Page 7 of The Reaper's Vice

2

SERAPHINA

“BITEME MCGEE”

If there’sone thing I need before fucking Ivan and his friends, it’s a drink.

I pull my motorcycle in one of the spots near the exit of the Drunken Hound, dismounting and pulling my leather jacket tighter around my shoulders as the Moriton night air nips at my skin. The heels of my boots clunk heavily against the rotting steps, causing several club members to look my way. I ignore the hungry gazes and offer smiles to those I recognize as I make my way up to the bar, my eyes scanning the sparse metal stools for a place to take away some of the agony throbbing in the balls of my feet.

Unfortunately, the only available seat is next to a man dressed in a correctional officer’s uniform. And while I’m sure it won’t be a problem, I’m weirdly paranoid tonight. Probably something to do with the client I’m about to see.

Fuck you, anxiety. I need that drink.

I sidle up to the bar and casually slide onto the seat, moving my hips side to side as I try to find a comfy position while I wait for the bartender to come over. Axel is currently at the opposite end, the dimple in his cheek popping as he serves his very best smolder to the blond girl he’s leaning in toward. She’s so goddamn far out of his league, I can’t help but chuckle at his tenacity. She wrinkles her perfect nose at whatever he said, then pockets the two-dollar tip she was about to hand him. His mouth pops with indignation, and the girl smirks, mouthing words that look a whole lot likeI think I deserve compensation for wasting the past thirty seconds of my life.

A small laugh bursts from my mouth, causing the officer to jerk his gaze toward me for the briefest moment. I quickly seal my lips, thanking the stars as Axel trudges toward me, and the officer returns his attention to his beverage.

“Hey, babe. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” He slings a towel over his shoulder with a bright smile like he didn’t just have his balls metaphorically kicked in. His baby blue aura flickers slightly as he takes in my expression, the smile on his face dropping. “Whoa. You okay?”

I nod, twisting my hands tightly together as I give him a bright smile. “Peachy.”

He gives me a dubious stare, but pushes the issue no further. “The usual?”

“Please,” I murmur, shifting in my seat as I sense the weight of the officer’s stare of my profile. “Except make it a double.”

Axel nods, moving to the back and grabbing the cheapest whiskey in the spot to make my drink. The officer on my right flicks his eyes toward me, and I clutch my jacket tighter over my chest, willing Axel to reappear so I have something else to focus on.

My gaze finds the TV in the corner of the room, disappointed to find the news playing.I’d much rather watch some hot muscular men chase each other around and play with balls than listen to all the depressing shit going on in this city.

I listen to the attractive female newscaster prattle off the latest horrors befalling the city of Moriton. Homelessness at an all-time high, teens getting addicted to X, people kicking puppies—the usual. But then she says something else—something that catches my interest.

This afternoon, the serial killer known as “The Reaper” escaped a max security prison in what police are calling “the worst prison break in Moriton history.” Police are still looking into the incident and trying to discoverhowit was possible for The Reaper to pull off the heist.

Several other escaped prisoners were apprehended a mile outside of the gates, but when they were questioned, none seemed to be involved with or know anything about the deadly man who caused the break. When asked for a statement, Police Chief Ace Jennings had this to say:

“He is a dangerous, violent, sociopathic criminal. He will kill without thought and without remorse—man, woman, or child. If you see him or have any insight as to where he might be,do nottake the law into your own hands. Do not try to apprehend him, speak to him, or even draw his attention to your person. We repeat, he is dangerous, and if anyone has information as to his whereabouts, they should contact the Moriton Police Department immediately.”

“Awful what the world has come to, isn’t it?”

I jerk at the low timbre of the officer’s voice, fighting the urge to look his way even as I feel his stare piercing my profile.

“Sure is,” I murmur, twisting my fingers in my lap.

Axel returns, sliding my drink in front of me. The officer gives him a nod, and Axel disappears for half a minute before returning with two shots of clear liquid. He places one in front of me, then scuttles off without another word, leaving me with a frown and a shot I never asked for.

“You’re welcome,” the officer says, his eyes digging into my profile hungrily as he tries to gain my attention.

“I didn’t ask for it.” I eye the shot with a scowl.

I know I’m toeing the line of bitchiness, but I don’t like how comfortable this man seems around me. I drag my eyes to him with every intention of telling him to fuck off, but my words die in my throat as his aura bursts from his outline. I can’t quite place the color of the dark hue throbbing in the dim bar light—all I know is it’s beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous.

When I’m finally able to drag my eyes away from the color bursting from his pores, I start to notice other features. Thick, unruly hair frames an angular face, the deep obsidian color drawing out eyes the hue of a cloudless summer sky. He has two-day stubble framing a jaw cut from stone, just short enough so the dimples in his cheeks are visible with his smirk.

My stomach clenches with something like desire as I run my eyes over the broad shoulders practically bursting from his uniform. I’m about to comment on it but think better of it and grab the shot he bought me instead. I take a whiff of the mystery liquid and nearly gag as the scent of expensive tequila singes my nose hairs.

I fucking hate tequila.

“How are you doing on this unexceptional night?” he asks, watching as I tap the shot glass against the counter before raising it to my lips.

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