Chapter 20
Delilah
Two soldiers stand on either side of the front door as we enter, Reaper nearly dragging me by my arm over the threshold.
Pain twinges in my arm from his tight grip, but he’s so tense, so upset, that I don’t fight him as he aggressively drags me into the house.
Warmth hits my frozen limbs and I sigh in relief.
Fallon kept me out there for hours and my fingers feel like icicles.
I’m so grateful to be in the warm house, that I don’t protest as Reaper all but shoves me ahead of him through the foyer, even when my ribs throb.
My stomach growls so loud that he stops walking and lets me go. The urge to apologize rushes through me, but I clamp my mouth shut, rubbing my cold nose with an icy hand. Remembering I’m not allowed to talk or be human, proves to be more difficult than one would think.
“You’re hungry,” Reaper says, his midnight eyes scanning me.
I bite my lip to keep from saying, Obviously. Your insane father kept me out in the cold for hours shooting a target so I can kill my father.
Without another word, he grips my arm again and drags me in the opposite direction of the stairs.
The two soldiers positioned by the door, follow us, their boots thudding ominously behind us.
Reaper casts them a deadly look as he steers me toward the long hall that leads to the back of the house.
When the two continue to walk behind us, I glance at Reaper by my side, and he finally looks my way, his eyes darker than usual.
God, he’s furious. But I’m not sure what has him more upset.
He was pissed that Fallon was so close to me.
That was obvious, but this intense, deadly energy emitting from him has me feeling unsteady.
Like there’s a bomb ticking nearby, but I’m not sure if it’s him about to explode or some other threat I can’t see.
“Resume your positions,” Reaper barks out, not looking their way, his entire tone and body screaming authority.
“Commander said to take her to her room,” one of them says.
“She needs to eat.” Reaper yanks my arm, moving me closer to him. I stumble into his side as he stops abruptly and turns to face them.
“Not what Commander ordered,” the second one says.
I don’t recognize either of them, but then again, they all look so similar except for the obvious height differences and their eyes and skin tones.
He shifts and I catch the faint black glint of the number 51.
He’s short, but stocky. Nowhere near as large as Reaper. “She’s to go to her room.”
Reaper drops my arm and faces them fully, placing himself between me and them. He seems to grow as he steps their way, towering over the stocky one, looking down his masked nose at the soldier. “And I am giving you the order to return to your post.”
“Our orders are to remain with her,” the first one says. The black number on his chest reads 50. “Commander wants eyes on her at all times.”
“I have my eye on her,” Reaper says, gripping my arm again. He pulls me forward and I go willingly, placing a hand on my ribs to ease the ache as he tugs me along.
We continue down the hall, and I glance over my shoulder and notice they follow, but at a distance.
“I thought you outranked them,” I whisper. “Like you were higher on the totem pole.”
His eyes cut my way, but he doesn’t answer.
When we reach the kitchen, he lets me go and gestures for me to enter first. I do, noting the soldiers entering after us and taking positions on either side of the doorway.
“Outside,” Reaper barks at them, pointing to the doorway.
The two men exchange a look and step out, their backs to us, but effectively blocking the door.
Reaper pulls out a chair and deposits me in front of the small table.
I sigh in relief. My legs ache and my arms feel like Jell-O from the hours upon hours of training.
He grips my jacket, and pulls my arms free, hanging it on the back of my chair.
When I brace a hand on my ribs, Reaper makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Almost animalistic. Furious.
“It isn’t that bad,” I say, watching him closely.
I’ve never seen this side of him. It’s as if having their father in the house has unleashed some dark, possessive, and protective thing from inside him. It makes me wonder if he’s still plagued with the same thoughts as I am.
What if Fallon had ordered the soldier to pull the trigger? What if I had refused to cooperate?
Reaper adjusts his mask and backs away, then shrugs out of his thin black jacket, and tosses it over the back of another chair.
He hits the metal handle of the faucet and removes his gloves, washing his hands.
Each movement he makes is stiff, precise, rubbing dish soap between his fingers, then drying them off with a towel.
“What do you want?” he asks, throwing the kitchen towel over his shoulder as he adjusts his mask around his nose.
The question feels so absurd, so out of character, that I laugh. He pulls at his mask, almost awkwardly as he watches me.
“Are you asking me what I want to eat?” I say, sliding a hand over my face. “Or are you asking me what I want to do? Because going home to Cora is at the top of my list.”
“Cora is fine,” he says, gaze darting to the door.
My heart kicks against my ribs as I sit upright. “Fine?” I ask, carefully lowering my tone. “Fine, and not near Rune, fine? Or away from Zane, fine?”
“Fine and fine,” he says.
My breath bursts from my lungs. “Was the arrangement broken?” I whisper.
His subtle nod has me sinking into my chair, tears pricking my eyes. I want to ask more, get every single detail, but without another word, Reaper opens a cabinet and grabs a plate, telling me I’m not going to get more information.
My head spins, sorting through the number of ways the arrangement with Zane could be broken. Unless Zane backed out? God, I hope she didn’t do something stupid.
“Have you heard from them?” I whisper, wondering who contacted him. Clyde or Viper or Breaker? I know they’ve been keeping in contact, but I know so few details, it’s infuriating. “Will you please tell me?”
“Not now,” he says gruffly, pulling out boxes of crackers and dried fruits. He grabs cheese and grapes from the fridge and sets them and the plate in a tray. He takes a second to arrange everything, then grabs a glass and fills it with bottled water.
My gaze dips to his ass as he moves, then up his large muscular back to the back of his head.
A strange warmth blooms in my chest as I watch him, remembering the day I caught him cooking.
How he stormed out, pissed at my mere existence, but now I wonder if that’s what it was, or if he was angry he’d been caught.
Seeing him now, moving around, carefully preparing food for me, I realize it was Reaper who must have made sure we had proper meals and never went hungry. He was the one who made pancakes for us after that night with them. After he made us promises. Claimed us.
I don’t know the significance of it all, but I know I’ve been paying attention to all the wrong things when it comes to him.
I cough, trying to clear the clog in my throat. “You know what sounds good?” I ask. “Spaghetti.”
He pauses briefly, glancing at me, then resumes preparing my tray.
“Or pizza. Or a burger.” That makes him cast another look my way, and my chest squeezes with a sensation I’ve never felt before or even know how to identify.
“A nice greasy one,” I continue. “With Fries. And then cupcakes. And then donuts. God, I miss junk food.” A throaty moan escapes me, and Reaper’s dark eyes meet mine over his shoulder. “Or maybe pancakes. They are Cora’s favorite. I like pancakes too.”
“I know,” he says, but it comes out with a slight grumble as if the thought of ingesting pancakes is too heinous to endure.
The thud of the tray hitting the table as he sets it down feels too loud and too harsh for all the new feelings swirling inside me.
I swing my legs underneath the table and place my hands on the top as usual, preparing myself for this ridiculous routine that I refuse to admit I like.
It just makes me miss Breaker, and that same warmth blooms again. Brighter. Hotter.
I don’t know what happened, but Cora is safe. She has Breaker and Viper now, and that’s all that matters.
He drags a chair over and sits sideways in it, his thighs framing the back and sides of my chair, his warm inner thigh pressing against my leg. I glance his way, not sure why he’s so close, so I ask, “Should I move so you can sit here, or do you plan on sitting on my lap this time?”
“I’d crush you under my weight, little Kitten,” he says.
My cheeks heat because I know what it feels like to be under his weight. That smirk he’s so good at makes his mask move over his lips, and my heart thrashes as a single thought takes root. Grows.
He keeps pushing me away with cold efficiency, then pulling me close with a desire that nearly flays me. Admitting he cares, then covers it up. It all has me spinning until I think this sensation is me falling. I fear what will happen when I land.
I already care too much.
“You wanted to send me back,” I whisper. His body stiffens, and he looks away. I grip the bottom of his mask and tug, so he looks at me again. I like his eyes on me. Dark and hungry and so full of secrets.
“He’s cruel,” Reaper says. “Worse than you could imagine. He’s not supposed to be here. That was the deal we made.”
My brow furrows. “You mean when you took us?”
He tugs at the back of his mask, but doesn’t answer.
My gaze drifts to the thin fabric, tracing the outline of his nose.
He’s only wearing his mask because I told him to.
He’s only doing this because he’s protecting me.
Breaker and Viper left to be with Cora, but Striker and Reaper are here with me.
He was going to send me back. He was going to send me away and not complete the mission. Then Fallon returned, and now…