Page 46

Reaper

It had been a motherfucking week since the ugly ass roses had arrived, and since then, my woman had received two more dozen long-stemmed red roses, one white dozen, and a box of expensive chocolates, which I threw in the fucking trash before she could get her damn grubby fingers on them.

When I got my hands on the motherfucking sender, I was going to put a bullet between his eyes.

By day two, I had Phantom investigating the delivery driver.

By day three, she investigated the flower shop.

By day four, I bought the fucking place, but that didn’t stop shit from arriving. However, today I planned on taking matters into my own hands while I waited for the next delivery.

Smiling, I leaned back in my chair, knowing today my woman wouldn’t receive shit. With the club now owning the flower shop, I would know immediately if anyone placed an order that was to be delivered to my wife, because the brother I planted in that shop was to call me immediately.

Problem solved.

Sitting at one of the tables in the gathering room, I looked at my watch and waited. I never took my eyes off the front doors.

“Prospect manning the gate?” I asked no one in particular when Massacre chuckled. “Yeah. The second any florist shows up, he will sound the alarm.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?” Bullseye asked, standing by a window with a gun in his hand as he looked outside.

“No,” I growled, checking my gun for the hundredth time.

“Reaper, it’s just flowers and candy,” Matrix clipped, standing near the door.

“It’s more than that and you fucking know it.”

“Bossman is losing it,” Massacre whispered.

“Yep,” Player replied as both men stood behind the bar, guns aimed at the door.

“My Sunshine loves flowers,” Sandman happily said, laying on one of the couches, reading a book.

Glaring at the fucker, I snarked, “Why aren’t you armed?”

“Because I don’t care,” he simply replied, flipping a page.

A crackle had me turning to Massacre as the big man rolled his eyes and picked up a walkie-talkie.

“What is it, Prospect?”

“Got a van pulling up.”

“Let it in, Prospect.” Massacre sighed, placing the walkie-talkie back on the bar. “Look alive, everyone. We got company.”

“Uh, I don’t think it’s a florist this time,” Bullseye said, holstering his gun as he walked toward the door.

“Who is it then?” I asked, doing the same with my gun just as Matrix and Bullseye threw the doors open. Walking down the steps, I frowned as two pretty women jumped out of the van, smiling.

“Hi!” the driver said, walking over to us with a clipboard in hand. “Is there an Emma Doherty here?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“Awesome!” the young woman smiled happily, before she looked at her clipboard. “I have a delivery for her from a friend.”

“Gonna need more than that.”

The young woman flipped through the papers on the clipboard and frowned. “It doesn’t say. Only that we are to deliver Snickers to Emma Doherty at the Golden Skulls compound in Purgatory, California. I do have the right place, correct?”

“Yeah,” I groaned. “That’s us.”

“Cool! Is Emma around?”

“Prospect, run and go get Emma,” Bullseye ordered as we all stood outside waiting for my daughter to arrive.

A few minutes later, my snarky teenage daughter stormed out of the clubhouse. “What is it? I’ve got fucking homework to do.”

Ignoring her attitude, I said, “You got a delivery.”

“From whom?”

“I would like to know that myself,” I replied when she came to stand beside me. “Just out of curiosity, how many friends do you have?”

“A lot, why?”

“And how many are boys?”

“About half.”

“Are you Emma?” The cute delivery driver smiled as my daughter just silently nodded. “I’m Carrie, and that is Haven. We own and operate Destined Buddies. We’re a non-profit organization that helps re-home animals, and you’ve been chosen to be Snickers’ new buddy.”

“Uh,” Massacre gulped, raising his hand. “What is a Snickers?”

“I’m guessing it’s not a candy bar.” Ink chuckled.

Haven, the tattooed woman standing near the van, slid the door open and out jumped a massive silver Pitbull dog with a pink bow around its neck.

“OH MY GOD!” Emma squealed, jumping for joy as she ran over to the animal whose tail was wagging a mile a minute.

Well shit.

There was no fucking way in hell I could tell her no now. Guess the damn dog was staying. I just prayed that Remi didn’t mind animals. In the meantime, I headed back inside, needing to rethink this plan. Heading for my office, my cell phone started ringing. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, I connected the call and growled, “What?”

“Problems in paradise?” Laughter on the other end had me double checking who the fuck I was gonna kill next.

Seeing King’s number, I grumbled, “You have no idea.”

“Well, misery loves company. I need your help.”

“Got my own problems, speaking of which, you have any idea who could be sending my wife flowers?”

“What?”

“Never mind. What do you want?” I groaned.

“Wanna tell me why Cameron was at the Tennessee Compound yesterday?” King asked.

“Carnage?” I frowned. “How the hell should I know? Call Savage and ask him.”

The biker world was small, and it didn’t take long for word to spread about a seven-year-old hell on wheels wreaking havoc within the Sons of Hell MC. There wasn’t a biker club on this planet that hadn’t heard the many tales of Carnage.

The kid was a legend.

“You know damn well that fucker won’t tell me shit; that’s why I’m calling you. That brat has my brothers scared of their own damn shadows. They all sleep with one eye open, and now I’ve learned that Savage hosted the brat for an hour at the Tennessee clubhouse. An hour, Reaper! What the fuck was Cameron doing there that takes an hour, and with Savage no less!”

Rolling my eyes, I plopped my ass into my chair, leaned back, placing my feet on my desk. “Fuck, brother, I don’t know. Playing checkers? Savage is simpleminded. It’s anyone’s guess.”

“Yeah, well, I need to get to the bottom of it fast, because if Cameron’s sister finds out he left the fucking state, she’s gonna have my ass. Help a brother out.”

Groaning, I muttered, “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Pick up your damn phone when I call back in a few.”

“Fine,” I groaned, hanging up.

There was no love lost between King and Savage. Those two fuckers had a hate/hate relationship. Bad enough there was bad blood between our two clubs from shit neither of us had a part in, but King hated Savage for marrying his niece and my sister Jessica, while Savage hated King because he killed Savage’s dad, Shane Keller. All because of one woman—Cassandra Montclair. An innocent who found herself in the crosshairs of a war not of her making. In the end, both men would never see eye to eye on anything, and the only reason they tolerated each other was because neither one wanted to piss off Jess.

Not even ten minutes later my phone started ringing.

Sighing, I connected the call and heard Savage groan. “What the fuck do you want, King? I was about to make my woman scream to the heavens.”

“Lucas Keller!” my sister screeched while I rolled my eyes. “My uncle did not need to hear that!”

Savage chuckled. “But, baby, I enjoy reminding him of who you belong to.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Your asshole, baby.”

King growled as Jess quickly said, “Sorry, King. Babe, I need to go. We can finish this later.”

“But I want to finish now,” Savage whined.

“Later,” we all heard her clearly say as she smacked a kiss on the man and he growled. “This better be fucking good, asshole.”

Wasting no time, King asked, “Why were my men and Cameron at your place yesterday?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I asked.”

Savage laughed. “I’m not telling you shit.”

Bored with this call already, I growled. “But you will tell me, dickhead.”

“Carnage, I would like to introduce you to Reaper, the President of the Golden Skulls Mother Chapter and the only person on the planet that can bring Savage to heel.”

“You motherfucker!” Savage roared. “We were having a friendly conversation and you had to call in the big gun? You really want me to kick your ass, don’t you?”

“You can try, asshole,” King snarked.

“I’m waiting, Savage,” I said as Phantom walked into my office with a smile on her face.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt, Reaper, but I just got this cryptic text message. I think you need to see it.”

“Who is it from?”

“It’s from Digger,” she said, handing me her phone as we both heard Savage roar out in laughter.

Reading the text, it simply said.

Digger: Don’t interfere or I’m sending Stella to kick your ass.

“Well.” I chuckled, then roared with laughter because I fucking knew Digger would do it, too. Had love for my brother but his wife scared the crap out of me. No one was worth pissing Stella off. “This changes things. Sorry, King. You are on your own and good luck. I think you’re going to need it. Oh, and, kid, you are welcome in my house anytime. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Reaper.”

With that, I disconnected the call, handing Phantom her phone back.

“Want to let me in on the secret?”

Looking at my club sister, I grinned. “Just a little carnage over at the Sons of Hell clubhouse. So how are things going in the bat cave?”

Phantom groaned, taking a seat.

“Slowly. The key codes are not in order or assigned specifically to a file, so we have to manually plug in a code to a file and hope we matched the right file to the right code. It’s going to be a while. Sypher wants to bring Pippen in. We need more help.”

“That kid is a Soulless Sinner.”

“Not branded. According to Sypher, he just got intern status. Sypher thinks we can poach him before he gets the brand.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” the woman sighed. “I’ve looked into Pippen’s past. It’s fake. Kid wiped his existence from the net.”

Narrowing my eyes, I asked again, “What did you find?”

Phantom smiled. “His real name is Dante Sharp. Has one older brother named Silas.”

“Burning daylight, Phantom. Get to the good stuff.”

“Pippen’s brother, Silas, works alongside a man named Crispin Sinclair and another, Rowen Shay. All three men are products of the Trick Pony.”

Leaning back in my chair, I shook my head. “That isn’t good.”

“No, it’s not,” Phantom agreed, adding, “To make matters worse, I reached out to a friend of mine on the dark web, and he told me this Crispin Sinclair person is looking for someone. A woman named Thena Hartley. Apparently, she is the daughter of Steven Hartley, but you know him as Popeye. One of the Retirement Rejects in the Soulless Sinners.”

“And why does this Sinclair want her?”

“Because, like them, she is also a product of the Trick Pony.”

“So, the skeletons are coming out of the closet.”

“It seems so.”

“Does Montana know any of this yet?”

“No. According to Pippen, Montana’s hands are full with his bartender, Silver. It looks like Malice claimed the woman.”

Grimacing, I asked, “Jesus. Is the woman alive?”

Phantom nodded. “Yeah, but she’s black and blue. Montana has all his chapters on alert. He wants Malice back in New York. It seems the asshole took off.”

Sitting up, I leaned forward and sighed. “Alright. Tell Sypher to make the offer. Kid has my full backing. If he can get Pippen, then we patch the kid in fast. Also, I want you to reach out to this Sinclair. See if he’s willing to sit down with me. In the meantime, keep working on those damn files. Until I know what we’re dealing with, we will play everything by ear.”

“Sure thing,” Phantom replied, getting to her feet and smiling. “Also, I thought you’d like to know I have a lead on flowergate.”

Sitting up straighter, I was just about to ask who when I received an incoming text.

Looking at my phone I froze.

Massacre: Remi’s on the warpath!

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Phantom asked.

“I think I’m about to be a dead man again.”