25. Kyra
25
Kyra
A WEEK LATER…
“ Y ou good if I head home, boss?”
Barry’s question snaps me out of my daydream which seems to be the standard lately. Ever since meeting Skuld and Odin, since talking things out with Reaper, I’ve been a walking shell. Nothing got solved that night at the clubhouse, but I left feeling better than when I arrived.
“Yeah. I’m not too far behind you.”
Reaper and his brothers haven’t been to Night and Day since I watched him take Jason’s life. I miss him like crazy, but I’m not quite ready to reach out. Besides, it goes both ways. He hasn’t called me either.
What if he went back to Valhalla without telling me?
That thought has crossed my mind more than once, and like all the previous times, I don’t mindlessly search for an answer. If Reaper left, then he left, and it wasn’t meant to be like everyone seems to think. I’ve gotta trust my gut on this.
And my gut is telling me that he’s still around.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Barry says as he walks out the front door.
The rest of the staff left about thirty minutes ago, when the diner closed for the night. I’ve got a few minutes more of cleaning to do, and then I can go home and relieve Sasha.
And maybe I’ll call Reaper.
I go through the motions of wiping down the counter, then make my way through the building to shut off all the lights. I’m parked in the back lot, so after locking the front door, I weave back through the tables and head that way.
All my attention on finding my keys in my purse, I push open the back door with my hip, not bothering to watch where I’m going. And that’s how I end up running into a hard wall of…
“Don’t scream,” a man snarls, and I lift my head to stare into the eyes of a masked man who’s got a gun shoved into my side. “Get back in there.”
The voice sounds familiar, and halfway down the hall, it registers that it’s one of them men from the night I was attacked.
“What do you want?” I ask, more fear lacing my tone that I’d like.
“So many things.” He glances over his shoulder. “Hurry up,” he orders his partner, who seems to be lingering at the door. “We don’t got all night.”
When we reach my office, he kicks open the door and pushes me inside. I stumble, running into my desk, and pain radiates through my hip. No doubt a nasty bruise is gonna form, but that’s the least of my worries. Bruises don’t matter if you’re dead.
Or do they? I’ll have to ask Reaper that question.
Reaper… God, I wish he was here. He’d have these two on their asses in no time.
“Where’s your phone?” the man with the gun asks, and I nod at the cordless on my desk which earns me a slap across the face. “Your cell phone, you stupid bitch.”
“M-m-my purse.”
He upends the bag, dumping the contents on the floor, my cell among the mess. “Passcode?” he demands.
“Four seven nine three.”
He taps the screen as he yanks off his mask. That can’t be a good sign. Bad guys don’t leave witnesses who’ve seen their faces.
“Of course, he’s at the top of your favorites list,” he taunts. “Let’s just get him on the line, shall we?”
“Who are you?” I ask, more confused than I was the first time this all happened. It’s one thing to show up demanding money, but to come so you can call Reaper? That makes no sense. “What do you want?”
“Shut up!” the second man shouts as his buddy puts the call on speakerphone.
I don’t know whether to hope Reaper answers or that he doesn’t. The choice is taken away from me though soon enough.
“Kyra.”
The relief in Reaper’s voice flows through me like a soothing balm. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last because within minutes, the situation I find myself in becomes worse than I imagined.
“Is this Craig Binder?” the man asks.
“Who is this?” Reaper demands. “Where’s Kyra?”
“Is. This. Craig. Binder?”
“Yes, dammit. Kyra, babe, are you there?”
Without warning, the man aims at my leg and pulls the trigger. White hot pain burns me from the inside out.
“Kyra!” Reaper shouts. “What did you do to her?”
“I shot her,” the man answers simply. “Only in the leg, so don’t worry. She’s still breathing.”
“Reaper,” I cry. “Reaper, where are you?”
“You have ten minutes to get to the diner or the next bullet will be between her eyes just like you did to our friend.” He pauses. “Oh, and my name is Sonny Harris.”
He disconnects the call, and it’s all I can do to hold on to consciousness by repeating his name in my head.
Who the hell is Sonny Harris?