Breaker (Unmasked #3)

54. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Delilah

M y first body guard arrived at our house when I was eleven. I’d never had one just for me before. Any time I left the house, I was with my mother, so her guard was my guard. And my private school provided enough security, I never needed my own.

He arrived the same day as my mother’s funeral. The day was hotter than hell, even for mid-September in the southernmost part of the state, and the lace and satin black dress Clyde had told me to wear, stuck to my skin. I remember staring down at my patent leather shoes thinking that if my mom was here, she’d have wiped the dust from my shoes and told me to sit up straight.

So, I did it myself as we drove away from the cemetery in the heart of town.

Sit up straight, Delilah. And keep yourself together. If you’re a mess on the outside everyone will think you’re a mess on the inside too. People don’t trust a messy woman.

I had asked Clyde for his handkerchief in his suit pocket, and he’d pulled it out slowly, watching me like one would a strange, wild creature as I cleaned the dust from my shoes, then folded the fabric neatly and tucked it into the handle of the limousine.

My mother liked things neat and tidy. She liked sunsets and silky dresses. She liked sweet tea with cut up lemon tossed in the top. She liked pearls and lipstick and everything that was pure and good and she was taken from me by something I couldn’t even see.

A bullet to the chest, then another to the head as she tied my shoes outside the restaurant I insisted we went to. All because I was spoiled and wanted the tiny pizzas they made that night.

All because I was born into a family that thrived on violence, and she was forced to marry my father and have me.

All because he wanted her.

I know this because Cora’s mom said it once. Screamed it, in fact, over dinner one night while Cora and I were playing in the pool. Our parents had sat around the long table keeping an eye on us, drinking and laughing until something happened and Cora’s mom stood up and pointed at mine and said, “You only have what you do because Rune was so obsessed with you and paid your family to marry you.”

I never understood that statement until now.

How someone would pay a family to steal their daughter.

I was an only child. I didn’t have cousins, only Cora. We weren’t like the other families in my father’s circle, although I saw how my father’s associates married off their daughters, but I never thought twice about it.

It didn’t affect me, so I didn’t care.

Stupid, selfish me.

I care now. And I think about it constantly.

Cora’s parents may be dead, but their family name and their fortune is not. And Cora is the only one left alive, inheriting it all. The shares to Rune’s company, all her parents money and estates. And I’ve decided that when I return, it’s all going to be mine and Cora and all can rule over the company my father built, the one he trained me how to keep thriving when he’s gone.

Because my father signed his name on his death warrant the day he killed their brother. Reaper will kill him.

And I think he needs me to get close to him.

“You’re not paying attention, Kitten,” Reaper says, tapping my arm with his training knife.

I woke up to Striker in my bed this morning. My heart ached with hurt, Reaper’s absence stung harshly, but the pain eased when Striker’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pressed that mischievous smirk to my lips, weaving his fingers in my hair. When he slid between my thighs tenderly stroking deep into me, thunder rolling in the distance, and rain pelting the window, warmth unfolded inside my heart and for those few moments, I was okay.

But when his skin left mine and the cold morning air seeped through the lust, I was reminded that Reaper left me. He left me after giving me those moments with him. After sharing such intense intimacy, Reaper waited until I was sleep and left me to wake scrambled and brimming with want. Desperate for more of him. Aching to be held.

Messy. He left me feeling messy.

I may not look messy, but I feel messy on the inside.

Since it was still raining, Striker and I skipped out on our morning run, and I pulled on a dress and found my green knitted sweater, my favorite fuzzy socks and headed downstairs. Instead of letting me have breakfast and maybe a day off, Striker appeared out of nowhere, and drug me to the large empty room where we’ve been training. Then he walked away. A few seconds later Reaper sauntered in, all arrogance and sex, and handed me my training knife.

“Where’s Viper?” I ask, glancing over to the large window overlooking the drive so I don’t get distracted by Reaper’s tight shirt and pants and the undeniable heat in his gaze. Thunder rumbles in the distance, drops of rain turning the world blurry and gray.

“Not in here as you can see,” Reaper says, pointing to the wood floor with his own training knife. I breathe out slowly, telling myself not to move closer. Not to press my body to his like a feral creature in heat. That was we shared last night was left in those moments. I’m starting to realize that is the only time I will get that part of him. When I submit myself fully and let him drink it from me.

My eyes flicker over to him as I tell myself these things. He’s wearing his same long sleeved black shirt and fatigues. Same black leather boots. Same smirking skull mask with the melting jaw.

The only difference is I know how that body beneath his clothes feels pressed to mine, flesh to flesh. How his bare chest feels moving in over me as he thrust into me. How those warm soft lips I can’t see feel between my thighs and pressed to mine.

“Kitten.” Reaper’s grumbling purr makes my eyes snap up to his. “Stop worrying about Viper and worry about my knife slitting your throat.”

“I’m tired,” I say.

The dark, hungry look flashing in his black eyes says everything he’s not.

I let out a puff of air, eyes dropping to the floor, my skin flushing. It’s absurd that I feel shy with him this morning, and the feeling creates a rush of anger to roil through my veins. Being vulnerable is difficult, especially since I’ve trained from an early age to be hard. Focused. Never allowing anyone too close because I saw what happened to the people I cared about. My mother. Boyfriends I attempted to have. The only people I was allowed to love were under my roof.

And now they are gone. Ripped from me like Reaper ripped my heart from me last night.

He taps my hand holding the knife and steps away, positioning his body like he’s going to attack me.

I drop my knife and cross my arms over my chest.

“Kitten,” he growls, but I shake my head.

Messy, scrambled and confused, yes, but not about how I feel. About why he’s so hot and cold. Why he can’t just give in the way he constantly expects me to give in, the way he forces me to give all of myself to him.

“Don’t be a naughty girl,” Reaper says, his dark tone entirely too sexy. “You know what happens when you don’t follow my order.”

“I get a spanking,” I say, keeping his eyes locked on mine. He may have ripped my submission, my fucking truth out of me, last night, but I’ll be damned if he thinks he has control over me. “And if I’m good, I’ll be rewarded.”

His eyes narrow even more, like he waiting for me to say more.

He needs me , I tell myself, even though my heart is racing at the thought of upsetting him. After last night, I don’t want to break the fragile bond we’ve created. I have a feeling it will hurt too much.

But, taking a chance, I lean in and whisper, “If you, Reaper, give me answers you get a sweet kitty to play with.”

His eyes drop to my mouth.

“Tell me the plan,” I say. “I want to know what you expect me to do.”

“No.” His tone is hard, but I swear he’s smirking.

“I’m not training, or shooting, or doing anything until you tell me what you plan.”

Reaper takes a step back, running a hand over his mask, like he does when he’s irritated. I’m shocked when his hand drops and he says, “Fine.”

Oh . Okay. My shoulders ease. I had expected a fight. Or to be carried off and tied up somewhere for being defiant.

“Come with me,” he says, stalking from the room, not bothering to look back because he knows I’ll follow. I practically run behind him to keep up with his long legs as he walks through the house. When we reach the kitchen and he stops in front of the basement door, my heart stutters.

“What you want to show me is in the basement?” I ask as he pulls keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, then opens it.

He casts me a look. I don’t even need to see his face to tell he’s annoyed.

My eyes dart to the dark stairwell. “You’ve threatened to lock me down here,” I remind him. “Excuse me if I’m hesitant.”

“Kitten, I’ve had you tied up, legs spread open, and the worst thing I did to you was make you beg.”

Scarlet. That’s the color that flames over my cheeks.

Without another word, Reaper heads down the stairs. A light pops on, flooding the stairwell with light, and he disappears from my view.

My heart hammering, I take the stairs slowly, telling myself that there’s nothing to be scared of down here other than Reaper. When I reach the bottom, I find him a few feet down the hall, waiting with arms crossed next to a door.

“What’s down here?” I ask, eyeing the row of metal doors lining the hall that looks a little too much like jail cells. “Is this where you bring people? When you do your missions?”

“And what is it you think we do?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

My lip pulls down into a frown. “Kidnap people for one. Kill innocent guards for another.” I tilt sideways, looking past him down the dim hall. “Also stalk and organize a secret revenge plot to murder a bloodthirsty billionaire.”

“You’re forgetting torture, impersonation, and assassination.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

He chuckles darkly, then opens the door motioning for me to enter ahead of him. My hesitation has him gripping my arm and shoving me through the door. I’m not sure what I expected, but a dull room with nothing but a scratched up wooden table with four chairs and a laptop wasn’t it.

“All the espionage equipment and torture devices are in the next room,” Reaper says, pulling out a chair for me to sit.

My hesitation at taking the seat he’s gesturing to has nothing to do with fear, or concern over my well-being. It’s because I can’t tell if he’s joking with me. I’m not sure what’s more shocking, that he may not be, or that Reaper actually has a sense of humor.

This man, who’s still, still , hiding his identity, who has scared the daylights out of me, chased me, spanked me, held me down on several occasions, and given me the best sex of my life after informing me I belong to him and his brothers, and I’m just now finding out he has a warped sense of humor, which makes me reexamine every single interaction I’ve had with him.

“Then stand,” he says, leaning over to open the laptop.

It looks small in his hands, and I wonder if that’s what I look like next to him. Small. Breakable. I wonder too if he’s broken me. If it’s going to take years of therapy to untangle the mess in my head. If I’m fixable.

That’s if they let me go after I’ve done what they want.

If I even want to leave them.

“This is the lodge,” Reaper says and my gaze darts to the laptop.

I need to focus.

This is for Cora. For the innocent people Rune’s killed. For the lives that will be saved once he’s stopped.

I lean forward and examine the screen. It’s a blueprint of the lodge, detailing every room, every building, and the distance between them. It looks like a compound with several buildings, creating a semi-circle around a large open space. Reaper brings up another image, an aerial view of the lodge, surrounded by dense trees. I’ve seen photos of Rune’s lodge but haven’t ever been there in person. It’s massive.

Reaper taps the screen over a small building detached from the main lodge, sitting a few yards away with what looks like a covered walkway attaching them. “We need in here,” he says. “This is Rune’s private quarters. Where he keeps everything.”

My brows knit.

He taps the screen again. “The problem is gaining access.”

“To his room?” I ask, questions swirling in my head. “Why don’t you just storm the place and take them all out when he plans his next visit?”

Reaper shakes his head. “We tried. It didn’t work.” He takes a deep breath. “Rune is the only person who can access his private rooms. Our source has confirmed that Rune has a security system set up that will only allow him entry and no one else.”

“What do you need me to do?” I ask, my heart hammering. Dread settles in my gut, making my stomach churn.

“We’re presented with an additional problem. If he’s not here to disarm the system, or if someone other than Rune attempts it, it will shut down and activate an emergency lock down of the entire compound.”

“He has a fail-safe in place,” I say. “Sounds like something he’d do, but why do you need to get into this building?”

“A large shipment of weapons will be delivered before his arrival, which he’ll store away in his vault.”

I back away, my eyes snapping to Reaper.

“Rune has it set up that the only weapons allowed on site are the ones he provides. After each hunt they are locked away until the members venture out again. Now that we’ve secured an invitation, we have to make sure we can access the vault containing the weapons. Weapons which will be waiting for us when we get there.”

“We?” I ask, an incredulous laugh leaving my throat. “Wait. Invitation?”

“Yes, Delilah. We.” Reaper backs away, ignoring my second question. “The only person who he’d ever allow in that room, would be someone he trusts with his life.”

I blink, staring at him.

“Harlow has been unable to access the room. He’s only seen what goes in and what comes out.”

“Wait, Clyde ?“ I shake my head like this will make all his words settle properly in my head. “Is Clyde your source?”

He says nothing, which just confirms it.

Sinking to the seat, I drag my hands over my face. Too much swims in my head so I focus on the one thing I asked him to tell me. “I don’t understand what you need me to do.”

“We need you to get into his room, Delilah. Get access to his vault. Once we have those weapons we can take out each member and retrieve the object.” Reaper crouches in front of me and I realize I’m staring blankly at spot on the floor. My eyes drift along his forearms draped over his thick thighs. The skull tattoos on his hands. “This is why I need you trained.” Our gazes lock. “If he suspects you, he’ll have you killed.”

“I’m his daughter,” I say weakly, but even I know that won’t stop him. Rune has spent years hurting Cora. He kills people. Hunts them. He has for years, and whatever humanity he had in him is gone. I tried to tell myself I’d be safe, but it’s a lie I didn’t want to face. He’d not think twice about removing me if he thought I was a threat.

Wait. A threat. I’m going to become a threat the second I attempt to get my hands on the weapons.

I bolt upright, my chair tumbling behind me. My heart pounds, pulse thumping in my ears. Reaper slowly unfolds himself, watching me carefully.

“If I try to get in his vault, he’s going to know,” I say, voice hoarse. My chin wobbles. My heart hammers, anger making my vision blur. Hurt making tears spring to my eyes.

I’m so fucking stupid. Of course this is what they’d want.

“You want me to kill my father,” I say, and I don’t know how it doesn’t come out as a scream. “That’s what you’ve planned all along. You can’t get to him, but I can.”

This is why Striker said he was sorry that day he took off his mask. He knows the magnitude of what they were going to ask me.

“You want me to go to the lodge, get into my father’s rooms, with him, then kill him, giving you access to the weapons so you can kill the rest of the members.”

“Not just the weapons, Kitten,” Reaper says. “There’s something else I want.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I can,” I whisper. “I may want him dead, want him to hurt, but—“

The distant sound of a door slamming grabs my attention.

“Reaper!” Striker’s shout carries down the hall and then he skids to a stop in the doorway, panting. “ Fuck. ”

“What?” Reaper snarls, staking toward him.

Striker leans over, hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath, like he sprinted across the entire mansion to get here.

Then I notice the mask in his hand.

Striker stands up, tugging the mask over his head as he says, “Fallon’s here, and he brought back-up.”