Page 163 of Breaker

I search his eyes. All I see is determination. Anger. Passion turing his eyes somehow darker. “You’re a manipulative asshole, you know that right?”

“It’s my greatest quality,” he says, backing away.

“What about Rune?” I dread swirls in my gut. The thought of him putting his lecherous hands on our girl makes me want to hop on Breaker’s bike and slice them off and feed them to him.

Reaper swipes a hand over his mask, adjusting it at his neck. “I’ve already told Harlow to stay with her at all times.”

“But he doesn’tknow,“ I hiss. Fuck, we didn’t know. Not really.

“I told him to watch her around him,” Reaper says, “That will keep him alert.”

“Maybe we should just tell him and let him kill Rune,” I say, really, really liking the way that thought tastes leaving my lips. “Problem solved.”

“Leaving us with more problems.” Reaper grips my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. That determined gaze is fiery now, smoldering with a lethal threat. “Viper,” Reaper says, voice low. Deadly. “Do not fucking tell Breaker I am planning to get our girl. Do you understand?”

Shit.

Breaker.

He’s going to snap. He’s going to….

My eyes drop to Reaper’s hand on my shoulder. I shake my head slowly as the realization of what Reaper wants, unfolds.

Asshole.Reaper is a manipulative asshole.

But he’s also a possessive, loyal to a fault, and loves us more than anything. He’s literally risked his life on more than one occasion to save me. Save us.

“I won’t tell him.” Now I’m the one shoving him away. My throat tightens, my pulse thumping erratically. I place a hand to my neck like this will stop the pain that’s forming, knowing that the next few weeks are going to be hard. Lonely. I’ve never been away from him for more than a few days.

We need to get Delilah ready. Fast. Before this all blows up in Reaper’s face.

Breaker is the only one Fallon will forgive. Any and all ramifications for breaking his order will land on Reaper. And just like he has our entire lives, Reaper will take the punishment meant for us, even if it leaves him with more scars.

Chapter 50

Delilah

Theclack clack, clackof Fallon’s footsteps thunder inside my head as he paces the room. A vaporous darkness seems to emanate from him, like his anger is thickening the air, turning it acrid. His three-piece suit a solid black-on-black and silver hair a contrast of light and dark, adding to his lethal aura.

“Is she still willing to cooperate?” Fallon asks, slowing his methodical pacing in front of Reaper and Striker. They’re both at attention, hands fisted their sides, not moving an inch.

We gathered in the large parlor opposite the library. It was big enough to hold all of us.

Because Fallon didn’t come alone.

Ten soldiers, much like Reaper and Striker, stand in the far right of the room, blocking the exit. They are dressed in all black—gloves, uniforms, masks—but they wear helmets and vests, with several guns and knives strapped to their belts, all of the men fully geared up and standing at the ready.

For what, I’m not sure, and that unknown makes my heart race.

The tension in the air is so thick, it feels like a heavy cloak, weighing me down. Fear stained with anger keeps me rooted in place, as I watch Fallon take turns glaring at Striker and Reaper, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Being I’m right behind you, you could simply ask me if I’m willing to cooperate.”

With the exception of a light twitch to his head, their father ignores me.

“You made it sound as if she was trained, son,” Fallon says, stopping in front of Reaper. A long, thin finger grazes over Reaper’s chest, smoothing the wrinkle in his shirt. Fallon tugs at Reaper’s mask like he’s inspecting his uniform, then taps his bare hand, taking note of his lack of gloves. When he shifts to stand before Striker, my stomach dips. Thankfully Striker’s in his black uniform, but he’s missing his gloves as well. Fallon pats his shoulder and lets his hand drop. “The woman behind me lacks in manners and discipline.”

“She is trained, sir,” Reaper says. “Delilah is prepared to continue with the mission.”

The urge to snap at him, tell him to fuck right off, that I’m not capable of killing my father, or anyone else for that matter, eats at my throat, but I bite back the words.

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