Reaper & Lil Manic (A Read online

  REAPER AND LIL’ MANIAC

  COVER BY QAMBER DESIGNS

  FORMATTING: CHAMPAGNE BOOK DESIGN

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 REAPER’S RISE BY KL SAVAGE

  EDITING: MASQUE OF THE RED PEN

  COPYRIGHT© 2020 REAPER BY KL SAVAGE

  EDITING: MASQUE OF THE RED PEN

  COPYRIGHT© 2020 A RUTHLESS CHRISTMAS BY KL SAVAGE

  EDITING: MASQUE OF THE RED PEN & INFINITE WELL

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. REAPER’S RISE is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  REAPER'S RISE

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  REAPER

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A RUTHLESS CHRISTMAS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A RUTHLESS CHRISTMAS PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ALSO BY K.L. SAVAGE

  To my support system, thanks for pushing me and

  backing me 110%

  2012

  Being a Ruthless King is for life. Even after death, whenever that may greet us. In this life, death can come sooner rather than later. Not a lot of people are made for this life. We’re a special breed. We’re a little bit of light with a whole lot of dark.

  We do good things too and toe the line of the law. It’s toeing the line that gets us in deep. It’s toeing the line that makes us say goodbye to a brother and friend. And when that happens, I know they died for the good of the club, but part of me hates it.

  I’m the President of the Ruthless Kings, which means I call most of the shots. I determine what needs to be called to a vote. I send my boys on a run to take care of business, and I’m left with a massive amount of guilt when one of them doesn’t come back alive.

  Like Hawk.

  A brother, father, and a good fucking friend. He was my VP. The one person I trusted in this world, and someone shot him right between the eyes. A quick death, but a death he didn’t deserve.

  We just arrived back at the clubhouse after the funeral to start the celebratory party for Hawk. It’s on the outskirts of the Vegas strip, secluded by the desert, but we’re close enough to the main drag since most of our business is in Sin City.

  “Coming, Reaper?” Tool asks as he dismounts his Harley, kicking up dust from underneath his boots.

  I nod, staring at the busy lights a few miles down the road illuminating the sky. I fucking love Vegas. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Tool gives me an odd look as he shoves a screwdriver behind his ear like it’s a cigarette. We all know what it’s for, though, and it isn’t for carpentry. He’s a scary son-of-a-bitch. It’s one of the many reasons why I know he’ll be my next VP. I hate to think about that right now, but it’s just how it is in this world.

  Reaching into my cut pocket, I pull out a pack of smokes and place one between my lips. The familiar click of a light has me turning my head, and Knives comes into view. The glow of the flame illuminates his face in the night, and his cold, calculating eyes land on the cigarette between my lips.

  “Those things will kill ya, Prez.”

  I snort, not really giving a fuck what can kill me at this point. “So can a gunshot wound to the head, but you don’t see me walking around with a third eye, do you?” I inhale the rancid smoke until my lungs can’t expand anymore. My nerves calm, going from a strong magnitude earthquake to a slight tremor. Tilting my head, I blow the cloud of smoke into the air, watching it sway and swirl as it floats higher in the sky. “Anything can kill you,” I say, keeping my eyes on the stars above me.

  “But why bother killing yourself quicker?” he asks.

  I’m really in no mood for a lecture. “Go inside, Knives.”

  He starts to walk away, but as he steps onto the deck of the old saloon we converted into our clubhouse, he stops, giving me the view of the back of his cut. “We’re all going to miss him. He was loyal. It doesn’t get better than him.” He doesn’t turn his head, facing forward to talk to the wall ahead of him. I know the words are meant for me. With that, his boots pound against the old wooden slats, and when he opens the door, loud conversation and music flow out.

  The door closes, leaving me in silence again. Fuck.

  Just … fuck.

  He was too young to go like that. He had his entire life ahead of him. And a kid, damn it. A kid who has to grow up without a father now. I grip the butt of the cigarette between my fingers and rub my temples with my free hand.

  When my father decided to hang his cut up a few years ago and make me President, I knew challenges like this were going to be faced. My dad lost men while he was in charge, but it didn’t happen so soon into his reign.

  What does that say about me?

  I take another hit of my smoke and blow it out. “Fuck you, Hawk. You bastard.” I swing my leg over my Road King and kick the dirt. “Fuck you!” I scream while flicking the cigarette away. I need to go for a walk. I need to clear my head.

  That is until I see his bike sitting on a flatbed truck, all fucking mangled to shit from when his dead body went limp while riding and the beast of a motorcycle skid a hundred yards.

  I fold my hands on the ste
el bed of the tow truck, staring at the metal my friend spent his days and nights perfecting. All for what? I scrub my hands over my face as the door opens, letting out all that damn noise again.

  “You alright?” Tool asks, leaning against the truck too.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “What are we going to do with the bike?” he asks. “It’s beyond repair.”

  Fury bubbles my veins, and I grab Tool by his cut and slam his back against the truck. When I speak, spit flies. “No one fucking touches that bike; do you understand me? It’ll sit there as long as I want. No one touches it. That’s an order.”

  He holds up his hands in surrender, not attempting to fight me. “You got it. I’ll make sure word gets around.”

  “You do that.” I throw him to the side, and he stumbles a bit, but he still doesn’t go anywhere. I start to get annoyed. “What is it?”

  “People are waiting for you in there. We’re going to hang his cut up.”

  That makes it official.

  “There’s a lot to talk about, Reaper. There’s a lot of loose ends Hawk had that we need to deal with.”

  My fists clench at my sides. “You don’t think I know that? I want five minutes of fucking peace, but you fuckers won’t leave me alone. Five minutes. Can you manage?” I know I’m being a dick, but it isn’t very often that I lose my best friend. I need a minute to get my head on straight and be the man the club sees me as.

  The President. The man who holds all the answers.

  Right now, I don’t have any. The only thing I feel is an overwhelming amount of anger.

  Tool still stands there, keeping his mouth shut. I’m not sure how long we stay outside against the flatbed. It’s getting cooler out, the disadvantage of living in the desert.

  “Let’s go.” I push my boot off the tire and pass a few bikes before coming to the clubhouse steps. Each foot I put in front of the other only makes it that much more real. With a deep breath, I exhale and push the saloon doors open with my hands. They creak and swing as they close behind me, and the noise dies down as everyone stops what they are doing to look at me.

  Everyone knows how close Hawk and I were. Childhood best friends, soldiers together, and rebels together. Making my way toward the bar, Millie, one of the cut sluts, pours me a shot of whiskey and leaves the bottle. Good girl.

  Someone taps my shoulder. It’s Poodle, one of the newer Prospects. Hawk kind of took the kid under his wing, and I can tell he’s pretty beat up over his death. “Hawk wanted me to give this to you, in case anything happened to him.” Poodle holds out an envelope, old by the looks of it. It’s stained with dirt and age, but my name is written on the front.

  Not my road name, my birth name. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. I scratch my thumb over the faded ink. “When did he give this to you?” I ask, emotion clogging my throat. “You haven’t been around that long to have this.”

  “He had it before me. He said he was tired of having it. He didn’t want you to have it because he said you’d be pissed.”

  “Not to interrupt, Prez, but what are we going to do with the kid?” Slingshot is a new prospect who showed up around the same time as Poodle.

  “Shut up, Slingshot.” I take his shot and down it myself, then slam the glass in front of him.

  The smell of smoke, sex, and booze fills the air, and for the first time, I don’t want to be around it. I want privacy between me and the last words of my friend. I stomp to my office. The right side of the door is worn where I’ve kicked it open so many times with my steel-toe boots. So I do it again, and on the other side, I kick it shut in the same spot. I close the blinds and walk around the table to plop in my chair when I see an old coffee mug Hawk left out last week.

  Has it been that long since I’ve been in here?

  Tearing the envelope open, I grab the bottle of whiskey on the side of my desk, take a swig, and read.

  We both knew the road would come to this. I never would have bothered writing a letter if it wasn’t for my son, Jenkins. I’ll keep this short and sweet because I don’t do it any other way.

  I snort when I chuckle. He always loved to get straight to the point.

  I don’t want my kid in the foster system. He knows the club. Don’t deny him that. I want him to have my cut one day. My bike too. And if that bike is beyond repair and that’s why I’m dead, fix it. I want him to have it. I want him to have everything. There’s a bank account in his name. All the papers are in my safety deposit box. In the event of my death, you’re his guardian, Reap. I know you never wanted kids, but man, this is my flesh and blood, and I need you to do this for me. That kid deserves a shot at life. Being from a whore and a man like me, I thought he didn’t have a chance, but man, is he smart. Losing me and the club will be too much for him. You’re his family.

  We’ve had good times. I’m sorry to see them end. Be good. Raise hell. Keep an eye on Jenkins for me. You were my brother.

  I’m not going to say I love you.

  Hawk

  I lean back in my chair and toss the letter on my desk, thinking about what Hawk wants from me. So many things will change if I do this. My entire life will revolve around someone that I have no clue how to take care of. Being an uncle is one thing, but being a dad? I don’t know the first thing about a ten-year-old boy.

  In the grand scheme of things, I’m not a good man. I’ve done horrible things. Good things too, but I’m more off balance than I am centered, and a kid needs balance.

  But I can’t let Hawk down.

  So what the hell am I going to do with a kid?

  2012

  Three Months Later

  “Yeah?” I answer the phone, putting everyone’s names in the planner for tonight’s private game. Gambling, while it’s frowned upon, is a good way to make money, especially underground where people play the big stacks of cash.

  It’s one of the many cookie jars we have our hands in.

  “This is Principal—”

  I get up from my chair so fast, the force causes it to fly against the wall. “What the hell did he do this time?” I growl and pinch the bridge of my nose. This damn kid is going to put me into my grave early.

  “He set the trash can in my office on fire, Mr. … Uh, Reaper.”

  That’s the third trash can this week.

  “He is suspended from school for two days.”

  I slam my fist against the counter and hold my phone from my ear. That little shit. I swear when I see him, I’m going to snap all his fingers so he can’t light another match. I have no idea what to tell this clown who’s calling me. The principal knows that Jenkins is affiliated with the Ruthless Kings. I can hear the fear in his voice every time he calls.

  “I’ll have one of my men come and pick him up.” I think of a punishment I can give him, something he hates more than anything. Being ten-years-old, he hates everything but a screen in front of his face.

  A screen. That’s it. I’ll just take away all his screens. That means taking away the screen from everyone else too, but I have to do what I have to do. This kid is my responsibility. It’s up to me to make sure he grows up with a good head on his shoulders.

  “There is a long list of names here that can pick him up. Will it be, um—” He clears his throat and I can’t help but smile, imagining him loosening his tie because he is sweating bullets. “Bullseye, Tool, Knives?”

  “Not sure. You’ll know when they get there,” I say, and a knock at the door interrupts me. It’s Poodle. I lift a hand, telling him to wait. “I’ll send someone now.” I hang up the phone and toss it on the desk, and stretch, then wave him in. Prospects aren’t allowed in without permission.

  “Problems with the little one?” Poodle asks as he takes the chair in front of me. I’m thinking in a few months, we’ll patch him in. Maybe sooner, if I can get this kid to obey.

  It hasn’t been easy with Jenkins the last three months. He’s lashed out and has told every single member of the club that he hates them. He’
s disrespectful, but I need to remember his dad just died, so he has a right to his emotions. When I was his age, my dad would slap the shit out of me if I acted the way this kid does, but I ain’t about to lay my hand on someone younger and smaller than me. There are other ways to make him listen, I just need to figure it out.

  “He set another trash can on fire.”

  “Little pyro, that one.” Poodle snickers.

  “It’s funny until he burns something down, like an entire building.” I sigh. “Good thing you’re here, Prospect. I need you to go pick up the kid.”

  “Again?” he groans.

  “As many times as I fucking tell you to. Now go.”

  Whatever he wants to ask me can wait until later. Right now, I need my nephew here so I can talk to him about school and how important it is that he makes something out of himself. If he ever wants to be a part of this club, he has got to be useful.

  We do illegal things sometimes, like forging documents and making new identifications for people when they need out of a bad situation, but I’m trying to get us on a narrower straighter path. I want people to know that the city of Vegas is protected by the Ruthless Kings. I want my men to have good careers outside the club. I’ve seen too many chapters get torn apart by the law, and I refuse to let that happen to mine.

  A few members are scattered in the police department, fire houses, casinos as bartenders, blackjack dealers; anything this town can dream up, we’re part of it.

  Even the cut sluts have jobs other than servicing us. Most of them are showgirls, and a few here and there are strippers. When they work, we always make sure they’re protected. We care about our girls. The clubhouse wouldn’t have the same charm without a little femininity to challenge the men.

  There’s no judgment here. We all have to do what we have to do to live.

  And while our girls work, we always make sure they are protected. We care about them.

  But I won’t have my men challenged by a ten-year-old who can barely piss straight.

  “Poodle?”

  “Yeah?” He pokes his head inside the door.