Page 41 of Reaper
Adriana glances at me, a hint of satisfaction dancing in her eyes. "I'd do whatever it takes to help that girl. And if it takes a scumbag like Mario out, even better."
"Maybe you're not half bad," I say.
She looks at me sideways, with a familiar edge creeping back into her voice. "Still hate your guts, though."
I can't help but smile at that. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her smiling too—just a hint, like she's trying to hide it but can't quite manage.
We reach the car, and I move around to the passenger side. As I pass behind her, her hand brushes against mine. It's barely contact, just the whisper of skin against skin, just for a moment. But it’s intentional. And it hits me like a fucking lightning bolt.Heat shoots through my entire body, pooling low in my gut and spreading outward until every nerve ending feels electrified.
I freeze for half a second, my breath catching. This isn't like the other times when I've felt this pull toward her—times when I could shove it down, rationalize it away, remind myself she's Vanessa's sister and off-limits in every way that matters. This time, the feeling doesn't fade. It burns through me, relentless and demanding, making my skin feel too tight and my pulse hammer against my throat.
I slide into the passenger seat, trying to get my shit together, but when I glance over at her, it only gets worse. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and there's this subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth that makes something twist deep in my chest. Not just lust — though, fuck, there's plenty of that — but something deeper.
Something that scares the hell out of me.
Chapter Twenty
Adriana
Susan’s waiting for us back at the apartment, along with Roxanna, who is sitting beside her on the couch, swirling a glass of wine and looking as triumphant as a woman who was just terrorized beyond reason and dragged around by her hair by an abusive piece of excrement has ever looked in the history of humanity. Susan’s smiling.
She stands when Reaper and I enter and then, after a moment’s hesitation, she runs to us and throws her arms around me in a hug that makes me beyond uncomfortable with its intimacy.
“Thank you,” she says. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say. I mean it, too. Seeing that worm squirm and cry is a memory I’ll come back to every time I want to smile. And touching Reaper afterward and noticing the way he blushed like a little boy getting his first kiss behind the jungle gym during recess? I’ll remember that for a long time, too.
“He called the shelter,” Roxanna says, piping up and then taking a long drink of wine. “He called, and he cried and he cried and he cried. Then he said he was leaving town for good and we'd never hear from him again. Then I told him to go fuck himself and that I hoped he dies in a ditch surrounded by used diapers and spent needles.”
“Why be so kind?” Susan says. “He was a right piece of shit. Son of a bitch even made a donation to the shelter through our website.”
“Really?” Reaper says.
“Yes, he did, the indignant shit-flinger,” Susan says. “We used some of the money to buy the wine here. There are a couple of bottles for you in the fridge. But I refuse to fund my organization with drug money. I’ll talk with our lawyers about what to do with it. I hate him so much for costing me time and money by having to talk to our lawyers.”
I watch Roxanna take another drink and wonder if this is what victory looks like—a woman in her forties finally free to sit on a couch and curse her abuser without looking over her shoulder. The wine has put color back in her cheeks, and her hands aren't shaking anymore.
"How much did he donate?" I ask.
"Five thousand," Susan says, her mouth twisting like she's tasted something sour. "Guilty conscience money. Blood money. Whatever you want to call it."
Reaper shifts beside me, and I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. Money always makes him uncomfortable, especially when it comes from the wrong places. He knows too much about how dirty cash flows through this city, and I’ll bet he’s hoping I don’t mention a thing about his debt to Volkov; I’d be tempted to if it was the Reaper I thought he was when I first met him, but this Reaper? No, I’ll keep my mouth shut.
Roxanna sets down her wineglass and looks directly at me. "What did you do to him?"
Reaper laughs, and I grin.
"We had a conversation with him," I say. "A very persuasive conversation."
The truth is more complicated than that, but Roxanna doesn't need the details. I want her to just enjoy the simplicity of the moment: freedom and a glass of wine.
"I should get going," Roxanna says, standing and smoothing down her clothes. She's steadier now, the wine and the news having worked some kind of magic on her spine. "I have a life to rebuild."
She hugs Susan first, then me, and when she reaches Reaper, she hesitates for just a moment before embracing him too. He freezes like he always does when people show him kindness — like he's not sure he deserves it.
But maybe he does.
I smile, then turn my gaze away.
