Page 11 of Reaper Released

“Who is this?”

“Me? I’m your new best friend. You can call me Reaper.”

“Reaper? And why would I want you as a new best friend?” she purrs.

“Because I’ve just saved your daughter Catalina’s life without you even knowing it was in danger. You’re welcome, by the way!”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“On the contrary, I’m serious! Deadly!”

“I’m listening.”

“You might wanna take a seat, Carmen, while I fill you in … ”

We fill Carmen in on the whole situation. She’s coming to have a meeting with us, but in the mean time, I’m gonna fuck with Miguel a little. It’s only fair!

I walk up to the barn where I’ve been told they are keeping Miguel. As I come to a stand still outside the doors, I can hear a rumble of hushed voices. Pushing through the doors, the whole place falls silent; you could hear a pin drop!

Fucking hell, the whole club’s here. What the actual fuck? Here’s me thinking I’m gonna have a quiet word. It looks like the Reapers have other thoughts. I hold my head high and stride into the barn. I’m still wearing Steel’s Harley tank with the skull on, which I’ve tied to the side forgoing the bra. If I’d have known the whole club was gonna be here, I would have at least put one on. I’m now flashing major side boob. I have on a pair of ripped black jeans and my tools are stuffed in my new rock trail boots as I walk in. The club parts like the red fucking sea, and I nod.

“Gentlemen, what a surprise!” I strut through the centre of them all. I get to the back of the room, where Miguel’s tied by his wrists and ankles to a chair. There is an empty barrel upturned in front of him like a table, and a chair for me to sit in front of. Walking up to the chair, I sit down, smiling at Miguel.

“Hola pendejo… extrañame?”

“Hello asshole… miss me?”

“Scar?” he says with a shaky voice.

“Puedes llamarme Segador.”

“You can call me Reaper.”

I laugh at the look on his face. “Firstly, when you kidnap someone, you should make sure you have the right person!”

Leaning back in the chair, I lift my leg up, placing my foot on the top of the barrel and leaning forward to remove my hunting knife from my boot. I move back again but leave my leg up. I start picking my nails with the knife without even looking in Miguel’s direction.

“Secondly, when you kidnap someone, you should make sure they don’t speak Spanish. Estúpido.”

“Idiot.”

Looking up at him, I cock my head to the side. I point the knife at him. “Those ropes look a little tight! Are they too tight, Miguel?”

Looking at either wrist, he nods, gulping down as his gaze rests back on my face. I lean forward. It hurts like fucking hell, but I grin, not showing an ounce of pain. I see his gaze shift so he’s looking down my top, and he swallows, making his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. I grin at him.

“Let me help you, Miguel!” Leaning over the barrel, I cut his right wrist free, but keep ahold of his hand and stroke the back of it to pull it to rest on the barrel. He's still looking down my top! Making my voice all breathy, I ask, “Is that better, Miguel?”

Swallowing again, he nods. I can see the bulge in his trousers and I smirk.

“You like that, Miguel?… The view, that is?” Still circling my left thumb in circles on the back of his hand, I hold it across the barrel. His gaze never lifts from my tits as he nods. Wiping my hand across the back of his, he never flinches until I slam the hunting knife straight through his hand, right up to the hilt, pinning his hand to the barrel. He lets out a piercing scream and starts trying to tug his hand free, but he can’t do anything. Dropping back in my seat, I reach into my pocket and fish out the matches. Reaching into my other pocket, I pull out the Swiss Army knife. He gasps as he sees the knife.

“Mine now! Franco won’t be needing it where he’s gone!” I take a match from the packet and with the blunt end, I sharpen then place it on the barrel. Miguel’s panting now, sweating and wincing, tears streaming down his face. I take out another match and do the same. I can hear people moving, shifting from one foot to the other, but not one of them says a word. Taking out another match and repeating the ritual, sharpening the end to a point, I put it down on the barrel, get another, and repeat!

Once I have five matches, I put the knife down on the barrel, picking up a match and studying the end. Miguel’s breathing heavy. I have been silent while I have painstakingly sharpened every match, flipping the match so the sharp end points to Miguel. I grab his middle finger from his hand that’s pinned to the barrel. He’s eyeing me with confusion, his breaths ragged sweat beading on his forehead. All will become clear shortly.

Holding his finger in place, I put the point of the match under his finger nail and stare him straight in the eyes. I start to push so slowly. The screaming starts almost immediately.

“Stop please, Sc… Reaper! …Please… I will tell you what you want to know.”

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