Page 43 of Reaper

“Damn.”

“We can’t underestimate him,” I warn her.

“And we won’t,” Lexi says, her eyes shimmering with determination. “We can do this, Reaper. We’ll work with your brothers to bring Blackstone down. And when it’s all over, we’ll finally have the life we deserve—together, as a family.”

As I hold Lexi close, feeling her strength and resolve melding with my own, I know she’s right. We’re a team now, and nothing—not even the darkest shadows of my past—can stand in our way. Blackstone might be evil personified, but that won’t stop us from killing him. We just need a solid plan. Hopefully, Matrix figured out how to reprogram that keycard because that’s our best shot at getting into the ranch and getting close enough to send Blackstone to hell where he belongs.

Chapter 17: Lexi

The roar of the motorcycle’s engine vibrates through me as I wrap my arms tighter around Reaper’s waist, feeling the reassuring solidity of his body. The wind whips past us, tugging at my hair and clothes, but I’m anchored, secure behind this man whose mysterious past is unraveling before me. We speed down the dusty road leading to Nina’s ranch, a fortress hidden among sprawling fields.

“Almost there,” Reaper shouts over the noise.

I nod against his back. Even though he can’t see it, he feels it. He reaches down to glide his hand up my calf, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

I’ve been here before, so the sight of high fences crowned with barbed wire doesn’t startle me, nor does the glint of cameras tracking our approach. If anything, it eases a knot inside me, knowing Ace is safe within these walls. The gate slides open without a hitch upon our arrival.Reaper called earlier, so Nina would know we were coming.

As we pull up to the farmhouse, the engine’s growl dies. The sense of calm security that permeates Nina’s ranch washes over me. Stepping off the bike, I remove my helmet, shaking out my hair as Reaper does the same, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say.

He merely nods, scanning the perimeter with eyes that miss nothing. His protective instincts are always on sharp display, yet it’s those very traits that keep him from easing into the role of fatherhood.

I walk around to the back porch and find Nina sitting at the picnic table. The table is adorned with a crisp, white linen tablecloth, creating a clean and elegant backdrop for the afternoon tea spread. A delicate lace runner trails down the center of the table, adding a touch of vintage charm. In the center, a floral arrangement of freshly picked wildflowers sits in a quaint ceramic vase, infusing the air with their sweet fragrance.

A tiered stand sits in the center of the table, showcasing an array of delectable treats. On the bottom tier, an assortment of finger sandwiches is neatly arranged, featuring classic fillings such as cucumber and cream cheese, smoked salmon and dill, and egg salad.

The middle tier holds an enticingselection of scones, still warm from the oven, accompanied by jars of clotted cream and strawberry jam. The scones are golden brown and crumbly, promising a delightful indulgence.

Finally, the top tier is adorned with an assortment of petite pastries and cakes, each intricately decorated. Miniature éclairs, fruit tarts, and lemon drizzle cakes glisten temptingly in the sunlight. My mouth waters.

“Come sit, honey,” Nina says to me. “You too, Reaper.”

“You ladies enjoy, I’m just going to check on the kids,” he says before heading into the field behind the house where the children are playing.

“I hope you like English Breakfast,” Nina says, reaching for a porcelain teapot. “Winchester and I went to England once. I fell in love with tea while we were there.”

“I wish I’d been able to meet him.” I smile as she fills two cups with matching saucers.

“That was before your time. But he was the love of my life.” A sad smile flickers across her face. “Now, the boys are my world.”

“I can see how much they care about you.”

“And I feel the same way about them.” After passing a cup to me, she gestures toward a bowl of sugar cubes and a pitcher of fresh milk. “I can’t remember how you take it.”

“I don’t really have a preference. This is a lot fancier than the coffee I usually drink.”

The soft clinking of a teaspoon againstdelicate china fills the air as Nina stirs a single sugar cube into her tea.

“How’s Ace doing?” I ask before taking a sip. The bold and malty flavor slides across my tongue, leaving a trailing note of caramel behind. Its robust and earthy undertones are complemented by a subtle sweetness that lingers on the palate. “Wow, this is good.”

“It’s what the royal family drinks. I have it imported.”

I cover my surprise with another sip. Although I don’t know the details about where Nina acquired her wealth, over the years I got the sense that she had more money than she could spend. She’s never bragged about it and rarely discusses money at all, but I know she’s loaded. Some day when I’m feeling particularly bold, I might ask her about it.

Nina’s eyes follow Reaper as he lingers at the edge of the field, a silent sentinel to our son’s play. She turns back to me, her gaze softening. “How’s he doing, now that he knows Ace is his?”

“Not great,” I admit. “He thinks he doesn’t have it in him to be a good dad.”

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