Reaper's Claim: The Finale

Reaper

That woman was like fire, burning everything in her path.

Abby always knew what to say to rile me up and set me off. Today was no different, except that instead of the insatiable need to fuck her brains out, I just wanted to fucking throw her off a cliff.

She’d pointedly ignored me after using Kim’s name like a weapon.

I felt the flush in my face as I glared at her back.

Abby chose to focus on her canvas and therapy-ordered art. It was nice to see her get back to it. She’d been good at it as a teen, so I could only imagine what amazing creations she’d spin out from that brain of hers as an adult.

But this… thing she was working on, with Blake as her muse, frightened me and, though I’m loath to admit it, also made me jealous.

She continued to work; the only sound between us was the scrape of her palette knife across the canvas.

Fine.

This conversation was done, and I had other things to do anyway.

I left without a goodbye or reminder about tonight’s debriefing. I knew she’d be there because Abby, like a cat, was better left to her own devices and would come when she was ready. Not before, and especially not if I forced her.

Exiting the studio brought me back into the bright afternoon sun. I squinted into the sky. It’s hot and dry, and I didn’t give two fucks as I shoved on my aviators. I got shit to look after.

“Went that well, boss?” Ox sniffed, hanging over the golf cart’s steering wheel.

“Fucking—fantastic,” I answered as I sat down heavily in the passenger seat.

“To the brewhouse?”

“Yeah,” I grunted.

Ox flipped the key and stomped on the pedal, lurching us onto the main track towards the Harrison Ranch Brewhouse.

Ten acres is and isn’t a lot of land. The lane was dusty and hard-packed, much like the rest of the ranch. We still had the barbed wire around the property line, but the fuck-off vibes were gone.

We bumped along the lane, passing the skeletal bones of the new greenhouse. The greenhouse was the Harrison’s Ranch’s newest project: farm-to-table foods. We already had the goats (great for keeping the grass and fields trimmed) on hand.

I never thought an old MC compound could change so much. At least, not with bikers still owning it away.

“This place is unreal,” Ox said aloud what I was thinking. “It wasn’t always like this, right?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t. I remember the first time I set wheels on the Mother Charter compound. I didn’t have a single patch on my cut, and my bike was held together with more rust than bolts.”

Ox snorted.

“There wasn’t much here.” My hand swept out over the ranch. “Back then, we only had the main house, the clubhouse, and the garage.”

Ox whistled his awe.

“Now we have the brewhouse, the garden, complete with goats and the gun range—”

“Abby’s Range,” Ox corrected.

I nodded. Abby did spend a lot of time there. The crew was so used to seeing their VP in there (whether slinging paints or pistols) it was no longer just the “gun range” but “Abby’s Range.” And if she needed to disengage or run away, I’d rather it be there instead of anywhere off the ranch. Because when she was away from home, she was self-destructive.

It’s how she got tangled up with HellBound in the first place.

We made it to the brewhouse.

A wide two-story building, the brewhouse had been a bitch to build. And if we thought that had been tough, well, getting the equipment was even harder, but what we spent making it, we’ve made back tenfold. If bikers are good for anything, it's knowing good beer from a bad one. That included making them.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Ox looked up at the building.

“What is?”

“Bunch of bikers making beer?” Ox’s grip shifted along the steering wheel. “Farming and running a restaurant? When most are high school dropouts?”

“That’s not all we do—”

“Don’t misunderstand now,” Ox bulldozed over my thought. “If it wasn’t for Fucking G’day, I’d be dead in a ditch with a needle in my arm. Still, this club, the members… it ain’t like any biker gang I’d ever heard of. But I guess even Satan was an angel at first, right? Maybe God keeps that in mind when he thinks about his sons.”

I’m taken aback.

That might have been the longest string of words I’d ever heard from Ox, and they were kind of eloquent.

“Maybe,” I finally said, trying not to show my amazement. “But I get it. Buch of thick-headed blokes cleaning themselves up like they meant to do this all along. It’s kinda weird but good.”

“Weird-good,” Ox chewed on the idea.

“When I took over for Roach as president,” I continued, “I thought it would be business as usual. Ride bikes, drink beer, and defend our territory. But thanks to Kim and The Plan, we’ve become so much more.”

“The boys, they talk a lot about Kim, but I came around well after she was gone. What was she like? Was she like Abby?”

I barked a laugh, and it was a little more bitter than it should have been. I didn’t answer right away. Ox once again chafed the edges of the steering wheel.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said quickly. “What happened was terrible, and even though everyone says all this …” Ox’s hand swept across the view of the ranch, “... was her doing, no one ever really talks about her. And it just got me wondering…”

“No,” I shook my head. “No, it's alright. Kim… was the best example of what Satan’s Sons could be. Clean. Legit. Smart. But she wasn’t always like that. Like you, I wasn’t around the twins when they were growing up, but Abby tells me Kim used to be the wild and unpredictable one while Abby was the studious wallflower.”

“Naw!” Ox slapped the steering wheel, releasing a sharp honk of its horn. The honk caught the attention of a few of workers in the brewhouse. “Not the same woman who peeled away her own skin to escape HellBound?”

I nodded and pushed my way out of the golf cart. Ox turned off the cart and followed me toward the entrance.

The way Abby explained it, it’s like she and Kim switched personalities.

But I don’t know if that’s true. The girl I met that night long, long ago was a spitfire. Ready to defend herself from unwanted advances. A girl who knew how to get what she wanted, using her young, tight body and large innocent eyes.

Abby had always been powerful. She was just too young at the time to know it.

“And she didn’t ‘peel away her own skin,’” I corrected. “Abby tried to cut off her tattoo, and only her tattoo. The way Blake explained it, if she had that tattoo, she belonged to HellBound. Abby was just playing by his rules.”

Ox grimaced. “I’d hate to see what she’s like when she doesn’t play by the rules.”

“You and me both.”

* * *

Debriefings always started after the restaurant was closed.

No sense in scaring the patrons with a bunch of surly bikers swerving between tables and high chairs of family diners. Yes, they were aware this was a bikers' restaurant, but it was a different thing being surrounded by photos of leather-clad bikers and another thing to smell them coming.

It was a scent that I personally loved, the scent of leather, grease, and sun.

Everyone that was at the raid was now stuffed into the members-only lounge. What was once three club bunks from when we had club girls, and little self-control was now a single lounge dedicated to full Satan’s Sons members. Only those who had earned their member's patch and name were allowed to set foot in here recreationally.

The only exception being if initiates and pledges were here on Fucking G’day or raid business.

The MOL had the same setup as the main restaurant, with exposed brickwork and concrete floors. Red leather booths lined the east and west walls. There was a mini bar on the south wall, but it was never stocked with liquor. No need to tempt the recovering. Motorcycle frames and bits hung on the wall like art. Fuck, to some, me included, it was art.

A few tasteful nudes and stolen signs took up the rest of the space.

I looked at my watch.

Two minutes until we started, and we were still missing two vital members: Roach and Abby.

Roach finally stepped in, and when our eyes met, I raised my eyebrows, mouthing silently, where’s Abby?

He looked around, saw what I already knew, and shrugged.

Great.

I should’ve sent Ox to get her. She had some weird soft spot for the giant bloke. I pulled out my cell, ready to text her, when she sidled into the lounge. A few paint streaks smeared her face, and it annoyingly added to her charm.

Standing at the front of the bar, Abby took a stool to my left while Roach took the one to my right. I cleared my throat, and everyone settled in a booth, chair, or stood silently waiting for me to begin.

“Here’s what we know about the raid in Avoca,” I began. “It was a success.”

The bikers cheered.

I held my hands up, pushing down the noise.

“Our sources had been right about where they were holing up and their cargo.”

“Little girls,” a biker chided with disgust.

I nodded. “Not only that but there were at least thirty kilos of meth stashed in the rec hall under the floorboards. Which Ox was able to locate due to his highly effective skills in conversation with one of the Stonefish crew.”

Ox cracked his knuckles loudly, and the room cheered again.

“The drugs,” I continued, “the girls, HellBound, and Stonefish idiots were all left for the police to find, wrapped up in a nice and pretty bow.”

“Any cash?” Someone in the crowd asked.

“You know it,” I confirmed. “Little over six grand was recovered from the surrounding cabins as well as guns and ammo, which we will make available to you in the range.”

Fuck yeah’s and high fives went around the lounge.

“What about Blake?” Abby asked quietly.

Roach threw her a look, but she ignored it.

The rest of the crew excitedly talked about how easy the raid had gone. How spectacularly Abby took out three HellBound members before the lights were cut out. Only Roach and I heard Abby.

“Now’s not the time.” I brushed her off.

Abby crossed her arms, then said louder, “What about Blake? He was supposed to be there too.”

Now the rest of the lounge heard her and looked at me for an answer.

Damn woman, not only was she fire, but she held my feet to it also.

“No,” I finally answered. “Blake was not at the location.”

“But he was supposed to be,” Abby said harsher. Now the lounge had grown so silent no one dared breathe too loud. They knew this tone as well as I did.

Abby had a target, and she was damn well gonna hit it.

No matter who was in the way.

“He might have been,” Roach answered for me. “We might have missed him. You know he doesn’t stay in one place too long. Blake's smart. He’d have to be an idiot to go through Satan’s Sons’ territory.”

“But his men were there,” Abby argued. “Even his satellite gang was there.”

It’s true. A lot of larger gangs, especially those one percenter gangs, the heavily criminally active ones, had satellite or dummy motorcycle gangs to do all their dirty work. That’s what Stonefish was for HellBound.

“All the more reason for Blake to skedaddle,” Roach gave his counterpoint.

Abby opened her mouth, probably for a counter, counterpoint when her cell buzzed in a personalized pattern that meant it could only be from one person. Abandoning her argument, Abby checked her text and smiled.

Then she flipped it so I could look at the screen:

Well shit.