Page 16 of Reaper's Hunt

Ronan laughs at that too, folding his arms across his chest, his dark eyes settling until there’s a sort of boyish charm attached to his features. “You good to get home? I’ve gotta close up the bar, but I can give you a ride in thirty minutes.”

Where the fuck did this guy come from? In Ashthorne, people are snakes; dealers, killers, liars, all out for themselves. Sure, there’s a few good people, but I haven’t met very many. But Ronan? Offering a ride like some knight in a dive bar? “How are you a gentleman?” I snap, my voice edged with suspicion. “No one in Ashthorne is nice.”

“I’m not nice,” he snorts. “But I know how to treat a woman. There’s a difference.”

“Lovely,” I mutter, brushing past him toward the small sink in the corner. “I’m gonna wash my face and my… well, I guess a whole ass bird bath is needed. Thanks for scratching an itch.” I gesture to the desk, papers now all over the floor.

“My pleasure,” he muses, his tone warm but laced with a hint of possession. “I’m here every night.”

“That’s cheesy as fuck. And this was a one-time thing.” It won’t be, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He shrugs, leaning against the desk now, his arms crossed, unfazed by my statement. “Okay.”

“I expected some pushback.”

“You told me what you wanted, and I accept that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and find my way to drag you back here again. Maybe next time, I’ll begentlemanlyenough to grab us a bed.” There’s a smirk on his face that both pisses me off and makes me want to ask him if he’s got another round in him.

But no.

I need to go home. Plan. Find a way out of the several messes I’ve gotten myself in and then figure out how I’m going to survive.

None of that includes Ronan’s cock stuck in my cunt again.

But hey, maybe tomorrow will have a different agenda.

Selene

Wakingupfuckedout,my limbs numb and my pussy satisfied, is a good feeling. Between Dante and then Ronan, I’m high over the moon. It’s even better holding one of my beautiful glass jars; the one with the little pirate sword down the middle.

It’s beautiful, the crimson tendrils floating in the ethanol mixture a mesmerizing thing to lose myself in. A lazy morning on my plush lounge, no responsibilities, no one searching for me as I memorize each ripple along the heart I carved out of a man’s chest two months ago. I trail my finger along the glass, memories of the smooth leathery texture sitting in my palm coming back to me. The crimson film covering it spread across my skin, making me wonder what it would be like to be completely coated in this essence.

Would it feel like a membrane or a second skin? Maybe it would just be a chaotic mess as I laughed at the memory of the light dying from his eyes. Vale screamed for his pathetic little life after strangling his daughter and here I am, twirling his heart around in a jar, thinking about covering myself in his juices.

Well, notthosejuices.

I’m talking about blood.You know what, never mind.

A curse slips from my lips as I fumble the jar onto the coffee table, the burner phone vibrating next to it. Must be the mystery caller who wants the fucking son of the mayor dead. I’m definitely going to hell with this job, but I don’t have a choice. He has dirt on me and someone else has my motherfucking hammer.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, snatching the phone up and opening it to a new text. It’s a photo of Philip Smission, the mayor’s son, balls-deep in some young thing, her legs wrapped around his hips, her face twisted in pleasure. She looks barely legal but it’s not enough for the cops, not enough to justify the death this mysterious caller wants.

So, he likes to fuck girls a bit younger than him, so what?

Smission’s a silver fox, pushing sixty, with a toned body and a firm ass that’d make most women pause. If he wasn’t a target, I might’ve considered riding him myself, just to see if he’s as good as he looks.

He’s a cheater. That isn’t his wife.

And that’s life.

You’re a bit of a heartless bitch.

A bitter laugh slips from my lips as I text back.

And I don’t kill because someone objects to someone else’s morals. Give me something more.

I know that car of yours.

Fucking hell, I hate this guy.

---