Page 48 of The Reaper

“I’ve already murdered someone.”

He huffed a laugh. “You killed in self-defense. What I do is slightly different.”

I glanced down at my hands, which were white-knuckling the comforter.

“You’ll be safe here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Looking up at him once more, I wondered how he always knew what I was thinking. “I don’t want you to go, and if you do, then I want to return to my house.”

He frowned. “You want to return to the house that’s been shot at and where you also killed a man.” He shook his head. “You can’t go back there. That’s not your house anymore.”

“And this is?”

Again, with a shrug. “I’ve lived in worse places.”

For some reason, that statement felt loaded with secrets—weighed down by mystery. I hugged my knees closer to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I didn’t want him to go. He was the only one I trusted.

“You don’t have to be scared.”

I blinked at him. “How do you know what I’m feeling?”

Even though it looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do, he approached the bed. “I’ll make sure the Sentinels bring you three meals a day. Clean towels. Books to read. Anything else you might want.”

“Fuck the Sentinels,” I told him fiercely, then held his gaze as I asked, “Where did you go tonight?”

His expression soured. Getting up, he placed more distance between us, and I felt every single inch of it. “Out.”

“You were with a woman.”

He didn’t even bother to look stunned. “What of it?”

“You ran to her after you rejected me,” I said softly. “That does dent the ego.”

He made a strangled sort of noise, then his warm hand wrapped around my wrist. I looked at him from under my lashes. “I … I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth would be nice. I offered to suck your dick, then you freaked out, left me in the shower, and went to another woman. If you’re already in a relationship, tell me. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? What made you run like that?”

The muscle in the side of his jaw flexed angrily. “I’m too old for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah? Well, I do.” He released his grip on me and ran a hand through his slightly wet hair. “You’re fifteen years younger than me, and you’re the sister of a clan member.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. I shouldn’t still be alive. The number of times I’ve been shot at and stabbed. The number of men, women, and children I’ve killed would mean life in prison if the cops ever caught me and made the charges stick. I’m not a good choice of man for you.”

All these things were true, but I hadn’t even considered them. “And what if I just want to fuck you?”

His mouth twisted as if the crudeness of what I’d said offended him. What do you know, a murderer with sensibilities.

“You don’t want to go there with me.”

“Why not?” My voice was rising—with my frustration. With my rejection. Yes, that shit had stung. I was not ashamed to admit that.

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