Page 23 of The Reaper

“Long story,” she said.

“Interesting,” I replied. There was a long silence and I thought I’d lost her.

Muffled footsteps filled my ear followed by the sound of a door shutting. “Sorry. I had to find a safe place to talk,” she whispered. “Crazy things have been happening since we met and I’m starting to think you’re right.”

“I don’t have the list yet, but I will get it. I just need more time,” I said. I wished I had more time.

“Okay,” Marilyn whispered. “But whatever you do, be careful.”

“Where are you?” I asked. She was one of my last hopes. I couldn’t afford to lose another person. It’d been a few days since I’d heard from Tobias and he hadn’t responded to any of my calls. I sure hoped nothing had happened to him. William’s death was awful, and it also meant one less person to fight this war with me.

“I’m at the studio. I’m about to head home,” she said through the clinking of keys.

“Are you safe?”

“In my line of work?” She scoffed. “Get that list. The sooner you get it, the sooner we can expose them. I have to go.” The call ended and I was left staring at my phone.

I needed to get that list from The Firm and I couldn’t afford to attract suspicion about what I was doing. Not until the proof was in my possession. “One more assignment,” I said, putting my helmet back on, glancing behind for traffic before merging onto the road. I needed to get to the storage container and devise a way to obtain that list.

I was in the middle of skimming through hundreds of files I’d downloaded onto my laptop when El Jefe’s name flashed on my screen. “Damn it!” I cursed. I cleared my throat before answering the call. “What?”

El Jefe chuckled. “Hello to you too,” he greeted. “Where are you?”

“Jacking off,” I answered. Irritation coursed through me. Why did it matter where I was? “What do you need?”

He sighed. He was used to my abruptness. “I’m calling about your assignment. You leave for Monaco tomorrow. Same routine.” He hung up.

Fuck. I was hoping I had more time. I had loads of things to do and very little time to accomplish them. It didn’t help that my attention was divided between The Firm, my assignment, and Father Saint James. I slammed the computer shut and checked my backpack for the documents from my last visit with El Jefe.

The folder contained a United States passport with my picture and a completely different name: Peter Robinson. Another generic name that was okay by me. A stash of Euro bills was bound together with a rubber band. The last item was a photograph of a creepy man with sunken, beady eyes and tar-stained teeth. He had a bony face riddled with pockmarks. I flipped the photo over and read his name: Max Lancaster. Below his name was a laundry list of shitty deals he’d done, but nothing more glaring than trafficking women, forcing them to record themselves in compromising situations while Max performed degrading acts on them. He was the self-appointed king of the dark web.

“Not for long, fucker. I’m gonna have fun with you,” I muttered.

I packed everything into my bag before grabbing my phone to send another text to Tobias. I fucking hoped he was all right. I stared at the small screen, thinking about what to say. I didn’t want to sound like I cared, even though I did. Tobias was a great man. I trusted him and I knew he trusted me—why else was he willing to put his life on the line to help me? If circumstances were different, we could’ve been friends, but, like what El Jefe said, everyone who had the misfortune of getting close to my sorry ass ended up dead.

I typed Hey man, hope ur ok but deleted it. What’s up man? I cringed after reading that, touching the delete button aggressively until the message was blank. “It shouldn’t be this fucking hard,” I groaned, looking at the empty walls in my office. Minutes later, I decided to be honest and sent Tobias the message he deserved. He’d done so much for me and I owed him the truth. I haven’t heard from you. I’m starting to worry. Call me.

Grabbing my keys, I headed out. But instead of heading home, I rode my motorcycle back to my shitty new apartment, because nothing said running out of time like spending it creeping on a priest.

Because it was me, and the only way I knew how to deal with any type of stress was sex, I headed to the window where my camera and laptop were located as soon as I arrived. I played the video recording of my personal Jesus, at triple speed to save time, starting from the time I left the church. Fucking boring! Nothing but windows and what appeared to be church staff passing by Father Saint James’s brick home.

“Where the hell are you?” I switched from the screen to the camera, zooming out to scout his perimeter for any signs of him. I glanced at my watch to check the time. It was almost eight. The urge to see the priest burrowed into my already fucked-up mind. And because two of my personalities were kill mode and horny, I fished a condom and lube from my backpack before heading out. My dick twitched at the possibility of him waiting in the church for me. I had told him I would be back tonight, after all.

As expected, the main church door was locked. I walked to the west wing, where a smaller version of the same ornate wooden door was located, looking around to make sure no one was there. With the darkness of night and my black outfit, it would be hard for anyone to spot me. I kneeled, sliding my lock-picking tools into the keyhole. The lock clicked.

You could hear a pin drop with how quiet the church was at night. The main chandelier hanging in the middle of the altar was off, and the only light came from a couple of dim recessed wall sconces and wasn’t enough to see everything inside. But there was one particular soft glow that caught my attention. I grinned. I had him hook, line, and fucking sinker.

With one goal in mind, I let my feet take me to the confessional, where I knew Father Saint James was waiting for my sins.

Fifteen: The Priest

God help me.

I wanted to forget why I was sitting in the booth staring through the screen at the empty seat in front of me. My hands were joined, resting on my lap, as I replayed all the reasons why I should walk away. Repercussions of succumbing to my weakness flashed in my mind, but still I remained seated. The door from the west wing scraped the floor. It was faint, but there was definitely movement out there. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of soft footsteps approaching. I leaned back, my heart thumping. Excitement, fear, and lust concocted a recipe for a perfect disaster stronger than reason. The steps grew heavier, louder. The curtain opened and so did my eyes.

Archer stepped in wearing a black jacket, a black shirt, and black jeans. He sat on the cushioned bench and leaned back, his eyes glued to mine as he slowly closed the curtain. He suddenly leaned forward, sliding the partition open. “I knew you’d be here,” he said. His sultry voice was captivating; I was under his spell.

I cleared my throat. “What has brought you here?”

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