Page 61 of Reaper
Reaper nods. “Sure as fuck does. And don’t even think about teasing him about it. He will retaliate with overwhelming force, to literally quote him and how he prefers to deal with his enemies. And it’ll be hard, too, because I’ve seen him wear anapron with all the Muppets on it — it was a gift from Bianca. It had the ‘Swedish Chef’ muppet front and center.”
“Got it. Don’t tease the giant killer about his silly aprons.”
“I’m not kidding. He won’t hesitate, even though he knows you and I are…“
We are what?
A thrill that I love and hate runs through me as my mind races to fill in the blanks. Just what are we? I want to speak up, to ask Reaper what he thinks we are, and I feel so fucking ridiculous for wanting that. Ridiculous and weak. What am I, a girl in high school passing notes back and forth with the boy she’s got a crush on —check ‘yes’ if you like me?
Fuck, did I just say I have a crush on him?
I clear my throat. “Since you’ve helped us out with the manpower and weapons problem, I think I’ve figured out how to get us access.”
Reaper takes a giant bite of croissant, then leans forward, crumbs decorating the edges of his curious smile. “Oh? How?”
“It’s going to be difficult, and it’s going to take some time, but I think you’ll like the first step. We’re going to have to go out for dim sum.”
“Dim sum? We just ate. Are you saying you’re still hungry?”
I shake my head, grinning. “I’m not hungry at all. But I know how we can work up an appetite.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Reaper
Sitting in our stolen ride, my head is spinning harder than if I’d just injected something potent into my veins. My body feels lighter than any high I’ve ever had, too. Moaning, I look over at Adriana as she sits in the driver’s seat. She smiles at me, then licks her lips. I moan again, reach down between my legs, feel I’m growing hard once more. How, I have no fucking clue — she already drained me after breakfast so thoroughly I feel dryer than the Sahara, but somehow, just thatlookshe gives me has me ready to go again.
“Contain yourself,” she says, grinning.
Grinning. A genuine fucking smile that lights her face up like a star in the sky. Something that’s joyful, playful, sensual — not predatory, not like some fucking vengeful agent of justice about to take my head off.
It’s a smile that takes me back to better days.
It’s a smile that makes me think better days could be ahead of me, too.
I clear my throat, trying to focus on something other than the heat radiating from her skin. "So where exactly are we going for this dim sum adventure?"
Her eyes light up even brighter, and she shifts in the driver's seat, suddenly animated in a way I've never seen before. "There's this place in Chinatown - Golden Dragon. It's always packed with locals, especially the older generation." She pauses, bitingher lower lip as if she's trying to contain her excitement. "The thing is, I want to listen in on conversations. See if we can pick up any intel about Triad connections, maybe find a way we can use them to get close to Ruslan. You know, the enemy of my enemy sort of thing."
I raise an eyebrow. "We’re going to listen for gossip? You think they’ll just talk about that with us around?"
She ducks her head, almost shy, and there's this bashful smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "That's the thing - nobody ever expects a white girl like me to understand what they're saying. I can sit there, eat my dumplings, and catch all the gossip floating around the room. You would be amazed at the stuff people will talk about when they think you can’t understand them. I cracked a few cases in Chicago, just taking in fucking brunch, because the assholes didn’t know I spoke Mandarin and they just straight up fucking bragged about the kidnapping ring they ran, or the big fucking shipment of heroin they were taking in. It was… it was fucking fun to hear them confess, then just straight up fucking bust them in their own language."
Something warm spreads through my chest watching her get excited about this plan. This isn't the cold, calculating cop or the grieving sister I've been seeing. This is Adriana genuinely enthusiastic about something, almost giddy with the cleverness of her own strategy.
"Look at you, getting all sneaky," I tease. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be so devious."
She shoots me a mock glare. "Says the guy who probably has 'devious' tattooed somewhere on his body."
"Actually, that one's on my — "
"Don't." She holds up a hand, laughing. "I'm trying to focus on driving here."
We pull into the parking lot of a narrow building wedged between a pharmacy and a phone repair shop. Red lanterns hangfrom the entrance, and through the windows I can see it's packed with families sharing steaming plates.
Before I can reach for the door handle, Adriana leans across the center console. Her hair falls forward, brushing against my arm, and she presses a quick, soft kiss to my cheek. It's sweet, almost innocent, but it sends electricity shooting straight through me.
"For luck," she says quietly, her cheeks flushed pink.
