Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Reaper
T echnically, I followed her home as Dante requested. I’ve been here thirty minutes, which is longer than it should take her to arrive by car. I don’t mind. It gives me time to check out her place again, inside and out.
Time to look for signs of others doing what I’m doing.
But I’m back out in the front, in the shadows, as the sleek car pulls up.
I’d like to say I don’t think anyone’s out there, watching her also, but there’s an unease that pricks and teases my spine, a sixth sense regarding other, hidden eyes.
Ghost?
He’s good enough.
Then again, he’s also like me. Good enough to be picked up on, good enough to be invisible.
After all, Ghost isn’t just a name he likes to call himself.
He can seemingly drift into places unseen and most ignore the niggle of another presence.
Ghost being here changes things on some level. It means he’s working for someone with an interest in her. He’s not interested. If he was, he’d make an actual move on her. Not hide and lurk and wait.
The Council is a safe bet.
If it’s Ghost.
If anyone’s here at all.
The car door opens.
I go still.
Lizette Roth. Earthy and ethereal, the hum, buzz, and heat of blood making her special.
Julien didn’t drive. It’s another beta. Christopher. He works bodyguard jobs, guard jobs, low rent clandestine deals that have to be done without us. He’s even worked behind the bar on occasion and run errands.
He’s trusted. I amend that—all the pack’s trusted. He does his job well.
The man takes a bag with leafy greens spilling over the top into the building. Lizette follows. He’ll check and make sure her apartment is clean.
Smart move of Dante’s. Or smart of Dante to listen to Knight. The groceries are a simple, subtle touch that says so much. It opens the door of return. It’s care, in the shape of good, clean food.
Yeah, Knight over Dante. Knight had a fucked up life, too. But he had family.
We didn’t.
We were just kids of broken-down packs.
We got bounced around, unwanted, and shoved into a pack where we met and had each other’s backs. The only reason they tolerated us was the fact we were alphas. And young.
I prefer prison to that kind of pack life. One under the rule of the fucking Council.
Actually, there are times I prefer prison to other things and places.
There are rules, yes. People leave me be in the slammer. Kill or be killed is a thing in there, but other inmates learned early on I’m the kill kind. Not the be-killed.
I’m tall, scarred, covered in ink, but I’m lithe. They mistake that for weak. Once. It only ever happens once. After all, the dead don’t make mistakes.
Prison gave me room to think, breathe. I honed my body and mind. Learned. Some lifers expected me to try and rule or form a pack to take down others. But all I wanted was to be left alone. And it got me respect.
But prison had limitations. No pussy. No real freedom. So, I’d always break out. The two times I got taken back there was for a reason.
This time, they think I’m dead.
But an alpha with a habit of shunning packs needs something.
Maybe it’s why, when I found Dante again, I joined his pack.
Fuck, maybe I got sick of escaping from prison. I’ve no intention of serving a life sentence for murder. They only know about the one. I’ve killed countless and not lost a moment’s sleep over any of them.
Killing in prison tends to erase parole chances.
So, one day I used my skills and disappeared for the final time. I turned invisible; it was that easy.
Now I’m out for good, and I’m more finely tuned, the skin around me harder, my kill set wider.
And I can track and hunt and surveille like no one’s business.
I give Ghost a run for his fucking money.
Inside, lights go on. Christopher carries the groceries and then he disappears. Lizette flits from room to room. Someone needs to tell her to pull the fucking blinds. Her father was the one who put them in, otherwise, she’d have pulled them down before turning on one light.
Dante wants to manipulate her, have her come back to us. Wants her to hand her trust over to us. Fine by me. Things are easier when someone comes in on their own.
Knight’s not a fan of the plan.
I don’t like him or dislike him. He’s family now, but there are times…he looks at me like he thinks I’ll slice his throat in his sleep.
He’s right.
I would.
If he betrayed me, Dante, or the pack.
However, I don’t think he will.
But he also didn’t grow up in a pack. Like Lizette. He had beta parents, a normal, shitty upbringing. He’s an anomaly, born of betas, but he’s an alpha.
This should interest me.
It doesn’t.
People are, essentially, people. No matter the differences. It’s what they do that makes me kill or leave them alone. It’s simple.
The longer I stand, the more I realize something.
It’s a good plan.
But Dante’s wrong.
He miscalculated because he isn’t me. I’m wrong at times, too, but I also like to observe, think. Not talk.
People open up. They give themselves away.
Like Lizette did today.
She’s defiant, soft, yes, but defiant, and at the core of her softness is steel. She looked at me like she saw me.
Not the ink. Not the ex-con. Not the psycho. Not the man with the scarred face.
The creature I truly am inside, the one I was before my name change.
And she looked at me with lust.
She’s complex. More than I think Knight or Dante see.
It could be because they’ve been in such close proximity with her. I don’t know. I don’t care .
I do know he’s wrong. There’s more to her.
Christopher leaves the building, pulls out his phone and makes a call as he gets in the car, closing the door. He murmured low so I couldn’t tell who he spoke to.
Probably Dante.
Still…
The car pulls away, and I look around, but apart from a couple walking down the street who head into the building three doors down from her, there’s no one else.
There are pedestrians, cars that drive by, but no one of interest to me.
No…I know Dante is wrong.
He sent her back where she could easily be taken. Too easily, if I wasn’t here.
Which changes dynamics.
But even if no one comes for her, and she gets to pack a bag and go, and I implement the scare campaign, it might give her enough push to defy us.
Because she’s going to soak up the memories and comfort of that apartment. Take it all in as nourishment for her steel.
I’m going to up the timeline of the campaign and change the rules. I pull my hoodie on.
There’s a place I use that no one else knows about. Utilitarian. Away from what she knows, in an abandoned building.
I need to take her out of her comfort zone and leave her there, with her apartment off limits, and she’ll come running to us, desperate for some sort of familiarity.
Especially when she learns how we met her father.
I don’t bother texting Dante. I make my move.
Now.
Glass shatters as I step into the kitchen, the cup tumbling from her hands and cracking into pieces on the floor.
“Lizette.”
Her hand trembles, eyes dilate, and pulse beats faster in her throat as she stares up at me. The air is thick with possibilities. Parts of us recognizing the other. That instinctual reaction no one can hide.
“You…you were at the club. Reaper.”
She is stunning. From the flow of dark hair with the hint of wave, to her small frame with a tiny waist, flare of hips, and full tits. Her legs are fucking long, too, and the perfect shape that suggests velvety skin and a welcoming cunt at her apex.
The outfit is too tight.
I like it.
But the thing that catches me is the full lips, naturally pinkish red, and those dark brown eyes that hover on black.
Divine and pagan at the same time.
She’s a masterpiece in womanhood.
“Pack your things.”
She frowns. “I just got here. What do you mean, pack?”
Lizette doesn’t ask how I got in. She doesn’t move.
I do. The grocery bag hasn’t been unpacked, so I take it and put it in the hall with the backpack from the other day, next to the door with the lock I picked.
“What are you doing?”
I move about, purposefully, taking all the things I found which are important to her, and us. They’re not the most important. Those are in the pack and her leather bag. But I want all information on her and her father gone. The photos, all of it. She won’t be getting that in her new digs.
I put them all into a bag I find. It’s coming with me.
“Lizette, if you have anything else hidden, get it. And pack clothes. Now.”
I don’t raise my voice or harden my tone to an order. Instead, I keep it calm and flat and soft.
This tone is easiest. And it scares the shit out of most people.
Anger, fury, hate, lust, jealousy, fear; all of these are easy to ignore when they come at you. And it’s also easy to build a defense or a counter attack.
But with cold, calm nothingness, the smooth, implacable wall of reason in its base form? Of an unemotional situation? People obey or exhaust themselves or get themselves dead.
She isn’t most people, and I don’t think Lizette’s scared, which is good. I’m not setting out to scare her, just get her to do what I need.
Obey.
She does. When she’s done, she looks around in the living room, at the blinds I pulled down, at the remnants of a life lived.
This, I don’t understand. Having roots and a connection to a place that provides shelter. Even people.
I’m loyal to my pack, to Dante and Knight. But if something happened? I’d turn to the next page in the book of my life.
That isn’t to say I wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t go down in a battle for them, would ever betray them. Any of them.
Trust isn’t a tool I give out. It’s not, to me, a tool. It’s a gift, one that must be earned. And when I give it…
I look at her.
Is she pushing these thoughts out in me?
“Where are we going?” she asks. “Why? Your boss? Partner? Dante, he said I could go home.”
I nod, slinging the bag I want over my shoulder. I hand her the pack and her bag, and I take the wheelie fucking case of clothes, along with the groceries.
If someone comes at me, I can drop the groceries, get my gun and hurl the clothes—or leave the damn case and grab her if she’s in danger .
Lizette breathes out and doesn’t move. “I asked you a question. I know you can talk.”
She’s not afraid of me. She sees me.
The two thoughts drift once more.
“This isn’t safe. I’m taking you elsewhere.”
Her fingers turn white on the backpack’s handle. “Why can’t I stay here?”
“Because if you run, whoever else is watching will follow.”
“S-Someone else is following me? Other than you?”
I only look at her. “This way.”
Lizette sits, crowding in on herself on the sofa in the bare bones basement. She can come and go, if she wishes. It’ll take her longer; she might get lost. But considering she’s got nowhere to go, no job, this is better.
Isolated.
If I were a different man, I’d feel sorry for her.
But all that’s in me is the hunt, the stakeout, the watching.
And, yes, the lust. For her.
I’m not Dante. I don’t tie myself up in knots over wanting something I shouldn’t. Or think I shouldn’t.
The girl’s no longer in heat, and if I choose to take her, fuck her, then I will.
I’m not about to. It’s just lust on a deep flesh and marrow level. It’s earth, blood, and sweat. And it's a rough, hardcore fantasy I’m not bringing to life.
Everything about her is tied up in her toxic aroma, that sweet, sensuous slide through the air.
I amend myself for honesty. I’m not about to fuck her right now. But I know I will. Eventually.
She’s too tempting not to.
After we remove the mark .
Or maybe before.
Before will be intriguing, especially if there’s an after once it’s gone. Just to see if it makes a difference in her appeal.
Her taste.
“I’ll be back,” I say.
She looks up. “You can’t just leave me, not until?—”
“It’s safe. You have your phone. There’s WIFI. Password is in the kitchen cutlery drawer. This isn’t a high-tech place. So…” I shrug. “I need to go get your things. The rest of them. You remember the way we came?”
Lizette stares up at me, her hands gripping each other, her eyes big, liquid, like prey. “Are you locking me in?”
“Keys are on the coffee table. This is a basement apartment. Studio. The other room’s a bathroom. I’ll be back.”
It doesn’t take me long to check to make sure we weren’t followed. There’s always some kind of sign, and I hid the luggage at one stop, one of the Trinity’s hole-in-the-wall bars.
I take a convoluted way out of the grim area in the Wharf district. Once it was busy, but now it’s a lot of empty places, warehouses, run-down apartments, and businesses. Not many people are out. Some criminal types, and the beauty with them is that this area tends to be crime free and people keep to themselves.
Whatever they’re doing, they don’t want to be seen. And no one cares to see them.
I don’t speak to the pack members in the bar, or the staff that I know. I check out the clientele, see if anyone doesn’t fit. It’s all normal.
But still.
I transfer everything to a duffle, put on a cap and head out the back entrance.
Some might call it overkill. I call it covering bases.
I know something’s wrong when I reach the building.
Her scent .
There’s a whiff, but it’s not that strong of an aroma I can taste.
She’s fucking gone.
I don’t bother checking when I go in and dump her stuff. Instead, I lock the door, and for the first time in a long time, I smile.
Time to hunt.