2. Mercy #2
I rummage through my bag in search of my wallet.
When I come up empty, I remove everything and search again.
And again. Shaking my bag, I pray that it’s found a hidden compartment or slipped out when I wasn’t looking.
I check the room, but there’s nothing other than dust and shards of glass. My wallet is missing.
“Did he…?” Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I step out into the humid air and follow the path Reaper and that man took.
I don’t hide in the shadows this time, keeping to the stone walkway as I search for them.
If he took my wallet, he’s an even bigger sack of shit than I thought.
Mugging college kids? How low can you get?
It’s not like I have any money. All that’s in there is my student ID, a picture of my parents, an old coin my grandmother gave me, and a handful of business cards for Morningstar Mortuary , our family business.
Oh, and a debit card. But my bank account balance has been pitiful since I stopped working part-time at the funeral home.
What could he possibly want with any of that?
A scraping sound catches my attention, and a man’s sharp voice cuts through the air. “Are you planning to stand there all night?” There’s a metallic clang that makes me flinch. “Hurry up. I want to go home before the sun’s out.”
“Or what, you’ll shrivel up and die?” Reaper snickers. “You could use some sun. You’re pale as shit. It’s no wonder you aren’t gettin’ any. The nerd look is fine, but you have to use it to your advantage. Would it kill you to work out with me? Anyone who lifts your shirt is gonna be?—”
“I have abs, asshole!”
“Sure ya do.”
The stranger uses his shovel to sling dirt at Reaper. “Shut the fuck up. Nobody asked you.”
The sight of grave-digging is so familiar that it’s soothing.
I’ve watched my family dig graves ever since I was born, and I’ve even helped a time or two.
We stick to traditional methods and dig with our hands in honor of the dead.
Plus, bringing heavy machinery in to dig would damage the land and the graves already set on the property.
The Morningstar method is old-fashioned, but it’s for a purpose.
I doubt these two are digging by hand for sentimentality, though.
But why would they dig at all? It’s illegal to rob graves, and it’s not like this is a secret spot in the back corner.
They could easily be caught by someone… like…
me. Shit. I need my wallet. Confronting Reaper is a stupid move, but what are my other options?
Hoping he drops it? Following him home and digging through his laundry? What if he doesn’t even have it?
Sighing, I hide my bag off the walkway and move towards Reaper and his partner.
They’re working in silence now, the familiar cut of shovels digging into the earth making me feel even more at ease.
They’ve made good progress in a short time, meaning they’re either experienced or rushed for time.
As I approach them from the side, I get a perfect view of their profiles in the moonlight.
Reaper is as imposing as ever. The body paint does little to hide his muscles, and being shirtless means that I’m given a full view of his back.
Stripes of naked skin and smeared paint reveal toned shoulders as he throws topsoil into a growing pile.
He’s focused on his task, hardly looking where he’s throwing.
His partner, however, wears a scowl as he digs.
The gloves on his hands are skin-tight, but so are the rest of his clothes.
A black tank top rides up his abdomen as he cuts the shovel into the earth, and the tears in his skinny jeans threaten to rip wide open.
He’s more meticulous about digging, prepping the sides of the hole while Reaper sticks to the middle to deepen the space.
I walk up to the tombstone overlooking the plot.
Horror quickly washes over me as I realize which section of the cemetery we’re in.
None of these plots are vacant. These men aren’t digging a new grave for some fun Halloween prank.
They’re disturbing an old one in some kind of sick joke.
“Hey, assholes,” I call out, unable to stop myself. “You’re disturbing the dead.”
Both of their heads snap up at the sound of my voice, and Reaper’s lips curve into a wicked grin.
Ignoring him, I head for the other guy, determined to pry the shovel from his uncaring hands.
How could they disturb someone’s resting place like this?
Do they not care at all? What about the families?—
My foot catches on something, and I pitch forward, screeching as I tumble into the dirt.
I hit the mound looming outside the grave and slip in the loose dirt, falling unceremoniously fast and hard onto the open earth.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and my vision blurs.
But before I can react, someone grabs me under my arms and lifts me up, setting me back on my feet only to shove me against a dirt wall.
The hole didn’t look that deep, but apparently my depth-perception needs some work. We’re at least three feet under.
While I’m still searching for my next breath, a hand clamps over my mouth.
The damp scent of earth and decay fills my nose and tickles my lips.
Luckily for me, I’m used to a little grave dirt.
I glare at Reaper as his gaze settles on my face, the sparkle of amusement in his eyes making me even grumpier.
He crowds me against the wall, giving me no room to move.
“A lost cat?” His eyes flick up to the top of my head like he’s looking for cat ears. “I don’t know you, little kitten, but I’m sure I can make you purr?—”
The other man scoffs loudly. “Do you have to come on to every single fucking person on the planet?”
Reaper tosses a sidelong glance at his partner. “I haven’t come on to you, ” he retorts, smirking. “You finally gettin’ jealous?”
Ignoring Reaper’s remark, his partner drops his shovel and comes to stand beside him. “She’s a liability,” he says simply, turning his nose up. “You shouldn’t have taken her fucking wallet.”
Reaper’s eyes widen. “Siren?” He brushes hair from my face and smears a line of dirt across my cheek. “So she’s not a lost kitty cat.”
“She’s definitely lost,” Skinny Jeans huffs, frowning even deeper than earlier.
He reaches into Reaper’s pocket and pulls out a familiar trifold wallet with tiny crescent moons patterned along the sides.
“This yours?” He taps the corner against my bicep before unfolding it and reading my ID.
“Mercy Morningstar. Your parents must hate you to name you after the devil.” Flipping through the wallet’s contents, he holds up my parents’ photograph beside my face and looks between the three of us.
“You look like her. Is this your mother?”
I can’t answer because Reaper’s hand is still over my mouth, but resentment simmers in my blood as Skinny Jeans casually handles my belongings.
That’s one of the only photos I have of my parents, and he just—my eyes widen as he slips the photo into his back pocket.
I jerk against Reaper’s hold while Skinny Jeans reads one of my family’s business cards next.
“Morningstar Mortuary,” he notates, flicking the edge of the card.
“Maybe she’s not so lost, after all. Maybe she feels right at home here in the dirt.
” He puts the card into his pocket alongside the photograph and returns the wallet to Reaper’s cargo pants.
Sighing, he runs a hand through his unruly dark hair, pulling his bangs back to expose his forehead.
“I really didn’t want any trouble tonight, but curiosity killed the cat and all that.
We’ll make room for you, Kitten.” He grabs something from Reaper’s waist, but before he can make another move, Reaper’s hand snaps out and grabs his wrist.
As they glare at each other, I catch a flash of silver in the moonlight. A sharp-tipped knife, serrated on one side, glints in Skinny Jeans’ hand.
Adrenaline kicks into overdrive, and so do I.
Lifting my leg, I slam my knee into Reaper’s crotch and pry myself free from his grasp, dropping to the ground to avoid another grab.
I dart for an abandoned shovel and grip it tight, spinning around to whack whoever I can.
The metal clangs as it hits someone, and Skinny Jeans suddenly shouts expletives.
“ Fuck! ” Gritting his teeth, he lunges for me. “Grab her!”
But instead of grabbing me, Reaper knocks the knife from his partner’s hand and slams him into the dirt wall.
“What are you doing? ” Skinny Jeans snaps, fuming. “Get off of me!”
Reaper’s voice, cold and detached, sends shivers down my spine. “No.”
“No?” Skinny Jeans sneers. “What, you need to nut one more time? Fine, go ahead, fuck her. Then we’ll kill her.”
Alarm bells ring loud and clear in my head, and I hold my shovel even tighter. These men are crazy. I need to get the hell out of here.
But before I can run, screaming truths freeze me to the spot.
They know my name.
They know where my family works.
They know where to find me.
Even if I run tonight, they could come looking for me tomorrow.
“I won’t say anything,” I interrupt, trying to keep my voice steady.
I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the heavy beat of my heart.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing.
I don’t know anything. I’m not a threat.
” Wincing, I wish I could take that last part back, but it’s too late.
“Just let me go, and I’ll forget this ever happened. ”
Reaper turns his head and pins me with a cold stare. “No.”
Dread coils in my gut. My hands shake as I quickly glance at the knife on the ground. It’s too far for me to reach, and there are two men standing between it and me. I would never make it there in time, and if Reaper lets Skinny Jeans go?—