Page 68 of Reaper

“Behind you!” Scar’s voice cuts through the chaos just as I hear the sickening crunch of Talon’s boot connecting with another guard’s skull.

I spin and kick the guard running toward me right in the shin, taking him down. Before he hits the ground, I’m on him. Knee to neck, I press until it snaps.

Nitro’s blade slashes the last guard’s throat, spilling blood on the field. And then it’s silent once more.

We move like shadows across the field, leaving a trail of bodies in our wake. These menare paying a blood debt for every second they’ve kept my son from me. I have no doubt everyone on the grounds is aware of the kidnapping. Why they didn’t double their patrol is beyond me. But I’ve got a feeling this is just the beginning. Once we get inside, shit’s gonna get real.

“Got the keycard,” Nitro whispers, holding up the plastic like it’s a trophy. His eyes are hard, reflecting the same burning need for justice that fuels my veins.

“Inside, now.” Scar’s command comes out as a growl.

We slip through the door, our presence an invisible blight on the mansion’s opulence.

“Split up,” I order, my voice barely above a whisper. “Find Ace.”

“I’ll take the living room,” Scar says before heading in that direction.

“Library.” Talon points before leaving us.

“Hallways,” Tucker says, since he’s the least familiar with the mansion’s layout. He’s never been inside before, but he’s seen the crude map we drew for him.

“East wing,” Nitro finishes, the glint in his eye telling me he’s ready to tear this place apart brick by brick if that’s what it takes.

“Basement,” I say, the word tasting like bile in my mouth. It’s where my nightmares started, but I’ll be damned if it’s where they’ll end.

As we split up and venture into the depths of the opulent mansion, fear and trepidationstew in my gut. I’ll never fully get past the visceral reaction I have to being inside this place, but I can’t let that stand in my way. Nothing will stop me from getting Ace back. Not Blackstone. Not his guards. Not even my own dark past. I’m bringing Ace home to his mom, and God help anyone who tries to stop me.

I clutch my gun tightly to my chest, feeling its cold metal press against my racing heart. Dreary gray halls of the mansion I once called a prison surround me, each step bringing back memories I’d rather forget. But there’s no time to dwell on the past. My focus is on finding Ace.

Dimly lit corridors stretch before me, casting eerie shadows over antique furniture that cost more than most people make in a lifetime. The tension is palpable, and I can’t shake the feeling that danger lurks around every corner.

“Stay focused,” I mutter, trying to ignore the rising unease threatening to swallow me whole.

As I move silently from room to room, my eyes scan every inch of space for any sign of my son. When I reach the kitchen, my breath catches in my throat. There, just beyond the gleaming stainless steel appliances, stands the door to the basement, the dungeon where I spent four agonizing years as Blackstone’s prisoner.

A shudder runs through me at the thought of descending into that hellish pit, but I know Ace could be down there. Gripping my gun eventighter, I force myself to approach the door. The air crackles with tension as I slowly reach for the handle.

Just as my fingers brush against the cold metal, I hear footsteps rushing up behind me. Instinct takes over, and I spin around to face the threat. But the assailant is quicker than I expect, landing a solid punch to my wrist. Pain shoots through my arm, and I drop my gun with a curse.

“Didn’t think you’d come, Reaper,” the assailant sneers, his eyes filled with malicious glee. I’ve never seen this man before, but he knows me. Blackstone probably told the guards about each member of the club. That’s how this fucker knows who I am.

“Wrong,” I growl, lunging forward into a fight fueled by desperation and rage.

We trade blows, our fists connecting with brutal force. But this is my territory, and I know every corner of this room like the back of my hand.

I grab a skillet from the stove and slam it against the side of his head. He staggers but recovers with a snarl. I dodge his clumsy swing and sweep a leg out, tripping him onto the floor. Before he has time to react, I snatch a blender from the counter and bring it down hard on his skull.

Blood splatters across the pristine tile, and the guard lies motionless at my feet. Panting, I wipe the sweat and grime from my face with theback of my hand.

“Rest in hell, you bastard,” I whisper, grabbing my gun off the floor and turning back to face the door leading to the basement. Stuffing my gun in my cut, I eye the guard. I can’t just leave him lying there.

Dragging the lifeless body of my assailant into the pantry, I close the door behind me. Blood streaks across the pristine white tiles, a grim reminder of the battle that just took place. The kitchen’s a wreck. If anyone else comes through it, they will know shit went down and they’ll alert the others, but I don’t have time to deal with it.

My eyes fall upon a knife block on the counter. Although I already have one strapped to my leg, a backup could come in handy. I grab a blade with a razor-sharp edge and grip it tightly.

“Stay focused,” I tell myself, pushing open the door to the basement.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I descend the stairs, memories of my imprisonment threatening to overwhelm me. My heart quivers, and I struggle to fend off the panic clawing at my chest.

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