Page 8 of They Call Him Reaper

“I had big plans to fuck her,” he admits.

“I’ll allow one night with the one who got away, only after you help me.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll tell you who to contact.”

The Reaper lets me go and pushes me toward the door, then smacks my ass. “Go get ready for him,Gatita.”

Walking fast, I push open the door and inhale the fresher air from the cabin. With a racing heart, I look around while he’s outside, no keys, no phone, and no change of clothes. It’s a long shot, but now isn’t the time to get away. Instead, I step back into the shower, as if the stench of Zagan has somehow gotten on my skin. I don’t linger. I quickly soap up my body and rinse off, since I’m not sure what to expect. The mountain views and rustic theme would've been a fun choice if I weren’t stuck here against my will.

Gunshots echo through the cabin the moment I wrap my towel around my body. I remain paralyzed in the bathroom, scared to move as the realization dawns that I’m now the last living person to see his face.

The Reaper tall body stalks into the bathroom, his jeans and shirt splattered with blood. Without a word, he begins stripping, causing me to scurry out into the bedroom. I pace in the bedroom, still in my towel. I’m trying to formulate a plan, but he has thought of and squashed all avenues for me to escape. I must’ve been thinking hard because the shower turns off and he returns freshly showered, his damp hair is slicked back, and heholds a trash bag with his bloody clothes in one hand and items that look like they belong to me in the other.

He tosses my clothes on the bed.

“Time to move. Get dressed.” He stalks out the bedroom, then turns back and stops me with a glare. “And never touch me again.”

FIVE

Inaya

What woman ridesshotgun into the woods and waits while the man she’s with dumps a body? An abducted one. The Reaper’s tracking and killing skills are beyond anything I can muster in forty-eight hours. He’s bigger, stronger, and faster. I’d have to be smarter, and with that, I watched him drop Michat’s dead body on the ground without bothering to cover him in any way. He’s comfortable with these woods, which tells me he frequents them. You don’t run on someone's territory.

He returns and opens the back door. “Get out,” he orders as he grabs some bags.

I do as I’m told, hoping I’m not walking into my death. He passes me a bag I recognize as mine and he slings his over his back.

“Stay close, or I will put you down like a lame horse.”

He moves without waiting for a response and begins trekking through the woods. Compliance. He knows he has it. He knows I’ll follow him into an uncertain future instead of attempting to attack him or make a run for it. We both know his capabilities, yet my eyes fall to his ass. It’s crazy to believe that someone as attractive as him is so fucked in the head; it somehow suitshim. While warm in color, his brown eyes hold no warmth or gentleness whenever he looks at me. I’m just a pawn in his scheme and I don’t know my role.

I must move twice as fast as him to keep up. I duck just in time to avoid a branch that he pushed out of his way but didn’t bother to hold for me. The way it whipped through the air tells me it would have hurt like a bitch had I not been paying attention. There’s nothing but the sound of leaves crunching, branches rustling, and my heavy breathing for a solid thirty minutes until a loud blast makes me yelp and jump into his back.

The force of him pushing me off causes me to trip and create a small cloud of leaves to float around me.

“It’s just the car exploding,idiota,”he grumbles as he moves forward.

I’d talk so much shit if I didn’t know he could kill me with little effort. With a frustrated huff, I push myself off the ground and dust off my jeans before catching up. My legs are burning by the time we reach the pavement, and I want to cry when he unlocks an old silver Honda Accord with a dent on the back door of the driver’s side. It’s not a vehicle of luxury, but if it gets me out of the woods without my feet screaming in my Chucks, then I’ll take this small win. I’ll worry about my fears after I catch my breath.

He opens his pack and pulls out a stocking cap, covers his hair, and retrieves a blond wig. I’m shocked when he slides it into place. It looks far more professional than some women’s wigs. Definitely glueless lace. Standing, he pours some water from a bottle on his hands, passes it to me to hold, then squirts clear gel in his hands.

“Come on,” he commands.

Following him over to the foliage, I watch as it rubs his hands together. I nod when I see the white foam. Soap. He holds hishand over to me once he’s scrubbed to his liking and I pour the water for him to rinse.

He’s so meticulous that I’m both impressed and not surprised. Shaking the moisture off his hands, he applies contacts to his eyes. He’s blond with green eyes once he’s done. We venture into a secluded spot in the foliage with a clearing big enough for just the two of us. I’m not sure why we're here until ripping draws my attention to him. He tears his shirt open, and it falls off his body, showing me the defined chest and abs I’d touched about two hours prior. He could be on television if he wasn’t so wicked, and I would have been the captain of the fan club of women who adore him. Instead, I’m constantly looking for ways to leave him behind. Now, however, he’s taking off his shoes and jeans. I didn’t know a man could make briefs sexy and I begin to wonder about that anomaly when The Reaper stops undressing and glares at me.

“Take off your shit and put it in the bag before I choke you to death,” he growls.

Flinching, I get to work, because I know what an empty threat sounds like and that wasn’t it. Stripping quickly, I push the stuff in the bag and stand in my underwear waiting for the next instruction.

“Put on the dress in your bag.” He starts griping in Spanish, and while I cannot understand every word, I know he’s questioning my intelligence. “Get your stuff and tame all of that damn hair unless you want me to shave your head.”

I’m starting to appreciate all the quiet brooding. Hearing his accent doesn’t make up for the vitriol that comes out of his mouth. Luckily, he’d boosted my toiletry bag, and it has everything I put in my hair. I’d want to know how he knows, but the footage on the news tells me he had cameras in my home.

I wet it with leave-in conditioning spray and brush my curls down. I put it in a low ponytail as neatly as I can and plait therest. Luckily, there are a few bandanas in my bag. I turn the blue one that matches my floral dress into a headband with a bow. He looks at me from my head to my bare feet, but his expression tells me nothing. I assume he approves when he grabs our trash and pivots on his heel to head to the car. He puts our bags in the trunk.

“Sit in the passenger seat but keep your feet out of the car,” he tells me.

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