The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter fifty.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK?"

Reaper's fury is simmering background noise to the slamming of my own heart. Nathaniel slides off a pair of black sunglasses, pockets them, and looks around until his eyes land on me.

A corner of his mouth curls up—it is not a happy smile per say, but an almost predatory one. A lion eyeing up its next meal.

"Wren!" he calls out and, as though under a spell, I step forward.

Reaper's hand catches my wrist. "He shouldn't be here," he hisses.

I blink, breaking out of whatever reverie Nate's appearance rocketed me into and coming back to reality. I swallow thickly and nod my head. "I know, I know. I'll get rid of him." There is betrayal in Reaper's eyes. "I didn't know he was coming, I swear."

"He just happened to show up on the exact day you decided you want to go home?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, yanking my wrist from Reaper's grip. Although, I did call Nate yesterday to tell him that I was getting antsy out here. Turns out he's right; the farm life is not for me.

My head swivels to look at Nate. His eyebrows are now furrowed as he watches Reaper and I's interaction from afar.

"If my sister sees him–"

"She won't. He's leaving," I promise, trekking across the grass and to the gravel driveway where Nate is standing. "What are you doing here?" I call out to him.

He is golden in the sun, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up his forearms, his eyes glittering like obsidian jewels. "I'm here for you," he says simply.

My feet come to a stop, caught halfway between Reaper and Nate. I can't stop myself from looking over my shoulder. Reaper is already approaching, glaring at Nathaniel with every ounce of loathing I know he feels.

I suffocate beneath it, beneath the rage and hatred.

"I have to go," I tell Reaper, my voice low and meant only for him. "I have to–" I can't quite finish the sentence.

The moment his eyes slide back to me as he comes to a stop, they soften. The ice melts, if only by an inch or two.

"I'll take care of Elodie for the next few weeks—you know that," Reaper says. My feet scoot backwards but he reaches for my hand. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and the pleading look in his eyes nearly kills me. "But...you could stay." His voice is hoarse, and he tries to clear it but can't.

I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, my ribs pried open by greedy hands, a broken and bloody mess left behind.

When I needed someone, Reaper was there. When I was alone and hopeless, he was there. I will always be grateful for everything he's done for me.

But...

My head turns, and my eyes lock onto Nathaniel's as he waits patiently.

The truth—the one I have shied away and hid from—is that the choice isn't between Reaper and Nathaniel, and I don't think it ever was. The choice is between who I think I should be and who I truly am.

A life with Reaper is easy to imagine: I would be loved and comfortable, Elodie would be cared for. We would live on this farm, content with the easy routine of each passing day. Some nights would be difficult, and I suspect his past trauma would come back to haunt us at some point, but he would be unwaveringly faithful, a steady figure to lean on, even if he never quite managed to open up. I would always be alright, never pushing my boundaries, never quite challenging myself, but I would be at ease in my life.