It wasn’t anything fancy—just some chicken sandwiches, veggie sticks and watermelon, with cream-cheese brownies for dessert—but he seemed to appreciate it.

“Jeff’s lucky to have you around,” he said between bites. “I wish I had someone taking care of me like this.”

“You live on your own?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but we hadn’t actually talked about it. Probably should have asked that before grabbing his dick in the pool.

Oops.

“Been on my own since I got out of the service.”

“Army?”

“Marines. Two tours in Afghanistan, that was enough. Came back, bounced around for a while, joined the club.”

I wanted to ask how it had been overseas, but it wasn’t exactly a question you just blurted out, so I just gave him a questioning look, hoping he’d volunteer something. He caught my eye and smiled, eyes crinkling just a little bit around the edges. Seeing those tiny wrinkles reminded me that I didn’t even know how old he was.

Hell, I didn’t even know his real name. Double oops.

“What’s your name?”

“Horse.”

“I mean your real name,” I replied, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I don’t know you at all, it’s weird. Tell me something.”

“My real name is Horse, that’s what I go by. That’s what the people who know me use. But if you want to see my driver’s license, have at it.” He reached over, snagging his jeans and dragging them toward us. He pulled out the leather wallet attached to his pants with a chain, flipped it open and slid out his license. I took it and giggled when I saw his name.

Marcus Antonius Caesar McDonnell.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replied, grinning. “Mom had me while Dad was serving time. Wasn’t a long haul, but damn she was pissed at him for leaving her alone while she was knocked up. She loved history and was reading this whole big series about Rome, so decided fuck it and named me after some Roman general. Worst part? She didn’t even get the name right. Marcus Antonius Caesar wasn’t a real guy. Dad shit himself, but by the time he got out it was a done deal.”

“I can’t decide if that name kicks ass or is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, giggling.

“It’s my name, therefore it kicks ass,” he replied gravely. “Seriously, though, I never used it. Dad’s the one who named me Horse, first time he saw me.”

“Wow, even back then?”

“Even back then,” he said, looking smug. “It stuck. Mom hates it.”

“So it says here that you’re thirty years old and live in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.”

“Correct.”

“And that’s where the club is based?”

“That’s where my charter is. The mother charter is down in Oregon, we’ve got seventeen overall. Not the biggest, but we’re dominant in our territory, which goes a long way. We’ve got nomads all over the country too, and even some guys overseas fighting. The Reapers were founded by Marines after ’Nam, and that’s still where a lot of our prospects come from.”

Wow, Horse was suddenly a font of information. I decided to push my luck.

“So what do you do?”

He cocked his head at me.

“I’m in a motorcycle club, babe.”

I laughed.

“No, I mean what do you do for a job?”

“I work for the club, mostly. We have different businesses, pretty well established in our area. Got a pawn shop, a bar, a gun shop and a garage. I do the books.”

That surprised me. I couldn’t see Horse stooped over a ledger, counting money.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he replied, laughing. “Just ’cause I’m the picture of manly perfection doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain. I’m actually pretty good at math, took a few classes through the GI Bill and now you see me, a regular fuckin’ accountant. Our finances are more complex than you’d think.”

“So my brother’s doing website design for your businesses?”

The smile on his face died, and he shook his head.

“That’s club business, babe, and not the kind we talk about. Enough questions.”

With that he reached and caught me behind the neck, pulling me in for a kiss. I dropped my food, but I didn’t mind because he draped me across his lap, lips exploring mine slowly. When the kiss ended, I smiled up at him.

“I like how you change the subject.”

“Glad I could be of service. Let’s get this cleaned up, there’s something else I wanna use the blanket for.”

Worked for me.

I rolled off his lap to my knees, collecting everything up and putting it back into the bag.

“Hey, why aren’t you helping?” I demanded playfully.

“Enjoying the view. Love that sweet ass of yours.”

I shook it at him, smirking, and he crawled over to me, cupping my cheeks in his hands, rubbing the inside curves where they met my thighs with the pads of his thumbs.

“Fuckin’ hot, babe. Can’t wait to get inside.”

I shivered, pushing back at him.

“So goddamn sweet,” he muttered, dropping his head down to kiss the small of my back.

Sweet.

Sweet ass.

Sweet butt.

“Horse, what does sweet butt mean?” I asked suddenly. He stilled. “I know you said you call me that to piss me off, but it means more. I know it does. Tell me.”

“Doesn’t matter, babe, you’re not one of them.”

Uh-oh. I pulled away from him, cooling a little. Didn’t like the sound of that at all. I sat down, facing him, knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them pointedly, and waited.

“Drop it, babe,” Horse muttered, sitting back on his heels. “We’re in a good place, let’s just let this flow like it should. You’re thinking too much.”

“When a man tells me I shouldn’t think, that’s a bad sign,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Explain. Now.”

Horse ran a hand through his hair and shrugged.

“You don’t know much about the Reapers, do you? Or motorcycle clubs in general?”

“I don’t know anything about them,” I said.

“Well, bikers—bikers like us, part of a club for life—are a different culture,” he said after a short pause. “We’re not regular citizens, we’re more like a tribe that shares territory with citizens but only answers to our own kind. Everyone who’s part of the tribe has their place.”

“Okay,” I replied, wondering where this was going.

“Fuck, this is gonna piss you off and then you aren’t gonna let me stick my dick in you,” he muttered.

“Do you have to be so crude?” I snapped.

“Have you met me?”

“Who says I’d let you do it anyway?”

“Babe,” he replied in a low, rough voice, raising his eyebrow at me. I blushed. Okay, yes, I’d planned on it.

But that could change.

“So tell me.”

“Well, there’s two kinds of people, those who are in the club and those who aren’t,” he said. “If you’re in the club, you’re family, and we’ve got each other’s backs. You got a cut and three patches, you’re a member and you vote. We got prospects too, who aren’t full members yet, but if they don’t punk out, they will be eventually.”

“What about women?”

“No women in the club,” he said, shaking his head. “Women hang around the club, but they aren’t part of it.”

“Sounds pretty sexist.”

“It is what it is,” he replied with a shrug. “Don’t have to like it, but that’s the reality in the MC world. Remember, we don’t live in your world, we live in ours and the rules are different. Some clubs let women ride, ours doesn’t. We’re old school. Seriously old school. But that doesn’t mean women aren’t important to us.”

I didn’t like the direction this was headed.

“A man takes a woman, means to keep her, she becomes his property,” Horse continued. “We covered that before—it’s a sign of commitment, of respect. It means he’ll protect her and everyone else better keep their fucking hands off her or be ready to fight him and all his brothers. You do not want to fuck with a man’s old lady.”

“Sounds messed up, Horse.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated.

“You’re judging it by citizen standards, but we’re not like you,” he said. “Remember, we’re a tribe. We live together, we die together and what’s ours is ours. When times are good, we’re all good. Bad times, we may eat shit but we eat it together. Most people can’t handle that level of commitment. It’s like when you’re in combat and taking fire—you have to trust that your brothers would rather die than let you down. You feel that kind of brotherhood during war but when you come back home people expect you to sit down and work in an office like it never happened. Men—at least men like me—don’t work like that. I turned into something else in Afghanistan and I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. In the club, they don’t ask me to.”