Reapers and Bastards: A Reapers MC Anthology - Wylde Joanna (книги бесплатно без регистрации полные .TXT) 📗

Interesting. Was she covering for Jeff?

I dropped my hand back down to her waist, rubbing it up and down the curve of her hip. Those curves were fuckin’ perfect, but the way she trembled went straight to my gut. I thought about Jensen, thought about that little fuck touching her soft skin, sucking on those lips . . .

Smacking that pretty face.

Nope, this shit wouldn’t stand. Not today.

“Jensen do that to you?”

Her eyes widened and her face flushed.

“No, he’d never do that. Jeff’s my brother,” she said, jerking free. She turned and ran into the trailer, slamming the door behind her.

“Well, that was interesting,” Picnic said. Max chuckled.

I glared at them, then something caught my eye. At the end of the table was a tray with a kitchen towel over it. Two long round lumps lay under it. I leaned over and picked up the towel to find two loaves of unbaked bread rising.

Fuck.

Not only was my girl hot as hell, she could cook, too.

Jensen showed up not long afterward, full of excuses and bullshit.

“Hey, guys, great to see you!” he called as he slammed his car door shut. “I’ll bet you’re here because of that botched transfer. No worries, Horse, I got it fixed. You can check it on my laptop. I just ran the numbers wrong the first time. No problem.”

I stood, crossing my arms as I stared him down.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I lost it,” Jeff replied, rubbing his hands against his pants nervously as he glanced between the three Reapers. “But I found it again. See?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and showed us. I looked to Picnic, who sighed.

“We’re gonna lay this out for you, okay?” the club president said. “You fucked up big-time. I don’t know if you stole the money and paid it back or if you’re just stupid. Either way, it can’t happen again. I’m about ready to pull the plug on this little operation, which means pulling the plug on you, stoner boy.”

I grunted, seconding his words. Jeff’s eyes jerked between us, then settled as he smiled at me again, like we were friends. Fucker had a serious case of reality disconnect.

“No problem,” he said. “Let’s go inside, I’ll show you the figures. Pull ’em up for you, see for yourself. Marie will make dinner, she’s a fuckin’ great cook. You’ll love it.”

So her name was Marie. I liked that—it fit her. Sort of old-fashioned but sexy at the same time. I almost smiled, but caught myself. I had a part to play in this little show, and it didn’t include looking friendly.

“Let’s take a look,” I said to Picnic. “Figure it out tonight, save us having to drive back down here to kill him if he’s lying.”

“Works for me,” Pic replied. “I’m hungry. Hey, Jensen—shooting assholes gives me heartburn. Don’t fuck this up, ’kay?”

Jeff’s face faltered, but he laughed nervously and chattered as he led us into the trailer. Me and Picnic exchanged a knowing look behind his back. I hoped to hell I wouldn’t have to kick the shit out of our helpful little hacker. Beating down her brother probably wouldn’t be the smoothest way to get into Marie’s pants.

The trailer smelled like heaven.

Marinara bubbled on the stove, and while the little window air-conditioning units kept the place cool, the oven sent out homey warmth. Marie stood in the open kitchen, frowning at us as we walked in.

“Sis, my associates are going to stay for dinner,” Jeff told her. “You better go get your bread—I think it’s done rising. You guys are gonna love this, Marie’s bread is amazing. She’ll fix you a fuckin’ great dinner.”

Marie gave her brother a tight, fixed little smile, eyes shooting daggers at him. I had to bite back a laugh—she obviously wanted us gone in a big way. For a minute I thought she might refuse, but then she broke her gaze, murmuring something as she brushed past us to go outside. I couldn’t decide if that disappointed me or not. The food smelled great and I hadn’t even realized how hungry I’d gotten.

But she should really tell her brother to fuck off—maybe tip that pot of spaghetti sauce over his head or something.

Jeff flicked on his giant-ass TV to mixed martial arts, another layer of bullshit in my opinion. Apparently he could afford a TV the size of a car but he couldn’t afford to upgrade to a place fit for his sister to live in.

I shook my head and took a seat in front of the kitchen bar, which separated the cooking area from the living room in the tiny trailer. Leaning back against the wall, I crossed my arms to watch Marie come back inside with the tray of bread, quiet as a mouse. Had the guy who’d hit her broken her spirit? I liked a woman to follow my lead, but a girl without at least a little fight wouldn’t be much fun in the sack.

“Grab us some beers, sweet butt,” Max called from the couch. I watched as she stilled, biting her lip. I could almost read her thoughts—she wanted to take one of those beer bottles and break it over Max’s head. I kinda wanted to see that myself. Instead, she set down the tray on the counter and turned to the fridge, pulling out four drinks and handing them around.

I sighed. Too bad, would’ve been fun to watch her take Max down. Not that he’d let her go too far with it, but hell . . . bastard could use a bottle over the head.

Marie ignored me as I opened my beer, turning back to put the bread in the oven and then grabbing some shit for a salad. Big fuckin’ surprise, watching her cook turned me on. Her clothes looked like hell, but I knew what was underneath and every movement was graceful and feminine. Then she grabbed another beer, popped the top like a pro, and took a deep swig, mouth wrapped tight around the length of the bottle’s neck.

I seriously considered vaulting the counter.

Instead, I sat, nursing my drink and counting all the different ways I’d do her before this ended. Over the bar, for sure, from behind. Maybe against the wall. Definitely in the shower and maybe even on my bike. Bed? Why the hell not, some of those missionaries were pretty damn smart. I’d fuck her face, too, and maybe even her ass.

My dick added its vote in favor of that plan and I shifted restlessly.

Goddamn jeans weren’t helping the situation.

When Marie pulled the bread out of the oven, the smell almost killed me. Five minutes later she had salad, pasta, and the works laid out on the counter, along with plates.

“Dinner,” she said shortly, stepping back as the guys stood and grabbed the food.

The meal blew me away, tasting even better than it smelled. The bread was savory and rich, with a hint of garlic and herbs and something else I couldn’t identify. The sauce was chunky and tangy and full of fresh tomatoes with big spicy meatballs. Even the salad was fantastic, and totally different. It had the usual greens, but it also had nuts and fruit and some kind of fancy cheese.

“This is amazing,” Picnic told Marie as he filled his plate a second time, voice full of genuine admiration. “You can really cook. My old lady used to cook like this.”

That caught my attention. Pic didn’t talk about Heather much, and never to strangers. She’d been dead for years, but it could’ve been yesterday so far as Pic was concerned. He’d given Marie a serious compliment.

She flushed prettily, and murmured, “Thanks.”

I held back a frown. I didn’t like her blushing and murmuring at another guy.

Fuckin’ Picnic.

The food was gone all too soon, though I’d definitely gotten my fill. Hell, I should bring her back to Coeur d’Alene just to cook—woman had a gift. Picnic caught my eye and jerked his head toward Marie. I sighed.

Time to check out Jeff’s story and then scare the crap out of him.

I was ready to finish this particular game. I’d joined the club for the freedom and the fun, and now I found myself managing some hacker asshat like a goddamn human resources officer. Bullshit all around. Might as well get a job down at city hall, buy a suit, and trade my bike for a minivan.