Page 19 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

“I don’t know. All I’m saying is, an isolated attack I might could overlook, but two in less than a month—both men having known ties…” I say, trailing off with a shrug.

“True—but why?”

I shake my head. “No idea. I had Becks check her out, and she’s squeaky clean. Nothing in her past or present to connect her to the McGregor family or Boston. Hell—the girl hasn’t even so much as left the state.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” he says.

“I know, that’s why I’m hoping to get some information out of that piece of shit in there,” I say, pointing to where a series of grunts can be heard echoing off the walls of the boathouse.

“Good luck with that. I haven’t been able to getanything out of him. Oh, and watch out—he’s a spitter,” he calls out from behind me as I’m walking back up the dock.Fucking great.

The rusted hinges let out a shrill squeak as I open the door. The old wood floors, heavily weathered from the water and salt air, sags with my heavy footsteps. His dark, beady eyes regard me with disdain from across the dimly lit space.

“I’m going to take this off,” I say, reaching for the gag. “Fair warning—if you spit on me, Iwillcarve out your tongue and make you choke on it. Understand?” He continues to glare as I untie the filthy cloth around his mouth.

The moment it’s free, he cocks his head back and hawks a wad of spit on the front of my shirt. Good thing for him, it’s already ruined, or I might really be angry. As it is, I’m just mildly annoyed.

“You’ll regret that,” I tell him.

“I’m not afraid of you, pretty boy,” he sneers, looking me up and down.

A slow grin spreads across my face as I start undoing the buttons of my shirt. He does what they all do: underestimate me. I make a show of sliding it off my shoulders and watch as his eyes narrow when they take in my inked skin.

The tattoos that cover my body tell a violent story to anyone who cares to look closely enough, a tribute in shades of black and grey to the many souls I reaped from this Earth. There isn’t a single blank space, apart from asmall patch on my left chest, directly over my heart, intentionally left untouched.

“Well, you should be.” I toss the stained shirt to the floor before giving him my back. I don’t miss the slight intake of breath as he looks upon the large piece that covers my back and shoulders, the one that gave me my name.

“You’re…th-the Reaper,” he stammers.

“Oh good. You do know who I am,” I grab a sharp filleting knife, holding it in my palm as I squat down in front on him. “So that means you know I don’t make empty threats. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make this quick. Well…quicker,” I say, remembering my promise to break each of these fucker’s ribs for what he did to Maggie.

Which also reminds me, I need to check on those in the morning. I doubt they are broken since she would have beeen in much more pain, but I make a mental note to examine them all the same.

Fury flashes across his face, replacing any hint of fear, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he is not going to be an easy one to break. Too much pride.

Normally, I would appreciate the challenge, but it’s late and I’m tired. All I want to do is get back home, check in on Maggie, and catch a few good hours of sleep. Unfortunately, it looks like I’m going to be here a while.

8

Maggie

Heavy footfalls sound on the stairs, effectively pulling me from a dreamless sleep. I hear a door click shut down the hall to what I can only assume must be Archer’s room.

Brilliant sunlight peeks through the curtains alerting me to the fact that it is now morning.Is he just now going to bed?

Last night, after Archer showed me to what I assume is the guest room, I barricaded myself in, blocking the door with a heavy wood dresser. The events from earlier finally caught up to me fully and left me feeling wrung out and physically and emotionally drained. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I crashed hard.

Grabbing my phone off the bedside table, I see that it is already half past ten. I’m shocked I was actually able to sleep this late, my internal alarm usually forcing me up with the sun.

Getting out of bed, I freshen up in the adjoiningbathroom before pulling on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top, throwing on my old favorite sweatshirt over top.

Pressing my ear against the door, I listen to make sure I don’t hear anyone moving around in the house, grateful when I’m greeted with nothing but silence.

Carefully, I slide the dresser back into its original place, wincing when it makes a loud screeching noise as it drags across the floor.

Poking my head out into the hallway, I look left and right, making sure the coast is clear before I tiptoe down to the living room. I pause when I get halfway down the stairs, mouth gaping in awe at the view before me

The walls are a light cream, and the décor is done in beautiful grays and deep, moody blues giving it a dark coastal feel. High ceilings with exposed, natural wood beams and matching wood floors open to a large chef's kitchen, equipped with stainless steel appliances. But none of that is what has left me speechless.

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