Hunter: MC Romance (Hell Reapers MC Book 1) (3 page)

She shrugged her shoulders, “guess you’ll find out for the both of us,” Sabrina grinned, “snap a couple of pictures for me? The shirtless, the better.”

I raised my brow at her at that, turning to better face her, “For what nefarious devices?”

Sabrina moved back and straightened herself, “You’ve got your things,” she waved a hand nonchalantly, “I’ve got mine. Do you, Jess, and I’ll do me.”

I let out a long breath through my nose, she was always so secretive. I think she enjoyed things better that way, making something important out of nothing. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sabrina nodded her head, “Well let’s get going then. Remember the safeword?”

I pulled myself out of the wooden chair that stood behind Sabrina’s vanity table, “Really?” I asked, “how am I going to forget Fabulous Flamingos? You better pray I text it, or you’re going to lose a best friend to death by embarrassment.”

Sabrina looked legitimately terrified, “Oh my god,” she put a hand to her mouth, “that can kill you?”

I stared at her mute and unimpressed with her sense of humor.

Chapter 3

When we finally reached club Vivid, my stomach was doing gymnastics.

I had a bad feeling about this.

This was unlike anything I'd ever done before, and if the men that Mr. Gates described were even half as brutal as he described, they could seriously hurt me if I make a wrong move.

Sabrina brought the car to a stop in the parking lot. It wasn't ludicrously full, but there were lots of bikes - no doubt some of them being from the Hell Reapers. Outside there were plenty of party-goers, night owls, sycophants and other various fiends. Most of them drunk or blitzed out of their minds. Smoke from cigarettes, cigars and what momma used to always refer to as 'those left handed' cigarettes, danced through the night air. Even from here you could hear the dull boom of club tunes; the outside crowd was anything except still, talking and cursing and howling, police sirens occasionally blaring off in the distance.

Focusing on the work, focusing on this moment; it was all I had left. The last fortification of Castle Ives. There was a melancholy then, that soaked itself into my bones, hiding away there were nobody could find it. Maybe Gates only picked me for this because he knew how desperate I'd be for it. Either way, I'm here now. Even if it wasn't like me to back down, I can't abandon her...she's always been there for me.

Sabrina made an offhand comment about how different the place was, how the atmosphere wasn’t so much fun as it was foreboding. We'd been to party scenes before, but nothing like this. "You don't have to do this, Jess," she whispered with genuine concern.

A smirk graced the lines of my face, and I turned to face her. I could feel the excitement and the fear in my bones; my heart was practically beating in my ears. "Relax, Winters," I said ruefully, "it's just a club, you think I'm gonna let some rowdy boys or too-drunk for their panties college girls get the best of me?" I shook my head and raised my brow half an inch, "this is nothing."

Sabrina said nothing, opting only to give me a grave glance, "Just contact me if something goes wrong. Please. And if I don't hear from you by midnight, I'm going to come down here myself and kick so much ass I won't be able to walk right for at least a week."

Laughter escaped me and fingers of joy pressed against my chest, "Yeah, from you? I'd expect nothing less."

"No doubt," Sabrina smirked, "now get out of my car you high-end whore. I’ve got more lady-like things to do than dance with some greased up bike-jocks."

I grabbed the door handle and left Sabrina's SUV, giving her a middle finger, "Frack you, Winters, you made me high-end."

She waved goodbye to me with that dumb, somehow comforting grin.

I'd looked through some of the preliminary work that Amanda had left me. One of the members she had managed to snap a couple pictures of, which, for that, my lady bits were eternally in Amanda's debt. He looked eerily familiar, but I couldn’t place were from. Broad shoulders, a sly look on his gorgeous twenty something face – definitely on the older side and with some scruff. I was taken aback though, because the guy had tattoos and a hard look to him – but compared to the others he was, well, he looked more like an actor that was brought up in the lifestyle of an outlaw, than just an outlaw.

He had a full head of beautiful, lightly coffee colored hair, cut to a short fade on the sides of his head. With the crown of his head, he had lots of volume to his hair – thick natural strands that were parted to the side; and his swaggering bangs just came out slightly enough to frame his breathtaking face. It gave him a dangerous, but dashingly sensible look.

I worked my way through the parking lot, my heels clacking against the asphalt and a tightness gripping my stomach. I moved past a series of characters, all giving me looks like I was the holy grail of ass - as if they'd never seen a woman before. Catcalls came from behind me, and I gave the intoxicated men a sly, subtle look before moving towards the plush, red double-doors of club Vivid. The sign high above me glows a neon pink, pouring the light down onto the pavement below – bathing me in its light.

"Well well, aren't you a pretty little thing," the guy at the front said. He was tall. Stupidly tall. Muscular and covered in tattoos, his hair spiked up and black with frosted tips. He wore lots of leather, maybe he’s with the Hell Reapers?

I smiled, "Nice hair," I complimented the man genuinely.

He nodded in appreciation, bringing the palm of his hand to the tips of his slicked up hair, “Guys gimme shit for treating it right,” he confessed with an amused look. When I tried to move past him, however, he brought out an arm to block my passing. "Whoa, whoa there now, pretty thing," he said it like it was actually my name, much to my chagrin. "I'm gonna need to see your I.D before I let you in there," he had the most intense brown eyes.

"Oh, right," I said, fishing around through the small, functional slit in my yellow ochre dress for my ID. The dress itself was a high-low chiffon skirt, fashioned in the style of a shift; the outfit, though loose, wrapped itself snugly around me to accentuate my curvaceous figure. What nobody else could see, was that I happened to be acting – and consequently feeling – like a spy today; fitted snuggly around my right thigh was a Velcro holster which held my smart-phone. I’d had to do my homework for this job.

Grabbing my ID, I handed it to the man.

His eyes scanned the card and glanced between me and the card. I could tell that he thought I didn't notice, but I could see that his eyes were looking at my cleavage from time to time. They were probably my strongest physical asset, and made me hugely popular throughout high school; though there was a time I thought I’d always be known as the flat chested freak. “Jessica Ivesss,” the man said, my name rolling off his tongue, “what d’you do for a living, pretty thing.”

I’d prepared for this question, which I was sure I’d inevitably get. “I’m a singer,” I said without missing a beat, pushing my chest out a bit proudly. Sure it was a lie, but it was a beautiful one. I’d never had the voice for singing, but there was scarcely a night or a day that I wouldn’t go without singing something. So long as I was alone, at least.

“Singer eh?” He looked impressed, “take it’s not anything I’d listen to,” he tilted his head.

“Probably not,” I gave a small chuckle, “you look like the punk rocker type.”

The door man shrugged, “Don’t write me off so easily, pretty thing, I’m a country boy through and through.” Bullshit, dressed in leather and spikes and all man and muscle?

“I would have never guessed,” I put on my most polite face and tried once more to go inside the club; his hand brushed against my midsection, and our eyes locked. For a nightclub, it sure was hell getting inside. How’d Amanda put up with this shit?

“What’re you here for?” He asked, a genuine curiosity coloring his voice, though his eyes told the tale better than his mouth.

“Just here for a good time like anyone else, a girl can’t get laid?” I shot him a flirting glance, eyeing him from toe to head. He wasn’t my
exact
type, but he hit a few good marks. Tatts, muscles, height.

Come on Ives, stay focused here. You’re a professional. I could feel my internal self judging me then, I was anything but professional. I’m just a girl chasing paper for a better life.

The door man nodded his head and moved his arm away from the door, “Be careful in there,” he warned, “they’ll eat you up and spit you out. Animals,” he cursed beneath his breath.

“Thanks for your concern,” I replied, “but I’m used to bringing pups to heel.” The last thing I saw before I passed through the double doors was the man grinning from ear to ear. When I got inside, it was like I was entering a whole new world. Smoke fills the air and dozens upon dozens of party-goers pulse to the beat. I could feel the bass running through my bones; the crash of rhythmic cymbals and the thundering boom of kicks. There was a wicked sounding synth that held the beat and a melodious, almost angelic piano that played the lead.

Green lights, purple lights; shafts of gold lit up certain parts of the dance floor. Some of the dancers wore glowsticks on practically every part of their body. Padding my way around the outskirts of the dance floor, I kept my eyes peeled for anyone that might even remotely look associated with the Reapers. Most of the people that I spotted were dressed up in nice shirts and party type skirts. Occasionally though, I could catch a glimpse of people moving through the crowd and hanging out in the darker parts of the club. They'd exchange a few words and cash would pass between their hands.

I wasn't sure exactly what that was supposed to mean, were they purchasing drugs just then? I put that thought on the back burner and carefully moved my way through a throng of people, brushing uncomfortably close to some men.

That was when I felt it. Some pinching sensation on the back of my ass.

I whipped around and stared down the creep who was clearly proud with what he had done. "What the hell you fucking pervert," I shoved him hard on his chest, causing him to stumble backwards roughly into the railings of the area outside the dance floor. I sprang into action after the man, getting up into his face and narrowing my eyes at him.

"Jesus lady," the creep said, his friends slithering up beside him, "take it easy will ya?"

"I'm not your lady," I huffed, "do that again and I'll have you crying your mother's name," I pushed him a final time and glanced over at the creep's posse. I could feel the anger rising through my bones, my heart hammering in my chest - I needed to get away from them before I did something I'd regret.

Departing from the situation, I found myself next to the bar, my hands still a little shaky from the experience. I pulled in a series of breaths and tried to calm myself down.

Don't do it. Not here. I felt the stinging kiss behind my eyes. The urge to pour out my feelings was strong; the need to be tough was stronger. I bit down on the end of my tongue hard, flashes of Jerry with his hands all over me whirling through my head.

I fumbled my way to one of the black stools at the head of the bar. Thankfully the music wasn't quite as loud here.

The bartender slinked over to my end of the table, giving me a look over. He was a short man, maybe 5'4. He had a full head of short brown hair and a full, thick beard. Tattoos of all colors and shapes and sizes covered his arms and what I could see of his chest. His white sleeves were rolled back past his elbows, giving him a cool look. "You alright?" He asked in an icy tone.

I looked up at him, trying to swallow away my nerves, "Yeah," I replied, "you got any Jager?" I inquired.

The Bartender bobbed his head and quickly produced a shot.

I stopped him before he could pour, putting up two fingers, "Make it two," I said with a certain resignation in my voice. Tonight was already going to hell in a hand basket and I hadn't even made contact with a Reaper.

Get your shit together. Creeps will be creeps, you can't expect to not have to deal with them.

The Bartender tilted his head and went to get a second shot glass, expertly filling the two glasses and placing them down in front of me. "You here on business or pleasure?"

"I like to dabble in both," I brought the glass to my lips and tipped my head back, feeling the liquid courage worm it's way down my throat - a bitter taste burning through me. I shuddered and shook my head for a brief spell, and then grabbed the other shot, knocking it back as well.

“I see," the Bartender said, "this your first time here?"

"Do I make it so obvious?" I asked, a small smile appearing on my face.

The bartender smiled, "Not your fault," he smoothly said, "I know pretty much every face that comes in here. If you're looking for something," he leaned in closer against the counter, his hazel colored eyes gazing into my own, "I can provide."

There's no way in hell he's talking about something illegal so non-chalantly, is there? "Provide...what, exactly?" I leaned in response.

"Whatever you need," the man reaffirmed in that lovely, smooth tone. He probably slept on the cool side of the pillow every night of his adult life. “If it can't be done tonight, then another day,” he cocked his head, “If not the next day, the next week. A step at a time, a call at a time, it'll be done."