Page 13 of Reaper

“What are we going to do with her?” Twinkie speaks up.

I consider him a moment.

“What would you have me do?” I ask him.

He looks around. “We could ask if she’d like to become a sweetbutt. She’d be protected and cared for. Or we could set her up somewhere with some protection until we take care of the issue.”

“Why are we even talking about her like it matters?” Twitch retorts. “We don’t know this girl. For all we know, she’s here for her boyfriend. Can we really trust her? Even if she’s not, she is not our responsibility.”

I let them argue back and forth a moment as I consider their ideas.

Being a sweetbutt is out of the question. She’s not the type, and even if she is, I won’t let her be. The thought of another man touching her has me raging mad. It has to be seeing her so broken. I’ve never enjoyed violence against the innocent. The girl is still a kid. She looks like she’s barely eighteen. Hell, she may be younger than eighteen for all I know.

“Trigger, her name is Natalie Fairless. I want date of birth and her listed address in the next five minutes.”

The men quiet down.

“As for you two, she’s not going to be a sweetbutt. Nor are we casting her away. We put this to a vote. I want to keep her here under my protection until I personally ensure that William Danworth will no longer be an issue. Letting him live is a mistake that I allowed to happen. I let my inexperience and former friendship with the man dictate how I laid out the situation to my father that day. He then made a decision based on that explanation. I was a young kid who made a terrible mistake. If it wasn’t for that, she wouldn’t be broken and bruised in the other room. Say Aye if you approve or Nay if you don’t.”

I watch as each man approves my course of action. Not one hesitates telling me that they trust me. It’s a heady feeling.

“Reap, here’s her file.” Trigger hands over the encrypted tablet he keeps on him.

Natalie Marie Fairless. Date of birth March fifteenth, two thousand three. Current Address, Apartment 102 on Weston. It’s The Plaza on the Strip.

She’s just nineteen to my twenty-eight.

A knock on the door makes me frown. Twitch opens the door, letting in an old timer.

“Hey, you might want to get out here, Pres.”

I jump up, making my way to the door.

“Stop! Don’t touch me.”

Her voice cuts through the bullshit clear as day.

I’m moving before anyone can stop me. I push past the men lingering around the room. That’s when I see her. She’s still on the couch where I left her, but Jug is now next to her, his hand in her hair.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” I bellow.

Jug looks up at me. “Trying out the new merchandise. I could do without the bruising, but she looks like she might be a fun lay.”

I move before he can blink, my hand on his wrist still in her hair. He grunts as I squeeze until he lets his hand loosen.

“She is off limits,” I growl, dropping his arm to pull her up into me.

“You making her your old lady?” he asks.

“She’s club business. That’s all you need to know.”

“Am I not part of the club?” Jug stands, making me push Natalie behind me.

“You’re a member, not an officer. All you need to know is that she’s club business and off-limits. If you don’t like that, then feel free to request an audience with church.”

We stand there in a stare-off for a moment before Jug backs down.

“I’m good. I didn’t realize she was off-limits. She’s all yours,” he spits out with a look of disgust.

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