Page 17 of They Call Him Reaper

“Much better,” he admits. His eyes are serious when he roughly grabs my chin. “Some of the things I don’t accept are high pussy, drunk pussy, or might-as-well pussy. My dick only gets hard for women who want me without ulterior motivations. Encouragement from substances or other people ismyhard no. I like the kind who gets wet for no other reason than wanting me so much her pussy drips just from the thought of taking my dick.”

Yes, please.My nipples tighten, but he ignores how they're visible through my shirt, and my center pulses with unfulfilled desire. It’s crazy to be attracted to my tormentor, but I’m an aroused mess who’s on the floor and handcuffed to the wall. There’s a story around his rejection; his examples were too specific, but I’m too drunk to analyze it.

If my mouth wasn’t taped, I’d tell him I could be that person. Iamthat person. He didn’t need to go through all this to get to my dad. He could have seduced all the information he needed out of me. Not that I have much. My brain must be broken, and the alcohol doesn’t help. I’m still thinking of all the ways he can have me right now. Even so, I nod my understanding.

He may have corrected me in his head, but all I heard was, “Try again sober.”

Dante moves away from me and folds back the covers. Every morning, he makes the bed without fail and then does his training outside. He sticks to his routine, never straying. After, he comes and unhooks me from the wall to guide me over and makes me lie down on my side. He extinguishes the light, then joins me under the sheets. I expect him to go to sleep on the other side as usual, but he pulls my back to his chest. One of his arms goes around my waist and the other hand grips my throat.

“Go to sleep and sober up. Don’t try anything remotely sexual. My grip on your neck will tighten until you struggle to breathe.”

I’m never drinking again, because even that sounds sexy. I nod again since I cannot speak. When his body relaxes a little, I know he’s dozing off, but I’m not stupid. He’d awaken immediately to go through with his promise. As if aware of my thoughts, his hand flexes on my throat as he falls asleep.

ELEVEN

Dante

I’mglad I awakened before her the morning after her drunken proposition. She moved a lot in her sleep, causing her shirt to ride up during the night. That morning, my hard dick was almost perfectly nestled between her bare ass cheeks. It only takes so much friction before responding. She grunted when I pushed her off me, but didn’t stir otherwise. Had she awakened before me, she would have considered that a victory.

Luckily, a hangover kept her in bed the rest of that day. I removed the cuffs because they were pointless. She removed the duct tape herself but didn’t get chatty again. The next four days, she’d reverted to the quiet version of herself. It’s fine; my mind is recovering from the memories that her intrusion into my past has unearthed.

While I forget next to nothing, there is a lot that I’ve buried over the years to keep going. In the past, the thoughts of ending it all seemed so promising that I knew Father would find a way to take it from me. Now I know that he was removing all my purpose, possible attachments, and love from my life to make me loyal to only him. He came before everyone and everything, including myself. My teacher and tormentor.

I’m not sure what to do after he dies. Maybe I’ll take on more assassin-for-hire assignments or maybe I’ll finish what he interrupted when I was fifteen, since he won’t be around to have my stomach pumped.

I bring my attention back to taking inventory. Our supplies are getting low, making a trip to the mainland necessary. Besides, I need to use the internet to find out what the news is saying about the abduction. It’ll be faster if I go alone since I’ve mastered blending in. Another change I’ve made is ensuring that I’m always clothed to keep the horny bunny at bay.

She’s out on the beach, sitting and staring at the ocean, and I stand beside her. Her eyes catch my water boots, then work their way up my slacks and buttoned-up shirt. I opted for red hair and blue eyes today. Slinging my waterproof bag over my shoulder, I give her an order.

“Go back inside.” She gets up and does what I tell her without a word, and I follow her back inside. “I’m going to Ibiza to pick up some food and items from the market.”

Her eyes flash in surprise. “We’re somewhere near Spain!”

“Does it matter?”

She pokes out her bottom lip and plops down on the bed. “I guess not.”

I reach in the pack to get the device I have for her for moments like this. It has nothing but games and books women seem to love. Her face lights up with interest when she sees the tablet.

“There’s no internet out here and nothing for you to snoop since I created a guest account. Here’s the charger.”

She takes it from me. “All the versions of Candy Crush! Dante, you’re a saint.”

I give her a blank look. It’s obvious she doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

“Don’t let those novels give you any ideas.” She waggles her eyebrows, but I shake my head to keep from smirking. Only she would have a craving for killer dick. “Behave, I’ll be back.”

She’s already crushing candy before I make it outside. The trip doesn’t take long with jet skiing. After docking, I go straight to an internet cafe and use the computer to check the United States’ national news stations. A manhunt of Zagan turned up his mutilated body. It wasn’tmutilated.They are so dramatic.

Now, her “devastated family” is offering a five-million-dollar reward for her return. Too bad I’m not motivated by money. Seeing real worry in Father’s eyes is satisfying but would be even better in person. I don’t want to see worry; I want to see devastation. The leads have gone cold and there’s nothing else to report. Good. I wish I could see when Father starts to feel the hopelessness parents feel when they begin to think that they’ll never see their child again. I want him to experience his darkest days before he dies.

A quick overview of the weather shows me that I need to hurry up and get back to the island. An unforeseen storm is coming soon. I’m an advanced jet skier, but the ocean doesn’t care about anyone. Moving quickly, I purchase the necessary items then add chocolate bars as a last-minute addition since she mentioned wanting some, I’m assuming it’s because her period will start in a few days.

The wind is cool, and the unrest of the waves is evident. Time is running out. When the jet ski roars to life, I push it to go the fastest it can without capsizing. The water fights against the ski, making it take more strength and effort than usual, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle. I’m about ten minutes away when a bolt of lightning rips through the sky. The blinding flash makes me flinch and my adrenaline triples once the jet ski flips. The almost sunless sky makes it murky underwater, and I must feel my way back to the top. My leg is caught by the handle of the ski gettinginside of my right water boot, and it keeps pulling me under. Giving it a few tugs, I find that it isn’t budging. I must cut the boot. Taking a deep breath, I let the waves push me back under to get the knife from my left ankle. The jet ski bobs in the water, trying to drag me in the wrong direction. It’s tiring me out. Feeling the hard edge of my knife fills me with relief as I unstrap it.

Surfacing again gives me time to take a big breath and aim for where I’m stuck. The ski shifts again, and my knife slices my right thigh.

“Fuck!” I yell from the pain but fight to work to continue with my mission.

---