Page 11 of Mercy for Reaper

“Well then, that’s fine,” she says, perking up. “If you met him outside of work, then you’re free to ride his dick all you like.”

My jaw drops to the floor, and I look around again before lowering my voice to a whisper. “Jesus, Kate. You can’t say that.”

“Well, you asked.” Fair enough, I guess. “Oh, did you hear the news about the men that were found shot at that warehouse? It wasn’t far from here, close to your house, I think,” she says, changing the subject so fast, it almost gives me whiplash.

It takes a second for her words to sink in, and when they do, I gasp in shock. “W-what?”

“It was probably a gang-related deal gone wrong. The two men were wanted by the police. I am telling you, Austin is going to shit because of these gangs.”

I tune her out, my heart beating so hard, I am half terrified I am going into a cardiac arrest. Two men found dead in a warehouse near my house?

No way, right?

It has to be a coincidence. There is no way Reaper is involved, and yet, I can’t shake the words he’d said to me.

I am not a good man, Holly.

Christ, this is driving me to madness. I need to tell the cops about Reaper. If he was involved, then . . .

I grab my phone and search for the news story, confirming Kate’s words to be true. My stomach flips when I notice the story was released the day after I found Reaper on my bathroom floor. The warehouse isn’t far from my house at all, and that sends chills running down my back.

This new information leaves me with a lot of questions, ones I’m still pondering when I hang up with Kate. I can’t help the tremble that rocks my body when I walk down the hall toward my room.

Should I confront him about the shooting?

Will he be honest if I do?

Do I even want him to tell me the truth?

“Snap out of it, Holly,” I scold myself gently. My concern for this man makes little sense. Sure, we shared something special, a passion I’d never imagined I’d experience, but it changes nothing.

Reaper is a stranger. A man who broke into my house with a concussion and a gunshot wound to his arm and refused to go to the hospital. If that does not scream danger, then I don’t know what does.

My bedroom is quiet when I walk in, eerily so. My stomach flips with nerves when I find the bed empty. It is neatly made, and the clothes I’d washed for him are missing from where I’d left them on the top of my dresser. I’d been in the kitchen for a while, then on the phone with Kate for about twenty minutes. My blood is pumping fast in my veins as I walk into the bathroom, but it’s empty as well.

I walk back down the hall and check the other rooms, but I come up empty.

He’s gone.

The truth settles in my stomach like a heavy bolder as tears spring to my eyes. I should be relieved that the man is gone and that I can now go back to my life without worrying about being found out, but . . .

How could he just leave me without a goodbye? Did he sneak out a window?

“Stop it, Holly. You were about to call him out for possibly killing two men. He’s the cop’s problem now.”

But it’s easier said than done.

For the past few days, I have cared for this man without asking for anything in return. I never even threatened to report him, and this is the thanks I get! I want to be mad at him, to kick and yell and rage. It’s an irrational feeling, but I want to hate him for up and leaving without so much as a goodbye.

What happens instead is the opposite. Instead of rage, all I feel is a deep sense of loss and loneliness. I’ve been alone for too long, and this man came into my life when I was feeling the lowest. He gave me something other than my troubles to focus on, and perhaps . . .

Perhaps that’s why I didn’t report him. It was a selfish reason, and now that he’s gone, I’m back to being alone.

I swing around when I hear a noise coming from somewhere in the house. I push back my self-pity and blink back the tears as I look around for the source.

Surely, I won’t find another man bleeding out on my bathroom floor, right?

Even so, I grab a flower vase and lift it over my head as I follow the source of the noise, but it’s not coming from the bathroom. I listen again, and this time, I catch a sound coming from the garage.

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