Page 57 of The Reaper

I was sent to Boston to kill someone. I didn’t know that someone was Archer. The Reaper. Until today.

I stared at Archer’s unconscious body and wondered why the Church had waited this long to reveal the identity of my assignment. Would that have mattered? Perhaps. It would’ve been easier to have known from the beginning, before Archer revealed his identity to me and what he knew about The Firm. And I believed him, which added a layer of complication to this mission. What am I going to do now?

After Archer made the decision to head back to Boston, I sent a text to Archbishop Llyod to notify him I would secure the target tonight. When he responded that he would send reinforcements, an unsettling doubt consumed me as we neared the city. It was too late to back away. Not that the Church or The Firm would let me anyway.

My assignment in Albuquerque ended tragically, and the reason for the church to send backup was justified. I didn’t have a flawless track record, unlike The Reaper. According to his file, he was an expert at pretty much everything required to succeed at our job. Hand-to-hand combat? Check. Long-range shooting? Check. Intel gathering and lip reading? Check and check.

The case he mentioned about the congressman from New Mexico was assigned to me. It was an easy task. A corrupt politician getting rid of his opponent? I could do that without breaking a sweat. The congressman was a parish donor so access to him wouldn’t be an issue, and I became complacent. Andrew’s disappearance had momentarily taken my eyes off the assignment, and before I knew it, a whistleblower had outed the congressman and he was taken into custody. I scrambled to find a way to take him out from his prison cell, but The Firm was impatient, so they took the matter into their own hands. The next thing I knew, I was being relocated to Boston with a failed mission and a missing brother.

I didn’t know The Firm’s involvement with the death of the congressman’s opponent until Archer told me. Just how corrupt was The Firm? Were they the reason for Andrew’s disappearance? I shook the thought out of my head; I refused to accept the idea that he was gone. Archer was the last person standing between me and a successful mission. I’d focus on finding Andrew when this was over.

“Great job, Father Saint James,” one of the three backup men said. They were not priests. We were not the same. “Where do you wanna finish this?” he asked, pointing at Archer.

The Reaper, who’d spent half of his life serving The Firm, was reduced to this. Conflicted, I focused my attention on Archer. I wanted to buy more time before I made the kill. “We can’t do it here,” I said. “It’s too risky.”

“Okay, so where?”

“Take him here.” I showed the men the address to one of the Church’s properties outside the city where most killings took place. I pulled the nightstand open, grabbed a set of keys, and tossed them over.

The three swapped glances before nodding. “We can do that,” the other man said. “Here, cuff him.” He threw handcuffs to his buddy, who kneeled and restrained Archer’s hands. “This fucker is The Reaper. He can kill us with his bare hands.”

I winced at the way he tugged on Archer’s arms. “I’ll follow you,” I said as they exited the bedroom. Until I remembered something. “Wait,” I called.

The men dragging Archer from their shoulders stopped.

I stood in front of them, glancing at Archer’s face. “I need this.” I fished his motorcycle key and cell phone from his pocket, fighting the urge to touch his wobbling head. Once they were gone, I rushed to the office, pulling a briefcase from under the bookshelf. After entering the combination in the lock, it popped open, revealing my favorite selection of firearms. I tucked two of them in my waistband and wrapped one with a holder around my ankle. I headed to my computer and plugged in the USB, reopening the file. I dialed Andrew’s number in hopes of reaching him. I needed his guidance more than ever. “Please pick up,” I murmured. It went to voice mail.

It was as if my head was about to split from aching after minutes of figuring out what the hundreds of names and numbers were for, their significance, and what to do with Archer. I slammed my hand on the desk. I didn’t have time to dwell on this. I ejected and pocketed the file before rushing out, halting to pick up Archer’s leather jacket from the floor.

A dull ache stabbed my heart at seeing Archer’s bike on the street. His scent intoxicated my senses when I put his helmet on. The moments we’d shared flashed in my head, his revelations echoed in my soul. I have to do what I have to do. I pressed the ignition. The sound of the motor cut through the quiet street. Torn between my mission and Archer, I sped up.

The starless tar-colored sky opened again, the rain it had been holding fell just as I reached the location. I ran for cover, heading to the house. A black Suburban SUV was parked in the driveway of the Cape Cod-style bungalow. It was dark inside, and the only lights visible from the street were coming from the open basement window. The wind blew heavy raindrops sideways through it.

Passing by the parked vehicle, I peeked inside and found tactical and rifle bags on the back seat. That’s a little overkill, I told myself. But then again, we were dealing with The Reaper. On the floor of the SUV were black body bags.

My phone vibrated, and I glanced at the screen as I stepped under an awning: Andrew. I hurried to answer the call but, like the last time, all I could hear was static and beeping. “Andrew?” I whispered. I couldn’t be sure one of the men wasn’t around, listening.

Footsteps and chatter coming from inside the house drew my attention, forcing me disconnect the call.

“I can’t believe we got him,” one of the men said.

“The Reaper my ass,” the other chided.

I shook my head. The only reason they were able to get him was because they caught him off guard. The sight of me holding a gun had disarmed him, gauging by the look of surprise on Archer’s face before he dropped unconscious. The ache in my chest returned, gripping my heart tighter.

Their voices faded. Another car pulled in behind the SUV and two armed men exited the vehicle.

“Wait up here,” I ordered. “I’ll call if we need backup.”

It was time to finish what I’d started.

Twenty-Eight: The Reaper

Iwas awakened by the sound of dripping water hitting glass. Its rhythm was slow but steady. My chin was pressed against what felt like cold concrete. My clothes were wet and clinging to my body, and I shivered to stay warm. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids stayed shut. My hands were immovable against metal behind my back. Handcuffs. I attempted to shift my body, but only managed to lift my head. A rush of pain hit the back of my head like a motherfucker, and I groaned. Fuck.

I listened intently to my surroundings, trying to get my bearings. It was raining, and there were people in the room. The haze in my thoughts began to clear and memories came rushing back all at once.

We made love.

---