Page 24 of Reaper's Hunt

The lipstick’s sloppy, streaked over my upper lip, down my chin, Malik dragging me into a full kiss, his lips crashing into mine, licking and nipping, the taste of blood and chemicals from the lipstick mixing together. He pulls back, his grin even more feral than before as I try to gauge whatever the fuck is going on here.

“Babe,” I say, wiping at my chin, the lipstick smearing on my fingers, “I know you’ve got a screw loose, but what the fuck?”

Malik leans back, twirling the lipstick tube between his bloody fingers, his eyes locked on mine. “That’s Sparrow’s color,” he muses. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? The color of blood. Thought you’d look pretty in it too. You do. Want to mark you up in this color, smother you in it. Want it everywhere.”

Holy shit. Selene’s gone from an obsession to a downright craving. The fact that he picked up her crimson lipstick and now wants to bathe in it, paint us both in it, is a whole new level of crazy. Problem is, my cock’s throbbing, hard as fuck, and I’m into it. It helps that the car already smells like sex and the darkened stain in the crotch of Malik’s pants tells me I already missed the obscene fantasy he just played out in his head.

“As much as I’d love to wrap my pretty red lips around you, we’re in the police parking lot. I like a lot of risks, but that’s not one of them.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Quite the opposite. Now, what happened to your leg?”

Malik leans back in his chair, staring down at the wound before pressing a finger to it, giggling as more blood dribbles out. “She got mad that I touched her,” he sings, like he’s talking about a love tap instead of a fucking stab wound.

A growl rumbles in my chest, my hands tightening on the steering wheel as I start the car. “You touched her without asking?” Selene’s mine but I also know that I can’t keep her to myself. However, I will protect her from Malik if I have to.

He shrugs, unfazed, his grin never faltering. “I forgot to ask. She was right to stab me. But I’ll remember next time.”

“Next time?” My voice rises, disbelief mixing with the anger, my eyes narrowing as I stare over at him.

“You don’t get to keep her anymore. She’s mine too. She’ll want us both.”

He’s right, and that’s the fucking problem. Selene can handle us both. Her fire, her deviance, her hunger for blood and sex make her more than a match for our chaos. She’s just crazy enough to want it, to crave the unhinged danger we bring, but that’s exactly what’s gonna burn her down.

I nearly ask him to tone it down as I peel out of the parking lot and then realize that’s impossible for someone like him. No, I’ll just wait till we get home, let him fuck me for getting shampoo in his eyes earlier and then hopefully figure out how to get Selene’s hammer back in her hands.

Selene

Sittingonthefloor,chugging a rose` in black lingerie doesn’t make me feel as sexy as I thought it would. Especially since I look like I’m studying a suspect to a crime rather than a guy who’s going to end up as one of my victims. I have to figure out which jar I’m going to use for him as well because this kill wasn’t planned. Probably the one with the banana or maybe the one that has the hand on it. God, I have no fucking clue.

Gulping another mouthful, the bitter tang burns my throat, matching the heat pooling between my thighs. Across the room, a makeshift cork board of pins, photos, and notes maps out Philip Smission, the mayor’s sleazeball son and my target, due dead by midnight tomorrow. He’s a dirty old man, no question, but a hot one, all silver hair and sharp jaw, and despite his cringe-worthy lines, he’s sent three dick pics today, each one proving he’s not lying about his size.

Taking him for a trial run before I kill him doesn’t sound half bad. He’s a cheater, not a monster, no abuse in his rap sheet, just a wandering cock. Another swig of wine and my phone buzzes on the cushion beside me, the screen lighting up with his name.

I’ve been goading the fucker all day, teasing him with descriptions of what I’m wearing but not actually sending him a picture. I have to be just enough of a tease that he’ll still want me tomorrow but not too much that he shuts down.

Because after dinner tomorrow, it’s game on. I need to kill him away from my apartment, somewhere discreet. A seedy motel twenty minutes out, no cameras, no questions, is perfect, and there’s a high-end Italian restaurant I’ve been dying to try. Classy enough to lure him, dark enough to slip away. I type out a flirty replay, cringing at the words.

You’re making me hungry, big guy.

Bet I can satisfy that appetite.

I roll my eyes, my pussy clenching despite the disgust, because I’m horny as fuck. He’s also not really the only one stoking the fire.

The phone buzzes again but this time it’s my mystery suitor, the one that calls meSparrow. I open the text, knowing I should probably be more wary about all the unknowns around me. It’s just one picture but it has me groaning, resisting the urge to slip two fingers into my panties.

There’s a red mark on a man’s chest, carved abs toward the edge of the pic. I squint to see what the mark truly is, a kiss print in crimson lipstick, the shade I picked up at the boutique. Most guys send dick pics, but this is different, personal, and I should find it creepy, him watching me, stealing my color, but my twisted heart finds it endearing.

It’s attention, devotion, and I’m fucked up enough to crave it, to want his lips brushing by my ear again. Playing into his desires might also get me my hammer back.

It’s very pretty.

Next time it’ll be my sparrow’s lips.

When are you giving back my hammer?

When I see you next.

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