Moth To A Flame (Reapers MC: Pema Chapter Book 2) Read online

  When the men of the Silver Swords saw me, they didn’t know how to respond. A few of them clearly wanted to kill me despite my age. Garbage even lifted his gun higher as if ready to murder a preteen on the street.

  Before I ended up dead, Handsome Sam got to chuckling. He’s always had an infectious way about him. More than handsome, he possesses charm and can diffuse any situation.

  “This kid has gargantuan chicken nuggets,” Handsome Sam said, slapping Garbage’s back. “Baby-prospect material right here.”

  And that’s why I’m alive now. Later, I learned enough about Garbage to understand how he would have ended me without a second thought. The man lacked sentimentality. I wasn’t even out of sixth grade yet, but I was old enough for a bullet.

  Handsome Sam liked my gumption, though. He swore he didn’t do my sister wrong. Never met her, he claimed. I believed him, mostly because Handsome Sam has a way of making people accept his truth. He will look you in the eye and answer in such a confident way that you can’t help assuming no one lies so well.

  The other guys acted as if it was all a misunderstanding. Their dicks slipped in and out of Jensen on accident. Though I knew they were full of shit, my anger wasn’t around by then.

  I’d been invited inside the clubhouse, around their sexy women, and even offered a beer. I felt like hot shit. My dad would hate to see me in the Stained Kidney. Despite him being a fickle fuck with constant stars in his eyes and get-rich schemes on his lying lips, the man viewed bikers as losers.

  His disapproval pushed me to help out around the clubhouse. It convinced me to become a prospect when my pubes finished coming in. Handsome Sam was gone by the time I joined the club. The laid-back fucker could do prison time without missing a beat. When other guys got pinched, he’d do their six months or a year. The fuzz couldn’t tell one of the Swords from another. A thug was a thug. The convictions were what mattered.

  Years later, Handsome Sam was gone again when Garbage did something stupid. Our club was small, disorganized, and barely made money. One day, we got a visit from an Ellsberg biker named Cooper Johansson. Everyone in Kentucky knew about the Reapers—a long-established and powerful club. Cooper was their president, and he wanted Pema.

  The guy was Garbage’s age, but that’s where the similarities ended. If life was high school, Cooper would be the superstar quarterback while Garbage ate glue in detention.

  “Join us or get out of the way,” Cooper told Garbage.

  Even knowing the kind of power he faced, my president still flipped the table and made threats. I’ll never forget Cooper’s reaction to the impending violence. He calmly stood up and shrugged.

  “Then, you’ll get out of the way,” he said before walking out of Stained Kidney.

  A week later, a crew of Reapers showed up. If Handsome Sam were around, he would have convinced Garbage to back down. My mentor—and only real friend—was like our VP if the club had any real leadership structure. Handsome Sam always whispered in Garbage’s ear and kept the violent idiot from getting us all killed. But with him locked up, our president was left to do all the thinking on his own.

  Vaughn Majors and Judd O’Keefe were a few of the Reapers who showed up that Wednesday evening. I knew the minute they walked into Stained Kidney how our club was over. I just didn’t know if our lives were ending, too.

  Garbage acted like a big ape facing off against two smooth operators. Judd’s cold eyes sent a chill up my spine. Vaughn’s hippie vibe proved anything but peaceful. In fact, Majors killed Garbage with a single punch to the big man’s fat throat. We all stood around and watched our president suffocate from a broken windpipe.

  And not a single one of us wept for Garbage. That was quite the wake-up call for me. My president was an asshole, but he had power and lackeys and whores who giggled when he came around. Yet, the fucking second he stopped breathing, the world moved on without him. No one even mentions Garbage anymore. If a guy like him matters so little, what did that mean for someone like me?

  Things were wild for the next few years. The Reapers sent up O’Keefe’s two adult kids—Gunnar and Heidi—to run things. He’s a bruiser with a nose broken too many times and fists ready to do the same to other men. She’s a ballbuster who tries maneuvering bikers as if we’re the waitstaff.

  Pema wasn’t run well with Garbage, and things stumbled along with new management. I always expected Gunnar to become president, but he never had any interest in leading. He prefers to hang out behind everyone, watching and waiting for someone to punch. Gunnar’s built inside and out to be an enforcer like his dad.

  Heidi could probably run shit if she had a dick. Until she willed one into existence, our club went without a president.

  But I didn’t mind wearing the Reapers’ vest or riding with their people. My former woman even pushed me to kiss up to Heidi and take on extra work. Kambree and I were always broke, of course. She refused to work once our kid came along, so I needed to provide us with a better life.

  Kambree was the second woman I ever fucked. I was sixteen, and she had great tits. We were always together or on our way to getting back together.

  On paper, we made sense. She was the bastard daughter of one of the older guys now buried. I wanted a woman who understood how I couldn’t be a common shlub.

  Kambree and I eventually ended up with a kid. Her idea, not mine. What was done was done. I figured having a family was a good thing. Didn’t want to end up like Garbage, where my death meant nothing. Yeah, I could do the family-man routine. Even sent out one of those shiny Christmas cards with my baby boy, Jett, sporting a drooling smile.

  Life was never great, but I had a decent number of good days to show for my effort.

  Not that Kambree is around anymore. A year ago, she hooked up with a group of holy rollers in the town over. Kambree was always looking for something to fill the hole in her heart. I wasn’t enough, so she had Jett. He proved to be work when she was really just looking for constant affection.

  Every fad was her new obsession. We blew money on more than one multilevel marketing scheme she believed would be her big chance. Kambree claimed her eventual MLM income would help us buy a house, but we only lost money. Just one failure after another, and I had to work constantly to keep us above water.

  At first, the Idyllwild church thing seemed like a decent use of her time. Didn’t cost me anything, either. Sure, the Community Outreach Committee bitches Kambree hung out with didn’t like me, but they kept her busy. What was the worst that could happen?

  Those COC women told Kambree to ditch her baggage. Oh, boy, she couldn’t fucking wait to obey, either! Bitch took everything valuable from our apartment and all the cash out of our account. I came home to find a note filled with religious gibberish that isn’t in any Bible. Basically, I was the devil’s work, and she needed to be righteous, so she was kissing my ass goodbye.

  At first, I thought she took Jett with her. I sat fuming in our apartment, staring at where the TV once sat. Around eight, my club brother’s old lady, Lizette, called to ask when we were picking up my boy. Yep, our three-year-old was just another piece of baggage for her to discard!

  After Kambree left, I nearly tore apart my apartment in a rage. I wasn’t built to raise a kid on my own. Leaving Jett with Lizette, I tracked Kambree down and yelled at her until the cops showed up. During my entire meltdown, she just kept praying for my dirty, damaged soul while listing off all my sins. Bitch even managed to mention Jensen doing that train all those years ago.

  For months, I waited for Kambree to come to her senses and return. Not because I loved her. I just didn’t want to raise the kid she forced on me. Kambree got pregnant despite me saying no kids.

  Even after a year, Jett doesn’t understand where his mother went or why she won’t come back. Kambree refuses to offer him a fucking minute of her time.

  Each day, I wake up pissed. Every night, I go to bed with hate in my heart. Fuck the cunt and her evil church and the entire shithole town of Idyllwil
d!

  As if I don’t have enough problems, six months ago, the Reapers finally gave us a president. Johansson’s boy, Colton, now runs the club. His VP is a cold motherfucker named Maverick Majors. Pema’s become the home base for the entitled sons of the men who took this town years ago.

  The upside is Colton and Maverick plan to ice the Idyllwild assholes. I’ll get revenge against the people who conned my woman into ditching our kid. These days, Kambree can eat shit for all I care. I wouldn’t take her back if she begged on her belly. My hate for her is so strong, I can’t stand women in general. Each one is another potential Kambree.

  The downside to the new Reapers’ management is how Maverick brought along two of his hot-as-hell sisters. One is married to a big bowl of vanilla frogurt. The other is driving me fucking crazy.

  I swear if Kambree broke my sanity, Avery Majors will be the absolute fucking end of me.

  THE TWIN

  During my first visit to Pema, I suggested the Reapers buy The Love Cave, redesign the struggling boutique hotel, and allow occasional customers. Though mostly, we’d keep it for club guests.

  Savvy and I are in charge of the remodel. Currently, all the Reapers’ work crews remain busy with the firehouse duplex renovation. The local guys plan to help at Savvy’s house once my place is done. Meaning the hotel is the last in line for a makeover.

  So far, the most we’ve accomplished at The Love Cave is replacing the gross carpet and bedding, adding a few furniture pieces to several suites, and deep cleaning from top to bottom. Eventually, we’ll rename the hotel to “The Solar” in fitting with the astronomy theme Savvy and I cooked up.

  As much as I look forward to moving into the duplex, I love having my brother, sister, and their families under one roof. The hotel feels like a large, ugly house, where many of my favorite people live.

  Like most mornings, my two-year-old daughter and I head down for breakfast in the dining room complete with a dozen small tables we often push together.

  Looking adorable in her blue-and-white striped T-Rex outfit, Io runs over to say hello to Pollux, who’s wearing nearly the same getup, just in green and white. The blond cousins adore living in the same place, just like back at my parents’ farmhouse. Yet, by this time next year, they’ll have separate homes, at least ten minutes apart.

  Imagining my curly-haired baby’s tears when she’s away from her cousin, my mood turns mopey. Nearby, Savvy in her pale blue dress fondles Bjorn in his khaki pants and a gray long-sleeved shirt. They look ready for a day of yachting.

  Bjorn stops their foreplay long enough to announce, “Someone’s at the door.” He sizes up the security image on his phone. “One of the Reapers, I believe.”

  Wearing a long pale pink surf-themed shirt over cutoff shorts, I shuffle to the door in my baby blue slippers as the buzzer echoes in the lobby. I peer through the double glass front doors to find a flustered Kiefer. Despite his obvious bad mood, he looks sexy in a black leather jacket and tattered jeans.

  “Go away,” I say through the door, just to fuck with him.

  The look Kiefer gives me—shock, rage, lust—makes me smile. Screwing with him is so deliciously entertaining. That’s what my dating life is now—immature stunts to rile up a hot guy I don’t have the courage to date. During our church encounters, I often refer to him by the wrong name, shush him when he isn’t talking, and correct his pronunciation even when he says things correctly. Basically, if Kiefer was sporting pigtails, I’d be the dickhead tugging on them to show I think he’s cute.

  Continuing my bully-flirtation, I plan to close the shades to screw with him. Then, I realize Kiefer isn’t alone.

  Opening the door, I frown down at the four-year-old peeking out from behind him. I’ve never met Kiefer’s kid before. They came to the Reapers’ Christmas party, but I didn’t engage with them. Io got overwhelmed by all the people, and I left early. What I did notice that night was how Kiefer ditched the kid a lot with the old ladies. Also, his son looks nothing like him. I sure hope Kiefer requested a DNA test from his excrement-covered ex-girlfriend.

  “What?” I ask and block his entry.

  “It’s cold.”

  “Then, you should have stayed home.”

  “I have to work.”

  “So why are you here?”

  Kiefer jerks his hands upward as if implying I’m nuts to ask. “I need someone to watch Jett.”

  “Where do you usually ditch him?”

  “On Wednesdays at Lizette’s place,” he says, and I stare blankly. “Foil’s old lady.”

  “He’s the guy with the uneven sideburns, right?”

  Kiefer narrows his dark eyes at me. “You should remember the club brothers based on something besides their flaws.”

  “Why, I’m not a member? I just came from the jizz of one.”

  “And your brothers are members.”

  “Only half of them.”

  Kiefer realizes he’s lost track of his point. Behind him, Jett looks around as if he’s lost. He perks up when he notices Io and Pollux shoving their faces against the glass of the double doors’ closed half.

  “Are we done?” I ask.

  “Is Violet here?” he asks, changing tactics.

  I imagine my sister-in-law enjoying time with her family and explain, “She went to Shasta.”

  Exhaling roughly, he clenches his fists, and the boy shrinks next to him. I can’t help feeling pity for the rage monster’s spawn.

  “Are you looking for a babysitter?” I ask, squatting down to get eye level with Jett. “Is that what you’re babbling about?”

  Kiefer rolls his eyes at my taunting as he hands me a blue backpack. “Lizette has the flu, and I can’t take the day off.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your brother said the duplex is priority one, and he’s out of town, apparently. Remember how I’m working on the place you plan to live?”

  “Yeah, since I want that finished, I’ll watch your son today. Is he weird or mean or anything I should know about?”

  Kiefer glances down at the boy and then makes an odd face. Sensing he wants to share something, I stop kneeling.

  Once I stand up, Kiefer leans closer and whispers, “He wets himself when stressed. Sometimes, he just forgets to go.”

  “Well, we’ve all been there,” I say, taking the backpack. “Has he eaten?”

  “I gave him a waffle before we came.”

  “Like a real one or the frozen kind?” I ask, waving them inside.

  Kiefer leans down to tell Jett something, and the teary-eyed kid shuffles through the door. His dad doesn’t follow.

  “He’s easy. Call me if there are issues,” he says before adding, “Or call Lizette. She knows him better than I do.”

  “Swoon,” I sneer and start closing the door on him. “Go away before you ruin my good mood.”

  Even though Kiefer mutters something insulting under his breath, I still catch him checking out my ass when I bend over to talk to Jett. Then, the sexy, tattooed, bearded asshole disappears toward the hotel’s parking lot.

  Jett stares at the door, and I realize Kiefer never even told him goodbye. I stop thinking dirty thoughts about the biker and study this little guy with his hangdog expression.

  “I’m Avery,” I say, sitting down in front of him. Patting my lap, Io and Pollux each take a thigh and use me as a chair. While my daughter is wary of new people, Pollux smiles big at Jett. “We’re just going to play today, okay? Your daddy will pick you up after work.”

  Watching me with his blue eyes, Jett looks a lot like his bitch mom. He’s a cute kid with a blond mop-top and chubby cheeks. His little lips are currently stuck in an upside-down smile.

  “This is Pollux,” I say, and my nephew perks up.

  “Hi,” he says, reaching over to touch the boy’s hand.

  “This is Io.”

  My daughter looks at me and then Pollux before deciding she’s not talking.

  “Guys, this is our new friend, Jett. Want to show
him your toys?”

  Pollux is the pied piper, leading the way and even humming a tune. I walk with Io holding my right pinkie while I take Jett’s fist in my left hand.

  “Who is this?” Savvy asks when we pass through the hotel’s galley-style kitchen on our way to the large lounge where the kids usually play.

  I offer her the quickest details possible and allow her twin magic to figure out the stuff I leave out.

  “He’s testing your mommy skills,” she whispers once the three kids sit on the floor and play with blocks while Kid Bopz plays over the speakers.

  “Gossiping hen,” I taunt, and she smirks. “He was looking for Violet.”

  “Everyone knows she and Maverick are out of town.”

  “I don’t think he did. His babysitter was sick, and he was desperate.”

  “He likes you.”

  “I’m more concerned with if he likes his kid,” I whisper back. “It’s not the boy’s fault he looks like his bitch mom.”

  “What are we whispering about?” Bjorn asks, leaning between us and smiling.

  Rolling my eyes, I tap my foot to the music and smile when Io checks my face for reassurance. She gets so nervous around non-Pollux kids. Even with children she’s known her entire life, she hesitates. I again wonder if I was too grumpy while pregnant and left her permanently flustered.

  Jett looks back at me a few times and flinches when he sees I’m watching him. I don’t know his story, having never cared enough about turning my horniness for Kiefer into a penetrating reality. Besides, getting to know his kid felt awkward considering the child’s mom is a twat. Now, the boy is stuck with me all day.

  I sit with the kids and help build whatever the hell they’re making. Though I think Pollux says it’s a store, he pronounces everything weird since he picked up Bjorn’s Finnish accent.