Chapter Ten
Charlotte
T he next morning, Reaper is up before me as usual.
Does he ever sleep in?
Of course he hears me coming and I find him quickly adjusting his mask on.
“Morning,” I cheerily say while grabbing some orange juice from the fridge. His response is a grunt, and I just smile to myself.
I take a seat next to him at the island as he fidgets with his coffee. If he wants to enjoy his morning cup of joe in peace, that’s just too bad.
“So, what’s your name?”
“You know my name.”
“I mean your real name.”
“No. My name is Reaper. You can call me Reaper.”
Ooook.
“Fine. We never had a proper introduction. Shall we now? Hi, Reaper. I’m Charlotte or Charly, as my best friend and dad call me. It’s nice to meet the notorious Bone Reaper,” I say, holding out my hand.
I'm surprised when he actually does take my hand in his after a brief hesitation. And despite his bone-breaking strength, he shakes my hand with a firmness that’s surprisingly delicate. As if he’s worried he would crush my bones at any moment simply out of habit.
“Do you think we’re friends now?” he asks.
“No. I mean, are we?”
“No. I don't do friends,” he grumbles.
“That’s sad. Everyone should have at least one good friend in their life.”
He suddenly stands. “Let’s be clear. I helped you. That doesn’t make us friends. I am not offering friendship,” he snaps.
“Geez. Ok. Someone is extra grumpy this morning.” He rolls his eyes. “Am I ever going to see the rest of your face at least?”
“No.”
“Why not? I already know where you live, so what’s the point?”
“No.” He growls.
“Is the rest of your face that hideous? Maybe you're missing your jaw so you cover it with someone else's,” I tease.
He scowls, then shakes his head and walks away, leaving his hot coffee behind.
“Don't worry, I’ll still be your friend if you're missing half your face, Reaper!” I shout after him as he storms down the hall disappearing into a room with a slam of a door.
I giggle to myself.
Maybe I shouldn't be teasing a serial killer .
The guy is just so stiff and not the good kind. Not that I would know what’s going on in his pants. The thought sends my cheeks flushing.
It’s late in the evening when I turn the TV off and head upstairs. Loud grunts and sounds of a struggle send me whirling around to hear where it’s coming from.
It’s definitely Reaper's voice and he sounds… distressed, like he’s fighting someone and losing.
I run down the hall to the basement door, only to find the sound is coming from two doors further.
Oh god, did someone break in?
I run back to the kitchen, grab a butcher knife, and race back down the hall. I don't even give myself a chance to steady my nerves; just swing open the door and sprint in.
I instantly freeze, embarrassment crawling into my cheeks.
Reaper slowly turns toward me. Shirtless, heavily breathing, and staring at me like I'm a psychopath.
I’m such an idiot.
He removes the boxing wraps on his hands and my eyes travel over the room that's filled with workout equipment and surrounded by mirrors on three of the four walls. I look back to him and the large bag behind him that hangs by a chain from the ceiling.
He closes the distance between us. Sweat drips from his body as his chest heaves. Power emits off his large form.
I look up, meeting the intense look in his green eyes.
“You plan on using that or what?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“Huh?” His eyes move to my hand at my side. The hand that’s still holding a large knife. “Oh… um. No.” I nervously laugh.
“If you wanted to try to sneak up on me, you might have a better shot when I'm sleeping. Although I wouldn't recommend it.” Reaper takes a step toward me. My breasts are practically touching his upper stomach. Heat radiates off him and I can smell the saltiness of his sweat. I suddenly feel light headed as all my senses become consumed by him. “Go ahead though. I’ll let you take one shot. Make it count, Charlotte.”
“No. I… shit, I'm so dumb. I heard you, and I thought… you were fighting someone and in trouble.”
Even though half his face is concealed, I can still make out the slight squint of his eyes and cheeks moving upward as he smiles.
Man, I wish I could really see his smile.
“You thought I was in trouble so you charged in here with a knife?”
“Yes.”
“What did you plan on doing with the knife if I was in trouble?”
“Well, ya know. Stick the pointy end into whoever was hurting you, a couple dozen times.”
That earns another smile before he takes a few steps back. I breathe in fresh air that's not wrapped with his masculine, intoxicating scent.
He raises his chiseled arms and says, “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
Yes, you are sculpted perfectly fine.
“Yes. I see that. I’m sorry. It was silly. I didn't know you had a home gym.”
“You mean, you haven’t gone snooping into every room that doesn't have a keypad? I'm shocked.”
“Ha. Ha. No. I haven't. But maybe now I will. What other fun stuff you got around here? Am I gonna find your scythe in one of these rooms?”
“If you look in the room across the hall, then yes.”
“Wait, you really have one?”
“Of course. Surprised that one of your assumptions about me is actually correct? A reaper needs a scythe, right?”
“Can I… can I see it?”
He walks across to the closed door, and I eagerly follow him.
The door opens into a small dimly lit room with shelves lining the wall as well as glass cabinets with locks. Weapons clearly crafted by Reaper sit on those shelves. Different daggers, swords, and those unique whips I saw him with last night. They all have some type of human bone addition to them, whether it be for the handle or sharpened to a point for the business end. They're all beautifully made and dangerous-looking.
Just like Reaper.
He walks to the far right corner of the room where something tall stands covered by a black sheet. He pulls it off swiftly, revealing his scythe.
My mouth falls open.
He really does have one and it is so fucking glorious.
Long thick bones are fused together and wrapped in black leather, leading up to what looks like vertebrae with sharp, pointed pieces sticking out from the top before it curves into a massive, sleek metal blade. A perfectly positioned light above it on the ceiling reflects off the steel, making it look sharper than anything I've ever seen.
“Oh my god. That is frightening but also so badass. Do you actually use it? It looks like it could easily cut a man in half.”
“I have used it a couple times, and yes, with some good force behind it, it can certainly cut a man in half and it has. Although, as you can see, it's not something I can easily travel with. ”
“And everything in here… you made yourself?”
“I guess, you could call it my hobby.”
“Oh, killing people isn't your hobby?”
He chuckles. “Although I do enjoy it, crafting something beautiful or powerful from bones is my passion. Do you have a hobby or passion?”
I’m caught off guard at his question. I'm usually the one asking personal questions.
“I used to paint,” I say. “That was my passion, but I lost it when… Jason happened. I lost everything that brought me joy. It was all just sucked right out of me, leaving me hollow.”
“And now that he’s gone, do you think your passion for painting will return?”
I consider the question for a moment before answering. “I hope so. I already feel like a different person, but I will admit I kinda feel lost.”
He looks at me with those scrunched eyebrows. “Lost? How so?”
“I’m just not sure where I go from here. I don't really feel like I have any purpose in life right now and it's all just feeling very lonely. Do you ever get lonely?”
“I… I have my work that keeps me busy.” Reaper looks away and stares at his scythe once more. Maybe another time, I would ask him what he’s thinking, but right now, I'm not feeling that ballsy.
“Thank you for showing me, and sorry about this whole thing,” I say, waving the knife. “Good night, Reaper.”
“Good night, Charlotte,” he says with a look in his eyes that begs me not to go, but I’m clearly imagining that because Reaper is not the type to enjoy hanging around chit chatting.
I leave the weapons room, stopping by in the kitchen to return the knife I didn't end up needing and then walk upstairs to the giant bed that makes me feel even more lost and lonely.