Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Reaper and I spare a glance at each other, both of us lost for words and unsure what to say when Shadow begins to laugh. “Oh my god. I’m screwing with you. You should see your faces,” she laughs. “As if I’d want that after everything we’ve just been through. And in case either of you haven’t quite figured it out, I’m not going to survive out in the big wide world on my own. I need you both there.”
“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter under my breath, needing to grip the edge of the counter as my heart races at the thought of having to end Reaper’s life and not getting to love him every day of forever.
Reaper shakes his head. “In case you hadn’t already figured it out, you’re on dishes duty for the rest of your life.”
“Sir, yes Sir,” Shadow says, saluting him as she gets to her feet, deciding that she’s had more than enough first aid despite me only getting through half of her back. “Can we pick this up tomorrow? I need to crash, and from the looks of it, you two have a lot to figure out.”
“Like what?” Reaper questions.
“You know, like how the hell we’re going to get out of Blue Springs unscathed, and what this means for your awkward relationship.”
My brows furrow. “Huh?”
Shadow grins. “You really haven’t thought about it?” she questions, trying not to laugh. “If we somehow get out of here, then I assume we’re going to live together somewhere, and that means the two of you are skipping right over the whole dating thing and basically becoming my parents. I mean, are you dating? Going steady? Or are you practically married? Should I call you Mr. and Mrs. Reaper, or are you going with something a little more modern? Mr. and Mrs. Siren, perhaps?”
Reaper glances toward me, neither of us knowing what the hell we’re supposed to say. “Uhhhhhh . . .”
“That’s what I thought,” Shadow says in a teasing tone, practically skipping down the hallway, more than proud of how easily she just threw our whole relationship into chaos. “Why don’t you two figure that out while I go sleep like a baby?”
Brat.
Shadow laughs the whole way down the hall. The next thing we hear is her bedroom door slamming behind her, and I’m left gaping at Reaper. “I, ummm . . . I don’t need to be called Mrs. Reaper,” I tell him, not wanting him to think that I expect anything more from him than what we already have. Besides, something tells me if we suddenly filed for a marriage license, it might raise a few alarm bells with the FBI, and that right there could be a fatal mistake.
Reaper grins and takes my waist, lifting me up onto the kitchen counter and stepping between my thighs. “I don’t need to marry you to know that you’re mine, Kienna,” he says, making me suck in a gasp at the sound of my name on his lips. “But when we do get out of Blue Springs, I fully intend on taking you with me and starting a life together. I haven’t gone through this past month with you, just to lose you at the finish line.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Are you sure?” I question, my heart racing a million miles an hour.
“Never been so sure in my life,” he tells me. “You, me, and Shadow, we’re a dysfunctional family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I wrap my arms around him and pull him in, his words healing the deep abandonment issues I’ve had since the moment my mother was so brutally taken from me when I was only six years old. “I love you, Reaper,” I whisper. “I want nothing more than to start a life with you, I just don’t see how we’re supposed to get out of here to make that happen.”
“I know,” he murmurs, pulling back and gently brushing his lips across mine. “We have a little less than forty-eight hours to pull it off, and so far, all I’ve been able to come up with is to fake our deaths. Let Shadow hand over the IDs we were able to find, take the prize money, and once we’ve officially been declared dead, we start fresh.”
I nod, agreeing with him until I truly start thinking about what being declared dead would mean for both of our careers. “Wait. If we’re dead, we can kiss our careers goodbye. We can’t accept contracts without someone piecing together that we’re alive, which is only going to set off alarm bells for the asshole behind War Games, which puts us right back at square one.”
“Then we don’t work,” he tells me. “We’ve both been contract killers for years. Don’t pretend like you’re not sitting on millions of dollars. Between us, we have more than enough cash to last ten lifetimes.”