Chapter 10 The Grim Reaper
THE GRIM REAPER
EMERY
La petite mort. I’ve never really understood that phrase until tonight. But I feel it, with every lick, every kiss, every calculated touch, I die a little death. I see white lights. I hear white noise.
Women know how a woman wants to be pleased, needs to be pleased. And they keep killing me, so raw and tender, and entirely debilitating, completely consuming. My mind swirls with pleasure and release, and it’s so peaceful, so serene, so fucking—
“May I join you?”
Suddenly, the soft, white clouds on which I lay turn gray, conjuring thunder, the loud rumbles of imminent destruction. Death no longer tastes sweet. No. It’s bitter, riddled with poison and lies, and despite my efforts to remain adamant in my decisions, a dangerous sort of longing.
My eyes snap open, and for a second, I pray it’s an illusion, a post-death hallucination. But like all my prayers, this one isn’t answered.
With charcoal eyes colder than sin, Damon hovers above me, like the grim reaper, like a king of the afterlife. My heart races, breathing rapid as he stares down at me.
“Do not look so surprised, mami,” he rasps. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” His jaw tightens as his livid gaze floats across my exposed and glistening body. “I would ask if you’ve missed me, but it appears you’ve been keeping yourself rather busy these past few days.”
With as much dignity as I can muster, I prop myself to my feet, my three new friends scattering away as Damon shoots them a hard, commanding look.
“Why are you here?” My voice comes out so fucking weak, so pathetic. I attempt to straighten my posture, but my bones fear the confrontation, the impending fight. I fake the confidence nonetheless. “Why are you here?” Better.
His lip twitches. “Why? Are you honestly asking me that question?” He takes a purposeful step toward me, and my calves bump against the edge of the ottoman.
With a glint of pained frustration in his eyes, he whispers, “Are you afraid of me, Miss Jones?” His gaze flicks across my paling features. “Is that why you ran?”
I’m unsure how to answer his question. Am I afraid of him?
It’s so vague. So convoluted. There are many parts of him.
Parts that scare me, parts that rejuvenate me, parts that make my heart ache.
I’m not afraid of him in the way that he thinks I am.
I don’t fear for my safety, for my well-being.
I’m afraid of him like a child fears the dark. Irrational.
Before I can respond, a familiar warmth rolls in, creating a chaotic climate of battling pressure systems. And suddenly, it becomes difficult to breathe.
Shit.
“Cavanaugh,” Quin’s tone shudders my bones. He glances down at me, surveying for damage. “Are you okay?” I give him a meek nod, and then he snaps his cold gaze to Damon. “How can we help you?”
I inwardly wince. Quin’s not helping the situation. His tone, his body language; it screams superiority. Victory.
“We?” Damon's upper lip curls in a derisive sneer as he falls right into Quinton’s trap. Fucking men. "There's a 'we' now?"
A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t allow this confrontation to turn violent. Not here. Not now.
Stepping forward, I address Damon with as much authority as I conjure. “Maybe we should talk.” I briefly glance at Quin, signaling for him to stand down. “Alone.”
“I’ll be here,” Quin says, refusing to unlock from Damon’s stony glare. “In case you need help.”
I cast Quin a weak smile as Damon clenches his fist, but he doesn’t utter another word as I drag him to a scarcely lit empty corridor.
As soon as we’re out of sight, Damon slams me against the cold wall. He arches over me, one hand planted above my head, his face mere inches away from mine. My pulse quickens as his signature scent infiltrates my senses, and his power drains my own.
“Talk, Miss Jones,” he rasps, his balmy breath blowing against my cheek.
“You’re angry,” I whisper, unable to maintain eye contact. “I understand but—”
“Angry?” His hoarse tone scratches at my fickle heart.
“Oh, I am not angry, Miss Jones. Anger doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel.
” He cups my chin between his thumb and fingers, forcing me to look at him, to see what I’ve done, to see how I’ve made him feel.
“You left, Emery.” He can no longer control the emotion in his voice. “You left with him.”
I swallow, guilt rushing through my veins. But only for a moment. Only until I remember, until the temporary fog fades just long enough for me to recall my reasons. I push him off me.
“And you lied to me.”
“Lied?”
"Yes, you fucking lied.” My voice quivers with anger and betrayal, my heart racing, my chest tightening with each passing second. The words tumble out, tainted with pent-up frustration and hurt. “You've been lying to me the whole time."
Damon looks around us as if searching for an escape exit. "What are you—"
"I asked you, Damon," I continue, my voice shaking even more. "I asked if you had any fucking secrets, and you said no. You said—"
"What are you talking about?"
“VenCore.”
The truth hangs between us like an atomic bomb, and Damon's face pales.
"Emery—"
His hesitation irks me to the very core, and I take a step closer to him, my tone dropping to a low, cutting whisper.
"How stupid do you think I am, Damon? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out? Did you honestly think you could hide something so big from me? Not only as...whatever we are to each other but as your CFO?”
The walls seems to close in on us, the air growing thicker and thicker. Damon's gaze remains locked on mine, his anger fading into desperation. He reaches out to touch me, but then hesitates.
"I was afraid," he finally admits, his voice softer, laced with regret. "I was scared if you found out what I did… The type of person I was… I’d lose you.”
In the back of my mind, a whisper reminds me that I wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t cause that accident.
But I push it back. I silence it. In reality, I’m a hypocrite.
I’m lying to him right now. He doesn’t know the whole truth.
He doesn’t know that he saved my life by taking another.
I’m just as corrupt as he is, bound by secrets and darkness.
It’s all too complicated, too complex. In no universe would we ever work. Our past will always dictate our present. We’d always carry our history with us. And it’s a burden that’s far too heavy to carry into the future, whatever that future was meant to be.
I’ve been silent for too long. Big mistake. He sees it. He sees the crack in my shield. And like a tornado, he pummels through it.
“As for what we are, Miss Jones?”
His bravado returns, interpreting my introspection for hesitation. He glides his tongue across his bottom lip, his obsidian eyes damn near burning my skin as his gaze dances across my body. I’m naked before him. Not in flesh but in soul.
“You know exactly what we are.” Contempt grips his features. “And if you think that Quinton can replace me…” He stalks toward me. “Make you feel the way I do…”
We’re back where we started. His hand snakes around the base of my throat, the pressure just the way I like it.
He dips his head, lips growling against my ear. “You’re only fooling yourself, Miss Jones.”
I gasp, catching my breath as my insides twist and turn. “He’s not a replacement.”
“No?” His expert grip tightens, my airways at his mercy.
“Did you fuck him, Miss Jones?” His teeth nip at my earlobe, and I whimper from the sensation.
His gravely, villainous tone pricks me. “Did he stroke your hair while he was inside you? Did he call you beautiful? Gorgeous? Did he whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Did he touch you like you were a fragile little flower?” I swallow as he spills a devious laugh.
“We both know you’re not fragile, Miss Jones.
” He pulls away from me, his livid black eyes unwavering. “Did you fuck him?”
He doesn’t think I’m fragile, but what if I am? What if I’m weaker than he thinks?
Quin… He’s soft. He’s gentle. His touch is honest and vulnerable and stable—a safe harbor, a haven for my wickedness.
There is nothing stable about Damon. He’s a storm.
But so am I.
“Yes.”
And then, just like that, I’m in the eye of the storm.
Helpless.
Lurching forward, Damon’s lips devour mine, a kiss so raw and pained and historic that it would be studied for centuries to come.
Our mouths collide like a shipwreck in the night, under the stars, so beautiful yet so fucking deadly.
I give in to the beauty, the familiar ache of parallel pasts, but then he pulls away, his breath rapid and hot against my ear.
“You broke my fucking heart, Emery,” he rasps. “And now I’m going to break yours.” Breathlessly, I stare at him as he pulls away and takes a couple of steps back. His jaw clenches. “I hope you’re ready for the next seven days, Miss Jones. I’m going to show you exactly what you’ll be missing.”
I stare at him in complete confusion. What is he doing? What does that even mean?
“I don’t—”
He cocks his head, and I can’t decipher the cunning smirk he’s sporting. “Aren’t you curious how I found you?” He releases a clipped laugh. “I’ll see you back at the resort, Miss Jones. Tell Sophie I say thanks for the invite.”
My mouth gapes open with disbelief as he turns around and disappears down the hall toward the party. I damn near jog after him, needing an explanation, needing more details.
But it’s too late.
His plan is already in motion.
As the musky, hot air hits me, I find him across the room, staring down at a gorgeous brunette. He says something. One word. That’s all it takes and she’s on her knees, my own shaking. But with what? Fear? Jealousy?
He grabs the base of her slicked-back ponytail and surges inside her mouth, his treacherous gaze finding mine, and then he smiles. A fluttering rage burns inside me, my hands hot and sweating at the vulgar sight of his revenge. But then a voice floats into my ear, and I’m immediately extinguished.
“Emery.” I crane my neck to find Quin hovering beside me, his features tense. “Is everything all right?”
“No. It’s not.” Swallowing, I turn away from Damon and look up at Quinton. “He’s staying at the resort. Apparently, your sister invited him.”
Quin’s lip twitches at the information. “Is that so?” He shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m so sorry, darling. I didn’t think she—”
I hold up a surrendering hand. “It’s fine. I just…” I look down at my body, and even though I’ve been naked all evening, at this moment, I’ve never felt more exposed. “I think I want to leave. Can we leave?”
Quinton tilts his head, recognizing the defeat swimming in my features. He cups my cheek, stroking my hairline as he whispers, “We can do whatever you want, darling.”
Quin’s touch acts like a momentary magnet, keeping my eyes forward, refusing to let me look back. But it doesn’t last long. As we leave, I can’t help but look back into the past. And the past smirks at me, cunning and devious.
He doesn’t say it.
But I can hear it.
Let the games begin.