Page 11 of The Reaper's Vice

A grin creeps onto my face at the sound of his voice. A voice I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed until this moment.

“Hey, Ghost,” I choke. “How’s Brett?”

He’s silent for a long while. “Why don’t you come over and ask her yourself?”

The line goes dead, and I pull the phone from my ear, a stupid grin eating at my face.

“Maybe I will.”

4

SERAPHINA

“PASS THE LUBE, PLEASE”

I sidlethrough the doors of the Neon Flamingo, waving a quick hello to Joe the Bouncer before heading to the back of the club where Ivan will be waiting for me. The bass pounds in time with each click of my stilettos against the shiny dance floor, and I have to squint my eyes against the strobing neon lights as a migraine builds at the base of my skull.

Brave face, Seraphina. Slap that bitch on.

Pulling my shoulders back, I plaster a large smile on my made-up face and saunter to the booth in the back, catching Ivan’s chocolate gaze immediately. A deep red aura bursts from his shoulders as he shoots up from his seat, sloshing dark amber liquid all over his friend’s chest with the force of the motion.

“Dollface!” he cheers, ignoring his friend’s disgruntled look as he shoves his now empty glass into his chest. The blond stranger reluctantly grabs the glass, and Ivan races over to me, his leather crocodile boots slapping the ground comically.

I blink, and he’s in front of me, clasping his ring-laden hands on my shoulders with a manic smile. “I was just about to call you! I could hardly wait to see my little doll.” Ivan reaches out and runs a hand lovingly down my pin-straight hair. “No ringlets today? I was so fond of them…”

I fight my cringe and plaster a simpering smile on my face. “My curling iron broke.”

“Hmm.” He tugs on one of the silky strands as he looks deep into my eyes. “You should have told me. I would have gladly bought you another.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” I say, fighting every instinct in me screaming to back away.

“Hmm.” Ivan finally blinks, his eyes moving in a reptilian way as he scours the rest of my face. The vein in the center of his forehead pulses as he takes in the thick layer of foundation I applied earlier, and something like a snarl works its way from his parted lips.

“Why is your scar covered, my little doll?” He tilts his head as his aura deepens to a color close to black. “Why would… why would you do something like that?”

I take a shaking breath, focusing on keeping my heart from exploding from my chest. “I’m sorry… I was running errands today and didn’t have time to take off my makeup.”

It's a bold-faced lie.I don’t like Ivan’s obsession with my scar, so I purposely covered it tonight in anticipation. The way he looks at it has always given me a case of the heebie-jeebies—and that’s probably because of what I know lurks beneath that charismatic smile.

Ivan is a collector. A collector of anomalies—priceless little oddities that have no place in this world. I don’t know when the obsession started, only that as long as I’ve known him, Ivan has had a constant rotation of scarred, maimed, or just plain unusual-looking men and women warming his bed.

People are often uncomfortable with that which is not known to them,he would say.But I am different. When I look upon a marvelous sunset, I only see the dying of another day. When I pass a blooming flower on the street, I can’t help but think of the decaying mess it will be in a week. But withyou,Seraphina… I see so much more. I see a thousand human stories—never-ending, tragic, tear-filled stories—just waiting to be discovered.

“No. No, no,no,” Ivan breathes, his body shuddering with repulsion as he takes a step back, casting his eyes from my face. “You need to take it off immediately.”

“But, sir?—”

“Now,Seraphina!” he screams, chest heaving. “You aremydoll! I will not tolerate your face being covered!” Past his shoulder, Ivan’s four friends are trying their best not to stare and losing the fight. And not a single one of them looks like they’d take my side. Hell, I doubt they’d blink if he chopped me up and threw me in the ocean.

With that thought, I scurry off to the bathroom, cursing myself for putting on the stupid makeup in the first place. I knew it would make him furious, and I still did it.Why? Why can’t I just make things easier for myself?

A sigh leaves my body as I grab a makeup wipe from my purse and remove the heavy layer of foundation to uncover my jagged scar beneath. I stand in front of the mirror for a minute, tracing my finger through the deep groove in my face, wishing my life had turned out differently. Wishing I had a little more of myself left.

A violent pounding on the door tears me from my thoughts. I take one last glance at those sad eyes in the mirror and hasten to unlock the door, my tongue heavy and throbbing with my racing pulse. The tang of iron and sulfur assaults my senses as I tug open the door, and I’m unsurprised to find Ivan standing on the other side.

He leans forward with a scowl, reaching up and tracing the line of my scar like I had done a moment ago. “This is much better. Now you really look like the perfect broken doll.” The scowl lifts from his face with the last of his words, making way for a manic smile that has my stomach clenching uncomfortably. “I brought the lube you like.”

“Oh… that's great.” My eyes dart over his shoulder to the pulsing dance floor beyond. I catch the gaze of the square-headed blond from earlier. Only this time, his blue eyes are filled with sympathy. A sentiment I don’t want. Don’tneed.

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