Page 7 of The Biker’s Guilty Pleasur

He set the box on the counter.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Tea?”

She shrugged.

“Tell me what you like. I have everyone’s order memorized.”

“It’s okay.” She was being a bitch again, but it was so easy when dealing with bikers. It felt like she was betraying the memory of her family by being nice to Reaper. It was stupid but it was hard to shake the feeling.

By the time she turned around, he was gone. She continued with her duties, and Helen helped a while later, too. They caught up a bit, complaining about their jobs and talking about their cats.

“Can I ask you something,” Grace asked. “Does Reaper know your coffee order?”

Helen scoffed. “Are you kidding? When he does a coffee run, he’ll have two trays, all of them custom, and always right. It’s uncanny.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He just asked for my order for next time,” Grace said.

“You’re a tea drinker, right?”

“Yeah, I love my hot tea. If I wasn’t here, I’d be home with a book, my cat, and a tea.” She giggled.

“It’s Friday night, Grace. You’re what, twenty-something? You should be out having fun.”

“Twenty-seven. And I’m not a social butterfly. I’m not missing out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

It was the truth. Grace didn’t like the bar scene or parties. She enjoyed quiet, simple pleasures. It would just be nice to have someone to share those moments with.

****

Reaper had been spending way more time at the shelter than usual. Normally, he’d come by once a week or when he was called for help. But since he’d be asked to hang around for extra security this week, he decided to make himself useful. Everyone seemed happy for the extra help—except Grace.

Fuck, she was sugar and venom all rolled into one. But it just made her stick in his thoughts more. When she hadn’t shown up all week, he’d felt a bit disappointed. He wasn’t sure why when she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

He’d already accomplished a lot. He’d built a picnic table out back, painted a bedroom pink, and mended the fences around the property. Before the food order had arrived, he’d given the young kids turns sitting on his bike that was parked outside. They loved it.

Reaper wondered if he’d ever have kids of his own, but quickly shot the thought down. He didn’t trust himself. With his history, he’d fuck things up, repeat a cycle or whatever they called it. It was better for him to live for his club and nothing more.

He’d crossed paths with Grace a few times. Once she was carrying laundry to the basement. He offered to help but she declined, as always. Then she was sitting on the carpet in the family room, making beaded bracelets with Jane and a few other kids. She hadn’t seen him watching that time.

Reaper just didn’t know what her deal was. She was sweet as gold with everyone—the manager, the director, the staff, the volunteers, the admits, the kids, the fucking delivery people. When she saw him, he could practically hear her groan of disgust. What was wrong with him? Everyone loved him, except her. And it drove him nuts. She wasn’t even his type. Hell, no. Grace was too clean, too sweet, too convinced men like him ruined the world. It was just annoying to be so hated for no good reason. Reaper was used to hate, but he always deserved it. This was different.

“I think I saw someone walking along the windows on the east side,” Helen said.

He’d been replacing the batteries in the smoke detectors. At the club, most of them were masters of all trades. He didn’t know everything, but these little jobs were usually no issue.

When Reaper heard that news, he dropped what he was doing.

“Stay inside.”

At this point there was a little crowd of worried staff members. Reaper felt his 9mm in the back of his jeans and headed out the back emergency exit. Sure enough, there was a guy lurking around.

“You’re on private property. You have a good fucking reason for being here?”

“I was just looking for someone,” he said.