Reaper's Fall

We gave the bikes one more check before starting down the street, and I wondered if Gage was as unsettled by the current state of his ride as I was. I’d stripped off the whips and anything that could identify me as a Reaper. Felt kinda like standing outside naked without them . . . I got why we needed to go undercover, but it felt wrong. I was used to wearing my colors proud, and fuck anyone who had a problem with that.

The restaurant door gave a welcoming chime as I pushed it open. It was only midafternoon, so there weren’t a ton of people inside. Just a couple old guys sitting at the counter nursing their coffee and a table full of girls giggling and drinking milk shakes.

“You boys hungry?” a middle-aged woman asked, stepping around the counter to walk toward us. I forced myself not to react, but I swear to fuck she looked like a cartoon parody of a greasy spoon waitress. Big blonde hair, all up in some kind of beehive. Bright red lips and eye shadow so blue it could’ve been neon. Pair that with the pink uniform she wore and she was literally the least attractive human female I’d ever met in my life. I mean, not just unsexy, but actively creepy. I sort of wanted to take a picture of her, just to prove to myself later she was real.

“We’ve got our breakfast special,” she said. “It’s the breakfast platter. Three eggs, your choice of meat, hash browns, toast, and a bottomless cup of coffee. Best food in town.”

“Sounds great,” Gage said without blinking. She smiled at him, the expression transforming her face until it seemed less cartoonish.

“Seat yourselves,” she said. “Not like we have a shortage of space.”

I nodded toward a table near the window that’d give us a good view of the street while keeping us off to the side of the diner. Gage put his back to the wall, leaving me exposed—which I fucking hated—but he’d been the club’s sergeant at arms for nearly a decade. Not a guy you want to piss off, if you catch my meaning.

I settled myself, looking out across the street. The buildings here were old—lots of character. The one directly opposite us was built from some kind of sandstone, and above the windows it read “Reimers Pharmacy” with the Rx symbol. The Reimers seemed to be long gone, though, because below was the girliest shopfront I’d ever seen. There was china, antiquey shit, and even some old-fashioned toys in the window front, along with some fancy little tables on legs that didn’t seem quite strong enough to hold a man’s weight. Kind of like an old-fashioned ice cream parlor.

Across the window, a sign read, “Tinker’s Teahouse, Antiques & Fine Chocolates.”

I nodded toward it.

“You see that?” I asked Gage. He glanced over at the store.

“Huh. That’s different.”

“You boys want the special?” our waitress asked, and I’m man enough to admit she scared the hell out of me. Not only was she suddenly damned close, she’d snuck up on us without making a sound. I stared at the neon eyeshadow, mesmerized.

Shit. Maybe she wasn’t human.

“We’ll have two specials,” Gage said, offering her one of those smiles that made women’s panties drop. “Could use that coffee now, too. Been a long day.”

She offered him a sickly sweet smile, and I sighed, wishing I was back in Coeur d’Alene with Mel.

• • •

By the time the waitress finished taking our order—it took a while, given how chatty she was—a cherry red Mustang convertible had pulled up outside the restaurant. The car was a beauty, but it was the driver who really caught my attention when she stepped out into the street, all long dark hair and sunglasses. Deep red lipstick, pale skin . . . I couldn’t peg her age from here, but based on those curves she wasn’t a teenager.

Then she walked around to the back of the car and leaned over to open the trunk, clearly outlining the silhouette of a perfect ass wrapped beautifully in a skinny, knee-length skirt with a slit up the back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gage said, his voice soft. “Who is that?”

“That’s Tinker Garrett,” our waitress said, sneaking up behind us again. “She owns the little tea shop across the way.”

There was something snide and nasty in her tone. Gage and I shared a glance.

“She doesn’t look like she owns a tea shop,” Gage said, leading her on. The waitress sniffed.

“She moved to Seattle after high school,” she said. “Thought she was hot shit. Then her husband dumped her and she came crawling back to town. That shop of hers can’t earn enough to stay open—not enough people pass through here. If you ask me, she’s up to something.”

Gage glanced at me, mouth twitching. I leaned toward the woman, asking a follow-up question in a tense whisper.

“What kind of thing do you think she’s up to?” I asked, eyes wide. “Do you think it’s . . . nefarious?”

Gage choked on a cough. Nice. Holding down that laughter was probably killing him.

“I have my suspicions,” she sniffed. “She dresses like a whore, you know. And I heard she goes dancing sometimes down in Ellensburg. Likes to pick up college boys. What do they call that? Being a mountain lion? Shameful.”

Gage turned away, shoulders shaking.

“Good to know,” I said seriously. “We’ll stay clear of her.”

“You do that,” the waitress replied, nodding sagely. “God knows what kind of stuff she’s selling in that place. I’ll bet those chocolates have drugs in them. Marijuana.”