Chapter Seventeen
Reaper
A s I walk into my house, I'm instantly hit with some horrendous chemical scent.
What the fuck.
I enter the kitchen and find Charlotte sitting at the island counter, bent forward, doing something with her hand.
“What in the fucking hell is that god-awful stench?”
“Oh hey, sorry. Nail polish,” Charlotte casually says.
“And you thought doing that in my kitchen was necessary? It reeks.”
“Don't be dramatic, Reaper. And this countertop is at the perfect height for me to do this, so yes, it was necessary.”
“Still debatable,” I grumble, putting away the groceries. I picked up milk, chocolate syrup, fruit, eggs, and steaks .
“Jason hated when I painted my nails black. He said I should be painting them more feminine colors. Which according to him meant pinks and reds. So, I stopped painting my nails altogether.”
When I turn back to face her, she throws out her hands toward me, wiggling her small fingers, freshly painted a glossy pitch black.
“What do you think? How do they look?” She smiles brightly.
“Um.” Black. My favorite color, painted on the nails of the one who’s becoming my favorite…
Nope. Not finishing that thought.
I clear my throat. “They look great,” I say honestly. “Matches your hair and… heart.”
“If my nails weren't still wet, I would throw something at you.”
I smirk. “Lucky me. Saved by horrendous-smelling polish.”
“I'm sure you've smelled worse in your little office downstairs.”
I start to argue, but she’s actually right. Dead bodies and the chemicals I use are certainly worse.
“I’ll let you have that,” I say. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“Oh yes, very busy. Lots to be done around here.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “No, of course I’m not busy, Reaper. Hell, I'm so bored ninety percent of the time.”
“Great. You can come with me tonight. I need to pay someone an extra special visit.”
“Sounds like a date!”
I quickly snap my eyes to hers, my chest tightening.
“What?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
“Oh relax. I’m just joking. Obviously not a real date. I can't even imagine you going on a date. I’m not sure you even know how to have fun.”
“I go on dates,” I quickly say. A little too quickly.
“Ok? When’s the last time you went on one?”
It has been a while and she is sort of right. I don't exactly date. It’s more that I go so long without a female touch that I end up craving it. But I’m not out there wining and dining females. It’s a casual hookup. One night only. Technically, not even a full night. A couple hours at most and it’s never at my place. Fuck, she’s staring at me like she sees right through my bullshit.
“Fine, I don't date. My life isn't suited for that. But I’m not some thirty-three-year-old virgin. And I do know how to have fun.”
Charlotte bursts into laughter, and I growl under my breath.
“Oh Reaper, you are so easy to get riled up.”
“You seem extra gifted at that,” I bite out.
“You just gotta loosen up sometimes, have some fun.”
“I have plenty of fun.”
“When you're breaking bones?”
“Exactly.”
Charlotte laughs and rolls her eyes. Then suddenly her expression turns more serious.
“Are you happy?”
The question catches me off guard. I break eye contact and look around the room as if I'm looking for an escape from this question. I don't know how to answer that. She’s still staring at me, waiting for my answer with soft and concerned eyes.
“I’m as happy as I can be,” I finally say.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don't know, Charlotte. That’s the only answer I have.”
Her shoulders slump slightly, and she looks away, her smile fading into something fragile.
I hate how quickly this conversation turned.
“Who’s Cecelia?”
Fuck.
“No. ”
“Come on, Reaper. Is she an ex? Someone who broke your heart? Is that why you're so cold?”
Fucking hell. Tensed, my anger rises. I don't want to lash out at her but this is not something I’m talking about.
“Charlotte…”
“I just want to get to know you better. Sometimes I feel like I’m breaking through your tough exterior and then other times you just shut me completely out. Like this.”
I shake my head.
“I can't, Charlotte. This conversation is over.” I don't give her a chance to continue. I quickly exit the room and head to my gym. A rage is building and I need something to take it out on. I don't have bones I can break right now so laying my fists into the punching bag will have to do.
Charlotte
Monsters aren't hiding under your bed. They are 6’4”, two hundred eighty pounds of muscle and lurking in the shadows, waiting to break every bone in your body.
My god, he is hauntingly magnificent.
I continue watching as Reaper effortlessly breaks bones, large and small, and positions the man in the most odious way. It's so unnatural, pure horror and beauty. I feel heat flooding through me, starting in my chest and moving down, settling between my thighs.
We didn't discuss how our conversation ended earlier. When we saw each other again hours later, we acted like nothing happened and I went along with him for this kill.
David Brooks has been a bad, bad man. A doctor who's been sexually assaulting his female patients. Even going as far as taking down the addresses of the women who were single and living alone and breaking into their homes to rape them. The police were on to him since he’s been a bit messy and an arrest was coming any day now, but Reaper wanted to beat them to it. How lucky for Dr. Brooks.
When he’s finished with his little David project, his eyes find mine and for the first time tonight he bears the look of concern.
Is he worried about what I might think of him now? If seeing him like this changes things? If I fear him? I will admit I didn't quite expect to see all this. All the effort and passion he put into something so morbid and grotesque and how he looked to be relishing in it so much. Others would scream and run away in horror, but not me. I feel something entirely different as I stare at The Bone Reaper and his victim.
Can’t he tell how much I'm enjoying watching him in his element? I love that he’s letting me see this side of him, a side no one else has seen. He’s letting me in even if he doesn't realize it, and I'm in awe of him.
Warmth still swirls between my thighs, and I can feel myself clenching, desperately wanting to latch on to something, latch on to him .
Fuck, I’m so turned on.
How can he not see how bad I’m burning for him in this extraordinary moment.
I give him a soft smile to let him know I’m okay, and his shoulders relax.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
I take one last look at Reaper's art . The disfigured body on display that once resembled Dr. Brooks now looks like something straight out of a horror film.
You won't ever hurt another woman again.