Chapter 3
Fear explodes in my chest, and I freeze instantly.
A man is hovering over me, dressed in black, his face hidden beneath a skull mask.
It’s him. La Guadana. The Grim Reaper.
He found me.
His piercing gaze burns into me. It’s like looking the Devil in the eye and hoping to find a soul, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but sins and a sense of doom.
“Don’t move,” he hisses. “Unless you want me to cut your windpipe in half.”
His voice is low and deep, his words a clear warning that makes my blood run cold. Still, something else stirs inside of me at the touch of his blade against my skin and the rasp of his voice.
My heart skips a beat, then it pounds so hard it might burst out of my rib cage, while my body remains frozen in place.
How did he find me? How did he manage to enter the church without me hearing a thing? No engine. No footsteps. No creaking door. No breaking glass. Nothing.
Then the realization hits.
He’s a ghost, just like me, working in the shadows, always feared but never to be seen. Only, I won’t survive meeting him.
“Get up.” He relaxes the pressure of the blade a fraction. “Slowly. Hands where I can see them.”
Reluctantly, I follow his instructions, all the while holding his intense stare. I take a careful breath, and his scent fills my nostrils. He smells like ice and burning wood, like sin and death combined.
Reaper’s standing too close to me, both of us trapped between two pews. It would be so damn easy for him to bend me over and take his sweet revenge. The thought sends a terrifying shock through my system, freezing me in place, but it also flares something hot deep within my core.
Hold on a second. What is happening here? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Heart pounding, I stare at him, and for a moment I swear something flickers in his eyes—as if he’s having the same thought. And the same reaction.
The air between us sizzles with tension. Fear. Anticipation. Something dark and deliciously forbidden that catches us both by surprise.
I part my lips to say something but moisten them instead. Slowly.
His eyes snap to my mouth instantly.
I almost laugh. So predictable.
Without warning, I grab my bag, smash it against his head, and take off running along the pew to the other side of the church, slipping the bag’s strap over my head so I won’t lose it.
He swears behind me in Spanish.
I make a sharp turn, leaping over a pew and racing toward the altar. There must be a door back here somewhere, right? There must be another exit . . .
Heavy footsteps pound after me, getting closer by the second.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lunge forward as I approach the door. On instinct, I duck and throw myself to the ground, rolling out of his reach. Then I jump up and race to the exit again.
“No need to try,” he calls after me. “It’s locked.”
His words bring me to a sudden halt. I turn back to him slowly.
He doesn’t attack me again but positions himself in the aisle between me and the only other exit.
We circle each other around the altar like sinners ready to confess—or to sin all over again—both of us waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake.
“You have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
God, his voice. It’s as sharp and dangerous as his knife, and his gaze burns hot, seeping into my bloodstream and wrapping itself around me like a dark and twisted promise.
“Where are the files?”
I raise an eyebrow. “What files?”
He takes a step to the left, and I do the same, careful to leave enough distance between us.
“You’re not gonna lie in a church, of all places, are you?”
Even though I’m quite literally dancing with death right now, I bark out a laugh. “I’d do worse things in a church than tell pretty lies.”
I must have lost my mind, taunting him like this. Maybe the sizzle in the air is all in my imagination. Maybe deep inside I’m so sick and twisted that this is giving me a thrill, a rush of adrenaline, heat, and excitement, all because I’m playing with my life.
“I bet you would.” Reaper’s gaze burns even hotter. His blade catches the moonlight as he circles it between his fingers, reminding me of just how deadly he is.
As if I could ever forget . . .
An icy shiver runs down my spine. At the same time, a new heat coils deep in my belly. I hate that my traitorous body is reacting like this, hate that something about this is turning me on, when the only thing I should be thinking about is how to get the fuck away.
I need a plan. A distraction. Anything to make it out alive. That’s all that matters right now, despite how my body is malfunctioning in his presence.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask. “Frisk me? Beat the shit out of me? If you kill me, you’ll never find out what I’ve done with those oh-so-precious files.”
They may have been what got me into this mess, but right now, they’re also the only thing keeping me alive. At least, that’s what I hope.
“Don’t worry, little thief. I can think of many things to do to you . . .”
Another shudder snakes its way down my spine. Why does this sound like a warning and a promise rolled into one?
I don’t take my eyes off him while we move in slow circles. Not until I see an opening. A chance.
Then I bolt for the exit.
Three steps. That’s all it takes for him to catch me.
Strong arms grab me from behind and pull me back.
“No!” I kick and scream, driving my elbow into his rib cage, but he doesn’t falter.
He rips off my bag, and it lands on the floor next to us.
“Let go of me!”
Without mercy, he drags me to the altar and pushes me against it, pinning me between the cold stone and his hard body.
“I’m not in the mood to play games,” he rasps from behind me, his Argentinian accent suddenly coming through.
“No?” I squirm, trying to get him off me. “Because I’m pretty sure your cock pressing against my arse right now begs to differ.”
To emphasize my words, I arch my back and push my behind against him. And because it feels dangerously good.
He hisses beside my ear. His hot breath tingles against my skin, making the tiny hairs on my neck stand on end—with excitement and a lingering fear that settles deep in my bones, because I barely know anything about this man, only the rumors about his cold, cruel ruthlessness.
He could fuck me right here on the altar in the middle of this abandoned church.
He could slit my throat with his knife before I take my next breath without me even seeing it coming.
He could torture me by cutting off my fingers one by one. Or bury me alive in the graveyard next to the church just like his last victim.
“Where are the files?” Once again, his blade hovers over my rapidly pounding pulse.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person.”
“Then why are you running?” His blade caresses my skin without hurting me, but one deep breath, one wrong move, and it’s over.
The tip travels down my throat to the neckline of my shirt, sharp enough to cut through the material.
Oh, no, he won’t . . . He wouldn’t dare.
Something in the air shifts between us the second his blade slides through my shirt. Without missing a beat, Reaper slices it open from top to bottom.
What the fuck?
My heart beats erratically. My skin prickles. My body hums.
What the hell is happening to me?
When his blade arrives at my trouser button, he moves it aside, out of my reach.
Suddenly, his fingers are back, continuing what he started with his knife.
“Don’t,” I warn, but he ignores me and opens the button. Then he unzips my pants ever so slowly.
My heart is racing so fast now I’m sure he can feel it, just like I can feel his. His heartbeat is infuriatingly slow and steady just like his whole demeanor. Me, on the other hand? I’m melting and dying inside as his rough fingertips trace my panty line like a warning.
A warning I shouldn’t be enjoying so much.
“Still don’t know what I’m talking about?” he taunts.
Finally, my brain snaps back on and I take action. I struggle with him, desperately trying to get free, but he holds me in an iron grip. Each time I move, my ass rubs more against his cock.
“Fuck. You!”
“Do you want to?” Reaper pushes me harder against the altar, the edges biting into my skin. “Or would you rather I punish you?”
I gasp for air as his fingers slip under the hem of my panties and find me embarrassingly wet.
“Oh, you little slut,” he rasps in my ear. “You like that, don’t you? Having a stranger’s hand in your pants . . . someone who won’t play nice but will kill you if you don’t obey.”
I battle the whimper threatening to escape my throat. His words are cruel, but . . . fuck, they’re a huge turn-on.
I’ve never thought of myself as someone who enjoys being talked to like this. Being held captive against my will. But is it really against my will when I’m the one pressing my hips into his grip, urging him on?
Rough fingers tease my clit in torturously slow circles. “Where are the files, little thief?”
I bite back a sob. “What . . . files . . .?”
If I give in now, I’m as good as dead. He’ll kill me the second I hand them over. I have no doubt about that. But if I can just hold onto them, there’s a slight chance I might survive this night or somehow find a way out of this mess.
He increases the pressure, his hot breath grazing my neck. His body’s holding me up though my knees want to give in.
Fuck, this is so wrong . . . So deliciously, alarmingly wrong.
“Tell me,” he hisses and plunges one finger inside of me.
This time I can’t hold anything back.
I moan loudly, and my eyes fall shut.
Is this really happening? Am I letting him do this to me? In a church, of all places?