Page 39 of The Reaper
Meghan’s scent lingered on my skin—a mark I couldn’t shake, didn’t want to shake. My body still thrummed from her, my pulse quickening at the memory, but my mind was a storm, churning faster than a chopper blade spinning through a desert dust-off.
Her words echoed louder than her moans:Are you one of the Danes?
Dominion Hall. Seven brothers. Billionaires with iron gates, armed security, and rumors of a venomous snake as a pet.
What did that mean?
Cousins? Some tangled family tree stretching from Montana’s wide, open plains to this swampy, secretive coast?
Ryker’s face surfaced in my mind—gray eyes sharp as steel, hair clipped tight, that operator swagger that felt too familiar, like a shadow from a past mission.
Had I crossed paths with him before? Mosul, maybe? Shanghai?
No, I decided, shaking it off as my boots found a steady rhythm on the pavement. But something gnawed at me, an instinct buried deep, like catching the glint of a blade in the dark. If more Danes ran Dominion Hall, what was Ryker to me? Kin? A con? Why did it feel like I’d been pulled into a game I hadn’t signed up for, a board I didn’t even know existed?
The streets of Charleston stretched quiet around me, the occasional car humming past, headlights slicing through the humid haze. My pulse stayed even, but my gut twisted tighter with every step. Ryker had known about Nightshade—Jensen’s blood on my hands, Baker’s body left behind in the dust, the static of radio denials ringing in my ears. Classified details, buried so deep even I couldn’t access them. He’d pulled me off Kato’s trail—that grinning bastard who carved up girls for sport—with a single call through channels that didn’t exist on paper.
Blank check. Family. Trust.
His words looped in my head, a signal I couldn’t tune out, each one landing like a punch.
If Dominion Hall was family—some distant branch of cousins or uncles—why the secrecy?
My father had been a ghost in Montana, in and out, teaching us to track, shoot, survive.
“Be the predator they fear,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble over campfire embers, his eyes glinting with something I’d never fully understood.
He’d never mentioned kin on the East Coast, never hinted at another life. If this was blood, why hide it? And why drag me here now, halfway across the globe, when I’d been so close to putting a bullet through Kato’s perfect smile?
The Palmetto Rose’s lobby was silent when I reached it, the night clerk barely glancing up as I crossed the polished floor. Itook the stairs two at a time, my keycard sliding smoothly, the door shutting with a heavy thud that echoed in the quiet.
I stripped quickly, my clothes hitting the floor in a heap.
The shower came next, water scalding my back, steam rising thick in the bathroom. I tried to let the heat burn away the questions, to let the water wash them clean.
But the harder I pressed my palms against the tile, the more my mind betrayed me. Every drop sliding down my skin felt like her touch. Every rush of steam carried her scent. I could see her, clear as if she stood right in front of me, mouth parted, chest rising fast with need.
I swore under my breath, tried to shake her out of me. No good. The more I fought it, the deeper she lodged herself in. Meghan—wild and reckless, dragging me under with her. I wasn’t a man who lost control easily. But she’d tilted the ground beneath me, and now I couldn’t find my footing without thinking of the way she’d looked when she took what she wanted.
It didn’t work. Meghan’s body flooded my mind instead—spread open on that kitchen counter, legs wide, glistening under the low lights.
“Deeper,” she’d demanded, bold as hell, and I’d obeyed.
I groaned now, my hand on my cock, stroking fast, her name slipping out as I finished, the release sharp but fleeting. It didn’t clear her. It just made me crave her more, like a hit of something I knew I shouldn’t touch again but would, no question.
I toweled off, still naked, and pulled my encrypted laptop from the safe. The screen glowed blue in the dim room, casting long shadows across the bed. I needed answers—real ones, not rumors or cryptic promises.
I logged into a secure chat, pinging old contacts—operators turned tech geeks who’d gone dark, hacking shadows for the highest bidder. Men like me, but with code instead of rifles. Loyal. Quiet. I reached out to three: Ghost5Rider,NullPointJack, ShadowBittyByte. Guys I’d pulled from fire, or who’d pulled me. Debts ran deep, and I was calling them in now.
Need deep dive on Dominion Hall, Charleston. Everything. Structure, players, mission, ties. Financials, personnel, history. No traces. Silent.
Ghost5Rider replied first:On it. 24 hours. Deep shit, expect blowback.
NullPointJack:Kandahar debt’s still good. Digging now. Stay sharp.
ShadowBittyByte:Prelims incoming. Encrypted file. More tomorrow.
I leaned back in the chair, the screen’s glow burning my eyes. I’d covered my bases. If Dominion Hall was family—some cousin clan or deeper blood—they’d find it. If it was a trap, they’d sniff that out, too.
