“I’ll tell them you said that.”
“Do that. Just wait until after someone comes asking for that box.” Tugging up the belt on his jeans, Greer gave him a nod. “Good seeing you again, and thanks for the cash. I’ll thank Viper too. Of course, I’ll have to wait—”
“Until someone comes for the box,” Reaper finished for him.
“Of course.” Greer smirked, then his expression changed as if an idea came to him. “On the other hand, I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to put this cash on a tab for you.”
“For me?” Had Greer become a patient here? The man was crazier than he was.
Greer nodded seriously. “Yep. I’m going to find you a wife.”
Reaper wanted to strangle the man. He put his hands on the table to help himself rise.
A firm hand pushed him back down.
“Ain’t no need to get up to thank me. I already have a woman in mind for you. Of course, I’ll be having to taste her cooking before I can introduce you, but if she can cook cornbread, we can get you hitched in no time. I’ll keep in touch.” The man picked up the remaining cash, then went back inside to put it back in the drawer.
“Greer?” Reaper called out before he could get out of the door.
“Yo?”
Rolling his eyes, Reaper was again tempted to strangle him, but he wanted to make sure of one thing before he left.
“Do you have my phone number?”
Greer gave him a Cheshire smile. “What’d you think? I’m a Porter, ain’t I?”
* * *
He was towel drying his hair when Peyton and Calder came into his room, looking at him as if they had never seen him before.
“You’re looking better,” Peyton said hesitantly, giving Calder a surprised glance. Calder seemed just as stunned.
“I feel better. Calder, would you mind going out again to get me something to eat?”
“I’ll call the nurse and get her to bring—”
“No, I’m in the mood for take-out.”
Calder and Peyton stared at each other before turning back to him.
“I can get you anything you want.”
“Good. There’s a steakhouse nearby; can you order me a petite sirloin? I like it medium-rare.”
Calder’s face broke into a happy smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Reaper’s stomach began hurting from the thought of the food. Swallowing hard, he forced the next words out. “Order two.”
* * *
Striding out the side door, wearing only shorts and running shoes, Reaper took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air as the wind blew the leaves on the trees. The private grounds of the treatment center were picturesque, giving the illusion of freedom while the strategically placed cameras around the grounds monitored the patients.
Raising his chin up, he let the sun hit his face, enjoying its warmth.
Starting out by walking, he placed the wireless headphone in his ear as he gradually eased his walk into a jog while listening to music. Taking deep breaths when he wanted to quit, he pushed past the limit he had set for himself the day before. Hatred motivated him onward, as he made plans for his revenge.
Hatred for Slater.
Butcher.
Ink.
Vamp.
The Count.
All names and then some that were tattooed on his soul forever like the dark tattoos inked on his skin.
Reaper started running again, this time tuning out the beat of a heart that had nothing else to lose….
Chapter Thirty-Five
Reaper glanced down at the suitcase on the bed. Neatly packing the Destructors jacket that Stud had given him and the Blue Horseman jacket that Calder had given him, he zipped the suitcase closed before setting it upright on the floor.
Reaching for the third jacket that had been in the box that Greer asked him to keep, he started for the doorway when Viper walked in his room.
“I signed the discharge order. I’m ready to leave.” He gave his brother an impatient look. Viper was supposed to have been there thirty minutes ago.
His brother let Reaper’s irritation slide off his shoulders. “I was taking care of the bill, and I had to wait and sign for the meds they want you to continue to take.” At one time, Viper would have snapped back at him instead of explaining what had taken him so long.
Taking the discharge paper, Reaper handed Viper his jacket, then opened the top of his suitcase to put the paper inside.
“It’s yours now,” Viper protested.
“It doesn’t fit.” Sickened at the memories of acts he had been forced to perform at Slate’s bidding, he didn’t deserve to touch the jacket, much less wear it on his shoulders.
Crazy Bitch and Calder had been the ones to ask for the box. Taking it out of the closet, Crazy Bitch explained that it was meant for him. Opening the box, it had contained the three jackets, each with different patches and club names on the back.
Taking a step forward, Crazy Bitch touched the one on top. “This is Stud’s. As president of the Destructors, he’s telling you they will always have your back. In the pocket is a motorcycle key. It belonged to Stud, but now it’s yours.”