Page 8 of Reaper Razed

Marcus glares at me, “Think very long and hard about what these people are capable of, Judge, but be under no illusion that whatever they’re capable of… she is ten times more capable. You’ll do well to remember that.”

He steps out of the door and locks it behind him.

Steel

Ray has come back from dealing with Joseph. She’s exhausted and heads to bed after letting me strap her fingers and her shoulder. Everyone else has gone to bed, but I can’t bring myself to go. Panic is now over, and reality sets in. I thought she was dead. The footage had shown her jump from the fifth-floor, hitting two balconies and then plummeting awkwardly to the ground, not moving. The other guy had already smashed into the concrete, and he, too, wasn’t moving. You could clearly see his head had smashed like a watermelon. Next thing, the feed cuts out, and a couple of us headed back over there only to find a clean alleyway, no bodies, no blood, nothing.

We searched the area as stealthily as possible, but nothing, so we headed away until the dust settled. The more I think, the more I struggle to move towards the bedroom. I head towards the kitchen instead, grabbing the tequila and returning to the sofa. Kicking off my jeans, I sit in my boxers with my head resting on the back of the sofa. I throw the blanket over me and start drinking.

Hades climbs up beside me and lays his head on my lap. I fuss his head distractedly as I drink, my mind swirling with what ifs and should have beens. Halfway down the bottle, I blurt out, “I shouldn’t have married her!”

Hades lifts his head, huffs and leaves the couch. He heads over to the bedroom door and lays down outside it. “I suppose she gets you in the divorce, then?” I half laugh, half grimace. I hear him shuffle, and he places his back towards me. Yep, think that’s a definite. I chug some more of the tequila, my head starts to spin, and my inner monologue fucks me right over.

I should have never married her. It was a mistake. I need a divorce as soon as she wakes up. I’m going to tell her that’s what's happening. And how the fuck do you think that’s gonna go, dickhead? Fuck off. It’s for the best. Yep, you tell yourself that, knobhead. Good luck with that. Why does my inner monologue sound like my fucking wife?

I thought it was supposed to be me that I heard in my own head. I can’t stay with her. She doesn’t deserve me. You honestly think that’s gonna wash, dickwad? I don’t know how long I sit there, but there’s a soft click, and I know it’s the bedroom door. I’m sitting on the couch with my head hanging on the back of it. I close my eyes. If I pretend to be asleep, she will just go back to bed.

“Baby?”

I jump as my eyes fly open, fuck, she’s right in front of me. “Go back to bed, Ray,” I slur. “You need your rest.” I point my bottle at her, then take another swig.

“I need my husband beside me. Come to bed, baby?”

“You go, Ray. I just wanna be by myself, okay?”

“Erm, no… not okay. Talk to me. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just go back to bed, please. We will talk about it tomorrow.” I close my eyes and lay my head back again. I feel her move closer and reach my hand flat against her stomach. “Just go to bed, Ray.”

She climbs into my lap, grabbing my jaw in her vice-like grip. “Ray, your fingers are broken. Be careful.”

“Fuck my fingers, Steel. What’s going on?”

Huffing out and closing my eyes. I can’t look at her. Through a heavy breath, I say, “I want a divorce!” She pinches at my chin, tilting my head. It must have hurt like a motherfucker. She has three broken fucking fingers on that hand but still manages to make me wince.

“Look me in the eyes and say it,” she speaks clearly but quietly.

I open my eyes and look towards her. “I want a divorce.” I whisper out, I don’t know what she sees when I look at her face, but I can’t make eye contact with her. Leaning forward, she places the faintest kiss against my lips as she rocks her hips against my traitorous dick. Her dislocated left shoulder is strapped, and her fingers on her right hand are splinted. She’s wearing one of my wife-beaters and nothing else. I can feel the heat from her core radiating against me.

She leans back and rocks again, and I can feel the warmth and wetness seeping into my boxers. I groan and place a hand on her hip as I take another swig. She leans over me again, resting her forehead on mine.

“Till death do us part… Motherfucker,” she whispers. “If you want out of this marriage, either put yourself in a body bag, or I will… your choice!” She presses a chaste kiss to my lips, then backs off, rising to stand in front of me. “I will be in our room when you decide you wanna talk about what’s really going on.” Then she walks away, and I groan, throwing my arm over my face and downing some more tequila, which will surely help.

What feels like an age later, the door clicks again, but when I look over, it’s Viking. “You good, Brother?” He asks as he walks into the living room in only a pair of boxers. His hair, normally tied back in a ponytail, is pushed over to one side, trailing over his shoulder and down his back.

“Fucking fantastic.” I spit out, “What the fuck are you doing up?” I continue slurring.

“Car’ wants a glass of water.” He shrugs as he heads into the kitchen. “Want one?”

Letting out a frustrated breath. “Sure.” He comes back and places it in my free hand, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. We sit there for a few minutes, ignoring each other, before I blurt out, “I asked Ray for a divorce!”

“Ha!” he barks out. “And how did that fucking go?”

“She said, ‘Till death do us part, motherfucker.’ And if I want out of this marriage, ‘I can put myself in a body bag, or she will do it for me.’ I mean, what the fuck?”

“Oh, better than I expected, to be honest.”

Cocking a brow at him, I ask, “How the fuck is that better than expected?”

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