Page 29 of Reaper's Hunt

“I’m so sorry, Philip,” I murmur, a flicker of guilt twisting in my chest. “You weren’t on my list.”

I’m not sure why I do it but I reach toward his chest, running my gloved fingers through the blood still pooling there and then write out one little phrase.

I’m sorry.

It’s not my style but it fits this moment and it’ll be a curveball for Harley and the Reaper investigation.

I stay there for a few more minutes before climbing back into my car and discarding the gloves, taking off onto the road to get home and hopefully a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, my phone’s already ringing five minutes later, my mysterious caller’s name popping up on the dashboard. The problem is that he’s calling my personal cellphone and not the burner.

He knows too much, Selene.

“I know that,” I growl out before pressing answer. “What?”

A low chuckle filters through the earpiece, mocking me. “Doe, that was such a pretty kill but feeling remorse afterward? Not really your style.”

I should have scanned better to see if I could find the man in the shadows because I have no idea how he’s always so close to me. “He wasn’t my choice to kill,” I snap back. “But he’s dead now and everyone’ll mourn him. Now what?”

“Well, now it’s my turn to play,” he muses. “Go home, clean up your last mess. I bet it’s starting to stink in there and I’m gonna enjoy myself. It’s Friday!Live a little.”

“I was living just fucking fine until you,” I hiss.

“Oh, I know. I much prefer you in lingerie than all this black clothing.”

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

“And I thought you liked that. After your other mysterious friend came to your room and fucked the shit out of you. Though, if I had my way, it would’ve been me behind you.”

My gaze darts to the rearview mirror and then out the windows. “Where the fuck are you? Why are you watching me?”

“I told you. I was getting bored and what’s more fun than making a queen bow? Now go home, take that shower I know you want to and settle in. Wait for my present. It’s gonna be an amazing one.”

The line goes dead which is just par for the course as I speed home, kicking off my shoes the moment I step inside and shedding the rest of the clothing so I can grab a shower. The man on the phone wasn’t wrong; that feeling of the heated water cascading over my shoulders iseverythingafter a kill. Well, a good whiskey and a hard fuck, too.

I lose myself in my routine, throwing the clothes in the wash and then starting in on the guest bedroom, doing my best to clean up any evidence of my nighttime activities. I even manage to push Philip’s kill and that glorious fuck out of my mind long enough to focus and order a new mattress. All that concentration is shattered when a sharp knock hits my front door.

“Better not be Dante,” I mutter, stalking into the living room. I’ve only got a robe on, not expecting company but whoever is at the door can deal with me like this. I lean up on my tip toes and look through the peephole, groaning when there’s a very drunk Harley standing on the other side. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Selene

Itakeadeepbreath and force my face into a softer expression that won’t immediately alert Harley to how annoyed I am with him. And then the fucker starts pounding on my door like whatever he has to say is urgent. I grab a bottle of Febreze and spray it liberally around the room and then rip the door open. Harley stumbles in, his hands reaching forward to cup my face. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, swaying to the right a little. “I still love you, Selene. Won’t try to change you.”

“What the fuck?” I snap, shutting the door behind him to keep whatever this is away from my neighbors. I’m supposed to be the one who never causes any trouble. “You never get drunk. What happened?”

He sways again before catching himself on the wall, his face flushed a deep read. When he speaks, his words slur together telling me he had more than just afewdrinks. “Just realized I’m pushing all the good things away in my life. Dante’s been telling me I’m an asshole, and I just…”

My eyes narrow, my mind snagging on Dante’s name, but I focus on everything other than that. Stepping toward the living room to block out anything I forgot to hide, I address the real issue. “And so you come to my house drunk and do what, tell me we need to get back together? That’s not exactly how to get the girl.”

Harley shakes his head, stumbling toward the couch. He falls to one of the cushions and then straightens up, meeting my gaze. His eyes are glassy, his expression full of regret but it’s too late for that. “No, he… kinda gave me a family intervention, and I…” He trails off, his gaze wandering.Not good, Selene. Get him the fuck out. Wait, what did he say?

“Nope, I’m stopping you right there. Family intervention? What the fuck are you talking about?”

He rubs his face, his words slow, slurred. “He’s my brother, well, stepbrother. It’s complicated. We’re not talking about him. Talking about us.”

Oh, that’s rich and something I’m definitely bringing up with Dante the next time I see him. For now, I need to get Harley’s drunk ass out of my house. Even while inebriated, he’s not stupid and his eyes are already wandering, catching on a small trash bag by the couch, a bloody handkerchief dangling from the rim, a leftover from my last cleanup I forgot to burn. Groaning inwardly, I step in front of it, knowing that it’s now going to be a problem. There’s really only one way to get out of it as I shrug off the shoulder of my robe, giving him a distraction as I fumble for my phone from my pocket.

There’s several missed messages from Harley and a lovely text, ‘we need to talk’ but I dismiss all those and pull up the rideshare app to call him a car. I’m too engrossed in that to notice that he’s suddenly behind me, holding the cloth up to his face. “What is this?”

Oh. My. Fucking.God.

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