Page 82 of The Reaper
Ryker didn’t hesitate. “Eyes are already in place—two on the perimeter, one across the street, blending with the crowd. For the date, I’ve got something that’ll knock her socks off. Private setup, top-tier, ready in an hour. I’ll text you the spot.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, meaning it. Ryker’s efficiency, his readiness to move, felt like family, but I pushed the thought down, focusing on Meghan. I wanted her to feel free tonight, not caged by notes or fear.
I headed to The Palmetto Rose to change, the city alive around me—vendors packing up, tourists snapping photos, the harbor glinting under early stars. The hotel lobby buzzed softly, the clerk busy with guests and luggage.
I took the stairs two at a time, keycard sliding, door shutting with a thud. I swapped jeans for dark slacks, a black button-down, sleeves rolled to my forearms, and checked my phone—Ryker’s text with an address, ten minutes away, no details, justBe there. I grabbed my jacket, the steel credit card heavy in my pocket, a reminder of Dominion Hall’s reach. Ryker was pulling strings, and I owed him, but I’d settle that later.
Meghan was waiting outside Promenade when I pulled up, her hair loose, catching the streetlight, a dark green dress hugging her curves, elegant but not fussy, like she’d chosen it to feel alive, not to impress.
My chest tightened—she was stunning, her fire simmering beneath a calm exterior, a woman who could command a room or a man with a single look.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I said, opening the car door, a grin tugging my lips.
She raised a brow, skeptical but game. “This better be worth it, Dane.”
“Trust me,” I said, guiding her into the passenger seat. She closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as I drove, the city’s lights blurring past, the hum of the engine steady. At a private lottucked behind a quiet industrial stretch, I parked and took her hand. “Open.”
She blinked, her gaze landing on the sleek black helicopter, its blades still. For a split second, I thought I’d fucked up, that fear had flickered in her eyes, my stomach dropping at the misstep. Then she blurted, “I’ve always wanted to fly in a helicopter!”
Her face lit up, and she practically ran to the chopper, her laugh bright, unguarded, a sound that hit me like a shot of adrenaline. I followed, relief flooding me, a grin splitting my face as I cursed myself for doubting her.
The pilot, Javier, greeted us with a nod, his demeanor professional but warm. “Evening, folks. City tour, dinner and bubbly in the back. Buckle in and put on your headsets.”
The interior was plush—soft leather seats, polished wood accents, a chilled champagne bucket gleaming under the cabin’s lights. Nothing like the beat-up military choppers I’d ridden, all bullet holes and crew chiefs barking over engine roar. This was luxury, a world I didn’t know, and I silently thanked Ryker as we settled in, Meghan glued to the window, her excitement contagious.
The chopper lifted off, smooth and steady, Charleston unfolding below—rooftops glowing, the harbor a dark mirror flecked with boat lights. Her face was alight, eyes wide like a kid’s, and I got swept up, her joy pulling me out of the shadows in my head.
I popped the champagne, some high-end label I’d never heard of, the cork giving a softpop. I poured, bubbles catching the light, and handed her a flute. No toast, just our eyes meeting, hers warm, alive, a lover’s gaze that said everything words couldn’t.
We clinked glasses, the sound sharp in the chopper’s hum, and sipped, the champagne crisp, expensive, a far cry fromthe cheap whiskey of my past. Her smile widened, and I felt something shift—a lightness, a warmth I hadn’t known since Montana’s wide skies.
Javier’s voice crackled through the headsets. “Where to, Ms. Delaney?”
“Skim the coastline,” she said, no hesitation, her voice bright with thrill.
Javier grinned, tilting the chopper, and we swooped low, the Atlantic stretching dark and endless, waves catching moonlight like silver threads. Meghan whooped, a sound so pure it hit me like a punch, her hand squeezing mine, her laugh vibrating through me as the chopper danced along the shore, Charleston’s lights fading into a glittering line.
This was a side of her I’d never seen—innocent, beautiful, free from the weight of Promenade, the notes, her past. My chest tightened, a feeling I’d never had with any woman, ever—her joy was mine, her fire my fuel, and I wanted to freeze this moment, keep her this way forever.
I leaned closer, my voice low in her ear over the headset’s hum. “Every helicopter ride takes me back to my tenth birthday. Dad took me up in a rickety private plane, just us, to see Montana from the air. I was hooked, staring at the mountains, the rivers, like I could grab them. But what stuck was his face—pure joy, not from the view, but from watching me.” I paused, meeting her eyes, her gaze soft, pulling me in. “Took me years to get it—his happiness came from mine. That’s how I feel now, looking at you.”
Her eyes held mine, something deep passing between us, unspoken but heavy. The chopper’s roar faded, the world narrowing to her face, her lips parting, the air charged like a storm about to break. We leaned in, her breath warm, our mouths inches apart, when Javier’s voice cut through the headsets.
“Dominion Hall radioed. Need you back, Caleb. Now.”
My stomach dropped. I grabbed my phone from the seat, the screen glowing with five missed texts from Ryker, all the same:Incident at Promenade. Get back.
My pulse kicked, the moment shattering.
Meghan’s eyes met mine, her joy dimming, and I cursed myself for letting the night pull me from the threat. Something had slipped through, and I needed to know what.
26
MEGHAN
The wind still roared in my ears when Caleb helped me down from the helicopter. The blades slowed overhead, the chop in the air fading to a low, steady thump, but my heart was still going like we were airborne.
I hadn’t realized how quiet Charleston could be at night until we set down on the private pad by the marina—harbor lights winking across black water, the faint slap of waves against pilings, distant laughter from a boat somewhere out in the channel.
