Twenty-Seven

 

Shane

 

Shane sat in the chair and stared at the fire, tuning out the others. Olivia must have gotten married by now. The deed would have been done, which meant the arrangement was now solidified. There was no turning back now.

Olivia belonged to Reaper.

Shane sighed and looked up. Christy was in the chair across from him, her gaze on the flames. Her eyes were rimmed red. Her nose looked puffy. She was gulping down a bottle of beer, crying to herself. This was so fucking pitiful.

He got up and moved to the chair next to her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye but didn’t acknowledge him out loud. Her nose flared, though.

“It can’t be easy,” Shane spoke, sympathetically.

“Fuck off,” she retorted, sniffing back her tears.

He blinked hard by that tear. “I’m trying to be caring –”

“I don’t need your care, old man.”

His jaw tensed. “I don’t understand this ‘old man’ nickname I’ve been given around this fucking place. I’m forty-eight. I’m not old.”

“Reaper named you, it’s set in stone now.”

Fucking hell. “Do you ever think for yourself? Or does a man have to think for you?”

She looked up at him, practically foaming from the mouth. “I’m not here to be torn apart. I’m here to sit and feel sorry for myself for just this goddamn night before I put my big girl panties on and move the fuck on. Stop ruining that!”

He blinked hard again. Torn apart twice in a row. Fair enough. She didn’t need encouragement, then. She wanted to feel sad. He could do that. He could make her so fucking sad, she’d regret ever saying that.

“They’ll have been married by now,” he said, relaxing back in his chair as he eyed her. Her face contorted, and she let out a sob. He kept going. “He’ll have taken her virginity too. They’ll be in each other’s arms now, doing sordid things. I’m very sorry, Christy. He didn’t want you. Never did, according to him.”

She nodded, profusely. “I wasn’t good enough.”

“No, clearly not.”

She wiped at her eyes, sniffing again. “I tried so hard. I really did.”

He looked her over. She was a stunning girl. Surely, the guy had taken her for a spin. “You could find this time to look back on those nights together with him and reflect on all those dashed hopes.”

She scoffed, glaring at him like he was a fucking moron. “Reaper never touched me.”

“But you’re beautiful.”

“He wasn’t interested. Ever. And I thought he was after everything he did…”

Shane sat up now, brows furrowed. “What did he do?”

“He saved me.” She let out a long exhale and took a manly swig of her beer. “I had a hit on me. Can you believe it? All because I was engaged to some fuckin’ asshole with a drug debt. They beat him around, and I saw it once and…that was it. I was suddenly part of the debt, part of the problem.”

“How did Reaper save you?”

“He was supposed to kill me.” She let out a sardonic chuckle. “He didn’t, obviously. But he needed the money so… he killed the men and robbed them clean. That’s how he fixes problems. There’s such a grey area with him. It’s that fucking weird nice gesture to one person, followed by a murderous gesture to another…literally. I mean, on what scale do you put this guy on? Happy to kill an asshole but would do anything to save a victim – that’s…Reaper.”

Shane thought about that for a second. That…changed things. He’d spent this whole time comparing him to Dillinger – Dillinger who didn’t seem to give a flying fuck that his wife had drank herself to death, and then married his daughter off for business purposes. He reflected back on the conversation he’d indirectly eavesdropped, and it made some sense now.

“You were with a man he didn’t like,” he stated. It was better to say it than ask.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Jaxon. I was with him for like two seconds. He didn’t want me. Never did. I was just a pawn.”

“To get to the girl.”

“Sara.”

“And he got her in the end.”

“Reaper fought. He fought hard. She tricked him in the end. He risked it all for her. His neck, his position, everything and she fucked him over. Drove him out of town and fucked up a club. Or so I hear.”

“This girl can’t be well liked.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She seemed alright. I can’t be bitter about that. It wasn’t my business.”

He nodded. “So how is it your business now, with Olivia and Reaper?”

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped, mulling that over. “Look, I got nothing on her, okay? But she smirks at me in this way that makes me want to tear her fucking eyelids out! She knows I can’t have him, and she rubs it in my fucking face.”

“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?”

She paused. Shane could see she knew it was starting to make sense. She seethed again, glaring daggers at him. “Am I on fucking Oprah right now?”

It was time to cut the shit. “He looks at her a lot, admit it. He wanted her a while, didn’t he?”

She shook her head. “No. Never heard of her before.”

“I can spot a liar, Christy. You’re a fucking liar.”

She looked away, not wanting to face him and his truths.

“What did he say to you before he left?” Shane pushed.

More tears fell. “He said sorry.”

Fucking hell, this guy had two faces. What the fuck was his deal with women? Because he seemed like a fucking asshole to Shane and his men.

“And you’re right,” she added, flashing her green eyes at him. “He’d been talking about her a very long time. Had men check on her. Had pictures sent. Things like that.”

Shane nervously wrung his hands together. “How long, would you say?”

“Since I’ve been here. So…two years.”

That was before Reaper had approached Dillinger about the deal. That was long before he’d even begun wiping out the factions in the city. This wasn’t a deal. This was more. This was…affection and need.

Reaper had wanted her a long while.

Question was, why?

And did Dillinger know from the start?