Reaper's Claim Book 3

REAPER

Sometimes, I wished I wasn’t in love with Abby Harrison.

There were plenty of hot girls in the area. Like the kinda girls who came by Satan’s Sons to kick it at the bar.

They were decent at pool but didn’t give you a run for your money. They ripped shots like champs but didn’t drink you under the table.

They were adventurous but not dangerous.

In other words, they had all the exciting traits that Abby had, but without taking them to unhealthy extremes.

So, why the fuck did I love her? What was wrong with my brain that convinced me I couldn’t goddamn live without her?

I knew she’d hightailed it back to Hellbound, drawn to danger and self-destruction like a fucking moth to a flame.

You’re one to talk, I thought to myself, as I climbed onto my bike, slightly tipsy.

We had lingered around the restaurant for over an hour. With still no response from Abby, Kim and Roach had decided to head back to Snake Valley.

I couldn’t blame ’em.

You could only wait around so long before you went crazy.

I’d stuck around and had a couple beers at a dive bar next door, because well, I already was goddamn crazy.

Thinking better of my plan to ride drunk, I turned and started walking down the street instead—toward a footbridge over a thin creek.

I meandered to the middle, lit up, and peered over the edge, watching the water.

It was murky and moved slowly, like blood in a clogged artery.

Gross.

This town was shit. Hellbound was shit.

Honestly, not like our territory was any cleaner or more decent, but it was home. To me especially.

Satan’s Sons was the family and safehouse and security I never had.

I didn’t talk to my parents. Hadn’t in years.

They had me when they were way too young and inexperienced to provide—for themselves or me.

They drank too much. And smoked too much.

Came back late at night and then slept all day. Never bothering to make me food or send me or my brother off to school.

They couldn’t care less what I did, because they were so consumed with themselves and their own shitstorm of a fucked-up life.

Especially my father.

“That son of a bitch,” I growled, releasing a stream of smoke.

My eyes then caught on a twig. It was spinning round and round in a little whirlpool created by the water flowing around a couple rocks.

Round and round.

Round and round.

Trapped. No way out.

Hm.

I took in another deep inhale.

When I was fourteen, I saw my father hit my mother.

She was not a perfect mom by any means, but she wasn’t violent.

I remember standing in the doorframe, frozen with shock. I had just gotten back from the skatepark.

Some punk had stolen the few dollars I’d earned mowing neighbors’ lawns on the weekends.

Funny, the stupid little details you remembered.

I tried to step in and intervene, but my dad shoved me out of the way. He was wasted, as usual. I crashed into the wall, leaving a dent.

He didn’t hit her again, but I think he knew right away the damage he’d done.

In all the ways. Physically. Emotionally.

Psychologically, or whatever.

That—the psychology of it all—is what really freaked me out.

Like, whether we’re genetically doomed to repeat our parents’ mistakes. And our own mistakes, for that matter.

These fucking vicious cycles…

Suddenly, a flash of orange streaked across the water.

A fish… Life.

It darted right through the whirlpool, hitting the twig with one fin.

And that was all it took.

The twig was pulled from the current, set free.

It was entirely accidental, I supposed. Or maybe intentional. I didn’t fucking know how the whole plant and animal kingdom thing worked.

But what I did know, I then realized, was this:

I want to prove I’m better than my fucked-up old man.

That I can break the cycle.

Just because he was a hopeless screw-up, a deadbeat even—that didn’t mean I had to be. Right?

Because truth was, I really, really cared about Abby.

And about the baby. The baby who would grow into a child. And then grow into an adult.

A healthy, good one. We would make sure of that.

Because we wouldn’t repeat our parents’ mess-ups. We’d learn from them, and from ourselves.

We can do it. We can break the cycle.

I leaned my weight against the stone bridge railing. And as I watched the small branch float away down the stream, I felt a strange sense of…

Peace.

And then I scoffed aloud at myself.

“God, I’m drunker than I thought. Thinking like a fucking poet or some shit,” I muttered.

I checked my phone again.

No texts from Abby. What a fucking surprise.

I finished my cigarette, flicked it lazily into the water, and glanced back over my shoulder at the bar. Now lit up in the night, it looked so inviting.

Seemed to call my name.

Kaaaaaade. Come here and relax! You know you want to! It’s in your blood!

“Ugh,” I sighed.

And I stood in the middle of the bridge, unsure of which direction to go.

ABBY

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

At this point, a few hours after leaving the restaurant, my phone was basically buzzing non-stop with texts and calls from Kade, Kim, and Dad.

With every vibration, I felt also a tremble in my chest, like a bloody earthquake in my heart.

But, as I sat at the round table in Blake’s parlor, in a meeting discussing my future plans with Hellbound, I was trying my best to ignore the doubt and guilt.

Also present at the meeting was Liam, of course, and a couple other guys I had met before.

One named Zachariah, one Gomez, one who went by the nickname Stone. And a few whose names I had forgotten.

All gruff and grisly.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzz! Bzzzzz!

Finally, Blake sighed and said, “Perhaps you should just check your phone already, Abby.”

His tone was kind and level enough, though I could tell it was beginning to bother him. Which was fair enough; it was annoying as hell.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Wanting to stay in his good graces, I slipped my phone slowly from my back pocket, reluctant to see the damage.

Fourteen missed calls. Over thirty texts.

Jesus Christ.

I cursed under my breath.

I scrolled quickly past the messages from my father and sister, landing on Kade’s name instead.

He never texted me this much. And not this incessantly or brashly.

I swallowed hard as they continued coming in.

Owed him that? Did I?

Oh, please, I thought, with a scoff.

I had enough self-respect to know I didn’t owe anyone anything.

I’d gone down that road plenty of times before.

Not anymore.

When I looked up, I discovered everyone’s eyes on me expectantly.

Stone, who was especially nosy, had been peering over my shoulder.

“Kade? Who’s that?” he asked, giggling.

Ugh, dumbass.

I wonder if they called him Stone because he was, it seemed, always stoned.

“Kade is Reaper,” Blake informed, as if translating. “He’s the father of Abby’s unborn child.”

My jaw dropped and my stomach flipped.

What the hell did he just say?!

In my peripheral vision, I saw my expression mimicked across Liam’s suddenly pale face. White as a ghost.

“Blake!” I burst out, slamming my palms hard on the table. “I told you that in confidence! I trusted you, you fucking asshole!”

He just pursed his lips. Then he said, “It’s no secret, Abby. Satan’s Sons are spreading the news like wildfire. They’re all just so excited for you.”

Good God.

Stone’s face lit up, totally contrasting Liam’s paleness. “Abby’s going to be a mom! Well dang, that’ll be fun! Are you going to like, raise it here in the club?”

“Yeah, Stone,” Gomez answered for me sarcastically. “She’ll feed it cocaine and give it broken beer bottles to play with as toys.”

“Sounds like the life to me,” Stone replied. Then turning out to face the group, he quipped, “What should we name it? Any suggestions?”

I gritted my teeth. “Okay, guys. This is all very funny, but—”

Zachariah grinned. “How about Hellbound Jr.?”

“Or… How about Stone Jr.?” offered Stone. “That sounds dope, right?”

“I think we should name it after Damon,” said Gomez.

At that, I froze.

Damon…

Name my child after Damon?

The maniac who tried to murder me?!

The only man I’d ever killed…? At least so far.

I couldn’t tell if Gomez was kidding or not. Either way, that was a step over the line.

Shaking with rage, I stood up and ran from the room.

I made it to the top of the staircase before crumbling on the top step in a sudden, overwhelming fit of tears.

Why the fuck did I keep doing this? Why did I keep coming back?

I knew I didn’t belong there, in that basement, with Hellbound.

Sobs racked my damaged, heavy body.

I clutched at my stomach as it dawned on me.

I don’t belong anywhere.