Page 37 of Reaper & the Lioness (Lone Star Mavericks MC #1)
“He beat her senseless, then tied her to a chair. He locked me and Linc outside. Linc was only seven. Kid was scared out of his mind.”
The memory flashed through my mind vividly, as if it had happened yesterday instead of years ago. I dragged in a shaky lungful of air that tasted faintly of her grapefruit shampoo.
“There was this biker going down the street. A Maverick. I flagged him down. Begged him for help. It was Don. He broke in, saved our mom, and beat the living shit out of my old man.”
I fell silent for a moment, lost in the recollection. “He called Maisie to get my mom to a women’s shelter. Seeing you tied up like that brought it back to the surface of my mind. Even some details I’d buried so deep that I’d forgotten.”
Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
My throat tightened. I wasn’t used to being comforted. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was early morning. Sleep would need to come later.
“You should get some more sleep. I’ve got some things I need to take care of.”
Eva wanted to argue, but I kissed her before she could protest. “I’m all right, I promise. Just need to clear my head and take care of some things. I’ll be back in time to make you breakfast.”
“Pancakes.”
“Anything you want.”
“I want real pancakes. Made with flour and sugar. Not monkfruit and whatever weird health flours you have hidden away.”
I chuckled as she settled back onto the pillows. “Pancakes covered in maple syrup and blueberries, and dusted with powdered sugar. I’ll make the sweetest, most calorie dense damn pancakes you’ve ever had.”
The floorboards creaked under my feet as I moved through the quiet cabin.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it over my flannel shirt.
My fingers brushed over the worn leather, tracing the familiar patches.
The weight settled on my shoulders, heavy with what I knew I needed to do next.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: On my way.
Merrick: We’re ready for you
The ride to the junkyard blurred in the pre-dawn darkness. The thunderous roar of my bike always served as a balm to the unhealed wounds in my heart after my nightmares.
My resolve hardened as the cool air cleared the last cobwebs of sleep from my mind. I couldn’t protect my mother back then, but I sure as hell could protect Eva now.
Merrick and Hatchet stoically stood guard at the junkyard. I sensed their anticipation despite the dark circles under their eyes.
They’d left Matt untouched, which I knew had taken a lot of control for Merrick. He felt personally responsible for the safety of every member of our family. The dark desire I had to kill Matt was reflected in his eyes, too.
“How’s Eva?” Merrick asked.
“She’s holding up. But she’s got a lot to process. So do I.”
I knew my men could see the haunted look in my eyes as I considered what could have happened.
Hatchet nodded toward Matt. “I know what will make you feel better.” He gestured toward the table of torture.
“Go stand guard. Make sure we’re not interrupted.”
Hatchet raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m always missing out on the fun stuff. I care about what happened to Eva, too. I should at least get to cut one finger off.”
Merrick chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you get your turn. I wouldn’t want you to get rusty.”
Hatchet snorted. “Rusty? My skills are sharper than ever.”
I shook my head. Hatchet enjoyed inventing new ways to hold traitors accountable.
His methods were as creative as they were cruel.
Last year, when we caught a prospect stealing bike parts from our warehouse, Hatchet had turned torture into a performance.
He’d taken his time, savoring every whimper and plea as he pressed the edge of a dull set of scissors to bone and muscle, chewing through flesh instead of slicing.
“Let’s get started. I need to be back in time to make breakfast for my woman.”
I stalked toward Matt, my boots crunching on the gritty floor. He sat slumped over in the chair. Fear filled his eyes as he stirred and recognized me. Good. He should be afraid.
A cold, calculated rage settled over me. “Eva might have hesitated. But we won’t.”
He tried to speak, but the duct tape muffled his words. I ripped it off, and he cried out in pain.
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to get hurt. I just?—”
My fist connected with his jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone reverberated through the warehouse. His blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering across my knuckles and the floor.
“You handed her over to them,” I snarled, punctuating each word with a blow.
“Right now, she can’t breathe without feeling the pain from her bruised ribs.
She can’t glance in the mirror without thinking about how you—someone she saw as a friend and ally—betrayed her.
You handed her over to a predator who would have killed her.
And now, I am going to make you wish you were dead. ”
Matt’s face had become a messy web of blood and bruises, but I was far from done. I nodded to Merrick, who handed me a pair of bolt cutters. The cold metal fit in my hand, a tool to carve out my vengeance.
“How should we start? How about a finger for every text you sent to Hale about Eva? How about your tongue for betraying her? Maybe even your eyes because of how you judged the woman I love for being with me?”
His screams echoed off the metal walls as I worked, methodical and relentless. By the time I finished, Matt struggled to remain conscious. His broken, bloody mess of a body slumped in the chair. I stepped back, wiping my hands on a rag with a sense of cold satisfaction.
“End him.”
Merrick nodded and pulled a pistol with a suppressor from his hip. The silenced shot barely echoed. It seemed anticlimactic after all the screaming and begging.
Hatchet stepped back inside with a rusty meat hook swinging from his hand. “Damn it, Reaper. I had some fun ideas for this.”
“Sorry, brother. I guess you’ll need to add it to your collection.”
Hatchet’s teeth gleamed in the dim light as he showed his most menacing smile. “Next time, Merrick is keeping watch.”
“When it comes to Eva, there’d better not be a next time."
We worked in silence as we cleaned up. I hauled Matt’s broken body to the incinerator. The metallic tang of blood and death clung to my skin and clothes.
Merrick methodically scrubbed the tools with bleach. The sharp chemical stench burned my nostrils.
I grabbed a fresh change of clothes from my bike and slipped into the admin building’s shower to scrub away the blood and sweat until my skin burned.
I tossed my flannel and jeans, splattered with evidence, into the fire.
The flames licked them clean of any trace of my connection to Matt’s death.
As we finished, the sun rose over the horizon.
I offered a smile to my brothers. Words weren’t needed, because the same grim satisfaction reflected in their eyes.
A sense of peace washed over me as I swung my leg over my bike. Now, I could focus on the future. Our future.
I revved the engine and sped down the road toward the cabin. An overwhelming need to protect Eva, to keep her safe from any threat, big or small, surged through me. I’d die before I let anything happen to her. She belonged to me to protect, to cherish; I’d kill again if necessary to keep her safe.
And I knew what that meant. It was time to offer her my patch. It was the highest commitment I could give her. It would mean fully bringing her into my world, with all its dangers and complexities.
But it would also mean protection, respect, and a spot by my side no one could question. It would mark her as mine in the eyes of the club and our rivals. And as Thane prepared me to move into the role of president someday, I needed to be sure she was ready for what that meant.
Yet I still hesitated. I felt torn between my desire to claim her and my respect for her autonomy. Eva was fiercely independent. How would she react to the idea of wearing a cut labeling her as my “property?” I winced at the imagined conversation as I heard her voice in my mind.
“Property? I’m not a piece of real estate,” she would likely say.
The patch would keep her safe and make her untouchable to our enemies. But at what cost to her sense of self? Would she view it as protection or a prison?
Maybe I was overthinking. She’d faced down threats with a steel spine. Perhaps she’d embrace the patch for what it truly meant—not a mark of ownership, but a symbol of partnership, of her place with me and the Mavericks.
Or maybe she’d laugh in my face and tell me where to shove our outdated ideas of possession.