Page 75 of Reaper & Ruin
“Only the best for my baby sister,” he headed toward the cabinets, rummaging around until he found a box of cereal he liked the look of.
The familiarity of it all—the easy banter, Rowan’s cocky grin, even the smell of the cereal—was enough to make my shoulders relax, just a little. I was still scared and worried, but I… I felt like I could breathe a little easier with him and Silver here.
“Fine,” I said, letting out a long sigh as I slid into a chair at the table. “Let’s eat cereal. Maybe it’ll help me figure out how to save my boyfriends from a family reunion gone horribly wrong.”
Silver didn’t laugh, but her lips quirked in a way that told me she found it at least a little amusing. Rowan, on the other hand, barked out a laugh as he poured milk into two bowls and slid one toward me. Before he offered Silver the other, then made a third for himself.
“You know,” he said, plopping into the chair beside me, “most people don’t have to deal with homicidal hitwomen and evil mafia fathers before breakfast. Maybe you should be called Unlucky instead.”
“Yeah,” I said, picking up my spoon and taking a bite, “I could also kick you in the balls, so.”
He grinned, his cocky confidence shining through. The cereal wasn’t bad. And for a few minutes, as we sat at thetable and ate like nothing was wrong, I let myself believe that everything would be okay.
My brother was here. Silver was here. Things would work out.
Theyhadto.
Chapter Twenty Five, Safehouse Of Horror
The SUV rolled to a stop after hours of driving next to a comatose—and then very angry—Atlas. Gravel crunched under the tires, and I peered through the window. The house ahead was maddeningly ordinary—a neat suburban home painted a muted yellow with white shutters. The front yard was meticulously trimmed, a flower bed full of pink and white blooms framing the walkway. A wooden trellis up the side, coated in ivy. It looked like the kind of place you’d find a PTA meeting inside, not a safehouse.
If this was Danika’s idea of a hideout, I couldn’t wait to see her idea of a vacation home. It was probably a volcano with a wine bar.
She climbed out first, barking a quick command to her men, who filed out of the other cars quickly. As she stepped away, Atlas muttered something under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face. When he sat up, he wobbled slightly, like his limbs hadn’t quite caught up to his brain yet.
I frowned, concern curling in my chest. Danika said it was just a sedative she jabbed him with—but I didn’t trust a damn word that came out of her mouth. Not when it came to Atlas. I needed him clear headed. He was better at fixing things than I was, and if he couldn’t think straight, we were screwed.
“You okay?” I muttered.
“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve had worse.”
Then, after a beat, he leaned a little closer. “Do whatever she tells you to do. It’s easier that way. I’ll work out a way to get us out, and you can just be the pretty obedient face that keeps her distracted.”
I nodded, throwing on a cocky grin to hide my trepidation. “You know I’m obedient,fantasma. You tell me to jump, and I’ll ask how high.”
The door opened before he could do more than roll his eyes at me.
“Out,” one soldier said, grabbing my arm and yanking me outside.
I winced at the sudden tug, my muscles stiff from being in the cramped back seat for so long. “You know,” I said dryly, “you could just ask. Maybe smile and say please. It would get you a lot further.”
The mercenary didn’t reply, shoving me forward with a gruff grunt. My sneakers crunched against the gravel, and a crisp breeze stung my face. The sudden brightness of the summer afternoon made my eyes water. After hours in a blacked-out SUV, it felt like being slapped.
By the time my eyes stopped stinging, Atlas was out of the car, standing beside me with that unreadable calm of his. Only I knew him well enough to catch the slight clench of his jaw, the subtle way his inked hands flexed at his sides.
He was plotting murderous things. Beautifully murderous things.
“Inside,” Danika said, gesturing toward the house with a jerk of her head.
She strode ahead without waiting for a response, her boots clicking against the concrete, then the porch. The mercenary behind me gave another shove, and I stumbled slightly, catching myself with a glare.
“Push me again,bastardo,” I hissed, “and see what happens.”
The guy snorted, then leaned close enough for me to smell the cheap tobacco on his breath. “Keep mouthing off. Maybe I’ll knock that smirk off your face.”
Charming.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get the chance. Before I could even process the threat—or take a single step—there was a sharp crack from behind him. His neck twisted violently, unnaturally, and he dropped like a marionette with cut strings. Eyes wide. Mouth still half-curled into a sneer. Dead before his body hit the gravel and the pale pair of hands that had grabbed him moved away.
