Page 37 of Reaper & the Lioness
I shook my head as I processed the weight of Eva’s past. I’d sensed her dark side the moment I met her, but I neverimagined she’d been through so much. She’d been tempered by tragedy and loss at an age when most kids worried about school dances and homework.
“Shit,” I muttered, running a hand over my face.
The image of young Eva calling 911 while her world shattered around her twisted something in my chest. I’d experienced my share of horrors, too. But she’d been just a kid.
“She’s been fighting her whole life. I bet she doesn’t even know how to relax or trust anyone at this point.”
Linc raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
I shot him a warning glare, but the comparison stuck. Maybe it explained my inexplicable draw to her. Life had cut us from the same cloth—survivors, fighters, people who’d seen the darkest parts of humanity and chosen to stand against it instead of succumbing.
“We need to end this Abell situation. Not just for her safety, but because it’s the decent fucking thing to do.”
Linc nodded, a hint of his usual grin returning. “Never thought I’d see the day when you became a white knight.”
I flipped him off. “Fuck off. Track the bastards down.”
Chapter Fifteen
Iwas a captive in a cabin, but it didn’t mean I could pause everything with my growing consultancy. The constant hum of activity provided a welcome distraction from my precarious situation. As I settled into my makeshift office on the soft brown leather couch, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony. Here I sat, a PR professional used to sleek city offices, now crafting strategies from a rustic hideout.
I shot Kenna a text with my new number, knowing she’d send a private investigator to find me if I went longer than a few hours without responding to her.
Kenna: Did you break your phone again? Or did you just want a Texas area code?
Me: It’s a long story. Too long for text message. Shit went down and I’m somewhat in hiding until I figure things out.
Kenna: Is this a burner phone!?! Are you going into Witness Protection?
Me: More like Maverick Protection …
Kenna: Please tell me you have a hot biker guarding you. You know what they say in Texas. Save a horse, ride a biker.
Me: Shut. Up.
Kenna: I’m heading into a meeting. Call me later. Love you!
My computer pinged with an influx of emails. Each message reminded me of the normal world outside of the threat I faced. I had a handful of clients and projects I needed to keep on track, with several check-in calls scattered throughout the afternoon. But more than that, I remained determined to continue working with the Maverick-associated businesses. The last thing I wanted was for Thane to pull the contract or ask for a refund. Plus, I had to admit the challenge held a certain thrill.
Fortunately for my sanity and security, I could do plenty of work from the cabin. And as I edited the photos and videos captured the other day of Maisie at the market, an idea began to take shape.
I wanted to create a community report highlighting the collective economic impact of the businesses owned by Mavericks. The report would tell stories about how they helped people who lived and worked in Conroe. My strategy wouldchange perceptions, showing the world the side of the Mavericks I’d just begun to understand.
I closed my eyes, imagining a glossy magazine-style report. The pages would be filled with striking photos. A bearded biker, his arms covered in tattoos, handing a teddy bear to a wide-eyed child in a hospital bed. A family of five—both parents wearing their cuts with pride—walking dogs at the local animal shelter. Children sitting cross-legged on a colorful rug, their faces rapt as Maisie’s animated voice brought a story to life. Eye-catching infographics would tell the story, too. Jobs created, taxes paid, community programs funded.
The misperception of the Mavericks seemed unfair, and I intended to fix it. Not just because my job required it, but because I had begun to uncover the truth under the leather and chrome. These people—my clients, my protectors, my friends—deserved to have their real stories told.
I’d wrapped up my last client call when an email from Matt pinged through. He hadn’t been able to reach my cell—it was still powered off. I fired off a Google Meet invite, which he joined within a minute.
“Eva, where have you been? It’s like you fell off the map. Your phone just goes straight to your voicemail—which is still full, by the way.” His eyes searched the room, the rough-hewn logs of the cabin behind me.
I rubbed my temples, unsure of how much to say or if Matt would even believe me. “I guess you could say I’m in hiding.”
“Where?” Matt pressed, leaning closer to his camera.
I paused, realizing I didn’t know. I hadn’t exactly been sober when Reaper brought me here, and his driving had been erratic. I hadn’t considered until now that he may have been trying to confuse anyone who was following us.
“Somewhere safe. Hale is trying to kill me.”
