Page 32 of Reaper & the Lioness
I smirked as I strode toward my bedroom. “If you’re not ready for the answer to that, I suggest you not ask the question.”
Within thirty minutes, I’d showered, changed the sheets on my bed, brought a stack of blankets and sheets to my pull-out couch, and served Eva and me each a heavy pour of Jack Daniel’s. Hawk gnawed on my fingers as I watched Eva stare at the wall, lost in thought.
The rumble of Thane’s truck broke the silence. Rhetta burst through the door, enveloping Eva in a hug.
“Sugar, I don’t know whose cheerios you pissed in, but I’m glad Reaper was there. He’ll keep you safe.”
I stepped outside beside Thane, who pulled a dog crate filled with bowls, food, and toys from the bed of his truck.
“Well, this escalated quickly,” he joked with a Marlboro hanging from his mouth. “Are you ready to play house?”
I glared at him as I took the duffle bag Rhetta had packed for Eva. “Glad you find this amusing.”
Thane chuckled. “Rhetta thinks you’d make a good couple. Some mean-ass babies, too. Eva’s one of her oldest friends, so keep her alive for me. Otherwise, Rhetta will cut my balls off—and yours.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know who really runs the Mavericks. Rhetta can keep her steak knife away. She’ll be safe here.”
Thane crushed out his cigarette. “I know she will. I wouldn’t trust anyone else. By the way, I asked Linc to add me to your security system for now. If there’s any activity, I’ll lead the entire cavalry to your door.”
I shook my head as he shoved the crate across the front porch. “No one knows about my cabin, and no one needs to know.”
As they left, the silence settled around us. I turned to find Eva watching me. A complex mix of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher flashed through her expression. Exhaustion was winning, though. She started to head to the couch, her movements slow and uncertain. After a moment, it dawned on me she thought I wanted her to sleep there. The idea of her within reach of anyone who could walk through the front door sent an unexpected surge of protectiveness through my chest.
“You can take the bedroom,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. I cleared my throat. “I changed the sheets. There are towels in the closet beside the shower.”
She started to protest, her stubbornness pushing through her fatigue. “I can’t?—”
I leveled a stern look at her as I picked up her duffle bag and tossed it on the bed with a soft thump. “Get some sleep.”
Eva rubbed her bleary eyes and sighed as she disappeared into my bedroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Chapter Thirteen
The weight of the night’s events crashed over me. The fabric of my shirt clung to my skin, still damp with cold sweat.
I moved mechanically, shedding my clothes for a shower. The hot water cascaded over me, steam rising in billowing clouds that fogged the glass. But even as it soothed my tense muscles, it couldn’t wash away the reality of what happened. I could have died tonight. Hale was dangerous, but I never imagined my investigation could result in this situation.
I stepped out of the shower and slammed the glass door shut harder than necessary. As I toweled off and brushed my teeth, my mind raced. The moment Reaper shot the hitman in my kitchen replayed in my mind. He hadn’t called an ambulance. Reaper had wanted Merrick to question him before letting him die. And I had no idea what they would do with the body.
The thought should have horrified me. Instead, numb acceptance filled my chest. This was the world I’d stumbled into. As much as I’d hoped to separate the businesses from the bikers in my work, the two were intertwined.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Part of me recoiled at the casual brutality and the ease with which Reaper had pulled the trigger. I’d intellectually known what an outlaw motorcycle club was capable of, but witnessing the violence that simmered beneath the surface firsthand hit differently.
A darker part of me swirling below my facade of corporate professionalism and achievement embraced the grim satisfaction. The man had come to kill me, and he’d bled out on my kitchen floor. There was a certain poetic justice to it.
If asked to choose between my life and the life of a killer, I’d choose my own. Every. Fucking. Time.
I sat on the edge of Reaper’s bed, running my fingers through my damp hair. Each recent lead ran through my mind, a twisted maze of cover-ups. In addition to Amy, I’d spoken to several other women who’d worked for Abell Enterprises. Their stories echoed the same patterns: humiliation, gaslighting, and brutality.
Katelyn had been the head of sales for one of Hale’s companies. Like Amy, she was terrified to go on record. Hale had berated her in front of the staff, called her incompetent, and when she’d finally resigned after a late-night confrontation, he’d attacked her. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness as the Abells covered their tracks, fabricating alibis and using their influence to shield Hale from consequences.
Another victim, Sarah, was a promising executive in accounting who’d discovered evidence of fraud. When she brought it forward, Hale had responded with violence. She’d left his office with a scar across her forehead, her injuries blamed on a workplace accident and her silence bought with a settlement.
The pattern was clear: anyone who threatened to expose Hale’s secrets was swiftly dealt with.
My hand unconsciously went to my throat, recalling Hale’s grip as he’d attacked me—all because I’d refused tobe his puppet, to spin lies. The flashpoint occurred when I’d professionally told him to fuck off in a meeting. The memory of his face, twisted with rage as he fought to control his wrath in front of the board, still burned in my mind.
“We’re not in the business of lying to investors,” I’d told him, Hale’s board chair shifting in discomfort at the confrontation. “I won’t spin this report just so you can sell the company. Your proposal violates so many ethics and maybe a few laws. We have to tell the truth.”
