Page 85 of The Reaper
I pressed my palm against my mouth, trying to picture it—the sound of shattering glass echoing through the dining room I’d built, the neat little note left like an afterthought. It felt like someone had taken a chisel to my ribs.
Dean’s gaze searched mine. “I didn’t see a face. Not even a glint.”
Ryker said, coming up behind us. “They wanted you to be standing right here right now—thinking about how easy it was.”
A hollow ache spread in my chest. “It’s working.”
Caleb’s hand found mine, warm and steady, grounding me before the words could root too deep. “That’s exactly why you don’t let it.”
I swallowed hard, my voice quieter. “I don’t know if I can keep acting like it doesn’t get to me.”
“You can,” he said. “And you will. Because whoever’s behind this doesn’t get to own your fear. That’s yours, and you decide where it goes.”
Something about the way he saidyourslodged under my skin—like he wasn’t just talking about fear, but all of me.
Dean broke the moment. “You should see inside.”
The restaurant was dim, lit only by the glow from the emergency lights and the thin wash of the streetlamp outside the broken window. The plywood was already in place, but the floor still glittered with stray shards no broom could get in one pass.
And there, on the nearest table, was the ghost of it—the empty space where the note had been.
I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s like they were sitting here,” I murmured.
“They wanted you to think that,” Ryker said from the doorway. “They wanted you to picture them in your space, comfortable. Like they belonged.”
It was working. God, help me, it was working. I couldn’t unsee it—the imagined tilt of a head, the press of a hand against my polished wood tables, the quiet moment before they leaned in to drop that piece of paper like a signature.
I turned away before they could see how much it was getting under my skin. But Caleb stepped into my space, anyway, close enough that the warmth of him cut through the chill in my bones.
“They don’t belong here,” he said, low and certain. “You do. And no one gets to take it from you.”
Something in me wavered, but I nodded.
Ryker crossed the room, his gaze sweeping over every corner like he was mapping it to memory. “We’ll put more eyes in here tomorrow. High corners, overlapping coverage. If they so much as breathe wrong near this place again, we’ll know.”
I looked between him and Caleb—two men who didn’t flinch at broken glass, who saw danger and responded with plans, reach, and power.
Dean caught my gaze from across the room. “You’re not alone in this, Meggie.”
The words should have made me feel better. They almost did. But underneath them was the echo of the note, sharp and deliberate. You don’t deserve their praise.
And the worst part? I didn’t know whose praise they meant. My customers’? My family’s? My own?
27
CALEB
Istood in Promenade’s dining room, the air heavy with the sharp scent of shattered glass and the faint sweetness of spilled wine, the boarded-up window a raw scar on Meghan’s empire.
She paced near the hostess stand, her hands clenched, her face pale but fierce, the latest note—You don’t deserve their praise—cutting deeper than the shards scattered across the hardwood. I moved to her, my hand on her arm, fingers firm, possessive, anchoring her to me.
“We’ll find this bastard,” I said, voice low, rough with a need to shield her that burned in my veins. “No one gets to touch you like this. Not while I’m breathing.”
Her eyes met mine, fear flickering beneath, and it hit me like a blade—my need to own every threat, to crush it, to make her mine in a way that left no room for shadows.
My possessiveness was a wildfire, roaring hotter than ever, a primal urge to claim her, to stand between her and the world. I’d kill for her, no question—snap necks, burn bridges, whateverit took to keep her safe. She was mine—her body, her spirit, her dream—and no one got to threaten what was mine.
The thought of someone smashing her window, leaving that note to rattle her, made my blood boil, a rage so fierce I could’ve torn the restaurant apart with my bare hands. Meghan didn’t know how deep that ran, how I’d end anyone who came near her, how I’d bury them to keep her safe.
