Page 90 of Reaper
Then he's gathering me against his chest, arranging us so we're lying on our sides, my back pressed to his front. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me close.
"I love you," he murmurs against my hair.
"I love you too," I whisper back, and mean it with every fiber of my being.
The contentment that settles over me is warm and heavy, like a blanket. His breathing evens out behind me. I pull the sheet up over both of us, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety that I wish could last forever. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, and I feel myself melting into him, into this moment of perfect peace.
"Sleep," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck. "I've got you."
My eyelids grow heavy as his breathing deepens behind me, his arm a protective band around my waist.
I drift.
The dreams come in waves, washing over me like warm honey. In them, Ricky and I are somewhere else - a small house with a garden, sunlight streaming through clean windows. He's making breakfast again, humming something under his breath while I watch from the doorway. In the dream, we have time. We have forever.
His hands are clean in this version of our story. Mine too. No blood under our fingernails, no ghosts haunting our sleep. Just the simple pleasure of morning coffee and his laugh when I steal bacon from the pan.
But even in the dream, shadows creep in at the edges.
Vanessa appears in the kitchen doorway, her face pale and accusing. "You think you can just forget about me?" she says, and her voice sounds like static, like a radio tuned to the wrong station. Trackmarks line her pale arms; her veins stand out dark, polluted, against her translucent flesh. "You think you can play house while I'm still dead?"
I try to speak, to explain, but the words stick in my throat. Ricky doesn't seem to see her - he keeps cooking, keeps humming, oblivious to the specter of my sister standing three feet away.
"He was there," Vanessa continues, her eyes boring into mine. "That night. He was there. There’s more than he’s telling you and you know it."
The kitchen dissolves around the edges, the warm sunlight turning cold and harsh. I reach for Ricky, but my hands pass through him like smoke.
"You're choosing him," Vanessa whispers, and now she's closer, her face inches from mine. "Choosing him just like I did. And you’re going to end up just like me."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Adriana
A heavy bang rips me out of my nightmare. Grateful, frightened, naked, with thoughts of my dead sister and my perilous future racing through my head, I slip out of bed and run to the nearest closet, opening it and finding a robe, which I quickly throw on while Reaper stirs awake in bed. He stands and pulls on his underwear while I hurry to answer the door. Charlie Eng and six heavily armed and mean-looking Triad goons stand on the other side. He blinks once at seeing me in a robe, but otherwise displays no outward signs of emotion.
“What is it?” I say.
“It’s time,” he says. “You have work to do.”
I cross my arms and wait. There’s been more than enough of his cryptic bullshit for today. When he does nothing, I speak up in Mandarin. “I won’t move until I have details.”
Eng’s eyes narrow; I cross my arms tighter and set my scowl in a line sharp enough to cut glass, anticipating either a fight with him or a task that means certain death — maybe a heist of Fort Knox or assassinating the president. After a moment, he sighs. “Fine. You and the others are to take my mother to karaoke.”
Nearly a minute passes before I blink and breathe.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Why?”
“Because I had promised my mother I would take her to karaoke. It is something she enjoys very much. However, unfortunately, because of a recent setback involving Volkov’s men interfering with our business, I must put out some fires and restore some business relationships,” Eng says, with a tone that says he is not at all sorry he’s being pulled away to work.
“Why not send some of your own men?”
“Because my men will either be with me or busy elsewhere. This situation is very tenuous. You and your companions must escort and entertain my mother.” A knowing smile flashes momentarily across the faces of several of Eng’s men. “If you want my organization’s help in taking down Volkov, this is the price. Now, get ready. You leave in twenty minutes.”
Eng leaves without another word, and after a quick post-sex shower, dress, and coffee, I stand bleary-eyed and blinking in the hallway outside our room, waiting with a pistol in my hand. Reaper stands beside me, also armed, and moments later, Tank, Diesel, and Mayhem all come out of their rooms, their faces a mixture of perturbation, boredom, and mania, respectively.
