Page 27 of Reaper & Ruin
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
She kept going, quiet for a change. Her nails scratched my scalp in a way that sent goosebumps down my spine. I closed my eyes and let her do it. Didn’t say a word or put up a fight. Then she rinsed the shampoo and moved to wash my body.
I grabbed her wrist. “You don’t need to do this. Let me wash you.”
She pulled her arm back, head shaking. “Nope. It’s my time to shine. So sit still and behave.”
When she was done, she stepped out and came back with a towel and fresh clothes. Then once I was dressed she took my hand and tugged me into bed. Pulled the covers over us and threw on a SpongeBob movie without asking. She curled against me, warm and close.
Then she started talking again. About the poor snack choice in the minibar. Bad British reality shows her friend Lola liked towatch. Something about a raccoon wearing lipstick on an advert. I let her talk, and I listened like I’d always done.
I listened to how soft, sweet, and happy she sounded.
After a while, I looked at her. Her hair was damp, her cheek pressed to my chest, her fingers moving against my ribs. She kept rambling, shifting closer, adjusting the blanket around my waist like I couldn’t do it myself. It should’ve felt ridiculous. It didn’t.
“Heaven?” I hummed as I trailed my fingers down her spine.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
She tilted her head to look at me. “What for?”
I exhaled slowly. “For messing with the evidence. For letting you think Reaper was guilty for so long. I saw how much happier you were with your revenge mission. How it stopped you from being so depressed. I just wanted to help you keep it up. I never thought about how manipulative that was—or how I could have just found the real killer for you. I failed. And I’m sorry. If I’d dealt with things then, we wouldn’t be having to do all this now.”
She blinked at me. “You don’t need to say sorry. I get it.”
I went to say something else, but she kissed me first.
Then she pulled back and looked me right in the eye. “Atlas, you weren’t raised like most people. You weren’t taught how to be… how to be a vanilla kind of guy. I’m not going to hold you to the same standards as a regular man for certain things. What you did made sense to you. It was done out of kindness, because you care about me. I can’t be mad that you cared about me when I was all alone.”
My throat felt tight. She didn’t make it a big deal, but that just made it worse somehow.
I didn’t have a reply.
She didn’t need me to.
She curled back into me and grabbed the remote. We lay there in silence, the dumb cartoon playing while she traced patterns on my skin.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let myself feel it.
The way her fingers moved over my chest, like I was something safe. The way her body stayed close, like she had nowhere else to be.
I hadn’t grown up with softness. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t know what to do with it when I got it. But right now, I didn’t question it because I didn’t feel like a weapon waiting to be used.
I felt like a person again.
Chapter Nine, Cousin
The morning after our arrival in London, and after nearly a whole day spent sightseeing, we were finally getting to our reason for the trip. The pub Caro had chosen was tucked away on a side street that smelled like rain and car exhaust. It was quieter than I’d expected for a Saturday night, though that might’ve been because we were in the back corner, out of sight of most of the regulars. Or maybe because it looked cheap, had hideously sticky tables, and was nowhere near as good as Bella’s.
I missed my club as I sat drinking cheap whiskey, frowning with each sip.
Atlas sat at our small table in front of his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he worked. He hadn’t said much since Caro offered his fingerprints within minutes of his arrival—something about focusing better when he didn’t have to talk. I presumed it was because he was busy being a villain and had a hard time doing that, keeping an eye on Heather, and not gettingup and sticking his knife into the people who kept staring at him for his tattoos and scowl.
Meanwhile, Heather was chatting away with a slightly drunk old lady at the table next to us. Caro and I sat together, nursing our drinks and feeling only the slightest bit awkward. It was the first time I’d seen him in years, and despite the circumstances, it was good to catch up.
“So,” I said, tipping my glass toward him, “you’re second in command now. That’s not bad for a boy who was sent off to the wolves.”
