Page 111 of Reaper
“It’s me, Mayhem.”
“Will you take the gun off me, Mayhem?” I say. The gun leaves my back, and I turn around slowly. He’s smiling, and he waves at me with the hand that isn’t holding a DP-12 combat shotgun. “Tell me what the fuck is going on. And what the fuck happened to your voice? Why does it sound like you’re doing a Christian Bale Batman impersonation?”
“Blew it out singing The Talking Heads during the shootout.”
I don’t ask for anything more because I know it’s pointless.
“Diesel and I made it out,” Mayhem continues. “Reaper and Tank put down the cover fire to get us out. Then, well… I’m sorry, Adriana, but Reaper got shot before they took him.”
“I know.”
“Diesel and I tailed Volkov and his men here. We’re scouting the place, were going to call for some backup from the MC, but weren’t feeling too optimistic about it because, even if everyone of them rode as fast as my brother, Havoc, and I do, they still wouldn’t make it in time before Volkov finished playing ‘Operation’ with Reaper and Tank.”
“I’m not alone, Mayhem. I’ve got backup, too. You think the four of us could…?”
“Yeah, we saw your backup when you two arrived. And going in… well, it sounds fun, and it’s better odds than waiting for the club.”
“You saw us?”
“Yeah. I thought it’d be a good idea to check on you, and Diesel went to bring your boy in,” he says. “Here he comes now.”
Relief floods through me like warm whiskey, burning away the sharp edges of fear that have been cutting me up from the inside. Having Mayhem and Diesel here changes everything. Four of us against Volkov's compound — those are odds I can work with. Those are odds that might actually get Reaper out alive.
But the hope that surges through my chest terrifies me more than any gun at my back ever could. Hope is dangerous. Hope makes you vulnerable. Hope sets you up for the fall that shatters you into pieces so small you never find all of them again.
What happens when I see him? What happens when I look into those eyes that used to see straight through to my soul and find... nothing? What if rescuing him just means watching him walk away from me all over again? What if the man I pull out of that compound isn't the same one who made me believe I was worth loving?
The thought claws at my throat, making it hard to breathe. I might be about to save the love of my life just to have him destroy me all over again.
I push the thoughts down, burying them deep where they can't paralyze me. Right now, Reaper needs me. Everything else can wait.
The sound of footsteps crunching gravel draws my attention, and I see Diesel's massive frame emerging from the darkness, his ponytail swaying as he moves. Ahead of him, the Marine walks with his hands visible, Diesel's gun trained on his back in a mirror of how Mayhem found me.
Mayhem raises his hand in a casual wave. "Diesel! Brought a friend?"
"Something like that," Diesel rumbles, his voice carrying easily in the still night air.
Mayhem steps forward, lowering his shotgun and extending his free hand toward the Marine. "Hey, man. I'm Mayhem. We're here to help."
The Marine looks between us, taking in Mayhem's mohawk and piercings, Diesel's intimidating bulk, and me. After a moment, he reaches out and clasps Mayhem's hand in a firm grip.
"Conrad," he says simply. Then, with what might be the ghost of a smile: "My brothers in the Marines called me Breaker."
Both Mayhem and Diesel nod with obvious appreciation, recognizing a fellow warrior when they see one. "Sweet," Mayhem whispers, his destroyed voice making the word sound like broken concrete.
I roll my eyes. Even in the middle of a rescue mission, men still find time for their macho bullshit. But at least now I know the name of the guy I almost fucked and ended up roping into my insane rescue mission. That’s something… right?
“Conrad,” I say, stressing his name and hoping that gives him the impression that I didn’t just learn it ten seconds ago. “Diesel, Mayhem, are you three ready or do you need a minute to keep jerking each other off?”
“I’m just appreciating the guy who’s volunteering to lay his life on the line to rescue someone he’s never even met,” Mayhem says.
Diesel just shrugs.
“Always ready,” Conrad adds. “What’s the strike plan?”
I glance between the three men, mentally cataloging what we have to work with. Two bikers with more firepower than sense, a Marine who clearly knows his way around combat, and me. Against a compound full of Russian mobsters.
“Volkov’s got at least eight to ten men inside, based on the vehicle count. They’re heavily armed. Some are patrolling the perimeter of the storage facility, and likely he’s got a few with him while they’re torturing Reaper,” I say, somehow managing not to hitch my voice while I say that part.
