Chapter 21
“You can’t just kill people because it’s convenient.”
—RILEY FLYNN, MIDNIGHT MASS
T ime seemed to stop, and my whole body went cold. I felt my eyes widen, and I couldn’t move. Shock. This was shock. Reaver was watching me carefully with that cocky, arrogant smirk on his stupid, handsome face.
He had done what?
“You… you killed him?” I breathed, unable to believe he had just admitted that.
“Yeah, after I dropped you off. I hunted him down and gutted him like the piece of shit he was,” Reaver said, his voice level and devoid of any remorse. I studied him, waiting for him to crack up and suddenly tell me he was joking. What he was telling me couldn’t be true. If it was true, he wouldn’t risk telling me , would he? My mind was racing, and my mouth opened and closed several times without making a sound. His smirk widened, and he looked at Chaos, who was watching us with a bored cat expression from the TV stand.
“Cat got your tongue?” Reaver asked, glancing back at me.
“I…” I gaped, not knowing where to begin. I moved to get off his lap, needing to put some distance between us, but he tightened his hold on my hair, forcing me to stay still.
“I didn’t say you could stand.” His tone switched from playful to authoritarian. It always unnerved me when he did that .
“Reaver… tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t actually murder that man,” I whispered.
“Oh, I murdered him, slowly too. He said he’s sorry, by the way, for hitting you.” Reaver’s eyes flashed suddenly, and his grin widened. “He promised to never do it again.”
“What… Reaver! Why would you kill him!? And why would you tell me? ” Fear clutched my heart.
There was a fucking cold-blooded killer in my apartment! What if he tried to kill me!? I panicked for a moment before remembering that it was impossible. Death had made it clear that he didn’t want me. If he wouldn’t let me kill myself, I was sure he wouldn’t let fucking Reaver do it.
“I killed him because he hit you,” Reaver said matter-of-factly, his fingers tightening in my hair, “and I told you because you were blaming yourself for his death.”
“I could report you! I could go right to the cops and tell them. What were you thinking?” I screamed, but he just chuckled.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that!” I spat back, still reeling from the fact that he had just casually admitted to brutally dismembering a man the way someone might admit to borrowing a pencil without asking.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as if my reaction was amusing to him. “I do know. You won’t tell anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?” I breathed, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Well, for starters, you’re already a person of interest in a death related to Voodoo. Pointing the finger at me, the new bartender who just started after Sam’s death is only going to make you look more suspicious. You also have a motive to frame me, considering everyone we work with knows you hate my guts, so it would really just be drawing more attention to yourself.”
My blood ran cold. He was fucking right.
“You also just wouldn’t out of principle. It’s not your style. You kissed him because you wanted him dead. You knew he was a shitty person. If I hadn’t killed him, whatever it is you do to kill people would have caught up with him eventually. How do you do it, by the way?” he asked me, his eyes shining with mischief. “Do you put something on your skin? I’m so fucking curious.”
I squirmed in his lap again, trying to pull away, but he just chuckled and pulled me closer into him.
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” I whispered.
“Try me,” his voice was just as low as mine, and he had pulled me in close enough that our noses were nearly touching. We sat like that for a long moment, and I breathed in his scent, staring into his eyes from inches away. My hands still rested on his warm shoulders. His soft, black T-shirt bunched between my fingers. I toyed with the idea of telling him. Of really telling him, but I couldn’t. There was no way of knowing what my demon would do if I told someone and they actually believed me, and right now, I had the feeling that Reaver would believe me.
Death would surely take him from me the moment he realized he was someone worth cherishing. Allowing him to become the only person in the world that I could truly confide in seemed like it was more than certainly a death sentence. One that even my demon’s new fascination wouldn’t save him from. Instead of answering him, I asked a question of my own.
“How could you kill someone in cold blood so easily? You don’t even seem upset by it.”
Suddenly, the smile on his face turned sinister, and the look in his eyes flipped from tender to deadly.
“Oh, deathtrap. You’re not the only one with a murder streak,” he murmured, inches from my lips.
My heart was beating so hard in my chest that I was sure he could hear it.
“You’re a serial killer?” I breathed. His nose brushed against mine, and his lips were so close I felt my mouth water. “How? Why?”
“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
“I can’t.” My voice was so small that I wasn’t sure he would even hear me.
“Then I guess we’ll both keep our secrets for another night.” He smiled and used the hand he had wrapped in my hair to pull me away from him. “Now, go make us some gnocchi. I’m fucking starving.”
It might seem strange, but it was easier than I thought it would be to sweep Reaver’s admission under the rug. I finished making the gnocchi and showed him how to make the butter, pumpkin, and sage sauce. We ate together and watched an episode of Bly Manor while Chaos snored his little kitty ass off between us on the couch.
I would be lying if a dirty, selfish part of me didn’t hope, the entire time, that Reaver would try to kiss me. Despite the evening’s events, my body was still feeling the effects of the endless hours of edging I had endured at the hands of my demon. I kept catching myself stealing glances at Reaver as he watched the show. I wished he could be the one to satiate the relentless fire that continued to smolder between my legs. Every move he made caused me to catch my breath. However, the entire evening passed, and he didn’t do so much as put an arm around me. In fact, he didn’t touch me again until he informed me he was leaving.
“Goodnight, deathtrap. Lock the door behind me,” he ordered softly, curling his finger under my chin as I saw him out.
I nodded wordlessly, and he gave me one of his lazy, cocky smirks. I shook my head, suddenly remembering he had paid for the groceries.
“Here, let me give you some cash for the ingredients,” I muttered, reaching into my back pocket. He barked out a laugh and shook his head.
“Consider it a reward for asking permission before leaving.”
I scowled at him, but he just chuckled.
“Also, don’t get any ideas. Tonight was cute, but you’re still mine. You’re not to leave this apartment unless I tell you to, or you need to go to work.”
With those infuriating parting words, he turned on his heel and left.