27. Mercy
Mercy
The next few minutes are a blur of girls laughing and cheering as they tear my dress off in the hallway bathroom.
While one girl unzips the back, another unbuttons the front.
Then someone gets impatient and grabs the top collar and riiiips it off my arm while a fourth girl breaks the buckles on the straps over my ankles.
I try to fight them off, but they come at me from all sides, ruining my dress in the span of thirty seconds and leaving me in my underwear.
“Have fun!” One of them cheers, genuinely looking pleased with herself.
They open the bathroom door and shove me back into the hallway, where I collide with a wall of warm muscle.
I scream, but all he does is pick me up and toss me over his shoulder, grabbing my ass as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
We bounce down the staircase to a chorus of insults.
Dirty slut!
You’re about to get that cherry popped!
What a whore!
Meanwhile, the monster carrying me down the stairs is greeted with enthusiasm.
Fuck her up, Reaper!
Tear that virgin pussy!
Get her nice and wet for the rest of us, killer!
Tears streak down my face, blurring the crowd. I ball my hands into fists and beat the ever-loving hell out of Kane’s backside, but he barely flinches no matter how many times I strike. “Stop it! I don’t want this!”
I’ve known of Reaper’s reputation for years, but I’ve never witnessed the main event.
Parties, sports matches, club activities after dark, wherever the Reaper appears, someone gets fucked.
I used to think that it was a metaphor—maybe he’s a boxer—but then I heard rumors about his massive cock and realized that no, people literally get fucked.
But Kane wouldn’t do that to me. Not in public. Not here.
Not with Sam standing directly over our heads.
“Kane!” I twist my body and grab his hair, pulling as hard as I can.
He yelps. “Fucking bitch! You asked for this!”
What?
Someone throws a drink in my face, and I’m blinded, the alcohol burning my eyes. I can’t stop the sob that escapes my lips, and my next plea isn’t for Kane. It’s for my best friend. “Sam!” I scream, kicking and clawing. “ Help! ”
But Sam doesn’t appear on the stairs. He doesn’t jump through one of the open windows or fall from a hole in the ceiling. My protector is nowhere to be found, and I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.
I told him that I loved him, but he wasn’t enough for me.
I also wanted Kane.
Maybe this is the price for being greedy. Normal girls don’t keep two men—they sleep with one and marry the other. Isn’t that how the game goes? Fuck, Marry, Kill?
If I’m fucking Reaper, I’ll still get to marry Sam because he’ll let me break his heart, and when Zane comes after me for losing the game, he’ll kill me before I could ever kill him.
Except, that’s a game of pretend. Only one of those is coming true. Sam isn’t here to save me, and Zane is nowhere to be found. It’s just me and Reaper, in the end. Exactly how it was the night we first met in the mausoleum.
As I desperately wipe the alcohol from my stinging eyes, we move to the center of the living room, the floor now clear to make way for our arrival.
Reaper spin around to show off his prize, giving me enough leverage to find an escape route.
But as soon as my gaze lands on a flimsy pop up table in the center of the room, suddenly cleared of beer pong, my heart sinks.
Streaks of warm beer and spilled punch glaze its surface, bouncing all around me as I’m thrown onto my back on the table.
I kick as hard as I can, slamming my heel into Reaper’s jaw.
A flash of anger in his dark eyes makes me heart race. He’s going to be rough on purpose.
I scan his body for weak points, scrambling to think of any self-defense I’ve learned over the years, but all I notice is the shitty paint job.
Concrete gray body paint covers his torso and arms. It’s devoid of any markings—not even the usual skeleton—and slapped on haphazardly, like he was in a hurry and didn’t care about the finished product.
His cruel eyes rake down my body, and his brunette hair falls over his forehead.
An artist would never slap paint on like this.
“You’re not Kane,” I realize, feeling so incredibly stupid. This isn’t the Reaper. It’s a cheap imitation.
A girl straddling a shirtless man’s shoulders pumps her fist in the air. She’s familiar somehow, but that doesn’t matter when she’s yelling for Reaper to “Fuck The Dead Girl!” The chant picks up speed until that’s all I can hear. My own heartbeat goes deaf in my ears.
Maybe I really am dead.
A silent tear tracks down my cheek as “Reaper” pulls his pants down to reveal a lackluster cock.
He strokes it, trying to make it bigger, and I can’t stop the laugh that bursts from my chest. You have got to be kidding me.
They should have vetted the substitute before letting him ruin Reaper’s reputation.
“ That’s your mighty weapon?” I push up onto my elbows and grin maliciously.
I could cry and scream and play the victim— or , I could fight back the only way I know how.
“I’ve seen the real Reaper’s dick, and it’s twice as big.
” Staring at his penis, I lift an eyebrow.
“Is it gonna grow any more, or is that it?”
Someone pulls my hair, yanking me flat against the table. My scalp screams. My shoulders ache. Everything hurts.
“Make her choke on it, Reaper!”
I laugh again. Louder. Maybe it’s the trauma. Maybe I’m crazy. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Tears fall freely, and I can hardly catch my breath.
I should have stayed home, surrounded by dead things. At least there, I fit in. I’ll never belong in a place like this.
Someone slaps their dick on my face, and a chorus of laughter erupts around the room. Maybe I’m laughing, too. I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m laughing anymore.
“Open up, Dead Girl,” Fake Reaper orders, hanging the back of my head over the edge of the table. I don’t know when he moved. I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s here. I’m here. Just a warm, wet hole for someone to fill.
I wish Sam was here instead.
I wish Kane were here, too.
I want it so badly that I imagine hearing his voice. “Get the fuck off my Siren!” A growl. The heavy thud of a punch. Shouting.
Commotion stirs across the room, but I’m too busy fighting off oral invasion to pay attention.
Thankfully, the girls who aren’t fleeing the room are stepping up and voicing their doubts.
One even tries to pull “Reaper” off of me, but she’s quickly thrown to the shirtless hyenas circling their prey and lost among them.
Someone shouts. Something crashes and shatters on the floor.
The dick hanging over my face disappears, and all I can do is laugh and cry and try not to throw up.
Someone crashes into my table and I fall, slamming into the hardwood and knocking the air from my lungs. My ears ring as I crawl on my hands and knees, desperate to move. Desperate to flee. I don’t know where I’m going, but it has to be better than here.
A heavy hand wraps around my ankle and yanks , dragging me across the floor. I scream and kick as I’m flipped over, coming face to face with Fake Reaper, his nose bloodied, teeth stained red, a malicious gleam in his eyes. He pulls his fist back, and I scream.
Blood splatters across my body, and something wet falls on my chest as a gunshot pierces the air.
We both stare at the hole in his fist as blood pours from the wound, covering what little remains of his hand and dripping down his wrist. I glance down at my chest and find the bloodied stump that used to be his thumb. With a shriek, I fling it off of me.
Kane kicks the bastard over, toppling him to the floor. As Fake Reaper tries to scramble away, Kane stomps on his spine, snarling. “I said , get the fuck off of her.” He cocks the gun, loading a bullet into the chamber. “She’s mine .”
A second gunshot pierces the air, then a third, and a fourth. Kane empties the magazine and stomps on the corpse’s head repeatedly. “You dumb fucker,” he growls, “piece of shit copycat!”
Anyone hiding on the second floor quickly descends the stairs and flees, a few girls crying as they cover their tits with their hands.
Shouting echoes from above, and one of the football players tumbles down the stairs, going limp as soon as he hits the bottom landing.
Kane spins around, quickly loading a second magazine and holding up his gun.
Glancing at me, some of the anger drains from his face.
“Stay there, beautiful; give me a minute to clean up.” Blood clings to his face and neck, staining his clothes.
He storms over to the stairs and yells. “Get the fuck down here!” Planting his foot on the unconscious man’s chest, he aims at his face. “Before I shoot this fucker, too!”
“Wait!” Two men appear from the upper floor, holding their hands up as they take slow, careful steps down the stairs. One’s got a busted lip and the other’s looking over his shoulder, clearly pissed off. “Get the fuck down here, Sam! This is your fault!”
The one with the split lip stares at his buddy on the floor. “Shit, man, you killed Thomas!”
“He’s still breathing.” Kane’s smile curves like the sharp tip of a knife. “For now.” He waves the gun impatiently. “C’mon, c’mon, we don’t have all day.”
Sam appears at the top of the stairs last, following the other two down. His eyes search the room until he finds me, and the color drains from his face. Most of it, anyway—he’s got a black eye and a bloody nose, torn shirt, ripped jeans. “Mercy, baby, I’m so sorry.”
The gun swings in Sam’s direction. “Don’t you fucking talk to her.”
“I wasn’t in on this, I swear!”
Kane growls. “I will kill you, Samson fucking Wright!”
“Go ahead!” Sam throws his arms out and keens like a wounded animal. “It’s what I fucking deserve!”
The men in front of Sam flinch, stopping on the stairs. “No you fucking don’t,” one of them yells. “Jesus, Sam, get a grip. She’s just a girl!”
“Don’t throw your goddamn life away!”
“Enough!” Kane shoves off of the stairwell and sighs, walking over to me in record time. Keeping the gun aimed behind him, he searches my face. “What do you want me to do, Siren?”
I feel numb inside, barely able to lift my head off the floor. I don’t know when I laid down. “Why are you asking me?” My heart stirs, but all I feel is the aching echo of its beat.
Kane’s voice softens. “Because he’s your boyfriend.” He runs a gentle hand over my hair. “And you’re the victim here. You should decide his fate.”
I don’t want to decide anyone’s fate. I want to go home.
A few seconds pass in silence before Kane sighs. “Alright, Siren. We’ll hold onto him for you until you’re ready.” When he turns back around, only Sam remains. The other men fled when the opportunity presented itself.
But not Sam.
He stands six feet away, completely ignoring Kane to stare at me. “Mercy?—”
“Don’t,” Kane snaps, holding the gun to Sam’s forehead. He snarls, using the barrel to shove Sam. A streak of red cuts across Sam’s forehead, the tip of the gun slicing through his skin. “ God , I wish I could shoot you. Do you know how many times I’ve pictured it?”
Sam speaks, but his heart isn’t in it. “I’ve thought about killing you a hundred times.”
“Bet you’re glad you didn’t, huh, Pretty Boy? Because who was here to save your girl? Sure as shit wasn’t you.”
Wincing, Sam lowers his head, blood dripping down his face. It slides between his eyes and past his nose. “You’re right.” Our gazes lock, and he drops to his knees. “I’m at your mercy, baby, but please?—”
Agony reflects in his eyes.
“Don’t go easy on me.”
Begging for Mercy part two is coming soon.