Page 13 of Reaper

As I step into Reaper’s room, memories slam into me like a physical force. The scent of leather and motor oil mixes with the phantom touch of his hands on my skin. My body betrays me with a shiver of want. It’s almost as if the ghosts of our past are etched into the walls, witnesses to what we once shared.

Reaper stands by the window, his back an unmovable wall of muscle. Moonlight carves shadows across his features, making him appear even more imposing than I remember. He’s the embodiment of strength and danger, and it’s impossible not to be affected by his presence.

“Lexi?” His voice breaks through my reverie, and I force my eyes to meet his. They’re black, intense, and unreadable.

“Reaper.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

“You okay?” he asks, and there’s a hint of something in his gaze, something that might be concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie smoothly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, trying to look anywhere but at him. Because if I let myself get lost in those eyes, I’ll drown in the sea of what-ifs and might-have-beens had I not caught him doing the unthinkable the night I left.

“Good,” he says, though his eyes linger on mine as if searching for the truth I work so hard to bury.

We stand there, a mere few feet apart yet worlds away from each other. The tension between us is a live wire, crackling with the heat of unspoken words and buried desire. For a heartbeat, I let myself imagine what it would be like to close that distance, to feel his arms around me again. But no. That’s a path I can’t afford to walk down.

“Tomorrow I should …” I start, but the rest of the sentence dies in my throat as his gaze pins me in place. I can’t think, can’t breathe. All I can do is feel. Every inch of my skin is acutely aware of his nearness. But he’s not close enough.

“Don’t worry about that,” he murmurs. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice that sends a shudder down my spine. He’s dangerous, lethal in ways most people never have to face. His tone reminds me that I should be careful. I swallowhard, forcing myself to remember why I can’t give in to this attraction. I have to stay strong. I brace myself because I know whatever he wants to talk about can’t be good.

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.” Reaper’s voice slices through the fog in my head. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he cups my cheek, guiding my face toward his, moving me so I can’t look away.

“Ask away.” I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile. I can’t afford to let him see the storm inside me, the terror mingled with longing.

He straightens up, releasing my face, and I’m left missing the contact more than I care to admit. “Tucker was able to get your purse out of your car.” He pauses, watching me closely.

“Did he get anything else?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“He said there wasn’t much else to save, but he’s heading back at first light to try and tow your car out of the ravine. If he manages that, you can sift through and see if there’s anything worth salvaging.”

A small flutter of hope rises in my chest, quickly followed by the stark reminder of my reality. “I didn’t have much to begin with,” I confess. “Most of what mattered I had to leave behind. There wasn’t much extra money for, well, anything really. Just the bare necessities.”My hands clench involuntarily, the weight of starting over heavy on my shoulders.

My fingers tremble slightly as Reaper extends my purse toward me. I snatch it from his grasp with a sense of urgency, clutching it against my chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to keep a layer between us. Anything to stop my hands from betraying my resolve and reaching out for the man who’s always been my most dangerous addiction.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my gaze flickering away from his intense stare. I can’t afford to get lost in those deep pools of midnight again.

Then he pulls something else from behind his back, a gleaming plastic card that reflects the dull light of the room. My breath catches as recognition dawns on me.

“This is a keycard to Jonathan Blackstone’s ranch,” Reaper states more than questions. His voice is a low growl that vibrates through the space between us. “Why do you have this?”

“I was working there. Until today.” I swallow hard, the weight of his scrutiny pinning me down.

He doesn’t say anything, just waits, his silence demanding further explanation. A part of me wants to spill everything, to let the burden of my secrets be shared if only for a moment. But I quickly shut down that foolish impulse. The less Reaper knows, the better. For both of us.

“Blackstone fired me,” I continue, forcingmyself to sound nonchalant. “I forgot to give him the card back when I left. I was too busy packing my stuff. I’ll mail it to him.”

“Were you living there?” Reaper pockets the card, which I find incredibly odd. It’s my property, not his.

“Yeah, I had a room at the ranch,” I admit, feeling a fresh sting at the memory. “I was a live-in housekeeper and cook.” The words taste like ash, a bitter reminder of how quickly one’s fortunes can turn. “Some luck, huh? Fired plus a car accident in the same day.”

“That shit wasn’t an accident. I was riding behind the guy who ran you off the road. It was intentional.” His eyes darken even more than I thought possible.

A chill races down my spine despite the warmth of the small room. Someone wanted to hurt me? But why? “I don’t know who would want to …” I trail off, lost.

“What about Blackstone?” He cuts through my confusion with surgical precision.

Blackstone? I shake my head. “I don’t think … I mean, why would he want to hurt me?”

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