Page 141 of Breaker

It was Reaper.

Chapter 44

Delilah

I’m not sure whatwakes me up—a creak in the floor, the wind rattling the window—but my eyes open, and I sit upright, heart beating wildly in my chest like angry bees. My gaze lands on him and I relax.

Irelax.

The fire died hours ago, the only light in the room the bright moon’s glow pouring in through the open curtains, drenching the room in a gauzy white haze. Reaper’s mask glows, his eyes just a black hole sucking me into his vortex. He’s sitting in the chair with legs spread wide, arms hung loosely over the armrests, watching me. I feel his gaze slipping, dipping, moving over me, almost caustic with its intensity.

I’m not sure why he’s here, not talking. There’s a fleeting thought that maybe he’s come to deliver more bad news. That he’s going to tell me to get dressed and lead me downstairs to break my heart and mind all over again. But there’s something about the way he’s sitting—he looks almost defeated.

Or maybe it’s acceptance.

I take a breath. Acceptance. I know that feeling all too well. That unfolding of oneself, giving in to your most basic desires. Finally allowing yourself to have all the things you’ve denied.

Flinging the covers back, I crawl to the end of the bed, not caring about my nakedness. He’s already seen so much of me, exposed parts that lived inside me, my bare flesh is nothing compared to the wild things he’s ripped from my marrow.

When I reach the end of the bed, I kneel with my hands in my lap.

Waiting.

Waiting.

That’s what I’ve done since they’ve taken me. Waited for their next move. Waited for answers. Waited for Cora. Waited for them to touch me again. To take what they wanted so I could finally have want I craved.

Them.

Striker was right. It’s easier when someone takes, forces you into submission, rather than risking giving yourself to the wrong person. I’ve already done that—given my entire life to men who don’t deserve to be in the same space as me.

Dave. I gave him a year of my life, my devotion. He gave me lies and deceit. A broken heart.

Rune. I’ve given him my entire soul. He is the essence of me, of who I thought I wanted to be. I gave him that. The only thing that a daughter can give her father. Idolization, loyalty, never-ending devotion and complete and utter trust.

And he never deserved it.

I don’t know entirely if Reaper deserves me. If any of them do. But there’s a soul deep want that needs them to be deserving of this terrible tenderness growing in my chest. This painful ache that is so desperate for him to be everything he promised.

Mine. Hers.

Our revenge.

Reaper lifts one hand, turning his palm up and he crooks his finger, telling me to come to him. Just like he did in the club, sealing my fate.

My feet hit the cool wood, and I walk over, slowly, letting him see every part of my skin visible in the darkness. Light glints in his black eyes as I move closer, hungry gaze eating up the sight of my body. My breasts, how my nipple’s have grown tight, not just from the slight chill in the room but from his nearness. How I walk, hips swaying, legs feeling slightly loose from the many times Striker’s fucked me today. The new, confident way I stand before him after finally getting what I wanted.

It’s a heady feeling, realizing they desire me, crave my body and mind as much as I want them. That feral woman they created has been starved after being denied any pleasurable touch, and she’s greedy. She wants more.

She,I, wanthim.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say, stepping between his spread thighs, until my legs hit the chair.

Black eyes rove over me again, one hand lifting from the armrest to skim over my outer thigh, fingers leaving fire in their wake. His head drops back to the chair, and he looks up at me. “Have I?”

I narrow my gaze, knowing he can see my irritation. It’s strange standing over him like this. Every interaction I’ve had with him, even straddling his lap as he fucked me, he’s been in complete control.

Maybe he still is, this false sense of being above him is really just Reaper allowing me to stand before him. Like in the club, when Striker told me the only reason I was on Reaper’s lap was because he put me there.

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