Reaper’s Property_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Valley Reapers MC Read online

  Logan fucked me harder and faster. He held me up against the wall, and I had the idea he’d done this before. No one fucked like this without practice. But I didn’t care. I got lost in the rhythm. I was on fire; every nerve ending was alive and a raging inferno built at my core. It spread the longer he fucked me, consuming me. The orgasm shattered me, and I cried out, coming undone at the seams.

  “Fuck,” Logan bit out in my ear.

  He thrust harder and faster still, before he leaned against me, shoving himself into me as deep as he could. I felt him jerk and spasm, emptying himself inside me, and it brought back an echo of my own orgasm. I moaned, pressing my face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds. Hollis was up there somewhere, waiting for his boss to finish, and I didn’t want him to know exactly how his boss was finishing.

  Logan let go of my legs, letting me down. He slipped out of me, his dick already softening. I stood without my pants in front of him, slick between my legs with our sex and I thanked God that I was on the pill. I wouldn’t have stopped if I hadn’t been. Nothing would have stopped me from letting this man have his way with me. He was power, a god, an Adonis, and I was his fucking damsel in distress. I could hate it later. Right now, I was charged with sexual bliss.

  “Get dressed,” Logan ordered. I bristled at the command but I was naked from the waist down, and he had a point.

  I picked up my jeans and pulled them on.

  “Wait,” Logan said when I was about to button them up. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  I wanted to argue but he pushed his hands into my pants, and his fingers found my clit. He slid his fingers into my wetness and the argument melted on my tongue when he fingered me. I shivered and let him.

  “Come back tomorrow,” he said. His fingers flicked over my clit, and it was hard to concentrate.

  “For what?” My voice was breathy and didn’t sound like my own.

  “I want to see you again.”

  I swallowed before parting my lips again, my breathing shallow.

  Logan pressed his lips against mine, kissing me. His tongue was in my mouth, and his hand on my pussy worked me up into another orgasm. It rocked me, leaving me raw.

  “Okay,” I finally answered.

  “Tomorrow, dusk,” Logan confirmed and let go of me.

  I sagged against the wall, my legs numb and my mind reeling. Logan sauntered away as if nothing had happened, as if the foundation of my existence hadn’t just been shaken. He climbed the steps, not bothering to look back, and I was alone again, the throbbing between my legs the only proof that anything had happened at all.

  Chapter Three

  Logan

  Hazel was the one woman I couldn’t shake. I had fucked a lot of women, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. As the leader of my MC, it was my duty to rule, and that counted for every area. Besides, being a single father had its challenges, and there was nothing like a good fuck to take the edge off.

  But Hazel was something else. From the moment I saw her, I’d wanted to make her mine. And I had done it right then and there. Blonde hair, deep dark eyes and an attitude as if she wasn’t scared of me – that had gotten me off. I respected a woman who had respect for herself. All the women I dealt with knew they could get something from me, even if it were only street credit, a name for being in Logan Matthew’s bed. Hazel had acted like none of that was important, like the only thing that mattered was how it had felt with me.

  Which was why I wanted to see her again. This time, I wasn’t going to drag her off by her hair and have my way with her, no matter how much I wanted to. I had other things in mind. She had said she was an artist and she was a strong woman. I needed someone like that to influence my daughter.

  Amy was thirteen and in desperate need of a role model. Her mother had left when she was only a baby, leaving me behind to raise a woman when I didn’t know much about parenting in the first place. I wanted someone like Hazel to mentor my daughter. I hadn’t seen her art, but I was sure if it were anything like who she was as a person, I would approve.

  “Where are we going?” Amy asked in the car on the way to the bridge. I hadn’t taken the bike – I didn’t want Amy on those death traps. I told her to get dressed in black and wear her mask. I told her to grab her spray cans.

  “I’m taking you to the bridge. There’s someone I want you to meet, someone that can help you with your art.”

  Amy nodded. We were on the same page about her graffiti. If she wanted to head out and do something illegal because it was her passion, I wanted to know about it. I wanted her to be street-smart and watch her back. She could do it in those conditions. I couldn’t stop her or she would do it behind my back and the only thing worse than knowing your daughter was getting in trouble on purpose, was not knowing about it.

  We parked on the grassy verge to the side of the bridge, and Amy pulled her mask up. We walked down the steps to find Hazel waiting for us at the bottom. She was wearing her mask, too.

  “You’re here,” she said.

  I grinned. Her eyes flickered to Amy next to me. Maybe she’d thought I would come alone. I knew exactly what would happen if I had.

  “You’re wearing your bandanna again,” I said. I couldn’t help but tease her. I knew what her face looked like. I knew what she felt like.

  “You might have seen my face, but that doesn’t mean my identity is public. I don’t want everyone to know who I am.”

  I frowned, looking over her shoulder at the tag she was studying. It was the tag by Emerald that we’d talked about last night. The tag she had been so protective over. I took in her masked face, her attitude and put two and two together.

  “You’re Emerald,” I said. It made sense now. And seeing a piece of her art was reassurance that I had made a good choice for Amy.

  Hazel hesitated before nodding. She was honest about it, and I appreciated that. We may have done the dirty, but she had no reason to trust me. The fact that she did meant something.

  “That should make what’s about to happen a whole lot better,” I said and turned to Amy. She looked so small in her dark close, hiding behind me almost like she used to when she was a child. When I looked at Hazel again, she seemed suspicious of Amy. I wondered what was going through her mind.

  “I want a contest between the two of you,” I added.

  “What?” Hazel asked. “Am I supposed to prove myself to you now?”

  God, that attitude. It made me want to fuck her to teach her a lesson. If Amy weren’t here, I would do all sorts of nasty things to her, and I knew she would enjoy it as much as she had enjoyed it last night.

  “Relax,” I said, shaking my head. “This is for her sake, not mine.”

  “What is the contest?” Hazel asked.

  She was curious. She could walk away if she wanted to, climb the steps and get out of my life. But her curiosity kept her here. Everything about her was mesmerizing. She was comfortable with who she was, sure, certain. I liked that in a woman. And she didn’t try to impress me, which was new. Women usually fell over their feet to impress me.

  I shrugged out of my leather jacket. “I want you to create a tag from this logo.” I turned the jacket around, showing it to Hazel and Amy. Amy had seen it before, so it gave her an advantage. I had no doubt that Hazel would make something good of it – if her other work was anything to go by.

  Hazel looked at me, her eyes narrow. “That’s the logo for the Valley Reapers.”

  I nodded. “You know who we are.”

  “Everyone knows to be careful of the Reapers. It’s common sense, not common knowledge.”

  I grinned. “You’re a sharp one.” I realized she didn’t know who I was. I had thought that she would recognize me. Maybe it was why she had had so much confidence last night, dared to give me that much attitude. I hoped it wouldn’t change. I couldn’t tell what reaction the news elicited from her with the mask in place. Her silence didn’t give away much either.

  I knew the rumors that made the rounds about me. T
hey said I was a tyrant, merciless, scared of nothing. I worked hard to keep it that way.

  “So?” I asked. “Do you think you can do this or are you going to chicken out?”

  Something flashed behind her eyes.

  “Fine,” she said. “You’re on. Time limit?”

  “Ten minutes, but that’s not all. Contests are about winning something.”

  She shrugged, her attitude as nonchalant and determined as before. Finding out who I was hadn’t changed that. Good for her. That only made her hotter.

  “Whoever wins the contest agrees to mentor the other,” I said.

  Hazel narrowed her eyes at me. For someone who had her face covered with a mask, she showed a hell of a lot of expressions. I was scamming her into mentoring Amy. I knew she was better. But I wanted her to help my daughter and what better way to do it than to make it seem like a prize? Anyone would jump at the opportunity to mentor Amy Matthews. Of course, she didn’t know who Amy was yet. I asked her to wear a mask for a reason. I didn’t want Hazel to make assumptions about her art or feel the need to say something she didn’t mean because she didn’t want to offend me.

  “Alright,” Hazel finally said. “Works for me.”

  I chuckled. “I like your confidence.” I had liked it last night as well.

  The girls stepped up to the wall, waiting for the word. I counted them in, and they started. The logo wasn’t hard, but you had to look at the world differently if you were going to use paint that dried instantly and work on something bigger than yourself.

  We stood in silence, the hissing sound of the spray cans keeping us company as the darkness wrapped itself around us. After ten minutes, they were done. Hazel had finished just a little before Amy.

  They looked at each other’s pieces. Both were good, but it wasn’t hard to see who had won. Hazel was far better than Amy.

  “Impressive,” I said. “Thoughts?”

  “I think she won,” Amy said, speaking for the first time.

  “Thank you,” Hazel said. There was no boasting or pride in her voice, just genuine thanks.

  Amy pulled down her hood and mask. Her light brown hair spilled over her shoulders.

  Hazel looked surprised when she saw how young Amy was. “What’s going on?” she asked me.

  I smiled, putting my arm around Amy. “This is my daughter, Amy,”

  Hazel couldn’t hide her surprise. “Oh.”

  I knew what had to be going through her mind, after everything we had done last night and what I was propositioning now. They were on opposite sides of the scare.

  “Can I study your work?” Amy asked Hazel, pointing to the wall.

  Hazel nodded, and Amy walked away from us.

  “Are you married?” Hazel asked in a whisper.

  I chuckled. “No, but thanks for asking.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled down her mask. That attitude made me want to dominate her, show her who was boss. I wished I hadn’t brought Amy along so I could take her again. But this was for my daughter.

  “I want you to mentor her. She’s serious about this, and she has talent,” I said.

  “And you’re okay with her being in this world?”

  I shrugged. “Rather that she be in it with me than without me.”

  “Emerald,” Amy interrupted us. She was studying Hazel’s tag that she’d done last night. “Why did you add a skull to this one? It seems darker than your usual style.”

  Hazel frowned, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”

  Amy pointed. “Right here.”

  We both walked to Amy and looked where she was pointing.

  The skull was white and done well enough that it looked like it blended with the artwork. But it had been added later. Small words were written beneath it. Hazel and I both leaned in to read it, and Hazel gasped.

  Marked for Death.

  Chapter Four

  Hazel

  Perception Center Art Gallery was the kind of place aspiring artists flocked to – hoping to showcase their work. Dina, the woman who owned the place, always gave new artists a chance and some of the best artists in L.A. had been discovered that way.

  I loved working at PC. Dina trusted me to keep the place up and running whenever she had to head out to scout for new talent, and I preferred being alone in the gallery, surrounded by art, surrounded by expression. When I was alone, I could hang up paintings or prepare for shows in peace. I put on alternative rock music, and I killed the hours by getting lost in other people’s passion. It was a hell of a job.

  It had been two weeks since I’d seen Logan and Amy. The skull on my tag had scared me, I had to admit, and I had stayed away from the scene for a while. Nothing wrong with laying low until I felt better about it. Logan told me that night that I didn’t have to worry about the skull, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. But he knew nothing about me, about my life. How could he keep me safe?

  He took my number, but I avoided his calls. He wanted me to mentor Amy. I had been full of myself that night, taking on the challenge, but in the light of the day, I started to feel differently.

  I was a self-taught artist. I had no formal training of any kind, and I wasn’t a teacher. How was I supposed to help the girl? And she was Logan’s daughter, so the stakes were raised, it wasn’t any student. It was Amy Matthews, daughter of the leader of the Valley Reapers MC.

  My phone rang again as if my thoughts had summoned the attention and Logan’s name flashed on the screen. I muted the call and stepped back to check if the painting I’d put up was straight.

  I thought back to the night under the bridge when I’d let Logan fuck me. Heat washed over my body just thinking about how he had taken control, about the sexual tension that followed him around like an aura. I hadn’t been able to resist him. I was sure if I saw him again, the same would happen. Two weeks hadn’t been nearly enough to cure me of him. I wasn’t sure anything would be enough.

  When my phone stopped ringing, I checked it and erased the missed call notification. I pocketed the phone and walked back to the front desk where a customer had walked in. The gallery doors opened onto a large wall mural that welcomed anyone who blew through our doors. To get to the art, I had to lead them around to the wall to the display area.

  “This is a magnificent piece,” the customer said. It was a man in his late fifties if I had to guess, with salt and pepper hair and the kind of look that suggested the man had seen enough for one lifetime. “Who is the artist?”

  I shook my head. “I did that one. The real artworks are this way.”

  He looked back at the wall. “Real artworks? This is as real as it gets, ma’am.”

  I blushed and held out my hand. “I’m Hazel.”

  “Detective Earl Hopper.”

  “Oh. Is there something I can help you with?” I was suddenly nervous, even though I had nothing to hide. Unless you counted vandalism. In which case I was more than guilty.

  “No, no,” the detective said. I relaxed a little. “I’m studying up on my artwork. I have been assigned to a case, and I realized I know very little about the world of abstract and color. Everything is black and white in my life.”

  Hopper had dark eyes that smiled at me, and I felt at ease around him, even though he was a man of the law, and everything I had done so far could earn me at least a year in jail and a hefty fine, if not more. I liked him even though I probably should have been wary.

  I took him through to the display room, offered him a cup of coffee, then left him to study the works of people who made an honest living. If he wanted to know what would help him in a case where art was involved he had to go underground to the shows and artists that hid in the shadows. But there was no way in hell I was going to volunteer that information to him.

  During my lunch break, I didn’t eat. Instead, I had a handful of nuts on the way to the art shop a few blocks away from the gallery. I loved spending time there. The shop was full of potential, the supplies asking to be used for the greater good, to cr
eate something spectacular.

  I wandered between the shelves when I heard a voice I recognized but couldn’t place.

  “I need more paint, Dad.”

  I rounded the corner and froze. Amy and Logan stood in the next aisle. It was a sight, seeing the big bad alpha MC leader, with his leathers and his buzz cut, hang around with a teenager that wore lip gloss and colored bangles. Logan was on his phone, but Amy looked up. I jumped back, hoping to God she hadn’t seen me.

  “Hey!” Amy cried out, and a moment later she was in front of me, smiling up at me. “I thought it was you.”

  I plastered a smile on my face. “What a coincidence – two artists meeting at an art shop.”