Page 161 of Reaper's Claim

“I just want him to be ok,” she whispered.

“I know.”

***

Brad entered first, followed by Reaper and then Trigger. Trigger went straight to Kim, dropping to his knees in front of her.

She broke out in tears immediately and wrapped her arms around him.

“You ok, Harrison?” Brad stood in front of me, “Fuck, you look freezing.”

He pulled his leather vest off and peeled his jumper off. “Arms up, Abby.”

I did as he asked and he threaded the jumper on. His scent engulfed me, making me feel safer for some strange reason.

“Come on Harrison, no tears,” he said, wiping them off my cheek. “He’s a fighter, and he hasn’t given up yet.”

“It’s been hours.” My voice was dry, and the numbness I felt could be heard within my tone.

Reaper moved behind Brad, and my tear-stained eyes landed on him. The pity he was feeling for me could be seen across his face.

Then someone stepped out from around him, someone I wasn’t expecting.

“Drake.” I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Hey, baby girl.” He walked towards me, and Brad stepped to the side. “Heard you were having a rough time.”

My throat tightened, and that was it. As his arms wrapped around me, I broke down, and I cried and cried into his shoulder.

He just held me tighter, and I squeezed the life out of him as I wailed into his shoulder.

And it was in Drake’s arms that the grief I was feeling overtook me.

Reaper

I watched Abby cling to Drake, crying into his shoulder, and I was forcing myself not to rip his hands off her. I knew it would be hard seeing them together, but I had made the decision I would rather see her leaning on Drake for support than fucking Brad.

Cause her and Drake were only friends.

Brad and she could become something more.

Which would be happening over my fucking dead body.

She was mine.

It was fucking killing me, not knowing how to help her right now. I wasn’t good with words like Drake. Didn’t have the smooth words like Brad either. When it came down to feelings and emotions and crap, I fucking sucked.

Which meant right now, I was useless to her.

The only thing I could do was protect her from the fucking pieces of shit known as the Westbrooks. I could do that.

I could run the club for her old man, but I couldn’t give her what she needed now.

Because I wasn’t even sure what she needed.

A hug?

Fuck if I knew. I ran a hand over my head and took a step away from them. I needed a motherfucking smoke and a hard drink.