The Reaper

by RuNyx

  “I can see why Tristan is smitten,” he commented, his voice almost soothing. “You have fire. I respect fire. But there are greater powers at play here, little girl. Bigger than you or me. I don’t think you even realize the things you set in motion for your selfish needs.”

  Morana bit the inside of her cheek to keep from asking him any questions.

  “You tell me what my son is up to,” Maroni took a deep pull of the cigar, “and I’ll tell you why you were returned.”

  Morana was tempted to find out why, but not that tempted. Blinking innocently, she played along. “So, you admit to having a hand in my return to my father?”

  Maroni laughed, exhaling a cloud of smoke, his thick neck cording above his shirt. She could see where Dante got his looks from.

  “You were a pawn to control your father,” Maroni took a deep inhale of his cigar and blew out a puff of smoke, the minted tobacco scent invading her lungs. “I never imagined you’d become a problem.”

  Morana laughed without humor. “My father never loved me enough for you to control him.”

  “Oh, he loved you,” Maroni smiled, the malice in his eyes evident. Morana stared at him, confused at his words.

  “Why did you call me here?” she simply asked, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.

  “To offer you the deal,” Maroni threw down his cigar, stubbing it with his toe. “You’re living in my city, on my compound, with my soldier. I’m not threatening you, just telling you. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

  Morana stayed silent as she watched him get into the car and stepped back, not understanding half the shit he’d spewed. One thing was for certain though – Lorenzo Maroni was scared, of whom she didn’t know. Otherwise, there was absolutely no way he would stoop down low enough to offer someone like Morana any kind of deal.

  She found that very, very interesting.

  The beeping of her laptop as soon as she entered the cottage in the afternoon startled her. Quickly hurrying to the systems she’d left running, Morana took her laptop outside to the porch, taking a seat in the chair, with a beautiful view of the lake and the surrounding hills in front of her and the mansion on the right in the distance.

  Sliding off her flats that she’d worn for the funeral, Morana curled up on the chair and logged into the system, trying to locate where the beeping was coming from.

  And what she saw on her screen stunned her.

  It was the codes.

  Her codes.

  What the hell?

  Someone had sent her the codes, the original codes, that she had written and Jackson had stolen and Tristan had been framed for, the codes that began everything. Looking at the attached message, she clicked on it.

  imreaper00: i believe these belong to you. impressive work.

  What the fuck?

  Who the hell was this guy? And how did he not only bypass her security but found her codes?

  nerdytechgoddess00: where did you get these?

  The screen remained blank for the next few minutes as Morana felt her heart pound. If she had the codes, that meant they hadn’t been copied or used. She’d encoded them with a self-destructive algorithm for that. But why would this strange guy, who was clearly extremely skilled with tech, return these to her? Why give her clues to the missing girls and Syndicate at all?

  A message came in.

  imreaper00: it’s time we meet.

  He went offline.

  Morana, first and foremost, checked through the codes that had taken her over two years to write. It was dangerous in the digital age, with the power to deface anyone and anything at any point of time. It was especially dangerous for mobsters with skeletons in their closets.

  It took her a few hours to check and recheck every single line, trying to see if they had been tampered with at all. She found nothing. They were pristine, unused, exactly as they’d been when Jackson stole them.

  Pushing her laptop to the side, Morana looked up at the cloudy sky as the hours passed and tried to make sense of everything.

  One – someone had hired Jackson to steal the codes she’d been working on for two years, someone who knew they existed in the first place, and framed Tristan for them so she could be led to him.

  Two – after she had been led to him, someone had started to send her anonymous messages and clues about their history, the Alliance, and her history that she hadn’t been aware of.

  Three – she had gone down that rabbit hole and someone had led her towards the Syndicate and once she started looking into it, her codes were returned.

  All of these things could have been done only by someone tech-savvy. And now she was thinking all of this was done so she could be led to the Syndicate in the first place. Stealing the codes was a fluke, this was the real target. Someone wanted her working on this.

  Whoever this guy was, there was a reason he wanted her attention.

  imreaper00. A username but who was he? The grave mystery man from the airport had thanked her for telling him he was alive. Was he supposed to be dead?

  The questions were starting to give her a headache.

  Dusk settled around the lake and Morana went back inside, feeling a little lost as to what to do now. After getting changed and settling down on the couch, she did what any self-respecting closet nerd did when she got bored. She watched Netflix.

  After a few episodes of her newest obsession and countless snacks, Morana was happily vegged out on the couch in a Netflix-induced stupor she had sorely missed. She had needed the break, needed the space, needed the distance from her real-life shit. Her life had suddenly become too adventurous over the last few weeks and there was only so much a girl could take before breaking down hysterically. And she couldn’t break down hysterically because the man she lived with needed her to be emotionally stronger as he let go inch by inch. Maybe in a few years, she’d treat him to it.

  That was how Tristan found her, lying down on the couch and watching shirtless Henry Cavill take a bath, her mouth slightly open.

  He cleared his throat.

  Morana paused on a very good shot and raised her eyebrows at the hot man behind her who could give Henry a run for his money.

  “You think it will ever go away?” he asked, his voice deliberately low in that tone that made her belly flutter and clench.

  Morana opened her mouth, about to reply but it went dry as he threw his jacket to the side and rolled up his sleeves, coming around to where she was.

  She sat up, but before she could move more, he took a hold of her legs and tipped her back, pulling her to the edge, sinking to his knees before her. Heart thundering, her core pulsing with need, Morana watched as he pushed her t-shirt up over her breasts, her legs over his shoulders, his lips closing around her nipple.

  A noise escaped her at the wet heat of his mouth, her back arching as she ground her growing wetness against him, trying to find the right friction. His teeth tugged at her nipple, pulling it deep into his mouth before giving the same attention to the other, his eyes on her.

  “Not that I’m complaining, but wow, this is, oh fuck,” Morana babbled as he ripped the seam of her panties and threw away the scrap of fabric, a flood of heat invading between her legs. His hands went down under her ass, cupping them as he thrust his hips against her. Bending down, he trailed light kisses down her belly, making her suddenly conscious of her little folds of skin. He didn’t even pause, going south to inhale her, his teeth sinking into the side of her thigh.

  “Please,” Morana begged, tugging his hair, pulling him closer.

  “Tell me this isn’t temporary,” he demanded, his mouth an inch from her weeping folds.

  Morana nodded. “It isn’t temporary.”

  “Good,” he murmured, his words heating her flesh right before he pressed his mouth into her, tasting her for the time. Morana saw stars for a split second, her thighs jerking around his head as he held her down, his magnificent blue eyes holding her captive.

  And she felt his tongue rapidly f
lick out over her clit.

  Her back came off the couch, her breathing labored as he started to eat her out like a starved man seeing a feast for the first time.

  He wreaked havoc on her pussy with his mouth.

  She was never the same.

  Long after her body was sated and limp and they were in bed, Morana traced the frown lines on his forehead and told him about the codes, asking him about his day. It was normal, so normal she’d never thought they would have something like that and she was half-scared it would be taken from them.

  “You asked me about a third guy today,” Tristan muttered, his fingers drawing inane patterns on her shoulders. “It reminded me of a conversation I’d heard that day.”

  Morana stopped at his eyebrows, looking into his eyes. “The day-”

  He nodded wordlessly. Morana waited for him to go on, knowing anything about that day was thin ice. She didn’t know how he would react to something about it.

  “Your father and Maroni had been sitting at the table,” he reminisced, that faraway look entering his eyes. “Your father threatened Maroni and he subdued your father by mentioning another guy. ‘Remember what happened to Reaper,’ or something like that, he said.”

  Morana stilled.

  Her heart stopped for a second.

  She scrambled up and looked down at him, unable to believe if it could be that simple.

  “Reaper,” she shook his arm urgently. “Are you absolutely sure that’s the name he mentioned?”

  Catching on to her urgency, she saw him sit up as she hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs to where she’d left her laptop.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he trailed after her, his voice slightly confused. “What’s going on?”

  Morana quickly pulled up her chat window and turned the screen to him, her heart beating a mile per minute. “Could it be that easy?”

  She saw him read the chat and see the username, saw his face harden as his eyes came to her. “You never mentioned him.”

  Morana waved it off. “That’s not important. The point is, could this be the same guy? The guy I met on the pier said something about him being dead.”

  Tristan stared at the screen longer, frowning. “It could be but I don’t know. I’ve never heard of any Reaper in the Outfit, even in passing.”

  Silence ensued for a long minute while they considered it, their eyes clashing.

  “Let me make a call,” Tristan told her. He went to a drawer and took out a burner phone she’d never seen, leaving the room to go outside, shirtless as he was. Morana followed, standing on the threshold, the chilly wind cutting against her bare legs and arms, the lake completely quiet in the night.

  She saw him press some buttons as he turned to look at her, putting the device to his ear.

  “I have something,” he said quietly, and Morana felt her breath catch. “Ever heard of Reaper?”

  There was silence as he listened to whatever the guy on the other end was saying, his frame coiling tighter and tighter. Minutes passed, and unable to stand it any longer, Morana stepped off the porch and onto the grass, her bare feet feeling the cold, wet dew, and walked to stand in front of him.

  “When?” Tristan asked, looking at her. “Fine,” he said and disconnected, breaking the phone in half and throwing it into the lake.

  “Who was it?” Morana asked, curiosity killing her.

  Tristan looked at her for a long second before staring out to the lake. “An informant. He wants to meet.”

  “What are you not telling me?” she asked, pulling him to face her.

  He took a deep breath, his eyebrows slashed over his forehead. “There was one Reaper, a long time ago, but he and his family died in a fire.”

  Morana winced, her lips pursing. “You think it’s him?”

  “I don’t know,” he stared off into the distance, his hands fisting beside him. “I’m more interested in why, whoever he is, wants your attention. Bad enough to get the codes and return them to you.”

  She pondered on that for a second. “Maybe because of the same reason I was unique to you twenty years ago. I’m the only girl who came back.”

  Tristan shook his head, his eyes distant. “I never understood that you know. I’m glad you came back safe but why? It wasn’t because your father loved you, that I know for sure.”

  ‘Oh, he loved you.’

  Maroni’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Maroni said something to me today,” she informed him. “About there being a reason why I am the only one who came back. Maybe he was playing with my head.”

  “Maybe,” Tristan mused.

  They both stood at the edge of the lake, lost in their own thoughts, with more questions than before.

  Amara was officially off the radar.

  As Morana looked at the lake and hills surrounding it at barely six in the morning, she worried about that. It had almost been a week and she didn’t know what the hell to do.

  Her morning had been pretty bizarre as well. Tristan had received a call and he’d been out the door in less than five minutes like his ass was on fire, telling her to track his phone if he didn’t come back in an hour. How he knew she had a tracker on his phone in the first place, she didn’t know. But he had left and Morana had busied herself dressing and clipping the extra gun he kept in the living room drawer to her jeans and watched the time while standing out on the porch.

  At this hour, the hills were misted with a dense cover of fog, the sunlight muted but cutting through it. The cold wind played through the strands of her hair and the scent of early morning dew and flowers permeated her surroundings. She had never been in a place like this. For a moment, she felt transported back in time to another era, the sight before her ancient.

  A shiver traveled down her spine and she clutched to the modern technology in her hand, her phone, and reminded herself not to get spooked. She looked down at the screen, at Tristan’s tracker, and saw his dot about half a mile away from her location.

  Exactly after fifty-three minutes since he’d left, her phone vibrated with a text.

  Tristan: Come to my location. Quick.

  Morana: On my way.

  She locked up and followed the navigation, heading into the woods on the other side of the cottage. Though he was just half a mile away, Morana followed the path that felt longer, her breathing better than it would’ve week thanks to her training with Vin daily.

  After about a few minutes of no sounds except the wind on water and birds chirping, the tall trees gave way to a small clearing at the base of the hill, the cottage hidden behind the thick foliage.

  Morana saw Tristan standing there, his arms folded across his chest, talking to a man she wouldn’t have recognized but for his size.

  Dante.

  Covered in beard and wearing a shaggy, loose grey shirt the old Dante wouldn’t have been caught dead in, his hair messy around his face, he was barely recognizable as the once perfect Dante Maroni. Before Morana could stop it, her feet were flying across the clearing as she crashed into the man she’d thought she’d lost, the man who had become important to her.

  Big arms wrapped around her in a bear hug unlike any she had ever experienced and she hugged him tightly, smelling hints of his spicy cologne contrary to his appearance, and had to smile despite herself. You could take Dante Maroni out of the clothes but you couldn’t take the clothes out of Dante Maroni.

  “Good to see I’ve been missed,” Dante’s smiling voice rumbled as he slowly patted her back in reassurance. Morana pulled back, blinking up at him with eyes that burned even as she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, looking over him. Though he was smiling, his usually warm brown eyes were, not cold exactly, but off.

  “He’s fine,” Tristan said from behind her, his voice slightly off. “Stop fussing over him.”

  “Go stand with him before he decks me, Morana,” Dante rolled his eyes, his tone deliberately light. “I’d hate to bruise his pretty mouth, out o
f concern for you of course.

  A laugh burst out of her. God, how she’d missed him.

  Stepping back, Morana didn’t turn, just stared at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

  A genuine smile grazed his lips under the beard. “I will be.”

  Morana nodded. “Any leads? Should you be here?”

  Dante shook his head, pushing his hair back over his head and Morana watched it fall back again. “I’m working on something but can’t tell you much. Have you talked to Amara? Is she fine?”

  The wind whooshed around them as Morana considered him seriously. “No, I haven’t. She hasn’t been reachable since she got the news.”

  “She thinks I’m dead?” Dante asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Morana shook her head. “No, but she disconnected. I’ve been giving her space but it’s worrying me now.”

  Dante looked up at the sky as though asking for patience, muttering something like, “the things I do for her,” before looking at Tristan. “Find her while I get this shit done.”

  “On it,” the man behind her said.

  Morana looked at both of them before Dante squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

  Nodding, she watched him silently move and disappear into the woods, a man his size moving with the grace one wouldn’t expect from his body. She looked around the place she stood in, before turning to her lover.

  “What is this place?”

  “This is where I used to escape sometimes,” Tristan said, his head tilted to the side. “Dante followed me here one day, stubborn bastard, and it became our spot.”

  Morana tilted her head to the side, eyes locked with his. “Did he seem a little off to you?”