Page 70 of Reaper

“Shouldn’t have thrown the other one away,” I growl, brandishing the blade.

The guard’s eyes widen, but only for a moment. He’s fast, dodging my first swipe with ease. “You think a knife scares me?” he scoffs. “I’ve seen worse.”

He must have experience in knife fights because his speed is impressive. As we continue to clash, fatigue begins to take its toll on both of us. Our bodies are bruised and battered, but neither of us is willing to give up.

“Just stay down,” I growl as we trade blow after blow.

The mansion’s grandeur becomes a treacherous battleground as our fight spills into different rooms and corridors. We dodge priceless antiques, leap over ornate furniture, and use the mansion’s architecture to our advantage in a high-stakes game of survival.

“Reaper, you fool,” the guard sneers, his voice strained. “You’ll never save your son.”

“Watch me,” I snarl, gritting my teeth.

Beneath the surface of our physical confrontation lies a deep-seated animosity born from years of bloodshed and betrayal. Blackstone’s men have taken so much from me and my club. I won’t let them take Ace, too.

At a critical moment, the guard lands a powerful kick to my side, sending me crashing into a wall. My body screams in protest, but my spirit remains unbroken. I refuse to let my son down in his darkest hour.

“Give up already,” the guard growls,advancing toward me.

“Never,” I gasp. I can’t let this bastard win.

Using the last of my strength to lunge at him, knife outstretched, I mount a fierce counterattack, slashing like a wild man. I slice at the guard with relentless precision, forcing him onto the defensive.

Our battle continues, each of us refusing to yield. My heart thunders and adrenaline surges through my veins. The pain from my injuries is nothing compared to the thought of losing my son.

“You’re a dead man, Reaper!” the guard shouts, his voice strained under the pressure of my onslaught. “Maybe Blackstone will let us all have a crack at the kid when he’s done with him.”

“Never!” I roar, lunging at him with renewed fervor.

In a climactic showdown, our eyes lock one last time. The guard’s eyes widen with shock and fear, while mine blaze with fury and resolve. With a final, decisive blow, I drive the knife deep into his chest. He gasps, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, before collapsing to the floor, lifeless.

“Should’ve stayed out of my way,” I snap, pulling the knife free and wiping the blade on his uniform.

The guard’s lifeless body lies at my feet, a satisfying reminder of the cost of this mission. I take a deep breath and steel myself for what’s tocome. The bedroom door looms at the end of the hallway like a dark omen, but I’d walk through hell to get my son back.

Scar and Talon jog down the hall toward me.

“We took out a bunch of other guys,” Scar says.

“The west wing is clear.” Talon shifts his knife from one hand to the other.

“Check the rest of the east wing. I’m heading to Blackstone’s bedroom.”

“We’ll come with you,” Scar says.

“No. Not this time. I need you to hold everyone else off, so I can focus on him. I know you want him dead as much as I do, but he’s not holding your son hostage.”

“We got you,” Scar replies, his voice tense. “Be ready for anything. You don’t know how many men he has behind those doors.”

“Always am,” I say, clenching my jaw as I stalk toward the door.

Each step feels heavier than the last as memories of that room resurface to torment me. The double doors leading into his bedroom loom over me.

As I reach for the doorknob, I can’t help but think about the horrors that could be waiting behind it. Is Ace okay? What has Blackstone done to him?

“Please let me be in time,” I plead silently.

I twist the knob and throw the door open,gun drawn, ready for a fight. My eyes dart around the room, quickly scanning for any threats. The lavish bedroom is bathed in shadows, making it hard to see anything clearly, but there’s no sign of Blackstone or Ace.

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