Page 8 of The Reaper's Vice

“American dreamin’.” I swallow the venom with a grimace. “Can’t get no rest. How areyou,hot lips?”

The man gives me an expression like I just slapped him, but he recovers in the next moment, schooling his features scarily well.

“Better now.” He smirks as I roll my eyes, replacing it with a questioning stare as I snatch his shot and take it back quicker than the first. “You okay?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?” I reach for my original beverage and take a swig. “Is there something wrong with my face?” I ask, turning to him while puffing my cheeks out and going cross-eyed.

A laugh bursts from the man’s perfect lips.

Well, that’s not the usual response…

“It’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.” He leans in and places a hand on my thigh that sends lightning skittering across my skin.

I turn my head to hide my blush, scrunching my nose but leaving his hand there. “How embarrassing for you.”

He tilts his head. “How is that embarrassing?”

“IfI’mthe most beautiful face you’ve seen, then you’ve clearly not seen very many faces,” I say, carving out the jagged scar that runs at an angle from my forehead to the corner of my mouth. “Have you been living in a hole or something?”

He reaches up, snatching my hand from my face before I have time to react. His thumb runs across the back of my hand, causing heated sparks to dance across my skin.

“I’ve been in maximum prison for the past eight years—so yeah, pretty much the same thing.”

My heart thuds, and I scowl as I rip my hand from his grip. “Uh-huh. Is your orange jumpsuit at the laundromat?” I eye his police officer’s uniform dubiously.What an asshole. Was that supposed to be an attempt at a joke?

“It was actually black-and-white-striped—but no. The man I killed forthisuniform is wearing my jumpsuit.” He grins, leaning into my personal bubble. I jerk back, my mouth pinching in irritation as I realize he reallywasjust fucking with me.

I give him a blank stare, reaching out and pressing my finger into the name tag on his uniform. “Officer… Jameson? Like the whiskey? Dear God, please tell me you bought this at a costume store,” I mumble the last part, but it doesn’t stop Officer Whiskey from chuckling.

“I’ll stick to my story from earlier.” He grins, gripping my hand again and pressing a kiss to my forefinger. I rip it away, cradling it to my chest as if he just did me a great offense—though I have a horrible suspicion my expression says the opposite.

“Are you trying to get in my pants, Officer Bourbon? Because you’re doing a horrible job of it.”

“Really? And here I was, thinking you were just about to accept my proposal.”

“Think again, Bottom Shelf.” I narrow my eyes, tossing my pale hair over my shoulder. “I’m a rye-and-dine type of gal. And you’ve failed to fulfill either of those obligations.” I gesture to the empty shot glass of tequila. “So I think I’ll go back to ignoring you, finish my delicious drink, and take my leave. Unless you have a more promisingproposalfor me?”

“Go out with me.” A demand, not a question.

“I’d much rather stick a sea cucumber up my pussy. But thanks for the offer.” I turn and proceed to ignore him again.

“Oh come on. It’ll be fun,” he says, grinning flirtatiously.

“Do you know what a sea cucumberis?The answer is clearly no.”

He laughs. “What? Afraid I couldn’t afford you?”

While I’m sure it’s another of his stupid “jokes,” fear clenches my chest at the notion he somehow knows what I do for a living. The thing he could use to imprison me—or worse, exploit me.

“Who told you?” I demand, resisting the urge to reach for the dagger nestled in the side of my book and ram it through his eye socket.

“Told me what?” His deep voice is free of the teasing lilt from a moment ago. “I’m… sorry if I offended you in some way? You’re right—sea cucumbers are fucking disgusting abominations against God and man. I would hate for one to go anywhere near your precious pussy.”

I search his gaze, then turn with a huff, brushing my sweaty palms over my fitted black bodysuit. “Just… stop bothering me. Okay?” I take a sip of my drink, intent on forgetting the disgustingly handsome officer next to me exists.

“What’s your name?” he asks, clearly not ready to give up.

I roll my eyes. “Brandy.”

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