Page 15 of Marked to Be Mine (Erased #1)

“Here.” Reaper’s hand closed around my wrist, pulling me toward a sturdy maintenance closet barely visible in the dim light. He yanked the door open, revealing a space hardly bigger than a phone booth, crammed with cleaning supplies.

“No way we both fit in there,” I protested.

The drone’s engines intensified above us.

“We don’t have a choice.” He pushed me inside first, then squeezed in after me, pulling the door shut.

Absolute darkness enveloped us. The closet was barely large enough for the cleaning supplies, let alone two people. My back pressed against the shelving while my front pressed against Reaper. His weapon dug into my hip, his uninjured shoulder braced against the wall beside my head.

I couldn’t see, but I could feel, smell, and hear everything with heightened intensity.

Industrial cleaner and damp concrete filled my nostrils, mingling with rain on his skin and the metallic scent that seemed unique to him.

Beneath it all lingered traces of gun oil and something else—something human despite everything they’d done to erase the man he’d been.

“Your breathing,” he whispered, his mouth near my ear. “Slow it down.”

I hadn’t realized how rapidly I was gulping air until he mentioned it. I forced slower breaths, conscious of my chest rising and falling against his.

Red light suddenly cut through thin slats in the door, casting a slice of red across his face. For three excruciating seconds, the drone hovered directly outside. I held my breath. The light moved on, plunging us back into blackness.

“The injector,” I whispered, finding his arm in the darkness. “How long has it been—five minutes? Ten?” I was terrified that at any point now, it would have some effect on him. There was no way I was getting out of here on my own. Not with so many people on our trail.

“No changes,” he replied, his hand finding my wrist, thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “Whatever they put in me should have worked by now.”

“That’s worse, somehow.” My voice sounded strange, breathless. “Not knowing what it’s meant to do.”

“It may be a delayed reaction. Or it requires a secondary trigger.” His tactical analysis couldn’t hide the note of uncertainty I’d never heard from him before.

The drone returned, light filtering through the door slats again.

Our breathing had synchronized without conscious effort.

The vibration of his heartbeat felt steady and controlled against my chest while mine raced frantically.

Heat built between our bodies in the confined space, sweat mingling with rainwater.

“Will they find us?” I whispered as darkness returned.

“Eventually. They always do. But now? The door is thick, so it should shield us from the thermal imaging. And the rain messes with the cameras.”

With each pass of the drone, I caught glimpses of his face—fragments illuminated in red light. He wasn’t just calculating escape routes anymore. He was studying me with something that looked almost like confusion, as if I were a puzzle his programming couldn’t solve.

“When you look at me like that,” I whispered, “who do you see? Their target or...”

“I don’t know,” he interrupted, something raw in his voice. “That’s what terrifies me.”

The drone suddenly hovered directly outside our hiding place. Light flooded through the slats, brighter than before. A gasp escaped me before I could stop it.

Reaper’s hand instantly covered my mouth, our eyes locking in the fragmented light. Something primal passed between us—recognition of a shared fate. His hand moved from my mouth to my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip with unexpected gentleness.

I didn’t even know he was capable of something like this, and, judging by the way I could see him staring at me through the brief flashes of light that came from the outside, neither did he.

My heart thudded inside my chest. There was some comfort in knowing that I wasn’t the only one who felt… whatever this was .

I knew it was soon.

That I knew nothing about Reaper.

Hell, he didn’t know it himself.

But there was something that undoubtedly drew me closer to him.

The programming seemed to slip away, revealing something desperate and human beneath. I recognized it because I’d seen it before—in myself, in mirrors during the darkest moments of my search for Xavier. The look of someone fighting to remember who they were.

The air between us changed. The red light caught the intensity in his eyes—something calculated giving way to something raw.

I leaned forward, closing the last inch between us.

No hesitation; just desire. His mouth found mine in the darkness, desperate and hard.

I matched his intensity, my fingers digging into his hair, pulling him closer.

The taste of rain on his skin, the controlled power in his movements—it consumed rational thought.

Fear transformed into hunger, washing away boundaries that should have remained.

Despite the danger outside, for just a little while, the world seemed to slow down, and my muscles relaxed ever so slightly. And right now, that was all I could have asked for. A sudden noise outside snapped me back into reality, and a small gasp blended into our kiss.

The drone’s light abruptly moved away. We disentangled slowly, his forehead resting against mine as we caught our breath. I couldn’t even dare to look at him.

“That was just adrenaline,” I said, my voice betraying a lack of conviction. “And your programming.”

“No,” Reaper responded, his voice rough. “That wasn’t programming. That wasn’t tactical.” A pause. “That was me.”

The simple statement held more weight than any declaration. For the first time, he’d distinguished between his conditioning and himself.

I listened to the drones, suddenly aware their movement pattern had changed. “Wait—are they getting farther apart? The search pattern seems…”

“Manipulated,” Reaper finished. “Someone’s altering the search grid. Pushing them away from us.”

“You mean… someone’s helping us? Who would...”

Thunder cracked overhead—a deafening boom that shook the warehouse to its foundations. I jumped, my head smacking against Reaper’s chin in the darkness of our hideaway.

“Sorry,” I whispered, my nerves frayed beyond recognition.

His hands found my shoulders in the blackness, steadying me. “Breathe,” he murmured, his mouth close to my ear. “The thunder is a gift.”

I tried to control my trembling as another thunderclap resounded above us. “How is this a gift?”

“Rain disrupts thermal imaging. Thunder masks sound. Lightning creates false readings.” His voice remained calm, factual. “We couldn’t have planned a better cover.”

The realization spread through me like warmth. Nature had given us what technology couldn’t—a shield. The storm had come at the perfect moment, as if some cosmic force had decided we deserved a chance. And I had every intention of utilizing it.

“All we need to do is wait a little longer,” he said, his breath warm against my hair. “The drones will be recalled if the lightning intensifies.”

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me in the darkness. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.” His hand moved tentatively to my back, a gesture that seemed unpracticed. “They’ll retreat to protect their equipment.”

“And the ground teams?”

“Standard protocol would have them retreat to vehicles during electrical storms. Too much risk with the equipment they carry.”

My muscles ached from the sustained tension of our escape.

My lungs still burned from running. The adrenaline that had kept me moving was ebbing away, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

The events of the past days—the assassin in República Square, the revelation about my brother, the narrow escapes—crashed over me like the storm outside.

I leaned forward without thinking, my forehead coming to rest against his chest. His heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath my skin—so controlled compared to my own racing pulse.

For a moment, he held perfectly still, as if my gesture had short-circuited his programming. Then, in a movement that seemed to surprise us both, his arms encircled me. Not the calculated protective stance of an operative, but something almost tender .

“I’m so tired,” I admitted, the words muffled against his shirt. The strength that had carried me through interrogating a killer, fleeing through sewers, and outrunning tactical teams abandoned me in this moment of stillness.

Thunder boomed again, rattling the surrounding shelves.

I burrowed deeper into his embrace, seeking refuge not just from our pursuers but from the crushing weight of uncertainty.

From the fear that my brother might already be dead.

From the knowledge that the man holding me had been sent to kill me.

To my surprise, Reaper’s arms tightened. His chin rested atop my hair. The gesture felt protective, almost possessive. Despite him not saying a word, I felt…safe.

It was absurd—I was in a closet with a programmed killer while heavily armed operatives hunted us.

“Safe” was the last word that should apply.

And yet, pressed against him in the darkness, I felt something I hadn’t experienced since Xavier disappeared—the certainty that I wasn’t fighting alone anymore.

Rain pounded against the roof, drumming a chaotic rhythm that matched my thoughts. Lightning flashed through the slats in the door, illuminating fragments of his face—jaw tense, eyes watchful. The unrelenting vigilance of a predator.

“Why did you take that hit for me?” I whispered. “The injection.”

His arms tightened fractionally. “The same reason you didn’t run from me when you had the chance. ”

“And what reason is that?” I pressed, needing to hear him say it.

Neither of us seemed ready to name those reasons.

The storm intensified outside, rain hammering against metal like thousands of tiny fists.

I allowed my eyes to close, just for a moment, sinking into the unexpected shelter of his embrace.

His breathing remained measured, controlled, but there was something almost tender in the way his thumb traced small circles against my shoulder blade.

“We have time,” he said, his voice a low rumble I felt rather than heard. “The storm will cover us.”

“For now,” I whispered. “But when it passes?”

“Then we move.”

The rain hammered against the metal roof, nature’s fury providing perfect cover. In the darkness of our hiding place, I felt his heartbeat against my cheek—steady, controlled, inhuman.

“Your brother,” Reaper said unexpectedly, his voice so low I almost missed it beneath the storm’s rage. “What will you do if we find him and he’s like me?”

The question stole my breath. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you mean?”

His chest rose with a deeper breath. “If they’ve turned him into a weapon. If he doesn’t remember you.” A pause, weighted with something I couldn’t name. “If he tries to kill you.”

Lightning split the sky, illuminating his face through the door slats. For the first time, I saw fear in those eyes .

“He’s my brother,” I whispered. “I’d still try to save him.”

His hand stilled against my back. “Even knowing what I was sent to do to you?”

“Especially because of that.” I lifted my face to his in the darkness. “You were sent to kill me, but here you are, protecting me instead. We’ll apply the same approach to him, and hope that somehow…he’ll remember me. Remember anything. ”

His jaw tightened, muscles working beneath skin. “I don’t know why. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“You’re remembering,” I said softly. “Not memories maybe, but feelings. Instincts they couldn’t erase.”

The silence between us hummed with dangerous possibility. Thunder crashed above, rattling the shelves around us, but neither of us moved.

The mechanical whirring of the drones suddenly changed pitch. Reaper tensed, listening.

“They’re being recalled,” he murmured, pressing closer to the door slats to observe. “Lightning interference is compromising their systems.”

“So we can leave?” Hope flickered dangerously in my chest.

“Soon. Ground teams will return to base. The storm’s getting worse—they’ll assume we’ve moved on and regroup.” His eyes narrowed as he processed something I couldn’t see. “And I know somewhere they won’t follow.”

“Where?”

His mouth curved in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “Somewhere even operatives fear to tread. The favelas. I have a contact there who owes me. ”

“A favor? What kind of favor?”

“The kind that keeps you alive when everyone wants you dead.” He shifted, readying himself to move. “Do you trust me?”

Did I trust the man sent to kill me? The weapon who’d taken a bullet meant for me? The stranger whose real name I didn’t even know?

“Yes,” I said, surprising us both with my certainty. “God help me, I do.”

“Then follow me exactly,” he whispered. “And remember what you said about saving your brother—that there’s always something worth saving.” His hand found mine in the darkness, fingers interlacing with mine. “I’m starting to believe you might be right.”