Page 84 of The Reaper
You don’t deserve their praise.
The block letters were clean, deliberate, written in the same heavy hand that had pressed grooves into the photo.
My throat tightened. “They were inside?”
“No,” Ryker said. “Found it just inside the glass. My guess? They broke the window, leaned in, left it on a table, and walked. But who knows?”
“Ballsy,” Caleb muttered.
Ryker’s eyes were still on me. “Someone wants you off balance.”
“I know that,” I snapped, the sound sharper than I meant. But the note was already burning behind my eyes.You don’t deserve their praise. Whoever wrote it wasn’t just trying to scare me. They wanted me to feel unworthy. Small.
Ryker’s attention shifted to Caleb again. “Norton’s keeping his ears open in case anyone talks, but I wouldn’t count on that leading anywhere. You’ll want to sweep inside. Make sure nothing else is waiting.”
Caleb nodded. “We will.”
Ryker’s mouth quirked at thewe, like he’d heard something in it worth noting.
We didn’t drive straight to Promenade.
Caleb took the long way—cutting down unfamiliar streets, watching the mirrors like we were being tailed. I told myself it was just habit for him, part of whatever training he’d had before we met. But the more turns we took, the tighter my chest got.
It struck me then—sharp and cold—that I’d never really been afraid for myself before. Not like this.
When I was a kid, fear had always been abstract, a thing that happened to other people. Even the fire at my parents’ restaurant had felt like some freak twist of fate. An act of God, people said, like the flames were sent from heaven itself to test us. We lost everything in one night, but it hadn’t felt personal.
And when my parents died in a car accident a few years later—it had been the same. Tragic. Unstoppable. They’d been on their way to pick me up from a friend’s house, the kind of simple, everyday errand you don’t think twice about until the world stops turning. A patch of wet asphalt, a driver who didn’t see the stop sign, and they were gone before the ambulance even got there.
I’d been old enough to know better, but not old enough to stop myself from believing it was my fault. If I hadn’t asked them to come get me, if I’d just stayed the night, they’d still be alive.That thought had burrowed deep, curling around my bones, shaping every choice I made afterward. I’d never let myself depend on anyone again—not really.
Most of the men I’d dated since were chefs, people like me—tethered to their work, living in the same heat and chaos I did. We spoke the same language of prep lists and deadlines, and nobody tried to shield anyone from the hard parts. I never wanted—or thought I needed—anything else.
Until now.
Because this was different. This wasn’t fate. This wasn’t an act of God. Someone out there wanted to hurt me. And for the first time, I wasn’t facing it alone.
I had Caleb.
And Caleb came with his strange, dangerous Dane family—men like Ryker who could make things happen with a single phone call, who saw threats and moved like the world bent around them. It should have terrified me. Maybe it did. But it also made me feel … safer than I’d ever admit out loud.
When we finally pulled into the narrow lane behind the restaurant, the first thing I saw was Dean.
He was leaning against the brick near the back entrance, arms crossed, shoulders hunched against the night. The moment his eyes landed on me, relief softened his features—but only for a second.
It struck me then—Dean wasn’t trained like Caleb. He didn’t have years of military precision drilled into his reflexes or the kind of silent, watchful presence that made people think twice before crossing him. But he was still here. Still standing guard in the dark, alone, knowing full well that someone out there was trying to rattle me. That kind of courage didn’t come from combat training. It came from loyalty. From love. From the unshakable decision to show up, even when you didn’t know exactly what you were walking into.
For a moment, the fear in my chest loosened, replaced by something steadier. I had good people around me. The kind you could count on to stand between you and the unknown. Caleb, with his calculated watchfulness. Dean, with his unflinching resolve. I wasn’t carrying this alone.
“You all right, Meggie?” His voice was low, roughened in a way I’d only heard a handful of times before, usually after bad news.
I stepped toward him. “I’m fine. What happened?”
Dean’s jaw flexed. “I was here when it happened. Was watching TV when I heard the glass go. Thought it was a car backfiring until I saw the shadow.”
“A shadow?” Caleb asked, already angling closer.
Dean nodded. “Tall. Hood up. Came from the street, didn’t stay long. Rock in, note down, gone before I could clear the corner. Whoever it was knew exactly how to get in and out.”
