Page 36 of The Reaper's Vice

I wrap what’s left of his head with the rest of the plastic, cringing at the puddle of blood beneath his body. I had planned to take him to the tub and chop him up, but fuck it, I’ll be cleaning a mess either way.

With a serrated knife, I make short work of Oliver's extremities, ensuring each segment is small enough to fit through the meat grinder. His torso is more difficult. I have to meticulously scrape all of his organs—not to mention what seems like miles and miles of intestines—from his body cavity before I can even think about chopping the rest of him up.

Hours later, Oliver is but a pile of ground beef on the counter. For funsies, I take the liberty to shape him into tiny round balls, lining them on the counter with the other meatballs.

I contemplate leaving them there, but my better sense gets the best of me. With a disappointed sigh, I take the remains and flush them down Oliver’s fancy sink, finishing the job with a cupful of bleach and a good, long run of the garbage disposal.

It would be rude of me to let Oliver’s place stink up, after all.

I use the rest of the bleach to clean Oliver’s blood from the kitchen floor, counters, and cabinets. When I’m done, the place looks better than when I came in, and I can’t help but give myself a pat on the back.

If he wasn’t dead, I’d ask him for a tip.

My eyes snag on the regular meatballs still lining the counter, and at that moment, my stomach growls.

No. I couldn’t… Could I?

Deciding they could be tainted by the very air of Oliver’s remains, I also dump those down the sink. My stomach growls in complaint, but I remind myself I wouldn’t know how to cook the raw meat properly, anyway.

I search his fridge, but the fuck doesn’t have anything ready to eat, and his freezer is just as barren. A defeated sigh leaves my mouth as I trudge to the front door, trying my best to ignore the burning in my stomach.

I take one last glance at the apartment before leaving, making sure not one scrap of Oliver is left on the white tiles. Satisfied, I head out and down the stairs, a pep in my step that wasn’t there before.

On my way out of the building, I nearly smack into an elderly woman coming inside. Her arms are full of groceries, and I hold the door open so she doesn’t have to struggle.

“Thank you so much!”

“My pleasure,” I grin. “Can I help you with those bags?”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart!” She nudges her shoulder playfully against my arm. “I’ll be fine, love. But boy, do we need more men like you in this world!” She bids me farewell, and I hasten down the stairs toward my bike.

It seems even the reaper can do a good deed once every blue moon.

14

SERAPHINA

“RUN”

It’s been a week,and I haven't seen Orion. Admittedly, I’ve been pathetic enough to stop by the coffee shop several times in a day in the hopes I’d run into him again. But every time has been in vain. True to my word, I canceled my clients for the week in order to spend more time with Maggie—which has been amazing and utterly, eye-stabbingly boring all at once. All we’ve done is rot in front of the TV, watching nature shows on an endless loop. But I’ve never seen Maggie happier, so in my mind, it’s worth it.

Still, all the time we spent together doesn’t stop her from pouting as I gather my things to visit Vee and the tigers.

“You promise you’ll be safe?” Her lower lip quivers as she looks up at me with wide, blue eyes. “I heard on the news there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

My heart skips a beat at the mention of it. “I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m always worried about… you still have the dagger I gave you, right?”

Maggie nods swiftly.

“If someone breaks in, stick them with the sharp part.”

Maggie laughs. “Just like you taught me.”

“Exactly.” I dig to the bottom of my backpack, fingers wrapping around the pink taser hidden there. I toss it to Maggie, but she doesn’t so much as try to catch it, and it clatters to the floor behind her.

With a sigh, I pick it up, placing it gingerly onto the counter. “Use this if you really need to. It’ll give you a few seconds to get away if you’re really in a pinch.”

“How did we go from worrying about you to worrying about me?”

---