Chapter Thirty-Seven
Reaper
The truth will get out at some point. Adriana’s too smart, too determined, too aware that something’s off, to be kept away from it for good.
At some point, she’ll find out that the reason her sister’s dead isn’t because Vanessa was an addict, but because she loved me, she stayed with me, and I got involved in Tank’s vendetta against the drug lord Victor Moretti.
She died because of my choices. And if she had had the sense to never take me back, to break things off clean, she never would’ve been put in Moretti’s path.
But I couldn’t let her go.
Just like I can’t let Adriana go now.
Instead of giving her the hard truth, I give her the easier lie and take her by the hand and lead her to the upstairs of the Triad den. Down a long dark hallway lit by red lanterns carved with golden dragons, runes, and pagodas.
We stop at a heavy wooden door that’s had a sign with our names attached to it — Ricky DeMarco and Adriana Ruiz.
“They work fast,” I murmur.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Madam Lin gave them a full dossier on us before we arrived,” Adriana says. “She seems the type to know everything about everyone, even the things they think are secret.”
Something about how she says that and the way her eyes linger on me sends a twinge through my heart.
I squeeze her hand, then take the door by the handle.
“I have no idea what favor Eng is going to ask of us, and we might die doing whatever it is, but if that’s the case, I want to spend my last night with you. ”
She smiles. It’s faint, but it touches her eyes and squeezes my hand. “I’d like that.”
I push open the door and we step inside.
The room takes my breath away—elegant in a way that makes me feel like I don't belong here.
Dark wood furniture with intricate carvings, silk screens painted with mountain landscapes and cherry blossoms, a low table set with delicate porcelain.
Red and gold accents catch the soft light from paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
Even the bed is draped in rich burgundy silk that probably costs more than I used to make in a month.
But all that elegance can't quiet the gnawing in my chest. The way Adriana looked at me in the hallway, that comment about Madam Lin knowing everything about everyone—I can feel her pulling away, piece by piece.
The doubts are eating at her, and I can't blame her for having them.
I'm a walking lie when it comes to Vanessa.
I close the door behind us and turn the lock. The soft click echoes in the silence.
"Come here," I say, taking her hand and leading her toward the bed. She follows, but there's something distant in her movements, like part of her mind is somewhere else entirely.
I stop at the foot of the bed and turn to face her, taking both her hands in mine. "Adriana." Her name comes out rough, like gravel. "I need you to know something."
She looks up at me, those brown eyes searching my face.
"I love you," I say. "And loving you — it’s the first time in a long time that I've wanted to live."
Something shifts in her expression, the distance melting away.
"When I first met you," she says softly, "I never could have imagined this.
Never could have imagined loving you." Her fingers tighten around mine.
"But I do. God help me, I do. And every time I look into your eyes, I lose myself completely. "
I pull her closer, one hand sliding up to cup her face.
When our lips meet, it's like the rest of the world disappears. The kiss is deep, desperate, full of everything we can't say out loud. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer.
We break apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," I whisper against her lips, "whatever Eng asks of us—tonight is ours."
She nods, her breath warm against my skin. "Tonight is ours."
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips, the way she melts against me. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle through my shirt. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark with want.
I lean in again, capturing her mouth with mine.
This time the kiss deepens, becomes something hungrier.
Her lips part under mine, and I explore her mouth with my tongue, drawing a soft moan from her throat that sends heat straight through me.
My hands tangle in her dark hair, tilting her head back so I can kiss her deeper.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours — I lose track of time as we stand there kissing in the soft glow of the lanterns. Her body presses against mine, curves fitting perfectly against my harder edges. Every kiss feeds into the next, building something between us that feels bigger than both of us combined.
When I trail my lips down to her neck, she arches against me, her breath coming faster. I can feel her pulse racing under my mouth as I kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Reaper," she whispers, and the way she says my name makes something inside me break open.
I pull back just enough to look at her face, flushed and beautiful in the dim light.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, letting it drop to the floor.
Her gaze travels over my chest, taking in the tattoos that map out my past, the scars that tell stories I wish I could forget.
But when she looks back at my face, there's no judgment there. Only want.
I reach for her shirt next, my movements slow and deliberate.
She raises her arms to help me, and the fabric slides away to reveal smooth skin and the black lace of her bra.
She's perfect — all curves and strength, the kind of beauty that makes my chest tight knowing that I don't deserve this, don't deserve her.
I trace my fingers along her collarbone, watching goosebumps rise on her skin.
Then I lean down to press my lips to that same spot, kissing a path down to the hollow of her throat.
She tastes like vanilla and something uniquely her, something that makes me want to memorize every inch of her skin with my mouth.
Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as I work my way lower, kissing the swell of her breasts above the lace. When I look up at her, her head is thrown back, lips parted, lost in the sensation.
I guide her back onto the bed. My lips, my hands, my heart — they all want to explore her, to feel her, to consume her.
My hands find the clasp of her bra, working it free with steady fingers despite the tremor running through me.
The black lace falls away, and I drink in the sight of her, perfect and vulnerable beneath me.
I lean down to capture her lips again, the kiss slow and deep, tasting her sighs as my hands map the curves of her waist, the soft skin of her ribs.
"You're beautiful," I murmur against her mouth, meaning every word. "So damn beautiful."
Her response is lost in another kiss, her hands roaming over my chest, tracing the lines of ink that spiral across my shoulders and down my arms. Each touch sends electricity through me, but I force myself to go slow, to savor this. Tomorrow we might be dead. Tonight, I want to worship her.
I trail my lips down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter against my tongue.
Her skin is warm and soft, tasting faintly of sweat and something indefinably her.
I take my time exploring the hollow at the base of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat that makes her gasp and arch beneath me.
When I reach her breasts, I pause to look up at her face. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, lost in sensation. The sight of her like this — trusting, open, mine — makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest.
I lower my head and take one peaked nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive flesh.
She cries out, her back arching off the silk sheets, hands fisting in my hair.
The sound goes straight to my core, and I moan as my cock hardens even more, pulsing, aching, but I keep my focus on her, on learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her moan my name.
My hands work at the button of her jeans, sliding them down her long legs along with the underwear underneath. She's naked beneath me now, all golden skin and soft curves in the flickering lantern light, and I have to pause just to take her in, to memorize this moment.
"Reaper," she whispers, reaching for me, and I go willingly, covering her body with mine as our mouths meet again in a kiss that tastes like forever and goodbye all at once.
The kiss deepens, our mouths moving together with an urgency that makes my chest burn.
Her tongue slides against mine, and I can taste her need, her desperation that mirrors my own.
My hands frame her face as we kiss, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, and I pour everything I can't say into the connection between us.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with desire.
"Close your eyes," I whisper against her lips.
She hesitates for just a moment, studying my face in the flickering lantern light. Then her lashes flutter closed, dark crescents against her flushed cheeks. The trust in that simple gesture makes my throat tight.
I reach for one of the silk pillows beside her head, carefully sliding the pillowcase free. The fabric is cool and smooth between my fingers as I fold it into a makeshift blindfold.
"What are you — " she starts, but I silence her with a gentle kiss.
"Trust me," I say, and she nods after a momentary hesitation, her lips parting slightly.