Reapers and Bastards: A Reapers MC Anthology - Wylde Joanna - Страница 16
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Ingredients
1 double pie crust (either made at home or purchased at the store) 3-4 cups huckleberries (or a mix of huckleberries and blueberries if you’re a little short)
4 tablespoons of instant tapioca
? to ? cup sugar (approximate—don’t be afraid to increase or decrease based on your personal preferences as you mix the filling) 2-3 tablespoons fresh orange juice 1 egg white
1 tablespoon cold water
Vanilla ice cream
Instructions
Pre-heat oven to 400 F.
Put ? cup huckleberries, sugar and orange juice in a sauce pan. Heat until the sugar melts and the berries start to burst, creating a sauce. While this cools slightly, combine remaining berries in a bowl with instant tapioca and mix gently with a spoon. Slowly fold in the warm berry mix.
Pour berry mixture into crust, then cover with second layer of crust. Crimp edges and cut several holes or slices in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape. Mix egg white with cold water and brush across the top of the crust. Place pie on sheet and bake for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake until crust is golden brown (approx. 50 minutes, give or take).
Allow pie enough cooling time to set up, then serve warm with vanilla ice cream.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is one of the first scenes from Reaper’s Property, told from an alternative point of view. It is appropriate for readers who haven’t already read the book, and was originally published on my website.
Sticky Sweet
HORSE
“I’m so sick of this shit.”
I pulled the nozzle out of my bike’s gas tank and wiped off my forehead, rubbing my hand dry against my faded jeans. My black leather vest concentrated the heat on my back, and the thought of cramming my head back into my oven of a helmet pissed me off. It’d been a long, hot ride, and the weather in this shithole of a town wasn’t helping my mood. “Fuckin’ excuses, every time I talk to him.”
“Yeah,” Picnic said, glancing toward the convenience store behind the pumps. Max was inside grabbing something to drink. “I hear you. You think Jensen will admit he fucked up or keep up the lies?”
I glanced at him and shrugged, sick of the situation. Why had the Reapers gotten into business with Jeff Jensen, anyway? The guy might be a genius when it came to getting money out of the country, but he was still a fuckin’ stoner. Couldn’t trust them for shit.
No follow-through.
“He doesn’t have a good reason for this latest mess, then I’m about done with the asshole,” I muttered, running the numbers through my head. Jeff had made our motorcycle club a shitload of money, but the constant babysitting . . . I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore. Should’ve kicked him out on his ass when he first came to us with his little business proposal. “Goddamn, it’s hot out here. Why the fuck would anyone choose to live in eastern Washington, anyway?”
Picnic raised a brow.
“I thought he was some kind of idiot savant, a ‘valuable asset’?” he asked lightly. “You told us all about it yesterday. What’s the matter, sun got you all grumpy? You need a cool bath, maybe a Midol to soothe your temper, sweetheart?”
I narrowed my eyes at my club president, then felt a rueful grin tugging at my lips. Pic was right. Reapers didn’t whine like little bitches—I needed to grab sack and deal.
“You’re a dick,” I said. Picnic grinned back at me.
“Ya think?”
“Hey, you ladies ready?” Max yelled, walking out of the store. He stopped next to the bikes, handing over bottles of cold water. “Or do we need some more time to discuss the issue? Because I’m sick of talking about this guy. We should teach him not to fuck with us, so we don’t have to keep making trips like this.”
I ignored Max, dropping my head to one side, stretching out my neck. I wondered if we’d made the right call, bringing a third man along. Max had volunteered, but he had a short temper, and Jensen needed careful management. On the other hand, maybe he was right—a good scare might catch the little fucker’s attention, help him focus.
“Let’s go,” Pic said. I swung a leg over my bike and kicked it to life. Might as well get it over with.
As we rolled down the long, tree-lined driveway toward Jensen’s little shack, I saw an unfamiliar car parked outside. Not Jeff’s Firebird, but some little plastic hatchback thingie. I glanced over at the trailer, seeing a picnic table in the yard. A chick sat up slowly on top of it.
A fuckin’ hot chick.
Trip might not be a total suckfest after all.
The woman watched as we pulled up with a roar, her eyes wide, long dark hair tangled around her face, and tits all but popping out of the microscopic red bikini top she wore. She was small, smaller than my usual type, but she had all the right curves. Her legs were spread, her cutoffs were short and they gaped enough that I could tell she wore something red underneath. The rest of the bikini? Matching panties? G-string? Now that would be real nice . . .
My dick sat up and suggested we investigate.
I’d never been one to ignore my dick.
Glancing over at Pic, I jerked my head toward the girl, silently claiming her. Pic smirked at me, but he shrugged, agreeing. I didn’t bother looking at Max. Brother might want in on the action, but he was still probationary, so he could wait the fuck in line for the next available bitch.
Even as a kid, I hadn’t liked sharing my toys.
We pulled up next to the car and turned off the bikes. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blew out of the hatchback’s windows and I exchanged another quick glance with Picnic, who rolled his eyes. I jerked my chin, a silent fuck you at the older man. Pic wasn’t happy unless he was busting someone’s balls, and I wasn’t in the mood. Although, I had to admit, it was kind of funny. If I didn’t know for a fact Jensen was clueless about our visit, I’d call it a setup. I almost expected a second chick to jump out and start spraying her with a hose, straight out of a goddamn video or something. Best of the ’80s, Trailer Edition Live.
But the genuine panic on the girl’s face said that if Jeff had left her as some sort of peace offering, he hadn’t bothered giving her a heads-up first.
I swung a leg over my bike and strolled toward her, eyes trailing across that sweet little body. Yeah, definitely for me—this one was the stuff of wet dreams. Should I fuck her now or after I ripped Jensen a new asshole? I couldn’t decide . . . Maybe both. She might not be tall, but those legs were plenty long enough to wrap around my waist. Babe was seriously fine, and I felt my jeans tighten as I closed in on her. My nose flared, taking in her scent.
Damn.
I stopped next to the table, mesmerized and horny as hell. The temperature outside didn’t bother me anymore. Neither did the long ride—not with something like this waiting at the end of it. She took deep breaths, chest rising and falling rapidly, and it almost pushed me over the edge. I counted to ten, willing myself not to just grab her and push her down across the table, despite the fact that my cock was 100 percent certain it was the only reasonable course of action. My brain disagreed, and reluctantly I told my cock to shut up.
I wanted to fuck her, not give her a heart attack.
But I needed a little taste.
Just one.
Holding her gaze, I reached out with a finger and traced her collarbone from her shoulder inward, then slid it down between her breasts, grazing her cleavage. I couldn’t help myself. She quivered like a deer hit by headlights as I raised the finger to my mouth, tasting her.
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