Page 97 of The Reaper
My mouth opened, closed. I’d been bracing for limits. Instead, they were … inviting me in. Into the center. Into him.
Marcus flashed me a quick, conspiratorial smile. “You pass the vibe check.”
I huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Is that on letterhead?”
“Thinking of embroidering it on throw pillows,” he said.
Across the table, Caleb’s jaw worked once. “I haven’t even met everyone.”
“You will,” Ryker said. “There’s no rush.” He leaned back, the hard lines of his face easing. “You’ll be welcomed.”
Caleb looked away then, just for a second, toward the wall of monitors. The blue light skimmed over his profile—cheekbone, that stubborn mouth I knew too well—and when he looked back at me, there was heat there, yes, but something else. Something that looked like the aftermath of longing.
I felt it like a hand to the sternum. I’d watched him ready to fight for me, ready to put his body between mine and the world. But this was different. This was the boy inside the man, looking at a table full of blood he didn’t grow up with and recognizing himself, anyway.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.
“Don’t thank us yet,” Marcus said lightly, and let his chair thump back to four legs. “We’re about to make you work for it.”
Ryker flipped open the top folder, the mood shifting in an instant from invitation to operation. The brothers moved like a machine—Marcus bringing feeds to life with a few flicks of his wrist, Atlas sliding a legal pad across to me so I could follow the shape of what they were building, Ryker aligning a row of printed stills like chess pieces.
“The rival,” Atlas said, not bothering to say Alastair’s name, “has three assets worth noting: access, vanity, and a need to be seen as untouchable.”
“Vanity gets people killed,” Marcus muttered, tapping a grainy still: the waterfront warehouse Michael had named. “Also gets them on cameras they forgot were there.”
Two frames later, Ryker set down a clearer shot: Alastair, profile sharp, jaw grim. A broad-shouldered man peeled off from a shadow and held it for him.
“Not a solo act anymore,” Ryker said. “He was winding up before the window. After last night, he’s accelerating.”
“How do you know?” I heard my voice, steady when I didn’t feel it.
“Patterns,” Atlas said. “He’s sloppy around the edges—calls at odd hours, movements that aren’t synced with service. He’s agitated.” He glanced at me. “Agitated men make mistakes.”
Caleb’s thumb stroked once over my knuckles under the edge of the table, a small, private circuit of electricity. “We use the warehouse.”
Marcus nodded, pleased. “Bingo. No neighbors to spook. One camera on the lot covers three entrances. Lots of blind spots.” He flicked to a floor plan, sketched and annotated in tight block letters. “We exploit that.”
“What about Michael?” I asked, because the name still tasted like copper.
“Contained,” Ryker said. “We’ll debrief him again in the morning and decide whether to hand him a shovel or a bus ticket.”
I exhaled, slow. It wasn’t mercy. But it wasn’t blood, either.
“Detective Norton?” I asked. “If this goes loud?—”
“It won’t,” Ryker said. “But if it does, Norton knows how to forget gunshots. He also knows who not to report. Debt’s called in. That’s what reach is for.”
33
CALEB
Igripped the wheel as we drove toward the marina, the night air sharp through the cracked window, carrying the faint tang of diesel and wet rope from the harbor. Meghan sat beside me, her presence a fire in my blood.
The warehouse loomed ahead, a shadow against the water, and my senses were in mission mode—every angle, every sound, every potential threat cataloged. But Meghan’s voice cut through, low and steady, pulling me back. “Caleb, why do they call you The Reaper?”
Days ago, I’d have shut that down, no question. My past was a locked vault, and I didn’t let anyone near it. But she was all in. If she didn’t run after hearing this, I’d die twice just to have her.
I exhaled, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s about skill,” I said, voice low, rough. “When it came to putting bad guys in the ground, the right names learned I was the one to call. Like The Reaper of legend, I had a knack for slipping in—unheard, unseen—and taking care of business.”
