Page 91 of The Reaper
Because it wasn’t violence for the sake of it. It wasn’t rage without reason. Caleb wasn’t flailing. He wasn’t out of control.He was pure precision, the way a scalpel is precise. The way a blade knows exactly where to cut. And for the first time in my adult life, I understood—on some bone-deep level—how a man’s ability to destroy could make a woman feel safe.
Safe, because that destruction was aimed at anything but me.
And yes, it aroused me.
The heat that coiled in my stomach had everything to do with biology. There was something intoxicating about watching someone who had the physical power to end a man decide to use it on my behalf. Caleb wasn’t just defending me, he was making a declaration:This is mine. You don’t touch it.
Michael’s fingers scrabbled at Caleb’s wrist, a pathetic scratch against the wall of muscle and will that held him. His eyes were wide, darting between me and Finn, who stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. Finn wasn’t moving to intervene, which told me everything I needed to know about where his loyalties lay.
Caleb’s voice was low, lethal. “You’ve got three seconds to explain before I stop caring what comes out of your mouth.”
Michael’s face turned an ugly shade of purple. I took a step forward. “Caleb.”
He didn’t look at me. His gaze was locked on Michael’s, unblinking, as though he could stare the truth out of him by force.
“Caleb,” I said again, firmer this time. “It isn’t Michael you need to be after.”
That got me his eyes—dark, narrowed, dangerous. “He’s been delivering the notes,” he said, like it was already carved in stone. “He’s compromised your safety, your business, your life. That makes him mine to deal with.”
“He’s also been here, in my kitchen, every day,” I countered. “If he wanted to do more than scare me, he’s had plenty of chances.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re assuming he has the stomach for it. Men like him don’t get their hands dirty unless someone’s holding the leash. That doesn’t make him innocent.”
The words hit me harder than they should have—because I knew he was right, in the broad sense. But still. “Let him speak.”
Caleb’s grip didn’t loosen immediately. It was as though he was weighing whether I meant it or whether I was just softening the blow. But after a beat, he eased his fingers away, letting Michael drop back to the floor with a ragged cough.
Michael bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in air like a man who’d been underwater too long. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, his voice shredded from the pressure. “You’re insane.”
Caleb didn’t flinch. “Talk before I decide I like the quiet better.”
Finn stayed where he was, arms still crossed, but his eyes were sharp. Watching. Measuring.
Michael swallowed hard, still rubbing his throat. “It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t … I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Meghan. Not really.”
I folded my arms, holding back the thousand responses that tried to rise. “Then what were you trying to do?”
He hesitated, glancing at Caleb like he was debating whether telling the truth would get him killed faster than lying.
“Spit it out,” Finn said from the doorway.
Michael’s shoulders hunched. “It was Alastair. Alastair St. Clair.”
The name rolled off his tongue with all the pretension of the man himself—God, I could see him in my mind instantly. The too-perfect suits. The vintage cufflinks he liked to mention by name. His restaurant on Broad that dripped old money from every chandelier.
Caleb’s expression didn’t change, but his stillness sharpened. “Who the hell is Alastair St. Clair?”
“A rival chef,” I said, my stomach turning even as I said it. “Old Charleston money. He’s been around forever. Always thought the scene belonged to him.”
Michael nodded quickly, like that might make me more willing to hear the rest. “He hates how much attention you’ve been getting. Said you were … greedy. Power hungry. That you’d step on anyone to get ahead.”
A humorless laugh slipped out of me. “And you believed him?”
He winced. “I thought … I don’t know. I thought maybe there was truth to it. He offered me a spot in his new place if I?—”
“If you what?” Caleb’s voice cut in like a blade.
Michael flinched. “If I kept him informed. Passed along anything that might make you look bad. And delivered the notes. He said it was just to rattle you. Make you second-guess yourself. He said it wouldn’t be anything … dangerous.”
