Page 11 of Reaper's Justice
The hallway is empty as I make my way toward the sounds of movement. The main room looks different in daylight. Less threatening somehow, though still unmistakably the domainof dangerous men. A few club members lounge on couches, looking up as I enter. Their expressions range from curiosity to suspicion.
Reaper stands at the kitchen counter, his back to me as he pours coffee into a mug. He's changed clothes. Fresh black t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, worn jeans, heavy boots. The leather vest—his "cut"—hangs on a chair nearby, the Outlaw Order MC patch watching me with embroidered eyes.
"There's food," he says without turning. How does he always know when I'm there? "Nothing fancy. Cereal. Toast. Eggs if you want them."
"Coffee is fine," I reply, my voice stronger than yesterday. Sleep has restored some of my defenses.
He turns, offering a mug. I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch.
"Sugar's on the counter. Milk in the fridge."
I doctor the coffee with both, needing the sweetness, the calories. The other men in the room pretend not to watch, but I feel their eyes. Assessing. Wondering.
"My office is this way," Reaper says, nodding toward a door off the main room. "We need to talk."
I follow him, clutching the warm mug like a lifeline. His office is surprisingly professional—a solid desk, filing cabinets, maps of Pine Haven and surrounding areas pinned to one wall. No women in bikinis. No drug paraphernalia. Just the tools of a man running what appears to be a legitimate business.
Appearances can be deceiving, I remind myself.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to a chair facing his desk.
I perch on the edge, ready to bolt if necessary. He doesn't sit behind the desk, a power move I would have expected, but takes the chair beside mine, turning it to face me.
"How did you sleep?" he asks.
"Fine." The lie comes quickly.
"On the floor."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I'm used to it."
"You're safe here, Evelyn. The bed won't bite."
"Nothing personal," I say, taking a sip of coffee to hide my discomfort. "Old habits."
He nods, accepting this without pushing. "We need to talk about what happens next."
"You want information about the Vultures MC."
"Yes. But first, is there anyone we should contact for you? Family? Friends who might be worried?"
The question catches me off guard. I stare into my coffee, watching ripples form as my hand trembles slightly. "No. There's no one."
He absorbs this. "How long did they have you?"
"Three months, two weeks, four days."
"And before Pine Haven?"
"Chicago, I think. They kept us blindfolded during transport." I set the mug down, suddenly nauseous. "There were other places too. They moved us around."
"How many others were with you?"
"It changed. Girls would disappear. New ones would come." I wrap my arms around myself, cold despite the room's warmth."At the end, there were twelve of us at the house outside town before they moved us to the bar for the auction."
Reaper leans forward, elbows on his knees. Not crowding me, but close enough that I can see flecks of blue in his gray eyes. "I need you to tell me everything you remember. Locations. Names. Routines. Anything that might help us find the rest of their operation."
"Why?" The question bursts out before I can stop it. "Why do you care? What's in it for you?"
