A Deal With the Reaper: A Dark MC and Serial Killer Romance (The Saints of Purgatory Book 1), page 7
“Thanks again, Benny.”
“No problem. Ellie loves going on adventures. Don’t you, girl?” He flips his septum piercing up into his nostrils, then squats in front of the dog, letting her lick all over his face. “Have fun with the boss.”
Ellie spins in circles then follows me to the Jeep, jumping in and plopping on her butt without needing to be told. Her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth the entire drive, and even though I strapped her leash in, I keep one hand on her until we arrive. It takes twenty minutes after checking in and waiting in a little room before the vet finally walks in.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Fields,” she greets. “Who do we have here?” She’s a curvy woman in her late thirties with a thick mane of curly red hair pulled back into a wild ponytail and a face covered in freckles.
“This is Ellie,” I say, gesturing to the dog.
The doctor squats down, letting Ellie sniff her hands before reaching out to pet her. “You’re very sweet, Ellie.”
“She’s great,” I say, trying to sound like I care.
Dr. Fields stands and picks up a clipboard. She scans it, then asks, “So, we’re just doing a checkup today?”
I nod. “We recently moved here and wanted to establish a new vet.”
“Smart idea,” Dr. Fields says, returning to Ellie’s level to check her ears.
“Yeah. We’re here for my sister,” I lie. “She went through a pretty bad breakup recently and needs the support.”
The vet talks as she examines Ellie, who seems more than happy to receive all the attention. “Wow, that’s good of you. To move for your sister.”
“Well, her ex is crazy. I’m worried for her safety.”
“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” I hear a slight tilt to the doctor’s voice, as if she’s finally clicking into the conversation.
“Me too. I told her not to date him, but of course, no one listens to me. But now she’s free, and I think she’s going to file a restraining order against him.”
“That’s very brave.” Dr. Fields takes longer than is probably necessary to look at Ellie’s teeth, as if trying to distract herself from my words.
“I know. I’m glad she’s free of him, and I’m here for her, but I think she needs more help. I mean, this guy really fucked with her, you know? I think she needs to see someone. A professional.”
The vet gives a little hum to show she’s listening but doesn’t say anything. I hesitate, hoping to sound conversational and like her answer to my next question doesn’t really matter. “Do you know of any therapists in the area?”
Dr. Fields’s hands freeze for a millisecond. Then she seems to shake herself out of the stupor and pats Ellie’s head once, whispering, “Good girl.” She stands and turns to me, pulling in a breath. “I actually do know of a good therapist. My, uh, friend, who was also in an abusive relationship, sees her and says she’s great. Her name is June Graves.”
I smile. “Thank you. I’ll look her up.”
“Now, are we doing any vaccines?”
“Not today.” After a few more formalities, Dr. Fields starts to leave and just as she reaches for the door, I ask, “Is your friend doing any better? The one who sees the therapist?”
Dr. Fields looks back at me. “She is.”
“So, there’s hope for my sister, then?”
“Of course there is.”
“Even while that asshole is still free and alive? Is your friend’s ex in prison?”
There it is, I think. A glint in the vet’s eyes, like she’s holding onto a shameful secret. “Actually, her ex disappeared last year. And, honestly, she’s doing better than I’ve seen in a decade.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Clarissa Fields dips her head forward and leaves. I pay for the appointment and take Ellie back to Benny’s house, my mind on overdrive.
Clarissa Fields doesn't have a friend who sees June. She sees June, which I learned while watching June at her office. I set up the appointment with Clarissa last week mostly out of curiosity and a desperation to learn more about June. But after our encounter two days ago, I did some research and learned that Clarissa Fields had an ex who went missing last year. And from the fire in June’s eyes last night, her vice is obvious.
I’d bet the entire Saints of Purgatory that Clarissa’s ex is dead and that the last thing he saw was my little reaper’s grin as she quenched the thirst for blood that must live under her perfect skin.
I don’t know if the ex was her most recent victim, but I do know I’m her next one, and I can guess that she chooses her victims based on the confidential information patients give her. I’m not sure who's been talking about me to June, but that doesn’t matter now.
What matters is figuring out who her next victim would be if not me. If I can help June move her murderous attention to a new asshole, then maybe she won’t try killing me again, and she’ll make it out of this month alive.
Thankfully, now that she lives with me, going through her things will be much easier.
~
I tuck my helmet under my arm on my way to the front door. A bell jingles when I pull it open, and a young woman on a couch looks up at my entrance. I nod in greeting and lean against the opposite wall. An older woman, one of the other therapists June shares this building with, opens her door to let in her next patient. Upon noticing me, she lets her eyes trail over my body, taking in the visible tattoos, biker jacket, and helmet with a frown.
“Can I help you?”
“Just here to pick up June,” I say, smirking at the surprise that flits over her face.
“And you are?”
“Her boyfriend.” The lie isn’t necessary, not here, but I want to see her reaction.
It’s worth it. The woman steps back and lifts her hand to her chest, not bothering to hide her shock and horror. She opens her mouth, probably to call me on my bullshit or demand more information, but June’s door opens before she gets the chance.
“I’ll see you in two weeks, Sarah,” June is saying to a girl who can’t be older than eighteen. The girl nods and wipes tears from her cheeks, avoiding looking at anyone else as she exits the office.
June, on the other hand, looks straight at me and freezes in her doorway, eyebrows pulling together.
I beam. “Hey, babe.”
Anger fills June’s eyes, but she manages to keep from scowling. “You could’ve waited outside.”
“I wanted to see your office.”
“I’m not sure this is appropriate.” Her eyes dart from me to the older woman still standing shocked in her doorway to the younger woman waiting uncomfortably.
“Then why don’t we head out?” I suggest. “You have your helmet?”
Instead of answering, June turns around and walks back into her office. I follow, kicking her door shut behind me.
June turns, glaring at the shut door. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to get your things.”
“Why did you shut the door?”
“Privacy.”
“Look,” she bites, letting more of that fire shine through her professional facade. “I might have agreed to your inane plan of joining your gang—club—but that doesn’t mean you can just show up at my office. This is my job.”
“I’m aware. I’m here to pick you up, remember?”
“Next time, wait outside.”
“Like a dog?”
She lets out a muffled scream of frustration. “Mess with me all you want, but coming in here could make other people uncomfortable! This is supposed to be a safe place for my clients.”
“What about me simply standing in the waiting room is unsafe?”
She gives me a deadpan look, like I asked the world’s dumbest question. “It’s not like you present an image of respectability.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really? You’re going to tell me that some tattoos, long hair, and a leather jacket are so scary that I can’t walk into specific buildings? How pearl-clutching grandma of you.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know that.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Theo, it’s pointless to fake ignorance that your look might be intimidating to some people. Especially to traumatized women already dealing with male-centered trust issues.”
“Oh, I get it,” I say, feigning a look of dawning realization. “You live by a ‘judge a book by its cover’ philosophy. Makes sense. Because no one looking at you would possibly think, ‘that’s a terrifying serial killer who wouldn’t blink twice about slitting my throat.’”
“Theo!”
“But one look at me and that’s the first thing that comes to their mind, so it must be true,” I say, smoothly ignoring her shout.
“I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“No, let’s do this.” I stride forward, closing the distance between us as frustration cracks through the wall of amusement. “You don’t know anything about me. You think you’ve figured me out because of some muddled, likely false, second-hand accounts of my actions and a few weeks of following me. The way I choose to dress and live makes me less-than and not worthy of stepping foot in your perfect little world of propriety. It doesn’t matter how much blood is on your hands because you look like an average trust fund sorority girl with an altruistic need to listen to people whine about their issues. Hide your tattoos under silk blouses and murders behind innocent Taco Tuesdays all you want, but you can’t fool me. I see you, little reaper. All of you. So, how about you stop gripping onto your two-dimensional idea of the world and face the fact that you might’ve been wrong about me?”
She glares up at me, our faces less than a foot apart. The intoxicating scent of fresh juniper and warm apples emanates from her skin, threatening to cloud my mind. Her words are low as she says, “Is this your attempt at guilt tripping me into believing you’re the victim here?”
“No. I’ll never claim to be a victim. But I won’t let you turn me into an evil villain so you feel justified in killing me.”
“So, I’m the bad guy?”
Fuck, this woman is maddening. My fingers curl into my palms, and my muscles tense, yearning to either punch something or rip her clothes off.
“Your need for there to be a bad guy at all is why we’re in this mess.”
She blows an infuriated breath out of her nose like a dragon about to breathe fire.
My voice drops an octave, and desire swirls low in my gut. “The truth is, little reaper, that we’re both villains, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”
Her lips press tightly together, and, needing distance, I step back, breaking whatever spell had us locked. Seeing her helmet on the floor under her desk, I reach down to grab it and take a moment to suck in a deep breath before turning. I hold it out, and she takes it without a word. The energy sucked from the room, I mutter, “Let’s go,” and pull open the door, heading outside without looking back.
Chapter Ten
June
I expect Theo to drag me to the clubhouse, but he clearly wants to be as far away from me as possible after our fight. He drops me off at the house, tells me to stay put, then leaves, the sound of his roaring bike lingering long after he’s gone. Part of me wants to storm from the house to spite him, but exhaustion wins, and I drop onto the couch, turning on NCIS reruns.
I scroll through the group chat with Sadie, Evelyn, and Rose, which is overflowing with unread messages. Guilt bites at the lining of my stomach as I think about all I’m keeping from them, but it’s not like I can text my three very normal best friends ‘Hey, sorry about your work drama, but at least you’re not being blackmailed into living with the guy you tried to murder for the next month.’
I have to tell them something, though. They’ll eventually learn about Theo. I wouldn’t put it past him to show up at Taco Tuesday and dangle our fake relationship in their faces. But my fingers refuse to text anything right now.
Tuesday. I’ll tell them on Tuesday. That’ll give me a few days to figure out what exactly to tell them.
~
My second morning in Theo’s house is similar to the first. He’s already gone when I exit my room, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Though this time, he included a note next to the coffee. The first thing I notice is the way Theo writes his g’s. They dip far below the line, the bottom half looped up like a noose.
Then I read it and immediately crumple it into a ball and toss it in the sink disposal.
Luna taking you to work. I’ll pick you up. Don’t forget about the club meeting tonight.
“We have recycling, you know.”
I jump and spin around to see James watching me. He’s shirtless, tattoo-covered chest on full display.
“Oh, I was just…”
“Taking your anger at T out on an innocent piece of paper? I can tell.” He opens the cupboard above the coffee maker and pulls down two mugs, handing one to me.
“Thanks.” I grab it by the rim and take a careful step back.
“There’s no need to be so on guard all the time. No one is going to hurt you.”
I scoff.
James fills his mug to the top and sets the coffee pot on the counter between us. “T gave his order, and we all follow it, whether we agree or not.”
I keep my attention on him as I fill my mug, leaving an inch of space for creamer. “Why?”
“Because he’s the president.”
“I mean, why did he give the order? Why is he doing this?” No matter how much I think about it or replay Theo’s words in my head, I can’t come up with an adequate reason.
James studies me for several uncomfortable seconds, then shakes his head and says, “Because you’re a predator.”
I frown and am about to ask him to explain when the front door swings open and Luna flies in, dropping her helmet on the dining table.
“Killer!” she calls. Eyes moving from me to James, she lowers her voice. “Do you take requests?”
“What?” The Saints must have a silent way of communicating because I constantly feel like I’m missing context that’s obvious to them.
“Murder requests?” Luna clarifies. “My brother definitely deserves to be on your hitlist.”
“Orion again?” James asks. He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee despite it still being scalding hot.
Luna nods and walks between us to open the fridge. “Yes. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.” She pulls out a Red Bull then casually hops onto the counter, crossing her legs. “Orion doesn’t think a motorcycle club is appropriate for a Mcintyre. He’s been trying to make me quit since they found out I joined.”
I remember reading that Luna comes from a big, somewhat well-known family, but somehow, I completely forgot. “Your dad is a judge, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s hoping for a Supreme Court nomination, and according to Orion, having a daughter in a ‘gang’ will ruin his chances.” She makes air quotes around the word “gang” then cracks open the Red Bull. “You’d think having nine children with three women would be more detrimental, but no, all that matters is that his kids have prestigious careers.”
My brain automatically filters through the mental files on Luna. Her dad, Hugh Mcintyre, has nine children, three from his first marriage before his wife died of cancer, four from his current marriage, including Luna, and twins from an affair. Instead of negative press about his affair, he was able to spin it to his favor by welcoming in the twins and publicly apologizing for betraying his wife, who was somehow incredibly understanding and forgiving of her husband’s infidelity.
“Orion is a surgeon,” I say without thinking. “Third child, second oldest boy, and the last Hugh Mcintyre had with his first wife before she died. Five years older than you.”
Luna’s mouth falls open, and James frowns, his gaze becoming more intense as he stares at me. A second later, I realize that normal people wouldn’t have known all of that because normal people don’t learn everything about a stranger’s friends while planning to murder said stranger.
“You forgot to list his star sign,” Luna says sarcastically.
It’s Sagittarius, but I don’t say that. Instead, I mutter, “Sorry.”
“Did you memorize the family tree of every Saint?” James asks.
“No,” I answer truthfully. I investigated each of them but only thoroughly researched the officers, those closest to Theo. James was the most difficult to research. All I really learned was that his father, Rocket, was the last leader of the Saints before moving out of the state over four years ago.
Luna grins widely. “Liar. You totally stalked us.”
I clear my throat and attempt to move the conversation away from me. “What did Orion do?”
“Same as usual. Called me at the ass-crack of dawn to chew me out for being involved with a bunch of criminals. Apparently, Aurora took a B and E case involving a biker. Not a Saint, just a random biker.”
Aurora is the second Mcintyre child, and she’s following in daddy’s footsteps by becoming a prosecutor. She has a reputation for being as ruthless as her dad and is, unfortunately, just as good at her job.
“I’m sorry, Lu,” James says. “Just ignore him. He’ll give up eventually.”
“No, he won’t. Dad already cut me off. He said if I don’t get my act together soon, Dad’ll be forced to publicly renounce me as a member of the family.”
James gives her a commiserating look. I shift uncomfortably.
“So, how ‘bout it, killer? Wanna off my brother?”
I snort. “Kill a guy with a judge father, prosecutor older sister, and lawyer younger brother? I don’t think so.”
“Bummer.” Luna shrugs. Then she rolls her shoulders as if to shake off the thoughts of her family. “Well, you almost ready to go?”
I look down at my body, still wearing pajamas and no shoes. Then I check the time and curse. Abandoning my coffee on the counter, I run back to my room to get ready.
The day passes quickly, and when my last appointment cancels, I don’t text Theo. Instead, I use the free hour and a half to call an Uber and return to my house. I make quick work of grabbing another knife, my gun, a burner phone, and the drugs Theo threatened to tell the cops about. I already have the thumb drive with all my research on Theo and the Saints, which I hid in my shoe when Theo picked me up on Wednesday. Smiling, I rush out to the Uber and tell him to take me back to my office. I spend the drive thinking through possible ways to get rid of Theo, but each option ends with the Saints coming after me for revenge. Too many of them know what I was planning to do to their beloved leader, so unless I have a perfect alibi, they’ll know if I kill Theo, and I wouldn’t survive a day. But even if I never get to finish the job, simply having my supplies and weapons is comforting.
