Page 11 of Reaper's Hunt

I drain the glass, slamming it down harder than I mean to. “I care about Malik,” I retort, staring Ronan down. Selene isminewhich is why I’ve never mentioned her to anyone that didn’t need to know. Ronan doesn’t need to know and Malikdefinitelydoesn’t need to know, that crazy bastard.

He snorts, pouring me another. “You and Malik got the most fucked-up relationship I’ve ever seen,” he says, shaking his head. “Where’s he at, anyway?”

I manage a shrug, sipping from the glass again. God, that’s good. “Hell if I know.” Malik’s out there, probably hunting some lowlife who crossed the wrong guy, his hands twitching for something to break. I don’t track him unless he’s in my bed, fucking me like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Ronan isn’t wrong, though. We do have a fucked-up relationship and it’s toxic as hell but there’s a twisted part of me that knows I need Malik just as much as he needs me.

However, some part of me also needs,cravesSelene which just makes all this shit messier.

Ronan leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “Rough shift?”

I nod, my fingers tightening around the glass. “Got another player in town. Not the Reaper, no leads. Definitely a player, though—dropped the body back at the crime scene, right where it went down.” My mind flashes to the case, the corpse laid out like a taunt, just a middle finger to me and the precinct. I want to internalize it, believe that this is a message to me or even The Reaper but it can’t be that twisted.

Ronan’s brow creases as he pours himself a glass, downing it in one gulp. “Hold up, didn’t something like that happen a few months back?” he asks, setting the glass down with a clink.

“Yeah, no one bought it then, but they’re digging now.” The police are scrambling, Harley’s bitching, and I’m stuck chasing a ghost while Selene’s out there, carving her own bloody path through Ashthorne’s guts.

“And your girl?” he presses.

I tell him a lot of things, like the fact thatmy girlwas being questioned tonight. If he truly wanted to dig, he could find out who Selene Banks truly was but it’s a mutual trust between us that keeps him from doing that. “She was in the area. Harley’s got a thing for her, thought dragging her in for questions would get him a date.”

Ronan lets out a loud, barking laugh, his hand slapping the counter. “Jesus, shut that down before you gut him for touching your girl.”

I lean back, the chair creaking. “Whatever,” I mutter.

Ronan’s eyes glint, calling my bluff. “Lock her down, tie her up, do whatever. Drink your whiskey and go home so you can fuck some sleep into Malik. Or maybe let him fuck you and tire him out. He’s not sleeping again.”

My stomach twists, worry creeping in. “He’s not sleeping?” That’s never a good sign.

Ronan shakes his head, pouring himself another shot. “Nope. Been chasing one of Phil’s short-changers. Some kid gave us nothing but air, so now he’s wired, looking for something to choke. Go let him strangle your cock or whatever you two do so he doesn’t end up in tomorrow’s paper.”

I wave a hand, brushing it off, but the concern sticks. Malik’s a powder keg, one bad night from blowing up, and I’m the only one who can pull him back. “Yeah, I hear you,” I say, downing the rest of my drink. I stand up, patting the counter as a goodbye but Ronan leans in, his expression suddenly turning serious.

“When you gonna tell her the truth? About you and Harley being brothers?”

A growl tears from my throat before I fix my face, knowing that Ronan is not my enemy. “Stepbrothers,” I correct. “And she doesn’t need to know. My mom marrying his dad when we’re grown doesn’t make us family. I don’t share shit with him—blood, ties, nothing.” Harley and I have never even lived in the same house. I made it to the ceremony, scowled the entire time, and somehow Harley thought that this new connection meant I’d always have his back.

“Sure, sure. But what happens when Harley finds out you’ve been balls-deep in his girl?”

“She’s not his girl.”

Ronan laughs, completely unbothered by the fury in my expression. “See? Knew she was yours. I know you, Dante. You claim what you want. You did it with Malik, did it with me, even if we don’t screw. Now, go home and fuck Malik. I don’t want his creepy ass haunting my bar when I close up.”

Ronan’s right. I claim what’s mine, always have. Selene’s mine, her kills, her chaos, her fucking soul, and I’ll be damned if Harley or anyone else gets in the way. Malik’s mine too, in his own fucked-up way, and I need to find him before he burns himself out. I nod at Ronan, who’s already turning back to the bar, and head for the door, the noise of Sinner’s Notch fading behind me.

Dante

Pullingintothedriveway,I hang my head a little knowing what waits for me inside the house. Either Malik will be his regular unhinged self or he’ll be pouring his excitement into something that he probably shouldn’t be focusing on. I know for a fact that our basement is empty, that there isn’t someone he’s actively torturing for information, which means his mind is running a thousand miles a minute with nothing to focus on.

And still, I fucking love the man with all of his idiosyncrasies and psychotic habits. Maybe it makes me sick for being in love with a man who’d so easily as gut someone that looks at me wrong but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

He needs my sanity to calm him and I need his chaos to strangle my demons.

The house is dark when I step inside, not a single light on: the kind of darkness that swallows sound and sight. I pause, letting my eyes adjust, when a pair of piercing blue eyes glints from the corner. A presence moves and then there’s a ghost of a kiss over my lips, gone before I can grab it. A chuckle bubbles up from my throat as the tension in my shoulders eases. “Hey love,” I murmur, voice thick with the whiskey still burning in my gut.

Malik’s an odd creature, thriving in this kind of darkness, the kind most people run from. He’s a monster, every inch of him trained to break minds, bodies, and souls, all to help Ronan with his bounty hunter gigs. None of it’s legal, not the way he plays, twisting confessions out of marks with pain and fear. But it quiets the storm in his head, the chaos that’d eat him alive otherwise. The rest? I fuck it out of him until he’s too spent to think. Or I let him fuck me until someone’s bleeding, my beautiful, tortured soul standing in front me finally giving in.

The fact that he’s here in the kitchen also means that he’s been roaming, and not because of the part-time gig at the clinic down the street, ironic as that is.

Malik steps toward me again, drawing me into another kiss, his tongue licking inside of my mouth, tasting like smoke and sin. Only when he’s done does he pull back, grinning at me in the dim light. “Hmmm, I saw the prettiest thing tonight, like moonlight, so pretty when it’s bathed in crimson.”

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