Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
W e sit on the mats, starting with stretches as usual, in the gym.
“So, you never use a gun?”
“No, I want my kills up close and personal. I want to feel the life leave their body. There’s more power behind it. More thrilling in every way.”
After watching the life leave Jason’s body, I can totally understand that.
“What happens if they have a gun?”
“They usually don’t have a chance to use it.”
“Have you ever been shot?”
“Yes. In my early days. Twice. Once in my shoulder and once in my chest. Rather unpleasant so I made it a point to not allow it again, as best as I can. I made a lot of mistakes when I first started out, almost died a couple times, but it’s all been a learning experience. A rather dangerous one, but I’m still here and clearly have made a name for myself. I do a lot of research before I make a move on a target. Being impulsive leads to mistakes and I’m not in a position where I can be making errors when lives depend on it. I also carry particular sedatives with me if needed. Most people never even see me coming. Before they realize what’s happening, it’s already too late.”
He truly is lethal.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Long enough to know you need more practice.” He shoots me a quick smirk, then stands and claps his hands. “All right, let’s get some work in. Don't hold back, give me everything you got. I can take it.”
“Well, don't go easy on me either, Reaper. Let’s do this.”
Before another word is spoken, Reaper comes at me, grabbing me by the throat and pinning me against the wall.
His hands feel warm against my skin, and I spare a glance to his green eyes as he holds me in place. I've found myself in this position with Jason more times than I can count, feeling terrified and broken. But now, as I look into Reaper's intense stare, now that it's his hands around my neck, I don't feel triggered or an ounce of fear. I feel something completely different than I've ever felt.
He furrows his brows, perhaps wondering why I haven't reacted yet. Then his hands flex and tighten around my throat. The warmth from his hands travels into me and flows down. Further and further until it reaches between my legs, surprising me.
My eyes fall to his lips and now I’m imagining what those lips would feel like pressed against mine with his hands still on me, slowly stealing my air.
Jesus .
Focus, Charlotte.
Shaking off the feeling, I break our gaze.
I grab onto his wrists, then quickly twist my body. With my right shoulder still pressed against the wall, I bring my left arm up and over his arms and swing out to the side with a closed fist. Reaper leans back, nearly missing my backfist strike, but I'm already throwing my leg up and side-kicking him straight in his stomach. Grunting, he loosens his hand enough on my neck that I'm able to push out of it. I follow up my kick with a punch to his left ribs. That one didn't seem to bother him as he latches on to my retreating arm and yanks me toward him. With a spin, he sends my back colliding with his hard chest and grabs my throat once more with one hand while his other wraps around my body pinning my arms down.
“Don't stop fighting, little savage,” he whispers into my ear.
The feel of his breath against me sends goosebumps along my skin and triggers that same feeling between my thighs.
I try squirming, but I can’t budge. I lift my leg and send the heel of my sneaker flying back into his shin, hard, three times. He reacts to the pain, lifting his leg away, and I take the opportunity to plant my foot against the wall in front of us, pushing backward. I send us stumbling back a couple steps and once again his grip on me loosens. I break free and move to run and put some distance between us when I’m roughly pushed forward. I trip over my legs and land on the floor.
I turn to face him, but before I can get back up, he’s on me, straddling my body and pinning my arms above me. Jerking and twisting, I try breaking free to no avail.
He smiles as if he’s won. And no doubt a ground game with him wouldn't end in my favor.
Reaper adjusts and leaves one hand holding my wrists as he uses his other to pull out a blade. The sharp weapon comes into view and I realize this could be all too real.
I could really end up in this position .
I could die.
This training is a matter of life and death.
“Reaper! Wait! Please!” I cry out. He pauses for a moment. “Please, stop! Oh god, please stop. I can’t… I can’t do this. Let me go! Let me up now!” I shout, tears threatening to spill.
Reaper's eyes go wide and he instantly lets me go, dropping the knife to the padded mat.
Panic crosses his face. He’s worried he really hurt me somehow. His knees on either side of me shifts, and I slowly move out from under him, sniffling and wiping at my eyes. I start to stand and that's when I swiftly snatch up the knife and bring it to his throat.
“You're dead,” I say.
His eyes slowly look up to meet mine. I smirk at him in triumph, still holding the knife firmly against his carotid artery. “You fell for that too easy, Reaper,” I tsk.
“You savage thing,” he says, voice filled with pride.
I step back and toss the knife down. He stands and stares at me with a smile.
“Very good, Charlotte. You played that well.”
“I know,” I say with hands on my hips. “Now when can we get out there and do it for real?”
Reaper chuckles. “Not quite yet. Let's practice a few more times, different scenarios, and then if I think you're truly ready, we’ll go for a real target.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I sigh. “But man, you really should have seen your face. I got you so good.” I laugh.
“Yea, one and only time. Can’t play that card again with me. So you better come up with a better strategy next time, little savage.”
“Yea, yea.”
“I’m gonna shower and I have some work to do. I’ll see you in the morning for training.”
With that, he walks out of the gym as I stare after him. Flashes of his hands around my throat come back to me. I bring my fingers up and lightly touch the phantom hands around my neck.
Get it together, Charlotte.
I head upstairs to wash up, turning on the water before peeling off my clothes. As I pass the full-length mirror, I pause, letting my eyes wander over my bare reflection. Bruises, in shades of purplish blues and greens, scatter across my arms, legs and torso—a testament to the intensity of training lately.
For the first time in my life, I don’t look at them with shame, nor do they dredge up torturous memories or weigh heavy on my heart. Instead, I smile. These bruises represent something entirely different now.
I’ve become a warrior. And I’m ready for battle.
After my shower, I head down to the living room and get comfortable on the couch. Ready for another day watching trash TV, cleaning, and talking to myself.
My phone rings with an unknown number. Could be another detective calling with more questions or updates. I let out a long, exaggerated sigh and answer on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Charlotte? This is Fredrick Doyle. Jason’s father.”
Oh god.
“Y-yes. Hi.”
“Where’s my son, Charlotte?”
Shit.
“I don't know, Mr. Doyle.”
“I know my son. Never in his life has he just gone out for a walk. You understand how it can be hard to believe the story you told of him going out for a walk and never returning, right?”
“He was under a lot of stress. He actually had started to enjoy going for walks.” I lie.
There is a long awkward pause .
“I truly hope you're not keeping anything to yourself that could help the investigation.”
“I've cooperated and told the police everything I know, Mr. Doyle. I hope they find Jason.” I internally scoff.
“Let’s hope so. Contact me with anything new you might… remember. Goodbye, Charlotte.”
“Bye.”
Well, that just unsettled me for the rest of the day.
Is Jason’s father really suspecting me of foul play? I’ve only met the man a few times. Mainly on some holidays when he always had a different woman with him. He never spoke much and had an intimidating demeanor, but I was always respectful and pleasant toward him. I had suspected he knew the type of person his son was and he seemed to be the type of man who would still be proud of him.
I don't think I'll share this phone call with Reaper. I don't want him to worry. I trust that he thoroughly took care of everything. There’s nothing to be concerned about. They have no proof of anything. I’m safe.