Chapter Five
Reaper knew he should keep his eyes on the road. The night was still dangerous, even after the chaos they’d left behind. Cartel eyes lingered everywhere. You survived by paying attention to what was in front of you, and yet...
He stole another glance at Elena. She sat rigid in the passenger seat. Elena had wrapped her arms around herself and her knuckles were white where she gripped the strap of her overnight bag.
Her face was pale under the dash lights. Her eyes were too bright, like she was still bracing for impact that hadn’t come yet. A smear of dirt darkened her cheek. There was a thin cut at her temple where flying glass had caught her.
Reaper tightened his jaw. She hadn’t signed up for this. Elena wasn’t a player, or a soldier, or someone who understood the rules of violence. She was a nurse who’d done her job too well. A normal woman who’d been yanked into a nightmare because she refused to let a man die on her watch.
That should have been the end of it. Instead, here she was. In his truck and under his protection. She’d been dragged into Devil’s Crown business because he’d decided, unilaterally, that he wouldn’t let the cartel touch her.
He didn’t understand why that decision had come so fast or felt so absolute. Reaper had protected assets like witnesses and informants before. It was calculated, detached, procedural.
This wasn’t that. Every time she flinched at a sudden sound, something sharp twisted in his chest. Each moment her breath hitched, Reaper tightened his hands on the wheel like he wanted to crush whatever had scared her.
The urge to touch her, to reassure her physically, rode under his skin like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch. It was a possessive, unfamiliar and dangerous sensation. He told himself it was adrenaline, residual threat response, and nothing more.
Reaper was lying to himself. The Devil’s Crown clubhouse loomed out of the darkness, floodlights washing the compound in hard white glare. The gates slid open at his approach, a brother waving him through with a sharp look that went straight to the woman in his passenger seat.
Elena straightened, eyes widening as she took it all in. He knew what she saw, the rows of bikes, armed men, and the bright skull-and-crown insignia painted on concrete walls.
Her body language screamed reluctance. Reaper wondered, not for the first time, if bringing her here was a mistake. He hadn’t cleared this with King. Hell, Reaper hadn’t asked permission. He’d acted on instinct, the same way he always did when things went sideways.
However, this time, the consequences had a name and a heartbeat. He parked near the main building and killed the engine. The sudden silence rang loud. Elena didn’t move.
“It’s safe,” he said quietly, not sure if he was reassuring her or himself. “Inside, at least.”
She nodded once, stiffly. He got out first, scanning the yard out of habit before rounding to her side. When he opened the door, she hesitated, then took his offered hand. Her fingers were cold where they brushed his palm.
That simple contact hit him harder than the firefight had. He helped her down gently, steadier than he felt, then grabbed her overnight bag from the back.
As he led her toward the clubhouse, conversations slowed and heads turned. Curious stares followed them. Brothers leaned against railings, cigarettes forgotten between their fingers. Club women paused mid-laugh, eyes flicking from Elena to him and back again.
Reaper felt the weight of those looks because he’d never brought a woman here like this before. When he’d needed to scratch an itch, he’d gone to willing club women or disappeared into the night with a faceless hookup, clean and uncomplicated. This was different, and everyone could see it.
Elena wasn’t draped on his arm or smiling for attention. She walked close to him because she was scared, and somehow that made the stares sharper, more curious. Reaper ignored all of it.
He placed a firm hand at the back of Elena’s neck, not pushing, just guiding. The contact felt instinctive, like he was anchoring her to him, signaling to anyone watching that she was under his guard.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction under his touch. She wasn’t afraid of him like most people were and somehow that relieved him. That reaction lodged somewhere deep and unsettled.
Inside, the clubhouse smelled like oil, smoke, and old wood. Music thumped faintly from the bar, but it softened as they moved deeper into the building. Reaper took the stairs two at a time, Elena following close behind, trusting him with a faith that sat heavy on his shoulders.
He led her to an empty room near his own. The room was sparse but clean and it held a bed, dresser, and a lamp.
“This’ll do for now,” he said, setting her bag on the bed.
Elena looked around, then back at him.
“Thank you,” she told him in a quiet voice.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said gruffly. Reaper did his best not to show how her vulnerable voice affected him. “Try to get some rest.”
She nodded, then seemed to hesitate.
“I don’t... I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work tomorrow like nothing happened,” she admitted with a laugh.
The fact she could still make jokes after everything made him want to smile, but Reaper focused on her words instead. Reaper’s gut clenched.
“You shouldn’t. Not yet,” he told her. Elena wasn’t serious, was she?
She shook her head immediately, stubborn fire flashing through the fear. For some reason, that made her more alluring in his eyes.
“The ER’s already short-staffed. People don’t stop getting hurt just because I’m scared,” she pointed out.
There it was again, that reckless, and infuriating, compassion. The same thing that had put a target on her back.
“You staying visible makes you vulnerable,” he said, keeping his tone controlled. “The cartel won’t stop looking for you. They’ll consider you unfinished business.”
Reaper didn’t tell her it was probably because of his interference. She was probably just a simple target for them, but he stepped in and now they were probably thinking she was important to someone.
“And hiding here makes me a prisoner,” she shot back softly, but firmly.
The tension between them snapped tight.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Reaper said at last.
He didn’t trust himself to push harder without crossing a line he wasn’t ready to examine. He stepped back.
“Good night, Elena,” he told her.
She watched him for a long moment, something unreadable in her eyes, then nodded.
“Good night, Reaper,” she said.
He closed the door gently. The click echoed louder than it should have. A brother was waiting at the end of the hall.
“King wants to see you,” he said.
Reaper sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Yeah. Figured,” he muttered.
While Reaper just wanted to take a hot shower and lay in bed, thinking about Elena and how she was able to get under his skin, he had to handle this matter first. He went to see King. King’s office smelled like coffee and leather. The president sat behind his desk, arms crossed, expression dark.
“Who’s the girl?” King asked without preamble.
Reaper took a breath and laid it out. He told him about what happened in the ER, the snitch and the cartel scouts waiting outside her place and, finally, the decision he’d made.
King listened without interrupting, jaw tightening with each detail.
When Reaper finished, King leaned back. “You remember Tiffany.”
The name landed like a punch.
“That’s not the same,” Reaper said immediately, feeling defensive. King only brought that bitch out, because he knew how much it affected Reaper.
King raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Elena’s nothing like her.”
Silence stretched.
“You were sent to observe,” King said slowly. “Not escalate or start a potential war.”
“They already started it,” Reaper replied. “She’s collateral.”
King studied him, eyes sharp.
“You willing to take personal responsibility for her?” King finally asked.
Reaper didn’t even blink or hesitate. “Yes.”
The word rang solid and final and some part of him wondered why Elena had such an effect on him. Reaper wasn’t a good man and he’d never offered his personal protection to anyone before. It was a strange sensation, and yet, he didn’t regret saying those words.
King nodded once. “Then don’t make me regret trusting you,” King said.
Reaper stood, tension coiled tight inside him.
As he left the office, one truth burned brighter than all the others. Whatever this thing was between him and Elena growing in his chest, he had the sinking feeling it was going to change everything.
****
Reaper stood outside Elena’s door longer than he meant to. This was a mistake. He knew it in his bones, the same instinct that used to hum before violence. He should have gone straight to his room, shut the door, shut her out of his head. Instead, his hand lifted and knocked once, soft.
A pause. Then the door opened. Elena stood there barefoot, her hair loose and still damp like she’d washed hospital and fear off her skin.
She’d changed out of her clothes, the ones that smelled like smoke and adrenaline, and into soft cotton pajamas that clung in places he didn’t let his mind linger on.
Too late. He focused his gaze on her gorgeous body, silently cataloging the gentle curve of her waist, the line of her collarbone, the faint shadows under her eyes that spoke of exhaustion rather than weakness.
She looked breakable and that did something dangerous to him.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
His throat tightened. He hadn’t expected that word to feel like a hand wrapped around his ribs.
“Just checking on you,” he said, voice a little rough. “You all right?”
She nodded, then hesitated. “I think so. As all right as I can be, given ... everything,” she said.
He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how big he was in the doorway, how much space he took up. He should give her room, but he didn’t move.