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She may have lost her dignity that fateful night, but Sophie also gained something precious—her son Noah. Unfortunately, Zach’s a deadbeat dad, leaving Ruger to be Noah’s only male role model. When he discovers Sophie and his nephew living in near poverty, Ruger takes matters into his own hands—with the help of the Reapers Motorcycle Club—to give them a better life.
Living with outlaw bikers wasn’t Sophie’s plan for her son, but Ruger isn’t giving her a choice. He’ll be there for Noah, whether she wants him or not. But Sophie does want him, has always wanted him. Now she’ll learn that taking a biker to bed can get a girl dirty in every way…
Check out this exclusive excerpt from Reaper’s Legacy by Joanna Wylde!
“Mom!” Noah called. “Mom, where are you? I can’t believe this, there’s a stream and a little pool to play in. Ruger’s got four-wheelers, too. Horse says they’ll take us on a ride some time!”
Ruger jerked away from Sophie.
“We can’t do this,” she whispered, eyes wide. “This is breaking the rules.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, which was a goddamn shame. For four years they’d played this game, pretending the other didn’t exist. It’d been the right thing to do. Sometimes they’d played it so well he almost believed it. That’s what his nephew needed from them, not some sort of bullshit one-night stand ruining things.
Ruger could get laid any time—Noah only had one mom.
The kid ran in and stopped, eyes wide as he took everything in.
“Is this my room?” he asked.
“Um, yeah,” Ruger said. “Looks like it. What do you think?”
“Cool!” Noah said. “I’ve never had a room like this. Mom, you gotta see the yard!”
He tore off again. Then Horse stuck his head in, offering Ruger a shit-eating grin.
“Nice, ain’t it?”
“We should talk,” Ruger said to him, jerking his chin toward the living room. Sophie took the opportunity to dart through the door and investigate the second bedroom.
Horse nodded, and Ruger followed him out.
“What the fuck happened here?” Ruger asked, keeping his voice low.
“What do you think?” Horse said. “Marie. She and the girls came over to fix the place up. All of ’em. I asked her to.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“You want your baby mama and kid to feel good about stayin’ here, right?” he asked. “Maybe feel safe and welcome? Chicks need that. Figured it would make life easier. Not only that—made the girls happy to do it.”
“A heads-up would’ve been appreciated.”
“You were too busy pretending you don’t wanna fuck Sophie,” he replied, shrugging. “Someone needed to step in. Marie charged everything, by the way. I told her to leave the receipts for you upstairs, on the counter. You can give me a check now or I’ll catch you later.”
“Fuck, didn’t think of that,” he said, looking around again, appraising things with new eyes. How much did TVs cost, anyway? He glanced back at Horse, whose shit-eating grin had grown to full-on mockery.
Oh, crap . . .
“You did this on purpose,” he said. “You did it just to fuck with me, didn’t you? Like you give a flyin’ fuck about welcoming Sophie. You know I can’t take it back now. How much did Marie spend, asshole?”
“I told her to keep it under three grand,” Horse replied innocently. “And I think she got most of the furniture used. You know Marie, never spends money unless she has to. Hell, you don’t even have to pay her back, not like you told her to do it. I’ll cover the bill if you won’t. Not every man provides for his family—takes all kinds. I get that . . .”
“You’re a cocksucking bastard,” Ruger said, advancing on him. Horse laughed.
“You’re a cocksucking bastard,” Noah repeated like a damned parrot. Ruger turned to find the kid standing in the open patio door, looking proud as hell.
“Oh my god,” he heard Sophie gasp. He spun around to find her bracing a hand against the wall at the entrance of the hallway. Fuckin’ perfect, because they really needed more to fight about, right? “Ruger, you can’t say things like that around Noah.”
“Gonna have to work on that mouth of yours, brother,” Horse told him. “Don’t wanna make Sophie mad. Like I said earlier, pretty sure she could take you in a fair fight. I’d pay to see it, too.”
“Get out,” Ruger said to him, jerking his head toward the stairs. “Just get the fuck out. Go home before I shoot you.”
Sophie opened her mouth. Ruger turned and stopped her with one look. Enough.
“This is my house,” he said. “I’ll talk however the fuck I want, and you’ll keep your goddamned mouth shut. Got me?”
She gaped as he turned and stomped back up the stairs. Behind him, he heard Noah chanting, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He needed a beer.
Make that a shot.
About the Author
Joanna Wylde is the author of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series and currently lives in Idaho.
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