Red Dreams (The Reaper Duet #2)

18. Kaden

18

KADEN

The sheer relief in Layla’s eyes is worth the violent killing of ten more men.

I know how this must look to her, seeing me like this. But I don’t read fear or revulsion on her face. Only that sweet relief shines through unshed tears.

She understands.

This is what I had to become to keep her safe.

I push to my feet and turn to Cassie, who stands motionless a few feet away, her face a mask of shock under the blood spatter that hit her while I made a mess.

“Do you see now?” I ask her, my voice hoarse despite never using it while I fought. “I became this for you. And I'll stay this for you.”

I could have ended Cassie’s reign of terror within seconds of being dragged into this suite. Could have painted these walls red before Cassie even realized what was happening. But I needed to buy time. Time for Cassie to trust me, time to get Layla out of here, time to try to save my daughter.

My chest constricts at the memory of what I've put Layla through these past hours. The devastation etched into her delicate features as I turned on her, spewing venom and lies, each word a dagger to my own heart. I can still hear her anguished cries, her pleas for mercy, as I forced myself to ignore them, to return to the role of the ruthless, unfeeling Scythe.

And Ethan, the kid who’d become an unwitting ally of mine. His blood is on my hands, literally and figuratively. I can feel it, sticky and warm, mingling with the blood of Cassie's men. The sickening crunch of bone, the wet gurgle of his screams as I worked him over, all while Layla watched in abject horror. I had to make it real, had to sell the depraved depths I was willing to sink to. Even if it meant shattering the tentative trust Layla had placed in me.

But it was all for her. Every bruise, every scream, every wretched act.

Necessary evils to keep Layla breathing, to shield her from the true extent of my daughter's madness. I'd have endured a thousand more torments and shredded my soul beyond recognition, as long as it meant sparing Layla from suffering the same fate.

Now, standing before Cassie and thrumming with a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and regret, I realize the true cost of my choices.

The frayed tether between us, the tenuous link of shared blood and fractured memories, has finally snapped. I see it in the ferocious, desperate gleam in Cassie’s eyes, the way she twitches as she assesses her new, unexpected situation. Cassie’s too far gone, consumed by an evil I can no longer hope to pull her out of.

I stalk toward her, my boots squelching on the wet carpet. My heart breaks on each breath I suffer through to get closer to her.

Cassie stays where she is, a line forming between her brows as she takes in the carnage.

“What's wrong, Cassandra?” My voice is velvet wrapped in barbed wire. “Isn't this what you wanted? To see what your father is really capable of?”

Cassie tenses, her arm shifting to reveal a gun she must have grabbed off one of her men. But she doesn’t fire.

“It's over, Cassie,” I say, my voice calm and even despite the raging inferno of grief simmering beneath my skin. “You've lost.”

“I still have her,” she hisses, jerking the gun toward Layla. “I can still kill her.”

A weary smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “No, you can't. You had your chance. You didn't take it. Because deep down, beneath all that anger and pain, you know the truth. You know I never abandoned you. I never stopped loving you.”

Cassie sniffs hard, avoiding my eye. “You left me to rot. You moved on and forgot all about your broken little girl.”

“I never forgot you. Not for one moment. You were always with me, haunting my every step, driving me to push harder, go further?—”

“To become this?” she spits, gesturing at my blood-drenched form. “The Scythe, Greycliff's own Reaper? You didn't do this for me. You did it for yourself, to bury your guilt, to forget the daughter you failed!”

“I never wanted this for you,” I say softly. “I never wanted you to become like me. Like him.”

“No,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Papa loved me. He's the only one who ever did.”

I'm close enough to touch her now, close enough to see myself reflected in her eyes. The horror I've become. The man who would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to protect what's his.

Even if it means destroying a piece of myself.

“Cassie-girl,” I say, my voice breaking. “It's not too late. We can still fix this, still find a way back to each other.”

Her finger tightens on the trigger, her hand trembling. “There's no going back. You made sure of that when you chose your whore over me.”

She jerks her chin toward Layla, who is now standing in front of Ethan’s prone form as some form of protection. Her hands are fisted at her sides, obviously uncomfortable and terrified, but also pushing herself to become a knock-down fighter if she has to.

She’s loyal, my Wraithling. Devoted. Even though her light is slowly being eaten away by the dark tendrils of the Black family.

If I stop Cassie from going any further, Layla is the promise of a future untainted. Of lazy mornings tangled in silk sheets, of shared laughter and gentle touches, of a love that has weathered the worst tempest imaginable. She is my beacon. My lighthouse. The one pure thing in a life drenched in gore and agony.

At a blur of movement in my periphery, I catch Cassie’s wrist, preventing Cassie from firing her gun at Layla, but Cassie just laughs.

“You think you can be happy with her? That you can just take a nice warm shower and everything you are, everything I am, can be cleaned off? I’ll kill her. I’ll kill anyone you care about, and then you’ll see. You'll finally understand what it's like to have everything ripped away.”

“I’m well-versed in that feeling, sweetheart.” I keep a firm hold on her wrist while using my other hand to reach into my back pocket and pull out another knife I borrowed from a dead man. “Layla is the first person in a decade I’ve allowed to get close to me. I won’t let you hurt her any longer, or anyone else for that matter. I won’t let Morelli’s poison spread any further.”

I twist Cassie's wrist, the bones grinding together as I force her to drop the gun. It clatters to the floor, lost amid the broken bodies and spilled blood. In a flash, I have her pinned against the wall, my knife pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. My daughter's pulse hammers against the blade. I've imagined this moment countless times over the days. Not out of hatred but despair. Each time I discovered another atrocity she'd committed, another innocent she'd crushed, I wondered if death would be kinder to her than continuing to live as Morelli’s creation.

“Do it,” she whispers while smiling. “Prove Papa right. Show me how easily a father can kill his daughter.”

The knife bites deeper. Blood wells around the blade.

“Kaden, wait.” Layla's voice cuts through the haze of grief. “Look at her eyes.”

I don't want to. I can't bear to see Morelli staring back at me. But when I do...

I see my twelve-year-old girl. Terrified. Contrite. Still searching for her father's love even as she tries to destroy it.

“Look at her,” Layla repeats softly. “Really look.”

When I do, something shifts in Cassie's eyes—that hateful gleam splintering down the middle to reveal what lies beneath. The knife at her throat draws another bead of blood.

“He'd hold me down,” she says, her voice wavering. “Make me stare into mirrors while he carved away everything soft. Everything weak. Said I had to learn to love what I'd become, just like you did.”

My hold on the blade turns ironclad, promising no escape. But her confession peels back another layer of Morelli's corruption.

“ 'The Scythe leaves no survivors,' “ Cassie continues, mimicking Morelli’s voice. “ 'Your father understands that mercy is a weakness.' So I learned. He'd describe your kills in detail. How efficient you were. Said that's how I should be, too. That anything else was a failure.” A harsh laugh. “And look at me now, Daddy. Aren't I everything the Scythe's daughter should be? I learned to be apathetic and efficient. Perfect. When I tattooed your precious Layla, I used the same precision you're famous for. Made art of her pain, just like you would.”

“No.” Another droplet of blood against the tip of my knife. “You're everything he wanted you to be. His perfect weapon against me.”

Cassie doesn't flinch. Instead, she presses forward, forcing me to cut deeper or pull back.

The truth hits harder than any bullet. Morelli used my reputation, my methods, to convince my daughter that cruelty was her birthright. That becoming this warped reflection of me would finally earn my love.

Cassie's face contorts. “But you still choose her . Still try to protect her when you should be proud of what I've become.”

The blade nicks her pale skin, and this time, it wasn’t deliberate. I’m no longer the hardened killer, the ruthless Scythe. I am a father facing the insurmountable: I must look into the eyes of my own child and extinguish the life I once cherished above all else.

I feel the weight of Layla's gaze at the center of my back, her silent plea for mercy despite what Cassie has done to her. After all, she sees the good in me , the man I could be if I just let myself feel something other than rage and vengeance. But right now, with Cassie's life in my hands and the weight of my sins bearing down, I don't know if that man exists anymore.

“All those years perfecting my technique,” Cassie continues. “Making each cut deeper, each break cleaner. I wanted you to see...” Her voice catches. “I wanted you to know I was worthy of being the Scythe's legacy.”

I want to tell her that I am proud, in some sick, perverted way. Proud of her strength, her resilience, even as it manifests in acts of unspeakable cruelty. She survived horrors that would have shattered a lesser person, emerging from the flames tempered by anguish and fury. But that pride is a bitter pill.

“You don't need to prove anything to me,” I say. The knife trembles against her skin. “Every kill, every broken body I left behind, it was all to find you.”

“Then why didn't you?” Her voice fractures. “Why didn't you save me before I became this?”

I croak, “I’m trying to save you now.”

I shift my grip, knuckles whitening as I prepare to make the killing blow. Cassie's eyes widen, a flicker of fear breaking through.

“Daddy...” she whispers, her voice small and feeble, a terrified child pleading for mercy.

A single tear escapes from the tangle of her lashes, carving a clean line through the blood and grime.

I falter.

I'm transported back to a time when she was my entire world, when her laughter was the sweetest sound and her smile could chase away the darkest of nights. I remember teaching her to ride a bike, bandaging skinned knees, and chasing away imaginary monsters from under the bed. I remember the fierce, protective love that consumed me, the vow I made to always keep her safe.

My mind races, desperately searching for another way—some miraculous third option that will spare me the agony of this choice. But there is no deus ex machina waiting in the wings, no last-minute reprieve from the machinations of fate. There is only the cold, hard truth:

Sometimes the only way to save someone is to let them go.