Queen of The Reapers by Jessa Halliwell
Nine
“You’re a f…fucking idiot, you know that.”
Tristan’s words bring a smile to my lips as I ease myself down into the armchair Stevie vacated. He was waiting for the opportunity to bite my head off and with Stevie finally out of earshot, now’s his chance.
“Love you too, Bro.” I say, giving him a playful wink as I stretch my arms along the back of the chair.
Tristan sits back in his matching chair and groans as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “What the f… fuck were you thinking?” He mumbles, trying to keep his voice down. Stevie may be out of earshot while she changes in her closet, but neither of us wants her privy to this conversation.
I glance at her closet door and mindlessly wonder what she’ll come out in. After finding out she came to us with nothing more than a handful of shirts and jeans, the four of us made it a point to have our personal shoppers fill her closet with anything and everything she could need. We thought of asking Stevie for her input, but after seeing how she reacts to help of any kind, we decided it was easier for us to pick out the items ourselves.
“Hey, Asshole.” Tristan whispers, kicking my loafer to get my attention and pull me out my head. “I asked you a question.”
I turn back to him and give him a dismissive glance. “I was thinking we were about two seconds away from losing the only person any of us give a real shit about.” I say, readjusting the watch on my wrist. “You saw the look on her face. She checked out.”
Tristan releases a heavy sigh and rubs his palms down his face. He may hate what I did, but he knows I’m right.
As we sit in silence, I focus my attention on the gas fireplace and watch as the bright blue and orange flames dance wildly behind the glass. It’s the only source of light in her room, and as the flames flicker around chaotically, I find myself more and more enthralled in their movements. The hypnotic trance I fall into bears a striking resemblance to how I feel when I watch Stevie. Like the flame, her movements can be wild and unpredictable, but in those moments of peace, where outside sources aren’t pulling her in different directions, she’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.
Tristan shifts forward in his chair and glares up at me. “You realize you’re baiting her with s… something that isn’t f… fucking real.”
It could be real. We have no idea where her sister is, but that doesn’t make it an outright lie. Ezra hasn’t gotten back to any of us all night. So for all we know, she’s in her room at the motel as we speak. “Drastic times…” I say, refusing to back pedal.
I don’t regret my decision. As soon as I mentioned her sister, Stevie’s eyes flickered back to life. Slowly at first, so slowly that I worried the things we said pushed her past the point of caring about us. But as soon as she started moving into action, I could see the old Stevie slowly resurfacing. Right now, she’s warring within herself. Caught between wanting to kill us and wanting to thank us for bringing her to her sister. That is much better than how it stood between us only a few minutes ago. The way we treated her in front of Dimitri was necessary, albeit pretty fucked-up, but I’m hoping it isn’t anything a little heart-felt reunion can’t fix.
“What happens if s… she’s not there, you dumbass?” Tristan grumbles. “Then what?”
I hadn’t really thought that far. I just assumed Alex would come back to the motel once it got late. I mean, it’s not like she has shit to do this late at night. She’s a kid, for Christ’s sake.
“Then we’ll wait.” I offer smoothly. Hell, I’ll wait in that shitty motel parking lot for an eternity if it means Stevie will come back to us after the shit with Dimitri.
Dimitri should’ve never been alone in our home to begin with, and Tris has already deactivated all of our access cards to ensure the motherfucker won’t be able to cross that line again. We still don’t know how the hell he got a hold of one of our cards, but it’s all too convenient that he shows up here the minute he knows we aren’t home. Especially when he was the one who orchestrated the whole thing.
Apparently, Dimitri received an anonymous tip that one of our guys running the cocaine transition warehouse was skimming ounces off during transit. We wanted to wait until morning to deal with it, but Mitri offered for his team to handle it, giving us no choice but to go. If he was right, he’d use it against us to make it seem like our power was weakening and if he was wrong, he and his guys would probably pull some shady shit to make it seem like he was right.
Leaving her alone was the last thing any of us wanted to do, especially after almost losing her today. But he specifically requested for the three of us to be there. With Ezra MIA and Dimitri still trying to assert himself as the new head of west coast operations, we couldn’t risk ignoring his demands. No matter how ludicrous they were. If we did, we’d feel the fucking fallout.
“Do you believe her?” I ask, glancing in Stevie’s direction as she re-emerges from her closet on the other side of the room. “About Dimitri.”
She takes a seat on her bed and pulls on the black ankle boots Tris picked out for her. She kept on the band shirt Ez chose and tucked it into the cutoff denim shorts I bought that show off her sun-kissed legs. The coat she picked out is Atlas’ choice, an oversized black wool coat that hits just below her thigh. It’s almost ironic. Even when she doesn’t realize it, she’s choosing a bit of all of us.
Tristan lets out a breath and sits back in his seat. “I honestly d… don’t know what to believe. I want t… to.”
I want to, too. If Dimitri so much as laid an unwanted finger on her, I don’t know if I’d have it in me to stop from killing the bastard. Just seeing his vile hands wrapped around her soft waist was torture. All I could think about, all I could envision, was ripping his digits off and feeding them to the motherfucker one by one.
“Ready to go?”
The sound of Stevie’s voice catches us both off guard and we quickly cut the conversation short. We’ll table the Dimitri issue for now, but only because we have more pressing problems to tend to.
I jump to my feet and gesture for her to lead the way. “After you, Princess.”
She steps out of the room and Tristan stands up to follow a few feet behind her. As he moves past me he pauses and levels a serious look at me. “You better pray we fucking deliver on everything you promised.”
I’ve never been a religious man, but if there’s ever been a time for me to pray for a miracle, it’s now.