Chapter 29
Striker
The metallic rattle of the van doors slamming closed cut through the stillness. It’s colder and drier today, and my breath mists around my face as I stalk up the drive. The back of my neck pricks, and I turn to find the three soldiers who joined me on today’s run, standing around, doing nothing.
“Kitchen. Help put them away,” I say, not hiding my irritation that Father sent me with them, and continue toward the front door.
The errand Father demanded I run, ate up the entire day, and as each hour passed, a sense of desperation wound up in my chest, knowing Reaper had been alone all day.
The low roar of an engine rumbles from behind me.
In the fading light, I catch the bright glow of headlights in the distance.
My brows knit, and I realize after a second it’s Father’s black car tearing down the dirt road.
The car jolts, hitting a dip, and the undercarriage scrapes against the dirt with a sickening sound.
My stomach lurches.
There is only one person who would dare drive Father’s car so recklessly.
When he takes the last turn into the drive, gravel spits up under the tires, the little pinks of the rocks hitting the underside like bullets. The car comes to an abrupt stop, and the door snaps open. Reaper’s boot hits the gravel, and he steps out, slamming the car door shut, eyes locked on me.
“Why the fuck aren’t you with her?” he shouts, stalking toward me.
“Why the fuck aren’t you?” I snap back. “Where were you?”
“Busy being Father’s errand boy all damn day,” he grates, storming past me.
If I was gone, and Reaper was gone, then Delilah has been alone all day.
With Father.
My heart races as I rush up the stairs behind him, and into the house, dread building with each step.
“He fucking planned this,” Reaper says, shoving the front door open.
My thoughts exactly. He purposely sent us both away so he could do god knows what without us interfering.
The second we step into the foyer, Father’s voice rings out from the library like he’s been waiting for us.
“I’m in here,” he calls, voice as sharp as a blade.
Reaper’s focus snaps that way, and he stills, shoulders rigid.
With a brief glance my way, he storms forward, shoving past me.
I follow, hands clenched into fists. When we enter the library, we find Father in the worn armchair, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie slightly askew, a glass of whisky in one hand.
“You deliberately sent us both away,” Reaper snaps, looming over him. “If you harmed her…” his voice fades, leaving the threat unspoken.
“Threats again?” Fallon’s lips quirk. “What a possessive creature you’ve become, Reaper.”
I move forward, my gut churning with worry. “Where is she?”
He takes a sip of his scotch but doesn’t respond. Instead, he sets the glass down with a decisive clink on the worn table. “You took longer than I expected.”
“Your errand took all day, just as you intended,” Reaper says, barely holding back a growl. “Next time you can go yourself.”
His gaze locks on Reaper, cold and callous. “I don’t like your tone, son.”
“And I don’t like your scheming,” Reaper growls. “Where is she?”
“Don’t fret, my sons. Your target remains unharmed. Though I have discovered today she is quite willful.” Father gestures to the doorway behind us. “She’s finishing her meal alone, since you two decided to waste an entire day running an errand that should have taken only a few hours.”
I bite my tongue, refusing to let him rile me.
He sent us on runs that took longer than they should have.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he had the shipment delayed just to fuck with me.
And who knows what wild-goose chase he sent Reaper on.
As much as I want to rage, it’s useless. He’s once again made his point.
Father controls this mission now. Not us.
With a rumbling growl, I snatch my mask from my back pocket and pull it on, leaving Father and his fucking mind games and head toward the dining room, with Reaper at my heels.
Outside the doorway, two soldiers I don’t recognize guard the room.
They must feel the dark energy coming off me, because they step aside without a word.
When I enter, she bolts from the chair, relief melting her face, but she covers it quickly.
My gaze travels from her face to her neck, down to her wrists and hands, searching for bruises, marks, any signs of harm.
The vise around my chest loosens enough to breathe again when I see she’s unharmed.
Tense, yes. A slightly feral look in her eyes, but physically unharmed.
“Any training today?” I ask.
“None. We just talked.” She meets my eyes, then Reaper’s, her mouth a hard line. “That’s all.”
Reaper tugs at his mask, irritation rolling off him in waves. His eyes travel over Delilah’s face, her neck, her collarbone, then dart to me. We both know something happened, and Delilah is refusing to tell us.
My jaw clenches so hard that a dull ache spreads through my temples.
I should have seen it when he handed me the supply list. The way Father’s eyes glinted, how his mouth twitched at the corners when he insisted I go personally.
I hate myself for leaving, thinking we had the upper hand. For letting him get anywhere near her.
For this fucking hell we’re putting her through.
Behind us, one of the soldiers clears his throat. “Commander wants us to return her to her room.”
“We’re taking her to her room,” Reaper says, eyeing the soldiers outside the door. “You two change shifts with 48 and 55. They will guard her room tonight.”
With a curt nod, the two leave us, and I glance at Reaper. He lifts his chin toward the door, and I grip her arm, tugging her into the hallway. We need to get Delilah somewhere we can talk to her privately and find out what happened.
Instead of guiding her to the foyer, I turn toward the back of the house. She makes a sound, glancing at me but doesn’t say a word as I guide her forward.
“Music room,” Reaper whispers.
I nod and drag her around the corner, heading toward the music room.
Pushing the door open, I shove her through, and Reaper follows, easing the door closed, his back pressed against the door.
Without the radiator blasting heat, the draft from the large windows sweeps across the room, hitting my bare hands like ice.
The last dregs of daylight leak through the curtains, painting the room with violet shadows.
In the center of the room, the piano looms, and my chest squeezes, missing listening to Breaker play late at night.
Missing him.
“What did he do?” Reaper asks, voice low, lined with darkness.
Delilah glances around, then her shoulders drop. “I learned how to reassemble a weapon in sixty seconds or less.”
My gut twists painfully, and disbelief clogs my throat, like I’ve swallowed glass.
The image of my first attempt at assembling a weapon is branded in my memory.
Father’s cruel smile. His casual indifference.
The fucking gun aimed at my head, and the panic and fear that ate at me, terrified I’d die if I failed.
“Fuck,” Reaper grates as he looks my way and pulls her to his chest. Reaper was already in weapons training when Father took me out of the cold room. But I know he must have endured the same training.
We all did.
“I’m going to fucking kill him.” Reaper’s gravelly tone matches the rage cutting through me.
“I’m guessing I learned the same way you did,” she says, turning to face me, but Reaper slides an arm around her waist, keeping her body molded to him.
Just the thought that Father sent us away so he could terrorize her makes my hands shake with a need to destroy.
Break bones and tear him apart. I stalk toward her, my body vibrating with fury, but pause when I hear a burst of laughter and boots thudding in the hallway.
My head snaps that way, almost wanting someone to walk in so I can ruin them.
But the footsteps fade, and I close the distance, gripping her chin, forcing her eyes on me.
Something fierce skitters across her features, barely visible in the low light.
She’s so small, so breakable, tucked against Reaper’s chest, and just the sight of her makes my ribs feel like they’re cracking open, exposing everything I’ve tried to hide.
To deny. Hooking a thumb under my mask, I rip it off.
Her breath rushes out, and she cups the back of my neck, pulling me to her.
The second our mouths collide, my knees nearly buckle. It’s been a week since I’ve had my hands on her, and a raw, animal need claws through my veins as I drag my fingers along her collarbone, trace the curve of her shoulder, then slip them to her waist, pulling her closer.
A groan builds in my throat, my cock thickening as her teeth graze my bottom lip, and I press closer, trapping Reaper’s arm between us.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I breathe against her lips. Her nails dig into the back of my neck, sending fireworks down my spine, and she angles her head, deepening the kiss. The tip of her tongue traces my lower lip, then pushes past, flooding me with her sweetness.
Reaper’s other hand lands on my waist, fingers digging into my hip a fraction.
I move in, my boots hitting his, keeping my mouth on hers, caging her in.
When my hands glide around to the small of her back, my knuckles hit the bulge in his pants and I break the kiss, my gaze meeting Reaper’s.
His chest heaves, and he takes in a slow, steady breath.
Delilah squirms, a throaty, troubled sound slipping past her lips. Reaper’s fingers dig into my hip, and he dips his head, his masked lips brushing her ear. “Shh. Be a good girl and don’t make a sound.”