Page 9 of A Witchy Spell Ride
“Yeah. Except when she’s scared. Then she goes real quiet. Makes dumb jokes. Picks fights she can’t finish.”
“Sounds like you.”
Reaper’s eyes narrow. “Don’t.”
I grunt and lean against the wall. “So, what do you want?”
“I want you to stay.”
“Not my chapter.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t need to explain. He never did.
I wait.
He scrubs a hand down his jaw like he is clearing his throat of an oil slick. “Something’s off. I don’t have proof. No names. But my gut tells me she’s being watched. Or followed. She won’t say it. But I see it.”
“You want me to tail her?”
“I want you to protect her.”
I cross my arms. “You got a dozen patched brothers who’d take a bullet for her.”
“Yeah. And she’d throat punch every one of them if they got in her way.”
I smirk despite myself. “Sounds about right.”
“But you?” he says, voice lower now. “You’re not just club. You’re Vex’s blood. You’ve known her since you were both kids. You can get close without spooking her. Without making her feel like she’s being babysat.”
That last word hits a nerve. I feel it like a bruise against my ribs.
“You sure about that?” I ask, looking him dead in the eye. “Because the last time I got close, you nearly broke my nose.”
His face darkens. “She was seventeen.”
“She kissed me.”
“And you kissed her back.”
“I didn’t know who the hell she was! I’d been on the road for six months and she damn near tackled me at the summer bonfire wearing a cutoff and black lipstick.”
“She was still a kid.”
“She’s not anymore.”
The silence that follows could slice concrete. We both sit in it, letting the old ghosts move around the room. Reaper’s hand goes to the back of his neck, that little tick he has when the world lands wrong.
“I don’t give a fuck what happened back then. All I care about is that she’s safe now.”
“I get it.”
He steps closer. “Do you?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Good.” He pauses, slow, measured. “Stay close. Keep it quiet. Don’t let her know you’re watching unless it’s necessary.”
“And if it becomes necessary?”
