Chapter 11
RAZOR
Ileft the bar for my own sanity. It’s obvious Sunday is gonna be a popular addition to our fucked-up family.
I lost count of the number of Reapers who attempted to engage her in conversation, and I like to tell myself it’s because she’s fresh meat.
But she’s more than that. Sunday is like a breath of fresh air through this entire fucking compound, and I’m not the only one who thinks that.
I see them staring her way, whispered comments behind their hands, plotting to get in her panties, to be the one to claim her first. It’s messing with my mind, and I can’t bear the thought of her walking out of the door with one of my brothers, so I walk out in advance—alone.
Sleep doesn’t come easily to me most nights, but tonight I’m alone with my dark thoughts. Not just because of the mission today either. I’m used to death and destruction. It’s what happened when we came back that’s messing with my mind.
I can’t shake the image of Sunday away. Picturing her with another Reaper. Smiling at him, touching him—him touching her. It’s an alien feeling because I don’t usually care. But for some reason I do this time, and I’m not sure what to think about that.
I texted Blade for company, but his response was the middle finger, meaning he found a much more entertaining way to spend his evening. Most of the Reapers do. If they don’t head home to their old ladies, they take advantage of the candy trail we live with.
Women who are as lost as we are, grateful for a warm body to cling to while the world goes on around us. We live as invisible soldiers fighting an enemy that not many know about. We are the men who bring justice when justice fails, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
By 2 a.m. I can’t sleep and decide to head out for a jog. That’s not uncommon for me. I relish the darkness. The privacy it brings and the cool air a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day.
I pull on my shorts and sneakers but not a lot else, and as I head outside I welcome the cool breeze.
I’ve always been more at home with darkness than light, both mentally and physically, and as I head off on the trail, only the steady beat of my heart accompanies me.
The nocturnal choir of nature reminds me I’m not alone out here, and as I gently jog through the treeline, a twig cracks beneath my feet.
I round the corner toward the Lakehouse, and as the moon casts its light on my path, I’m surprised to discover I’m not alone.
I would recognize her anywhere, even out here in oblivion, and my breath catches as Sunday jogs toward me, her blonde hair pulled in a ponytail, swinging as she jogs.
She is wearing shorts and a tank with sneakers, and I wonder why she’s not tucked up in bed, but glad she’s not under one of my brothers.
She peers up as I approach, startled for sure, and I ease to a slow walk and reassure her with a soft, “I didn’t expect to have company out here.”
“Razor.”
Her gasp of relief somehow lightens my spirit, and she draws close, her face flushed and accentuated by the moon’s rays.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She appears weary, and I peer a little closer.
“The nightmares, I’m guessing.”
She nods, tugging her lip between her teeth.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I’m not one for conversation, but it’s better than freaking her out with my real intention.
“You’re right about that. I’m just praying the nightmares turn to dust in my dreams one night.”
Her breathing is heavy, and she appears a little flushed, and I nod toward the lake in the distance.
“Come. You could use some rest.”
“I guess.” She pants, bracing her hands on her knees as she catches her breath, and I resist the urge to scoop her up in my arms and carry her there.
We walk in silence until we reach the shoreline, and I point to a clearing.
“Take a seat, princess. It’s not a throne, but worth more.”
Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight as she catches my eye, and I note the flush to her face that hits me square in the gut.
I’m already aware nothing good will come out of this because my attraction for this girl is tearing me up inside. I want her, and I’m not a man who wants much; however, for some reason, I want her more than I want to breathe right now.
We sit shoulder to shoulder, staring into the inky darkness of the lake, and she shivers.
“Are you cold?”
My voice rumbles in the stillness of the night, and she nods. “A little.”
I act on autopilot and drape my arm over her shoulder, noting how she tenses on impact and say huskily, “Relax darlin’, just warming you up. It’s basic survival practice.”
Her low chuckle almost raises a smile on my face.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No.”
She turns, and her eyes glitter in the moonlight.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because, well, a man like you must have lots of admirers, and I guess you can take your pick inside the bar.”
She’s not wrong. I can. Most of the women are fascinated with me and my brother. We give nothing away, just our cocks and they appear to take that as a challenge.
It’s funny how since I laid eyes on Sunday, I only see her—not them—which is probably why I’m taking a solo run in the middle of the night to work off my pent-up testosterone that a day in the field gifts me.
She slumps against me, and my hold tightens. Her tone soft as she whispers, “I left my family behind to come here, Razor. I miss them.”
“What brought you here?”
I’m curious because most of the broken angels have a soul-destroying story when they knock on our door, and she will be no exception, I’m sure.
“I’m running from a forced marriage if you’re interested.”
Fuck!
She continues. “There’s a local mobster who inherited his father’s empire. He went to my school and was the creepy kid that loitered in the shadows and perved on all the girls.”
I say nothing, my fist curling into the grass beside me.
“Well, when his father died, he inherited his army of Satans and decided to take something he always believed was his. Me.”
She sighs and I want to smash this fucking creep into oblivion, but I say nothing, merely rub circles on her arm as I grip her hard.
“I wasn’t interested, and so he targeted my father’s businesses. You know the kind of thing. Protection money, beatings, free food and drink, and intimidation. He told him the only way he would ever be free would be if he was considered family and if I married him, he would leave my father alone.”
“So, you ran.”
Thank fuck for that, and she sighs.
“No. I told him to go fuck himself, and he was pissed. Torched a couple of my father’s waffle houses and told him he’d be inside the next time.”
She shifts a little closer, her bare leg firm against mine, and whispers, “My father told my brothers who are serving in the special forces. The next thing I knew, I was heading here with my bags packed. The trouble is—”
She turns, and the tears that sparkle in her eyes cut me deep as she whispers, “I left my father behind and I’m so worried about him.”
“Why?” I shrug. “When you passed through those doors, I’m guessing backup was already in place. Ryder King will have made sure your father is protected.”
“I guess, but you don’t know Santiago De Sauro. He will be biding his time, and when that time is right, he will make sure my father is the first in line.”
She falls silent, and I have no words of reassurance. My faith is in Ryder to tie up all the loose ends, but it’s obvious Sunday doesn’t share my belief.
For the first time in my life, I wish I were good with words because more than anything, I want to reassure this woman clinging to me right now that all the time I breathe, she will be safe and that is my solemn vow.