Page 39 of Reaper's Hunt

A sharp bitter laugh falls from me. “No, she’s just not answering you. You barged into her house and then your drunken ass interrogated her, you dipshit.”

“But sheknowssomething and I just… when did you and her become a thing?”

I know I shouldn’t, but the smug tilt of his mouth, the way he thinks he’s got her figured out makes my blood boil. I need to wipe that look off his face and knock him down a peg or two. Leaning forward, I meet his gaze, letting one of my more deadly smiles spill over my lips. “I’ve known her since we were kids. I was surprised when she ended up here, but things just kinda rekindled.”

“Even when we were dating?”

“Nope, she pushed me to the side but ran right back after she left you. Look, this is about how you fucked up. Don’t do it again.” I told him yesterday that it doesn’t matter who I stick my dick in or frankly who sticks their dick in me and I meant it. “Now, tell me about Philip Smission. You said he’s dead but that the kill was weird.”

Harley looks like he wants to argue, but he sighs and changes the conversation. “Yeah, he was left on a park bench with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written in blood on the wood. Not a typical kill for The Reaper, but it’s definitely their work.”

A body on a bench with a scrawled apology? That’s not her. It’s too quiet, a sinking feeling in my gut that whoever is after her has already gotten into her head. “Anything else?”

“We got a letter. It’s with the forensics team, but essentially, the guy who left the body on Monday wants to play with The Reaper.”

“Did he give himself some awful name, too?”

Harley shakes his head, his shoulders deflating in defeat. “No, he’s just an unknown. That’s why I’ve been allowed to officially extend you an offer as a consultant on this case. We can’t afford any more bodies. The press already has wind that Philip’s dead. This is going to send people into a frenzy so I need a profiler who knows his shit. Which is you.”

I think I hesitate a little too long with the way Harley’s face scrunches up.

“Just promise me that if Selene knows something, you bring it to me.”

“What do you think she knows, Harley? Be so fucking for real, right now.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze darting around his office before falling back on me. “I don’t know. I just know that something doesn’t add up.”

“Well, you’ve got that meeting with her on Monday. Ask then. Make your deductions and then move on. She’s not your enemy, Harley.” I stand and head to the entrance of his office. “Let me think on your offer. It’s been fun not having to play by the rules. Filling out an actual contract, regardless of who it helps, isn’t really part of my plan.” Those words don’t make him happy but I don’t care.

He’s testing me. If I take him up on the offer, he’ll believe that I don’t know anything, I’ll also have unfettered access to everything that comes across his desk. And if I don’t…

Selene

Itriedsleepingandthen also fucking my fingers but that left me wholly unsatisfied after having Malik and Dante stuffed inside me. So, now I’m wandering around my favorite trinket shop, looking for a new jar to stash on my wall. A low melody peels from my throat as I weave through the aisles, my fingers brushing chipped teacups and tarnished brass figurines.

The aisle toward the back is my siren call, my eyes already scanning the options. One’s heavy with brass but just a little too gaudy; another shimmers with iridescent scales, but I’ve got a mermaid jar already. My gaze lands on one with a heart etched in the glass and I pluck it from the shelf before tucking it in my little basket. Another catches my eye; a witch’s hat, black and pointed, and I grab that too, a smile tugging at my lips.

There aren’t many jars I haven’t seen before which doesn’t shock me but I’m also disappointed, knowing that I’ll run out of choices soon. My phone vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my quest for the perfect jar.

Of course, it’shim. I place the phone to my ear, waiting to hear his voice.

“Did you like my present?”

I whirl around, searching for wherever the fuck this guy must be but there’s no one here save for the old shop owner at the front. It takes me a minute to remember what he was talking about and realize it’s about the rock he left me. “I love it,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Every girl just wants a bunch of fucking rocks.”

“But you’re not every girl, Doe. I’m getting ready to make my move, but I wanted to make sure you were still thinking of me. By the way, there’s a beautiful jar in the back, third row. I think it’ll be perfect for my heart.”

He’s been here too? Of course, he has. He’s somehow everywhere else. I shuffle a few of the jars out of the way, reaching the one he must be talking about. It’s got a diamond crusted skull on the front of thin black glass, brass bones sticking out of the handle and along the top. It really is a perfect jar. “What makes you think you’d end up on my wall?” I’m not even going to think about why or how he knows about the wall.

“Because I know you. That wall is your strength, an extension of your own heart. It gives you life. Having me there would be a triumph, a relief, a conquest of epic proportions.”

“Bold assumption,” I grumble, snatching the jar and putting it in my basket.

“Now, excuse me while I put the finishing touches on my move. It’s going to be glorious, Bella. So glorious.”

The line goes dead, the coffee souring in my gut at the new name he just gave me. No one calls me Bella. I always hated my real name. Everyone knew it growing up. They either called me Ana or picked something else.Belladoes something to me, nightmares pulling the edge of my mind, threatening to pull me under.

I force myself to focus, paying for the jars and hurrying up to put them away. However, it’s embarrassingly obvious that someone’s been in here. The coffee table is askew and so is the couch. Horror sets in as I start running through my apartment, checking everything and realizing that while nothing has been taken, something has been left here.

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