The Reaper's Savior

Chapter One - Bad Omens

(Three Years Later)

“Oh s**t – f**k – Ronan… I am so sorry. Was – did it have anything important on it?”

Ronan Quincey stared at the growing puddle of coffee blooming from beneath his Macbook and inhaled sharply, removing his gaze from the mess shortly after.

“No, Candice. Nothing too important,” he mumbled, lifting her mug up to sit upright, all of its contents slowly seeping into the device through the keyboard. “I only have all of my work documents and files on it – along with some unfinished drafts and information for a presentation due in…” he glanced at his watch. “About an hour.”

His guest looked down at the laptop, its dark screen seemingly mocking her, then up at him with a wince.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there –” she swallowed hard, reaching for the Macbook, faltering when he shook his head curtly. “Is there anything I can do? I’m so sorry –”

“Do not worry about it, Candice. I will have it sorted out soon enough. But I need to leave now – as do you. So…” he urged her to her feet and guided her out of the kitchen.

“Really, Ronan, I feel so bad. Please let me take care of the repairs,” she insisted as they walked to his front door.

It was admirable how determined she was to clean up her own mess, and in any other situation, Ronan might have entertained the notion. She was certainly more courteous than most of his past hookups, but he didn’t want anything that could grow into an extended relationship.

What they’d had last night had been a fun, one-time tango, and he had been ready to say goodbye – even before she spilled coffee over his property, rendering it useless.

Ronan supposed this was what he got for acting out of habit and offering a fling breakfast the morning after. He should have let his favors cease after the hot shower, as he had done in the past.

Habits and routines were always in place for a reason.

“I promise I will have no trouble getting it handled properly. Do not worry your pretty little head about it,” he smiled down at her, walking her onto his front porch. “I called you a cab. Get home safe, okay?”

He wouldn’t care much about her once she was out of sight, but the last thing he wanted was to come off as upset so she wouldn’t find a reason to cling to him any more than she already had.

Candice pouted but seemed to relent soon after, her pretty pink lips parting to no doubt ask when she would see him again – a question Ronan had no interest in entertaining, and he quickly spoke up first, making sure she got the message loud and clear.

“Goodbye, Candice.”

She stared at him for a moment, her cheeks turning red as she nodded quickly and turned away, muttering something under her breath about men and commitment issues, and Ronan watched her leave, relieved once she was out of his sight.

It mattered not to him how she perceived him because they would never see each other again, just as he liked.

Ronan stepped back into his house and returned to the kitchen to face the crime scene again, sighing at the mess that went beyond the spilled coffee and his broken laptop.

Discomfort sat oddly between Ronan’s ribs as his mind supplied that it was not yet 9 a.m., yet the day was already not off to a great start. If the accident involving his laptop had been the only incident, he wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, but he had awoken rather distraught earlier that morning.

With the arrival of rain in New York came an onslaught of nightmares that often lingered for hours, even after he had opened his eyes.

It was always the same every night and had manifested to the point he could recognize the onset of dread before the images of the dream had begun to take shape properly.

He was always filthy and cold, always bruised and battered, always in so much pain, writhing as the heels of boots and tightly wound-up fists met his broken flesh.

What was worse was that he was always alone in this version of events. Help never found him as it had done then, and when his attackers eventually wandered away, their attention shifting off him ultimately, the feeling of worthlessness echoed deeply in his chest, a persistent ache that would stay with him as he awoke.

He’d had that very same dream that morning, and normally, he would prefer to keep his interactions with other people to a minimum afterward. However, he had an important meeting at his company today, which he couldn’t afford to miss.

And so, despite the ominous air surrounding him, Ronan knew his only options were to dismiss the signs.

“Get it together, Quincey,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as his other hand fished around his pockets for his phone.

“You’ve never been a superstitious person anyway.”

The number he called was at the very top of his call logs, and the receiver – ever reliable – picked up after the first ring.

“Good morning, Ronan. Is everything alright? I’m supposed to see you in the office soon –”

“Don’t worry, Felix, I’m not going to bail and leave you to handle those assholes from marketing. They’d eat you for brunch.”

Ronan teased with a grin, heading upstairs to put on his shoes and grab his car keys, deciding the mess could wait until he returned home.

“How thoughtful of you, sir,” Felix remarked dryly. “In that case, what can I do for you?”

“There was an… accident that has rendered my laptop unusable for the foreseeable future. And the files for my presentation were on it.”

“I see.” Felix hummed thoughtfully. “Did you back them up?”

“Of course I did. We work at a software firm. What kind of dunce of a CEO would I be if I preached about device safety, and yet I failed to perform the most basic measures?”

“Ah. That’s good, then. I was afraid I’d have to resign on such a lovely day.”

“You threaten to resign every week, Felix,” Ronan rolled his eyes as he slipped on a pair of shoes. “At this point, I feel like I owe you a huge party for when you eventually manage to get it done. Anyway, I left my tablet in my office last night, so I just need you to log in to my cloud drive and retrieve the files needed for today’s meeting. I’ll handle the rest when I arrive.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The call ended as Ronan slipped on his jacket, and he put his phone into his pocket, making a brief stop by his bedside table to grab his keys before heading back downstairs.

Just as he was about to leave the house, something tugged at his chest as though trying to persuade him to stay.

And as much as he wanted to, he didn’t, dismissing the thought completely as he headed to his car.

***

“I think that went well,” Felix yawned, tapping rapidly against the screen of his iPad.

“I couldn’t agree more. Our latest version has passed all the beta tests, and we have managed to secure the attention of many potential investors. We just need to keep up this energy until launch day, and we’ll be fine.” Ronan sighed as he sank into his chair.

“Which is in five weeks. We’ve got this.” Felix nodded, frowning as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. “Speaking of, we need

to –”

Ronan waited for Felix to continue, but when the silence persisted, he took his eyes off his cup of coffee, surprised to find his assistant staring down at his phone with his lips pressed into a thin line.

“What?” he asked, curious.

“It’s –” Felix cleared his throat. “It’s Chris. He says your presence is wanted at the house.”

Ronan sighed and waved his hand away dismissively.

“It’s a f*****g Wednesday. They know better than to bother me in the middle of the week. Whatever petty issues require my attention can wait until tomorrow.”

Felix raised his gaze, the look in his eyes already telling Ronan all he needed to know before the assistant spoke up again.

“It’s not Chris who wants to see you. It’s Caspian. – and he says The Reaper is needed tonight.”