Chapter Nine
Charlotte
A s more days pass, I find myself wondering what I’m going to do with my life now. For four years, my life revolved around Jason. He even made me stop working. Not because he wanted to take care of me, but because he couldn't stand that most of my coworkers at the car dealership were men.
I have some money, but certainly not enough to live off of. I’m going to need to get back to work. Get my own apartment or maybe move back in with Lily after Jason’s disappearance settles down a bit.
A door slams down the hall, startling me out of my thoughts. I quickly rise from the couch and walk over to the hallway.
Reaper comes storming into view, mad as hell .
“Is everything okay?” I nervously ask.
“Fine. I’m just grabbing something and I’ll be heading back downstairs.” He walks past me and that's when I see it. Blood seeping through his shirt around his shoulder blade.
“Oh my god, Reaper, you're bleeding. Are you all right?”
“I said I’m fine,” he snarls.
He enters another room slamming the door behind him. When he returns, he’s holding two long whips, made of what looks like human vertebrae with sharpened pointed edges of bone and metal. The handles are another human bone wrapped in leather.
Oh.
Wow. That is terrifying.
Huffing at me, he disappears down the hallway to the basement door.
I stay up for hours longer than I planned to, waiting for him.
Is he okay?
Did he bleed out and he’s never coming back up here?
I would have no way of knowing. I thought I heard some noises but I think it’s mostly soundproof and I don't know the damn code to get down there. So I sit here impatiently and nervously waiting for him.
I hear the beeps of the code being entered and the door swings open, revealing a half-naked Reaper, nothing but a white towel hanging low on his hips. I clench my jaw to prevent it from hanging open as I stare.
The closer he gets, the more details I notice. A smooth thick chest and torso are covered in tattoos. A rib cage is tattooed on his body exactly where his real ribs lie under his skin and muscles. The right side is plain black and white bones and the left, black roses with dark vines wrap around the tattooed ribs. Still wet from his shower, water droplets travel over the roses and lower, settling into the valleys of his stomach muscles .
As my gaze moves back up his body, I also take in both arms covered in bleeding black roses, vines and smokey shadows. He lifts an arm up and runs his hand through his wet hair and that's when I see a name. Cecelia is beautifully carved in ink on his inner bicep. It's small in comparison to his massive arm.
I meet his eyes and swallow as he finally notices me.
“Sorry. I… um… was worried, so I waited.”
“I told you I was fine,” he says in a flat tone.
“I know, but—”
“You wanted to be nosey.”
“No. No, that's not it. I thought something happened to you. You were bleeding. You could have bled out down there and I would have no idea because you won’t give me the code.”
“It’s just a flesh wound and you have no business being down there.”
“Why? Because it’s dangerous?”
“It can be.”
“Is that why you were bleeding?”
He lets out a long sigh like he’s annoyed at my questioning.
“Yes. Sometimes I bring my work home with me… alive. This asshole just got lucky and managed to get an arm free and swiped up a blade when I turned. He no longer has the arm. Or much of anything anymore.”
“Oh,” is all I manage to say.
“You don't need to worry about me.”
“I might not need to, but I do anyway.” The words come out direct and hard. His eyes snap to mine and he holds my stare for a moment, eyebrows scrunched together. Then he breaks our stare and begins walking away, showing me the angry red wound on his shoulder blade again.
“At least let me clean that and bandage you up. You won't be able to do it yourself. And then I'll leave you be.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, sighing.
“First aid kit? ”
“Bathroom.” He gestures toward the long hallway.
I return with the kit and find him sitting at the kitchen island. I start with dabbing some peroxide on the area with a cotton pad while my other hand rests on his large tattooed upper arm. If the wound hurts, Reaper doesn't give that away. Not even a twitch. I apply some ointment in slow gentle movements with my finger, then I secure a bandage on it.
“Ok. All set.”
He rises and starts walking away from me again. I begin to clean up when I hear, “Thank you.”
When I turn to see him, he’s already out of sight.
Reaper is confusing. Sometimes, he’s sharing chocolate milk with me or making me breakfast and then other times he’s so cold and distant. I get that his job can be tough and probably stressful, but the guy needs to loosen up a bit.