Page 3 of The Biker’s Guilty Pleasur

He paused, unsure if he’d even heard his prez right.

“Have I fucked up?” He got to his feet, his drink sloshing slightly. “You think I’m not one hundred percent on my game?”

Yeah, he was fucking insulted. His prez was insinuating he couldn’t do his charitable work and handle shit around the club at the same time.

“I ain’t saying shit. Just do you job, and we’ll all be happy.”

He started to leave the office. “I’ll find out about this problem. I just need a little time.”

“As long as you’re on it,” Lord said. The prez’s phone rang, and he leaned back in his chair and started talking, not a care in the world.

Reaper headed down the long hallway toward his room at the very end. He liked his space on the main floor in case shit went down. He wanted to be able to get to his bike fast, no levels of staircases slowing him down. Over the years, he’d personally put everything on the line when the Skull Nation tried to erase them. He had bullet wounds and a shitload of emotional baggage, and he was still here.

He didn’t appreciate his prez making assumptions about him. What he did in his free time was his own fucking business.

Reaper got to his room and immediately stripped out of his street clothes and hit the shower. Riding the back roads was dusty and he wanted it all off him. His thoughts drifted to that little firecracker at the shelter. She had spunk, even took him by surprise. Being half his size, it took a lot of moxy to try and take him on.

Yeah, he was a bit insulted she took him for a wife-beater, but he could understand why she thought that. He hadn’t even asked for her name. Then he remembered hearing Gena talking to her.

Grace.

Reaper played the name around in his head.

Grace

Grace

Yeah, that was a good fucking name.

Maybe he’d stop by again to make sure his repairs to the security system worked. Maybe she’d be there.

It was stupid to have these feelings for a woman he’d just met. She may be curvy as fuck with the darkest brown eyes he’d ever seen, but she was a sweet girl. Too sweet for the likes of him.

That still didn’t stop him from planning to visit the shelter again tomorrow. He decided it was on his way to town anyway. Reaper needed to ask around, do some investigating about this supposed hit that went out. It was his job to eliminate threats, to make their enemies suffer. He couldn’t count the number of bones he’d broken as warnings not to fuck with the Straight to Hell MC. And he had no regrets, no pity, no remorse.

What Lord wanted, he made happen. That’s how it worked, and he had no problem with that.

Reaper dried off in his private bathroom. He wiped his hand across the foggy mirror and examined the scars on his face. Was she afraid of him? Was he intimidating?

He’d never really put much thought into his appearance, never gave a fuck what the club whores thought of him, or anyone for that matter.

He cared about what Grace thought. In fact, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wishing he could get inside her head. Thinking about tomorrow when today wasn’t even over.

He needed a distraction to burn off this energy coursing through his veins. He grabbed a towel, then slipped on a pair of gym shorts. They had a state-of-the-art gym at the club, and right now he wanted to rip himself to shreds with the weights and maybe hit the treadmill. By the time he was done, the only thing he’d be thinking about was sleep.

Chapter Two

“You’re lingering tonight and that’s not like you. At least, not near my office. What’s on your mind, Grace?” Gena asked.

Grace was not used to feeling this way. This was all new, and she hated to think of her emotions as raw, but that was exactly how she felt. It was insane. “I wanted to come and apologize for earlier.”

Gena looked confused.

“The angry-looking biker,” Grace said, as a way of reminding her.

“Oh, Reaper, of course. Yes, you were incredibly rude, and it’s not something I would expect from you,” Gena said, pointing the pen she’d been using toward her.

“I wasn’t expecting ... in my experience, men like him seem to be the problem.”