6. REAPER
6
REAPER
T he fuck is wrong with me? I had the perfect opportunity to take Siren out of the competition, and all I could do was stand there like a fucking idiot while she took The Boston Maneater’s life. Well, to be honest, his own incompetence is what resulted in the loss of his life, Siren was just there to help the process along. Yet, what little of her skills I was able to witness was enough to prove that she’s in a league of her own.
Mostly.
I don’t know what it is about her, but she intrigues me, and I don’t think I’m ready to end her life just yet. There was a beauty about her kill which I don’t often see. It was captivating and calm. So often kills are messy and done without precision, and despite The Boston Maneater’s rage as he raced toward her, she kept her cool and handled herself with grace, and she did so without leaving a shred of her DNA behind. Not even a single fingerprint. And she looked fucking gorgeous while she was at it.
I’ve seen plenty of women playing the assassin part and dressing up in leather for Halloween. I usually find it appalling. But with Siren, knowing she could back up the look with real skills only increased my intrigue.
I want to see her again. I want to know how she reacts in different situations, and I want to know how to break her. I don’t believe I’ll toy with her though. There’s no need. It would be disrespectful toward her skills, a slap in the face almost. Siren is better than that. She deserves better than that.
It’s not often another contract killer finds themselves deserving of my respect, but Siren somehow has it. Though there’s no denying she fears me. I could smell it in the air the second she realized I was there, and while I tend to get off on the fear others hold for me, it was different with her. I didn’t like it. I don’t want her to fear me, though she should because when it comes down to it, I will have no choice but to end her life, and I can guarantee that I will enjoy every last second of it.
She’s going to make me work for it, going to put me through my paces, and I can’t fucking wait. My cock hardens at just the thought of the fun we’re going to share, and as I drive out of the industrial area, tailing Siren from a distance, I reach for the front of my pants. Freeing my cock, I grasp it with one hand as the other holds on to the steering wheel, following every turn that Siren takes.
My fist works up and down my cock, gliding over my velvety skin and roaming over my tip as I picture all the fun I’ll have with Siren. She’s fucking beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. And playing with her is going to be the most fun I’ve ever had. But more than that, I want to hear how she screams, how she feels when I spread those creamy thighs and fuck her tight little cunt. I bet she’s fucking wild between the sheets, but I don’t doubt for one second that she’s the type to take control. Only with me, she won’t. She’ll have no choice but to give it up for me, to submit to me, because no matter the situation, I will never relinquish control.
I want to taste her, make her lose control, and only when she’s about to explode, I want to bend her over and claim her ass. Fuck. It’ll be magical. Maybe I should hold out on ending her life. The two of us could use these next twenty-nine days to our advantage, spending every last minute fucking like wild animals as the rest of the contenders take each other out.
My hips jolt at the thought, and I clench my jaw as pleasure pulses through my veins.
“Fuck.”
My fingers stretch down, cupping my balls and giving them just a moment of relief before curling around my length once again. It’s too much. Too good, but with her . . . it’ll be incredible. I picture the warmth that will come when I sink into her, the way her cunt would squeeze me as my eyes instantly roll. I clench myself tighter, desperate for a release.
My fist works faster as I quickly push myself to the edge, mindlessly taking another corner as Siren leads me on a wild goose chase, wanting to play it smart. She’s taking every precaution after seeing me tonight, not wanting to lead me right back to her temporary home, but she will fail.
My hips push up as I fuck my hand, precum pooling at my tip as my desperation becomes too much. I need to sink into her.
It’s too much. This isn’t what I came here for. I can’t afford to be distracted by this woman, and yet, I can’t bring myself to drive away. I need this like I’ve never needed anything else, and I feel the exact moment I become obsessed with the idea of making her lose control, the idea of tasting her as she comes on my tongue.
This woman will belong to me.
The thought of how the next twenty-nine days will play out launches me over the edge, and as my tight fist works me up and down, my balls tighten with desperation, pushing me until I can’t possibly hold on a second longer. My release comes shooting out of me, hot spurts of cum pooling into my palm as I groan with satisfaction.
I suck in a breath through my clenched jaw, riding out my release while knowing that nothing will compare to how it will be with Siren. How our bodies will fit together. How a light sheen of sweat will coat her skin as she works me to completion. How she’ll cater to every last desire I have. I knew these games were going to be interesting, but I never could have anticipated this.
As I drive through the streets of Blue Springs, watching Siren’s tail lights disappear around a corner, I reach for a napkin in my center console to clean myself up. I can’t say I anticipated this either. Madly jerking off while stalking a woman back to her home wasn’t on my bingo card for War Games, and yet here we are.
I follow Siren for another hour, grinning to myself as she takes every detour imaginable to make sure no one is following her. She’s smart. She knows I wouldn’t have just left the warehouse without tailing her, but when she pulls into the Blue Springs holiday resort, it becomes clear that she thinks she lost me. Her ignorance is almost endearing.
Bringing my car to a stop in an old bakery parking lot, almost a block away from the entrance of the resort, I abandon my car and go on foot. I reach the back fence of the resort in no time and launch myself over to the other side, dropping down into the manicured grass.
I have to give it to Siren, she’s chosen a nice location to spend the duration of the War Games. No one would have guessed a holiday resort. I can’t fault her, if she wants to spend the next twenty-nine days lounging by the heated pool with bar service and relaxing in the sun, then who am I to judge? Most of the other contenders I was able to sniff out last night are staying in hourly hotels or squatting in abandoned homes, apart from The Boston Maneater, who clearly favored sleeping in old rundown warehouses. Though I’m sure as the games go on and the contenders begin to get desperate, their hotel rooms and homes will be traded out for something a little less . . . obvious. They’ll have to get creative if they plan on hiding from me.
Making my way through the resort, I search every villa until I stumble upon her dented Range Rover parked on a curb. The car is beautiful, satin wrapped, all the extras, but after following her for hours, it’s no secret why it looks like it’s been through hell. She can’t drive. At all.
I shake my head. This woman needs to find a healthy respect for vehicles.
Keeping my distance, I make a quick assessment of the villa. There are four motion sensors surrounding the small building with an additional six surveillance cameras. She’s not taking any chances, and while she hasn’t left a single blind spot, getting in and out won’t be an issue for me.
Lights flicker on inside, and I quickly look up the resort website before finding the images of their villas and making an educated guess on the layout of the property. She’s in the bedroom, probably stripping out of her tight black jeans and kicking off her combat boots before picking out something skimpy to sleep in. Then she’ll take her hair out, letting it fall in thick strands down her back . . . and fuck. I’m hard again.
The fuck is wrong with me?
I stand outside her villa for well over an hour, trying to familiarize myself with her routine, and when the lights turn out, I have a decision to make. I can either go in, fuck her, and then end her life . . . or I can walk away. Only one of those choices appeals to me, so tell me why the fuck I’m turning on my heel and stalking away?
My time will come with Siren, but I’ve never been one to rush into shit like this. I need to learn more about her, figure out who she is and what drives her. I need to know her moves, how she strikes, and what her limits are. There’s a reason she’s known as one of the best in the business, and I won’t make a move until I figure out exactly who I’m dealing with.
After making my way back to my car, I drive through the deserted streets of Blue Springs, and it quickly becomes apparent that after eight at night, the town’s people tuck themselves into bed and don’t emerge until business hours the following day. I’m sure Friday and Saturday nights will differ, but whether there are witnesses or not, it doesn’t change a thing for me. I’ll still be capable of doing everything I need to do during these games.
Pulling to a stop outside one of the only hotels in town, I pocket my keys before making my way inside, keeping my head down as I pass by one of the only cameras that actually work in the building. It isn’t exactly the most logical type of accommodation for a competition like War Games. It doesn’t boast easy escapes and there are more staff than actual guests, but for tonight, it will do. Though at some point, I need to find somewhere a little more . . . homey. Somewhere I don’t have to be quite so discreet.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the benefits of room service with a whole staff at my beck and call, but I also prefer the privacy a real home can offer. Besides, it won’t be long before the hotel maids start ignoring the Do Not Disturb sign hanging on my door, and once that happens, people are going to start dropping like flies. I can’t risk people snooping through my room because the large array of weapons hidden beneath the bed will only bring questions I’m not willing to answer.
Making my way through the hotel lobby, I pass the bar and cast my gaze over the adjoining room. A few people linger in the bar, but for the most part, it’s dead. It’s late and I’m sure the bar staff are counting down the minutes until they get to close. I could really use a drink, but truth be told, I think I need a cold shower more. Siren has left me wound up, and I don’t fucking like it.
I live by a code. It’s me, myself, and I. Women aren’t a problem for me. I take what I want and leave. I have no family. No friends. Nobody to miss me. But for the first time in my life, I can’t seem to let go of the idea that I should keep Siren around. I’ve never cared to spare someone’s life before, and yet I’ve now walked away from her twice. That’s not in my nature, and it’s starting to fuck with my head. Perhaps it’s all just sexual, and after I take her, whatever is forcing me to have a moral compass will finally disappear.
Frustration burns through me, and as I continue past the hotel bar, someone at a private table catches my eye, pulling me up short.
Graves.
What are the fucking chances? Last I checked, he was staying in a rundown motel, and yet, here he is just waiting to be caught.
A grin pulls at the corner of my lips. This is going to be too fucking easy.
As if sensing my stare, Graves lifts his gaze, his brows furrowed until he spots me at the entrance. His back stiffens, and I watch the color drain from his face. He discreetly stands, not wanting to draw attention before walking further into the bar and slipping out the side exit, taking him deeper into the hotel and further away from any type of surveillance or witnesses.
Decisions. Decisions.
I could go after him, or I could walk away and let him be someone else’s problem.
Shit.
While I know tonight’s theme seems to be missed opportunity , I can’t seem to let this one go, and unlike Siren, I don’t have the overwhelming need to fuck this guy. I watched him murder both Slasher and Crimson Rain last night, and while I have absolutely no issues with how he went after Slasher, the way he so brutally beat Crimson Rain didn’t sit well with me. Don’t get me wrong, my morals would never be applauded, but when going after a woman, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it, and Graves sure as fuck didn’t get that memo. He deserves to be brutally murdered, and I’m more than happy to give him exactly what he asked for.
Making the decision to go for it, I cut through the bar and slip out the same side exit that Graves just took, and despite knowing he would have broken into a sprint the second he left the bar, I take my time. There’s no need to rush. I’m a hunter by nature. Whether it takes a few seconds or all night, I’ll find him, and when I do, he better hope he’s made peace with his maker.
After escaping through the side exit of the bar, I step out into a different portion of the hotel lobby just in time to watch the elevator door close.
Fucking moron. How obvious could one person be?
Making my way toward the elevator, I keep my gaze locked on the numbers, telling me exactly where the elevator is stopping and when I see it pause at level three, I push through the door beside the elevator shaft, taking me up the stairs.
Now, would I have preferred to have an array of weapons with me for this? Sure. But are they necessary for me to get the job done? Fuck no. I’ve always prided myself on being a resourceful man, so I’m sure I’ll figure it out when the time comes.
Reaching level three, I push out into the main hallway and pause, listening to the sounds around me. There’s not a soul in sight, but Graves doesn’t strike me as a smart man, and just on cue, I hear a high-pitched woman’s scream tearing through the hallway.
Bingo.
Not a moment later, the woman is launched into the hallway with such force she stumbles right across the small walkway and slams into the door directly opposite her room before crumbling to the ground. I turn on my heel and begin stalking toward her, but she’s on her feet and sprinting toward me in her desperate flee to escape Graves.
“Which room?” I demand as she booms toward me, keeping my head down to avoid her seeing my face.
“309.”
The woman doesn’t stop to see what I’m going to do, just keeps running until she reaches the stairs, which means I only have a few minutes before the front desk calls the cops. But I won’t need a few minutes. I’ll only need seconds.
Making my way down to 309, a sense of elation pulses through my veins. Don’t get me wrong, I kill men every day, finding the hardest targets on the planet and taking them out, and while it’s exhilarating, the chase is different. This right here is purely for fun, and I find myself giddy with excitement, just like I used to when I was a teenager making my first kill.
Reaching the door Graves just tossed the woman out of, I settle to the left and knock. “Housekeeping,” I call out in a cheery tone.
Naturally, there’s no response, and all I can do is grin, barely able to contain the thrill pulsing through me. I knock again, this time a little slower. “Turndown service? Fresh towels?”
“You don’t want to fuck with me,” Graves roars.
“Uhhh . . . yeah. Actually, I think I do,” I tell him, enjoying the banter. After all, I don’t often get to indulge in these situations. “Why don’t you be a gem and open up the door? I promise, I’ll make it quick. You’ll barely feel a thing.”
BANG! BANG!
The bullets whiz past my face at speeds my eyes can’t possibly try to track before plunging into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. “Well, shit,” I laugh, glancing back at the door Graves shamefully hides behind. “I thought we were going to be friends.”
I quickly assess the door and the two massive holes staring back at me, and with their positioning, the holes might have compromised the integrity of the door just enough for me to be able to kick my way through it.
Figuring that I’ve got nothing to lose, I make my move, quickly stepping in front of the door and slamming my boot into the fractured wood. The door flies off its hinges, the majority of it splintering into tiny pieces while I race forward, not allowing my momentum to slow even a fraction.
Graves stands at the opposite side of the room, his gun locked and loaded before him. Only he wasn’t prepared for me to burst through, and his response time is far too slow.
He pulls the trigger twice more, trying to track my movements across the room as I run toward him. BANG! BANG! I sidestep, anticipating his shots and avoiding the bullets like a ghost in the night, and I don’t stop until my body slams into his, my big hand wrapping around his throat.
I disarm him in a flash, the gun quickly becoming mine. His eyes are wide, staring at me as though he can’t comprehend how I managed to get inside the room.
I slam him against the wall, the damage to his neck and face from Crimson Rain’s sharp brass knuckles staring back at me. He’s a fucking mess. He deserves to die just so that the rest of us don’t need to look at him a second longer. If you think about it, I’m doing him a favor by ending his miserable life.
There won’t be long before the woman who occupies this room makes it down to the lobby and calls for help, so I do what I can to make this quick. “It’s a real shame, you know,” I start. “If you had simply opened the door like I asked, we could have done this in a much more humane way.”
He stutters but can’t get a single word out. Instead, he wets his pants like a scared child. All I can do is shake my head in disgust. “Are you serious? You’re a fucking serial killer, man. Get it together.”
“I . . . I . . . I—”
“Hushhhhh,” I say, lifting a sole finger to my lips as I look over the small stab wound Crimson Rain left in his neck last night. “She really did a number on you. It’s a shame she missed the artery.”
“She was a fucking bitch. She deserved everything she got.”
“Come on, now. We don’t speak ill of the dead. But I’m curious. If she deserved everything she got, then pray tell, what is it you deserve?”
“Let me go,” he begs. “We can work together. I’ll hunt them down, give you the credit.”
A sharp laugh booms through my chest. “In what world would I possibly require your help? You are at the bottom of the food chain. You almost let a woman get the drop on you barely three seconds after the games commenced. You and I are not on the same level.”
Using my free hand, I reach for his neck injury, pushing my fingers into the small stab wounds and widening the holes as he roars in agony.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to get out of here,” I inform him. “There’s a cold shower calling my name.” He barely gets another cry out when I sink my two fingers deeper into the wound, taking a firm hold of his skin, then with everything I’ve got, I tear my hand away, ripping his skin clean off his neck and breaking right through the artery that Crimson Rain missed last night.
Graves drops to the floor, blood spurting across the room, and as the bright red bodily fluid splatters over the front of my leather jacket, disappointment floods me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I mutter, looking at Graves with an accusatory glare as though the asshole could somehow control the rapid splatter of blood coming from his torn artery. “Do you have any idea how fucking expensive this jacket is?”
Graves clutches his throat as his blood spills over his fingers and soaks into the carpet beneath my feet. His skin quickly loses color, and I let out a heavy sigh before stealing the white duvet off the bed. After laying it down on the ground, I position Graves over it, and then before he’s even finished dying, I take his identification card and roll him up in the thick blanket.
Hauling him over my shoulder, I stride out through the shattered door and back into the hallway before casually strolling down to the elevator, feeling the exact moment his body gives out and the fucker finally dies. After hitting the button, it arrives within seconds and I smile to myself as the soft ding sounds through the hallway.
I make my way onto the elevator and press the button for level six while listening to the soft drip, drip, drip, of blood soaking through the blanket and splattering on the elevator floor. The door opens on the sixth floor, and I stride out into the hallway before smiling to myself as I find the hotel’s housekeeping cart abandoned in the hallway.
The maid is nowhere to be seen, and as I stride past the cleaning cart, I dump Graves’ body right into it, the once white blanket now the brightest shade of red. I don’t skip a beat as I continue down the hall to room 611, and after swiping my access card, I enter my room, grab my shit, and get the fuck out of there.
Despite the lack of cameras and the effort made to keep my face hidden from both staff and other guests, it’s too fucking risky. In the next ten minutes, the hotel will be locked down with police tape stretching from one end to the other and when that happens, I need to be anywhere but here.
Making my way back to the elevator, I pass the cleaning cart and chuckle to myself. That really was fun. I should allow myself to indulge a little more often. Reaching the elevator, I hit the call button, and when it arrives back to my floor, I step inside. As the doors close, a loud shriek tears down the hall. I guess the maid just returned to her cart, and I can’t fault myself. It was marvelous timing.
Getting my ass out of here, I dive into my car and take off, putting as much distance between me and the hotel as possible. I suppose finding myself a proper home for the duration of the games is going to come a little sooner than anticipated.
As I drive through the streets, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a notification from War Games. It’s exactly midnight, and they’ve sent out their first update.
Opening the message, I quickly scan over it.
Congratulations on making it through the first twenty-four hours of War Games.
The death toll currently stands at seven.
Those who have been eliminated are -
·Blade
·Grim
·Stone
·Slasher
·Crimson Rain
·The Boston Maneater
·Graves
So I take it Siren and I were the only ones to make kills today, which also begs the question, how the fuck do these bastards already know that Graves is dead? It happened less than six minutes ago. Either way, I suppose I don’t really care.
All that matters is finding somewhere to call home, stripping out of my blood-soaked clothes, and finally taking that cold shower.