Chapter Twelve - Reaper
The pier looks different in the gray aftermath of the storm.
It’s battered but still standing, the wooden boards dark with moisture and scattered debris.
I chose this spot deliberately. Open sight lines, familiar terrain, and enough shadows to set a believable trap.
The video threat gave me twelve hours. I intend to end this well before that deadline.
I park my truck two blocks away and approach on foot, the duffel bag slung over my shoulder containing a decoy package that looks enough like the ledger cylinder to fool a quick glance.
My side throbs where the fresh stitches pull with every movement, but the pain keeps me sharp.
Focused. I left Isabella in the apartment with strict orders to stay put and to keep the doors locked.
The memory of her fierce hazel eyes challenging me still burns in my chest. She was right about one thing.
I am terrified, but fear is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Not when her life hangs in the balance.
I reach the designated spot near the end of the pier, the same area where the heist went down. The lights are dark now, the exhibit space cordoned off with yellow tape that flutters in the breeze. I set the duffel down and step back, scanning the surroundings with practiced eyes.
Minutes tick by in heavy silence. Then three figures emerge from the shadows near the docked boats, moving with the confidence of men who think they have the upper hand.
Charlie himself is here. His polished suit replaced by dark clothing, but the arrogant tilt of his head is unmistakable.
Two larger bodyguards flank him, armed and alert.
“Mr. Harlan,” Charlie calls out, voice carrying across the damp boards. “I see you decided to be reasonable. The ledger?”
I keep my stance relaxed but ready, hands visible. “It’s in the bag. Once you get it, we both walk away. Isabella never sees or hears from you again. That’s the deal.”
He laughs softly, a cold sound. “You tough guys are all the same. Always thinking you can dictate terms.” He nods to one of his men. “Check it.”
The bodyguard steps forward, and the moment he bends to open the duffel, I move.
My hand drops to my pistol in a smooth draw.
Two quick, precise rounds that drop the first bodyguard before he can straighten.
The second man reacts fast, raising his own weapon, but I am already closing the distance.
I fire once more, hitting his shooting arm, then launch into him with a brutal shoulder check that sends us both crashing to the wet boards.
He swings a heavy fist. I slip inside the arc, driving an elbow into a nerve that makes his arm go numb instantly.
He grunts in pain and tries to grapple, but I use his momentum against him, sweeping his legs and slamming him down.
My knee pins his chest as I deliver a sharp strike to the side of his neck, putting him out cold.
Charlie has drawn his own pistol, but I roll away just as he fires. The round splinters wood near my head. I come up firing, two shots that force him to dive behind a piling for cover. I advance low and fast, using the pier structures for cover, suppressing his position with controlled bursts.
He’s better than I thought he’d be, but he isn’t trained like I am.
I flank him from the side, coming around a weathered shrimp boat hull.
When he pivots to track me, I’m already there.
I close the final distance in a rush, knocking his pistol aside with a forearm block and driving a palm strike upward into his chin.
His head snaps back. I follow with a knee to the midsection that doubles him over, then wrench his arm behind his back, forcing him face-down onto the boards.
“Game over,” I growl, pressing my knee into his spine while securing his wrists with zip ties from my vest.
He laughs through the pain, spitting blood onto the wood. “You think this ends with me? There are others. The ledger names families who won’t let this go quietly.”
Before I can respond, the sound of approaching boats cuts through the air. There are multiple engines, moving fast.
Two patrol boats pull up alongside the pier.
Cal leads the team ashore, Rhea right behind him with additional restraints and medical gear.
The guys move with practiced efficiency, securing the downed bodyguards and taking Charlie into custody.
Cal approaches me, eyes assessing the blood on my shirt and the scene around us.
“Clean work,” he says simply. “You good?”
I nod, wiping sweat and rain from my face. “Yeah. Isabella?”
Cal’s expression shifts slightly into something almost like amusement mixed with approval. “She’s waiting for you. Wouldn’t take no for an answer when she showed up at the Boathouse demanding backup. Told us exactly where you’d be and what you were planning. Smart woman.”
Relief and frustration war inside me. She’d gone behind my back and slipped out to contact the team.
Part of me wants to be angry that she put herself at risk by getting involved.
The bigger part feels a deep, bone-settling gratitude.
She hadn’t let me go alone. She had stood by her promise of partnership.
I help secure the final prisoner, then climb into one of the boats with the team. The ride back to the Boathouse is short. When we dock, I spot her immediately.
Isabella stands on the main pier near the Boathouse, arms wrapped around herself against the lingering chill, dark hair whipping in the breeze.
The moment our eyes meet, she starts moving toward me.
I jump off the boat before it fully stops, ignoring the pull in my stitched side, and close the distance in long strides.
She meets me halfway, launching herself into my arms. I catch her, lifting her off her feet as her legs wrap around my waist. Her hands frame my face, hazel eyes searching mine with fierce intensity.
“You’re okay,” she breathes, tears glistening but not falling. “You stubborn, impossible man. You’re really okay.”
I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, jasmine and salt and everything that has become home. “You went to Cal. You didn’t stay put.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, chin lifted in that defiant way I love. “Of course I didn’t. I told you we’re in this together. No more going alone. No more pushing me away to protect me from the big bad world. I’m your partner, Jax Harlan. Get used to it.”
The last of my resistance dissolves completely. I kiss her right there on the pier, deep and claiming, not caring who sees. She kisses me back with equal fire, her fingers threading through my hair as if she needs to reassure herself I am real and whole.
When we finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, I whisper against her lips, “I was scared, Bee. Scared of losing you. Scared of ruining the one good thing I’ve found in years. But you were right, I can’t do this alone anymore, not if it means shutting you out.”
She smiles, soft and radiant despite the exhaustion and lingering fear in her eyes. “Then don’t. We’ll finish this together: the ledger, the cleanup, whatever comes next. Partnership. You and me.”
I pull back just enough to look at her properly, my heart hammering harder than it did during the fight. “I love you, Bee.”
The words come out raw, but they are the truest thing I have said in years.
“I love you. I’ve been falling since the moment you sassed me over biscuits at Nettie’s and refused to be treated like a mission.
I love your sharp mind, your courage, the way you fight for what matters.
I love how you refuse to let me hide. I love you, Bee. And I’m done pushing you away.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but they are happy ones.
She cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
“I love you too, Jax Harlan,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion.
“Every stubborn, protective, beautiful part of you. Hold the line with me. Not as my bodyguard, but as my love. We face whatever comes next together.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, full of promise and tenderness. The pier, the team, the world, none of it matters in this moment. There is only us.
Cal clears his throat from a respectful distance, a rare hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “We’ve got the prisoners secured. Interrogation starts soon. You two take the time you need. We’ll handle the rest for now.”
I nod my thanks, then carry Isabella back toward my truck, her legs still wrapped around me. She laughs softly against my neck, the sound light and healing after the violence of the morning.
At my apartment, the door has barely closed behind us before we are on each other again.
I back her against the wall, kissing her with all the relief and love I have been too afraid to name.
Clothes come off in a trail toward the bedroom.
When I lay her down on the bed, I take my time, worshipping every inch of her with hands and mouth, whispering “Mine” against her skin like a vow.
She claims me back just as fiercely, her hands and lips tracing my scars, her voice steady as she tells me again and again that she is here, that we are in this together, that my past doesn’t get to dictate our future.
We move together in perfect rhythm, slow and deep and possessive, the kind of lovemaking that seals promises without words that we’ve found our happily ever after.