Chapter 3: Try Me, Reaper

WIDOW Rafe Callahan had apparently mistaken my refusal to obey him for an invitation to try harder, which was adorable in the same way a mosquito buzzing around your bedroom at three in the morning was adorable. Neither was getting what it wanted. I stood in my kitchen, drinking coffee and studying the route map spread across the counter while my breakfast toast cooled beside it. Outside, the morning sun shone over my two-story cedar-wood house, and the massive garage beyond the back windows was already coming to life as my women arrived for the day's work. Reaper had made his position clear at the service stop. The corridor belonged to nobody, but apparently that principle applied only when he was the one using it. My phone buzzed. Viper: Raven's Blood riders are blocking the eastern approach. Me: How thoughtful. Did they bring refreshments? Viper: No refreshments. Several motorcycles and one very grumpy road captain. Me: Then they're clearly unprepared for negotiations. I finished my coffee, brushed the crumbs from my fingers, and grabbed my jacket before heading outside. Storm stood beside the workbench in the garage, examining the route map with Razor. Viper was leaning against a tool cabinet, while Havoc checked the straps on a set of saddlebags. The rest of the women were preparing their motorcycles, chatting as they worked. Every woman in that garage knew how to ride, fight, and think under pressure. Nobody had earned her place by standing around looking decorative, and nobody was about to start now. "Morning, ladies. Our favorite arrogant bastard has decided to play traffic cop." I announced. "Should we bring him a little uniform?" Razor asked as she glanced up. "Only if it comes with a whistle and a personality transplant." I said. Storm laughed as I spread the map across the workbench. "What's the plan?" She asked. "We take the corridor, reach the delivery point, and finish our business before Reaper has time to invent another reason we're inconveniencing his royal existence." I said. "His riders have parked across the main access road. They're expecting us to turn around." Viper said as she pointed at the eastern approach. "Then let's disappoint them." I said. I traced a finger along the map, following the main road toward an old quarry track that curved around the western ridge. The track was used by local maintenance crews and connected to the service road beyond the disputed section. It was narrow in places, but the surface was stable, and the latest maintenance marks showed that the drainage work had been completed. "We'll take the western bypass. Storm, you lead the second group. Razor, check the surface when we reach the first bend, and call it if anything looks unsafe. Nobody takes unnecessary risks to prove a point." I ordered. "What if the point is particularly satisfying?" Havoc grinned. "Then enjoy the satisfaction while following instructions." I said. "You're taking all the romance out of this." She said. "Try dating a man who owns a calendar. It's a thrilling experience." I said. The women laughed, and I rolled the map back up. Within twenty minutes, we were on the road. The morning air carried the smell of damp earth and gasoline as our motorcycles moved through the industrial district. I led the formation toward the disputed corridor, keeping our spacing tight and our speed steady. We weren't racing, and I wasn't interested in giving Reaper an excuse to claim we'd endangered anyone. At the junction, his men were exactly where Viper had reported. Six Raven's Blood riders stood across the main access road, their motorcycles angled to prevent a vehicle from passing. Diesel was among them, arms folded over his chest, looking like a man who'd rather be doing almost anything else. He spotted us and lifted a hand. I slowed, but I didn't stop. Diesel stepped forward, clearly expecting me to turn around when I saw the blockade. Instead, I guided my motorcycle toward the western track, and the Blackwidows followed in formation. One of his men called after us. "That road isn't suitable for a full group!" The man yelled. I raised a hand in acknowledgment without changing direction. We had inspected the route beforehand, and I knew exactly where the loose gravel ended and the compacted surface began. The first bend narrowed between the ridge and a drainage ditch, so I reduced speed and signaled the women behind me to maintain their spacing. Storm's group followed smoothly, with Razor checking the surface as planned. Nobody crowded the rider ahead, and nobody needed to show off. The track curved around the ridge, descended through a stand of eucalyptus trees, and joined the service road on the far side of the blockade. By the time we reached the main corridor again, the road was clear. I glanced at my watch. We were ahead of schedule. "Well. That was terribly disappointing. Nobody crashed, nobody screamed, and I didn't even get to insult Diesel." Viper said through our communication system. "There's always tomorrow." I said. "You're right. I'll prepare something special." She said. We continued toward the destination, a roadside equipment depot where Frank's supplier had arranged to meet us. The depot owner had been hesitant to deal with either club after the Savage Saints began pressuring local businesses, so I wanted to make sure the delivery went smoothly. When we arrived, the owner was waiting beside his truck. "You're early." He said, looking past me as the other Blackwidows pulled in. "I've developed a terrible habit of being competent." I said. He chuckled, visibly relieved. We checked the delivery, confirmed everything was accounted for, and finished the handover without a problem. I was tightening my helmet strap when the sound of approaching motorcycles reached us. Naturally. Raven's Blood rolled into the depot, with Diesel at the front and Reaper riding behind him. Rafe dismounted, removed his helmet, and surveyed the scene. His gaze moved from the delivery truck to the assembled Blackwidows before settling on me. His expression suggested someone had personally ruined his breakfast. So I smiled. "Reaper. You look surprised. Did the road move?" I asked. "You were told the eastern approach was blocked." He said as he strode toward me. "And I listened. Then I used another road." I said. "You deliberately went around my men." He said. "Your men were standing across a public access road. I assumed they were holding a meeting about poor parking." I said. Diesel coughed into his fist, and I caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You could have turned back." Reaper said as his eyes narrowed. "I could also have stayed home and alphabetized my socks, but neither option appealed to me." I said. "Do you ever take anything seriously?" He asked. "Absolutely. Safety, loyalty, and the difference between a leader and a man who thinks giving orders makes him important." I said. The humor slipped from his expression. I held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat. My women remained close behind me, calm and watchful. They didn't need to threaten anyone to make their position clear. Reaper glanced at them, then returned his attention to me. "You knew we'd block the main route." He said. "I suspected you'd try." I said. "And you planned around it." He said. "Congratulations. You can identify a plan when it's standing in front of you." I said. "You could have caused an accident taking that track." He said as his jaw flexed. "Which is why we checked it, confirmed the surface was safe, and rode at an appropriate speed. I don't gamble with my women's lives to win an argument." I said. For a moment, he said nothing. That silence interested me more than another threat would have. Reaper understood the difference between recklessness and preparation, even if he disliked the fact that I'd outmaneuvered him. I stepped closer, lowering my voice just enough to keep the conversation between us. "You don't own this corridor, Rafe, and you certainly don't own my movements. If you have a legitimate concern, speak to me like another club president. If you're trying to make me obey you, save your breath." I said. His gaze held mine, dark and stubborn. "You think you can do whatever you want?" He asked. "No. I think I can make my own decisions, accept the consequences, and refuse to let another president dictate how I run my club." I said. Behind him, Griffin exchanged a glance with Diesel. Neither looked particularly eager to intervene. Reaper moved a fraction closer, and I caught the faint scent of leather and his aftershave. It was irritating that a man with such an infuriating personality had managed to smell that good. I refused to let my face reveal the observation. "You're going to get yourself into trouble, Widowmaker." He said. "Then I suppose it's fortunate I have a talent for getting myself out of it." I said as I tilted my head. His mouth tightened, although something flickered behind his eyes that looked suspiciously like amusement. "One day, your mouth is going to get you hurt." He said. "Perhaps. Until then, you'll have to settle for being offended." I said. I turned away before he could answer, motioning for my women to mount up. We had finished our business, the delivery was secure, and I had no intention of wasting the morning arguing with a man who seemed determined to make it his full-time occupation. As our engines started, Reaper called after me. "This isn't over." He said. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled. "Of course it isn't, Reaper. You haven't learned anything yet." I said. Then I rode away, leaving him standing beside the depot with his men and his blocked route. For the first time that morning, I wondered whether irritating Rafe Callahan was becoming a little too enjoyable. That thought was considerably more dangerous than the road we'd just taken, and I had a feeling it would cause me far more trouble.