CHAPTER THREE

REAPER (PAST)

Instead of being completely terrified, she appeared slightly scared. It piqued my curiosity about this woman. Pulling into my family cemetery changed everything for her, which wasn’t really the goal, but I suppose it works, because I do want her fear. Killing people isn’t about terrifying people, not for me, anyway. It’s about the power in my hands, and watching life leave their eyes. Yet when she realized I was going to kill her, the way her eyes widened with terror was truly beautiful. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before. Of course, I’ve watched more than one set of blue eyes fade as they died. Hers are different, and it’s what drew me to her. It’s what made the compulsion I have come out to play. My pretty dead girl has light blue eyes on the outside, but the closer they get to her pupil, the darker they get. They are fucking fascinating, and since the moment my gaze met hers, I’ve wondered what they’d look like when she takes her final breath. Tonight, I’ll find out.

I park and open my door, and order her, “Stay.”

She rolls her eyes, and I smirk to myself. I think she’s going to be a fighter. Fuck, I haven’t had a fighter in so long. Someone that will scratch and claw me, trying to save their life. Everybody is afraid of death, but they don’t realize I’m probably giving them a gift. They should be thanking me, because this world fucking sucks.

Walking around to her side, I open the door. “Are you religious?”

“What?”

I chuckle at her confused expression.

“Are you religious? We can do this by one of the crosses.”

She looks so pretty as she chews on her bottom lip, nervous, but trying to look brave, and then she rolls her stunning eyes at me. Fucking perfect.

“I wish I were. Right now, I wish I believed in something. If only there was an all powerful God that would strike you down.”

I stroke my fingers down her face, enjoying her softness under my calloused skin. She really is beautiful.

Taking her hand in mine, ignoring the warmth of our hands together, I take her over to my favorite headstone. It’s my Aunt Eva’s, and it’s worn from so much time, but it’s beautiful. Grayed stone with a cross at the top, and across the middle it says, ‘you’ll live forever in our hearts’, written in Italian. Aunt Eva was my dad’s sister, and she passed away as a young child so I never met her.

“Lay down. Over the grave.”

She does as she’s told, pulling her black skirt down to not expose herself to me. She looks stunning, lying in wait for her life to end. She wears a white button-down shirt that’s her work uniform. This isn’t about sex for me. I never even have the urge, but I do right now. I want to feel her from the inside, to stretch her wide, but I won’t.

I climb over her, and stare at her tear-streaked cheeks, before looking into her eyes. Wrapping my hand around her throat, I squeeze as she struggles. She turns her head, and bites my wrist until she draws blood. She was probably hoping I’d remove my hand, and let her run away, but I don’t. I tighten my grip, as I watch the panic in her gaze grow by the second. And just like that, she’s gone, and I’m instantly filled with regret. It didn’t feel like it’s supposed to, and much to my brother’s annoyance, I still haven’t figured out what I want to do with her body. Again, I’ll need to call him for help. Of course, he’ll help me, but he’ll be pissed at me.