Page 40 of Down & Dirty: Reaper

“Diesel don’t give a shit how old she is,” the club prez replied.

The rumble of a large group of Harleys could be heard pulling into the back parking lot.

The Angels of Fury had arrived. And no surprise, “fashionably late” since they wanted to make an “entrance.” Another way to stick it to the men for not letting them ride with the DAMC.

“Fuck, we really needta take a vote on bannin’ the Furry Angels from usin’ our clubhouse, drinkin’ our booze, and eatin’ our goddamn food.”

“I thought you considered them family?”

“Yeah. But that don’t mean their little club can take advantage of ours.”

“But they’d be invited to attend—to eat and drink that same stuff—if they weren’t in their own club?”

“Yeah,” Zeke grunted while getting to his feet.

“Then what’s the difference?”

Zeke stared at him for a few seconds, then ground out his pre-rolled on the picnic table, tucked it in his cut, and walked away.

He twisted enough to easily spot Vi, wearing her AFMC cut, step through the opening in the tall hedges separating the parking lot from the courtyard. There were thirteen women in all since Piper was now healed enough to ride again.

Reaper’s teeth clenched as he pictured the AFMC’s sergeant at arms in that hospital bed weeks ago after the Twisted Souls wrecked into them. Unfortunately, Piper had gotten the worst of it. Vi had missed out on all that bullshit since she hadn’t ridden with her club that day.

Thank fuck.

Reaper vowed that the Souls would get what they deserved once they were done dealing with the Pittsburgh Mafia.

Vi’s eyes flicked over to him as she headed over to greet her parents, then she poured herself a beer from the keg. She wandered over to the spread next, grabbed a plate, filled it with food and with her hands full, strode across the courtyard in his direction.

Shit.

That wasn’t going to help the rumors.

But they did work together. And lived on the same farm. So, it should be expected that they interacted on a regular basis.

His eyes flicked back to Diesel tracking his daughter and the direction she was going.

Shit.

It had taken a while for Reaper to like his life and now that he did, he didn’t want it to be cut short.

Wouldn’t that be a kick in the nuts: to survive years in the Marines to only become a casualty of some pissed off, overly protective biker daddy.

When Vi got to where he sat, she placed her beer and piled-high plate down and climbed between the attached bench and table, so they were facing opposite directions.

For fuck’s sake, she had enough food to feed a family of four. “You gonna eat all that?”

Her eyebrows rose as she turned her face up to him. “Yes. Why?”

His stomach hurt just looking at the plate that had to weigh a couple of pounds.

“That won’t make you sick?”

“Grew up eating this shit on a regular basis.” She patted her flat gut under her cut. “My stomach is lined with steel.”

“I was talking about the amount.”

“I’m hungry.” She sank her white teeth into a pulled pork sandwich that was topped with coleslaw.