17. REAPER
17
REAPER
M y fist pulses manically, working up and down my cock as I clench my jaw, desperate for a release. This shit is getting ridiculous. Every time I watch Siren make a kill, it’s as though I lose control of my fucking dick and nothing can bring me relief except for actually sinking into her sweet little cunt.
It’s barely been twenty-four hours since I had her at the lake, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about. I’m supposed to have more control than this. I’m supposed to be better, but one taste fucking destroyed me. If I had walked into her kitchen and fucked her right there without a damn word, I would have been fine, but she just had to go and cuff me to that damn fridge and make a game out of it. And fuck, it was the best game I’ve ever played.
Siren is refreshing.
I’ve never been able to sit down with someone and discuss my work, never been able to be shamelessly myself without being judged, ridiculed, or called a fucking monster, and I suspect she’s in the same boat. The lives we live aren’t compatible with the picket-fence lifestyle, only with Siren . . . it might be.
I wouldn’t have to hide with her, wouldn’t have to pretend to be something I’m not, and . . . fuck. Why am I even thinking about this? Come the end of the month, I’m going to have no choice but to end her life, and while I’ll do what I can to make it as quick and pain free as possible, it’ll fucking gut me, but I won’t have to suffer for long because the moment I end her life, I’ll drop to my knees in front of Shadow and have her take mine.
It’s a real fucking Romeo and Juliet tragedy.
Just my fucking luck. The second I find a woman that I might actually be compatible with, and I have to fucking kill her. But then, what if I don’t? What if there was a way for the three of us to escape this unscathed? Shadow could claim the win, and Siren and I could . . . no. I can’t even go there. We’ll be hunted for the rest of our lives, and that’s not a life worth living. Besides, Siren and I prefer to hunt. A life on the run simply wouldn’t do.
Bracing my hand against the cool tiles of the shower, I drop my head into the spray of water while desperately trying to work her out of my system. These games really aren’t playing out how I thought they would. I expected a lot to come from this, but I never saw Siren coming. She completely blindsided me, and I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I have no fucking idea how to proceed. All I can do is continue to stalk her through the night and hope like fuck she’ll invite me in. Not that I usually care to wait for an invitation.
My fist pumps up and down the length of my cock, grasping firmly as I clench my jaw, desperately trying to get myself there. Before taking her last night, I could have easily jerked off and finished with nothing more than the image of her in those black jeans and corset tops, but now, that release isn’t so easy to come by. My hand doesn’t even come close in comparison to what it’s like to be buried deep inside of her.
Frustration burns through me and I have no choice but to give up, leaving me with the worst case of blue balls known to man. Turning off the water, I step out of the shower and grab my towel before quickly drying off and walking into my bedroom.
I get busy dressing, finding a pair of black pants and stepping into them, more than ready to get my ass over to the holiday resort and work Siren out of my system once and for all. I pull my pants up and start working the fly when the slightest movement catches in my peripheral vision, and I duck down just in time to evade the blade flying toward my face.
I whip around, finding none other than The Texan Reaper standing in the doorway of my bedroom. It becomes abundantly clear that the fucker thought he could get the drop on me, and honestly, it almost fucking worked.
I was caught off guard—a position I’ve never found myself in—and it has everything to do with Siren and her sweet little cunt fogging my brain. But whether I’ve made a mistake or not, this asshole has made a bigger one by trying to make me a target, and judging by the momentary flash of regret and fear in his eyes, he fucking knows it.
His plan was clear—take me out in one fell swoop. He didn’t account for what might happen if he missed. He was too fucking egotistical to think missing was even an option, and now that he has, he better fucking run.
I spring into action, launching after him as he spins on his heel and takes off like a fucking bat out of hell. I have to give it to him, the fucker is fast, but so am I.
Instead of wasting precious seconds weaving through my home to find the exit, he aims right for the living room window, running at full speed before launching himself into a ball. With his arms braced in front of his face, he smashes through the thin glass and drops into a roll on the other side.
I follow right after him, grabbing a blade off the hallway table as I dart past it, then in seconds, my bare feet hit the grass as I sprint after him. The Texan Reaper runs through the center of the road, not having the brains to stick to the shadows, and despite how obvious he’s being, I keep myself to the shadows anyway. At some point, the moron is going to glance back over his shoulder, and when he doesn’t see me right behind him, a false sense of security will be his demise.
He darts through the streets of Blue Springs, and the further he runs, the more my pent-up frustration over my serious case of blue balls begins to catch up to me, and the fact that he was even able to enter my home without me noticing starts to really piss me off.
I follow him right through the main street of Blue Springs, and just as I suspected, when he takes a brief moment to look over his shoulder and finds the coast clear, he begins to slow his pace. He walks right past the alley where he and his moron brother shamelessly beat the life out of Sharkbait, and by the time he slows to a walk, it’s clear the fucker thinks he’s just gotten away with his life.
He pauses for a moment, bracing his hand against the pole of the street sign and hanging his head, trying to catch his breath. As he stands in the deserted street, he starts to laugh.
“Fuck me,” he says to himself before finally pushing off the pole and starting down the street again, clearly having allowed himself just enough time to catch his breath and recover after what he probably assumes was the closest call of his life.
Cutting through the stores, he turns down a back alley, and I shake my head, having done more than enough research on this town to know that alley offers nothing but a dead end. This guy really is a fucking moron, but if he really wants to send himself to an early grave, then who the hell am I to deny him?
Stepping out of the shadows, I cut across the street and slip into the back alley behind him. I follow him a few steps and watch as his back begins to stiffen. His senses tell him that something isn’t right, and I bet right about now, there’s a chill sailing down his spine.
“You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” I say, my voice sailing right down the alley.
The Texan Reaper pauses before whipping around with wide eyes.
“You don’t seem so brave now,” I taunt.
He clenches his jaw, and I see the exact moment he realizes that his only way out of this alley alive is to fight his way out of it. “I ain’t losing.”
I scoff. “You lost the second you tied your name to mine.”
His eyes widen again, and I have to hold back a laugh.
“Oh, you didn’t think I knew what you were up to?”
Embarrassment flashes in his eyes as he reaches for a blade. He wants to be the one at the top of the food chain, but unfortunately for him, he lacks the skill and creativity it takes, which is why he’s taken it upon himself to tie himself to me. Instead of working harder, he developed the warped fake it ’til ya make it mentality. But like I said, I work alone, and I sure as fuck don’t have time for assholes like this.
I open myself up, allowing him the chance to make the first move, and he doesn’t let me down. Similar to the way Raven went after Siren today, he recklessly charges forward without a game plan.
His fist hurtles toward my face, and I evade it with ease before sending a punch of my own straight into his ribs. The sweet sound of his bones snapping under the force only spurs me on. He grunts, but a little broken rib isn’t enough to take him out of the game. He pushes back, attempting to trade blows, but the only one actually landing any is me.
He gets his ass handed to him, blood spurting from his split lip and brow, and when I land a solid kick to his chest and he slams against the brick wall of the alley, he crumbles. His eye is already swollen shut, and while I haven’t quite broken his leg, I’ve done more than enough damage to ensure he won’t be walking home tonight—not that he’ll be walking anywhere when I’m through with him.
The Texan Reaper spits a mouthful of blood at my bare feet, and my lips twist in disgust. This one was personal. I could have just ended his life, gotten it over and done with, but after years of this asshole riding my coattails, a little revenge felt necessary. Besides, all that pent-up frustration from my blue balls had to go somewhere, right?
Pulling my blade out of my pocket, I step toward The Texan Reaper, more than ready to get this over and done with. “What do you say?” I taunt, twisting the blade between my fingers. “Make it quick with a shot straight through the eye into the brain, or perhaps I should just gut you like a fish?”
“Go to hell,” he spits.
“I’m already well on my way,” I tell him. “I suppose I’ll see you there.”
Then just as I go to make my kill, a feminine gasp sounds from the opening of the alley, followed by a guy’s voice. “Hey. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Fuck.
My head snaps up, taking in the group of teenagers standing at the top of the alley. There are at least seven of them. Three girls and four boys, each of them looking barely eighteen, probably out looking for trouble on this beautiful Saturday night.
My hand tightens on the blade as I consider my options. I could finish the kill and get this asshole out of my way while scarring these kids for the rest of their lives, or I can slink away and come back to finish him off another time. I’ve never walked away from a kill, but now that the kids are starting to pull out their phones to record, I doubt I have any fucking choice.
“Shit,” I mutter before smirking at The Texan Reaper. “Consider yourself lucky. I’ll be back for you, and when I do, I’ll make it fucking count,” and with that, I disappear, kicking in the back door of one of the stores in the alley and cutting through the building, doing everything in my power to evade having my face uploaded on social media. I’ve gone to such extreme lengths to keep myself invisible, and The Texan Reaper won’t be the reason for my downfall, not tonight, not fucking ever.
Slipping out an office window of the store, I’m able to jump over a back fence and finally escape out into the next street, and just as I hear the familiar sound of sirens breaking through the night, I slip away into the shadows like the perfect fucking ghost.
That was too fucking close, and I don’t like it. Not only did I have to leave a mark still breathing, but my home was compromised, and my identity was almost caught on camera. This is not how I play. I don’t almost get caught, and I sure as fuck don’t leave targets alive.
I’m slipping, and it has everything to do with Siren.
Making my way back to my home, I have no choice but to race through another shower, rinsing the blood off my skin before finally getting my ass dressed properly.
I can’t do this anymore. Allowing myself to get close to Siren isn’t only fucking with my head, it’s compromising everything. It’s too dangerous. My head isn’t screwed on properly, and because of that, I’ve allowed fucking amateurs like The Texan Reaper to almost get the drop on me. This isn’t okay. I’m supposed to be the best, and right now, I’m a fucking joke.
If I can’t seem to fuck her out of my system, then there’s only one other option left for me to salvage these games and ensure not only my survival, but Shadow’s as well—tonight Siren must die.