Reaper's Stand

Reese didn’t even acknowledge that it’d happened.

He just sank deep inside over and over again, driving my body toward another explosion. I think my synapses weren’t firing right, because I knew I’d be raw and bruised after this. I just didn’t care. I wanted to take all of his hate and pain and anger and own it because I deserved it, but instead of suffering he just kept filling me and it felt way, way too good.

Then it hit again. I blew apart, my fragile mind all but shattering with the intensity.

This time he came with me, groaning painfully as his hot seed shot deep inside. His arms quivered and his heavy frame hung over mine as I crumpled, utterly exhausted. I’d used up my adrenaline, lost the edge of fear in favor of lust, and couldn’t even bring myself to think about poor Jessica. My brain had had enough, and my body agreed. Reese pulled away from me without a word, and I realized we hadn’t used a condom. Oh well.

My life span probably wouldn’t be long enough to worry about STDs anyway.

I heard the sound of him zipping up, and then his big hands came down around mine, pulling the belt free but leaving me cuffed. He turned and walked out of the cell, slamming his hand against the wall as he went. The door clanged shut and the bolt slid home with a thunk.

I blinked in the darkness, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Holy. Shit.

I had no place to store this in my head. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done, how much I enjoyed it, or whether it meant anything. Considering this situation too carefully was scary, and I couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Not if I wanted to survive and save Jessica.

My natural pragmatism kicked in. I was alive. I had no idea how much longer that would last, but I had to make the most of it. I closed my eyes and started taking deep breaths, counting to ten on each inhale and exhale. The relaxation technique had served me well over the years, and it didn’t fail me that night.

Eventually sleep crept in, bringing an entirely different kind of release than what I’d found with Reese.

The cold woke me.

I tried to reach for the covers, to pull them up and over my freezing body. Then I realized there weren’t any, because I was on a cot in a cell in the Armory basement. My shirt and bra were ripped apart, my hands were cuffed together, and my wet jeans were still tucked around my ankles.

Other than that, things were great.

I rolled onto my back, bemused. I hadn’t really expected to make it this far. I sort of assumed that I’d tell them everything and they’d shoot me. The end.

Finding myself alive threw me.

I tried to think, figure out what the next step should be. Nothing came—all of this was so far beyond my ability to process that my brain just spun out.

None of that changed the fact that I was cold. Maybe I could do something to fix that?

It took me a couple of tries to stand up because my legs were cold and rubbery. One of my feet had fallen asleep, too, which wasn’t such a bad thing once I caught my balance. The tingling pins and needles helped me wake up and sharpen my perspective. I set about pulling my pants up, which was harder than you’d think, because they had that cold, wet, clingy thing going on that makes jeans so unpleasant sometimes.

My bra was a lost cause, but I managed to stretch my shirt across my chest. It wasn’t great, but it was better than just sitting around all naked and vulnerable. I walked around the cell, testing the door with my cuffed hands. It didn’t open—big surprise there, right?

By that time I was getting seriously cold. I sat back down on the bed and realized that what I’d thought was the mattress cover was actually a thin, woolen blanket wrapped over the padding—one of those striped army surplus ones from three wars back.

Crawling under it wasn’t easy, but I figured the wool might help me stay warm. Theoretically, wool holds in heat even when it’s wet. Practically, huddling under a wet wool blanket in a basement sucks ass, and I’m saying that as a lady who tries not to cuss. My teeth started chattering as I considered my options.

I still wasn’t quite sure what to make of that last little episode with Reese. I felt sore between my legs and dirty in my soul, but I couldn’t deny it’d been the best sex I’d ever had in my life. Messed up, but I don’t believe in hiding from the truth—apparently scary life-and-death situations turned me on.

Or at least they turned me on when Reese was involved.

Go figure.

I supposed I could use that to try to stay alive, manipulate him somehow—I was over the whole “I don’t care if I live or die” numb feeling from the night before. When the shit hit the fan and Reese whipped out that big knife of his, I had very much wanted to live.

Okay, so I had that figured out. I wasn’t going to just lie down and die. Good to know.

But what was I willing to do to stay alive? Yesterday I’d decided to kill an innocent man to save Jessica’s life. That hadn’t ended so well for me, and I was forced to admit the truth. I really wasn’t a very good assassin. This limited my options, which was probably just as well.

So what should I do next?

The answer seemed clear. I’d do whatever I could to help the Reapers fight their enemies, because despite my little episode with Reese, I knew who the real bad guys were. Nate and his drug dealer friends down south. They’d killed Amber, they were killing Jessica—if they hadn’t already—and they’d almost made me kill Reese.

A knife at my throat followed by crazy monkey sex in a basement wasn’t all that bad in comparison. I tried to shoot him. In exchange he’d given me two orgasms, so I guess in some ways that counted as a win?

Maybe the Reapers would be able save Jessica, although whether they’d be motivated to try was a whole different question. I certainly couldn’t do anything more for her at this point, and the cops obviously weren’t an option. Assholes. If I got very lucky, Jessica might live. If cooperating with the Reapers raised those odds in any way, I’d consider helping them my new goal in life.

And if Jessica died?

Well, then I’d spend whatever time and freedom I had left hunting down the fuckwads who’d done this to us. I might be a crappy assassin, but I was a fast learner and I had a sneaking suspicion that Reese would be a hell of a good teacher.

Sound crazy?

Probably, but what other options did I have? The only ones who hadn’t lied to me or used me were Reese and his brothers, and we shared a common enemy. Wars have been won with less, so maybe we could pull something off.