2. Mercy #3
“Siren,” Reaper calls out, his voice softer. “Pick up the knife.”
Skinny Jeans fights against Reaper’s hold. “You fucking idiot. She’s gonna stab you.”
“She might.” He takes a deep breath. “But if stabbing me means she’ll stick around, then so be it. Fucking stab me.”
They’re both crazy. Maybe I’m crazy. Instead of calling the cops, I carefully maneuver around the two men and pick up the knife.
It’s lightweight compared to the shovel, and I hold it out between me and the two men.
Do I really think that this little knife is enough to take them down?
Maybe, if I aim for the jugular. But do I think they could both disarm and overpower me in a split second?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
As I pick up the knife, Skinny Jeans rages against Reaper, but he’s no match for the other man’s strength.
Reaper keeps his eyes locked on me, not bothered in the slightest by his partner’s thrashing.
Moonlight filters through the clouds and gradually unveils his face.
From this distance, I can see the great detail that someone put into the skull painted over his cheekbones, lips, and eyes.
The paint contours his features perfectly, making him look like a living, breathing skeleton.
But beyond that, I can’t tell what he really looks like.
If I were shown a prison line-up tomorrow, I’d have no clue which man was him.
I stare into his eyes and try to memorize their shape and color—a startlingly beautiful shade of ice blue framed in almond-shaped eyes—then glance at his slicked-back, dirty blonde hair, mussed from the night’s events.
A lock falls over his eyes, but he pays it no mind, too preoccupied with staring right back at me.
A slow smile curves on his full lips. “You’re curious, aren’t you?”
My cheeks warm. “Curious about what?”
His gaze flicks to my lips for a split second.
“What it feels like.” When I don’t answer, he hums to himself.
“Tell you what. To appease my brother—” Reaper jabs his forearm against Skinny Jean’s throat, cutting off his airway.
“Let’s play a game. Do you like games, Siren?
” Skinny Jean’s eyes bulge as he turns his attention on me, like I’m the one to blame for his current situation.
After a few seconds, his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses into Reaper’s arms, allowing the latter to lift him out of the hole and lay him down beside the mound of dirt.
Turning back to me, he lifts an eyebrow expectantly.
“I, um…” Shit, do I like games? The cogs in my brain stutter as I try to form an answer. “I don’t know?” Flustered, I take a step back, making sure to keep the knife between us. If Reaper can knock out a friend— his own brother —there’s no telling what he’ll do to me.
It’s hard to tell what Reaper is thinking with all of that face paint obscuring his features, but I’m pretty sure he looks… sad. After a moment, he sighs. “Look, if Zane has his way, you won’t make it out of this grave alive. The only chance you have is?—”
“To play a game,” I interrupt, finishing his sentence.
His expression brightens. “Exactly. I knew you’d catch on.”
All games have rules. There’s always a winner and a loser. But there’s also a win condition. If I’m smart, I can beat Reaper and his brother Zane at their own game. And if not, I can always call the cops.
“Okay,” I say slowly, not entirely convinced. But my priority is getting the fuck out of here so that I’m not assaulted, murdered, or buried alive. Talk about a shitty Halloween. “What game?”
“Let’s call it… hide and seek. With a twist.” Reaper’s teeth glow in the moonlight. “You have one year to convince us not to kill you. If you fail, by this time next year, you’re joining Alejandro here.” He reaches outside of the grave to pat a human-sized lump wrapped inside a bedsheet.
Oh God, is that what I tripped on? A body?
I can’t help but voice my thoughts. “Are you crazy? ”
Reaper shrugs, like the question doesn’t faze him. “Hard to know, Siren. I don’t feel crazy.”
Fucking hell. I feel like the biggest idiot for leaving the house tonight.
Who knew that the most notorious fuck-boy on campus was also a psycho?
Taking a quick breath, I rack my brain for other rules for this game.
“I need a win condition,” I blurt out, trying to think of easier ways to win.
There’s no way I’ll convince crazy people to let me live if I know their secrets.
Like the fact that they’re murderers.
“You know, like, something I can accomplish that means I automatically win.” I’m pulling this out of my ass, but Reaper seems focused. He tilts his head to the side and observes me silently, like he’s contemplating what I’m saying.
“Yeah, you convince us not to kill you.”
“Something else,” I insist. “Like, uhh, like—” What do I know about Reaper?
He sleeps with students in unconventional places, like the city cemetery, and never takes them out on dates.
He’s a really good lay, but no matter how much people beg, he barely learns their names and never calls them after.
Having sex with him would be just another conquest for him. So what if—“You fall in love with me.”
He stares, unflinching, for a long moment. “You want me to fall in love with you?”
I wish I could take everything back, but there it is.
Out in the open. “I don’t want that,” I insist, grasping at straws.
“But I know your reputation. You don’t love anyone.
So if I can get you to fall in love with me, I win.
You can’t kill me. Him, too.” I nod towards Skinny Jeans.
“If either of you falls in love with me, neither of you can kill me.”
Reaper takes one step closer, then another.
The pit is small enough to fit a body, so it only takes a moment for him to close the distance between us.
Grasping my hand, he lifts the knife towards his face and pushes the sharp edge over the ridge of his brow.
As it breaks the skin, a trickle of blood trails down his cheek.
“Deal.” He brushes his lips over my cheek, and the warmth of his breath makes me shiver.
“But if you fall in love with me ,” he whispers, his voice like a scratch in my skull, “I get to kill you the moment I find out.”
Something wet and warm drips onto my cheek, sliding down the side of my face until it touches the corner of my lips.
A metallic scent fills my nose, and I swallow a gag, but Reaper’s eyes dilate the moment he realizes what’s happening.
With one hand crushing my wrist and his body suddenly pinning me to the dirt wall, he lifts his fingers to my face and smears his blood into my skin.
The knife digs deeper into his eyebrow, slicing him open and bringing more blood to the surface.
He groans as it spills down his face and drips onto his chest, onto mine , and I gasp as I feel a distinct lead pipe digging into my hip.
“Get off of me!” Shoving him as hard as I can, I manage to push him back and keep the knife. Blood drips down my palm, slicking my grip on the handle, and I take gasping breaths as Reaper stumbles back. His gaze is unfocused, eyes wide, as he stares in my direction without really seeing me.
All I can stare at is his dick.
If I thought his brother’s pants were tight, Reaper’s are suddenly tighter. There is no room for imagination. The thick outline of his cock, including the imprint of the swollen tip, sends alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.
There’s no way that monster would ever fit inside of me.
Not that it ever needs to—I can make Reaper fall in love with me without him ever fucking me. Besides, that’s not the goal. I can convince him not to kill me, and that’s fine. He doesn’t have to fall in love with me.
…but it would be satisfying as hell to put a man like Reaper in his place.
“One year,” I say firmly, wiping my bloodied palm on my thigh. The blood is sticky now that it’s drying. “I convince you not to kill me or I make one of you fall in love with me. Then I walk away unharmed. You can’t touch my family or my friends. That’s cheating. No blackmail. No bribery. No?—”
Reaper shakes his head with a small laugh. “Okay, Siren, calm down. This is between you and me. And Zane,” he adds, glancing at his brother before turning back to me. “I’ll make sure that no harm comes to your family or friends. You have my word.”
I doubt I can trust the word of a murderer, but it’s a start.
Sliding down the dirt wall opposite me, Reaper slumps, tossing his legs out in front of him the moment his butt hits the ground.
“One year,” he murmurs, staring at me as he wipes the blood from his face with his wrist. “You better get out of here before Zane wakes up. He won’t be happy when he learns about our agreement. ”
Swallowing hard, I nod. “Okay. How—how do I find you?” I can’t very well win the game if I can’t interact with the other players.
Reaper’s smile is full of charm once again, nearly knocking me off my feet. “Don’t you worry about that, beautiful. We’ll come to you.” He doesn’t help me climb out of the pit, but he doesn’t ask for the knife back either.
I’m halfway home before I realize that Skinny Jeans still has my parents’ photograph in his pocket.