Did Zane hurt Cora? Breaker would never compromise the mission unless something happened.
“Precisely.” Father leans back in his seat and looks at me. “All communication must cease. Do not contact your brothers or Clyde until you return.”
“Return?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Prepare to return tomorrow.”
My heart skips. “That isn’t possible.”
“No,” Reaper says, lazily moving pieces of food around the plate with his fork. “I need him here.”
Father closes his eyes briefly then leans forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table, and steepling his fingers under his chin. “Please,syn, tell me why having Striker here is vital to the girl’s training.”
Every time he refers to her as girl, it grates on me.
“She has a terrible aim,” Reaper tells him, “She’s good with a knife and with hand-to-hand combat, but with Viper gone, I need Striker to focus on improving her shot so I can focus on setting up the rest of the mission.”
Nodding, Father sits back in his seat, and I’m a little surprised as he seems to take Reaper’s words into consideration. “I suppose it won’t hurt to wait another week.”
“Three,” Reaper says. “Like I said, she is a terrible shot.”
Fallon glances at the soldiers lined up behind us over his shoulder. “I have men who can train her.”
“She trusts us,” I add, not liking the thought of Reaper alone with Fallon, completely cut off from us, trying to protect Delilah, not only from Fallon, but from each of the men behind us.
Father raises two fingers. “Two weeks. And if she hasn’t improved, then we take the chance. The longer she’s gone, the less Rune will trust her when she returns.”
Reaper’s fork drops to the plate and he stands, but Fallon motions for him to sit.
“I want to see this,” he says and turns to the line of soldiers behind us. “Get the girl.”
57 and 55 turn and march from the room, the other three filling in the gap so the door remains blocked.
I ease a breath from my lungs, reminding myself to stay calm, and set my fork down, leaning back in my seat. She’s going to be terrified when they retrieve her, and the thought of them putting their hands on her makes all that fury coil again in my gut.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Reaper says, shifting my focus back to him. “I thought we established—”
“Silence,” Fallon snaps. “Since whatever tactics you’ve used to gain her loyalty seem to have worked, I want to see how you interact with her.” A faint smile curls his lip, making my skin grow cold. “I can imagine they are rather unconventional.”
Reaper remains quiet, and I know he’s debating his next move. My mind races, wondering how we’ve gained her loyalty. Cora played a huge part in that, but Father doesn’t know this.
“Very well,” Reaper says, pulling his mask from his back pocket and slipping it over his head. He looks at me. “She’s more than likely hungry.”
Chapter 16
Delilah
Strikerlockedmeinthis room hours ago, and not knowing what is happening downstairs creates a slithering fear in my belly. I’ve imagined everything from Striker lying dead in a pool of blood to Reaper being restrained with a belt taken to his back. Even though I keep telling myself I didn’t hear gunshots and yelling, I can’t settle my mind.
The thought of either of them getting hurt, of them once again being forced to their knees and subjected to the cruelty I witnessed last night, makes my stomach roil. I pace the room, trying to keep myself centered, refusing to give in to the dark fear coating every thought, but then all thoughts vanish as the slick sound of the lock opening crashes through me. The door swings open, and my heart plummets to my feet. Two black-clad soldiers march into the room and stand on either side of the open door.
The black eyewear is gone today, revealing their eyes and a bit of their brows. One has muddy brown eyes and blonde brows surrounded by fair skin. The other blue eyes, with dark brows,and pale skin. Blue Eyes has a few inches on Muddy Eyes, and moves with more ease, like he’s less tense. Or less angry.
There are subtle differences in their uniforms too. Slightly different belts. The knives and guns at their hips, along with black metallic-looking numbers on their chests that almost blend in with the black material. Blue Eyes has the number 55, while Muddy Eyes has the number 57.
Names? Identifiers?
“Go,” the man with 57 on his uniform orders, those flat eyes moving up and down my body as invasive as hands.
