Page 20 of Mercy for Reaper

I am tired from the day, and with everything that’s happened this week, I could use the rest of the weekend to relax, and I can’t wait to spend the next three nights with Reaper before I have to go back to work on Monday.

The smile on my face only widens when I notice the bike parked outside my house. Reaper must have gotten home while I was on the bus. I have no idea why he wouldn’t take it into the garage, I already gave him a key so he wouldn’t have to break into my home anymore. Not that he did in the first place, really. He’d given me quite the lecture about making sure I lock all the doors before leaving from now on.

I give the bike a loving pat before skipping the rest of the way to the front door. I don’t bother using my key to get in, as I assume he left the door open for me, and true enough, it’s not locked. I let myself into the house, surprised when I find it dark. I expected to find Reaper sprawled on the couch, watching TV or something, but it’s eerily silent.

“Reaper?” I call out, not completely freaked out but a little alarmed. If this is his way of scaring me, it’s not funny. I thought I told him that I hate jump scares since a childhood incident of falling down the stairs when my parents hid and surprised me on my birthday. I ended up with only a broken wrist, but I’ve been extra jumpy since then. “I saw your bike outside. I know you’re home.”

I wait for his deep chuckle to come from somewhere in the house, but nothing. I hug my bag close and walk deeper into the house. “Okay, Reaper, this is not funny.”

I start down the hall, but I don’t even make it far before someone grabs me from behind, and I feel something press hard to my side. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day for someone to show up to this goddamned house,” an unfamiliar voice hisses into my ear, and a cold shiver runs down my back. His voice is deep and menacing, and it makes my blood freeze.

Christ, is this a robbery? What are the chances this would happen my first day back to work since finding Reaper in my bathroom.

“I don’t have any money,” I whisper shakily, and it’s the truth. The man could search the whole house and would be lucky to find a few quarters in the couch cushions.

“You think I want money?” he spits out, grabbing my shoulder and shoving me toward the couch. I study the man in the dim lighting, and he seems to be in his late forties or early fifties. “Where the fuck is Reaper?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, girl,” he hisses, pointing a gun at my face. “I have been looking for that son of a bitch for days. He and his brothers thought they could get away with running us out of town. They only managed to take out the weakest of us. We are far from done. Now I know he was here. We followed his brothers here last night.”

“Bikers are everywhere these days, huh?” I chuckle nervously, fighting the need to smack my head. This is not the time for wisecracks. Heck, I’m the least funny person I know, and yet, having a gun pointed at my face has me on the edge of hysteria.

“Talk, or I plant a bullet in your head.”

He’s serious. I can see it in his eyes and read it in his voice. This man will shoot me without hesitation if I don’t give him what he wants, but . . . I have nothing to tell him. When Reaper left this morning, he just told me that he had business to take care of at the clubhouse and would be back later in the evening. He didn’t tell me where the clubhouse is. Not that I would tell this psycho where he is even if I knew.

“I-I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Please don’t kill me. I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me where he was going or when he would be back.”

“I’ll give you one more chance to change your answer.”

My eyes widen in alarm. “I . . . I don’t . . . He just left. I don’t know,” I whisper, curling into myself on the couch and closing my eyes so I don’t see him shoot me.

I wonder if it will hurt.

I have tended to many people with gunshot wounds in the time I have worked as a nurse but this is the closest I have ever been to experiencing violence.

Maybe it won’t hurt at all, and it’ll be over quickly. Will I have flashes of the lives I have lived, perhaps see memories I shared with Aunt Meg and . . . Reaper.

Christ, I just found love. Why does it have to be wrenched from my hands so violently and so soon?

“You unhelpful bitch, I’ll kill you then find him myself. I’m sure he’ll come back here looking for you eventually.”

A gunshot rings out, and I scream, bracing myself for pain that doesn’t come. Did he miss? I don’t dare open my eyes to look, and when another one rings out, I flinch, but still nothing happens.

Right after the second shot, I am quickly engulfed in strong arms and catch the familiar masculine scent of the man I love.

“Are you okay, angel? Did he hurt you?”

Reaper's voice pulls me back to the present, and everything starts to sink into my terrified brain. “W-what happened?”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Reaper whispers soothingly, drawing me into his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around me, putting one hand on the back of my head so it stays in place when I try to look past his shoulder.

“The man . . . d-did you shoot him?”

“You don’t have to worry about him, angel. Don’t look,” he says, but he doesn’t need to be worried about protecting me from this. I am a nurse and have seen plenty of gunshot wounds. Despite what he meant to do to me, if he’s injured, I am obligated to help him. I tell Reaper as much, but he shakes his head. “He’s gone. I’ve never missed a shot, baby.”

He’s never missed a shot . . .

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