Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
He’s the only one who’s been even remotely capable of spotting me on the roof. Though to be fair, he saw me make a break for the stairs, and like earlier, his stare is just as chilling. I swallow hard, my palms instantly starting to sweat, and I don’t dare look away when I hear the sound of a body hitting the ground. Not even when Graves escapes with both Crimson Rain’s and Slasher’s identifications.
It’s just me and Reaper, and the five other bodies left scattered on the concrete. I can only assume The Boston Maneater took off earlier with the coveted identifications of Stone, Grim, and Blade, and he probably took himself a finger to gnaw on. Officially, the one and only cannibal competing is currently in the lead with Graves coming in a close second, but with Reaper on the loose, I doubt either of them will hold those positions for long.
The seconds seem to last a lifetime, and all I can hear is my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. This could be it. The moment I die. Even with all this distance between us, all he’d have to do is blink and I’d be as good as dead.
I hold my breath, waiting for the sweet torture of death to rain down over me, and yet all the fucker does is wink.
Huh?
A wink?
What the hell does that mean?
My heart races even faster, and when he shifts his body weight, my back stiffens, watching as the slightest smirk pulls at the corner of his full lips.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I’m a dead woman. I didn’t even get to make him come yet.
Is he going to shoot me? Throw a knife through the night sky and plunge it into my chest? Take me out with nothing more than fear alone? Holy fucking hell. Why do I suddenly have the overwhelming need to shit?
This isn’t okay!
My hands shake, and I brace them against the ledge of the roof, preparing to push myself to my feet if I have to make a break for it. I don’t dare fool myself into believing that he didn’t notice the shift in my weight. He knew my plan even before I did.
My heart races impossibly fast, and just when I think I’m about to go into cardiac arrest, Reaper turns on his heel and walks away, gingerly putting one foot in front of the other, so casually strolling right down the center of the deserted street.
4
SIREN
What in the ever-loving fuck just happened up on that rooftop?
All I could do was stare after him as he disappeared into the night, and even then, I couldn’t bring myself to get up and leave. I’ve been a callous killer for the better part of a decade, and despite all the ridiculous situations I’ve found myself in, I’ve never been as terrified as I was on top of that warehouse. If I wasn’t worried about being hunted during my sleep, I’d take a Xanax or five to chill me the fuck out.
It took me twenty minutes after Reaper left before I was able to find the nerve to march my ass off the roof and slip back through the side streets to my car. He left me shaken, and that’s not a feeling I’m used to.
Driving through the empty streets of Blue Springs, I bring up Mila’s number and call her over the car’s Bluetooth system, listening as the first ring only gets halfway through before she quickly answers. “What the hell took you so long?” my best friend demands, her voice filling my car. “I’ve been waiting forever to hear what the fuck went down in that warehouse. I tried to hack my way into their footage, but they put up too many firewalls. I couldn’t get through to save my life.”
“Shit. You don’t know then?”
“Know what?” she panics.
I let out a heavy breath, having no idea where to even start with the bullshit otherwise known as my night. “I maybe shouldn’t have jumped the gun. You were right to want to do all your research first.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“It’s not what, but who.”
“Huh?”
“Reaper.”
“Reaper?” Mila questions, confusion thick in her tone. “You mean The Texan Reaper?”
“No,” I start. “Well . . . Yes. He’s here, but he won’t be a problem. I mean the real Reaper. The OG Reaper. The one I assumed was a figment of my imagination.”
“No,” she says, and I can practically picture the way she’s shaking her head with furrowed brows. “No. That’s not right. He’s not actually real. I’ve looked into this guy a million times. He literally doesn’t exist. They’re just stories made up by the media. A scapegoat the cops fabricated to pin their unsolved high-profile cases on.”
“I know all that, but everyone is wrong. I looked him dead in the eyes, and he’s . . . terrifying. I could practically hear the second every last person in that warehouse went into heart failure. He’s as real as they get, but what I can’t work out is why he’s here. Why now? I’m sure he’s probably been invited to attend War Games a million times, so why is this year different? Is he just looking for a way to pass the time or does he get off on the hunt like the rest of them? Could it be for the prize money?”