Page 104 of Reaper
The older Russian approaches, his eyes fixed on me with the intensity of a predator that's finally cornered its prey. "Volkov has been looking for you."
Before I can respond, before I can even process what he's said, the world explodes in pain. There’s a crack, and a bullet tears through my shoulder, spinning me around and sending me crashing into the floor as my world goes dark.
Chapter Forty-Six
Adriana
“Another round?”
“Do I look like a quitter to you?”
“No, but you sure as fuck look like you might want to get out of here. What do you say?”
“Not yet,” I say, taking my nearly empty glass, swirling the dregs, and tossing back my head to get every drop. Four down, many more to go, and it’ll be a long time before I’m ready to leave with Mr…. whatever the fuck his name is. “But soon.”
It won’t be ‘soon,’ but soon keeps the free drinks coming. And soon will probably happen, probably, just to get Reaper out of my head. It probably won’t work, but maybe for a few moments I can forget how the man I loved dragged my little sister into a drug war and got her killed.
Vanessa would still be alive if not for him.
She lived through hell; she was an addict; she made bad choices, but the worst choice of all was taking that monster back into her life, giving him a second chance, and allowing herself to become a part of his violent world.
“Are you even listening to me?” Mr. Whatever says.
“Totally,” I say, picking up the fresh drink the second the bartender sets it in front of me; it doesn’t take long to make a whiskey, you just pour it from the fucking bottle.
“Then what was I talking about?”
I blink, run my eyes over him, and spot a tattoo on his large forearm. A coat of arms. Marines. “You were talking about your time in the military,” I say, hazarding a guess that, with men like him, is usually ninety-nine percent accurate.
“Damn, you’ve got the attentiveness of a real Marine,” he says, nodding approvingly.
“I try.” I put my empty glass down on the counter and wink at him. It only takes two more winks before Mr. Attentive Marine notices and gets the bartender to get me a refill.
I lift the glass to my lips when something catches my eye on the television mounted above the bar. The sound is turned down, but the red "BREAKING NEWS" banner scrolls across the bottom of the screen. My hand freezes halfway to my mouth.
The image shows police cars, ambulances, bodies covered in white sheets on a sidewalk. The caption reads: "MULTIPLE FATALITIES IN SUSPECTED GANG SHOOTOUT."
My chest tightens. The camera pans across a building I recognize — the den where the Triads run their operation. I want to look away, but I can’t, caught by the idea that Reaper might be there, that I might see a shape in a body bag that resembles the man I once loved.
And still love. Probably.
Despite my best fucking efforts and aching, bleeding heart.
"You okay?" the Marine asks, following my gaze to the screen.
I force myself to take a sip, but the whiskey tastes like ash. "Fine. Just the news, you know? Always so goddamn depressing."
The reporter's mouth moves silently as crime scene tape flutters in the background. I catch fragments of the closed captioning: "...ongoing investigation...suspected retaliation...authorities believe this may be the beginning of a larger gang war..."
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is what I wanted, isn't it? For Reaper to get what's coming to him. For him to pay for what happened to Vanessa.
So why do I feel like I'm going to throw up?
So why am I wondering if it’s him in one of those body bags or under one of those white sheets?
Why does that very thought make my heart feel like it wants to collapse in on itself? A thought that sparks joy — retribution for my sister — and sorrow that the very idea of getting what I want could break my already shattered heart.
"Hey," the Marine says, his voice softer now. "You sure you're alright?"
