He might as well have yelled at the top of his lungs that she’s no longer just a mission.
She’s ours.
His.
“Very well.” Father gestures to the table. “Striker, take these back to the house and clean them.” With that fucking smirk still in place, he walks away, motioning for his new soldiers to follow.
The second his back is to us, Delilah steps away from the table, grasping Reaper’s arm. “What happened?”
Reaper weaves his fingers into the shiny black strands of her hair and pulls her to his chest. “He was too close. No one touches you.”
I lean down, pressing my masked lips to the top of her head, keeping my focus on Father as he walks down the path to make sure he doesn’t turn around.
“He was purposely trying to piss us off,” I tell her, then grab a bag from under the table as I say to Reaper, “Better get her to her room before he changes his mind.”
Chapter 20
Delilah
Twosoldiersstandoneither side of the front door as we enter, Reaper nearly dragging me by my arm over the threshold. Pain twinges in my arm from his tight grip, but he’s so tense, so upset, that I don’t fight him as he aggressively drags me into the house. Warmth hits my frozen limbs and I sigh in relief. Fallon kept me out there for hours and my fingers feel like icicles. I’m so grateful to be in the warm house, that I don’t protest as Reaper all but shoves me ahead of him through the foyer, even when my ribs throb.
My stomach growls so loud that he stops walking and lets me go. The urge to apologize rushes through me, but I clamp my mouth shut, rubbing my cold nose with an icy hand. Remembering I’m not allowed to talk or be human, proves to be more difficult than one would think.
“You’re hungry,” Reaper says, his midnight eyes scanning me.
I bite my lip to keep from saying,Obviously. Yourinsane father kept me out in the cold for hours shooting a target so I can killmyfather.
Without another word, he grips my arm again and drags me in the opposite direction of the stairs. The two soldiers positioned by the door, follow us, their boots thudding ominously behind us. Reaper casts them a deadly look as he steers me toward the long hall that leads to the back of the house. When the two continue to walk behind us, I glance at Reaper by my side, and he finally looks my way, his eyes darker than usual.
God, he’s furious.But I’m not sure what has him more upset. He was pissed that Fallon was so close to me. That was obvious, but this intense, deadly energy emitting from him has me feeling unsteady. Like there’s a bomb ticking nearby, but I’m not sure if it’s him about to explode or some other threat I can’t see.
“Resume your positions,” Reaper barks out, not looking their way, his entire tone and body screaming authority.
“Commander said to take her to her room,” one of them says.
“She needs to eat.” Reaper yanks my arm, moving me closer to him. I stumble into his side as he stops abruptly and turns to face them.
“Not what Commander ordered,” the second one says. I don’t recognize either of them, but then again, they all look so similar except for the obvious height differences and their eyes and skin tones. He shifts and I catch the faint black glint of the number 51. He’s short, but stocky. Nowhere near as large as Reaper. “She’s to go to her room.”
Reaper drops my arm and faces them fully, placing himself between me and them. He seems to grow as he steps their way, towering over the stocky one, looking down hismasked nose at the soldier. “And I am giving you the order to return to your post.”
“Our orders are to remain with her,” the first one says. The black number on his chest reads 50. “Commander wants eyes on her at all times.”
“I have my eye on her,” Reaper says, gripping my arm again. He pulls me forward and I go willingly, placing a hand on my ribs to ease the ache as he tugs me along.
We continue down the hall, and I glance over my shoulder and notice they follow, but at a distance.
“I thought you outranked them,” I whisper. “Like you were higher on the totem pole.”
His eyes cut my way, but he doesn’t answer.
When we reach the kitchen, he lets me go and gestures for me to enter first. I do, noting the soldiers entering after us and taking positions on either side of the doorway.
“Outside,” Reaper barks at them, pointing to the doorway.
The two men exchange a look and step out, their backs to us, but effectively blocking the door.
Reaper pulls out a chair and deposits me in front of the small table. I sigh in relief. My legs ache and my arms feel like Jell-O from the hours upon hours of training. He grips my jacket, and pulls my arms free, hanging it on the back of my chair. When I brace a hand on my ribs, Reaper makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Almost animalistic. Furious.
