Chapter Thirty-Six
Adriana
Alarm bells ring in my head, and all I want to do is pull Reaper aside, set him down somewhere well away from all the addicts getting high, look deep into his eyes, calmly, lovingly, and scream in his face: “What the fuck is this guy talking about?”
But I can’t.
Because we’re in a Triad den, and I doubt they’d appreciate me interrupting the important assassination conversation to find out what the man I love has been keeping secret from me about my sister’s death.
So, I swallow the rage burning in my throat like acid and force myself to focus on the task at hand.
Charlie Eng watches me with those calculating eyes, and I can feel Reaper's tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
But when I don't immediately drag him outside for answers, I sense his shoulders drop just a fraction.
Good. Let him think I'm being professional. Let him think I'm not dying inside.
"We're here to discuss Ruslan Volkov," I say, my voice steady despite the hurricane of doubt tearing through my chest. "You want his territory. We want him dead."
Charlie Eng leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. The smoke from his cigarette curls between us like a barrier. "Direct. I appreciate that in a woman." His gaze flicks to Reaper. "Your boyfriend could learn something."
The word 'boyfriend' hits me wrong now, tainted by whatever secret is eating at Reaper's conscience. Is he still mine? Was he ever really mine if he's been lying about Vanessa?
"Volkov's got safe houses, businesses, and security," Tank interjects, his gruff voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. "We need to know where he’ll be, we need weapons, and we need a way in."
"That can be arranged," Charlie says slowly. "The Brotherhood has been waiting for an opportunity to expand into Volkov's territory. His death would... open doors."
I watch Reaper out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched tight, those magnetic eyes focused anywhere but on me. The man I love — the man I thought I knew — is sitting right next to me, and he feels like a stranger.
"What's the catch?" I say, because there's always a catch in this world.
Charlie Eng smiles, and it's as smooth as broken glass. "I need a favor first.”
“What kind of favor?”
“The non-negotiable kind.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell us? Just a bunch of cryptic bullshit?” Tank says. He shifts in his chair, his thick arms bulging as he clenches his fists.
“If you want my help, you’ll help me.”
Mayhem cocks his head, and I utter a silent prayer that he’s just stretching his neck and he’ll keep his damn mouth shut.
I am disappointed. “Aren’t we already helping you by killing the head of your rivals?
You’re really pushing us for a man who has an entire floor of his building filled with flammable chemicals and explos — ”
Diesel buries an elbow in Mayhem’s back, and Tank raps his knuckles on Eng’s desk. “What sort of weaponry and access does this favor buy us?”
Eng smiles, and his grinning face reminds me of a jack-o’-lantern with the candles snuffed out — dark, unnatural. “We have military-grade weaponry from several sources — Russian, American, and Chinese, as well. In fact, we just acquired a few crates of QBZ-191s.”
Mayhem leans forward in his seat, and his voice rises in pitch like a boy let loose in a Toys ‘R’ Us with his parents’ credit card. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to play with those. Do you have the QBZ-192s, too?”
Eng nods. “Some, yes. They are harder to obtain.”
Mayhem claps his hands. “I’ll bet. It’s only the special forces that get access to those. Whatever the favor is, I’m in, as long as I can take one of those home with me.”
God damn it. I stare at him. As do Diesel, Tank, and Reaper. So much for bargaining.
“Fine, we’re in on this favor, Eng,” I say.
Eng extends his hand, and Reaper, Tank, and I shake it. “Good,” he says. “Now, go enjoy yourselves. If you need to rest, there are rooms available upstairs. I will have them prepared for you. If you wish to drink, to gamble, to… partake… you may do so as well. It is all free for your enjoyment.”
I force myself to nod as if this is all perfectly normal, as if my world isn't cracking apart at the seams. "Before we go, can you tell us more about this favor? What exactly—"
"Details later," Eng cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "When it's time, I'll send for you. For now, relax. Enjoy."
The dismissal is clear, and my stomach drops. Whatever this favor is, it's bad enough that he won't even hint at it. I catch Tank's worried glance, see Diesel's jaw tighten. Even they know we're walking into something ugly.
But we don't have a choice. Not if we want Volkov dead.
The guys file out ahead of me, but I grab Reaper's arm as he tries to follow. His muscles tense under my grip like he's bracing for impact.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice low and sharp.
"Adriana — "
"Now."
The main floor hits us with a wall of noise and smoke.
Music pulses from hidden speakers while the clink of glasses and muffled conversations create a backdrop to whatever illegal activities are happening in the shadows.
I spot a quieter corner near the bar and drag Reaper toward it, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist like a shackle.
When we're as alone as we can get in this den of vice, I turn to face him. Those bright eyes that usually make my heart race now feel like they're hiding landmines.
"What did Eng mean when he said he knows about what happened to Vanessa?"
The color drains from Reaper's face so fast I think he might collapse. His mouth opens, closes, opens again like a fish gasping for air.
"I don't know what — "
"Don't you dare lie to me." The words tear out of my throat, raw and bleeding. "Not about this. Not about her."
He flinches as if I've slapped him, and something inside my chest shatters completely. His reaction tells me everything I need to know. There is something. There is a secret he's been keeping from me about my sister's death.
The man I love has been lying to me about the most important thing in my world.
"Adriana, please — "
"Please what?" I step closer, invading his space, my voice dropping to a whisper that carries more venom than any shout. "Please don't ask you about whatever you've been hiding? Please pretend I didn't hear that smug bastard hint he knows something about Vanessa that I don't?"
Pain flickers across his features, and for a moment he looks like he's going to crumble right here in front of me. Part of me wants to catch him, to hold him, to tell him whatever it is doesn't matter.
But it matters. It's Vanessa. It’s our relationship. It’s the truth. It's everything.
Then he takes a deep breath, turns those eyes to me, and their luminescence bores into the walls of doubt and anger I’ve thrown up around my heart.
“Adriana,” he says. His voice is warm, loving, open, vulnerable, poison. “I’ll tell you.”
I try to sound angry, doubtful. “Speak.”
Even I can hear I fail.
“I knew Vanessa was in danger. That she was at risk for…” His voice trails off into a shaky breath.
I stay silent, waiting, until the pain in his eyes pulls my hand to his shoulder; I’ve been in enough interrogations to know when someone is telling the truth.
“I knew and I couldn’t get to her in time.
If I had done things differently, if I had been faster, if I had been able to stop V… ”
Pain and grief cut his words short. I squeeze his shoulder, then pull him closer and put my arms around him. He shakes in my arms.
“It’s OK,” I say. But even as I hold him, I wonder — is it? Is this really the great secret that Eng hinted at? That everyone knew an addict was at risk of relapsing?
He pulls back from that hug and those bright eyes, now shining with pain that shimmers in the prism of tears that cling to those brilliant orbs, bore into mine.
My resistance wavers, fades, weakens to near nothing in the face of that loving luminescence.
“That’s what happened. I knew she was at risk, and I couldn’t get to her in time to save her.
That’s why I blame myself.” He blinks, pauses, looks away.
“Is it?” I say, wondering why now he can’t look me in the eye. “Reaper?”
He shakes his head. “This place… This isn’t easy for me, Adriana.
Eng could see it. The man is a fucking snake, and he wants every advantage he can get.
Being here, surrounded by all this… I can smell it in the air, feel it crawling across my skin — the addiction, the poison they’re smoking and shooting up in the shadows.
It doesn’t just pull at me; it makes me think of her and every way I let her down.
But there’s something Eng doesn’t know, something no one really, truly knows, and it’s something that keeps me going and keeps me from joining those people in the shadows chasing fucking oblivion with a needle. ”
“What is it?” I breathe.
“You.” His hand brushes my chin, cups it, tilts it upward, and I moan as he leans and kisses me.
His eyes dive into mine and wrap themselves around my racing heart.
“It’s how much I love you that keeps me going.
I never imagined I’d find a second chance, never imagined I’d love someone so deeply that it makes me want to live again. And then I met you.”
I want to believe him. Want it so desperately. For his sake, and for the sake of my fragile heart. I kiss him again, deep, hoping to dispel every ounce of doubt that lurks in the shadows inside me.
“I love you, Reaper.”
“I love you, too.” Another kiss that lights me up inside.
That forces my doubts into the furthest reaches of my heart.
He takes another look over his shoulder, and those eyes return to mine, and I feel my resistance, my doubt, my concerns, melting beneath their heat.
“We’ve had a hard day, and being down here surrounded by all this isn’t good for me.
Why don’t we go upstairs and check out the rooms that are waiting for us? ”
I want to believe him. I want to believe. I want him. Nodding, I say, “Okay.”
He stands and takes me by the hand, leading me on.
I want to believe.
I want to.
But do I?