Page 91 of Reaper's Claim

Abby

There is a reputation that comes with a motorcycle group, and it isn’t the most desirable one. Unless of course you want that reputation, and most of the boys liked it.

People openly stared: some out of interest, others out of anger, and most because they were jealous.

Jealous of the freedom.

When it came down to it, the guys stood for everything a typical society didn’t. At the end of the day, they were a brotherhood, one very large family.

What they did was no one's business.

But because they were considered outlaws, they were judged, but they weren’t judged as harshly or as openly as supporters or people they saw as‘living off the dirty cash.’

I should be used to it by now.

It shouldn’t bother me as much as it did.

Why the hell did we have to order out again? I threw a dirty look at the middle-aged couple who was giving me a distasteful look.

Right now, I was furious at Cameron for scaring the delivery driver. Because of his stupid prank or whatever he did, the restaurant won’t deliver to the clubhouse.

So guess who got sent out to get their stupid darn food?

Me.

“Will it be much longer?” I asked the cashier. Who had told me they would only be a minute half an hour ago.

I placed this order two hours ago because I knew it was a large one.

“It won’t be long.” She glanced behind her, not even bothering to go check. Her bored and unhelpful tone was clear.

Stupid blonde haired, wide-eyed, teenager bitch.

I heard the boring bell tone of the door opening. I was ready to give this unhelpful mole a serving of bitch.

“Abby, what the fuck is taking so long?”

Only one man would storm into a pizza shop with that demanding voice.

My expression hardened. “Why are you here, Reaper?”

He hadn’t come with me. Even though I had hintedseveral timesbefore I left for him to join me.

Instead, the thickheaded monkey stayed behind and played poker with a cheap woman on his lap.

“Your dad wanted to know why the hell it takes an hour to pick up pizzas.”

“Oh, and he thought that was a job for his VP, did he?” I had no doubt that Dad would have sent someone down to check on me, but I doubted it would be Reaper.

His cold-stoned unbiased expression broke for a moment, and his eyes shone with curiosity.

My head snapped back to the boring menu board. I swear I was going to go back there and ask the cook myself how much longer he would be!

Pizza parlors weren’t known for overwhelming space. Reaper took a noticeable (well, noticeable to me) step closer to me, placing a hand on my hip. He pushed me back until I was firmly against his chest.

The thing that annoyed me most was now I had the cashier’s attention. Well, Reaper had it.

My back was tense, and I was sure if I didn’t have my fingers tightened in a clenched fist, they would be shaking.