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)
Reaper takes a step as if to come and show me just how well he can follow through, but before he gets a chance to show me just how good it could be, I’m gone.
After all, it’s best to always keep them wanting, right? Because at least that way, when he sees me next, he’s going to be thinking a little less about killing me and more about fucking me raw. And that right there is a plan I can more than get down with.
Making my way back to the old gym, I take my time, knowing that Reaper won’t be coming after me again tonight. I’m sure he crossed many of his own boundaries by saving me, talking to me, and touching me tonight, just as I’ve crossed many of my own.
Seducing the enemy? Allowing him to get that close? Not exactly my finest hour. He could have killed me at any moment, but I felt safe with him. I believed that he didn’t want to hurt me, and when I pushed him back, letting him know he was getting too close, he gave me the space I needed. Don’t get me wrong, I fully believe that when the time comes, he’ll end me just as he’s promised, but until then, I don’t think he means me any harm. If anything, I think he’s curious about me, and as long as he remains curious, then I’ll live to see another day.
Though if I allow myself to be as foolish as I was tonight, then perhaps that whole living to see another day thing won’t actually be the case. I fucked up, made a colossal mistake, and if it weren’t for Reaper’s decision to show kindness, I would already be dead. But getting caught up in that rope wasn’t the only mistake I made. I wasn’t careful. I allowed myself to be tracked.
I’ve gotten too comfortable. Careless. I need to do better.
The Midnight Killer came into this old gym thinking he had the upper hand. He was luring 343 into a trap, but instead, all he managed to do was send himself to an early grave. On the other hand, 343 managed to get himself killed simply by not being aware of his surroundings. I won’t be that foolish again.
After retrieving both The Midnight Killer’s and 343’s IDs, I add them to my small pile. I officially have six, but to be completely honest, I don’t feel great about it. I killed The Boston Maneater fair and square, and I was happy to take claim over the previous kills he’d collected. As for 343 and The Midnight Killer, I can’t help but feel that these belong to Reaper. I may have helped 343 fall and break his back, but Reaper was the one who finished him.
They’re not mine to claim, and while I don’t doubt that he’ll return at some point to collect them, I feel wrong having them at all. Despite being a contract killer—and one of the most wanted persons across the globe—I like to consider myself somewhat of a rule follower. I play fair, and while I’m happy to hold onto the IDs just to ensure no one else gets their grubby hands on them, I don’t consider them mine.
Now, as for the two knives Reaper so happily parted with in this charred gym, I’m more than happy to claim them as my own. They can be a souvenir, something to remind me of what comes from foolishness. Though, just like the IDs, I’m sure Reaper will come looking for these too. Unfortunately for him, if he wants them back, he will have to pry them out of his own damn chest.
I pull the first one straight out of 343’s throat, and despite the blood staining the blade, it’s clear that this isn’t some run-of-the-mill knife. This is custom-made, the hilt created to fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, and judging by the craftsmanship and the etched design of the Grim Reaper on the blade, I can only assume this didn’t come cheap.
After wiping the blood off the blade, I sheath it into one of my holsters before searching the gym for the other blade. And because nothing worth having is easy, it’s hanging from the metal beam in the ceiling.
“Shit.”
I consider leaving it behind, but a knife like this, covered in his fingerprints, is practically a calling card, and for whatever reason, I feel like I need to protect Reaper. After all, he threw this blade with the intention of saving my life, and for that, I owe him. The only issue is figuring out how the fuck to get up there.
Being the brightest crayon in the box, the best idea I can come up with is to simply launch shit at it until it dislodges from the metal beam, and with the confidence of a drunk sorority girl on the dance floor, I start hauling weights through the air.