Page 23 of Reaper Released

There’s the sound of footsteps.

“Oh, shit!” Steel barks out.

“Yeah, oh fucking shit,” I retort, still holding my position against the wall as Steel comes barrelling out through the doors.

The others arrive after the “Oh shit” from Steel and fall silent. “So, gentlemen.” I stop picking my nails and eye Ares, Blade, Tank, Viking, Dozer, Priest and Dice before swinging my gaze back to Steel, then closing the knife and stepping up to his chest.

“Do we have a problem here?”

He looks at them all, clearly looking for backup, and they just stand there. They know me better than he does, and none of them make a move. He looks back at me. “No!”

Holding his gaze till he looks away, I turn, walking through the middle of them into the garage. I can hear the sighs, and when I turn back around, they are all gone. Even fucking Dozer. Brilliant. How long will he avoid me today?

Just when I think I’m being avoided and doing a great job of avoiding everyone, I get a message from Ares.

Boyband: Need a favour.

Bane of my existence!: What up, Boyband?

Boyband: I’m calling you.

Bane of my existence!: Why didn’t you just call me to start with?

Bane of my existence!: What a totally pointless text thread.

Bane of my existence!: You really are a dick.

Bane of my existence!: Do you know that I can totally text for ages, so if you’re calling, you need to hurry up?

Bane of my existence!: I might get bored and turn my phone off. Just because I can. To wind you up.

Bane of my existence!: Because I’m fucking hilarious.

Boyband: Fuck, you’re annoying.

Bane of my existence!: ‘Laughing emoji’ ‘middle finger emoji’

After speaking to Ares on the phone, it doesn't look like I’m avoiding anyone. He has a job for me tomorrow night, so I might as well get on with it.

I need to get away, so I head over to Dwayne's bar. It isn't ideal, but I can park up outside, and at least I have a bed for the night if I get totally trashed. I take a shower and go to grab my phone, then remember I don’t wanna talk to anyone, so I leave it on the table and head across the truck stop, walking into Dwayne’s like I don’t have a care in the world. Striding over to the bar, Dwayne eyes me, then smiles.

“Hi, Ray. On your own?”

“Yeah. Tequila, please, Dwayne.” He pours the drink and shifts uneasily. Please don’t bring it up, please, please, please, I recite through my mind.

“Soo, how ya been?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is so awkward. “Yeah, good buddy, you?” That’s right, I hit him with the buddy line, to which he grimaces and nods as if to say, “Okay, I get it.”

“So, you and Steel, huh?” Fuck’s sake, why can’t I get away from Steel? He’s everywhere, all-consuming, all fucking gorgeous and ripped and hot, and… fucking hell, what am I doing? I just smile and shake my glass once. He fills it up. I ask him to start a tab, and I’ll settle up later. He nods, and I go to sit in the corner by myself. I need to figure shit out. My head is all over the place.

So normally, I fuck guys like I did Dwayne, with minimum contact, no kissing, hugging, or anything of that nature, but why? Tapping my glass, I contemplate the reasoning behind it. Hmm… why? I don’t hate guys. I feel uncomfortable when I get attention I don't want, but the guys at the MC, I don’t seem to mind. In fact, I instigate it a lot of the time, especially with Dice. I climb into his lap a lot, I mean, a fucking lot! And Tank, I didn’t think twice about being so close with him on his bed with his arm around me, and I laid out on his chest. I even hug Boyband. They feel like family, which leaves me confused.

Is it the guys or the situation? Is it the fact that back home, Reaper’s locked away for extremely long periods of time? When I let her out, that’s usually when I fuck someone or worse. Well, Jer, so is it her needing that control? When I met up with Jer, she didn’t object, when normally, I would get an uneasy feeling beforehand with other guys. Steel… I mean, I woke up in his arms—twice, for fuck’s sake!

Why doesn’t she object to these guys? All of a sudden, my hackles are up. Just before I see a hand reach for mine.

“Well, look at you. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” The guy purrs, looking at his hand, then his face, and then his hand again right where it meets mine.

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