Chapter Forty-Two
Reaper
It takes almost no time at all for Tank and I to hammer out the details of the help we’ll get from Charlie Eng and his Triads — all the guns we want, any covert help we need — which isn’t a surprise considering he believes the Russians tried to kill his mother and are at war with his organization.
Once we’ve shaken hands with Charlie, we head into the Triad den, where I grab a bottle of whiskey from the bar and nod to Tank.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He grunts. “About damn time. Been wondering when you were going to ask that.”
“Never figured you to be the type to be eager for conversation,” I say, trying to feign something close to a joke to ease the tension in my chest. Doubts and truths and lies are stirring between Adriana and me, and they have a hard grip on my heart.
Just as I’m on the verge of freeing myself and her from being Volkov’s targets and starting a life together — fresh, free, healed — I stand on the verge of losing her.
It’s a feeling of loss I know all too well, and one I’m not sure I could survive again. Not sure I’d want to.
But my joke doesn’t land — not on Tank, and not on me, either; I can’t even crack a fucking smile at my own stupid line.
Tank grunts. “I ain’t. But I ain’t a fan of liars, especially when those lies threaten my life and the lives of my brothers. You’ve got a lot of truth-telling to do before we fucking ride into the teeth of it against this Volkov son of a bitch.”
We ascend the staircase to the upper floors where our quarters are, and Tank gestures for me to follow him to his room. Inside, we both take a seat on a couple of chairs. I take a pull from the bottle and then pass it to him.
“It’s not lying, exactly,” I say.
He snorts, takes a drink, and then snorts again. “When you have to start off with fucking qualifiers like that, it doesn’t make the bullshit stink any less.”
“She came here wanting to kill me, Tank. And I wanted her to.”
“Sounds like a great start to a relationship.”
“As if your start with Bianca was any better?” I say. He raises an eyebrow at me that, from anyone else, would be the same as raising a fist, and I bite back my words. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be fucking sorry. Be fucking honest.”
“I left the MC, I left Ironwood Falls, because I wanted to die, Tank. You and everyone in the Twisted Devils took me in; you all tried, but I could not stop seeing her face — Vanessa’s face — and it wasn’t some happy fucking memory of her laughing in the sunshine while we picnicked in a field. It was her cold, dead face.”
“Fuck, brother. That sounds awful.”
“Every time I woke up, in that second where I’d be coming out of some fucking sleep full of nightmares, I’d hear her voice calling out to me, screaming, for me to help her, to save her, and I’d wake up hoping it were true, hoping she were still alive and I’d have another chance to maybe change things, and then reality would set in and I’d realize she was still dead and it was because of me. ”
“And so you ran,” he says. It’s half a statement, half an accusation, and completely deserved. “You fucking left us all, and you ran.”
“Ran? Yes, I fucking left you all, but I went looking for justice.”
“Justice?”
“You think it’s fucking right that I keep living when someone innocent like Vanessa is dead?
” I stop, staring at Tank, who has a fucking impassive expression on his face, while my words hang in the air.
A sound tickles my ears, coming from the hallway.
I turn my head to look toward the door, just as Tank clears his throat and shakes his head.
“Do I think it’s fucking right? No, it isn’t. It was war, Reaper. And in war, you see every awful thing that man is capable of. There’s a fucking cost to it, and sometimes, that cost is a piece of your fucking soul just for doing the right thing.”
“The right thing? The right thing?” Tank raises an eyebrow at me, and I stop, realizing that I’ve been shouting.
How the fuck could losing Vanessa be the right thing?
How could anything that cost that woman her life be right?
How can it be right that she’s dead, but I’m alive?
I let out a breath, pause, then continue.
“We stopped Moretti, the world has one less fucking monster in it, but it doesn’t feel right to me, Tank. ”
“Then why the fuck are you still alive? If it feels so fucking wrong, and you came here to die, why aren’t you six feet under?”
“Because of her.”
“Adriana. Your dead ex’s sister.”
“Yes.” I pause again, thinking, and swear I hear a sound from the hallway.
“Fucking your dead ex’s sister seems to me like a pretty fucked up way to find out you want to live.”
I turn my eyes back to Tank, anger flaring inside me.
“Fuck you. It isn’t fucking her that makes me want to live.
Hell, early on, even after fucking her, I told her I wanted her to kill me when this shit with Volkov is over.
But now… She feels this loss just as deep as I do, brother.
She understands this pain, and she keeps finding reasons to throw it back in my face every time I even think of dying.
Whatever the fuck it is she sees in me, that it comes from someone like her — someone who used to hunt criminals like me with an absolute fucking vengeance — makes me think it really could be true. Adriana could be my second chance.”
“Then why the fuck are you acting like you’ve got a barbed wire probe up your fucking ass?”
“Because she still doesn’t know the full truth.”
“About Vanessa’s death? She knows her sister died, brother. Everything that happened is in the fucking police report and the coroner’s report. Pretty hard to hide the details of a death like that when you carry someone into the ER for a heroin overdose.”
The air feels heavier. Maybe it’s my fucking conscience, but I feel a weight of something else on me, too.
Like Vanessa is here in the room, watching, listening, waiting for me to own up to the truth.
I owe that to her. Even if Tank is trying to be a good brother and give me an easy out, to absolve myself of her death and accept the oversimplification that the reason she’s in the ground is nothing more than a tragic act of war.
“You know it’s more than that, Tank.”
“What do you mean? I was there, Reaper.”
I breathe. Think of Vanessa. I have to do this.
I have to admit it to him, because not only do I need to speak the truth, I need his help.
I need Tank’s advice, because he’s the only other one who was there and who I can trust. Even when we disagree, he’s still my brother, and still the man who pulled me out of the dark pit of addiction.
I need to tell Adriana the truth without losing her. I can’t let this lie about her sister’s death live between us. Adriana is my second chance, and I can’t lose her.
Tank clears his throat. “If you’re going to look for my fucking advice about how to have an honest conversation with the woman you love, you damn well better get fucking honest with me. Talk to me, Reaper.”
“She tried to break up with me. She tried to get free. And she could have done it. She could have done it and still be alive today. The only reason she wound up in Moretti’s crosshairs is because I wouldn’t let her go and tried to win her back.
I pulled her into that war. I made her a target.
It’s because of me that she was taken hostage.
It’s because of me she wound up in that ER.
It’s because of me, my actions, my choices that she died. I killed Vanessa, Tank.”
Those last words leave my mouth, and I hear a sound from the hallway — part gasp, part cry, a mix of rage and anguish. Something grips my heart and even without seeing it, I know who’s out there.
I run to the door and throw it open. A look up and down the hallway reveals a door leading out into the Den just slamming shut. It’s her.
She’s leaving.
“Adriana, wait,” I call out and run after her.
I can’t lose her now — I have to catch her before it’s too late.