7. Reaper
Reaper
I’m sitting at the end of the bed in my bedroom with my head in my hands trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of this situation.
I just should’ve let her disappear into the darkness, but that wasn’t an option as soon as his blood landed on my clothes and skin.
I became a part of this entire shitshow.
She didn’t have to say it’s his blood because I just know it is without her saying what she’s done.
Did she kill the next Bratva Pakhan? She must have done a number on him. With that amount of blood, he shouldn’t survive. And for her sake I hope he’s dead.
I’m sure by now his goons are looking for her and me since I disappeared, too. For months they’ve been looking for a reason to get rid of me ever since I killed Aleksi. However, it’s been hard to do anything without outright declaring war with the Sinners. This might just be their reason now.
I don’t feel comfortable pulling the club into things before I know exactly what the hell is going on.
I’m not sure if bringing her to my place was the best idea either, but here we are.
I’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.
Right now, I need to know how to plan for what happens next which means I need to know exactly what the hell she’s done.
“Fuck!” I grip the edge of the bed. “This isn’t good.”
Nikita’s woman is in my shower washing away his blood from her body.
I’ve already washed up in my guest bathroom and bagged my bloody clothes.
Now I’m just waiting for her to give me the ones she’s wearing.
When I have time, I’ll take them to the funeral home we use sometimes and throw them, along with the knife she used, into the incinerator to destroy anything connecting us to the crime.
When the shower shuts off, I lift my head, waiting for the mysterious woman to exit my bathroom.
We didn’t have the chance to talk about what happened and what her plans are once the Bratva finds out she’s the one who stabbed the next Petrov Pakhan.
Getting rid of all the blood had been the priority.
She steps out of the bathroom, with steam from the shower trailing behind her. She keeps her head lowered to the ground, as she takes one of my towels and dries her hair.
Something pulls inside my chest again. She looks so different.
Her large, almond-shaped eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, peer at me, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in their depths.
Her button nose and plump lips are flawless against her beautiful dark skin.
She’s so perfect. So innocent, but sexy as hell.
She’s wearing one of my shirts and a pair of my boxers.
Possessiveness whirls its way through me as my cock thickens in my basketball shorts.
Not the time, Logan.
“Take a seat.” I gesture to the plush leather armchair by my bedroom window as I try to ignore the desire rising inside me. “We need to talk.”
She let out a breath, ceasing her efforts to dry her hair. No longer straight her still slightly damped hair is now a mass of tight, springy curls, reaching just past her shoulders. I like it better this way.
“What do you want to talk about?” Her voice is barely above a whisper and the agony interlaced in her words sends a dagger into my heart. “I didn’t have a choice. It was him or me. And I chose me.”
“I’m not blaming you for the choice you made. I just need to know what happened.”
As she makes her way to the chair, I notice her trembling hands, and her unsteady steps. She must be experiencing an adrenaline dump even though so far, she’s handling this shit better than I expect her to.
On the outside at least.
Earlier, as tears streamed down her face and her voice was choked with despair, she pleaded with me to let her escape. That’s the only time she showed any type of emotion. Other than that, she’s been stoic, almost detached from what’s happening.
I know how that feels.
With a sigh, she sat in the luxurious oversized armchair, then tucked her legs under her.
“Is he dead?”
That’s the most pressing question at the moment, the one that needs immediate attention. Then we can plan around his death, or a brutal attempt on his life.
She shrugs. “I didn’t stop to check. I didn’t have time. I just stabbed him until he let go of me then I ran out.”
So, right now we’ll plan around a brutal attempt on his life. Although it shouldn’t take long to verify whether they found him dead.
“What’s your name and how do you know Nikita?”
I don’t think she’s anyone special to Nikita. He parades women around all the time. He’s the type of person who switches women like underwear. Yet he seems extremely possessive of her. I haven’t seen him like that with any other women. Or maybe my attention on her pissed him off?
“Paris Johnson. The Petrovs kidnapped me six months ago.”
Fuck! Well, that’ll bring the cops straight to my doorsteps.
“So, you’re a missing person?”
“Not necessarily missing.” She releases a sarcastic chuckle, twisting the hem of my t-shirt in her trembling hands. “The only family I have knows exactly where I’ve been. He owes a debt he can’t pay. So, he gave me to the Pakhan who then gave me to Nikita as a gift.”
The amount of rage coursing through my veins is like a raging burning inferno.
I can’t even imagine the unspeakable horrors she’s been through, both physical and mental because some asshole doesn’t know how to take care of his own shit.
The bruises decorating her delicate skin only tell part of the story.
“Boyfriend or husband?”
I don’t try to hide the anger in my voice. It’s unforgivable for anyone who calls themselves a man to knowingly put a woman in that position.
She shakes her head, then looks at me. “My brother. Well, he’s my half-brother, like that even matters.”
My nostrils flare. You’ve got to be a real piece of shit to sell out your own blood to someone like the Petrovs.
How can you give your family to notorious criminals like it’s nothing?
If her brother had been anywhere near me right now, I’d kill him.
If he deals with the Petrovs, he knows exactly the kind of people they are and what they do to women.
He doesn’t care if she experiences the same fate.
Piece of shit.
“And how old are you?”
Her youthful face is barely touched by wrinkles, which suggests she’s somewhere in her early twenties. But it’s difficult to tell these days.
“Twenty-five.”
She’s older than I thought.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asks.
“Everyone knows me as Reaper.”
“You’re the guy with the tattoo?” Her eyes go wide like saucers. “I didn’t recognize you. Nikita hates you so much. He used to rant about you after fights.”
That makes me smile. I hate him, too. He’s a bitch, who thinks he can do and say whatever he wants because of who his father is. Not because of anything he’s done.
“I’m glad to hear it.” A ghost of a smile graces my lips. “I hate that motherfucker, too.”
Now she smiles, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in a long time. The kind of smile that brings light into my darkness and one I wouldn’t mind seeing every day.
“Me too.” She sighs and her smile slips off her face. “He’s so fucking awful.”
A faraway gaze settles in her eyes, and I can only imagine where her thoughts have taken her. But if I have anything to say about it, she won’t have anything to fear from the Bratva anymore.
“What happens now?” Her watery gaze almost leaves me paralyzed. “They’re going to kill me if they find me.”
What happens now? That’s the other question, and I have no fucking clue how to answer it or where this goes from here.
There’s no way we can go to the cops. She’ll end up dead while in police custody.
It’s not going to matter if she killed him in self-defense.
Nobody knows the reach of the Bratva. But if the Sinners have people on the police’s payroll, so do the Russians. Going there will be a death sentence.
This is a delicate situation. There’s no way I can keep the Sinners out of this.
Anyone who came to watch the fights that night, knows I’ve been there.
Nikita’s immediate circle also knows Nikita and I exchanged words right before his attack.
Then, I disappeared without fighting, along with his woman.
I’m linked to his attack even if I don’t have anything to do with it.
I stand, looking at her. Shit’s getting ready to hit the fan. Hopefully she’s ready for the consequences of her actions. And hopefully I’m prepared for the consequences of mine.
“What happens now is we sleep.”
“What’s your real name, Reaper?” she asks. After a few minutes of silence, she gives me a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”
Her voice is so soft I barely make out the words, but the sounds moves through me like a bolt of lightning.
“Logan.”
It takes me only a minute to respond. Not because I don’t want her to know my name, but Reaper’s more impersonal.
And when all this shit is over, it will be easier for us to go our separate ways.
Trauma can bond people together if they aren’t careful, and I don’t think it will be a good idea for either of us if we form any type of connection.
“Thank you, Logan.”
I give her a curt nod, before disappearing into the master ensuite to gather her bloody clothes. Her eyes watch my every move with curiosity, not fear. She’s not scared of me. Although she should be. I’m not a bastard like Nikita but I’m not a good man either.
“You can sleep in here tonight.”
Gazing at her one last time, all kinds of thoughts swirled in my mind.
How the hell do I protect her, and why the hell do I even want to.
When I walk out of my bedroom, I’m even more determined to figure this shit out.
Right now, all we can do is prepare for the shitstorm that’s coming for both of us.