in her eyes.

“Need help with your bike?” he offered, his voice softer now.

Savannah hesitated, then nodded.“Yeah. Thanks.”

Reaper set to work, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he inspected the bike.

Savannah hovered nearby, her presence a steady warmth in the cool, dimly lit garage.

“You shouldn’t be riding this thing alone,” he said after a moment, his tone gruff. “Not with the trouble out there.”

Savannah tilted her head, a teasing smile playing at her lips.“Worried about me, Reaper?”

Reaper glanced up, meeting her gaze. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low.“I am.”

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