Page 77 of Reaper & Ruin
A burst of gunfire cracked through the air, close enough to make me flinch. Atlas turned immediately, stepping in front of me. I stayed behind him, eyes locked on the door, mind racing with a million different thoughts on who could be coming for us.
I presumed it was my father.
Or a bigger monster than the woman he’d paid to steal my soul.
The shots kept going—overlapping with shouts, masculine screams, and boots hitting the ground. It lasted maybe twenty seconds. Then silence.
The front door opened before I could swallow the lump in my throat.
Danika stepped inside, grinning ear to ear.
“Okay,” she hummed, “now we can get started for real.”
Blood was splattered across her face. A streak down one pale cheek, a few drops under one eye, more across her jaw. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled harder.
I looked past her, through the open door before she slammed it shut.
Every one of her men was on the ground. None of them were moving.
Blood covered the floor beneath them.
I could see holes in some of their heads.
Danika turned the lock as I did nothing but stare, thoroughly on edge.
“Alright, first things first.” She spun on her heel, deadman switch in her hand. “I suppose I should explain the rules of the game?” She motioned for us to walk to the podiums. “Take your places boys, the fun is about to begin.”
Chapter Twenty Six, Die Hard
The closet was organized by color from dark to light—Atlas’ touch, as always. It was all neat and clean and reminded me just how much I missed my boys when I saw their clothes.
It was easy to see what belonged to which person. Everything I owned was in all colors of the rainbow. Everything Gio owned was either expensive suit related, or gym boy stuff.
Atlas just had black. Black T-shirts. Black jeans. Black hoodies. Mostly the same items replicated. That was it.
I flipped through the hangers, the fabric brushing against my fingers as I searched for something dark and functional. Nothing fancy, nothing loud. Just practical. Something my inner hitwoman would wear to go do hitwoman things.
Ideally, I would wear a sexy little piece with lots of holes, and some hooker heels that were good for stomping. But this wasn’t a video game where massive boobs and a slutty dress were good armor. I needed to be smart, not hot enough to make my men come running home to me, and wear something real.
My fingers snagged on a pair of black sports leggings. They were simple, form-fitting, and wouldn’t snag on underbrush or get caught if I had to climb or run. Perfect for a rescue mission, where I couldn’t afford to trip over something as stupid as my own clothes.
I tossed the leggings onto the bed and turned back to the closet, eyes scanning for a top. It had to be something that wouldn’t restrict movement. So I could do all my ninja stuff without getting caught on my own sleeve. My gaze landed on one of Atlas’ long-sleeved shirts. Black, soft, just worn enough to carry the faintest trace of his scent.
Pulling it off the hanger, I pressed the fabric to my nose for a moment, inhaling deeply. It smelled so much like him that I instantly welled up. But like the bad bitch I was pretending to be, I swallowed the lump in my throat and tossed the shirt onto the bed with the leggings.
But it wasn’t enough.
I needed something more, something that felt like Gio. My eyes darted to the small pile of clothes he’d left folded on the shelf. I grabbed one of his only black T-shirts, soft and well-worn, the kind that clung to his lean frame in a way that made me jealous of fabric. I slipped it on over Atlas’ shirt, the mix of their scents wrapping around me like armor.
I took a breath, letting the smell of them sink into my skin. It was comforting and painful all at once.
God, I missed them. I wanted to kick them in the shins super hard for getting kidnapped. Then I wanted to kick the bitch who took them even harder.
A sharp pang of anger cut through the ache. Anger at the universe for putting us in this position. Anger at myself for not being able to protect them. But fear lingered underneath it all, gnawing at the edges of my resolve.
If I’d been a better hitwoman, then I wouldn’t have let them go. I would have murdered anyone who harmed them. Which was what I wanted to do.Woulddo from now on.
I shook the anger off, grabbed my combat boots, and shoved my feet into them with more force than necessary. Cinching the laces tight, I stood, letting the tension roll off my shoulders as I pretended I was just getting ready for work.
