Page 16 of Reaper

Shaking off the paralysis of fear, I dart out of the room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. The window over the sink frames a view of the river. Its dark waters promise an escape route, but it’s flowing too fast. I wouldn’t be able to maneuver a kayak in the current.

Out back, it’s eerily silent, a stark contrast to the war zone I’ve just witnessed. This is it—my chance. My fingers clench into fists at my sides. Reaper’s embroiled in his club’s battles, the very reason why I can’t let Ace grow up amid the violence and vendettas. We’re not safe here. We never were.

A surge of determination floods through me, mingling with the adrenaline that’s already set my nerves on fire. Ace needs a life free from the roar of motorcycles and the stench of blood and oil. I need to protect him and give him a chance to do something that doesn’t involve looking over his shoulder. I never want the harsh cadence of gunfire to become a lullaby for my son.

As I walk back through the living room toward the hall, I glance at the front door. Reaper’s out there risking his life, and for what? The man is both a guardian and a danger, a tempest who kept me anchored to this life for far too long. I escaped once before, and it’s time to run again. For Ace. For a future that doesn’tinclude the deafening echo of shots fired in anger.

I dart back to the bedroom, my heart jackhammering against my aching ribs. Ace is sitting up in bed, his little brow furrowed while his eyes are wide with fear. The sight of him, so innocent and frightened by the chaos outside, stabs at me with urgency.

“Baby, we gotta go, now,” I say, scooping him up.

He looks at me, confusion clouding his eyes—the same eyes that always remind me of Reaper. “Where, Mommy?”

“Somewhere safe,” I reply, bundling him into his light jacket. Thank God he was wearing it during the crash. It’s too thin for nighttime temperatures, but it’ll have to do. His tiny hand finds mine, gripping it with a trust that tears at me. We can’t be here when the next bullet finds its mark.

“Mr. Snuffles!”

“Here.” I grab the bear and hand it to him. “Hold on tight. You don’t want to lose him.”

I sneak a glance down the hallway. It’s clear. With one last look over my shoulder, I open the front door. The air is thick with the residue of gunpowder and fear, but it doesn’t stop me. We slip out unnoticed, the night cloaking our escape.

As I run around the porch toward the rear of the clubhouse, my boots thud on the woodenplanks. When we get to the steps off the back porch, we quickly walk down them. The river roars several yards away, a raging beast beneath the moon’s watchful eye. I know better than to try crossing—it would swallow us whole.

“Mommy, it’s dark,” Ace whispers.

“I know, sweetheart. Just hold tight. We have to run. Can you do that for Mommy?”

Without waiting for a response, I grab his hand, and we plunge into the woods. Branches claw at our clothes, while unseen roots threaten to trip us, but we push forward. Every rustle in the underbrush could be friend or foe. I can’t afford to find out which.

Finally, the trees give way, and I see the highway. Cars zip by like shooting stars. The temptation to flag one down is almost irresistible, the promise of a quick escape from this nightmare. But no, it’s too risky. We could be trading one danger for another.

“Are we running more, Mommy?” Ace’s question pulls me from my thoughts, his voice weary.

“Yep, buddy. Just a little farther.” I force cheer into my tone, though my legs are leaden with fatigue.

A red neon motel sign looms in the distance. It’s at least a mile away, but it’s a beacon of temporary refuge from the chaos we just escaped. As I head toward it, Ace’s complaints grow louder. His small body sags with each step.

“Sorry, baby, just a bit more,” I say as cheerfully as I can manage. “Mommy’s tired too, but we’re almost there. There’s a nice warm bed waiting for us inside that motel.”

Ace nods, but his steps are slower now. The road seems endless. The motel’s a mirage that keeps pulling away. But we’ll get there. We have to.

“Let’s pretend we’re on a secret mission,” I whisper to Ace, trying to inject a sense of adventure into our weary trudge. “We have to reach the safe house without the bad guys seeing us.”

Ace perks up a bit. His grip tightens on my hand as he scans the horizon with the seriousness only a seven-year-old can muster.

“Are we spies, Mommy?” His eyes are wide, reflecting the amber glow of the streetlights.

“Exactly,” I say, forcing a smile despite the fear clawing at my insides. “The best spies. Now, quiet as a mouse.”

For a few minutes, we play along, darting from shadow to shadow, but Ace’s little legs can’t keep up with his imagination, and soon, he stumbles, a small whine escaping his lips. “I’m tired, Mommy. Can’t walk.”

“Okay, champ.” My heart clenches at the sight of him, so brave yet so vulnerable.

Bending down, I hoist him into my arms. His body’s heavy against mine, but I can manage his weight until we get to the motel. As Icarry him, my muscles ache, and my heart beats wildly. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything to get him to safety.

Finally, after what feels like miles, the motel sign comes into view, its light flickering unsteadily. It’s a rundown place, the sort of spot where nobody asks questions, which is exactly what we need right now. The neon vacancy sign buzzes erratically, casting a reddish hue over the cracked parking lot.

“Here we are, buddy,” I murmur, more to reassure myself than Ace, who’s already half-asleep against my shoulder.

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