Page 77 of Reaper & the Lioness
“Maybe you need to talk to someone,” he suggested carefully. “Not a therapist, obviously, given … recent events. But me, Rhetta, or even Linc. Did you know he has a degree in psychology?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, along with his computer science degree. He got the brains in my family.” His expression turned serious. “Taking a life affects everyone differently. Even when it’s justified.”
I swallowed hard. “What’s your body count?”
His gaze sharpened as his eyes narrowed. “You mean how many people I’ve killed?”
My voice came out as a whisper. “Yeah. I’ve … I’ve killed three people now. That’s a lot for the average person. Is that a lot for a Maverick?”
Reaper remained quiet for a moment. His jaw flexed. “My first kill was as a Marine. Being in a war zone makes it different, somehow. Easier to compartmentalize.” He paused, his eyes distant. “My first as a Maverick … that was a shock to the system.”
I waited, sensing his hesitation. He met my gaze.
“As a Maverick, I’ve taken twelve lives. All for different reasons. But all because they threatened something important to me.”
“Including Matt?”
I bit my lip. Did I want an honest answer to that question? Despite his betrayal, Matt had been one of my best friends for the better part of a decade.
Reaper searched my eyes and let out a long sigh. “Technically, yes. Matt was shot by my order to Merrick.”
The admission hung in the air between us. I didn’t recoil or judge. Instead, a strange sense of understanding settled over me.
Reaper and I were marked by violence. We carried the weight of lives taken out of necessity.
“How do you live with it?”
Reaper’s arms tightened around me. “You remind yourself why you did it. You hold onto the people you love. And you don’t let it define you.”
His words sank in, and the adrenaline from the nightmare faded. Reaper sensed my exhaustion creeping back and shifted me back to the bed.
“Sleep, Lioness. I’ve got you.”
As I drifted off, a sense of safety enveloped me, one I hadn’t known in weeks. The nightmares might come again, but I no longer faced them alone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The dust motes danced in the living room as the afternoon sun filtered through the window. We finally settled in our home after a month of picking paint colors, wrangling movers, and navigating Eva’s particular packing preferences.
Settled. The idea was foreign.
For most of my life, “home” became wherever the Corps shipped me or whatever corner of the clubhouse I could carve out. Now, home was this—a messy stack of blueprints for my next job threatening to spill onto the coffee table, sour candy on the countertop, and the thump-thump-thump of Hawk’s tail against the hardwood floors.
I’d always thought settling down meant giving something up—freedom, control, my independence. But with Eva, I’d gained more than I ever thought possible. She didn’t just fit into my world. She enhanced it. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t just living day to day. I thought about the future.
I found her in the kitchen, arguing with the dishwasher. The woman could wrangle millionaire CEOs and New York Timeseditors, but a goddamn appliance reduced her to sputtering frustration.
I leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the sight of her with flour dusted across her black tank top. She’d attempted—and failed—to bake a cake this morning.
“Need backup, Lioness?” I asked, a smirk tugging at my lips.
She shot me a withering glance. “This is why I don’t cook or clean. This fucking thing. I need a doctorate to turn it on. It’s started flashing lights at me. I think it’s mocking me!”
I stepped into the room and opened the dishwasher. I rearranged a few dishes, closed the door, and pressed a button. The machine whirred as it started.
“You like control over everything. Even the appliances. But honestly, you load the dishwasher like a raccoon on cocaine. That’s probably why it won’t work for you.”
