Page 34 of The Reaper

And then he pulled her into his chest. His warmth radiated through the black uniform. His scent found her. His hands cupped her face, then put a hand over her head, holding her close to his chest.

“Hannah, one last time. We pretend, okay? And then after that, no more games of pretend, okay? One last time, and then, I’ll be me and you be you and we’ll create our own next chapter.”

She stammered, and shook in his arms. “Come on, you did a great job of this, you had me fooled and I’m a fucking professional at deception, Hannah.”

“I didn’t mean to… fool you…”

“No I know, you did it to survive. You did it because you are smart and tough, and you refused to be bullied by that fucker, and you refused to compromise on your principles. Let’s do it again, Hannah, but this time, I’m on your side, too. You knew I would be, hey? That’s why you picked me, that’s why you trusted me, I’m your way out of this, remember? But this time, I’m asking for one last time and you take me with you, okay?”

She’d controlled her breathing now. His words, his touch steadied her. She could do this, he was right. They could do this, one last time, together.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HANNAH

She followedhim out of the room. The suit protected her, physically and mentally. She felt herself becoming the MI5 agent, she felt the darkness seep into her. She felt stealthier, more powerful. Anonymised. It was almost intoxicating.

Her and Jack, sneaking through the open prison area. He walked like a Navy Seal, on the balls of his feet, gun up, checking in each cell they walked past. She followed, her breathing loud in her head, the material of the outfit felt heavy against her skin. The once familiar place was lit by the emergency lighting, it threw eerie shadows in places that normally didn't have shadows. She had always felt separate from the prison, the actual cells, the open area with the staircases and the netting. The pool tables on the ground floor. Countless prisoners had been here, bad men. No, men who had done bad things, because they had very few choices. Jack was one such man. And she could count herself amongst them, too, now.

There was a movement ahead. She tried not to jolt.

Another man, in MI5 black riot gear, same as what they were wearing, approached from the left.

Jack immediately took on a friendly posture. Of course, they were one of them, she quickly adapted, too.

The man muttered something to Jack. Something in a low voice, something in a foreign accent.

Jack was right, they were Bratva.

Jack shook his head in response to whatever the man had asked him.

The other man turned to look where he had just come from, turning his back to Jack momentarily. And that is when Jack brought his fistdown hard on the back of his head. The man crumpled to the floor, out cold.

Hannah let out a muffled gasp, but stifled it.

He cleared his throat, picked up the gun. “I’m MI5, Hannah. Have been this whole time. Black ops. Undercover in the Reapers for twelve years,” he said. “They thought the mole was from the Bratva. No, I was the mole.”

She reeled. “You…”

He reached for her hand, then suddenly, looking at her intensely. “I wanted you to know... I always wanted you to know, I’m not as bad as you think I am, Hannah,” he said. “I’m not the bad guy, Hannah, I was trying to help… I remember everything. I thought I was dead, I-”

“You!” The manic shout suddenly echoed in the high ceilinged area.

Hannah whirled around. But hands grabbed her, she bumped backwards against a hard chest. It happened so fast, the air left her lungs. She was handled like a piece of meat, unfriendly, clammy hands. Her heart pounded.

Roper.

“You fucker, you should be dead! Why won’t you just fucking die?” Roper roared. He had a gun, too. He was pointing it at Jack, then pointed it at Hannah, then back at Jack again. He was wild eyed, desperate.

Jack looked on, calm, giving away nothing on his face, he wordlessly raised the gun, pointing it straight at Roper.

Roper grabbed her throat, put her into a choke hold in front of himself, using her as a human shield. Hannah felt the cold gun metal against her temple. She let out a wail before Roper tightened his grip. This wasn't how it ended. Was it? Jack stood stock still with Hannah now in front of Roper. She would have groaned with anguish if she had the use of her throat. Jack couldn’t get a clean shot at Roper without endangering Hannah. If that was what he planned to do.

Jack didn’t waver. The gun was still trained on Roper. Pointing right at Hannah. And there was a moment she wasn’t sure if Jack would shoot Roper, or shoot her. He gave nothing away in his eyes.

“Now, you wouldn’t want to hurt an innocent civilian, would you? Poor Hannah Wells, totally delusional. She thinks she’s your girlfriend, sits by your side nursing you back to health, lies to the police about how you’ve been seeing each other… poor delusional bitch!”

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