The Outcast MC - Reaper # 1

Chapter 7

They don't seem to want to waste any time as as they continually trail behind me. Determined to carry on with my day, I decide to visit the mall and indulge in some window shopping. Their lack of discretion makes me wonder if they deliberately position themselves just a few meters away, making it impossible to ignore their constant presence. Are they under the impression that they exude intimidation? It's a pity that I have to let them have the upper hand in order to infiltrate better, because their behavior infuriates me. They clearly lack self-respect. They think sleeping with every member of the MC grants them some kind of power, yet they fail to recognize that they are nothing more than doormats, mere vessels. It's almost comical, really. We should organize a telethon to fund a transplant of dignity for them.As I make my way to the supermarket, they resume their pursuit. I find myself pondering whether I should provoke them or if they're simply scouting. Navigating the aisles, they remain in close proximity, observing my every move. I conclude my shopping, my groceries paid for, and step outside, half-expecting to find them waiting by my car. Surprisingly, they are nowhere to be found. I resist the urge to search for them and instead proceed with my normal routine. Loading my groceries into the trunk, I glance in the rearview mirror repeatedly, but there is no sign of anyone tailing me. I can't help but wonder why they gave up. Is it because I chose to ignore them? By confining myself to public places, I denied them the opportunity to attack me."

Elizabeth is not typically the type of girl who would consider getting a tattoo. However, that doesn't stop her from being curious about the price of an Aladdin's lamp or a flower design. Elizabeth knows that frequenting another business owned by the MC will likely anger them. I put away my groceries and start preparing my meal when my phone rings, interrupting my creative cooking process. The sausages are boiling, and I'm about to toast my bread in the oven to enhance its taste, to make it less disappointing than if I just took it out of the bag. My weapons are ready—mustard and ketchup bottles.

"Hello?" I asked, uncertain of the caller's identity, but recognizing the local area code.

"Liz? It's Vanessa."

I'm relieved she called—it's a step forward. I turn off the stove and take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Is this a good time? Are you busy?"

"No, it's fine, don't worry."

"Maybe you were about to have dinner, and your husband is waiting for you?"

"I'm single, Vanessa. I live alone. I left Texas because... well, that's a story for another time."

"I'm sorry, Liz. I... I just..."

"Don't be embarrassed. Tell me what's on your mind."

"I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Okay, do you want to come over? I was planning to make hot dogs. I don't have any alcohol, but I do make the best lemonade in the world."

"Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Are you on your way? I can't hear your car engine. Write down my address, and I'll be waiting for you."

As soon as I hang up, I prepare a set-up on the sofa for Vanessa. She needs someone to confide in, and I'll be there for her. Whoever harmed her will face the consequencesDuring my law studies, I learned about the ancient Babylonian law of retaliation, dating back over 3,700 years—an eye for an eye. As an American and a capitalist, I believe in self-interest. If you strike me once, I'll strike you twice.

When Vanessa parks, I notice she has made a stop at the pit stop, which is a worrisome sign. It's clear that she intends to drown her sorrows in alcohol. It's during these moments that our alcoholic brains often come up with bad ideas.