Chapter Seven
Elena buried herself in work. It was the only way she knew how to survive fear. You didn’t look at it directly and you didn’t let it bloom. You folded it up tight and shoved it somewhere quiet and then you kept your hands busy until the feeling dulled into something manageable.
The ER gave her no shortage of distraction. She moved from bay to bay, charting vitals, checking IV lines, answering call lights, offering calm words she didn’t always feel.
The hospital smelled the same as it always had, antiseptic and stale coffee and something metallic that never quite faded. The rhythm of it settled her. The beeping monitors, the clipped exchanges between staff and the practiced choreography of controlled chaos.
If she focused hard enough, it almost felt normal. Almost. However, the awareness never fully left her. It hummed under her skin, a low, constant tension that tightened every time someone unfamiliar stepped too close. Elena kept gazing at people, cataloging faces, and reading body language.
Reaper didn’t leave her. Instead, he lingered.
She noticed him early on, even when she pretended not to.
He stayed near the entrance at first, then drifted closer to the nurses’ station, leaning against walls like he belonged there.
He didn’t wear his cut. There was something about him that bent the air around him, that made people unconsciously give him space.
Staff noticed him too. A few nurses whispered. A security guard gave him a nod that was half respect, half wariness. Elena kept her head down and pretended she didn’t feel the heat of his attention every time she crossed the floor.
He wasn’t watching her the way men sometimes did. There was no leering, no hunger in it. To her, Reaper was acting protective and watchful, like he was mapping every exit and threat in relation to where she stood.
It should have made her uncomfortable. Instead, it made something in her chest loosen just a fraction.
She was checking a patient’s chart when she felt it again, that prickling sense of being observed. Not Reaper this time. This was different, the intent seemed colder.
Elena looked up. The man stood near the vending machines, pretending to scroll on his phone. He wore scrubs, but like the others she’d noticed before, they didn’t sit right on him. He lifted his gaze briefly, met hers, and slid away too fast.
Her stomach tightened. Across the hall, Reaper went still. Elena didn’t see the exact moment it happened, but she felt the shift in him like a pressure change. One second he was leaning, relaxed but alert. The next, he was moving.
He didn’t rush or draw attention. Reaper simply crossed the distance with easy confidence. The man by the vending machines noticed too late.
Reaper stopped close, perhaps a little too close for comfort. Elena couldn’t hear what was said at first, only saw the cartel man stiffen, his jaw tightening as Reaper leaned in and spoke low.
Something dangerous flickered across Reaper’s face. Rage? The cartel man glanced toward Elena despite himself. That was a mistake it seemed. Reaper followed his gaze and then looked back at the man with something like cold promise in his eyes. His mouth moved again, his words curt.
Whatever he said drained the color from the man’s face. He nodded once, sharp and jerky, and backed away. He didn’t argue or posture. He turned and walked out of the ER without looking back.
Elena exhaled slowly, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath. Her hands shook as she finished her charting. She hated how close it had been. How easily it could have gone another way. She hated that Reaper had been right about the cartel still having interest in her.
She worked harder after that, if such a thing was possible. She volunteered for extra tasks. Elena kept moving, she even helped where she wasn’t strictly needed. If she kept her mind occupied, she didn’t have to think about how thin the line between normal and nightmare had become.
By the time her shift finally ended, her legs felt like lead and her head ached with exhaustion. Reaper was waiting near the exit. He straightened when he saw her, eyes scanning her automatically before softening when he met her gaze.
That look did something dangerous to her. It made her want to lean into him. Made her want to believe that standing next to him meant nothing could touch her. She grabbed her bag and walked toward him before she could talk herself out of it.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
They walked out together, his presence at her side a steady, grounding thing. The parking lot was bathed in orange light, shadows stretching long and distorted across the asphalt. Elena searched for her car on instinct, but Reaper shook his head.
“Ride with me,” he said.
She didn’t argue. The drive back to the clubhouse was quiet. The town slipped past in streaks of light and shadow, the engine’s low rumble vibrating through the seat. Elena watched the road and tried to put words to the knot in her chest.
She broke the silence when they were nearing the compound.
“I saw you,” she said.
Reaper’s hands tightened slightly on the handlebars. “Yeah?”
“The guy in the hospital,” she continued. “By the vending machines. I saw you talk to him.”
He didn’t deny it. “He shouldn’t have been there.”
“Was he...” She hesitated, then forced herself to finish. “Cartel?”
“Yes,” Reaper said automatically.
She swallowed. “What did you say to him?”
“That you’re under the protection of Devil’s Crown,” he replied evenly. “That if he or anyone else touched you, it would be taken as a declaration of war.”
Her pulse spiked. Fear flared, sharp and bright. There was also something else. Gratitude and relief.
She turned to look at him fully. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her, surprised.
“For what?” he asked.
“For being there,” she said simply. “I never had anyone watch out for me in my life the way you’re doing.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You shouldn’t have gone to work today,” he finally said.
“I know,” she muttered.
“You put yourself at risk,” he pointed out.
“I did,” Elena admitted.
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “You’re stubborn.”
She huffed a tired laugh.
“I’ve been called worse,” Elena answered.
They pulled into the clubhouse lot, engines and voices drifting through the night air. Reaper parked and cut the engine, but neither of them dismounted yet.
Elena stared at her hands.
“I know I was selfish,” she said. “Wanting to go in today. I knew what could happen and I did it anyway.”
Reaper turned toward her, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t know how to sit still when people need help,” she continued. “It’s not bravado. It’s just ... who I am.”
“I know,” he said.
She looked up, startled.
He held her gaze, something fierce and sincere in his eyes.
“I wouldn’t want to change that,” he told her.
She blinked, not expecting that.
“You don’t?” she asked softly.
“No,” he said. “The world needs people like you. Even when it makes things messy.”
Her throat tightened. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been bracing for judgment. For him to tell her she was reckless, foolish, na?ve.
Instead, he saw her. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken things. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were, of the heat of him, of the memory of his mouth on hers the night before.
Her pulse skidded.
Reaper seemed to feel it too. His gaze dropped to her lips and then snapped back up, restraint written in every line of him.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “You need rest.”
Inside the clubhouse, the noise washed over them. There was music and laughter. The low thrum of engines being worked on outside. Heads turned as they entered, curiosity sparking and then dimming when they saw who she was with.
Reaper settled his hand at the small of her back, firm and warm. It sent a shiver straight through her, because somehow it felt right. He led her upstairs, away from the noise, to the quiet corridor where the rooms were. He stopped outside hers, hand lingering for a beat longer than necessary.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, though the truth was more complicated than that. “I think so,” she said.
He hesitated, clearly torn. Then he stepped back, giving her space even though it looked like it cost him something.
“If you need anything,” he said, voice low, “I’m right next door.”
“I know.”
She watched him walk away, his broad back disappearing down the hall. Only when his door clicked shut behind him did she let herself lean against the wall, heart racing.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the heat of his kiss, the way he’d looked at her when he said he wouldn’t want to change who she was.
Elena almost turned back. Instead, she lifted her hand and knocked. The door opened immediately, like he’d been standing on the other side the whole time.
“What?” Reaper demanded, sharp and automatic.
Then he actually looked at her.
The edge softened from his face, replaced by something darker. Surprise, yes, but threaded with heat and something dangerously close to relief.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice lower now.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said.
He waited, silent and patient.
She took a breath.
“I just ... wanted to know if you’d like to come to my room. Talk a little. Maybe have a drink,” she blurted.
Real smooth, Elena. For a second, he didn’t answer. He searched her face, like he was looking for cracks, for fear, for second thoughts.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
She reached for his hand before she could overthink it. His fingers were warm, callused, and he closed them around hers without hesitation. The contact sent a quiet shiver up her arm, steady and grounding all at once.
She led him to her room and the space felt suddenly too small, like the walls had leaned in to watch. Elena shut the door behind them. The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unsaid things.