Chapter Eight
“Again,” Reaper said, circling Elena.
It was early morning in the MC compound yard. On Elena’s rare day off, Reaper put her through self-defense drills. A few days had passed since he’d chased off Cruz and the other cartel spy who’d been shadowing her at the hospital.
Things had gone quiet since then, but Reaper wasn’t na?ve enough to mistake silence for surrender. The cartel didn’t let things go, and they sure as hell didn’t forget someone who was under the protection of one of their enemies, the Devil’s Crown MC.
After executing a kick that landed on Reaper’s side, Elena wiped the back of her wrist across her brow.
She was breathing hard but smiling anyway.
She had dressed in borrowed sweats and an old club t-shirt that hung loose on her frame, hair pulled back tight like she meant business.
She’d surprised him with how seriously she took this.
“I did that kick right?” she asked.
“You hesitated for a second,” he replied. “In the real world, hesitation gets you hurt.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this,” she finally stated.
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
They squared off again. He showed her how to plant her feet, how to keep her balance low.
How to use her weight instead of fighting against his.
He corrected her stance with brief touches.
He placed a hand at her hip, and adjusted her shoulders.
Every contact lit something low and dangerous in him. Reaper couldn’t help but touch her.
“Don’t think,” he told her. “React.”
She lunged. He blocked her easily, catching her wrist, twisting just enough to show her how exposed she’d made herself. She hissed in frustration.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “You just don’t trust it yet.”
“I trust it,” she shot back and came at him again.
This time she moved faster. It was a little sloppy, but a lot faster. He stepped aside, ready to counter, already anticipating the mistake she was about to make.
He didn’t anticipate the punch. Her fist connected with his jaw in a sharp, solid crack that echoed in the quiet yard.
Reaper staggered half a step before he caught himself. A ripple of sound went up from a couple of brothers watching from the porch. Someone let out a low whistle.
Elena froze, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry, I—” Elena began.
Reaper barked out a laugh, tasting copper, adrenaline roaring through his veins. He rubbed his jaw once, then looked at her, standing there flushed and shaking with the aftermath.
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
She blinked. “I hit you,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning now. “And it was clean.”
Her breath hitched when he stepped closer. He cupped her face, thumb brushing the edge of her mouth.
“I’m proud of you,” he told her.
Something shifted in her expression. Pride bloomed there. She leaned into him. Elena fisted his shirt with her hands and he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was hard and claiming.
Reaper didn’t care who was watching. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the fence, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding to her waist.
Someone cleared his throat loudly from the porch.
Reaper broke the kiss.
“We’re done here,” he said, loud enough for anyone listening.
He didn’t look back as he took her hand and led her toward the clubhouse and back to his room. The shower was cramped, steam curling thick in the air. He stood under the spray first, letting the water beat against his shoulders, trying and failing to cool off.
Elena stepped in behind him, bare feet against tile, fingers sliding tentatively along his back. He stilled.
“You okay?” she asked.
He turned, caging her in without touching. Water ran between them, heat rising fast.
“You keep doing that,” he said. “Asking like I’m the fragile one.”
The question was valid, though. He’d only known her for a few days and he was already hooked on her.
She lifted her chin. “Maybe you are,” she teased.
Something like a laugh escaped him before he kissed her again. He took his time, enjoying the familiar taste of her. He used his hands to explore the gorgeous curves of her body, loving every inch of it. Reaper had to force himself to stop.
He pulled away, not missing the disappointment on her face. If they continued, he was probably going to keep her in his room all day long. Maybe later, Reaper decided, after they’d both had breakfast.
After showering and getting dressed, Reaper offered to treat her to breakfast. He took her to a small place off the highway.
A diner that had greasy booths and chipped mugs, the kind of place that didn’t ask questions.
She slid into the seat across from him, hair still damp, bright eyes that made his pulse thud.
They ate in silence at first.
Then she said, “You knew that guy at the hospital.”
He didn’t pretend not to understand. He leaned back, exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”
She hesitated, then finally asked, “Are you ... ex-cartel?”
“Yeah,” he said simply.
The word should have ended the conversation, but it didn’t. Instead, Reaper surprised them both by continuing. He told her more than he’d ever told anyone before. About being recruited young, before he’d really understood what he was agreeing to.
He told her about the violence, the loyalty demanded at gunpoint, and the things he’d done just to survive another day. Reaper didn’t soften it or excuse it. Then he told her about Tiffany and how she’d betrayed him. He just told the truth.
Reaper had never been much of a talker. He’d always preferred to keep the past where it belonged, locked in a dark room in his mind, sealed tight and never opened.
However, with Elena the words came easier than they should have.
He found himself wanting her to understand him, wanting to know her just as deeply in return.
So she told him about her own past. About being shuffled from one foster home to another, never staying long enough to feel safe. She had learned early not to rely on anyone, and through it all, she’d held onto one steady dream—becoming a nurse.
“You sure are something, Elena,” he murmured.
She flushed and shook her head slightly. “You don’t need to say it like that. My story’s not uncommon,” she said quickly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand. “But most kids raised in the foster system don’t always make it out. You did. You clawed your way out.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles.
****
Elena loved early mornings with Reaper. The low rumble of the bike beneath her as he drove her to the hospital.
Yesterday had changed something between them. She felt it in the way his touch lingered at her waist when she climbed on his Harley, in the way he kissed her so passionately as if he didn’t want to let her go.
She never would have imagined herself falling fast and hard for a biker. Especially not one with blood in his past and danger stitched into every line of his life. And yet, here she was.
She leaned into him as the bike cut through morning traffic, helmet pressed lightly against his back. Part of her knew she should be nervous, should still be looking over her shoulder. However, it seemed the cartel had gone quiet.
Days had passed with familiar monotony. It felt like the storm had finally moved on. Some of her coworkers had noticed Reaper. A few nurses had warned her in hushed voices to be careful, to not get too close to an MC man. Elena had listened politely, then ignored every word.
None of them knew him. They didn’t know the man who watched her like a hawk. Or the way he’d spoken about his past, stripped of bravado, honest and raw. They didn’t know how carefully he touched her, like he was afraid of breaking something precious.
Deep down, she knew Reaper was a good man. A dangerous one, sure, but he was good where it counted. She was even beginning to imagine a future with him. Especially now that the cartel had finally lost interest in her.
Reaper slowed the bike as Mercy General came into view. He pulled into his usual spot and cut the engine. The sudden silence rang loud in her ears.
“I’m sorry I won’t be around this morning,” he said, removing his helmet. His gaze was dark and intent. “Club business. King needs me.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to apologize every time,” she pointed out.
“I do,” he said quietly. “Because I don’t like leaving you.”
Her chest warmed at that.
“I assigned a prospect,” he continued. “Rook. He’ll be around, watching. He’ll give me updates.”
She rolled her eyes softly. “You worry too much,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s not changing.”
She leaned in and kissed him, slow and deliberate. He responded instantly, using one hand to cup the back of her neck like he couldn’t help himself. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Lunch,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she told him.
He watched her walk toward the hospital doors like he always did, waiting until she was inside before riding off. Inside, the hospital swallowed her whole. The familiar chaos wrapped around her. This was where she belonged.
She buried herself in work. A trauma case came in, then another. A child with a broken arm and an elderly man short of breath followed. Time blurred the way it always did when she focused. The world narrowed to vitals and charting and steady hands.
For a while, she forgot everything else. She caught glimpses of Rook occasionally. Leaning against a wall near the ER entrance. The prospect pretended to scroll through his phone while his gaze tracked everything. He was young, maybe early twenties, but he seemed alert and disciplined.
It reassured her more than she wanted to admit. By late morning, the ER slowed just enough for her to step into the staff hallway for a quick drink of water. She sent Reaper a quick text.
Elena: All good. Busy. Miss you.
No reply yet, but she knew he’d see it. She didn’t notice the man at first. He wore scrubs, dark blue, indistinguishable from dozens of others. His badge was turned just enough to obscure the name. He leaned against the wall near the supply room, head bent as if checking his phone.
When he looked up, their eyes met. Recognition hit her like ice water. It was Cruz. Her breath stuttered. Her feet slowed without her meaning to. He smiled faintly, like they were sharing a private joke.
“Elena,” he said softly. “You look well.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And you shouldn’t be alive,” he replied calmly. “But here we are.”
Her gaze flicked down the empty and quiet hall. Where was everyone?
“I told you,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I don’t know anything.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” he said.
Her fingers curled around her phone in her pocket.
“You’ve become important to Reaper,” Cruz continued. “And we have a personal score to settle.”
Fear crept higher, cold and precise. “Lay a hand on me and Reaper will come after you,” she told him.
Cruz’s smile widened. “Good.”
She turned to walk away, but Cruz moved fast. He clamped a hand around her arm, fingers digging in just enough to hurt. He leaned in close.
“Don’t scream. You won’t like what happens if you scream,” Cruz warned.
Her pulse roared in her ears. She twisted, trying to pull free, but another man, inked and muscled, appeared from the supply room, blocking her path.
Time fractured. Her phone was in her hand. She didn’t think. Elena merely acted.
Elena: SOS
She felt it vibrate once as it went through.
Then Cruz yanked her backward, steering her toward the emergency exit with brutal efficiency. He tightened his grip and pain bloomed up her arm.
“Rook!” she shouted.
The name echoed down the hall. She heard the sound of rushing boots.
Cruz swore under his breath. “Let’s move,” Cruz ordered.
The second man shoved the door open. Cold air rushed in. The alley behind the hospital loomed, empty and gray.
A shout sounded behind them. “Hey!”
Rook.
Relief flared, sharp and desperate. Cruz turned, eyes hard. He released her suddenly, shoved her toward the second man. “Get her in the car.”
She stumbled, fought, kicked. Her shoe connected with someone’s shin. A curse followed.
Rook burst through the door, already reaching for his weapon. “Let her go!”
Gunfire cracked.
The sound was deafening, echoing off brick. Elena screamed as Rook went down, clutching his shoulder. Blood bloomed bright against his jacket.
Cruz shoved her hard. She fell, breath knocked from her lungs. Hands grabbed her, hauled her up, dragged her toward a black SUV idling nearby.
“No!” she fought, nails scraping uselessly. “Stop!”
The door slammed. The vehicle lurched forward. Elena pressed herself against the seat, chest heaving, mind racing. Tears burned her eyes, fury and terror tangling tight.
She didn’t know where they were taking her, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty. Her man would come for her.