Chapter 3: The Rules of the Reapers
353 Words
Knox didn't let go of her hand.
He pulled her up from behind the bar and led her through a back door Thea hadn't noticed. A narrow hallway. Stairs. The smell of old wood and motor oil.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere he won't find you."
The room was small. A cot. A window facing the dark stretch of highway. Not a prison cell. But not freedom either.
"You'll stay here tonight," Knox said. "Tomorrow, we talk."
"We talk now." Thea pulled her hand free. "Who are you? Why did you help me?"
He turned. The dim light caught the ink on his neck—a reaper, scythe raised. "I told you. I know what it looks like."
"That's not an answer."
Silence. Then he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Three years ago, a man walked into this bar looking for someone I cared about. I didn't help her. She died."
Thea's throat tightened.
"I don't make the same mistake twice."
She didn't know what to say. Sorry felt too small. Thank you felt too early.
Knox pushed off the frame. "There are rules in Iron Reapers territory. Rule one: what's mine is protected. Rule two: what's protected doesn't run."
"I'm not yours."
"Tonight you are." His eyes locked onto hers. "Not because I want you. Because that man out there? He's still circling. And the only thing between you and him is me."
Thea wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she didn't need a protector—she needed a ghost.
But they both knew the truth.
Marcus wasn't leaving Clayridge without her.
Knox moved toward the door. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, you tell me everything. Who he is. What he wants. Why you ran."
"And if I refuse?"
He paused. Didn't turn around.
"Then you're just a girl who broke rule two. And I don't protect what runs."
The door clicked shut.
Thea stared at the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, an engine rumbled. Not Marcus. Not yet.
But soon.
And for the first time, she wondered if the monster hunting her was more dangerous than the one guarding her.
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