Page 49 of Reaper
When we reach my office, he kicks open the door and pushes me inside. I stumble, running into my desk, and pain radiates through my hip. No doubt a nasty bruise is gonna form, but that’s the least of my worries. Bruises don’t matter if you’re dead.
Or do they? I’ll have to ask Reaper that question.
Reaper… God, I wish he was here. He’d have these two on their asses in no time.
“Where’s your phone?” the man with the gun asks, and I nod at the cordless on my desk which earns me a slap across the face. “Your cell phone, you stupid bitch.”
“M-m-my purse.”
He upends the bag, dumping the contents on the floor, my cell among the mess. “Passcode?” he demands.
“Four seven nine three.”
He taps the screen as he yanks off his mask. That can’t be a good sign. Bad guys don’t leave witnesses who’ve seen their faces.
“Of course, he’s at the top of your favorites list,” he taunts. “Let’s just get him on the line, shall we?”
“Who are you?” I ask, more confused than I was the first time this all happened. It’s one thing to show up demanding money, but to come so you can call Reaper? That makes no sense. “What do you want?”
“Shut up!” the second man shouts as his buddy puts the call on speakerphone.
I don’t know whether to hope Reaper answers or that he doesn’t. The choice is taken away from me though soon enough.
“Kyra.”
The relief in Reaper’s voice flows through me like a soothing balm. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last because within minutes, the situation I find myself in becomes worse than I imagined.
“Is this Craig Binder?” the man asks.
“Who is this?” Reaper demands. “Where’s Kyra?”
“Is. This. Craig. Binder?”
“Yes, dammit. Kyra, babe, are you there?”
Without warning, the man aims at my leg and pulls the trigger. White hot pain burns me from the inside out.
“Kyra!” Reaper shouts. “What did you do to her?”
“I shot her,” the man answers simply. “Only in the leg, so don’t worry. She’s still breathing.”
“Reaper,” I cry. “Reaper, where are you?”
“You have ten minutes to get to the diner or the next bullet will be between her eyes just like you did to our friend.” He pauses. “Oh, and my name is Sonny Harris.”
He disconnects the call, and it’s all I can do to hold on to consciousness by repeating his name in my head.
Who the hell is Sonny Harris?
26
Reaper
Sonny Harris.
Sonny Harris.
Sonny Harris.
