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My second brow joins the first, high on my forehead as I crumple up the napkin and dump it on my plate. I’m surprised she wants to know about that night after all the hate she’s given me over it.
“We can talk about that night if you like. But first, I need to take a piss.”
She rolls her eyes at me as I shuffle out of the bench seat and excuse myself to go to the men’s room located at the back of the building. It smells like old trash back here, the narrow passage lined with crates, and trash bags sitting on the floor by the rear door. I wish I had seen all of this before we ate, now I’m worried we might get sick by the sight of the uncleanliness.
Hurrying into the men’s room, I do my business, also noting how unclean it is in here, too. It wasn’t like this the last time I stopped here, which was a few years ago now, but there’s no way I’m letting Zoe sit on one of the toilet seats. She can squat on the side of the road or wait until we get to Wilson’s.
Even after washing my hands, I still feel unclean, and I grip the bottom of my t-shirt to pull the door open before slamming into a hard chest.
“Sorry, man,” I mutter looking up… and then freeze.
Like a deer caught in headlights, I find myself staring into the eyes of Finn Blackburn.
A Cali Reaper.
It’s like time slows as our brains click onto the fact that we are staring an enemy down.
Finn reaches for his gun first, and knowing I don’t have time to reach for mine hidden in the back of my jeans, I slam my body into his, pinning him and the hand he has clasping a gun to the wall.
He grunts as the wind flies from him, but it’s only momentarily, and I slam his hand back, over and over, trying to get him to drop it.
Finn is taller than me, but less skilled, so I throw my head forward, hearing and feeling the crack as I headbutt him which loosens his hold on the gun.
As it clatters to the floor, I slam my fist over and over into his face, and somehow, we end up back in the men’s room, crashing through the door.
Finn lands a few blows, making me see stars momentarily, but I trip him up, and his head slams awkwardly hard into the basin with a crack before his body falls with a thud to the grimy tiled floor.
Blood oozes and pools from his head, and I don’t bother to wait and see if he’s dead, because if he’s here, it means there are other Reapers too, and my girl is all alone.
I rush out into the hall, leaving the Reaper’s gun on the ground, and haul ass into the deli.
Skidding to a stop, I see Zoe sitting ramrod straight, her eyes cast on the table as a group of three other Reapers ogle her from the other side of the window.
Fuck.
They don’t know who she is yet, but she knows who they are.
“Zoe,” I whisper yell, gaining her attention as her terrified eyes find me. “This way,” I hiss in urgency, gesturing for her to come to me.
Slowly she stands from the booth, and the Reaper, who I recognize as Drake Reaper—yes that’s what he calls himself—starts thumping his fist on the window, trying to get her attention.
“Don’t look at them, Princess. Just come to me, quickly.”
She nods, her hands trembling, but it’s in that moment that Drake looks past Zoe, to lock eyes on me.
His lips form the word,“motherfucker,”before he’s reaching for his gun, and the other two Reapers follow.
“Get down!” I roar at Zoe, drawing my gun to pop off a round at the same time Drake does.
Glass shatters and Zoe’s screams are joined by the two women who are working behind the counter. Zoe is on the floor, curled in a ball so I rush forward, nailing Drake in the center of his forehead before the other two Reapers even have a chance to start shooting.
Dragging Zoe off to the side, I keep shooting, cursing that I only have my revolver.
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Zoe whimpers, over and over, her hands over her ears as she curls into herself.
“It’s okay, Princess. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I grit out, unsure if I can follow through on that promise, and hating the way her body convulses in fear.
I aim and shoot toward the Reapers, but my chambers are all empty. “Fuck!” I curse, my eyes locking onto the two women hiding behind the counter.
