Page 93 of Senseless
“Yeah.” Reaper hovered in my doorway, not entirely comfortable, but in no rush to leave.
“Was there anything else, president?”
“Oh! Yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “I swung by the seamstress today. We got you a cut and she’s going to embroider all your patches, matching the original designs. You’ll be properly covered by the end of the week.”
“Uh, thank you, president.” I couldn’t hide that I was taken aback. “So, you’re not putting it to a church vote?”
“Nah.” Reaper shook his head. “It’s not club business. It was—“ He ran a hand over his jaw, pulling in a deep breath. “It was my foolish and short-sighted actions that led to your exile. The club’s got nothing to do with it, this was my error.” His hand dropped to his side as he leveled a heavy gaze on me. “I’m just trying to make things right.”
“Reaper, you don’t have to…” I stood abruptly from my desk, feeling like this conversation needed a better setting than my bedroom. “Is anyone else home?”
He looked over his shoulder, arm still propped up in my doorway. “Don’t think so. Why?”
I angled my head toward the kitchen. “Want to have a drink?”
A smirk crossed his face and he thumped the wood of my door frame. “Hell yes I do.”
Moments later, we were seated next to each other at the breakfast bar, each with our own glass of whiskey and the bottle between us. The house was quiet, with only the clucking and occasional squawk from Jandro’s chickens in the backyard.
“I never blamed you for exiling me,” I said to pick up where we left off. “I was never angry atyou, Reaper.”
“Doesn’t change that it was wrong.” He shifted his glass in a sunbeam on the counter, watching it throw light reflections everywhere. “Mari was pissed at me, and rightfully so.”
“I had no idea.” I turned my own glass, the amber liquid sliding around. “That everything was so bad here. I thought you would all just…move on like I was never here.”
Reaper shook his head, throwing back his whiskey in one gulp before slamming it down and pouring another. “Even before I made you leave, I knew Mari would be pissed for a while. She fought me on it every step of the way. But I just…” His palms flopped to the countertop, staring at his whiskey like it had suddenly become unappetizing. “The truth of it is, I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself. I told myself and anyone who would listen, that it was for her. Her safety and wellbeing, but really, it was just me grasping for control. And you, her, the other guys,” he sighed, “you all got caught in the crossfire of my selfishness.”
I sipped on my whiskey to let his words sink in. “I appreciate you saying that. It still wasn’t wrong for you to be concerned about her safety. If you still are—”
“I’m not.” Reaper shook his head, tight-lipped. “Not when it comes to you being with her.”
“I still am,” I admitted. “I’ve got a better handle on my sleepwalking now, but the nightmares will probably never fully go away. I want measures in place so she can get away from me if something happens.”
“We’ll think of something.” Reaper rubbed his chin. “Jandro can probably rig a panic button or whatever. You’ve got us supporting you, man.”
“Thank you.” I polished off my whiskey, my anxiety releasing its grip on my chest as the liquid heat made its way to my belly. “I mean it, Reaper. Thank you.”
The president inclined his head, peering at me with an odd smile. “You know why I trust her with you? The real reason?”
I just stared back at him, unsure of what he was getting at.
Reaper’s smile grew, eyes on his whiskey as he swirled it around. “I saw what you did to that guy who shot her.”
My eyes narrowed, confused. “You mean…at the service center?”
Reaper nodded, biting his lip like he knew some tantalizing secret. “I saw when he had the gun pointed at her head. And then you ran out there so fucking fast and silent, like a black blur. Well, a shadow.” He laughed, bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips. “I saw you turn the guy’s head into raw hamburger meat. Skull and brains flying everywhere, it was beautiful.”
“How?” I demanded, equally perturbed and fascinated. “Through Horus?”
“No.” Reaper downed his glass. “Through the eyes of a dead man on the porch.”
“A dead man?” I repeated. Then it hit me. “Hades?”
“Yeah.” He scoffed like he couldn’t believe it himself. “Seems he was waiting for the perfect moment to show me that little trick.”
“You can see through the dead,” I said, mostly to cement the reality for myself.
“And what I saw was you,” Reaper pointed at me, “unleashing hell to protect the woman you love. Your wife.”
