11. Reaper #2
“If not romance, what do you have in mind?”
“Something scary.”
I can’t stop the smile that crosses my face as I look at the enthusiasm of hers. It’s the first time since she’s been here that she’s genuinely smiled, excitement filling her beautiful brown eyes. I like it a lot. I probably like it a little too much.
I clear my throat, pulling my gaze away from her, and flip through the channels until I land on one of my favorite movies. You can’t go wrong with a fiery end to humanity and brain eating zombies.
I glance at her, and a small smile ghosts over her face as she sips on her white wine watching the movie. This is probably the most normal day she’s had in a while. It sure as hell is the most normal one I’ve had in a long time.
Most of my attention is on the television, but I occasionally check on her to see if she’s enjoying herself.
We both sit in silence and watch the movie.
She jumps and squeezes her eyes shut during the scary bits, which makes me laugh and earns me a glare.
At other times she argues at the television because she thinks the person does something stupid.
She must be enjoying the show—she hasn’t asked me to change the channel yet.
When her glass of wine and mine gets too low, I make sure to top it off. We both need to relax and enjoy the moment. We’re both going to be plastered after this and right not I don’t care, and I don’t think she does either.
Not even an hour into the movie her breathing becomes heavy.
I glance over at her and she’s fast asleep.
I can’t help but admire her beauty and how peaceful she looks.
Very different from the looks I’ve witnessed these past few days.
I know she’s worried, and annoyed that I’ve been intentionally keeping her in the dark about everything.
The Petrovs are out for blood. They’re looking for her. They’ve issued a no kill order, which means the Pakhan wants to have a little fun with her before he finishes the job. She doesn’t need the dirty details. She’s been through enough.
I sit my glass on the table, turn off the television, then drop the remote on the table beside the empty bottle of wine. Grabbing her empty glass from her hand I sit it on the table beside mine. I’ll get it in the morning.
“You can’t let her sleep here, Logan,” I mumble to myself, debating whether I should leave Paris on the couch, wake her up, or carry her to her room.
Even though I’m slightly buzzed, which might make the trip a little unstable if I carry her, I don’t want to wake her. Even though she hasn’t had a nightmare for a few nights, she’s been having trouble sleeping. And she looks so peaceful right now.
Ignoring my reservations, I lift her from the couch and like it’s second nature to her, she wraps her arms around my neck, snuggling closer to me.
“You smell so good,” she mumbles in her sleep, her lips grazing the side of my neck. “Not like him. Why couldn’t I have met you first? I’m not good enough for you. He ruined me.”
I pause, the echo of her words ring in my ears as I replay them in my mind. Little does she know I’m the one that’s not good enough for her.
I try my best to squash the anger mixed with desire swirling its way through me. Although it’s been a while since a woman has made me want to fuck her not just for a release, now is not the time. She’s been through too much.
Can I be the good guy she needs?
Her citrus and jasmine scent, the way her body feels in my embrace both have me questioning my morality at this moment. Can I be the good guy when all I want to do is spread her open and lick her from the crack of her ass to her luscious cunt?
“Fuck,” I mutter, resuming my walk to her temporary bedroom. “Now you choose this time to give a fuck.”
I don’t do relationships or entanglements with women anymore. Now that I feel something for another woman other than the need to fuck them, I can’t have her because of her past. She has to be traumatized by what happened to her. She doesn’t need me chasing after her too.
When I reach her room, and step inside, immediately her scent assaults me. I want so bad to relish it but that’s dangerous territory for me. She’s funny, she’s beautiful, and she’s caring. I can easily get addicted to someone like Paris.
I gently lay her on the bed. However, I can’t leave.
My feet are rooted in place as I look at the woman who many think is weak.
Even she believes that’s true. I can tell in her mannerisms and some of the things she says.
But she has survived Nikita Petrov. Not only did she survive it, she’s also done what nobody has been able to do until now.
Get close enough to almost take him out.
According to the word on the street, Nikita’s attack had been so brutal he’s lucky to still be clinging to life.
She stabbed him so many times in the stomach, when they found him, he had lost so much blood it took a number of blood transfusions to even keep him alive.
More than ten stab wounds. When I heard the damage she caused, pride was all I could feel.
I’m proud of her doing what she had to do to get away from him.
And he deserves every fucking minute of the pain he’s going through and will go through until he takes his last breath.
With a groan, she turns onto her side, facing me. With her eyes still shut, I know that’s my clue to leave.
A wave of longing washes over me, and I shake my head. I’m at a loss for words. I’m experiencing intense feelings of protectiveness, desire, and control, along with these images of her playing in my head—why is this happening now? She’s no one to me.
I can’t stay here, so I force myself to move.
“Logan.”
I stop in my tracks, my head dropping as I anticipate her next words—words I know I won’t be able to refuse.
The familiar tightness forms in my chest whenever she speaks to me.
In her voice I hear her desire, and I want her just as much as she wants me.
I’ll give her whatever she asks for even if it isn’t in her best interests.
She stares at me when she believes I’m not looking. I don’t know what she’s thinking when she gets lost in her head whenever she looks at my body, but I know it goes beyond desire because she gets this small crease between her eyes like she’s confused.
“Yeah,” I say without turning around.
“Can you stay with me, please?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”
I push out the words even though it’s hard to form the sentence. I want to stay with her and hold her in my arms. But I know where it will lead. I won’t be able to control myself and we both have been drinking.
“I just want you to hold me until I fall asleep.” She sounds so sad it makes me want to give her all the comfort she needs.
“When I shut my eyes, I’m happy because I’m living my life without him anywhere near me.
Then it changes.” She releases a deep shuddering breath.
“Everything gets dark. Nikita is there but I can’t see him.
His voice is taunting me in the darkness.
Then out of nowhere he grips my neck and squeezes as his deep laugh echoes inside my head.
And nothing I do gets him off of me, then he… ”
I face her. A tear traces a glistening path down her cheek.
“He can’t do anything else to harm you, Paris.” I interrupt her, sensing the direction of her nightmare. I don’t need to hear the details, nor does she need to relive that trauma because she does every time she goes to sleep. “I won’t let him get anywhere near you again. I promise.”
She wipes away the tears flowing freely down her face and the heartbreak on it is soul crushing.
“You can’t make a promise like that. You and I both know anything can happen.
But I know you’ll do everything you can to stop it.
But in here,” she taps her temple, “he’ll never be gone even if you can protect me in the physical. In here he will never leave.”
“It’ll get better, Paris. We all have demons we have to fight. Your fight is just starting.”
“And how long have you been fighting your demons, Logan?”
“Longer than I would like to,” I say just settling for half the truth because I’ll be fighting mine until the day I die.
“And has it got better.”
“No, not really.”
“I guess we have that in common.” A deep sigh escapes her lips, heavy with unspoken emotion. “Please, Logan. I don’t want to be alone.”
The terror in her eyes I want to crush because she has nothing to fear anymore except what’s happening in her mind. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s safe.
“Just until you go to sleep.”
She nods, with a small smile on her face, and slides over, giving me room on the side of the bed closest to the door. I pull the covers back, then slide into the bed beside her.
I haven’t slept in the bed with a woman since I lost Blake. Even the whores I fuck at the clubhouse know when we’re done, there’s no hanging around for them or me. However, no matter how long it’s been, I’m not nervous, and I don’t feel like I’m intruding on her space.
She cuddles up to me, lays her head on my chest, so I wrap my arm around her, pulling her even closer. She perfectly fits in my arms and shock moves through me at how natural this seems. She feels right in my embrace like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I don’t quite know how to feel about it.
“What do your tattoos mean? The birds and tulips,” she asks, her warm breath brushing against my chest as her fingers trace the large tattoo the rises from my hip, up my ribs, then across my back.
When I took my first life, I needed a way to remember the event.
Sounds psychotic like I’m collecting trophies, but that’s not it.
I don’t ever want to forget the souls I’ve taken from this Earth.
So, the ravens are permanently inked on my skin, so I never forget the monster I am.
Each raven is a way for me to remember the damage I’ve done to humanity as a person.
It doesn’t matter the reason I take a person’s life, it just matters that I did and did it without regret.
The tulips are a way to remember the love of my life. A permanent memorial to the person who will always be with me. The person who’s the better half of me. They both represent the very best and the very worst of the person I am.
Good and evil.
“Are you sure you really want to know that answer?”
“Yes, if you’re willing to share it with me,” she whispers.
Maybe she really does want to hear about the person she’s trusted her life to, but I don’t think it’s the right time to open up about who I am or what I’ve been through.
“Let’s keep that conversation for another day, then.”
After a moment of silence, she releases a breath, and I brace myself for another question I know I’m not going to want to answer.
“Who is she?”
I sigh because this is a conversation I’m not ready to have with anyone, especially a stranger. What me and Blake shared is ours, and I want to keep it that way. However, I will share only what I feel is appropriate.
“Who was she?” I say, correcting her. “And she was my everything.”
I can hear the heartbreak and the pain in my own voice. The vivid memories of that day feel as fresh as if they happened only yesterday.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispers.
I sigh again, tightening my embrace. “Go to sleep, Paris.”