Page 8 of Reaper

“Good,” Reaper says, his voice gravelly and strained.

He doesn’t look at me, but I feel his presence like a storm cloud ready to burst. Fear and desire form a knot in my belly. With every mile we put between us and the accident site, my anxiety grows. I hope I’m not making a huge mistake.

The engine’s steady thrum does little to soothe my racing thoughts. We’re moving forward, but we’re covering more than just physical distance. With each passing second, I’m being pulled back into a world I thought I’d left behind. I’m getting sucked back into Reaper’s orbit, and that terrifies me.

Behind us, the roar of motorcycle engines cuts through the air. The rest of the club rolls up behind us like a storm, their bikes kicking up dust and scattering gravel as they pull into a tight, practiced formation. I stare out the rear window and can’t help but wonder why this is happening. Of all the people to be on the road today, why did it have to behim?

We pull off the highway and onto the club’s property. Gravel crunches under the tires as we drive past the club’s bar and grill. It’s a wooden building with a large front porch. I spent years working in that place. Back then, I loved it. Bartending was so much fun, especially when Reaper was around. But that’s all in the past now.

As the car rolls to a stop, my breath hitches. A bright white farmhouse, the one the group uses as a clubhouse, looms over us. It’s a sanctuary and a prison all at once, full ofghosts and whispers of a past I thought I’d outrun. The wraparound porch looks exactly how I remember it. It’s like stepping into an old photograph, one where the colors have bled out, leaving only stark contrasts. I can recall every moment Reaper and I spent together on this porch, but that was then, and this is now.

“Here we are,” Scar announces, his voice cutting through the thickness of my nostalgia. When he kills the engine, the illusion that I could still be running from this place and what it represents dies with it.

I swallow hard, trying to moisten a throat gone dry. I force myself to look away from the clubhouse and focus on Ace instead. His little face, usually so bright with curiosity, mirrors my trepidation. He squeezes my hand tightly, and I’m reminded of why I can’t let my fear overpower me—I’m not just Lexi anymore, I’m Ace’s mom, and I need to be strong for him.

“Momma, is that where you used to live with the bikers?” Ace’s innocent question slices through the tension. I told him a story about this place once when we’d passed it years ago. I didn’t think he’d remember it, but apparently, he did.

“Yes, honey,” I reply, keeping my tone light despite the lead weight in my stomach. “We’re just going to stay here for a little while.”

Steeling myself, I open the car door and step out, wincing as my body protests. My boots hit the ground, sending a small puff of dust swirlingup. It’s a stark reminder that this isn’t a dream; it’s my gritty, dust-filled reality.

Reaper struggles to get out of the car, but he already looks better than he did when we left the scene of the accident. Maybe he just needed a minute to get his bearings.

“Need a hand?” His voice startles me.

Suddenly, he’s standing close, too close. He’s looking at me in a way that makes me feel like he can see right through me, like he’s undressing me with his eyes, peeling my T-shirt over my head and pulling my jeans off. Just like he used to.

“I’ve got it,” I snap more harshly than I intend. When Ace looks up at me with wide eyes, I immediately regret the bite in my words. I offer him a reassuring smile before turning back to Reaper. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, Lex.” Reaper steps back, but the distance does nothing to lessen his presence. Even now, his aura is a magnetic field, tugging at parts of me I thought I’d long since shut down.

“Let’s head inside.” Scar gestures toward the clubhouse, his expression unreadable.

With each step toward the building, my heart thumps harder. The porch creaks. The sound was once a familiar greeting, but perhaps now, it’s a warning.

“Welcome back,” Scar says, pushing open the heavy door, revealing the dim interior that was once my whole world.

“Thanks,” I murmur, crossing the thresholdand feeling the past wrap around me like a shroud. I’m back at the clubhouse, and even though everything has changed, it feels like nothing has changed at all.

Phantom echoes of laughter and the clinking of beer bottles drag me deep into the past. The first time I stepped inside, I was so young and naive. I wish I could go back in time so I could warn myself about all the trouble that was to come my way. The scent of oil and leather brings back so many memories. But soon, the lighter ones mingle with the darker ones, and I remember why I fled.

Reaper leads us through the living room past oversized couches and around the pool table. “We’ll get you set up in my room.”

Every fiber of my being is begging me to surrender to the dangerous allure of his command, but I can’t. Walking into his room would be my undoing.

“What about Ace?” I ask.

“He can sleep in the room next door.”

“That’s Talon’s room, isn’t it?”

“Not anymore.”

“He moved out?”

“We all did,” Scar says, leaning against the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen. “Reaper’s the only one left. Some of the prospects stay here to help watch the place, but the rest of us moved into our own places.”

“What happened?” I ask.

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