Page 89 of The Hunted
It was Santino’s turn to chuckle. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He took another step forward, dropping his hands to be ready for whatever came at him. His body buzzed with energy. He almost hoped the Reaper made good on their promise.
When was the last time he had anyone challenge him in a way that would test his grit?
He heard the computerized sigh before he was ducking from the knife the Reaper threw.
How many of them shits did they have on them?
He hissed out a breath when a third knife cut through his arm. He blinked, standing up to his full height. The Reaper was there in front of him with the kitchen knife under his chin and something pressed into his stomach.
How the fuck did they move so fast, and where were they keeping all this weaponry?
He looked the Reaper over. They wore all black like he did, but where Santino had on a compression shirt they wore a sweatshirt.
“Careful,” the Reaper taunted, “you’re bleeding. We wouldn’t want you to leave behind evidence, now would we?” The Reapertsked. “This isn’t either of our first time, let’s behave like it’s not. K?”
“Maybe don’t throw knives, and I wouldn’t leave evidence behind, yeah?” Santino’s stomach dropped when he stared into the Reaper’s brown eyes. He tried to figure out if they were wearing contacts or not. They seemed real. He still couldn’t shake the familiarity he felt standing this close to them.
“Learn to dodge better,” the Reaper responded.
Santino sized the Reaper up. He wondered if there was a way to snatch the mask off before the Reaper cut at his hands or fled. He was desperate to know who this person was and how they were connected. Why did this game even start if Santino had no clue who the Reaper was to them?
“Don’t.” The computerized voice laughed. Santino felt the press of what he assumed was a gun dig deeper into his belly. “I don’t want to shoot you. It makes things real messy, and it’s impersonal.” The Reaper leaned in. “And things between us are very personal.”
“So personal you won’t tell me what’s up with your voice or remove your mask?” Santino took a step forward, pressing his chin into the knife. The sting of it had him smiling. “Who are you?”
The mask they wore twitched before they spoke. “Who are you? Are you the FBI agent who gets praised for a job well done? The vigilante taking out the scum of the world?” They shrugged. “Or are you something else? Something you’re too scared to face?”
The knife was biting into his skin. He could feel the blood swelling to the surface, but neither one of them backed off.
“You want to know who I am,” the computerized voice grated against his skin, “ask yourself who you are to find the answer.”
Something sizzled and buzzed around them. A shift in the air when a storm was on the way, even though the sun was still out. Santino could feel the energy of it coursing through his body, demanding he move—to either take cover or run into it.
He was annoyed with the Yoda bullshit the Reaper was sprouting. How hard was it to answer a simple question?
Especially one I’m sure the Reaper wants me to know the answer to.
The tension thickened around them as they continued to brood. Their little game of chicken made Santino smile and his cock twitch. He was annoyed, yes, but this battle of wills left him feeling loose. He felt the same energy course through him when he was ready to take out his marks. He was ready to do the same with the Reaper.
“Don’t do it.” The Reaper pressed the gun deeper into his stomach. “I really don’t want to kill you.”
It was Santino’s turn to chuckle. “And you won’t. It would ruin your game.” He took a step forward, and the Reaper took one back. The fire that burned in the Reaper’s eyes made his palms itch to take a swing.
“Do it,” he whispered. “I fucking dare you to kill me,” he challenged, taking a step forward.
The Reaper took another step back. “Is this arrogance or stupidity?” they questioned.
“It’s intelligence,” he murmured, knowing he had the Reaper right where he wanted. “You started this game for some reason I haven’t actually figured out yet, but….” Santino stared into the Reaper’s eyes, trying to get something to click.
There was a string of familiarity pulling at his subconscious, but he couldn’t hold on to it or tug it to unravel what he was missing. His breath took in whatever lingered on the Reaper’s skin, and even that tugged at his mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
“You wouldn’t end it with me right here. Nah.” He took another step forward, and they took a step back. They continued the dance until the Reaper had been backed up against Sarah’s kitchen island.
Santino’s gaze swung around the modest home. He’d been here before. He knew were the pots were and what Sarah Brown had in her fridge. He saw the wood block on Sarah’s countertop, missing only one knife, which was probably the one pressed into his chin now.
He made sure to keep track of everything that could be used as a weapon against him. While he had every intention of using his bare hands on the Reaper, he wasn’t going to underestimate them and think they wouldn’t fight dirty if it came down to it. Leaving a trail of evidence be damned when it came to survival.
They both knew whoever was left standing would do their due diligence and clean and sweep the area so nothing could be tied back to either of them. This game was between the two of them.
