Page 92 of The Reaper
Finn snorted. “A broken window in the middle of the night. Sure. Nothing dangerous about that.”
Michael’s gaze darted to me, desperate. “I swear, I didn’t think it would go this far. But then …” His voice faltered. “Then I heard you talking earlier. About your parents. About … why you’re doing this. And I realized what an ass I’d been. I didn’t want to keep going.”
My stomach knotted. “So, you decided to confess?”
He nodded.
Caleb stepped closer, the movement subtle but enough to make Michael’s breath hitch. “You should’ve come to her sooner.”
Michael’s throat worked, the words catching. “I know. I’m sorry. I just … I didn’t think he’d?—”
He cut himself off, eyes flicking to me, then Caleb.
“Didn’t think he’d what?” I asked.
Michael licked his lips. “Didn’t think he’d get … unstable. Lately, he’s been different. Erratic. Angry. I don’t think it’s just about the competition anymore. He talks like … like you’re some enemy he has to destroy. Not just beat. Destroy.”
The words landed like ice water down my spine.
Caleb’s head tilted slightly, a predator scenting blood. “If that’s true, he’s crossed the line, for good.”
Michael looked at me again. “I’m telling you because I think … I think he might actually hurt you. He’s been asking questions about where you live. Who you spend your time with. It’s not just about the restaurant anymore.”
For a moment, the kitchen was utterly silent.
Caleb turned to me, and in his eyes I saw that precision—the ruthless calculation of a man already building the plan that would end this threat. And God, help me, the sight of it made my pulse trip all over again.
Because I believed him when he said he’d take care of it. I believed, on some primal, irrational level, that if Caleb Dane decided Alastair St. Clair was a problem, then Alastair wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.
And I wasn’t sure whether that thought made me feel relieved … or just complicit.
Caleb didn’t look away from me as he spoke, his voice low and deliberate, like every syllable had been weighed before it left his mouth.
“You want to know why I don’t just let him off with an apology?” he asked, tilting his head toward Michael without actually taking his eyes off mine. “Because men like him”—a jerk of his chin—“don’t change. He’s already sold you out once. For money, for status, for a promise from a man who couldn’t care less about him. That’s not weakness. That’s choice. And choices have to cost something, or they’ll be made again.”
Michael made a choked sound, but Caleb didn’t spare him so much as a glance.
“This isn’t just about your restaurant anymore,” he went on, his voice gaining a hard edge. “When he agreed to work for Alastair, he opened the door. He let the threat walk right into your kitchen. Into your life. That means he’s not just a bad employee. He’s a breach. And in my world, breaches get sealed. Permanently.”
There it was again—that cold, contained violence that should have made me step back. Should have made me draw a line and saythis isn’t okay. But instead, it curled hot and low in my stomach, sparking that same primitive satisfaction I’d felt when his hand had been at Michael’s throat.
I hated myself for it. And I couldn’t stop it.
“You can’t keep him here,” Caleb said, his tone shifting from threat to command. “You can’t even let him think he’s got a way back into your good graces. Because every minute he’s close to you, he’s still a weapon Alastair could use. Or someone else. And that’s the kind of variable I don’t leave on the board.”
Finn stepped forward finally, his voice calm but firm. “He’s right. I don’t like it, but he’s right. This guy didn’t just gossip. He fed intel to someone who’s actively trying to take you down. Someone who’s cracked and unpredictable.”
Michael swallowed, his Adam’s apple jerking like he was trying to force down the truth. “I didn’t think it would go that far. I thought it was just … competition.”
Caleb’s eyes cut to him, sharp and lethal. “Competition doesn’t break windows or stalk someone’s movements. What Alastair’s doing? That’s targeting.”
A cold shiver ran down my back at the word.Targeting.
Caleb must have seen it in my face, because his voice softened—barely. “You’ve been pushing yourself to keep thisplace running like perfection is the only thing keeping you alive. But perfection doesn’t stop a man like Alastair. I do.”
It was almost too much, hearing it like that—like I could just set everything down, all the weight I’d been carrying for years, and trust him to shoulder it.
“This place is all I have,” I said, my voice rough. “If I walk away, even for a while, it’ll feel like I’m letting him win.”
