Chapter Twelve, Are You A Cunt, Reaper?
I was dying. The end was near. All I could see was darkness, and my body had turned against me. There was no escape. No saving grace in the form of a miracle. My time on this earth was done, and it was all because of the terrible beast wreaking havoc inside me.
My fucking uterus.
“Have I mentioned that I’m dying?” I groaned, sprawled out on the couch, clutching a pillow to my stomach like it would stop the cramps from eating me alive. “I think this is it. Tell Atlas that I loved him. Also, don’t let him forget to feed Malivore when he gets all sad that I’m dead.”
Gio, standing at the kitchen counter chopping garlic, glanced over with an amused look on his stupidly handsome face.
He had his sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms, and he wasn’t helping.
At all. I wanted to fuck his brains out, and smother him with a pillow, and my brain was struggling to pick which was more appealing.
“You’re not dying,” he said, throwing a chunk of garlic into the pan with a casual flick of his wrist. “And I already fed Malivore. Twice. So even if Atlas somehow forgot, I would never.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe this is it. The period that kills me.” I sat up just enough to narrow my eyes at him. “Do I look like I’m faking it? Have some sympathy, Reaper.”
“Giovanni.” He raised an eyebrow, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead as he smirked at me. “I’m sure it’s rough, but I think you’ll survive. You are strong, amore mio. I believe you will make it through this and enjoy the rest of your life.”
I threw a hand over my face dramatically. “Survival isn’t guaranteed. I could be bleeding out, and you’re just letting me die while you cook like this isn’t the apocalypse.”
He chuckled as he stirred the sauce in the pan, filling the cabin with the mouthwatering smell of garlic and basil. “I’m making Bolognese, not your funeral dinner.”
I groaned louder, kicking my feet against the arm of the couch for effect. “Bolognese isn’t going to fix this! Nothing but a cyanide pill will.”
“Maybe not, but it’ll taste good.” His tone was playful, but it was enough to make me want to throw something at him.
Too bad I was too weak from the slow death currently happening inside me.
Maybe next week I could schedule his murder in my diary.
Only if could fit it in between my super busy plans of world domination, naps and seeing if Atlas would let me choke him out for a change so I could see if I enjoyed it.
“God, you’re heartless. If I weren’t on the verge of death, I’d kick your ass for not bringing me chocolate.” I sighed and dropped my pillow, swapping its comfort for Malivore when she wandered over to me.
Smothering myself in her fluff seemed more fun than whatever else Mother Nature had decided to fuck me over with today.
Gio kept chuckling, like I was a comedian and not his worst nightmare. “There’s chocolate in the cupboard. I was saving it for dessert, but if you’re that desperate—”
I was on my feet instantly, bidding my favorite girl goodbye.
“I hate you. Do you hear me, Gio? I despise you.” I grabbed the nearest blanket, one made of bright yellow and covered in sunflowers, and pulled it over my head like I was about to crawl into a cave and hibernate.
“Just let me die in peace. I’ll haunt you from the grave and be a spooky bitch. You know you’d like that.”
“You can haunt me while I eat this Bolognese.” He was still grinning as he finished up the sauce, and I hated how smug he looked about it. “Besides, I know you’re just being dramatic. If it were really that bad, you’d have passed on by now.”
“I have passed on,” I mumbled through the blanket. Not at all walking into things or almost tripping. “I’m a ghost. I’ve already left my body.”
Before he could reply with another sarcastic comment, the door to the cabin swung open, letting in a brief gust of warm summer air and one of my favorite things in the world when I peeked out of my blanket.
“Atlas!” I squealed. “You’re home!”
He was a sight for sore eyes—blond hair falling in soft waves over his forehead, his tall, lean frame moving with a confidence that always made my heart skip a beat.
He was shirtless, and even though I was supposed to be dead, I still continued to peek out from under the blanket to admire him and his tattoos.
I kinda wanted a skeleton tattoo. Just a small one. Maybe on my hip bone so he could admire it when he was eating his dessert. It was a shame needles were devil things that hurt me too much.
“Malyshka, what’s this about you dying?” Atlas asked with a grin as he dropped his backpack and wet shirt onto the counter.
Without missing a beat, he came over and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead and hugging me tight.
“You can’t leave me, and I’m not in the mood to commit suicide.
Not after I just slipped in a puddle like an idiot.
No, I need you to kiss my bruises better. ”
“Okay, I won’t die yet.” I lifted my blanket enough to look at him, pouting. “Tell Gio off; he’s being heartless while I’m on my deathbed.”
Atlas glanced over at Gio, who was calmly stirring the sauce. “Gio, stop being heartless.”
Gio rolled his eyes but didn’t stop cooking. “She’s being dramatic. If she were really dying, she wouldn’t be talking so much. But it turns out that only dick sucking makes her quiet. Even death can’t do it.”
“Excuse me for trying to have a final conversation before I kick the bucket,” I said, trying to sound offended, but it only came out in a pitiful whine.
Atlas chuckled and pulled me over to the dining table, sitting us together and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I think you’ll survive this one, malyshka. But if you need anything, just say the word.”
I snuggled into him, soaking up his warmth. “A new body, please. One without a uterus. In fact, I would like a dick. A big one. At least a foot long so I can swing it around and get all the ladies obsessed with me.”
Atlas pressed another kiss to my head, his fingers brushing through my hair. “I could bring you a dick, but I doubt you’d enjoy the way I got it. Or how messy it would be.”
I sighed dramatically, enjoying the attention and how easily he played my games and relished in my childishness. “Fine, but if I’m going to survive, I at least deserve extra dessert.” I sighed again. “A big dessert. Made with love.”
“I think we can manage that,” he said, his lips curving into a smile against my hair. He smelled of woods and death, and it was my favorite morbid scent. “What’s Gio making anyway? It smells good.”
“Gross stuff that his gross brain thought of.” I huffed.
“Bolognese,” Gio answered before I could speak again. “And if she weren’t being so melodramatic, she’d admit that she’s going to love it.”
I groaned. “I’m only eating it, so I don’t die from starvation on top of everything else.
It’s not like I have a choice. I’m not a trad wife whose sole purpose in life is breeding and feeding.
I have way more important things to do with my time than cooking.
” It had nothing at all to do with the fact that I couldn’t cook for shit. That was just… an afterthought.
Atlas laughed softly, his hand trailing under the blanket and down my arm, and for a moment, the cramping in my stomach didn’t seem so bad.
Having him with me, with his calming presence, always made me feel better.
Plus, he’d been out for the last hour, checking on our traps in the woods, so he was nice and chilly. It made me shiver, but in a good way.
“So what’s new in the world of paranoia and conspiracies?” I asked him, trying to distract myself from the pain in my abdomen. “Any sightings of Bigfoot, or is it just boring things like people who enjoy hiking?”
He sighed, his face growing more serious as he leaned back against the chair. “Nothing. It’s all quiet. But I don’t like that. It feels… off. Something doesn’t feel right.”
I frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “You think our mortal enemy is planning something bad?”
Atlas nodded, his blue eyes scanning the room as if he could see the threats hidden in the shadows.
“Last I found, he was busy trying to figure out where we are. Even when Emilio showed the family our proof that Gio had just run away with a stripper, Giorgio didn’t buy it.
But for the last few days, he’s just been radio silent, and I don’t know what that means. ”
Gio, who had been plating up the food, grunted in disapproval.
“He didn’t care that I ran off with a stripper?
That doesn’t sound like him. He’d be wanting my head just to prove a point.
” He sighed. “I keep having nightmares that he sent some Company hitmen after us. That they found us and took Heather. That is more like what he would do.”
I threw a balled-up napkin at Gio’s head, and he ducked just in time. “I am not ‘just a stripper,’ thank you very much. I have talents beyond booty shaking, even if my booty looks great when shook.”
“You’re my favorite stripper,” he shot back before hurrying to place a plate of pasta in front of me. “See? I feed you. I do not feed everyone; only people who are mine and who are one day going to carry the De Luca name.”
“Wrong. If I get married, I’m going to change my last name to Flame. Or Cobra. Or something equally fun.” I looked down at the plate, my stomach growling despite the cramps. It did smell amazing. “But you’re forgiven for being a loser. Only because this looks incredible.”
“Good to know food is the way to your heart,” he said, flashing me a smug grin as he took his seat, after handing Atlas his food, too.
As I instantly tucked in, Atlas hesitated, still busy brooding and thinking about all the dangers in the world I couldn’t afford to think about.
If I thought about danger, then I was reminded of how much of a liability I was. And then once I thought about that, I thought of who paid the price for me being me.