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)
Why me, though? Am I his biggest target? His biggest threat? Or does he simply just enjoy watching the show? Either way, I want answers, and I want them now.
Leaving the IDs of The Midnight Killer and 343 behind, I make a break for it, racing out of the burned-down gym and tracking every step that Reaper has taken. I know I shouldn’t. Every fiber of my body is telling me to run in the opposite direction. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment. If he was going to kill me, he would have done it when I was dangling by my hair, and for whatever reason, he didn’t. Now I need to figure out why.
My gaze scans the night. He’s nowhere to be seen, but I forge ahead anyway, sticking to the shadows and tracking him the way I would a target. It’s not rocket science. There’s a bright side of the road, lit up by the new gym and on the opposite side, there’s dark alleys covered in shadows.
I’ll take my chances with the dark side of the road.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I make my way down the path, keeping myself discreet as I pass building after building, checking the alleys before moving on. He’s a ghost, so I have to think like one.
My head hurts from the almost scalping, and at some point, I’m going to have to take a few painkillers and lay down for the foreseeable future, maybe book a scalp massage, but until then, I’m determined to find this asshole.
Passing a twenty-four-hour laundromat, a chill sails down my spine, and that’s enough to know I’m in the right spot. Reaper is the only one who’s ever been capable of drawing such a reaction out of my body, and with that, I stop at the very next alley, turning to face the darkness.
I don’t see a thing, but the chill in my bones doesn’t fade, and as I scan the darkness, I know without a doubt he’s here somewhere. But like I said, he’s a ghost, and I need to start thinking like one.
Continuing forward, I head down the dark alley, taking it slow as I scan my surroundings. He’s been tracking me since the second War Games started, and I’ve been blind to it, but that stops now.
I pass by the back entrance of the laundromat before sailing on past old, discarded boxes that have been chewed by mice and a large dumpster that hasn’t seen warm water and soap for years. The smell that comes with it is disgusting, and just as I pass far enough to take a breath without wanting to gag, a hand shoots toward me, gripping my throat before slamming me against the brick wall of the laundromat.
“Why the fuck are you following me?” Reaper growls, his imposing body hovering over mine and making my knees shake with fear.
Holy fucking shit.
He’s terrifying, but it’s not so much his large body that has me shaking in my boots, it’s the emptiness of his dark eyes. There’s just something so intriguing about them. I knew he was attractive the second I saw him. He’s deathly attractive, the most breathtaking human I’ve ever seen, but up close like this, he’s simply . . . everything.
There’s the slightest hint of his tattoos peeking out from the neckline of his shirt, and just like the last time I saw them, it leaves me desperate to see more. Desperate to find out what art decorates his strong body. But as I stand closer than I’ve ever been, I notice something new about him—a scar. It starts at the top of his brow and slices straight through to the center of his cheekbone, leaving me intrigued and needing to know exactly what happened to him.
I wonder what he would do if I were to reach up and touch it, to brush my fingers across the angry scarring on his face. Would I lose my life or just my fingers? Or perhaps I wouldn’t lose anything at all. The one thing I know for sure is that being intrigued about a man like this could only mean trouble for me.
His fingers tighten on my throat, but not enough to block my airway, and I can’t lie, if I weren’t about to shit my pants with fear, this would absolutely turn me on. His fingers are large, and I can feel the underlying strength within them. He could snap my neck if he wanted to, and yet all that matters is how warm his skin is against mine.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get my shit together before this man leaves me as nothing more than a forgotten body in an old alleyway.
Swallowing past the fear, I shove his chest, and he backs up, shock flickering in those lifeless eyes as though he hadn’t expected me to be so bold. Though I suppose that doesn’t happen often for him. People crumble under his stare, run in the opposite direction, never seek him out, and they sure as fuck never fight back.