5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Reaper
The kitchen’s already loud when I walk in, Torque is flipping bacon like he’s trying to impress someone.
Wrecker is double-fisting cereal straight from the box, and Margot walks in already ranting about Elias stealing her favorite coffee mug again.
Even among the chaos, my eyes go straight to the empty doorway. Waiting for her to appear.
I’m pouring her coffee when she walks in, her hair in loose curls, skin glowing from a hot shower and something only I know the cause of.
Just the sight of her makes my heart race.
Max moves first, I can tell he missed her.
He pulls her straight into his lap with a grin that says she’s the most important thing in his world.
She giggles, brushing a kiss over his cheek, her eyes flicking to me like she can hear the sound in my chest.
I walk over and hand her the mug. “Morning, Little Warrior,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She murmurs a soft “Thank you,” then turns back to Max, their heads bent together in a quiet exchange that somehow makes me feel more included than left out.
Max looks up. “Hey, you good to bring her to the club later?”
I blink. “Yeah, of course.”
He stands, still holding her. “I’m taking her car in, finishing the upgrades.”
Wrenley groans. “My car is fine the way it is.”
Max raises a brow at her. “It needs more protection.”
I nod. “He’s right. You should be driving something that can take a hit. Or ten.”
She gives me a look, but it doesn’t hold fire. “You two act like the world’s after me.”
We both go silent. Because it always is. Max kisses her temple. “We just want you safe.”
He walks out of the kitchen with her still in his arms like she weighs nothing. A second later, we all hear her squeal echoing down the hall, laughter wrapped in delight, and it pulls a sound out of me I haven’t made in years with anyone but her.
A laugh. A real one. Everyone in the kitchen freezes like they’ve just witnessed a damn miracle.
Torque drops the spatula. “Was that… did you just laugh?”
Margot leans over the counter. “Yes, I need to hear it again. Someone say something funny.”
Riot strolls in with perfect timing, coffee mug in hand. “What the fuck is going on in here. Did someone actually spike the orange juice this time?”
Wrecker tilts his head. “Nope. Reaper just laughed.”
Riot blinks. “Like… with sound?”
“I’m not a damn mute,” I grumble, grabbing a slice of bacon off Torque’s plate. He slaps my hand, but he’s grinning.
“I like this version of you,” Margot says, pouring herself more coffee. “You should get laid more often.”
Torque chuckles. “Or just live in a house with the human embodiment of chaos and tequila.”
Riot smirks. “Same thing, really.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the curl at the corner of my mouth. This is dangerous, this lightness. For once though, it doesn’t feel like a trap. It just feels like home.
The sun is low and hot as I straddle the bike, parked in the driveway, engine purring beneath me.
It gleams like a threat in black and chrome, sleek, fast, unapologetic.
Wrenley’s not back yet, and I know damn well why.
She’s making me wait for sending her back in to change.
That sundress was driving me insane for one, but more importantly…
it offered about as much protection as tissue paper.
She grumbled all the way back to the door, but the bounce in her step betrayed her.
She loves the bike. Loves the thrill almost as much as I love watching her chase it.
When she finally returns, she’s in fitted jeans, a cropped tank under her riding jacket. Still dangerous. Just… safer.
She slides onto the back, tightening her helmet before she locks her arms around my waist.
“You ready?” I say.
Her voice floats out through her open visor. “Always.”
I grin, then reach back and double tap her thigh. “Hold on. I’m not in the mood for traffic.”
The second I twist the throttle, she lets out a wild laugh, half joy, half dare, it lights something in me. I weave between cars like the world’s falling behind. Her chest presses to my back, her grip tight and trusting. Like she was made to ride with me. Like she knows I’ll never let her fall.
By the time we pull up to the club, I can feel the buzz in her veins through her touch. Hunter’s waiting just inside the entrance, standing tall, arms crossed, sunglasses still on even though the hallways are dim.
He nods. “Afternoon, Miss Wrenley, Reaper.”
Wrenley pulls off her helmet and shakes her hair out like it’s a movie scene. Hunter reaches out to take the helmet from her.
“Thank you,” she says, and then pauses, tilting her head. “Hunter, you don’t have to call me Miss Wrenley. It’s just Wren, okay?”
He hesitates. “Okay.”
But I catch it, the flicker in his posture, the way he still doesn’t quite relax. He won’t stop. Not with her. Not with what she means to all of us. Calling her ‘Miss Wrenley' is his line in the sand, his way of showing respect, the only way he knows how. I don’t correct it.
“There was a package delivered this morning, Miss Wrenley, your name, no return address.” Hunter says, gesturing toward the stairs. “I left it on the office desk. Already cleared it for anything… explosive.”
Wrenley arches a brow and giggles. “Thank you.” She heads toward the stairs, tugging her gloves off finger by finger.
Her silhouette vanishes into the office.
I walk in just as she sets the last message down, her brow furrowed in that way that says she’s about to start making someone’s life very complicated.
I toss her a bottle of water, I grabbed from behind the bar.
She catches it without looking. “Thanks.”
Then, out of nowhere: “This is random, but have we figured out who Torque’s dating yet? And when do we get to meet her?”
I laugh, leaning on the arm of the couch across from her. “He’s probably too scared to bring her around. You know how we are. Last thing he needs is her watching Riot try to break someone's nose over a Hot Pocket.
She grins, but there’s mischief simmering in it. “Wrecker knows. I’m sure of it. He always magically covers for Torque when I’m looking for him.
“Wreck’s about as subtle as a hand grenade,” I say. “Good luck squeezing it out of him.”
Wrenley gives me that look, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed like she’s already plotting her next interrogation. But then she shifts gears, reaching for the knife on the desk and dragging the unopened box closer. It’s the one Hunter mentioned earlier.
The blade slips clean through the packing tape, and when the flaps fold back, she freezes.
“What the fuck…” she murmurs, voice gone tight.
I’m at her side in an instant. “What is it?’
Her hands tremble as she pulls out a delicate necklace.
It’s small, silver, and unmistakably child-sized.
The pendant is a little compass. Nestled beside it is an old photograph, grainy and sun-worn.
A little girl in a pale blue dress, twirling beneath the glass dome of the River Oaks Greenhouse, the same necklace glinting at her throat.
And next to her, barefoot and beaming with missing teeth, is another little girl.
“Who’s this?” I ask pointing at the toothless girl.
“Margot… she had just lost another tooth.” She says with a tight smile, like she is trying to remember that day.
“I lost this when I was six,” she whispers, voice raw now, as she clutches the necklace in one hand. “That day at the greenhouse. It was my favorite. Benjamin gave it to me. I thought it was gone.”
She doesn’t need to say more. The weight of what she’s holding hits her like a freight train, and it hits me just as hard.
Someone had this photo. Someone knew them back then.
Why are they sending it back now? I reach for my phone, finger tight on the screen, calling Hunter up to the office with clipped urgency.
While it rings, I fire off a message to Max:
Get to the club. Something’s wrong. Don’t ask, just move.
Seconds later, Hunter steps inside.
“Where exactly was this package when you came in this morning?” Wrenley asks, her tone sharper now.
He doesn’t flinch. “One of the barkeepers found it by the back door. No note. Just sitting there with your name on it.”
I meet his gaze. The tension in my jaw could crack stone. “I’ll check the cameras.”
I walk behind the desk with Hunter, fast forwarding to the end of the night. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, staff taking out the garbage, standing near the back door chatting. I fast forward again seeing nothing.
“Wait, go back.” Hunter says pointing at the screen. “There. Did you see it?”
I pause where he said to go back. The feed has been looped for roughly six minutes.
“It could be a glitch.” When I shift the feed forward and backward in slow motion, I see it.
In the corner of the screen is a black gloved hand reaching toward the base of the camera.
When it starts its normal recording again the box is sitting there.
Hunter nods without waiting, already pulling out his phone. “Calling Elias now.”
“I want you to boost the perimeter, make it subtle, though. I don’t want to spook the staff.”
Wrenley still hasn’t moved. She’s staring at the photo like it’s something haunted. Thumb brushing the edge where her and Margot's heads lean together, small and oblivious to the fact that someone was watching them. Still is. And this? This wasn’t a threat. It was a reminder.