Page 15 of Mercy for Reaper

Holly

I wake up to the sound of an earthquake.

The noise is loud, and everything in the bedroom feels like it’s shaking, including the bed. I sit up in a panic, looking wildly around, trying to make sense of everything. Wait, do earthquakes even make noise?

What the heck is happening?

I absently reach to my side to wake Reaper, but his spot is empty. I turn around to find the man has already climbed off the bed and is stepping into his jeans.

“Fucking lunatics,” he mutters under his breath, but I hear him and still have no clue what he is talking about.

“What’s going on?” I ask groggily, pushing the covers off to get out of bed when he stops me.

“Don’t,” he tells me, walking over to my side and gently pushing me back to bed before pulling the covers over my shoulders. “Go back to sleep, angel. I’ll deal with the noise.” He leans down and brushes his lips over my temple.

“What is it?” I ask, panicked, grabbing his hand before he can leave. “Where’s that noise coming from?”

He shakes his head, eyes moving to the bedroom window before shifting back to me. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Just go back to sleep, and I’ll join you in a few minutes,” he promises.

There is a sense of urgency in his voice, so I let my hand fall from his and watch him walk out of the bedroom. He is gone for only a minute when the noise dies down, and as much as I want to stay in bed and go back to sleep, I can’t help but grow curious about the source of the noise.

I climb out of bed and walk to the bathroom where I grab a robe before going back to the bedroom window, but I see nothing. The window is facing the opposite direction of my driveway, which means if I want to see what the hell is happening, I need to go to the living room.

I chew my lip and contemplate staying in my room and waiting for Reaper to come back with an explanation.

I choose to trust him and wait.

The bed is still warm when I climb back in and pull the covers over my body, listening for any other noises, but it’s eerily quiet. Reaper asked me to wait for him, but the longer I do so, the more worried I grow.

My mind runs wild as I think of all the possibilities. Perhaps the cops came to arrest him, but then there would be sirens. I search my mind for other possibilities, but come up blank.

“What’s taking him so long,” I whisper anxiously, sitting up on the bed and staring worriedly at the bedroom door, counting the seconds then minutes until Reaper rejoins me in bed and assures me that it was just some giant lawnmower, low flying plane, or something else. My eyes move to the alarm clock and see it’s a few minutes past ten, so it makes no sense for anyone to be mowing their lawn this late. Besides, it would take dozens of lawnmowers to make the disruptive noise that woke us.

Reaper will have an answer for me when he gets back, so I wait . . . and wait some more until I can’t any longer.

With a sigh, I climb out of bed and slide my feet into my slippers, tightening the robe around me before following after Reaper. I call out softly to him from the end of the hallway, and when he doesn’t answer, I walk out, shivering when a cool wind blows through the open front door.

My heart is hammering as I slowly approach the front door, unsure of what is waiting outside, and in all of my wide imagination, nothing could have prepared me for what I see. There are at least a dozen large motorcycles parked in my driveway and along the road.

My jaw drops as I stare at the scary-looking men outside my home talking to Reaper in the glow of the light above the garage door, and I must make a sound because they all turn toward me with blank faces and cold eyes.

What the hell is happening?

My Aunt Meg hated motorcycles with a passion, so I know these men aren’t here because they somehow knew her, and they certainly don’t know me. These men are here for Reaper, and from his relaxed posture, I can tell he is friendly with them. And I know a freaking motorcycle club when I see one. These men all have the same patches on their leather jackets that Reaper has on his. I was so distracted by Reaper’s care—and then by Reaper—that I hadn’t put two and two together until now. Steel Order MC: Austin. This particular club is well known around the city as one of the most dangerous organizations in Texas.

My breathing grows shallow when I recall cleaning the blood off Reaper’s jacket. I was panicked at the time and didn’t put much thought into the markings.

Christ, who is this man I let into my life? I knew he was no saint, but this?

I back up a step, horrified at the thought of letting a member of a criminal organization into my home. I let him touch me, shared my body and bed with him. I can’t believe I fell for a freaking criminal.

“You knew what he was from the beginning,” chastises a voice at the back of my head.

It’s too dark to make out more than the two men closest to Reaper. The man standing next to him has a buzzcut and dark, empty eyes. He’s not even handsome . . . just plain terrifying. My eyes shift from him to the long-haired man standing next to him with a wild, somewhat psychotic smile on his face.

I quickly look away from the men and lock eyes with Reaper. There is a resigned look on his face as he steps away from his friends and approaches me, his massive body blocking me from the view of the other men.

“What’s going on, Reaper?” I whisper shakily, trying to look past his shoulder, but the man is built like a linebacker. “Who are these people?”

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