Frantically, I pass my hands under the running water, raking my nails over my skin. My mouth sours as crimson water rushes down the drain. When the water runs clear, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and brush my teeth. My lip stings from the minty paste, and I wince, but the cool mint seems to snap my brain to center, the images of the severed hands, blood and gore slowing, no longer a looping kaleidoscope nightmare but one solid image.
“Delilah.” Reaper’s voice crashes through the room, and I jolt. My eyes dart up to meet his in the mirror. “We need to remove your clothes.”
I glance down at my dress, the black jacket, and see the blood. My toothbrush drops, and I spit out the paste into thesink, staring in horror at the blood. I’m covered in it. It gleams on my jacket in the bright tungsten lights of the bathroom, smears the front of my dress. Stains the dress skirt from where it had been gathered up round my hips.
Panic slams into me, and I rip at my clothes, trying to get out of them as quickly as possible. Reaper’s hand covers mine, and the panic needling through me halts.
“Let me,” he says softly.
My bones melt at his gentle tone, and I go loose, letting him slide my arms free. I watch his eyes as he grips my shoulder, turning me to face him and see the fury mixed with a strange darkness I’ve never seen before.
My gaze lands on his muscled chest, and my breath freezes in my lungs. He’s still covered in chunks of flesh and blood. Reaper must sense my panic because he backs away and looks down at his chest.
With a muttered curse, he meets my eyes, then grips my dress and pulls it open. Buttons fly off, dropping with little tinking sounds to the tile floor. Reaper pulls it over my head, then grips my arms like he’s about to shake me as his focus drops to between my thighs.
Another grating sound leaves him as he hisses, “You said he didn’t.”
“He didn’t,” I say, realizing that I am wearing no underwear. “I wasn’t wearing any panties.”
His grip tightens on my shoulders, and then he does shake me. “You were walking around with no underwear?”
“I didn’t have time to put any on before Fallon wanted to see me.”
“You’re in a house with over a dozen men!” he screams. “You’re to wear underwear at all times.”
I slap his hands away. “Panties don’t stoprapists,” I yell back. “Besides, I should be able to walk around the house naked and no one touches me!”
He grips my cheeks with one hand, forcing me to look up at him, eyes flashing dangerously. “Then I’d have to remove all their eyes.”
I jerk free, and he backs away, his hand landing on the top of his masked head. Rage pours out of him, chaotic and nightmarish. The possessive gleam in his eye tells me he would in fact remove eyes if anyone saw me naked.
“No one fucking touches you,” he grates, then grips the material of his mask. For a minute I think he’s going to rip it off, but he lets out a growling rumble and his hand slams against the light switch and we’re thrust into darkness.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Reaper’s just a massive silhouette outlined by a dark blue glow from the sparse lighting filtering in through the bedroom window, his huge form barely visible in the darkness. After a minute, I sense more than see him grip the material of his mask at his neck and slowly pull it up, almost like he’s waiting for me to object. When I don’t, he pulls it over his head, and it hits the floor with a soft sound. A second later, he’s moving again, and even in the darkness I can see him rolling his shirt up his torso and pulling it carefully over his head.
Some part of me is aware he’s trying to keep the blood from touching his face, and all of me is aware he’s shirtless and maskless just feet away. I can barely see him, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, he becomes more than an outline of a huge man. I can make out blue highlighted skin and dark lines over broad shoulders like he’s made of shadows.
When the shirt hits the floor with a soft thud, my body screams with awareness.
“Men are vile,” Reaper says. “I would know. I am one.”
“You’re not vile,” I say, my words breathless. “You’re nothing like that soldier.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “I’m worse, Kitten. The things I want to do to you are shameful.”
I shake my head even though I know he can’t see me. “You’d never try…” The words get caught in my throat, even as I realize how true they are. He has done some wicked, verging on cruel, things to me, but he’s never forced himself on me.
He moves toward me and cups my cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t,” he whispers. His bare chest hits mine, and my nipples tighten under my bra. “But don’t think for a minute that makes me a better man.”
I move my eyes up from what little I can see of his neck to his face. He’s so tall he towers over me, some dark monster with no features. He’s just heat and hot breaths fanning my face. The lingering metallic scent of blood and something earthy and wild. Everything in me wants him closer.Needshim closer. He’s big, larger than life, and I just watched him mutilate a man, but he’s safe.
He’d never hurt me. Just like he’s been saying over and over. My mind may be wrecked, but my body is still mine. And every time I’ve been with him, I’ve given it freely to him.
Reaper is nothing like what I thought he was. And I’m beginning to see that every interaction I’ve had with him may have been stained by my assumptions. My feelings of fear and not being in control. Of him having control over me.
Every interaction I’ve had with him slams into me. I sat on his lap in that club because he put me there. That’s what Striker said. But heputme there. He let me be in charge of what was going to happen. Every single time I thought he had all the control, but really, I did. Even tied to my bed, if I had told him to stop, he would have.
It’s almost like our need to control makes it so that when we have to relinquish some of ours, it’s easier to hand it over if the other person has to give up some too. He gave me a glimpse of his passion, his want, but I had to give up a bit of myself to receive it. He ripped my passion from me, but looking back, I think I tore it out of him as well. I’ve been forced to give away so much of myself to him, but he’s given me much more than I realized. Maybe even more than he intended.
