Reaper: Dirty Sinners: A Mafia MC Romance

Twenty minutes after hearing Arabelle scream with ecstasy and wet my cock with her sweet juices I’m sitting at the Sinner’s Pour House watching her talk to club candy.

Becca’s worked here since coming to live at the compound. She’s a good girl, but a biker bitch through and through. The crew swears she gives good head, but I’ll leave it at that. I’m not into tasting used goods. That probably makes me sound like a real son-of-a-bitch but I know what I want. And what I don’t

Shit. I haven’t been into anything since that night with Arabelle. My dick has been in knots over her for over twenty-four long-ass, dry months now.

My eyes are glued to Arabelle as she scoops up a tray and helps deliver it to a rowdy load of fuckers just getting off work. Every dip of her hip drags pre-cum from my dick and I swear I’m so hard already I could pound railroad nails into solid cement.

“You nail them with a meaner look and you’ll pick a bar fight. I mean, I’m down with a little rough-housing, prez, but can I at least finish my beer first?”

Rock’s scowl isn’t any better than mine. He leans back in his chair, props an arm over the back, and takes a deep swallow of his cold brew. I hear him and he has a point but I can’t seem to pull the scowl on my face back now that it’s front and center.

The only thing that will help me is getting Arabelle the fuck outta here. The messed up part is I own the joint. This is Sinner’s territory.

Sinners Pour House is located right over the city limits of Haven between the compound and Lust & Sin. And an easy ride when I want something new to look at.

On this side of the line, local law has limited access to the place. It’s no more than a converted warehouse, which sometimes serves as storage for what the club needs to keep away from the compound–gambling and illegal poker games. The club has to make money somehow.

The back is where that goes down and is what makes it a valuable asset for the club.

Back in the day, it used to be closer to our strip club. During a territory grab back in my dad’s day, it was damn near destroyed. After the ashes were cleaned away my dad relocated it out here, threw down some gravel to serve as a parking lot, brought the old slab of wood to serve as the bar top, and called it good to go.

It’s all high-top tables and stools, neon beer signs, and sticky floors. Frankly, it’s on the verge of being a dive bar, but I like the food. My crew works hard to keep it civil during business hours out front. It’s where the locals come–MC or not.

There are also a few rooms back there for a few club patches who need to crash or whatever.

Right now, I’m thinking Arabelle could use a little tour of the full establishment and I can introduce her to the room reserved for the prez of the club.

Rock clamps a hand down on my shoulder and I shoot him a fuck off look.

His shit-eating grin speaks of the years we’ve known each other. Too many to count. He raises both hands. “You wanna go over there and ask her to dance or somthin’? Cuz you might as well be eye fucking her.”

“Fuck you, Rock,” I say with no heat. I can’t be mad at my friend for calling it how he sees it.

“Look, I’m just sayin’ you might not come here very often but she does. Everyone here loves her. You don’t need to watch her every fucking move, man. Don’t believe me? Watch.” He jerks his chin toward the bar top and a few tables positioned close by.

There’s not an empty chair to be seen and it’s all because of Arabelle. She’s got the local fuckers smitten with her sweet talk and flowy skirts.

I twirl the cold beer in my hand but I can’t bring myself to drink it. I’m too busy watching her work the room with that cherry red painted smile. My God. She’s got everyone wrapped around her little finger.

And I know the feeling. I’ve been tied up in her for two years.

I scoot my full beer away and level my eyes on Rock. “Let’s get to club business. Pull whoever is in-house and meet me in the back. We need to deal with what happened today.”

Rock knows what I mean. He’s already signaling for the men of our crew to follow. “We have a couple of enforcers, me, you, and I think Romeo, our patch.”

“Leave the patch out for now. Tell him to keep an eye on Arabelle and his dick in his pants or lose it.”

I push up, turn and leave the chaotic front and head toward the back where I can hear myself think. After years of open road and silence, it’s going to take some time to get used to all the noise pounding my brain.

Stale cigar smoke and old beer is the first thing I smell when I push the back door open and step into a back room used for high-stake poker nights. It’s not too big, but there’s enough space for club business.

Rock leads the men in and we form a circle around the table.

“Prez, what’s up?” Beast—a Sinner enforcer—straddles a chair and braces his arms over the back. Ace, our other enforcer, is hot on his heels with a beer in hand.

I hate formality and all the meeting shit so I keep everything low-key. My dad was all about formality and treating club meetings like a military unit.

No thanks. I see no need to waste anyone’s time with that level of detail.

“Listen up, men. I know I haven’t been your president long. Two months ain’t shit on the job, but you know me from before our dicks knew how to work. My dad brought most of you on before he got sick. His passing hit us all hard and the club ink on my chest has hardly healed over.”

There are a few gruff “yeahs” and I pause to meet each of their gazes.

Rock looks me dead in the eye. “We trust you man. Tell us what you want.”

“The Chaos Riders seem to think losing our old president has made us weak. Their president seems to think he can ride through our town and harass our women.”

“Fuck that.” Rock slams a fist down on the card table with a thud. “What’s next? They start pilfering our women and selling them overseas?”

Beast growls like a demon beside me and looks ready to send some souls to hell. “What do you want us to do, Prez?”

I lean over the table and brace my weight on my knuckles. “The beat down y’all gave the bastards today will force Mayhem to save face. Ride the lines. Not one Chaos Rider gets in. We don’t seek out violence but we don’t allow it on our turf either. The people of Haven have our word they are safe in this town. Let’s make damn sure we keep it.”

I don’t say it but I hope Mayhem tries to do something that makes me put a bullet between his eyes.

Heads nod in agreement around the room and then they pile out leaving me to my thoughts which is never a good thing. These men are good people. Men who haven’t seen the levels of death I have and thank whatever god they believe in for that tiny miracle.

I’m more of a killer.

If it were up to me, I would burn every fucking Rider establishment down to the ground. Our rivals are the scum of this mountain and it’s been that way for decades. Drugs, prostitution, and even human trafficking are on the table for those men. But not in Haven. Sinners don’t work that way.

Back when my grandfather established this club, he had a purpose. A drive to do good. Even if it meant getting dirty to make sure those who needed help got it.

But not if it meant hurting others to get it done. Hurting people for money is not how my family operates. With nearly one hundred years of my family’s blood running in my veins I will die before I let the Riders ruin what my family has built.

It’s why I came back. It’s why I am here after swearing the nomad life was for me.

These men trust me. I have more than just my reputation to lose if I let anyone destroy this town.

I catch the hint of honey and jasmine over the stench of the place when I leave the backroom and head toward the front.

I cast around but I don’t see the woman it belongs to.

I grab Romeo by the collar and growl, “You had one fucking job. Where is she?”