Page 56 of The Reaper

“Give me that,” I ordered, stepping toward him. I was surprised when he stood his ground. “I said …” Our faces were inches apart, his blue eyes begging for answers. Answers I didn’t have. “Give me that,” I repeated. My lips brushed the tip of his nose.

“Or what?” He puffed his chest as if preparing to fight.

“You don’t want to find out. Give it.” Our chests were heaving in unison.

“Make me.” His determination was hard as steel.

I reached for the shirt but Heath tucked it behind him. My hands wrapped around his neck, lifting his chin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He tossed the shirt to the floor in front of the unmade king-size bed. Heath pulled me closer to his face.

I pushed him away; his body slammed into the lamp behind him, the brass base making a hollow clunk when it hit the floor, causing the light to go out. I walked toward the shirt, but Heath jumped on my back, causing both of us to fall with a smack. He was on top of me and had me in a headlock, and was able to pin one of my arms behind my back. The fucker’s strength was still surprising. I wiggled, but his grip tightened. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought he was trying to suffocate me. I bucked my hips, extending my hand to stand without any success.

Finally, I elbowed his side. He grunted, and his grip loosened. It was the window I needed to flip the script. I grabbed his right hand, twisting it around his back. I pinned his head with my knee.

He bent his knee, slamming his heel into my nuts.

“Fuck!” I screamed, landing on my side, cupping my balls.

He stood and staggered away.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that,” I spat. I grabbed his leg, tripping him. His body rammed the edge of the bed. Heath kicked my face and, seconds later, I tasted metal. He was determined to stop me, I’d give him that, but I was just warming up.

I pulled his hair, exposing his neck. There was a cut on his left brow, and a bruise on his cheek. “Having fun?” I asked.

“You have no idea.” Heath butted my head with his and escaped my grasp.

It hurt like a son of a bitch, and I touched my head to see if I was bleeding too.

When I finally focused on him, his fist was loaded and ready to swing.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” I asked, taking the first swing, missing.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he said.

We walked in circles, flinching whenever one of us threw a punch. A combo hook and a jab connected with his face. That combo would knock out most men, but not him. Heath saw an opening and kicked my side, followed by a punch to my jaw that caused me to stagger to my knees.

The fucker knew what he was doing.

I leapt from the ground and tackled his waist. Gravity pulled us to the floor. “I can do this forever,” I said, sitting on top of him. He reached for the fallen lamp and bashed my head with it. My vision was invaded by black spots. I glanced behind the nightstand, searching for my gun, where I’d placed it earlier.

Heath’s eyes bounced between me and the gun. No one moved as we each calculated our next attack.

The rain had eased, and there was now a rustling outside that caught my attention, followed by a loud slamming of a door.

Heath beelined to his dresser and yanked it open. I ran to pick up my gun, turning and aiming it at the door, when I suddenly stopped cold. “What the fuck?” I said. Heath was holding a pistol, aimed at my head. “You gonna fucking shoot me?” I redirected my gun to him.

He shrugged.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Something hard and cold hit the back of my head. I fell to the ground. Heath’s face melted into black.

Twenty-Seven: The Priest

The Reaper was my mission.

The Church operated under the claws of The Firm. Decades ago, their merger solidified The Firm’s power and strengthened their stranglehold on the underground world. We were The Priests, a group of trained assassins passed on down our family’s generations. Our modus operandi was simple and yet extraordinarily effective. We committed ourselves to a lifelong servitude to the Catholic Church, and in return we were rewarded with a sum of money we wouldn’t be able to spend in our lifetime. We went to the seminary like any other priest, but our similarities ended there. Our lethal skills were cloaked by our robes, disguised by our service. I learned to like what I did, but at the end of the day, it was a facade, a charade that would have to end one way or the other.

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