Page 1 of Reaper's Hunt

Selene

Istandatthefoot of my bed, staring at the naked man on my mattress. Sprawled out like some prize stag, legs splayed, cock half-hard and glistening with the arrogance of a man who thinks he’s won. His lustful smile stretches wide, teeth yellowed from too many cigarettes, eyes glinting with a hunger that makes my stomach churn. Not because it’s vile, though it is but because it’s so fucking predictable.

They all look at me like this. Like I’m meat to devour. Like they’re the hunters.Idiots. I sway toward him, exaggerating my movements to make him seem like I’m falling for his version of seduction. A grin splits across my face that I know from experience is more demented than lustful. In this man’s haze, his desire to sink into me, he sees it for nothing other than interest.

He’s not even really seeingme. Just the silver hair that spilled over my shoulders at dinner, now in one long braid, the glass-gray eyes he probably thinks are pretty. I hook a leg over his waist, perching on the edge of the bed, my weight sinking into the mattress. His greedy hands shoot up, fingers slipping beneath my shirt, brushing the bare skin at my waist.

I fight the urge to recoil, to rip his grubby paws off me and snap every last bone in them. This is all about the end game and pulling away will have him seeing through the sultry mask I’ve perfected. Blank expression, big smiles, extra tight bra to push up what little assets I have.

Works like a charm every damn time.

“Goddamn, you’re hot,” he rasps, words slurred from one too many drinks at the last bar we went to and then the half a pint of whiskey he stole from my cabinet. If I wasn’t already going to kill the bastard, I would kill him for drinking my beautiful poison I keep for special occasions.

That’s neither here nor there at this moment as I lean down, letting my hair flop over my shoulder, my lips brushing against his in the softest tease. He chases it, tongue thrusting out, sloppy and desperate. It’s pathetic.Wet. Tastes like ash and regret and a sorry-ass excuse for a husband. Oh, did I not mention that this fucker somehow gotmarried?

I pull back, smirking as he groans, frustrated, his cock twitching against my clothed ass. Nothing about him impresses me. Not his kisses, not that sad little prick he’s so proud of. It’s a shriveled thing, barely worth the effort of looking at. Should’ve stayed hidden in his pants where it belongs.

It’s a shame because I could have done with a good hard fuck tonight but that’s obviously not an option with this one. My brows furrow as I try to remember his name and fail miserably. I only know I have the right guy because the woman who hired me gave me pictures. Thank fuck for those. I don’t have time to be memorizing anything else.

I’ll just be glad that after tonight, I won’t be staring at his ugly mug anymore.

“What did you have in mind, baby?” He purrs, although it sounds a lot more like nails on a chalkboard. He thrusts his hips upward, a sloppy movement as my plan starts to shift into place. Ignoring him, I reach over to the nightstand and grab my trusty sidekick, my fingers curling around the cool metal of my surgical knife. The weight of it sings in my palm, a lover’s promise, the only thing that has never failed me. Lifting it to my lips, I give it a small kiss, the cold seeping into my skin.

The man’s eyes widen, that lustful haze flickering into unease.Good.He was just a little too cocky for my taste.

“Hey, uh…” He shifts beneath me, hands stalling on my waist. “I’m not really into that.”

A high, brittle giggle falls from my lips because I’m currently enjoying this change of emotion, the fear that’s starting to emerge from his expression. “Into what?”

“Knife play.” His voice wavers. “I just thought we could fuck around for a while, y’know?”

I snort, leaning closer until my breath ghosts his face. “Neither am I. Not really.” My grin stretches wider, until every last one of my teeth are showing. I’ve been told it’s not a pretty smile, that I really should practice on something softer, but I quite like the fear and unease it puts in people’s eyes. “I’m more into getting revenge for sweet girls who pay me a lot of money.”

He blinks, confusion muddying his features. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, do you not remember Hailey Cooper?” I tilt my head, watching the name sink in, watching his brain scramble to catch up. It’s delicious watching the slow dawn of terror overtake his expression.

“Did that fucking bitch sell me out?”

“No,” I say, voice dropping to a soft purr, every last word lethal. “You killed her. But her sister wants you dead. And I’m here to collect.”

His face twists into a mixture of emotions, anger, fear, and realization all slamming together. He tries to buck me off, hands shoving at my hips, but I’m faster. My thighs clamp down, pinning him to the bed, and I press the knife to his throat, just enough to nick the skin.

A small trickle of crimson follows the length of my blade, excitement blooming in my chest as I watch it trickle onto the baby pink duvet. I never liked this bed or any of the decorations in the guest bedroom, so I suppose this is as good a reason as any to replace everything.

His breath hitches and I suspect he’s starting to understand justwhoI am. They call me the Reaper out there, in the shadowed corners of Ashthorne County. A faceless monster, leaving flayed husks strewn across the city, hearts ripped out, souls stolen. No one sees the thread tying them together. No one but me. Men who hurt. Men who broke me once or broke someone else.

I’m not picky. Blood’s blood. And tonight, his will paint my hands crimson. I’m so fucking excited.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he spits, voice trembling despite the bravado. His fingers twitch on my hips but he doesn’t move them.

“Crazy’s a lazy word,” I muse, dragging the blade down his chest, a shallow cut, just enough to tease his skin open, spurring me on. The red mark it leaves isn’t quite deep enough but the contrast to his pale skin is fine for now. He hisses, body jerking beneath me. “I prefer… purposeful. You killed Hailey in that alley last week. She said no, and you didn’t like that. Snapped her neck like it was nothing. Left her there, skirt hiked up, dignity shredded. Her sister came to me, sobbing, cash in hand. Begged me to make you pay. And I would never say no to a good paycheck.”

Thing is, if she hadn’t given me money, I still would have been here, contemplating this man’s death. He’s a vile human who needs to learn a lesson. Granted, the money definitely sweetens the deal.

“You’re lying,” he snarls, but the sweat beading on his forehead betrays him. Hedefinitelyremembers that sweet little girl.

“Lying’s for people who care what you think. I don’t.” I shift the knife, pressing the tip against his sternum, right where his heart is buried, my true prize of the night. “You’re not walking out of here, sweetheart. You’re a dead man who just doesn’t know it yet.”

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