Page 7 of Reaper's Hunt

“Harley, I’m not sure why this couldn’t have been a phone call or a quick chat during my shift. I don’t leave the boutique when I’m working. I keep my head down, don’t cause trouble, don’t have friends. If I remember something, you’ll be the first one I tell. Excuse me, I have plans tonight.” She abruptly pushes out of her chair and heads for the door, but she doesn’t get far.

Harley’s halfway to her, hand outstretched again as if he’s going to grab for her. I’ll rip that hand off his arm if he does. “Hey, you have plans?” His hopeful tone makes me gag, the sparkle in his expression telling me that he’s still stuck on a woman he couldn’t even begin to handle. “I was hoping you might go out with me—”

“It’s never gonna happen again, Harley,” she cuts him off. “You’re the guy who always thought you could change me. Nothing to change here. This is me.”

He steps closer, his voice more desperate now. “But you didn’t used to be like this all the time. Babe—”

She throws up a hand, stopping him dead. “First off, I’m not your babe. I’m not your anything. You made that crystal fucking clear when you broke up with me, telling me if I wouldn’t change, things wouldn’t work. I’m not mad, just stating facts. Second, life changes a person. Watching my stepfather get ripped apart and then dealing with my mother’s hatred because I didn’t stop it? Makes it kind of hard to be some sweet, innocent little girl hoping for the best in a cruel world. Excuse me.”

There’s a hint of a smirk on her lips, the triumph that comes from tearing her stepfather apart but it’s gone just as fast as she exits his office. I offer Harley a smug grin and mumble that I’ll go after her.

Dante

I’mtryingrealfuckinghard not to laugh, trailing Selene out of the station, her silver hair swinging like a scythe with every pissed-off step. Everyone calls her The Reaper because of her artistic kills left bleeding without a heart. She’s my Reaper because of the way she’s stolen my attention, my soul, and the very air I breathe.

Fuck, maybe I should have been a poet instead of a profiler.

Selene has always been a force to be reckoned with, but this version of her is so much more exciting, especially with the way she dropped that note about her stepfather like she didn’t gut him herself. He’s dead; that’s what really matters and if he wasn’t, I’d have hunted him down myself, dragged him to the pits of hell, and beat the shit out of him until his bones were dust. Just so she’d know someone’s got her back and always will. She doesn’t need saving, but fuck, I’d kill for her anyway.

We hit the parking lot, and I unlock the truck, sliding into the driver’s seat as she climbs in beside me. She slams the door, turning those glass-gray eyes on me, narrowed to slits. “Tell me the real reason why it was so important for me to show up at the station for two goddamn questions,” she snaps, a hint of a growl at the edge of her voice.

For a moment, I don’t say anything, pulling out onto the main street to take her back home. “Harley knew you’d hang up on him if he tried to ask you out on a date.” It’s half-true and I lean back, grinning at her glare. One day she’ll snap at me for real, but until then, I’m going to keep fucking with her.

She scoffs, crossing her arms tight around her chest, that black dress pulling a few inches up her thighs. “It’s 8 p.m. on a Wednesday night, Dante. Give me something else.”

I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair before shifting to face her. “Harley’s under the impression you know more than you’re telling. Hear me out. I know you were nowhere near that murder, because I’ve seen the cameras. You’re clean on this one. But every time he asked you a question earlier this week, you dodged it while still flapping your lips. It’s like watching a fucking magician dodge a bullet.”

She smirks, obviously proud of herself from my imagery, but she also knows I’m right. She tends to talk her way out of a problem, but Harley isn’t as stupid as he lets on. “That’s not a crime. I don’t like cops, Harley’s my ex, and you’re my… whatever you are, who smothers me with unwanted attention.” Her words are doused in sarcasm, but there’s a flicker in her eyes testing me, pushing me, daring me to do something.

I wait until I pull up to her apartment, kill the engine, and then yank her over the console. She gasps, straddling my lap, her thighs clamping my hips as I grip her waist hard. “Unwanted attention?” I growl, sliding a hand up to grip her tit through that dress, squeezing until she squirms for relief. “Did you not want me to finish you off, kitten?” My thumb brushes her nipple, and I feel it harden, her breath hitching despite the fire in her eyes.

Her gaze darkens, pupils blowing wide as she leans in close, lips brushing my ear. “You’re a bastard,” she hisses, her voice a venomous purr that sends heat straight to my cock.

“I’ll take that as a yes, princess. Get me out.” My free hand digs into her thigh, sliding under the dress, fingers brushing the damp heat between her legs. She’s still mine—wet from earlier, marked by me, and I’ll be damned if she forgets it.

For a brief moment, I think she’s going to climb off me and storm her sexy little ass back into that apartment, but we both know she needs release. It’s the one thing I can give her that no one else can. Her eyes flash with anger again before her hand dives between us and rips my pants open, the zipper’s rasp a jagged tease in the silence.

My breath hitches, cock straining as she pulls it free, already leaking for her. Her touch is molten, a slow stroke that sets me on fire, and then she’s shifting, yanking her panties aside, her fingers tugging the soaked fabric, baring her glistening cunt. She doesn’t tease, doesn’t wait, just slides down, impaling herself on me in one slick, agonizing thrust.

“Fuck,” I rasp as she clenches around me. She swivels her hips, a filthy grind that drags her clit against me, starting up a pace she knows won’t make me come but will send her spiraling. And that’s all I crave—to watch her shatter on my cock, to feel her cunt pulse as she breaks, those glass-gray eyes glazing with raw, desperate need. Her lips crash to my neck, sucking hard, teeth scraping my pulse until I’m throbbing inside her. Her fingers claw my shoulders, nails sinking through my shirt, drawing blood, I’d bleed for her a thousand times.

I knew she’d take it. She always does. Her one-night stands, those nameless fucks she tosses aside? None of them get this. Harley got a taste once and botched it, but me? I’m the only one she drags back, the only one she lets split her open again and again.

My hands slide under her dress and grip her ass, spreading her wider, fingers brushing where we’re joined. She’s a mess stretched around me, and I want to bury myself deeper, fuck her until she can’t walk.

She’s close. I feel it in the hitch of her breath, the way her thighs tremble, the frantic bite of her nails. Her lips suck a bruise into my neck, a mark I’ll wear like a badge, and then she shatters. Her cunt clamps down, a pulsing wave that milks me as she comes, a broken moan spilling against my skin. This is for her—her pleasure, her ruin, the way she gives herself to me like no one else gets to see.

Selene sags against my chest, little trembles from the release I denied her earlier rumbling through her. I fight the urge to crush her to me, to wrap my arms around her and hold her until she truly melts into me. My chest burns with a need I’ve buried for years. She doesn’t like to remember the moments when we were just innocent kids, when I swore we’d be each other’s forever. She’s never stopped being mine, not through the blood, the kills, the twisted shit we’ve become. Our tastes are warped, sure. I crave her darkness, her deviance but I still want her in my bed, under me, screaming my name every night. Permanent.Mine.

It feels like it’s too soon when she reaches over to the handle and opens my door, before climbing off my lap and stepping out onto the gravel. I don’t bother cleaning myself up, staring at the woman who unknowingly has my heart.

“Don’t wait up,” she throws at me, slamming my door closed.

I lean out through the window, watching as she resituates her dress. “Make sure to lock your fucking door, princess.”

She snorts, sauntering off, hips swaying in that way that makes my blood boil. “I’m gonna need a fucking deadbolt when it comes to you,” she fires back, her silver hair catching the moonlight, a siren calling me to ruin.

I watch her until she’s gone, disappearing into her building, and then I mutter to myself as I tuck my cock back into my pants. “A deadbolt won’t keep me away from you, kitten.”

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