Chapter 22
“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
—ERNEST HEMINGWAY
I quickly learned that even in the instances that I did need to go to work, Reaver was always there to pick me up and drive me back home. Every shift that week was with Reaver, and I was pretty sure he had forced Rafael to manipulate our schedules to ensure we worked together every night.
Each shift, I kept waiting for the doors to open and the uniforms to make another appearance, especially since John’s death. If I was a person of interest before, I was certain I would be an official suspect soon. Every time a guest walked in, I would jump, and my heart would stop in my chest. Reaver almost always noticed and would chuckle softly, assuring me quietly that he would handle it if the cops came back. He wasn’t as much of an asshole as he had been when I first met him, but his good mood seemed to be completely conditional on whether or not I did everything he asked. It was fucked up, controlling, and somehow also super fucking hot.
It didn’t help that my demon hadn’t returned all week to finish what he had started. I spent the next five nights lying in bed waiting, hoping, praying that he would return and relieve the relentless need that sat low in my hips, but he never did. Every time I took a shower, the temptation to touch myself was so great that I found myself needing to clench my hands into fists to keep my fingers from wandering.
Reaver just added to the madness. He was constantly teasing me with little touches or featherlight breaths in my ear. He would constantly have his fingers in my hair or find ways to press up against me while we were working, though he never followed through with anything. He always left me thinking he was going to kiss me, or he would allow his hands to wander just outside the erogenous zones I was silently begging him to touch. It was like he knew exactly where the line was and was playing fucking jump rope with it. I wondered if that was why Death hadn’t taken him yet. He toed the line but never crossed it.
To make matters worse, Rafael had been in a frenzy. Our quarterly review with Eloah was fast approaching, and he had Reaver and I do a bar scrape on a slow Wednesday night. I spent hours on my hands and knees, scrubbing every surface of the bar, imagining what it would feel like if Reaver fucked me from behind the whole time.
I was disgusted with myself. Who fantasized about the man who was blackmailing them? What was happening to me? I had never exactly been mentally stable, but I felt like I was completely unraveling.
By the time Friday night rolled around, I was an absolute wreck. I did my best to cover up my emotional state with makeup and a blowout, but I didn’t think it would be enough.
Reaver arrived to pick me up, and the corner of his mouth lifted as I greeted him at the door.
“Hey, deathtrap.” He smirked, his eyes sliding down my body slowly. “You look good enough to eat.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, locking the door behind me. When I turned and realized we were taking the bike, I groaned.
“The motorcycle? Again? ” I asked, and he patted the seat, smirking back at me.
“I like how jumpy and needy you get after a trip on the bike.” He grinned, and I scowled back at him. I was hanging by a fucking thread, and I think he knew it. We tiptoed around the discussion, and he never outright told me that he wanted to fuck me, but it was so painfully clear that he didn’t need to.
Too bad it could never happen. I was doomed to be this needy, turned-on mess until my demon deigned to put me out of my misery.
Reaver was technically supposed to be the opener today, but I helped him with his open since I was there anyway. Shem slinked up to the bar and popped a cherry into his mouth, giving us a sideways grin as he worked the stem between his teeth, tying it into a knot.
“Hey Lil, how’s your week been?” he asked. I hadn’t seen Shem since he sat at the bar with me the night the police had come. We had just happened to have opposite schedules .
“I’ve had better,” I deadpanned, not wanting to get into it. Shem and Reaver exchanged a look.
“Someone’s grumpy.” Shem smirked at me, and Reaver’s eyes shone with mischief.
“I think she needs to get laid.”
I felt a jolt of electricity shoot right through my clit. “Fuck you both,” I snapped as I brushed past, lifting the drop hatch on my way behind the bar. Reaver’s smirk deepened.
“Gladly, if you’re offering,” he quipped, and my heart skipped a beat in my chest. He fist-bumped Shem. “You want in on this?”
Shem burst out a laugh and wiggled his eyebrows at me, popping another maraschino cherry into his mouth.
“Sure. I haven’t been practicing tying these stems into knots as a party trick.” He winked at me, though there wasn’t the same heat in his gaze that I was getting from Reaver. Shem was a flirt with everyone and always made sex jokes. Reaver, on the other hand, had been teasing me all week and seemed to only flirt with me. He had completely flipped from how he had been when we started. He hovered around me like a satellite. He was always watching me and was always close by. It felt dangerously close to an obsession, and if I wasn’t so sexually frustrated, I would probably be a little more worried about it.
Looking at the two devastatingly handsome men who leaned against the bar before me, the last thing I should be doing was imagining what it would be like to fuck them. My clit throbbed, and wetness pooled between my thighs. I rubbed my knees together and scrunched up my nose at them in frustration.
“Enough, guys. I’m not in the mood.”
Reaver raised an eyebrow. “Well, you better get in the mood, deathtrap. We have that bachelor party buyout today, and I can tell you right now that they’re going to want to see you more than they’re going to want to see me.”
Fuck. I had forgotten about that. I groaned.
Could I catch a fucking break?
Soon, the entire bar was filled with rowdy, half-drunk men. The first round was on the groom, so we were four lines deep in the first five minutes while they all rushed to use their drink tickets. The only good thing was that because it was a buyout, we didn’t need to worry about service.
I rushed back and forth, taking drink orders and whipping up cocktails while Reaver more or less followed me around and cleaned up after me with that annoying little smirk on his face.
We had agreed that we would likely make more tips if I handled the wood, and he kept up with stock and swapped out our empties. Working with Reaver was normal and easy now. After a full week of working together, we developed our own groove, and we quickly fell into a natural cadence as the night wore on.
Much like Sam used to do, he would touch his hand to the small of my back instead of staying behind. Reaver also had a tendency to press up behind me when we both needed to fill up a pint, and the taps were next to each other. He often would rest his hand on my hip and rub his thumb gently up and down over my hip bone while he waited for his glass to fill.
I felt each touch directly in my clit. I was getting more and more hot and bothered as the night went on.
“Hey, sweet cheeks! A round of Blue Label for the boys!” A man who had been ordering round after round for several hours hollered at me. I tried not to scowl. He had taken to calling me sweet cheeks, and I didn’t think he was talking about the ones on my face.
I took a deep breath and let it go. Think about the tips, think about the tips…
I turned to find Reaver standing in front of the bottle and let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this nicer version of Reaver would reach it for me, so I wouldn’t need to hop up and down like an imbecile to try and grab it.
It was like he read my mind. An evil smile curled across his mouth, and he leaned back against the liquor display, watching me.
“Reaver, come on. Don’t be like that. Can you please reach the Blue Label for me?” I asked, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm, I think I would rather watch you try to get it,” he said, though this time, his tone was playful instead of hostile. Not having the energy to argue with him, I rolled my eyes.
“Fine. Can you at least get out of the way then? It’s behind you.”
He just smiled and shook his head. “No. I want to see you try with me here.”
I glared at him. What in the actual fuck!?
“Reaver!” I snapped, starting to get angry, but he just laughed.
“Come on, deathtrap, try for me. Maybe I’ll take pity on you and grab it if I feel like you really worked for it.”
“Come on, sweet cheeks! We’re waiting!” The disgusting asshole at the bar barked at me, and I winced as Reaver’s grin widened.
“Tick-tock, deathtrap. Your drink times are going to be all fucked up if you don’t get it soon.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. Like he cared about drink times.
“Fine,” I snapped and moved forward. He towered over me, and I tried to figure out how I was going to do this. The bottle of scotch was poking out from behind his left shoulder. He was leaning, with one leg out in front of him and the other resting on the wall beneath the liquor display .
There was no way I would be able to get to the liquor without touching him. I hoped this didn’t get him fucking killed. Surely, Death would understand that I wasn’t touching him in a friendly or romantic way. I was just doing this because he was a fucking asshole and wouldn’t move out of my way .
He stared at me, waiting to see what I would do with an amused gleam in his gorgeous hazel eyes.
Fuck it; it was his funeral.
I stepped forward, straddling his leg and reaching up over his left shoulder for the bottle. I squeaked when he dropped his hands to my hips and pulled me more firmly against him.
Because I was wearing my Voodoo skirt, the only thing that separated me from his leg was the thin layer of cotton that made up the front of my thong. I should have fucking worn shorts underneath, but I had been trying to minimize the amount of fabric that rubbed against me when I walked. Clearly, that had been a mistake.
My breath caught in my chest as my clit flushed with heat at the friction. His earthy scent was all around me, and I was drowning in it. He slid his hands down from my hips, and I sucked in a surprised breath as his fingers grazed the backs of my thighs, traveling an inappropriate distance up my skirt. He hesitated when his fingers brushed one of my scars, but only for a beat.
“Reaver…” I breathed, forgetting I had been reaching for the scotch. He was looking down at me, his eyes filled with a deadly heat. Without warning, he pressed me more solidly against his leg, rubbing me against him in one deliciously long, slow stroke. He smirked as my eyes fluttered, and I let out an involuntary moan.
“Did that feel good, deathtrap?” he whispered into my ear. His hot breath sent shivers through my entire body, and my pussy throbbed against him.
“Sweet cheeks! Stop fucking the bartender and bring me my shots!” the man behind me yelled, but Reaver didn’t let me go. He reached back with one hand to grab the bottle, never taking his eyes off me. With his other hand, he traced one of the scars that lay directly beneath the crease of my ass.
My heart was pounding, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was lost in the endless sea of his hazel eyes, and they crinkled at the corners as he smirked down at me.
“You’re fucking soaking my leg, deathtrap. You really do need to get laid, don’t you?” he whispered into my ear, and suddenly, I snapped back to reality. I stumbled away from him.
What was I doing?
I was going to get him fucking killed. I chewed my bottom lip anxiously before snatching the bottle out of his hand. I was shaking.
I had given Sam a hug, and my demon had killed him that very night.
I had basically just humped Reaver’s damn leg !
It wasn’t even a dry hump. I was soaked and humiliated that he had noticed. Somehow, I doubted my demon would let Reaver survive the rest of our shift.
Reaver cocked his head to the side, looking amused. He stalked toward me, leaning down so our noses were nearly touching.
“If you ever need someone to scratch that itch, little deathtrap, you have my number,” he purred before putting a cigarette to his lips and nodding to the raging asshole at the bar.
“Go serve our guests.” He patted me on the head and left, the scent of frankincense and sandalwood wafting behind him like a fleeting memory.