Page 38 of The Reaper

“Well.” Archer rested his elbows on his knees, curving his back. He pulled his hoodie down, revealing a black eye. With the scar on his left side and his somewhat beat-up face, he exuded an air of danger and I couldn’t get enough. “First, I fucked a priest, and I liked it,” he growled.

I remained quiet, awaiting his next confession.

“And I killed another man,” he added, appraising my reaction.

His second admission had my attention. Again? “Why did you kill him?”

He studied my face, his expression unreadable. “He was a monster.”

“What does that make you?” I studied Archer’s body language, determined to figure him out. “Are you the vigilante or the monster of your story?”

His calm expression morphed into something dark and gloomy. “He was a sad excuse for a man. Taking up air and space, so he had to go.” Archer clenched his teeth, exaggerating his prominent jawline.

“What made you believe it was up to you to decide his fate? Only God can judge us.” Anger betrayed our intentions, it weakened the mask and armor we wore, revealing truth in fury.

“I don’t believe in God,” he barked, looking away.

That was a lie. I could tell when he broke eye contact. A small part of Archer’s unveiling.

“Then why do you keep coming here?” I pressed. Archer sat, unaffected by my questioning, so I shared my opinion. “Let me tell you what I think.”

“Enlighten me, Father.” His hands balled into fists. If his looks were daggers, I would be dead. My brain screamed to be careful, but my gut urged me to keep pushing.

“You want absolution, Archer. You come here after you take someone’s life thinking I can wash away your sins. You think you will be reborn when you step out of the four corners of this stall.”

Archer gritted his teeth. “I’d be careful if I were you,” he said, lifting the sweatshirt to expose his pistol tucked against his waist.

I ignored his bluff. “You think I’m your salvation. Am I getting close?”

“Fuck you,” he said. “Fuck”—he pulled the gun from his pants and pointed it at me—“you.” His agitation proved I’d been correct. “I can end you. Right here, right now.”

“You could,” I said, tucking my shaking hands into my pockets. “But you won’t. Because I have a hunch—and I could be wrong—you only kill the bad guys. And I’m no bad guy.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like you know me. You don’t know shit about me.” Archer’s spit flung out of his mouth along with his rage.

“I can’t save you. Only you can save you. So think about that when you storm out of here. Because you will.” I looked at my watch. “In a minute.”

“Fuck you and the golden high horse you ride on.” As expected, he dashed out of the booth. The heavy wooden door slammed on his way out.

I blew out a shaky breath and withdrew my trembling hands. Provoking Archer wasn’t smart, but it paid off. I hoped he was not the monster he claimed to be.

***

The door creaked open. Faint footsteps coming from the living room neared and I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. My heart raced as I listened to them approaching my bedroom. The movement halted, then the door opened. Thankful that my breathing was somewhat under control, I remained still, fearing that any action bigger than wiggling my pinky finger would give my ruse away.

The room filled with a familiar scent of citrus and mint, letting me know who had broken in. The scent became stronger as a shadow hovered over me. His breathing was heavy, and somewhat shaky when he exhaled. Surprising, since I hadn’t pegged him as the nervous type.

A finger brushed my bare chest, soft like a butterfly. Ironic, considering he was anything but soft. His touch sent tremors to my core, an undeniable current of electricity coursed through me.

I shivered, causing him to stop. A sudden gloom of disappointment enveloped me when he shifted, perhaps to walk away. The urge to open my eyes was strong, but I kept them shut. I was about to sit up when the linen covering my body slid. The fabric dragged from my chest down to my abdomen. Painstakingly slowly, the silk sheet continued its journey down to my navel all the way to my obliques, where it stopped. My cock stirred, and my desire gathered to its length.

“Fuck,” he whispered. The soft rustle from his careful movements made my heart pound. Then his palm, rough and hard, glided over the peaks and valleys of my abs.

I wanted so much to touch him, but it would give away my act. Keeping my hands to my sides, I remained motionless.

He pulled the cover further down, exposing all of me, the chilly air doing nothing to cool the burning fire between us.

Another deep and shaky breath cut through the deafening silence in the room. My mind, heart, and soul told me what I was doing was wrong on all levels. What if people find out? What my body desired defeated every rational thought. I would deal with the repercussions later, another weight to the sins I bore.

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