The club comes first.
I’ve lived by those words my whole life—assumed I’d die by them, too, and I never had a problem with that. My Reaper brothers took my back and I took theirs and it was enough. Then I met her. Tinker Garrett. She’s beautiful, she’s loyal, and she works so damned hard it scares me sometimes . . . She deserves a good man—one better than me. I can’t take her yet because the club still needs me. There’s another woman, another job, another fight just ahead.
Now she’ll learn I’ve been lying to her all along. None of it’s real. Not my name, not my job, not even the clothes I wear. She thinks I’m nice. She pretends we’re just friends, that I’ve still got a soul . . . Mine’s been dead for years. Now I’m on fire for this woman, and a man can only burn for so long before he destroys everything around him.
I’m coming for you, Tinker.
Soon.
Are you ready for Gage and
Tinker’s story?
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Excerpt
Tinker
It
was almost seven that evening when I felt the AC kick back on. I’d been lying
on my back on the (relatively) cool tile floor behind the counter, staring up
at the pressed-tin ceiling and trying to remember why I hadn’t already moved
back to Seattle.
In
Seattle it rained.
Cool
breezes blew off the bay and the lush greenery covered everything with its
shaded canopy. People didn’t really need air-conditioning, but if they happened
to have it and it broke, there were lots of repair men available.
Of
course, Seattle also had Brandon. Not only that, my dad didn’t want to move,
and I’d come to realize I couldn’t leave him here alone. It wasn’t safe for
him, not since Mom died.
Ugh.
At
least the AC was working again, blowing down from the ceiling vent across my sweaty
body, reminding me that while the world might not be crawling with perfect men,
at least there were still a few useful ones running around. Cooper Romero was a
keeper, and it had nothing to do with how sexy he was . . . although the fact
that he was sex on a stick—make that sex with
a stick—didn’t exactly diminish his appeal.
When
I’d dragged him up to the black tar roof to show him the ancient AC, I’d
expected him to make a run for it. Any sensible man would. Instead, he’d spent
the whole afternoon busting his ass to save my chocolates—Oh God, I wish that were code for something more exciting—officially
qualifying him as a superhero in my book.
As
for me, there wasn’t much I could do once I got all the sweets safely
downstairs into the basement. There weren’t any customers walking in off the
street, and seeing as I couldn’t make or ship candy in a 102-degree shop, I’d
alternated between attempting to read a book, looking over orders I couldn’t
fulfill on my laptop, and bringing Cooper glasses of iced tea. I’d been nervous
around him at first, but you can only stay nervous for so long when you’re
sweating like a pig—there’s a certain freedom in knowing you look like hell and
there’s no saving your hair. I’d thrown my arm across my eyes in a pathetic attempt
to block out reality toward the end.
When
cold air started flowing into the room, I could’ve cried with relief. He’d
never had a chance to fill out the application form, and I’d long since decided
it didn’t matter. Unless he was an ax murderer, I’d give him the apartment and
the job.
Might
give it to him even if he was, to be honest.
“It’s
working again,” Cooper announced, and I jerked, startled. Shit, had I fallen
asleep? Opening my eyes, I looked up to find him standing over me. Dear God in
heaven—that was one hell of a bare chest.
Holy.
Shit.
I’d
taken note of his build when he first walked in the shop, but everything under
his shirt had been theoretical. Now there was six-foot-plus of raw sex appeal
right there, all sweaty and sculpted and . . . well, let’s just say I’d be
stopping off on the way home to pick up some fresh batteries.
That’s
when the situation hit me—Cooper Romero was the hottest man I’d met in forever,
and he’d just found me lying on the floor in my own sweat and filth like a dog.
Typical luck. I scrambled to my feet, pretending I wasn’t totally embarrassed
(I was) and not in the least bit freaked out by how unspeakably attractive this
guy was. Okay, “attractive” wasn’t quite the right word, because it implied a
certain level of polish and class that just didn’t fit Cooper at all.
Brandon
was attractive.
Cooper?
I’d
lick him all over and massage his butt if he asked. He stared down at me, his
eyes carefully blank, making it very clear he wasn’t asking. Story of my fucking life. Sitting up, I
pushed myself to my feet without bothering to dust off. Lost cause at this
point.
“Not
sure how much life the AC has left,” he said slowly. “I managed to get it
going, but fixing it right would cost more than it’s worth and then some.”
Of
course it would.
“I
just need to get through the summer,” I told him, wiping a finger under my eye.
My perfectly applied, vintage-style makeup had melted, leaving me with a clown
face. Fortunately I’d (mostly) given up on caring three hours ago, right around
the time I’d discovered the floor tiles were cooler than the rest of the room.
“After that, I’ll worry about the furnace and by next summer I might not even
be here anymore.”
“Really?”
he asked, cocking a brow. “You selling out?”
“Not
sure,” I told him. “I’m not thinking that far ahead right now. Things are very
iffy with my dad . . . I think he’s got some—”
No.
I couldn’t say it. Saying it out loud made it too real, plus the last thing I
needed were a bunch of rumors flying around town. So far we’d kept dad’s situation
mostly to family and friends.
“Tinker?”
Shaking
myself, I smiled at him. “Thank you so much for fixing that. I’m not even sure
what I would’ve done—I can’t afford to miss a week’s worth of orders. Not only
would it put me behind, it would burn my customers.”
He
nodded, studying me thoughtfully. God, he really was beautiful . . . Nothing
like Brandon’s polished sophistication. No, Cooper gave off more of a
warrior-tossing-you-over-his-fearless-steed kind of vibe. Yeah, like that would
end well, because my track record with men was so fucking perfect, right?
Pull your head out
of the gutter. He probably has a girlfriend.
At
least I could finally lock up this hellhole of a shop and get a shower.
“Thank
you so much—you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
“No,
but the whole throwing yourself at my feet thing was a subtle hint,” he said,
and I realized he was teasing me. Was he flirting? I couldn’t decide if that
kicked ass or scared the shit out of me.
“Anyway,
it’s getting late,” I told him, feeling suddenly awkward. “I’m going to grab
some dinner down the street, and then I could take you over and show you the
apartment.”
A
small, knowing smile crossed his face, and I realized he thought I was hitting
on him.
“No,”
I said quickly, mortified. “I wasn’t asking you out. Omigod, this is weird.”
“What,
you aren’t turned on by a man who smells like old socks?” he asked lightly,
raising his arm and giving a sniff. He was joking, but the sweat wasn’t a turnoff.
Nope. Not even a little bit. “If that’s not enough for you, the roof tar on my
ass should be a big attraction.”
Closing
my eyes, I bit back a groan. He started laughing. Not in a cruel way, but
companionably, which I guess made sense because both of us were disgusting as
hell. Of course, now I wanted to check out his ass, but I managed to keep my
eyes on target (mostly) when I answered him.
“Well,
it’s sexy but I’ll manage to control myself somehow. I do want to grab dinner,
though, and we need to figure out the apartment details.”
“I’ll
take the place, doesn’t matter what it is,” he replied. “I’m in a hotel and
it’s getting old. I’d love to move in on Sunday, but I can’t go look at it
right now—gotta get my ass cleaned up. Meeting up with someone later.”
Of
course he was, because men who looked like Cooper didn’t spend Friday nights
alone.
“Sounds
great,” I told him, refusing to show any disappointment. “Just text me when
you’re ready, and I’ll get you the key.”
He
opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden pounding against the locked
shop door caught us both off guard. I spun around to find Talia Jackson glaring
at me through the glass. Talia and three of her skankier friends, including
Sadie Baxter, a girl I used to babysit when I was in college.
A
girl who was now twenty.
Damn.
“Cooper!”
Talia shouted. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I
glanced at my new handyman, startled. Talia Jackson and her brother, Marsh,
were two of the nastiest people I’d ever met. Marsh was president of the local
motorcycle gang, a group called the Nighthawk Raiders motorcycle club. The club
had been around most of my life, but it was only in recent years that they’d
turned really bad. I mean, they were never the kinder, gentler sort of bikers,
but I’d never been actively afraid when I’d heard a motorcycle, either.
Now?
Let’s just say we’d all gotten a little edgy.
“That’s
my girl,” Cooper said, and something deep down inside of me died a little. Of
course he’d go for someone like Talia. She might have the heart of a deranged
circus clown—you know, the kind that survives by eating the souls of innocent
children—but she was hot.
Really
hot.
Not
only that, she was slutty, and while I wasn’t into the whole slut-shaming thing
(like I had room to judge after the bachelorette party debacle . . . ugh), I
wasn’t naive enough to think he was attracted to her personality. Cooper Romero
might have a sweet smile, and he’d fixed my AC, but now I had proof positive
that he’d never be into a girl like me.
Specifically,
a grown-up with curves.
All
righty, then. Probably for the best anyway.
“Just
a sec!” I called to her, determined to take the high road, then I grabbed my
keys so I could open the door. She pushed inside with her posse, and I do mean pushed. Little bitch shoved me so hard I
nearly knocked over the display of antique Russian teacups my mother had
lovingly collected. (So far as I knew, she’d never sold a single one of them,
but it’d made her happy.)
“Careful,”
I warned, and Talia turned on me.
“What
did you just say to me?”
“Babe,
let’s talk,” Cooper said, catching her arm and pulling her into his body. She
squealed, going from aggressive to flirty in an instant.
“You’re
all sweaty. It’s sooo disgusting.”
I
noted she wasn’t trying to get away. Cooper smiled down at her, a hint of
something feral in his eyes. Yeah, okay—whatever smile he’d been giving me, it
hadn’t held any of that kind of intensity.
Yours
truly was officially chopped liver.
“I
was just about to head out and grab a shower,” he told her. “Wanna come with
me?”
She
pouted. “I can’t. The girls and I need to get fixed up. I’ll see you at the
bar, though, right?”
He
looked down at her, offering a sexy, indulgent smile. “Can’t wait.”
“Perfect,”
she said, reaching around to grab his ass for a quick squeeze. Then she turned
and strutted back out without a word to me, her gaggle of girls following like
well-trained geese. Sadie gave a little finger wave on the way. The door closed
behind them with a cheerful little jingle, and I wondered why the hell I even
bothered with Hallies Falls.
I
missed Seattle.
So
what if it had Brandon? I could drown him in Lake Washington. Problem solved.
“Sorry
about that—Talia is a little high-strung,” Cooper said.
“Oh,
I know all about her,” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as catty as I felt.
Cooper didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m
new to town, but she’s been showing me around,” Cooper continued, stepping over
to stand in front of me, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. “I should get
going.”
“Of
course—don’t let me keep you. What time do you think you’ll be in touch
tomorrow?”
“Afternoon
work?”
“No
problem. Looking forward to hearing from you.”
He
nodded and pushed through the door, walking down the street without a second look
back. I locked up behind him, wondering why all the hottest guys were
douchebags. Not that Cooper had acted like a douche, but he had to be my age or
older—late thirties—and Talia was the same age as Sadie. She was also a raging
bitch. There was only one reason a man like him would date a girl like that,
and it had nothing to do with personality or character.
Cooper
Romero might be beautiful, but obviously he was shallow. Suppose it was too
much to hope for a man who could fix an air conditioner and have a soul at the
same time.
Pity.
Have you heard?
Reaper’s Property by Joanna Wylde has a
NEW COVER!
Meet Horse & Marie for
ONLY $3.99 (normally $7.99)
Marie doesn’t need a complication like Horse. The massive, tattooed, badass biker who shows up at her brother’s house one afternoon doesn’t agree. He wants Marie on his bike and in his bed. Now.
But Marie just left her abusive jerk of an ex-husband and she’s not looking for a new man. Especially one like Horse—she doesn’t know his real name or where he lives, she’s ninety percent certain he’s a criminal and that the “business” he talks with her brother isn’t website design. She needs him out of her life, which would be a snap if he’d just stop giving her mind-blowing orgasms.
Horse is part of the Reapers Motorcycle Club, and when he wants something, he takes it. What he wants is Marie, but she’s not interested in becoming “property of”.
Then her brother steals from the club. Marie can save him by giving Horse what he wants—at home, in public, on his bike… If she’s a very, very good girl, she’ll get lots more of those orgasms only he can offer, and he’ll let her brother live.
Maybe.
But Marie just left her abusive jerk of an ex-husband and she’s not looking for a new man. Especially one like Horse—she doesn’t know his real name or where he lives, she’s ninety percent certain he’s a criminal and that the “business” he talks with her brother isn’t website design. She needs him out of her life, which would be a snap if he’d just stop giving her mind-blowing orgasms.
Horse is part of the Reapers Motorcycle Club, and when he wants something, he takes it. What he wants is Marie, but she’s not interested in becoming “property of”.
Then her brother steals from the club. Marie can save him by giving Horse what he wants—at home, in public, on his bike… If she’s a very, very good girl, she’ll get lots more of those orgasms only he can offer, and he’ll let her brother live.
Maybe.
Author’s Note: This book was originally
released through a small publisher in 2013. This independent edition has been
lightly edited, and contains a bonus short, “Sticky Sweet” (originally
published on the author’s website) and a Q&A with the author.
About the Author
Joanna
Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers
Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
