by A. Zavarelli
“Aye. Everything’s just grand.”
When I reach the address that Crow texted me, the familiar pressure and rage has coiled so tightly inside of me I can scarcely contain it.
This is why I’m the Reaper.
None of the other lads in the syndicate are keen on this job. They don’t have rage like I do. Or bloodlust like I do. They don’t feel this pressure inside them. They kill when necessary. But it’s a switch they can turn on and off. Mine never turns off. There’s always this rage, simmering below the surface. I only have to choose a memory, a thought… and it’s there.
I disengage. These lives I take are insignificant to me. They mean nothing. These men have done wrong. The unredeemable. My only job is to send them to meet their maker. It’s never bothered me much before. Only now, I see Sasha’s face. The way she looked at me in the basement at Slainte. I wonder what she thought of me, in that moment. I wonder what she thinks of me right now.
It makes no difference, I suppose.
I pull the duffle bag from the car and gather what I need. The house has too many lights on, which tells me that Andrei isn’t alone. Most people don’t leave so many lights on when they are alone. Unless they are afraid. And Andrei isn’t afraid.
He’s a butcher, like me. But unlike me, he does it for pleasure. Women, mostly. Prostitutes. He’s been carving them up and leaving a trail of gore in every city he visits. He was an associate of the Russians, but he betrayed them. It doesn’t surprise me. I doubt the man has ever met a moral he didn’t scoff at.
Crow wanted this done cleanly. If I go in there now that isn’t going to happen. His expectations of me swirl around in my head, combining with the bitterness of this evening. Of Sasha.
I embarrassed myself in front of her.
The rage resurfaces, and washes away everything else. I screw the silencer onto my weapon and walk around to the back of the house. There’s a window at ground level. I kick it in and then move to the back door, waiting quietly as voices erupt inside the house.
Footsteps sound on the stairs into the basement, and someone yells out in Russian to check the back yard.
The first man barely has the door cracked before I put a bullet in his head. He falls to the floor and I walk over his body and straight towards the spray of gunfire that’s now aimed at me.
From the adjoining wall, I manage to take out another shooter.
The remaining two voices speak in muffled Russian before coming to an agreement. There’s still a man in the basement. And two in the kitchen. I haven’t worked out which one of them is Andrei. I won’t until I see him.
The front door shuts, and I have no choice. I go in blind. A bullet whizzes past my ear and then another hits me in the shoulder.
The man who fired it receives a bullet between the eyes in return. His friend is edging towards the door. It isn’t Andrei. I suspect that being the coward he is, he’s the one who slipped out the front door and ran. This one’s only a young lad. He’s holding a gun, but I have a notion by the hopeless look on his face that it’s empty.
His eyes are wide and filled with fear. It isn’t an expression I’m unaccustomed to. Most people fear death. It’s only natural. But this lad, he looks like someone else I once knew. That boy from the compound. The one who died under Farrell’s hands. The one who set into motion all of the events that made me into the man I am.
And looking at this lad now, I both pity and loathe him.
But I can’t find it in me to raise my weapon.
He’s already had a clear look at my face. It would be unwise to let him go. But that’s exactly what I do. And to make matters worse, when he slips out the door, I sign my own death warrant.
“Tell Andrei that the Reaper sends his regards. We’ll meet another day.”
12
SASHA
THERE’S a dull thump coming from the front door.
At first, I’m certain that I’m dreaming it, but the sound continues until it dwindles down to a light tapping.
I slip out of bed and throw on a tee shirt and some yoga pants. I didn’t even bother to get dressed or shower after Ronan left. Because I still wanted to smell like him. Pathetic, much?
By the time I get to the front door, the sound has stopped. And when I look out the peephole, I don’t see anything either.
It’s starting to feel like a horror movie, but I keep the chain on and crack the door open. And then I find Ronan, slumped against my door, with blood all over his shirt. I have to cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
I unlock the chain and open the door, and he looks up at me with those frigging sad brown eyes of his.
“Ronan?”
“No doctors.”
It’s the only thing he says before his head lolls to the side. And I’m officially freaking out. I kneel down to inspect him. He’s bleeding from a wound in his shoulder and it looks like he’s already lost a lot.
I clasp his face in my hands and give him a little shake.
“Ronan, I need you to stay awake, okay? And I need your help getting inside the apartment. Can you do that for me?”
He doesn’t reply, but he does move. He tries to stand up, and I wrap my arm around his back. But he’s too large, and I can’t support him.
We make it just inside the door before he collapses again. I can’t stop looking at the blood. Too much blood. And I’m close to panic. I know Lachlan will kill me if I call an ambulance, but I really think he needs one this time.
I make him as comfortable as I can on the floor, unbuttoning his coat so I have access to the wound. I whip off my tee shirt and press it over the bullet hole and then reach for his hand. His eyes are barely open, and he’s so weak. I feel him slipping away, and I can’t have that.
“I have to get you a doctor.”
“No doctors,” he croaks.
“Jesus, Ronan. I don’t have a choice.”
“No doctors,” he says again.
I press his hand over the tee shirt and hold it firmly in place. “You stay right there. I’m going to call Lachlan, okay?”
He nods, and his eyes close.
I run to my bedroom and fumble around the nightstand for my cell phone. When I find it, something else occurs to me. It’s going to take Lachlan a while to get here. And even longer to find someone who can help him. But I know someone who can, and she’s on standby, waiting for me to call anytime I need her.
I know it’s wrong, and they’ll probably just as likely kill me for this, but I scroll through my contacts and dial Amy’s number. She answers on the third ring, her voice sleepy.
“Sasha, is everything okay?” she asks.
“No,” I squeak out. “I need you to come over please. Right away.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll be there.”
“Please hurry.”
I hang up the phone and dial Lachlan as I move back towards Ronan. He’s barely conscious, but he’s still breathing. I hold pressure over the wound and give Lachlan a quick explanation of what’s happened. He tells me he’s on his way, so I hang up and wait.
Minutes come and pass, and I keep Ronan’s head in my lap, tracing over the lines of his face and stroking my fingers through his hair. Occasionally he finds the strength to look up at me.
“I’m going to take these off,” I tell him as I remove his glasses. “Okay? I want you to be comfortable.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s just watching me, calm as ever, like it’s no big deal. I want to ask him what happened. I want to ask him why he came to me. I have so many questions for him, but I know he needs to save his energy. So instead, I just sit beside him and stroke his face.
“You have kind hands,” he murmurs.
His eyes close again, and he starts to slip into unconsciousness.
“Ronan, you’ve got to stay with me.”
I watch his chest, and it’s still moving, but it’s hard to tell because my eyes are blurred with tears. The door opens and Amy nearly trips over both of us.
“
Oh my God,” she says. “Have you called an ambulance?”
“No,” I tell her. “He doesn’t want a doctor. Please, you have to help him.”
“I… I can’t,” she sputters. “I don’t have the tools, my license…”
“Amy, please,” I beg. “He’s going to die if you don’t do something. Just help him until Lachlan can get a doctor here.”
She hesitates for another moment and then seems to come to some sort of a decision.
“I’ll help him get stabilized,” she says. “But he needs to go to the hospital when I’m done.”
She kneels down beside me, and starts listing off things that she needs.
I run around the house like a lunatic trying to gather everything and get them to her as fast as I can. She cuts his shirt off, and for the first time I see his chest. And I’m shocked by the amount of scars that litter his body.
Amy is too.
“Who is this guy?” she asks.
“He’s my…” I pause. “My friend. A really good friend.”
The door opens again, and this time it’s Lachlan. His face is white, and when his eyes land on Ronan, it’s obvious how much he really does care about this man. I’ve never felt like Lachlan and I would be able to relate on anything. But as it turns out, Ronan is our common ground. He’s staring back at me too, searching my eyes for answers before he can even ask them.
And then his gaze snaps to Amy, who is poking at Ronan’s wound.
“Who is she?” Lachlan asks.
“My mother’s home nurse.”
I leave out the part about me calling her.
“Can you help him?” Lachlan asks her.
Amy shakes her head in serious refusal. “He needs to go to the hospital. The bullet is still in there, and…”
“Sasha.” Lachlan interrupts. “Is there a bed where we can move him?”
“My room,” I tell him.
“Good, go get it ready. I need a moment to speak to Amy.”
I hesitate for the slightest of seconds and the guilt burns through me. He’s probably going to threaten her. Or maybe offer her money. Either way, I don’t care. The only thing I care about right now is Ronan and making sure he is okay.
So I do as Lachlan asks, and I walk down the hall and pull back the covers and move everything out of the way.
A moment later, Lachlan is behind me, lingering in the doorway.
“I need you to help me move him in here,” he says. “I’ve called some of the other lads, but I don’t want to wait. Amy’s going to help him, okay Sash?”
I nod and scurry after him. It takes all three of us to get him into the bed. And then Amy brings in her medical bag, and she starts setting up an IV line.
“What are you going to do?” I ask her.
“She’s giving him something to keep him calm,” Lachlan explains. “If he wakes up and someone he doesn’t know is touching him…”
He leaves the rest lingering, and I nod.
But Ronan does wake up. As Amy’s trying to set up the IV. And he goes completely ballistic. For a moment I’m too horrified by what I’m seeing to really understand it. He’s always been so strong, so calm and sure. The only time I’ve ever seen him lose it was with Blaine. But right now, he’s like a caged animal, thrashing around in the bed as Lachlan tries to hold him down. His wild and panicked eyes find mine, and my heart splinters. I crawl up on the bed beside him and grab his face.
“Shhh, Ronan,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Just look at me. Only me.”
To everyone’s surprise, my words seem to soothe him. So I keep repeating them, stroking his face beneath my fingers. He never takes his eyes off me.
“Do you trust me?” I ask him.
He nods.
“Okay, good,” I whisper. “Because I would never let anyone hurt you. Do you know that?”
He blinks and his breathing slows a little as his eyes search mine. Those deep brown eyes look so much like a small boy’s in this moment and not the man I know him to be. Right now he isn’t a violent predator. He’s my sweet, handsome Ronan. And behind the fringe of dark lashes and the armor he’s worn for so long, there is trust. For me. And I have a feeling that later, when I reflect on that, I will finally understand the gravity of what that means. Because I doubt Ronan trusts anybody. Even his best friend, Lachlan, who he’s known all his life is considered an enemy right now.
But not me. And I won’t ever take that trust for granted.
I thread my fingers through his and squeeze.
“I trust Amy,” I tell him. “And she’s trying to help you, Ronan. Okay? I won’t let her hurt you.”
He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to. Everyone can see that he’s calmed and Amy seizes the opportunity to get the line set up. Ronan watches me the entire time. But once the line is in, his eyes drift shut. I lean down and kiss him on the forehead, and when I look up through tear soaked eyes, Lachlan is staring at me.
“You calmed him.” His voice is tinged with disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Oh,” I choke out.
The room goes silent, and Amy gets to work. I’m grateful when she asks for my help and I don’t have to feel the weight of Lachlan’s questioning gaze on me. Throughout the procedure, I act as her assistant. She tells me what she needs from me, and not a word more. She isn’t meeting my gaze, and I have a feeling she’s really hating me right now for putting her in this situation.
When she’s removed the bullet and stitched him up, she washes her hands and packs up her medical bag. Her gaze moves to Lachlan as she lingers in the bedroom doorway.
“Is that all you need from me?”
Her voice is flat and cold. And I don’t like it. Because Amy’s always been good to me, and I feel horrible for involving her in this.
“Aye,” he tells her. “It is.”
“Amy,” I call out.
She glances at me, and I hug my arms across my body, unsure of what I should even say at this point.
“Um, thank you.”
She nods and leaves.
The front door closes, and then it’s just Lachlan and I, left to the silence of the room. It’s strange, being here with him. I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve never known what to make of this guy. Sometimes he can seem so cold. But seeing him with Mack, I know he’s human too. My way of dealing with him has always been to avoid him, but right here and now I can’t.
So I sit down beside Ronan on the bed, and Lachlan takes the chair across the room.
“You aren’t going to hurt Amy,” I blurt. “Right?”
He shakes his head with a grunt. “No, Sasha. I’m not going to hurt Amy. She was paid well for her time here tonight, and I don’t think there’s even reason for it to be spoken of again.”
I nod and brush my fingers over Ronan’s hand and arm.
“Tell me what happened to him,” I whisper.
“It’s not my story to tell,” Lachlan answers.
I look up at him, and my eyes are filled with tears. “I just… I want to understand him. I don’t know how to understand what he needs, or wants.”
Lachlan sighs and leans back in his chair. His eyes dart to Ronan a few more times and then back to me.
“Then ye understand how he feels perfectly.”
“Huh?” I stare at him in confusion.
“If you feel like you can’t make sense of your own thoughts or emotions, then ye know exactly what Ronan’s going through. Only he feels that all the time.”
“Oh.”
“Come with me,” Lachlan says.
“But, what if he wakes…”
“He won’t,” he says. “He needs to rest.”
I stroke Ronan’s face one more time before I follow Lachlan down the hall and into the kitchen. He makes himself at home, going through the cupboards until he finds a bottle of wine. He opens it up and pours me a glass. And even though I’m exhausted and the last thing I need to do is drink, I take it. Because I need to know what Lachl
an has to say.
“I can’t tell you Ronan’s story,” he says. “Because even I don’t know the half of it. I met him when I was thirteen. I won’t tell you the where or the how. I don’t even know where he came from. Only that he was raised in a paramilitary training camp run by a political fringe group. They were well known for bombings, copper killings, things of that nature. Their ideologies were radical, and Ronan had been spoon fed them since he was only a wee lad. He had no say in the matter. About any of it. He was born and reared to do one thing alone.”
I close my eyes because I can’t stand to hear him say it. That Ronan’s nothing more than a killer.
“He’s a good man,” I tell him.
“Aye, he is,” Lachlan agrees. “But he’s still recovering from the things he went through. Truth be told, I don’t know if he’ll ever fully recover.”
“What do you mean?”
Lachlan scrubs a hand over his face and takes a seat across from me. “I don’t know how to say this in a way that you can understand, Sasha. But Ronan doesn’t know what to do with himself if he isn’t being told. Thinking freely does not come naturally to him. His days are completely regimented. If he isn’t working, he’s at home. He works out. He eats at a certain time, and only from a small selection of foods. He reads. He works. And he takes orders as they come. Anything else, he doesn’t know how to handle it. He comes to things in his own time. And on his own terms.”
“But he came to me on his own,” I say. “Why?”
“How long do ye think it took him to come to terms with that decision?” Lachlan asks.
I stare down at the table, knowing he’s right. It took Ronan two years to come back to me.
“I just want ye to know what ye’re getting yourself into here Sasha,” Lachlan says. “Ronan needs stability in his life. And if ye’re planning on leaving like you say, then the best thing you can do for him is to leave him be. For him to open up to you and then have ye walk away, I fear it will do him more harm than good. And I won’t stand for that.”
I blink back my tears as I process his words. He’s right. I didn’t plan on staying. I still don’t. So I should stay far away from Ronan, and hope that he can overcome these issues on his own. But the thought of that causes a deep well of despair to spring up inside of me.
