Page 27 of Reaper Razed

Dropping my head to the cell bars. “Okay… just, please. I need to get back to my grandma. I need to pay for her care.”

“Who do you work for?”

“The Armoury.”

“Who told you you were working for The Armoury?”

“Gerald.”

“How long?”

“Three months.”

“What training did you have?”

“Training…?”

“Why did you go after the Reapers?”

“There was a job, one of Gerald’s guys died, and the bikers came looking around the area after. He wanted information. Gerald said they were a rival group, so we were gonna ransom them back after we had the information he wanted.”

“What do you think The Armoury does?”

“What?”

“The quicker you answer, the quicker you go!”

“We run security for events, protection.”

She grips the bridge of her nose and shakes her head.

“Does Gerald have a boss?”

“There’s a guy he messages, but they never speak. I don't know anything more about him!”

“When you went on the job where the guy died. What was it?”

“Security at an event, some people were kidnapping a judge, so we went in to secure the place while the other team rescued the judge.”

She shakes her head again. “Why do you keep shaking your head?”

“Because, kid, you’ve no fucking clue who you’re working for or what they actually do. You’ve been made to be a fucking mug, but why? That’s what I want to know. What the fuck is Gerald playing at?” She stands from the chair and grabs the dart stick.

“Please just let me go. I don't know anything—” There’s a scream. I realise it comes from me as the dart penetrates my thigh. I rip it out as quickly as I can, but the pain is immense, the warm, then the burn—or is it cold?—then it’s freezing, I can’t tell. I stagger as I try to stay upright, tears streaming down my face, and I stagger again, dropping to my knees after what seems like about five minutes. I’m face down on the floor. My breathing shallows, and my vision is limited and patchy. It’s going black, going, going, gone!

Black Queen

I drag Gerald out of the cell and dump him on the table. God, I’m a genius. That hydraulic table makes life so much easier. I can just roll him onto it and jack the twat up!

Stripping him to his underwear and strapping him down with the leather straps, I pull up my toolbox. It’s the same as the one we have in the garage, but this one contains my “other” tools. I grin to myself as I sort through the drawers, familiarising myself with the positions of things and moving things I’m not happy with. It will take a while to have everything just where I want it.

I start taking notes of things I want and things I need for my kit, writing in my little notebook so I can place my order. I have a penchant for blades. I have every shape and size you can imagine. I had to start my collection again when I moved here, but I have a very, very long list of contacts over here, so it hasn’t taken me too long to gather a relatively adequate collection at this point.

There’s always room for improvement, though. I pull out my scalpel. I'm gonna start intricate and work my way up to deranged. There's no point starting out that way, as then you have nowhere to go. And Gerald still thinks I’m that sweet Southern belle he railed as a teenager. Oh, someone is in for a surprise.

Gerald starts to stir. “Well, hello there, sugar,” I drawl in my fake-as-fuck Southern accent, “looks like you drifted off there for a minute, sugar.” I grin down at him. His eyes start to flutter as his body starts to wake up.

His eyes slowly drift open and grab onto mine. “How ya feelin’, sugar?”

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