Chapter 7 Grim

" W ell? See anything?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Rael shook his head. Mammoth sighed.

"Anyone? Any Scorpions MC members?"

"I walked through all of their compounds," Wraith informed me. "It's a ghost town. They're all abandoned."

Then that was it. They were gone.

"Fuck," I breathed out, releasing the tension in my shoulders. "Good."

We must have felt residual evil from Razr's presence, like phantom limb pain. It made sense. Time would erase the stain of the BSMC in Nevada.

I stood, picking up the gavel and banging it down. "Church is dismissed."

I had worried for over a week about Razr and his fucking club. Now, all I wanted was my ol' lady. Faith would be leaving in a few days, and soon, I'd have her all to myself again. Was it selfish? Fuck yeah. Did I care? Hell no.

I only liked to share Trish's time with my son. Well, and my Reaper. He rumbled my chest with approval. You're welcome.

My focus turned to my woman, and I left the chapel, striding down the hall toward the stairs with purpose. When I reached our apartment, I entered, relieved to discover Faith had taken a nap with Jessa. Pregnant women and children always seemed to need extra rest.

I found Trish in our room, rocking Creed. Sure, he was two, but the little guy loved snuggling until he fell asleep. Every night that I could, I stayed with him. The rest of the time, Trish put our son to sleep. As I entered the room, I caught the flutter of her eyes, and her chin dipped.

She caught herself, snapping awake as her gaze found me and softened. "Hi," she whispered.

My reaper fucking loved seeing her in our room, holding our son, content and happy. We would do anything to ensure the safety of Trish and Creed. He puffed my chest, striking a pose.

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh.

He became aroused at the sight of her, already wanting to show her how much we both desired her.

Not now, I told him. We need to ride.

In the beginning, I didn't speak to my Reaper as I do now. Our bond, like most of my brothers in the Tonopah chapter of the Royal Bastards MC, had found the symbiotic relationship challenging. Reapers had tempers and often tried to exert their will over ours. We shared a form of mutualism with a dose of competition, a healthy bit of conflict, and a respect formed with both entities.

To some, it would seem strange. Horrifying, even.

But the demonic beings that formed a shared consciousness and provided protection for our frail human bodies also enabled us to keep the club and the people we cared about safe. Our enemies had grown bolder over time. The Reapers enjoyed the thought of slaughter, specifically the first grim. Me. At least, the first that Lucifer signed into a contract other than ordering to reap at his will.

I still didn't understand Lucifer's reasoning, but it didn't matter. He loved to be in control. The devil got off on secrets, games, and his contracts more than a fist around his cock. The sick fucker usually pissed us off when he decided to show his face, so my loyalty remained to the members of my club, my woman, my child, and that was fucking it.

She's beautiful.

My Reaper refocused my attention. She's stunning.

And ours.

No debate from me.

Trish's thick cascade of platinum hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves of gold. Stopping just above her waist, the long strands curled and beckoned my fingers to dive into the silky texture. She had a full-lipped and seductive smile. Pretty blue eyes so electric they flashed through me like bolts of lightning. A rockin' body with curves.

My goddess.

But her aura I loved the most. It pulsed brighter as she slowly rose to her feet and placed Creed in bed. He remained asleep as she covered him and backed away from the bed.

Her soft hand closed around mine. "We made such a wonderful baby."

We did. That was one of the reasons I wanted more.

"He's perfect." I tugged her toward the door. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Cruisin'," I answered with a husky whisper.

It seemed like forever since I had my woman on the back of my bike. It wasn't safe until I dealt with Razr and reaped the last of our enemies. Now, I didn't have any barrier to ridin' with Trish out in the open.

We stopped by our room so Trish could change clothes first. Ten minutes later, I had my ol' lady behind me as we glided from the parking lot on my Harley. Her thighs pressed to mine while her hands wrapped around my waist. Tits and pussy right up against me. If I had a preferred way to spend time with her other than fucking, this was it.

The wind whipped through my hair and billowed across our clothes. I insisted she wear a helmet, but I could tell she felt the same exhilaration I did. Her hands squeezed my stomach.

We rode for over an hour, and it couldn't have been more perfect outdoors—cloudless blue sky. Bright sunshine. A slight crisp to the wind but enough heat to prevent growing cold.

A grin widened my lips as I realized we had all the time in the world to ride and go cruisin' as often as we wanted. Freedom was a beautiful thing. Knees in the breeze. A little blacktop heaven.

Nothing sweeter.

I COULDN'T REMEMBER the last time I took a ride anywhere alone. As the president of a motorcycle club, I always had a shadow. If I checked my mirrors, Rael or Mammoth usually followed me. If not them, one of the other officers.

So when I had a chance to ride off the lot and let the wind blow through my hair without worrying about retaliation from the Scorpions MC or Razr, I took it. Felt fucking good too. No worries. No war. No threat to Trish or Creed or anyone else that I cared about.

I took the time to ride to Las Vegas and the auto shop where I bought my parts when I worked on one of my custom bikes. That work had also taken a back seat to the shit with Razr and BSMC. I missed working with my hands and getting dirty, creating unique designs that customers loved. That was why I began Reaper's Custom Rides & Repairs.

Pulling up to the shop, I parked in front of the store, kicking down the stand after I cut the engine. Stashing my helmet inside my saddlebags, I turned the lock and walked inside.

There was something about the smell and the atmosphere in a garage or auto shop. Grease. Motor oil. Leather. Smoke. Often musty and almost always stinking like chemicals, it could sting your nose. I fucking loved it.

Stan moved from behind the counter as I approached. "Dex Lanford. Where the hell have you been, man?"

"Busy," I replied with a laugh. "I came to check on some parts I ordered last week. I was hopin' they were in."

He nodded, gesturing to his computer. "Let me look up your account."

I waited as he typed on the keyboard.

"That's strange."

"What?" I asked, wondering if the order was delayed.

"All your orders are canceled. Even the repeat orders scheduled for each month. Your account is suspended."

The fuck?

"I've never had that happen before."

"Yeah. It's weird. Looks like someone called in and asked to have the whole account blocked."

"I sure as fuck didn't."

He pointed to the screen. "Would anyone from your shop have a reason to do it?"

Fuck no. "No, Stan. We need those parts. Nobody would sabotage the company."

He nodded. I heard him clicking on the keys. "I've got it reinstated, but I'm going to have to reorder all your parts and products. It's going to take weeks to get it all in stock."

"Don't you keep some of those items on hand?"

"Yeah, but we're sold out. Every part you ordered is on backorder. Never seen anything like it. Almost like someone is trying to cut you out of the equation or impact your sales."

Yeah. It sure sounded like it. Who the fuck had a vendetta against me or the club?

I had to look into this.

"Thanks, Stan. I'm going to head back to The Crossroads. Let me know when you have the shit I need."

"Sorry, man. I'll do what I can."

"I know. Not your fault. I appreciate it."

Spinning on my heel, I walked back out, pulling on my shades as I sat on my bike. Something was going on. There was no way all of that was a coincidence.

Maybe this had to do with the reason my Reaper felt antsy.

When I returned to the compound, I found Xenon immediately, stopping to explain what had happened.

"Damn, pres. That's some vile shit."

"I need to know what you can find. Dig deep. If we've got a rival or someone looking to harm the club, I need to know."

"You got it, pres."