Fear The Reapers: A Dark Mafia Romance (Lovesick Villains Book 1)
Fear The Reapers: Chapter 9

The sound of my heeled boots clicking against the pristine marble was the only noise echoing across the grand foyer. If I hadn’t just seen the man that entered before me, I would have assumed that no one lived here and hadn’t for quite some time. The place was cold and empty. The floor was almost too clean, and its grandeur made it feel more like an art museum than someone’s home.

The entire place smelled of wood and leather, and the interior was surprisingly bright. Clean white walls with dark wood accents and sparkling marble floors filled the space. The foyer led me towards two sets of glass stairs that framed the open living space beyond it. The place was absolutely stunning.

They revered The Reapers in this town, but I had no idea they had this kind of wealth. The art pieces that hung on the walls alone had to have been worth more money than I could even fathom.

I expected them to be savage criminals. Ones I could easily outsmart given the right opportunity. But the more I explored their domain, the more my assumptions were off. The entire place oozed sophistication, and I was out of my element.

As I continued my exploration, a canvas hanging on the right side of the room caught my eye. The piece was a stark contrast to the more minimalistic pieces hung on the walls. While those felt flat, dull even, this one seemed full of life. It was dark, nearly black, and I could almost feel the emotions radiating off of the canvas. Rage. Sorrow. Power.

Gravitating towards it, my eyes studied each splatter and stroke meticulously. My fingers inched closer of their own volition, drawn to the chaotic texture.

An oversized palm slashed across my vision and wrapped itself around my wrist in a firm hold. Like striking a match, the sensation stirred phantom memories that should’ve stayed buried.

In an instant, I wasn’t in the house anymore; I was pinned to the dirt. With them. The distinct tinge of blood, sweat, dirt coated my senses, encapsulating me in the nightmare and making it feel real. I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air, desperately trying to ground myself. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

I took another deep inhale and an unfamiliar scent dominated my senses. Citrus, wood, and spices. Like wrapping myself in a warm blanket by a crackling fire. Where was it coming from?

I blinked.

The flashback vanished. No cold sweat, no lump in my throat, nothing. I opened my eyes to find that the man from the door had released his grip and was staring at me like I had sprouted another head. I stared daggers back at him. How the hell did he pull me out?

“Hands off, princess.” He ordered, not missing a beat and pretending that he didn’t just witness my psychotic break. “Trust me, Ezra is the last person you want to piss off.”

I scoffed at his warning. Trust him? Just because my delusional mind somehow trusted him didn’t mean that I would. I was smarter than that. Then again, I did just sacrifice myself to a group of savage drug dealers, so how smart could I really be?

The thought made me smile.

“Something amusing?” He asked, probably not expecting an answer.

My mouth had always gotten me into trouble, and this situation proved to be no different.

“My apologies, Master,” I bit out, “it isn’t my place to express myself so frivolously. Will you ever forgive me?” I asked, driving the point home by fluttering my lashes.

I should’ve feared him. Hell, I should’ve feared this entire situation, but I refused to live my life in fear anymore. I volunteered to be here, but that didn’t mean I had to just shut up and take the intimidation tactics.

“It’s not Master, it’s Cyrus.” He offered with a crooked grin. “Though with that ass, you can call me anything you want.” He paused, gesturing towards the stairs. “After you.”

I hated the way he made my body react, like my brain and my body were from two different planets and an all-out war was exploding in my head. My brain knew he was dangerous and wanted nothing to do with him, while my body craved his attention and my pussy pulsed at every word uttered from his gorgeous mouth.

A blush crept across my cheeks as I stiffly moved in front of him. I tried tilting my hips forward as I ascended the stairs, doing my best to make my ass look as unappealing as possible. I’m sure I looked like a zombie fresh out of Thriller climbing up the steps, but I didn’t care. It was worth it if it made him rethink his new fascination with me. I didn’t like the way my body felt around him.

“Where are we going?” I asked, mindlessly staring at the industrial looking light fixtures that adorned the wide hallway.

“To your room.” He mumbled, sounding distracted.

At least I knew this wasn’t a march to my death or some awful dungeon. They were giving me an actual room.

“Where exactly is my room?” I asked, feeling like we were walking in circles.

“About four doors ago.” He mumbled, stifling a laugh.

I spun on my heel and cut my eyes at his silently shaking form.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“My mistake, I must’ve gotten… distracted.” He offered, biting into his lower lip with a lazy smirk.

“Please take me to my room.” I growled out, trying to reign in the confusing anger that wanted to jump out.

It took everything I had not to explode on him, which wasn’t normal for me. How in the hell could one man get so deeply under my skin in such a short time?

I needed to reign myself in. I could walk on the edge of pissing him off, but I couldn’t allow myself to cross that line. Despite how easily it was to be near him, he was still a Reaper and I needed to remember that The Reapers were capable of anything and wouldn’t hesitate to put me in my place.

◆◆◆

After leading me to my room, Cyrus left me to my own devices and gave me strict orders to “unpack my shit and drag my sweet ass back to the living room” when I finished. If he made one more comment about my ass, I was going to find a way to murder him in his sleep. Reaper or not, the asshole had it coming.

Upon entering the room, the first thing I noticed was the enormous floor to ceiling windows that completely made up the far wall. For being notoriously private, The Reapers sure liked their big ass windows. Vivid moonlight cascaded through them, blanketing the room in a soft ethereal glow. I’ve lived nowhere near the hills before, and from this elevation, the moon looked enormous.

As I placed my duffel bag on the bed’s black silk sheets, the flickering of a long natural gas fireplace caught my attention. Directly in front of the fireplace stood two cozy cream armchairs and a small coffee table adorned with a stack of weathered books. By anyone’s standards, the room was beautiful. But I couldn’t help but wonder, why the hell did they give it to me?

I was nothing to them.

A means of repayment.

Nothing more.

As I unpacked the little belongings I had, the pulsing of my forearm kicked up again, sending pain radiating outward. I needed to check on the wound I haphazardly dressed at the motel.

Sneaking out of my room, I carefully crept towards the bathroom we passed down the hall. I wasn’t even sure if I was allowed to use it, so I made it a point to get in and get out as fast as I could.

Tucking myself inside, I locked the door behind me, stripped off my jacket, and got a good look at my arm in the mirror. The wound had already leaked through bandages, but that wasn’t the worst part. The surrounding flesh was red and painful to the touch. It needed to be cleaned and dressed properly, otherwise I’d get an infection.

I tossed the soiled bandage in the toilet, flushed it, and ransacked their cabinets, looking for some kind of first aid kit. The rich assholes had to have some kind of medical kit considering their line of work. When I reached the bottom drawer, I hit the jackpot and found a fully stocked drawer full of medical supplies.

I grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and without thinking, raised my arm over the sink and drenched my entire forearm in it. The wound burned like a motherfucker, and my teeth bit hard into my lower lip to stifle the scream that tried to claw its way out.

Grabbing the gauze, I redressed the wound in seconds and tossed some ibuprofen back for the pain before putting everything back as I found it. I still didn’t know how volatile The Reapers were and it was in my best interest to avoid doing anything that might piss them off. After living with a volatile man for nearly over half of my life, I understood the importance of being cautious in a dangerous environment.

Sneaking out of the bathroom, I blindly rushed towards my room, looking over my shoulder to make sure that no one saw me. I made it about ten feet before my body slammed into a solid wall of muscle. The force of the impact sent my body crashing towards the ground. It was almost as if the universe was serving out karmic retribution and it wanted to remind me of my place in this world, just in case I forgot after seeing my new living space.

“Fuck.” I stammered, laid out on the hardwood as my eyes tried to refocus.

A rugged hand covered in tattoos slashed into my line of sight. I reluctantly accepted the help. It was bad enough that I had stupidly crashed into him, I wouldn’t let my embarrassment stop me from being polite.

As soon as my eyes looked up at the man in front of me, all common sense left the building. I stared at him. Hard. It was almost impossible not to.

His tall frame stunted mine and from his sharp jawline down, intricate tattoos covered his porcelain skin. The slightly unbuttoned white shirt he wore gave my mind just enough ammo to run with, and I stupidly wondered what other parts of his body had tattoos.

My heart slammed in my chest as his dark grey eyes skimmed my body and took on an almost primal look as he peered at me through his dishevelled black hair. He wasn’t big or bulky, but there was something about his presence that had my nerves on edge. My mind and my body were on opposing ends. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming need to run, yet something about him made my traitorous body long to get closer to him.

Thank god my survival instincts kept my ass firmly planted where it was. Even they knew better than to trigger the dangerous man standing in front of me.

It was then that I noticed the stains littered across his body. It looked to be the same deep crimson on the artwork I spotted downstairs, but as the sharp, coppery aroma filled my senses; I realized my terrible mistake.

The man I just slammed into was Ezra, The Artist, and the deep red liquid splattered all over him wasn’t paint, like I naively thought. It was blood. Ezra wasn’t an artist at all; He was a goddamn killer.

“A fallen angel.” Ezra murmured softly as a sinister smile crept onto his face.

His thumb reached out to graze my lower lip. The sensation of his touch sent delicious shivers down my spine. My mind urged me to get out of there, but my stupid legs refused to budge.

As I watched his hand pull away, my eyes locked on the bright ruby streak now staining his thumb. My brows furrowed in confusion. Is that my blood? Did I bite my lip that hard?

Acting on instinct, my tongue swiped out to lick the spot that his thumb just brushed and sure enough, my taste buds picked up the distinct coppery flavor.

I watched with a mix of fascination and horror as he slowly brought his thumb towards his mouth and licked off the stain. The alarm bells that were once chiming softly in the distance were now blaring in my head. Bitch, get out of there!

“Mmm,” he growled, licking his lips, “just like I thought. Delicious.”

Before I could even utter a response, a blur of a body came lunging towards me. One second, I’m paralyzed in front of Ezra, seconds away from being devoured and the next I’m being tossed into the air like a beach ball.

The velocity of my stomach landing on a hard shoulder knocked the wind out of me and as I felt an arm curl tightly underneath my ass, I knew exactly who the culprit was. Cyrus. He had just secured his position on my shit list.

I lifted my head in time to catch a smirking Ezra enter the bathroom I had just walked out of. An icy chill crept up my spine. If I had gone into that bathroom five seconds later, he could’ve trapped me in there and no one would’ve been able to stop him.

“Stay out of trouble, Angel.” Ezra taunted, flashing me a devilish grin.

I couldn’t help the maniacal laugh that bubbled out of my lips. His warning was absolutely ludicrous. Stay out of trouble? How the hell was I supposed to stay out of trouble when I was now living with it?

As Cyrus stomped his way down the stairs, my face banged against the rigid muscles of his back. I fought the urge to kick him in the balls as my sense of self preservation only slightly outweighed my irritation at his barbarian act. I didn’t enjoy being hauled away like fucking property, but he saved me from whatever the hell that interaction with Ezra was, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good to have his god-gifted body so close to mine.

Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, his movements halted. Strong hands gripped around the back of my thighs and he pulled my body down. He paused as our eyes met and his hands gripped onto my waist, suspending me in the air like I weighed nothing.

The size and strength of this man alone could put my pussy in a frenzy. I wasn’t a tiny girl by anyone’s standards, yet he carried me with just his hands and showed no signs of a struggle. He gave me a look that said he wanted to defile me in the most depraved ways possible and for just a moment, my pussy took control of my brain and screamed that she was all in. His little hero act had sent my hormones into overdrive and I was too caught up in the moment to stop it.

My legs tightened around his waist of their own accord and I pressed my body against his feverously. I buried my face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his alluring scent of freshly cut grass and leather. His skin was hot to the touch and deliciously smooth. I rubbed my cheek against the softness as my body grinded against his waist. I felt him hardening beneath me as his breathing grew just as ragged as mine.

A tiny whimper escaped my lips. The sound broke through the dense fog, muddying both of our minds. He yanked me away from his body and stared at me, baffled. Whatever spell I had cast over him quickly broke, and he dropped me to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Fuck you pussy, you backstabbing hoe. We had an agreement. Just because he can toss us around like we weigh nothing doesn’t automatically mean we try to fuck him.

Surprise momentarily flashed across his features before his scowl returned as if it had never left. Now avoiding touching me all together, he carefully picked me up by the nape of my leather jacket and set me on my feet.

“Never grab me like that again!” I hissed, pulling away from his hold. “God, what are you, a fucking brute? What is wrong with you?”

I didn’t actually want an answer. My stupid mouth just kept digging the humiliation grave deeper. His blatant rejection hurt. He was all about it when I first arrived, but now he wouldn’t even look at me.

“Cyrus!” I fumed, finally garnering his attention.

His angry eyes flashed in my direction as his sharp jaw ticked, but he still said nothing. His silence was worse than any cutting remark he had made earlier, and I could see the pure hatred for me all over his face. That’s when I noticed a discrepancy that I would’ve seen earlier had I not been so dickstracted.

“Did you do something different with your hair? Because I could’ve sworn it was shorter only a few moments ago.”

“Damn, Princess, I’m touched that you noticed.” Called out a familiar voice from behind me.

I swung my head back and had to do a double take. Behind me stood Cyrus, looking as full of himself as ever with a smug smile plastered on his face. The man who carried me down the stairs wasn’t Cyrus at all, and based on the splitting image I was seeing, he had to have been his twin.

As I gaped at the two men, it was obvious they were identical, but the way they carried themselves couldn’t have been more different. Where Cyrus’s stance exuded confidence and charisma, this man’s presence seemed standoffish and brutal. They both had the same sexy emerald eyes and were exactly the same height and build. They even both had black and white tattoos all over their body. The only physical discrepancy between the two was their hair. While they both had dark brown locks, Cyrus’ twin’s hair was an inch or two longer, giving him a more wild and animalistic look.

“Tristan, meet… Princess.”

“Stevie.” I bit out, scowling at Cyrus and offering Tristan a small smile. “Stevie Alexander.”

It wasn’t his fault that his twin was an ass. Maybe he was the good twin?

His eyes stared at my smile for a brief second before flashing back to Cyrus and looking at him pointedly. After a few beats of silence, he left the foyer and headed towards the living room without another word.

Okay, definitely the evil twin.

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