Page 12 of Reaper
Another agonizing minute passes.
I raise the lid. She gasps. I gasp. But there are no gunshots, no Russians waiting in ambush, nothing except the thrum of music and a slight breeze that brings clean, not-cum-tainted air to my nostrils. Climbing out of that dumpster of filth feels like a rebirth into a cleaner, more hopeful world… in the alley behind a strip club.
I exit the dumpster and raise my hands to help Adriana out and down.
“That was tied for the worst fucking thing that has ever happened in my life,” she says.
“That was just another Thursday for me.”
“Today isn’t Thursday.”
“Just tells you what my life has been like ever since…” My voice trails off. I know, she knows, I let it lie.
“What now?”
I scan the parking lot, then the strip club itself. The bouncer is watching us from the doorway, his eyes wide with questions I don’t like.
“We can’t stay here.”
“No. We can’t. We need to find a shower and clean clothes. Do you think we can go back to the hotel? My rental car’s there. I’ve got a gun in the glove compartment. We might be able to…”
I shake my head. For how crafty Adriana’s been to find and subdue me — not that I tried that hard not to be captured before she found me — I’m surprised at how naïve she is. “There will be someone watching that place. It’ll be awhile before you can even think about going back there, unless you want to wind up in a pit watched over by some guy named Oleg.”
“Why do you think anyone would want that?”
“Because some people have fetishes, and I don’t fucking judge.”
“Fuck you, fucking smartass.”
I sigh. “We need to keep moving until we either find a safe place to lie low or we get far enough away from here that we can be reasonably sure that our asses won’t get snatched if we shut our eyes.” Adriana looks like she’s going to argue — I’ve seen that same stubborn look in Vanessa’s eyes plenty of times — and I decide that there’s no fucking time; I scoop her back up and throw her over my shoulder. Her argument turns into an indignant yelp, and she squirms in my grip. So I stop and smack her on her ass. “You can either let me carry you to safety or I can throw you back in that dumpster. Which will it be?”
“Fine. Carry me. But don’t spank me again.”
“Good. Now shut up.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate me, too. But think of it this way: you let me get you out of here and you’ll still get the chance to kill me later.”
That shuts her up. The only sound for the next four blocks is her indignant breathing, my heartbeat thudding in my ears, and my heavy footfalls as I pound pavement. My legs scream at me in growing frustration, as do my arms, back, and shoulders,when suddenly Adriana squirms. At first, I try to ignore her — we have to get as far away from here as possible, and the more she struggles, the harder it will be to carry her — but then she struggles harder.
Then she spanks me.
Hard.
A firm slap on my ass, followed by another, and another.
I stop. “What the fuck are you doing? Do you think I’m some fucking horse where you have to beat my ass and say, ‘Giddyup’?”
“No. Fuck no. I get no pleasure from smacking your ass. I want you to stop.”
“Oh, so you want to die, too?”
“No, I want you to fucking listen.”
“I’m listening. I do not like what I’m hearing, but I’m listening.”
“We need to go in there.”
