Page 7 of Nikolai (Kansas City Reapers)

I needed to say something more, something kind to put her at ease. I was good at a lot of things, but situations like this were not one of them. Comforting someone I did not know? Yeah, that wasn’t my forte whatsoever.

“You’re safe here, Ms. Ayers. I can assure you of that. No one will hurt you here.” We stared at one another awkwardly for a moment before I nodded, lips pursed, and left her to her own devices, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Time to head back downstairs and face the music. Or face my brothers-in-arms, as the case would have it.

Heaven help me.

Chapter 2

Maddy

Never askyourselfwhat’s the worst that could happen?Because it’ll happen. And then some.

How else could I have gotten myself here, in this kind of mess? I looked around the room. It was fairly nondescript, nothing to write home about. Not that I could write home anytime soon, anyhow.

Jesus, what I wouldn’t give for my cell phone right about now.

I lifted my suitcase onto the bed, silently unzipping it as I listened to the sounds of the house around me. It was eerily quiet, especially knowing that four men were directly below me in the kitchen, most likely discussing what to do with me. I pulled out my toiletries, and my few things for the bedside table, leaving only my clothing behind. I had very little with me, much less than I would have liked, but the detective — Mercado, I think his name was — didn’t exactly leave me much time to gather mythings. He’d even had the audacity to limit me to two bags. Asshole.

The distraction provided by unpacking my meager belongings ended all too soon. I sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. Now what? What was I supposed to do with myself for however long I had to be here? If I had my phone, or a laptop, or something, I could make myself useful. I could continue working. Who was I kidding? I’d probably be sitting here scrolling TikTok or Instagram, pretending to be busy. But that at least would have beensomething. I had nothing.

Begrudgingly, I decided to head back downstairs and face the music — or the four men who were now my caretakers, as fate would have it.

I hesitantly tiptoed my way down the stairs and back towards the kitchen. It was the only part of the house I had seen so far. With the size of the place, that left a lot to my imagination.

The soft murmuring of voices grew louder as I approached the kitchen. I snuck quietly closer, trying to avoid detection as I listened in.

“All I’m saying is that you could have given us a heads-up, Niko. Shitty-ass move, bro,” a voice spoke, every word laced with frustration.

“No fucking kidding,” another voice agreed.

“You’re right. I should have given more warning. But the situation was dire. And it’s Quinn. How was I supposed to say no?” I recognized that last voice. It was the man who had answered the door. Nicholas, I think. No, it was different. Nikolai. That was it.

“Niko’s got a point,” a lighter, more high-pitched voice answered. “Quinn bailed our asses out of more than a few scrapes in the desert. None of us would have turned him down if we’d been the one he asked..”

“True, but—” The voice, one that had spoken before, stopped abruptly. I swear I could have heard a pin drop.

I stood stone still, not wanting to be caught lurking.

“Madison? Is that you?” A voice called to me. It was the big, burly one. The one who looked like a tank, but had shown me kindness in the kitchen upon my arrival.

Shit. How had they heard me? Well, there was nothing for it. Might as well get this over with.

With a deep breath, I stepped further down the hallway and into the kitchen, no longer softening my footsteps. I plastered a smile on my face as the four men came into view.

I opened my mouth to speak, to say hello, to sayanythingreally. But no words came out. Instead, I offered a tight-lipped smile and a half-assed wave.

“Come in, Ms. Ayers. Can we get you anything?” The burly guy stood from the table with a huge smile on his face. He was kind, and I appreciated it. It was a hell of a lot better than the looks the rest of the men gave me. The skinny one next to him, with long hair, kept his arms crossed over his chest, his own lips curled into a smile that mirrored my own fake one. The man at the far end of the table was another story. Older than the lot of them by the looks of it, he sat, surly and sour, not even bothering to offer me even a fake smile.

The leader of the group, Nikolai, was the hardest of allto read. His face was stoic and unyielding, showing no emotion whatsoever. His eyes, however, were another matter. Those showed the worst thing someone could have shown me in that moment: pity.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I answered politely, breaking the awkward silence that followed the large man’s request.

With a piercing, somehow knowing gaze, the large man smirked. “And when was the last time you ate?” A single eyebrow raised as he took in the flush that rushed to my cheeks.

“I… well… it was…” I stammered, realizing all too quickly that I actually did not know when the last time I had eaten was. In truth, the police had given me food and water over the course of the last two days, but I honestly didn’t think I touched it once, instead letting the crackers and snacks crumble between my fingers as I fidgeted nervously, far too many times to count.

“If you can’t easily remember, then it’s been too long. Sit. I’ll make you something.” The large man chuckled lightly as he made his way into the kitchen. In truth, my stomach had long since passed the grumbling stage and had settled firmly in the achy feeling of anxiety and emptiness. Food would be good for me.

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