Page 58 of War Games

A soft laugh rumbles through Reaper’s chest, and the sound is the best type of medicine. “I suppose we are,” he agrees.

A stupid smile pulls at my lips, and as I settle back into the sheets, I start thinking a little more logically. All the stuff I brought here is gone, burned to a crisp. My custom tops and weapons, even my laptop, disintegrated into nothing but ash. “What am I supposed to do? All my stuff is just . . . gone,” I say, trying to figure out what the rest of War Games is going to look like for me.

Reaper shakes his head. “Don’t be worrying about all of that. Clothes and weapons can be replaced. You can’t. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters.”

I scoff. Clearly this man’s priorities don’t quite line up with mine because not having a weapon within arm’s reach isn’t exactly a way I’m comfortable living. Though, considering this is Reaper, I don’t doubt there are weapons hidden all over this home. All I’ll need to do is go hunting and my stock will be replenished. But it’s not the same. Most of those weapons had sentimental value. The first custom blade I bought. The two I stole from Reaper the night he saved my ass. The dagger I’d used to kill the man who put his hands on me at fourteen. Every weapon I had meant something to me, and those memories are going to be hard to say goodbye to.

“Stop overthinking it,” Reaper tells me, squeezing my thigh.

I let out a breath, and feeling frustrated with my situation, I sit up before slowly getting to my feet. Reaper hovers over me like a prison warden. “Take it easy,” he warns. “You fucking died on me. I left bruises on your chest from giving you CPR, and I’m not about to let it happen again.”

“Then, by all means, come with me.”

His brows furrow, and I slowly begin to cross the bedroom and make my way into the bathroom. “I need to shower,” I tell him, knowing he’s more than noticed the current state I’m in, not to mention the gasoline that’s festering in my hair. “I need to wash my hair and just . . . be clean, then after that, we’re going to figure out the most brutal way to end Gasoline’s life.”

“I told you,” he says, a strange note in his tone. “I work alone.”

I scoff. We’ve been working as a team these past few days, he just doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s more than just a simple team player. “Not anymore,baby,” I say, mimicking the tone he uses every time he calls me that filthy word. I’d prefer if he called me his little slut or a filthy whore, but baby? Ugh. It makes my skin crawl. “She stole all the IDs I’d collected over the past two weeks, stole my identification, and then tried to burn me alive. She’s not getting off with a simple bullet between the eyes.”

“Okay,” he finally says. “Together.”

I nod and turn my back on him as I peel my clothes off my scarred body, and when my arms start to give out and my muscles begin to hurt, Reaper takes over, stripping me down. He leans into the shower and turns on the water, and with his hands on my hips to keep me steady, he leads me into the shower.

The water rushes over me, washing the black soot from my skin, but I’m going to need a little more than flowing water to clean this shit off my body. Reaper stands behind me, fully clothed, and as I place a hand against the cool tiles, keeping myself balanced, he takes my hair and gently starts unplaiting the long rope-like strands.

“I failed,” I murmur, feeling the weight of everything that happened last night resting on my chest, or perhaps that’s just the bruises Reaper left from the compressions he gave me to keep my heart pumping.

“You didn’t fail, Siren. You got comfortable. You let your guard down, and you didn’t check your cameras before entering the premises. You made mistakes, but it makes you human. Just be grateful that you’re alive and you have a chance to even the score.”

“She has my ID. She used my real name.”

“And?” he prompts. “That doesn’t suddenly give her an edge. It’s a name. Whether you use it or not. She’s not better than you. She had no hope of beating you in a fair fight. She had to get you while your guard was down, otherwise, she wouldn’t stand a chance. But the way I see it, you’re now in a position of power.”

My brows furrow, and I glance back over my shoulder, meeting his eyes as I try to figure out how the hell he came to that conclusion. “Come again?”

“With any luck, your name will appear on the death toll. The whole suite was burned to the ground. They have no idea that you weren’t in there, which means you’re a ghost. Nobody is watching you now.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Not if Gasoline stayed and watched the show. If she did, she now knows there’s an alliance between you, me, and Shadow. We’ll be an even bigger target.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “But that’s the risk you take when you play War Games.”

I let out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes and trying to relax as he works shampoo into my long hair. A soft groan rumbles through my chest, and honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone care for me in this way, not even as a child. It’s well out of my comfort zone, but I can’t find it in me to ask him to stop.

My heart races, and I don’t exactly understand why, but what I do know is that waking up in his bed after he spent the night trying to save me means something. This is more than just the games now. If he didn’t care, he would have let me die. It would have sucked, but he would have moved past it in a couple of days, and that right there scares the shit out of me because had the roles been reversed, I would have done the very same thing.

Fuck. I think I’m falling for this man.

He rinses the shampoo out of my hair, and before I know it, his hands are lathered with soap, gently moving across my aching skin. The soot washes off my skin, and as his hands roam over my body, I relax into him, letting him take me away into a world of blissful pleasure.

“Reaper,” I moan.

“I got you,” he promises as his hand skims down my body and slips between my thighs, brushing past my clit and making my hips jolt.

I suck in a gasp, and as he circles back and does it again, my knees begin to shake. My body is too sensitive, and I don’t have the ability to hold back. His hands continue moving, not wanting to linger anywhere too long and risk hurting me further, and when it’s time to rinse the soap off, Reaper reaches for the shower head above us.

He brings it down over me, washing the bubbles off my body inch by inch. His arm locks around my waist, holding me against him, and as I close my eyes, his lips come down on my neck, gently kissing as his lips move along my sensitive skin.

I grip his arm around my waist, needing it for support, and as the shower head trails down low over my stomach, I suck in a breath. He doesn’t stop, and as I tilt my head, allowing him more access to my neck, he trails the water down over my hip.

---