Page 30 of Reaper
I take Reaper by the hand. “I’m not going to kill you. I won’t. Somehow — and I’m starting to see how — my sister loved you. And even though things were shit between Vanessa and me for so much of the time, I loved her, too. Why would I hurt someone she cared so much about? Why would I hurt the man she loved so much that she was willing to die for him? That wouldn’t honor her memory, and it’d only hurt me deeper than I already am.” A sensation rises within me, it’s cold and rigid in the best way, the same sensation I had when taking on a case of an especially vile criminal, when I knew that what I was about to do was something that would bring real worth and value into the world, even if it never made the news.
I release Reaper’s hands and I turn, each step getting faster and faster, propelled by the sense in my chest that grows and grows until it feels as if a balloon is expanding within my ribcage, pressing and pushing against my bones.
“Where are you going?” Reaper calls after me, his words broken by his breath as he runs after me.
“Ruslan Volkov still wants you dead. That’s a problem. And I am going to figure out a way to solve it.”
It’s silent for a while as I run through the forest, with no sounds except my heavy breathing, the thudding rhythm of my racing heart, and the underbrush clatter behind me as Reaper follows.
My sister gave her life trying to save Reaper. She sacrificed everything to get him clean, to help him find a family, hoping that might be enough to truly redeem him. To allow him to be the man that she saw inside him, glimmers of which I see, too. Glimmers that draw me closer to him with every passing second in a way that excites and frightens me.
Vanessa gave her life for Reaper.
Her sacrifice was not enough.
Words find their way to my lips as I push aside a low-hanging branch and step onto the hard asphalt of the truck stop parking lot, some loose asphalt gravel crunching beneath my feet and a trio of circling crows cawing at me from above.
“I’m here for you, Vanessa. I’m here, and I will finish the job you started.”
Those circling crows caw again, as if they’ve heard my promise. I don’t know whether that’s a good sign. Crows are intelligent, and some cultures believe those wise birds can talk with the dead. Yet, those wise birds also love to dive-bomb people and eat their trash, so what the fuck do they know?
My hand settles on the doorknob to the cafe and I steel myself with a deep breath as I’m about to re-enter that place where I left not long ago after screaming about murder like a maniac and throwing a tantrum over who got to pay for my cheap whiskey, when someone grabs me from behind. It’s Reaper.
I look at him over my shoulder to see a smile on his face and something else shining in his bright eyes: determination.
“I won’t let you do this alone. I’m in. We’ll do this together.”
Chapter Sixteen
Reaper
Dim, uncaring eyes greet us as we step back into the truck stop cafe. It’s as if the tantrum we threw earlier never happened. That, or it was so usual that every person in the cafe simply shrugged and resumed their mundane, unusual lives.
In the booth in the far corner, a man discreetly snorts a substance, and I realize that our earlier screaming match about murder and whiskey was probably not even the first one to happen today. Even the server looks at us with freshly dull eyes.
Adriana doesn’t wait for me before she strides ahead and takes a booth, sliding into it with utmost confidence. She may look like her sister, but the similarities to Vanessa only go skin deep. Vanessa was caring, nurturing, vulnerable, easily manipulated, an addict — someone I took advantage of so many times that, even though I hate to admit it, there’s no way I can deny it. It was second nature to me, if I wanted something and she had it, it took almost no work at all to get her to give it to me; sex, money, love — I weaseled all of it from her with a few words, a few threats, and the prospect of an easy high.
Adriana is none of that. I couldn’t manipulate her if my life depended on it.
Or death, in this case.
And threaten her?
Fat fucking chance. She hits as hard and fights as dirty as any biker I’ve come up against.
Her eyes lock on me as I realize I’m still standing in the doorway, and my mind races as I walk toward her. Doubt floods me, wrapping like a boa around my stomach, squeezing, and my tongue rebels in my mouth. Every step toward her puts another weight on my back — I’m responsible for Vanessa’s death, even if I didn’t kill her, I’m responsible for this damn mess I’m in — it’s up to me to figure this shit out. What kind of man am I if I can’t handle my business?
I have to be better than I was before. Better than the man who cost Vanessa her life. I can’t let her death be in vain. This second chance I have? I have to fucking earn it.
As I slide into the tattered, squeaky fake leather of the truck stop cafe booth and see Adriana’s eyes bore into mine, another thought rises through the confusion roiling my insides: I want to be better for her sake, too.
Adriana saw me at my worst and called me on my bullshit. She knows the truth now — or at least a big part of it — and she’s still sticking by my side. There’s something drawing her to stay with me, and I want to prove to her she’s made the right choice.
“Well?” she says.
“I have a plan,” I blurt out, even though I’ve got nothing close to it. Hell, I’m so fucking scrambled I don’t even know what I’d order from the menu; there’s a chance I’d even order that mysteriously cheap whiskey again.
She blinks. “You do?”
