Property Of Reaper King

“Never seen anyone look this pretty to unclog a toilet before. You seen it before, Slink?” Buggy asked.

Slink, the two-timing bastard, leaned backward into the cars. “Been in a rundown club with piss being sprayed in the air. Never a pretty woman going at it with shit.”

I stopped my momentary pounding, the mask on my face hiding my lips but not my eyes as I glared at them. They looked elsewhere immediately. Wolf was the only one still staring at me. “I'm sorry, Remy. I didn't… I didn't think he'd put you here.”

“Tell me how sorry you are one more time, and I will shove this plunger on your face.”

“Understood.”

Decker Kane appeared in my room by six a.m., claiming I'd already missed orientation with the other prospects and because of my lateness and my disappointing him, I was to do whatever the other members wanted.

Hell, I thought he was joking, so I did my hair and makeup, wore a flannel shirt, shorts, and high-heeled boots—but the bastard meant it.

I knew the rule book like the back of my hand. Some little handy jobs here and there, fix some bulbs, wash some cars, go on a few errands—but it didn't matter. As long as he could see me being hot and efficient. Fucking perfect combo.

But after cleaning the dishes and doing the laundry, I was doing this.

And he wasn't even here to witness it?!

“YES. YES. YES!” The sound of the flusher going down was music to my ears before I turned around, trying to hold back a scream. “I did it.”

“Yeah,” Buggy said, scrunching his face. “But could you stop moving that damn plunger around—”

I made a stabbing motion toward them with it. They all flinched. “Fuck. I'm so hungry. Is someone gonna—?”

“Well, hello, little lady. Never seen you around here before. A new club girl or something?”

I turned my head to the voice. New face. Faces. Three girls in blond, red, and black wigs. Club girls. I wondered which one Decker fucked. “Or something.”

Wolf made a face. Buggy stared at me, then back at them with a slightly confused look. Slink was staring at me like it was a soap opera.

“You gotta dress a tad bit respectfully, then,” said the girls, who were wearing practically nothing. “Makes you seem desperate if you're not covered properly and shit. We at least have men.”

“You at least have gonorrhea, but I'm not gonna attack you, sweetheart. We all gotta eat at the end of the day,” I said, placing the plunger down.

“Ha, you really shouldn't be talking to me like that. Can't you see the fucking jacket I have on? Can't you see the property of Reaper King patch on it?”

Bingo.

I lunged with the plunger before any of them could stop me, ready to shove their fucking face into the shit-covered thing before a human wall blocked me, grey eyes staring down at me in familiar disappointment. “Put it down, prospect.”

I had pulled back the plunger as quickly as I thought possible, but some of its… contents had managed to fall right on his chest. He didn't react to it though. Instead, he stared at me hard and serious.

I dropped it down.

“Apologize to her.”

My familiar anger returned. “But she fucking—”

He raised an eyebrow.

I bowed my head. “I… I apologize for my conduct. Please, forgive me—”

“Serves you right, whore—”

I jumped, ready to rip her hair out, but the moment I did, Decker lifted me up and placed me on his shoulder, dragging me away as I screamed at the idiots, then at him. “You taught me about sexual hygiene, but you're fucking the club girls?! Jesus Christ, if you're that desperate, you can call me over, and I'll spread my legs with no hesitation. And you can even guess what? No fucking disease!”

My ass met the concrete floor when he dropped me. We were in another garage. An abandoned one now. And as I stared up at him, he glared back down at me. “You don't touch anyone with a patch, do you understand? You are nothing. A rat. A speck of dust—”

“Do you fuck her?”

“Do you even want to be in Iron Clad or not?!” He yelled back.

Fear flashed through me, but then it settled into my belly as something darker. My middle pulsed as my heart raced, and I asked again, “Do you fuck her?”

Decker Kane stared at me like he was deciding whether to kill me or maim me. Then he raked a hand through his hair. “Chrissy has my kutte for safety purposes. She can be real desperate, and the guys… tend to take advantage of that, but now that she's mine, she has bragging rights. And bragging rights means she also maintains a distance with the guys.”

Relief flooded my being, but I didn't want him to know that. “Used a lot of words to say you're not fucking her, then.”

His jaw flexed. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

I rose from the floor and dusted my shorts. “A fucking honest response, maybe? I am hot and sexy and so fucking aware of the fact that you find me irresistible. This whole deal of you brooding around me is because you like me. But if you wanna reject me like you did last time, be a fucking man and—”

He pinned me to the wall, his lips hovering over mine as he stared into my eyes. “You talk too much instead of doing your fucking job.”

His breath was hot against my lips, and I could smell the whiskey underneath it. He didn't drink. He never did. Which meant something else. “Did you stop smoking?”

He didn't move away. I waited for him to answer, but his grey eyes dropped to my lips, his hand tightened on my wrists like he was fighting every instinct to pull me closer.

Then he stepped back. “I quit.”

My breath caught. I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him by that stupid leather jacket and kiss him until he forgot his own name. But I had to maintain some useless form of decorum.

Learned that straight from 'society'.

“Because I told you to?”

He didn't answer.

I scoffed and made it three steps toward the door before his voice stopped me. “Remy.”

I turned, heart hammering.

“The rules of this club are not a suggestion.” His eyes hardened. “You step out of line again, and I'll have you scrubbing toilets for the next six months. And I won't be nice about it.”

“Wouldn't expect you to be,” I said, grinning despite myself. “Where's the fun in that?”

His jaw tightened. “Get out.”

I saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”

As I left, I practically skipped all the way back there—that was until I noticed the group standing in a circle back at the main house and my father saying, “We need to talk. And where the fuck is Decker?”