Chapter Five #2
Her gaze flicked to his cut knuckles, the bruise blooming along his jaw he hadn’t bothered to ice. Concern creased her brow. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” he immediately said.
She didn’t call him on it, but the look lingered, soft and infuriating. He wasn’t used to being seen like that, without calculation.
“Come in,” she said, stepping back.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then crossed the threshold. Her overnight bag sat open on the bed, the sight of it grounding and surreal. Like she might unpack and stay. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound landed heavy.
She leaned back against the dresser, arms folded loosely, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“I heard voices,” she said. “Earlier. Someone said your name. And then ... King.”
His shoulders stiffened. She caught it. Of course she did.
“Who’s King?” she asked gently.
Reaper dragged a hand down his face. There was no clean version of this.
“He’s the MC president,” he said. “Runs Devil’s Crown. My boss.”
She widened her eyes a fraction, but she didn’t step back.
“And he wanted to know who I was?” Elena asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“And?” Elena pressed.
“And I told him.” He exhaled slowly. “That saving you wasn’t planned. Bringing you here wasn’t either.”
Her fingers curled into the hem of her pajama top. She bit her lower lip, worry flickering across her face. The sight hit him low and hard. He turned slightly, angling his body away like that might help. It didn’t.
“You did it on impulse?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Reaper muttered.
She studied him like she was trying to read between scars and silence.
“That doesn’t seem like something a man like you would do,” she said.
A humorless huff left him. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” she said. “Reaper, you didn’t have to get involved. You could’ve called someone else, or warned me and walked away.”
He met her gaze then, really met it. “I couldn’t,” he said.
The truth sat there between them, raw and unguarded. He hated how exposed it made him feel and part of him liked it.
“Why?” she asked.
He searched for a lie, but none came.
“I wasn’t going to watch you die for doing your job,” he said. “Because I’ve seen how this ends, and because I’m not letting the cartel decide who deserves to live or die.”
Silence stretched. She pushed off the dresser and took a step toward him.
He went still. Elena took another step. She was close enough now that he could smell her soap, clean and faintly floral, and it was so out of place.
Reaper curled his hands at his sides, knuckles whitening. Don’t touch. Don’t.
“Thank you,” she said.
Reaper stilled, unsure how to react to those two simple words. She reached up, brushing her fingers against his forearm, her touch tentative. The contact sent a sharp spark through him, straight to his spine. He sucked in a breath through his nose.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.
“I do. No one’s ever...” She trailed off, shook her head. “You didn’t have to protect me.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. I did,” he said.
She looked up at him then, eyes shining with something that wasn’t fear. Before he could think better of it, before he could step back or say something that would put space between them, she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
It was soft at first, hesitant. A brush of lips that felt like a question. His body answered before his brain caught up. He groaned low in his chest and kissed her back, cupping her jaw with one hand. He used his thumb to brush her cheek like he was memorizing the shape of her.
Her lips parted under his, warm and yielding. Reaper deepened the kiss, heat coiling fast and tight in his gut. She made a small sound that went straight through him, and he pulled her closer without thinking. Elena fisted her hands in his shirt like she was anchoring herself to him.
It was messy and real and nothing like the empty hookups he’d burned through in the past. There was just need, gratitude, and something electric that scared the hell out of him.
He broke the kiss abruptly, breath ragged, resting his forehead against hers.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Her eyes were dark, lips swollen, breath unsteady. She looked as wrecked as he felt. He stepped back, forcing space between them. Every instinct screamed to close it again. He ignored them all.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” Reaper told her.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.
“No,” he said. Too fast. “Don’t be. That’s on me.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration and want tangling ugly in his chest. Now that he’d tasted her, felt her respond, the restraint felt like trying to cage a wildfire.
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this. You’re not ... this isn’t some bar bathroom or backseat bullshit.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded. “I know.”
“You’re scared,” he continued. “You’ve been through hell tonight. I don’t take advantage of that.”
Her gaze softened, something like respect flickering there.
“Even if I wanted it?” Elena asked him boldly.
He clenched his jaw until it ached. “Even then,” he said.
A beat passed. Then she nodded again, slower this time. “Okay.”
He stepped back toward the door, forcing himself to move.
“Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Reaper?”
He paused, hand on the knob.
“Good night,” she said.
“Good night, Elena,” he replied.
He closed the door before he could change his mind. The walk to his room felt longer than it ever had. He stripped and showered, scrubbing at skin that still tingled where she’d touched him.
The water went cold before he noticed. When he finally collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep stayed far away.
All he could see was her mouth and he couldn’t help but imagine the weight of her body leaning into his, trusting him.
Fuck it, Reaper had a feeling he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight.