Page 49 of Reaper
“Nothing, Reaper.”
I face away from him, so he can’t see the heartbreak on my face. Maybe it’s best we end things right here and now.
The slamming of the door causes me to jump, and the first tear rolls down my cheek followed by another, then another, as reality sets in. I adore him. I more than adore him. I actually love him, yet a painful awareness lingers—his love will always fall short, because he will never let her go.
Reaper
It’sbeenoveraweek since I’ve seen Paris or talked to her, but Tongue has kept me in the loop about her well-being. He says she’s been applying for jobs in Seattle and Denver. So, I know she’s preparing herself for when all this is over.
I don’t know how many times I've talked myself out of going over there and confessing my true feelings, but that’s not what’s best for her and I’m not sure it’s best for me either. So, I’ll push down my feelings and let her go.
“Reaper! Are you even fucking listening to anything I’m saying?” King asks, his voice breaking through the turbulent emotions stirring inside me.
I rub my hand down my face. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“If your head isn’t in the game, Logan, I’m pulling the plug on this shit. We can’t afford any fuck ups.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to calm myself. I know how important this is, but I can’t keep her out of my head for fucking fifteen minutes to handle this shit. And the sooner I get this done the sooner we both can move on to the next stage of our lives.
“I’m good, goddamn it! Just lay off!”
He glares at me for a few moments, then sighs. “Why the hell don’t you just stop torturing yourself, Logan? Obviously, you feel something for her, so why the hell aren’t you fighting for her?”
“Because it isn’t about me, Dylan.”
“Then what is it about? She has feelings for you, and you have them for her. Anyone in their right mind can see it. So, what’s the problem?”
For a moment, I want to talk to someone about Blake and how much Paris does mean to me, but now isn’t the time. I need to get rid of Nikita.
“There isn’t a problem,” I say, then exit the car to handle business.
While it’s up to me to slip the meds Doc gave us into Nikita’s I.V., King has decided to be the driver. Normally, one of the brothers or even a prospect would handle the job, but he came along instead. He knows mentally, I’m not all here. This is his way of keeping an eye on me and making sure I don’t do anything stupid.
“In and out, Reaper,” he says out of the lowered window as I walk away from the car toward the hospital.
I throw up the middle finger over my shoulder, letting him know I heard him.
I’m dressed in the typical green scrubs Doc gave me, so I don’t stand out. The lightweight top is short-sleeved, and the pants have a drawstring at the waist along with pockets I’ve dropped the syringe into. According to Doc, I have three to four minutes before the drug takes effect.
The emergency room doors slide open, and I’m immediately blasted by cool air that chills my skin as I step inside.
That’s all the time I need.
I creep out of the stairwell onto the floor that leads to Nikita’s private room. He was moved from the ICU unit last week according to one of the old ladies who works at the hospital. She’s been keeping us informed about his condition and all his guard’s movements. Unfortunately, Nikita was brought to the hospital in time enough to save his life. Now it’s time for me to finish what Paris started.
Of course he has a guard by his door, but hopefully he doesn’t pay me too much attention, as I make my way to his room. Just as I reach the door, a younger woman in scrubs pushing a cart exits the room. The guard is so focused on her ass and flirting with her, I slip right into Nikita’s room without either of them noticing.
Immediately, I’m hit with the overpowering odor of disinfectant and sickness. The rhythmic beeping of machines and the low, constant hum of the television fills my ears.
I’ve always hated hospitals, but as I stand here looking at Nikita Petrov lying in the hospital bed with a large bandage wrapped around his waist, a sense of pride overtakes me. Although he looks like he’s sleeping peacefully, the meds they’ve got him doped up with have him living a lie. There’s no way he’s not in any pain, which brings a wide smile to my face. She did good.
The voice of his guard echoes through the door which means it’s time to get in and out no matter how much I want to enjoy this moment. I walk closer to the bed, pulling the syringe from my pocket.
“Go to hell motherfucker,” I say as I start to push the medicine into his IV attached to his left hand. His eyes pop open, and I can’t help but smirk when he realizes it’s me. I place my hand over his mouth, but he’s too doped up to fight me off. Even when the door opens, I don’t stop pushing the medicine into the IV, but I do remove my hand. It’s almost like Nikita is paralyzed. He can’t move, no sounds come from his mouth, but his eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I pull up the mask on my face, slipping the syringe in my pocket, then I face the guard.
He’s about seventy-five pounds heavier, and at least four inches taller, giving him a clear advantage over me. But hopefully it won’t come to blows. That can really fuck shit up.
