Let’s see if we’re still alive after all this, and then we can talk about what comes next.
Chapter
Eighteen
GHOST
I watchthe floor number slowly increase with a growing sense of impatience building in my chest.
“This has to be the slowest elevator in the entire damn city,” I grumble.
Alessio chuckles, tilting his head back a little to join me in watching the creeping ascent.
“Nah, that’s in Salvatore’s building,” he says. “You’re just impatient.”
“Can you blame me? Taking out the Reapers is my life’s work, and it’s so damn close now I can taste it.” I absently drag my tongue along my bottom lip, actually tasting the lingering flavor of Alessio’s lips rather than the destruction of the Sleepless Reapers. Still pretty good either way.
I tap my foot and reach into my pocket to pull out a hard candy, shoving it into my mouth right as the doors finally slide open.
“Fucking finally,” I mutter, and Alessio laughs again.
The layout is similar to Alessio’s building, with Xaviaro and Sparrow’s apartment being the only one on this floor.
“You haven’t robbed them, have you?” he asks as he raises his fist to knock on their door.
“Not that I recall.” It’s hard to remember every single penthouse I’ve broken into over the past few years, but this building didn’t look particularly familiar from the outside.
“I doubt there would have been much worth stealing anyway, other than a baggie of freezer-burned fingers and some bondage ropes.”
My eyebrows go up and I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out if he’s joking about the fingers or not. I’m still not sure by the time the door swings open. Xaviaro looks just as imposing in a T-shirt and jeans as he does in his usual expensive suit. He waves us inside with a grunt and the impassive expression that seems to be a permanent fixture.
Alessio was right, the place is definitely minimalist, to say the least. There aren’t any paintings or decorations, just necessary, practical pieces of furniture in the spacious living room he leads us into.
“Where’s Sparrow? I figured he’d be waiting for us outside so we could start planning in the elevator,” Alessio jokes.
“I’m coming,” a disembodied voice shouts from down the hallway I’m assuming leads to the bedroom. “Don’t you dare start without me.”
A strange, electric feeling tingles just under the surface of my skin, and my heart starts to beat faster for some reason. I frown as I drag in a slow breath and start to bring my hand up towards my chest. I stop halfway when I realize it’s trembling. I squeeze it into a fist, release it, and squeeze again, but the slight quiver remains.
“Everything okay?” Alessio asks quietly.
“Fine,” I lie. I don’t know what else I would say. I’m not even sure what’s wrong. A panic attack? I don’t have the first clue what set it off though, other than the sound of Sparrow’s voice, and I’ll sound insane if I say that.
Xaviaro excuses himself to the kitchen to grab us some drinks, waving Alessio and me over to the couch to get comfortable. I ball my hands up again, tight enough that my leather gloves creak slightly from the tension, and take a seat on the arm of the couch. I’m too on edge to settle in. Maybe that’s all this is—too much adrenaline from knowing we’re going to make a plan to finish off the Reapers once and for all.
Alessio sits down on the couch, and I can see him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I focus on my breathing and the sweet taste of the candy coating my tongue to distract and calm myself down. By the time I hear soft footsteps coming down the hallway, I’ve managed to get my heart rate back to normal.
A petite man I’m assuming is Sparrow steps into the living room and my pulse stops completely. It can’t be. There’s no way… But somehow itis. At least I think it is. I’ve seen that face a thousand times over the past seven years. It’s different though. Not just older, which makes sense, but less soft, lacking the easy smile that’s always filled my dreams, with dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in almost as long as me. His hair is longer too, falling into his eyes as he stares right back at me, his face pale and his mouth hanging open like he’s seeing a ghost.
I hear the vague, distant sound of Alessio’s voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying over the thundering rush of blood in my ears now that my heart has managed to restart and is beating twice as fast as usual to make up for the brief interruption. My whole body is numb, but I manage to stand up anyway, and that seems to snap Sparrow out of his trance.
“No way,” he murmurs. “No fucking way.”
He’s moving and so am I, practically sprinting to close the space between us. We crash into each other halfway, our arms going around each other in a tight hug. I fist the back of his T-shirt, and he lets out a throaty sob, pressing his face into my shoulder.
Part of me always thought that if I did ever find the nameless man I can’t stop dreaming about, it would unlock all the memories I lost the night I died, but I’m as blank as ever. Even if my brain doesn’t remember, my body seems to. Nothing about his touch makes my skin crawl. It feels safe in a way I didn’t know I’d ever felt. It feels like a home I still can’t remember.
“You’re dead,” he rasps, holding in another sob as he pulls back and brings his hands up to touch my face like he’s expecting to find that it’s a mask or an illusion.