Page 45 of The Reaper's Vice

For a few minutes, I stand in the center of her bedroom, listening for any more strange noises—but it’s eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

Wiping the sweat from my palms, I switch the dagger to my other hand and head back to my bedroom, keeping my ears open and steps silent in case that noise sounds again.

Convincing myself I’ve imagined it all, I dive back under the covers, pulling the quilt up to my chin and shutting my eyes resolutely. The sedative is still coursing through my veins, so I should be able to go back to sleep if I?—

Tap… tap… tap…

“Okay, what the fuck?” I sit straight up as the sound scratches the inside of my skull. This time, I know I haven’t imagined it. This time, I know it’s real.

This time, I know it’s coming from my closet.

I launch myself from the bed, clearing the distance to the exit in one jump. My pulse screams as I rip the door open, scrambling from my bedroom with my dagger clenched in a trembling palm. I lean my back against the door to close it, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I reach down, locking it from the outside.

This cannot be happening.

I shake my head, desperately trying to stave off the fog of the sedative. If someoneisin our apartment, then me and Maggie could be in danger.

Maggie…

My eyes dart toward her closed door, a war raging in my mind. If I wake her and tell her about this, she willneverfeel safe here ever again. There will be nowhere she’ll be able to call home, no place she’ll ever find peace.

I’m not even sureifwhat I heard was real, or if it was a product of my fucked-up, drug-adled mind.But if it is real… Maggie is in danger.

I can’t call the police. And not even because of the corruption—the Moriton police department is swamped with homicides, drug trafficking, and more—if I called in, asking them to send out someone because I heard a noise in my apartment, they would laugh at me. Which leaves me with one last option.

Not giving myself the chance to rethink it, I rush toward my backpack sitting on the counter, ripping out the crumpled business card Orion had given me. The numbers are bleeding and crinkled, but I’m able to make out the symbols enough to call him.

I dial him on the landline. It rings and rings, and for one heart-wrenching moment, I’m sure he’s not going to pick up.

“Hello?” The low timbre of his voice crackles through the speaker, and my whole body sags with relief. Although, he does sound like he just woke up…

“Hey, it’s… Brandy. I’m sorry for calling you so late.” I cringe when I get a look at the time on the oven clock—3:30 a.m. “Are you busy right now?”

I try to keep my voice even, but for some godforsaken reason, it comes out breathy and uneven. And it’s not even from the fear of thinking I have a stranger in my apartment—something about the husky tone of his voice has done something to me. Something that has my thighs clenching and my blood heating as he speaks.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, far more alert than a moment ago. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay—I think. I feel stupid for calling. It’s just… I think there’s someone in my house.” The last part comes out barely above a whisper, and my eyes unwittingly jerk to my locked bedroom door. “I heard… something. Could you possibly come over and check it out?”

“I’ll be over right away.” There’s some shuffling in the background—probably him pulling on clothes—and my face heats with embarrassment. I don’t get the chance to apologize, though. “I should be there in ten minutes. Can you hold out till then?”

“Thank you so much, and yes.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m about to hang up, when I realize something. “Wait, I… didn’t give you my address.”

An easy laugh rattles through the speaker. “It’s easy enough for me to trace where you’re calling from, Brandy. Landline, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” I murmur.Just how in the hell does he know that?

“Don’t worry, I’m not some crazed stalker.” He laughs, the joyful sound assuaging some of my anxiety. “It’s the sound of it. I can always tell a landline from a cell phone by the clarity of the voice coming through.”

“Oh… Of course.” I force a breathy laugh. “That makes sense.”

“If you’re worried, barricade yourself in the bathroom until I get there. And it never hurts to be holding something to protect yourself with—a kitchen knife, or a screwdriver.”

“Will do.” I gaze down at the dagger in my palm. “I think I have a kitchen knife around here somewhere.”

He laughs, the sound rich and sinful and sending a rush of blood to my center. “See you soon.”

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