Page 38 of Down & Dirty: Reaper

Their formation of over forty sleds with their riders wearing club colors certainly caught some attention. The reactions had been mixed. But on their way back to Church, Wheels had them turn down Main St. in Shadow Valley and Reaper swore it was like a Fourth of July parade with all the people waving and yelling out greetings.

It was good to see the residents had no fear of the club. Probably because the DAMC had been around longer than a majority of the residents. Plus, they ran legit businesses and did charity work for the community.

Crazy enough, the club made a good neighbor.

Earlier he was informed that tonight’s party would be a big shindig, a normal occurrence after the monthly run. Since it was planned in advance, it gave the kitchen, sweet butts, prospects, and a handful of the women plenty of time to prepare.

Once they returned to Church, everyone dispersed. Some went inside, some immediately went out to the courtyard, and some just disappeared. To where? Reaper didn’t know and it also wasn’t his business.

Reaper grabbed a draft beer, took a mouth-watering gander at the full pig spinning slowly on the spit, the table overloaded with sides and junk food, and then walked away.

If he ate any of that, he’d have to consider it a cheat day. It wasn’t like they were serving broiled chicken, roasted vegetables, and quinoa salad. In fact, he could imagine a riot happening if they did.

Even though a band was setting up onstage, rock music blared around the property from unseen speakers. A massive bonfire was already roaring in the middle of the courtyard and bikers stood in small groups around the area, laughing, yelling, and having a good time.

Reaper had no idea who some of the attendees were. Since they didn’t wear cuts, they couldn’t be members or prospects. He had heard that some people liked to hang around clubs. Why? He had no fucking clue. As long as they didn’t cause trouble and weren’t a threat, he also didn’t care.

Not that it was up to him to make sure shit didn’t get out of hand, that would fall on Rage’s shoulders.

But with the copious amount of beer, booze, and weed—and who knew what else—at the pig roast, he could see shit easily going sideways before the night was over.

Sipping at his beer, he headed over to the pavilion so he could park himself at one of the picnic tables and observe. Paying attention to details was a skill he took pride in. Because of it, he didn’t miss Zeke—his new prez and Vi’s bestie—approaching with that loose, but cocky, gait of his.

“Ain’t eatin’?” Zeke parked his ass next to Reaper on top of the wood picnic table.

“Don’t see food in your hand, either.”

He lifted a lit joint. “Workin’ up an appetite first.”

Reaper scanned the yard. “Where’s your boy?”

“With Ky’s parents.”

“They bringing him later?”

“Nah. Tonight’s gonna be a down and dirty, no kids night.” He huffed out a laugh as well as a puff of smoke.

Reaper took Zeke’s words to mean the party might get wild once the sun finished setting. “I guess it’s nice to have family nearby when you have a kid.”

“No fuckin’ shit.” Zeke released a long sigh. “Though, not sure why my grandmother, who’s older than the goddamn Crypt Keeper, is always demandin’ we let her watch him. She can’t handle his active ass. She’d end up in fuckin’ traction with a goddamn broken hip or somethin’.”

The man was a fucking trip. The DAMC president certainly lacked any kind of filter. No wonder he and Vi were close. “Zak’s mother?”

“Yeah. Never met my mom’s parents. They disowned her for hooking up with my pop long before I was born.”

“Damn,” Reaper murmured. “That sucks.”

“Judgmental cunts.”

Reaper joined the Marines the second he was old enough to sign up, just to get away from his own blood. While serving, he found a new family with his brothers in arms, then joined the Shadows and the DAMC.

“Yeah, I get it. My father was a narcissistic asshole and liked to knock my mother around. When I was twelve, she finally had enough of that bullshit and disappeared. One morning I went into the kitchen for breakfast and found it totally trashed, my pickled as fuck father slumped over in a seat at the table, and all of my mother’s shit gone.”

“She ever catch up with you later?”

“Nope. Probably figured I’d end up just like my father and wrote me off. Only thing was, there was no risk of that. I wanted to make sure nobody would look at me and ever fucking say, ‘like father, like son.’ That bastard was a good example of how not to be a man.” He cocked an eyebrow at Zeke.

The prez picked up what Reaper had put down. “Yeah.”