My Silver Lining (Reapers MC: Shasta Chapter Book 2) Read online

  MY SILVER LINING

  BIJOU HUNTER

  Copyright © 2020 Bijou Hunter

  ֍

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ֍

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmosphere purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  ֍

  For more information about this series and author, please visit her website.

  ֍

  Cover

  Photographer: Alla Serebrina

  Source: Depositphotos

  Cover Copyright © 2020 Bijou Hunter

  ֍

  Dedication

  To SaMiJaMaLu

  My betas—Sarah, Debbie, Cynthia, Carina, and Sheri

  &

  Judy’s Proofreading

  &

  Light Hand Proofreading

  ֍

  Special Dedication

  To Thomas Valva getting hugs in heaven

  ֍

  Book Summary

  River Majors is the president of the Shasta Chapter of the Reapers Motorcycle Club. His family lives and breathes the lifestyle.

  Maxine Leroux lost her father figure thanks to the former club running Shasta. The last thing she wants is to gain the attention of the most powerful biker in town.

  Now that Maxine has caught River’s eye, though, he’ll never give up until he owns her heart.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  NOTE TO READERS

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY BEGINS

  RIVER MAJORS, AKA THE KILLER

  MAXINE LEROUX, AKA THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE A NEW DAY WAITS

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEY GET A PIECE OF THE PIE

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE EMOTIONAL HEARTBURN HAPPENS

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE A HOG COMES TO THE RESCUE

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE HOLES ARE FILLED

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PAST IS RIGHT NOW

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE BLINK AND MISS IT

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE PULLING THE TRIGGER ISN’T THE ANSWER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE EMBERS SMOLDER

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEY’RE CRUSHING HEADS

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY ENDS

  THE COOK

  THE KILLER

  OH, BY THE WAY, FROM THE KILLER

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE COOK

  A FINAL WORD FROM THE KILLER

  NEVER SAY NEVER SNEAK PEEK

  DAMAGED SERIES-RELATED BOOKS READING ORDER

  ABOUT BIJOU

  NOTE TO READERS

  “My Silver Lining” is the second book in the Reapers MC: Shasta Chapter after I’m With You. This book takes place after Down to my Bones (Ellsberg Chapter Book 1) but before Promise Me Heaven (Ellsberg Chapter Book 3).

  The Road to Shasta

  There was once a great man who founded a motorcycle club, the Reapers, and built up a town, Ellsberg, for his young bride (Sunday Morning).

  One of the members of the club was an enforcer named Vaughn Majors (Damaged and the Outlaw). Another was Dylan Campbell (Damaged and the Bulldog).

  Vaughn and Raven’s oldest son, River (along with Dylan and Winnie’s children Shane and Shelby) outgrew Ellsberg. The three struck out for Shasta, where they took over a club and started cleaning up the town.

  This is River’s story.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE STORY BEGINS

  RIVER MAJORS, AKA THE KILLER

  Killing is what I do best. I was raised to view death as a necessary evil. My father is an enforcer for the Reapers Motorcycle Club in Ellsberg. He did the same work for an evil organization out of Arizona back in the day. My dad killed to survive.

  I hoped for a different future for the men in my family. Four sons, four daughters—the Majors clan is large. We should have different paths, but I imagined all four of us boys ending up as enforcers for the Reapers. Other men would make the decisions, we would spill the blood. We were all grunts, never leaders.

  When the head of the Ellsberg chapter asked who wanted to steal Shasta from its owners—the Crushed Skullz Motorcycle Club—I volunteered. Cooper Johansson seemed surprised. I think he was expecting his son, Colton, to jump at the chance. But his boy is looking to run Ellsberg like his father and grandfather before him. Plenty of younger guys heard Cooper’s offer, but only I showed interest. Why would they want to leave cushy-as-fuck Ellsberg? The club’s been around for nearly fifty years, founded by Kirk Johansson. Drugs, whores, weapons, money laundering, it all runs like a well-oiled machine. Why take on a chaotic dump like Shasta?

  I wanted to be the guy in charge. Well, more to the point, I wanted a Majors man as president, and none of my younger brothers could do it. The oldest of them did move to Shasta with me. Maverick prefers to be an enforcer. He has no interest in leadership or engaging with people. No, Maverick prefers to skulk in the background, watching and waiting for someone to punch.

  These days, I envy him. Overseeing the local Reapers chapter is making me miserable. I hate most of my guys and view them as traitors to the club. My solution to problems is to murder them. Fast or slow, it doesn’t matter. Just kill a threat and make it go away.

  But killing over a dozen guys isn’t in the cards. I’d need as many new guys to replace them, or else the club would get too small. Without the numbers, we’re vulnerable to a club on the other side of the state line. The Executioners have wanted Shasta since I was still dreaming of getting under-bra action. That’s a long time for them to wait, but the Executioners are behaving for now. Mostly because they know this chapter is backed by the larger Ellsberg one. Even so, the Shasta club can’t look weak.

  That’s why I allow the guys still loyal to the old Skullz management to live until I can find their replacements. There’s no way to rush the process, either. I refuse to allow a fucking loser to wear a Reapers patch. I demand a strong club rather than warm bodies wearing the same vests as my father.

  Besides, I’m not a hundred percent sure about some of the men’s loyalties. Killing everyone who once wore a Skullz patch isn’t smart leadership. Even the recently paroled Swamp Thing has potential if he can ke
ep his drug habit and erratic behavior in check. A guy like him could act as an attack dog for the club. He was Road Captain for the Skullz before he went to prison, and I wouldn’t mind someone with his talents to roll with my people. Of course, he’s likely disloyal to the Reapers. I need time to feel him out, along with the other recently paroled Jeff “Grabby” Parker. Not to mention we’re waiting for the former SGT-at-Arms for the Skullz—Dean “Goliath” Midkiff—to be released from prison this summer. These three guys never rolled with the Reapers. Each one has the potential to leave the Skullz in his rearview mirror. That’s why for now, I can’t kill my problems.

  But nights like this one make my trigger finger twitch and my blood lust horny as fucking hell.

  Like most evenings, I spend hours riding my Harley around town. Shane—my best friend and vice president—is at our large Victorian-style house with his wife and baby son. I don’t have a problem with the little shit machine. Iggy’s a cute kid, looks just like one of my favorite people, and recently started clapping when he sees me. I’m not great with kids, but I like Shane’s.

  However, seeing my VP with Ramona and his little boy fills me with a jealous rage. I fucking hate feeling that way. Shane, his older sister Shelby, our friend Taylor, and I make up the Fearsome Foursome. We’ve been tight for most of my life. I’d die for them in a second. Their happiness is my happiness. Yet I envy Shane to the point that I’m forced to avoid him sometimes just so I won’t rage right in his happy fucking face.

  Riding around Shasta calms my anger. The stink from the rendering plant is thicker tonight, and I hear a few random gunshots in the distance. Shasta is a rough town with a shiny veneer over the top. I live in the nicer section—called the Boulders by the locals. The Railroad is the poorer side and where Ramona lived before Shane. In a lot of ways, I prefer this half of town. The Railroad is a mess, but it’s honest. In Boulders, people are just as fucked-up, but they pretend they’re living out the American dream. I have no patience for that shit, especially not tonight.

  I’m stuck at a light in the Railroad when I get a message from Taylor. Apparently, Shelby’s about to blow the head off one of my guys. I automatically assume the hyper-as-fuck Swamp Thing pushed her too far. However, I suspect Taylor would have mentioned his name if that was the case.

  I make a U-turn and speed toward our clubhouse named Dirty Toes Saloon. The Skullz gave the place an unappealing name to prevent curious locals or people driving through town from checking out the inside.

  Arriving in the parking lot of the Saloon, I spot Shelby’s and Taylor’s Harleys, along with a handful of other bikes and several cars belonging to the staff. At the side of the building, a few waitresses share a cigarette. They avoid eye contact as I hurry inside the Irish pub-style bar.

  Once through the doors, I’m thrown into a chaotic scene. Sweet butt—and Ramona’s best friend—Kelsi cries in a booth. One of the former Skullz groans on the ground, bleeding from what looks like an ass wound. My blond, stoic brother Maverick stands over him while blonde, tough-as-nails Taylor talks down a rattled Shelby. The curvy brunette holds a gun to the temple of another Skullz. Babcock’s pants rest comically at his knees. On the ground, Joe Bob cowers with his jeans half down.

  My guess is these two fuckers and Kelsi were having a little fun until something went sideways. Shelby stepped in and lost her shit. Considering her history and temper, the men are lucky she hasn’t killed them both.

  “Sometimes, men gotta die,” Shelby growls, pressing the gun against Babcock’s head until he literally closes his eyes and waits to die. “There’s no other way.”

  Taylor stands next to our friend, speaking softly to prevent her from pulling the trigger.

  “It’s okay, Shelby,” I say, and she flinches when my hand covers hers holding the Glock.

  A part of me hopes she’ll pull the trigger. I’ve never liked Babcock. Joe Bob either. They’ve never seemed loyal to their new club. They still treat the former VP—Chris Matteau, aka Cum Shot—as their leader now that the old president is dead.

  Obviously, if these men die tonight, I won’t lose a second of sleep. Shelby isn’t crazy, though. She’s on edge, and these assholes triggered her. However, I can tell when she looks at me that she’s mostly fucking with them.

  “Pull your pants up,” I tell Babcock and then frown at the idiot groaning on the ground. “I’ll take Joe Bob to the clinic and have him stitched up.”

  Shaun—another former member of the Skullz—mutters, “Joe Bob might need a hospital.”

  “No. Just the clinic,” I respond calmly as if his concern is the least important thing that I’ve heard all day. “Unless you feel we should also call the police and make everything nice and legal?”

  Shaun lowers his gaze under the weight of my apathetic stare. He knows I rarely lose my temper. The night I challenged the Skullz and kicked their asses, I never raised my voice or threw out any bombastic threats. I don’t have to put on a show because behind my calm exterior is a cold-blooded, unrelenting killer.

  I’m not much bigger in height or build than most of these guys. The Skullz weren’t a bunch of pussies, but they still bowed to me. These days, a few of them plot my downfall, of course. To my face, though, they don’t dare show their true intentions. I didn’t earn my black belt by being the prettiest bitch in town.

  “You need to handle that crazy cow,” Babcock says, cockier now that his actual cock is no longer dangling in the breeze.

  Rather than argue with him, I slam my elbow into his nose and help jog loose his common sense. Joe Bob stops whining on the ground and gets very still. I think he expects me to hurt him next. I approve of the fucker’s fear.

  “Shaun, make sure Babcock gets home safe. We don’t want him fucking up for a third time tonight,” I say in a voice so calm that I nearly sound stoned. Shaun still avoids eye contact, probably fearing he’ll give away his disloyalty. “I’ll deal with Joe Bob. Maverick, you can get Shelby home. Taylor, you handle Kelsi.”

  I don’t wait around to see if everyone’s on the same page. I trust my brother and Taylor to get their shit done. As for the rattled women, Shelby will settle down once she’s home, and Kelsi has her friends—aka the Band—to cheer her up.

  I drag Joe Bob to an SUV we keep parked at the back of the Saloon. Before heading to the urgent clinic, I text to make sure our doctor will show up.

  “We weren’t doing anything,” Joe Bob claims while stretched out in the back seat. “Just having fun with Kelsi.”

  “Why was she crying, then?”

  “She got scared when your girl showed up and shot me.”

  “Damn, I bet that must have been scary for you,” I say, sounding concerned for him. “You’re just minding your own business, fucking a sweet butt, and my girl went crazy and shot you. It’s too bad her father is an enforcer back in Ellsberg, or I could put Shelby in her place. Instead, she’s protected, and your busted ass will go unavenged.”

  Joe Bob grunts at my wording. He can’t be sure if I’d actually do anything about Shelby if not for her father. Mainly because Joe Bob—like the rest of the former Skullz—doesn’t know jack shit about Ellsberg or me.

  Last year, a friend suggested that I take my club on a road trip. This occurred right about the time I lost my best new member, Quaid Reynolds. He fell hard for Miranda Johansson and ditched Shasta to be with her in Ellsberg.

  So far, I haven’t followed Miranda’s advice on bonding with my new club. I don’t want to spend time with most of these fuckers. I can’t force myself to care what foods they like or what makes them gassy. I don’t give two shits about their allergies or dreams for the future. I honestly hate a good ten of the men, dislike another handful, and tolerate most of the others. There are a few new guys that I picked, put through the wringer, and patched into the club. I wouldn’t mind riding the roads for a few days with those men, but I can’t only take them and leave behind the disloyal shitheads. Who knows what assholes like Joe Bob and Babcock would do while
I was gone? Their old VP Cum Shot is likely planning a coup. No reason to make shit easier for them by leaving for a mini-vacation.

  The doctor waiting at the clinic quickly stitches up Joe Bob’s ass. I stand nearby, texting with Shane to find out how Shelby is doing. Apparently, she found the two guys railing Kelsi. That’s not particularly surprising. Kelsi—like most of the local sweet butts—loves to fuck and party. This time, though, Joe Bob skull-fucked Kelsi until she couldn’t breathe. Shelby saw what was happening and told him to back off. He ignored her. His ass paid the price.

  After getting the story, I text Taylor to check on Kelsi. The sweet butt is best friends with Ramona, a guy named Hugh, and a girl I was sure was mine. Maxine Leroux and I never happened, which is why I’m so jealous of Shane’s happiness. When Maxine’s and my eyes met, I immediately saw a future where she was my old lady, spending her days riding my hog and her nights in my bed. Despite the certainty of my plans, I sleep alone.

  Waiting at the clinic, I find myself recalling the day I met Maxine. The moment between us was electric. That knockdown, feel-it-in-my-gut sensation wasn’t something I’d experienced before, and I’m a man with a long line of former girlfriends and hookups. I never lose my shit over women. With Maxine, though, I immediately became addicted to the heat she sent through me. I knew the feeling was a sign.

  But Maxine was nervous-as-fuck around me. I don’t know if she felt anything except fear. Then she left Shasta for a job. I still believed she’d be back. How could she not sense the same thing I did? What in Nashville could compete with what she left behind? Every time she visited Shasta, I expected Maxine to reach out to me. Each fucking time, I was left disappointed. Had I imagined a connection? Was I a fool? Or was she so tightly wound that she couldn’t allow herself to claim what I was so clearly offering?

  Maxine did eventually return to Shasta, but shit was different. By then, she’d made clear how I wasn’t the guy for her. She didn’t want me. I had no shot. Though she never broke things down that clearly, her feelings were obvious. I’m a biker, and bikers destroyed her family. There was nothing I could do to erase her distrust of my lifestyle. If I wanted to win her heart, I couldn’t be in the Reapers.