Chapter 5 Reaper

Reaper negotiates a trade deal

“What can I offer to sweeten the deal?” Simon Foster, the mayor of a nearby town, asks. He settles back into the red leather sofa with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My emissaries are quite taken with you, perhaps they can persuade you.” A mirthless chuckle falls from free, dropping like a rock on hard-packed ground.

Simon’s emissaries are highly paid prostitutes playing as pawns in a master level chess game. He thinks I’m unaware of who and what they are—his first mistake among many I’m certain he’ll make before the night is done. He uses bodies as profit making ventures which sickens me.

“You’ve yet to offer access to your automotive parts warehouse.” I assess him coolly, well aware of the treasure trove he’s keeping under wraps.

Simon doesn’t know it yet, but I don’t necessarily need the parts since my crews have systematically scavenged every decent part within a hundred mile radius. The newly manufactured parts would be an added bonus, but isn’t a necessity since Grimm’s mechanics are rebuilding any part not in working order.

A welcome interruption arrives as Simon spouts flowery phrases with the intent of confusing me.

“Hello,” Cora, the owner and namesake of the bar and grill we are sitting in, says before things get tense. “Zahra is our new server. She’ll be taking care of you tonight. Just ignore me,” she offered with a wink, “I’ll be shadowing her for support until she’s comfortable going solo.” She elbows the hesitant woman standing beside her.

“Can I get you started with a drink?” the rookie waitress asks in a husky, tremulous voice that is vaguely familiar.

Our eyes lock. Hazel with flecks of gold and blue encircled with an emerald green, rimmed by thick eyelashes darkened tastefully with mascara. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, her gaze dropping to the floor as a delicate shade of rose fills her cheeks.

That’s when I recognize her—the woman I pulled out of the path of an automobile earlier today.

I had rebuffed her after an electric zing of attraction flowed through my body the second I touched her. Cruelly crushing her spirit for no good reason. The instantaneous reaction came as an automatic response born of old wounds inflicted by the only woman I have loved—the traitor who stole my schematics for a device that altered the weather. The machine would have allowed me to end droughts and floods which have historically destroyed food supplies throughout the world.

A grand plan to end world hunger now subverted into a weapon of mass destruction.

“Are you on the menu?” Simon purrs with a grin. He inspects Zahra from head to toe, lingering on her chest long enough that a flash of anger has my fists clenching.

What the hell? I shouldn’t care about the scruffy traveler turned sexy server, but the urge to throttle Simon grows stronger.

Cora stalks toward the bastard, her face flushed red, eyes flashing. “Listen, Simon. I realize you’re a big shot…”

Zahra places a hand on Cora’s forearm. The action halts her cohort’s tirade just as she smiles at Simon, her face schooled carefully into an impassive mask.

“Sir, I think you have me confused with the ladies who accompanied you here masquerading as emissaries. Just an fyi—everyone in Grimm knows what their true vocation is. I thought you came to broker a trade agreement, not supply the town with hookers.”

Simon’s face turns red.

I can’t smother the chuckle that rumbles free at his apparent embarrassment. “A fifth of whiskey and a bucket of ice. Four glasses.”

Zahra makes a note on the order pad before gracefully pivoting and heading toward the bar for the order.

Cora stays, hands planted on her hips, eyebrows drawn together as she eyes Simon. This should be good. The woman is a spitfire, never backing down when it comes to misbehaving customers. Simon is in for a treat.

“Listen and listen well, Simon,” she snarls. “I don’t know what the rules are in your little piss ant town, but in my establishment you respect the staff and customers. Understood?”

Simon snorts derisively. He’s discounted Cora as a weakling—another member stake among dozens that he’s made in recent months.

“I’ll do as I please.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Cora makes her move with the speed of a striking snake. One second she’s standing in front of him, the next she clutches Simon’s hair in one hand while holding the tip of an ink pen against his jugular vein.

“Good,” she hisses. “I’ve not had the honor of disposing of vermin in a few months now, which is sad, because I was hoping today was the day. I always choose violence as a crisis resolution skill.” She presses the ink pen harder, dimpling the skin with lethal purpose.

“Understood,” Simon stammers. “I’ll follow the rules.”

“Glad to hear it, Cora smiles. “I’d hate to ruin my favorite dress.” She strolled off with the regal air of a queen—a black widow, but nevertheless a queen—head held high, back straight, to rejoin Zahra at the bar.

I really fucking like Cora.

***

Simon left in a huff not long after the ink pen incident. He’d obviously never been cowed by a woman, especially one as petite and pretty as Cora. Thankfully the prostitutes departed with him.

That left me alone with what remained of the whiskey and Zahra’s graceful, alluring presence.

Heat rushed through my body when she dropped by to check on me—a dangerous situation since I found myself visualizing her naked beneath me. A distraction I didn’t need or want. Women served one purpose in my personal life. They satisfied a physical need and nothing more. I would never be foolish enough to trust a woman with my heart. The L word was a profanity I had no desire to utter.

The band moved on to slow songs as the night wore on. George Michael’s Careless Whisper was next on their play list. What the hell happened to the band that cranked out Motley Crew, Metallica, and Ozzie? I missed them.

Just as I gave up on having any enjoyment from the music, Derek and Rafael slid through the entrance then strolled leisurely over to the VIP section. Fuck my life. Rafael didn’t worry me. Derek was the thorn in my side, the constant jokester who found a way to needle me, get under my skin and in general be a pain in my ass.

They were as close to brothers as I’d ever have. I trusted them with my business and my life. Both wore form-fitting black t-shirts, jeans, and heavy leather boots combined with the midnight blue vest

Rafael’s bronze skin and brown eyes seduced women in a heartbeat, but like me, sex was the only thing he was after. At six feet tall, he was a half foot shorter than me. His lean body had been conditioned by martial arts and hours running or swimming laps in the pool on the first floor deck outside my penthouse.

Derek, on the other hand, preferred weights and light cardio to keep his physique in tip top shape. His carefully groomed black hair and sky blue eyes that seem to hypnotize members of the opposite sex–but he steered clear of serious relationships.

Rafael took a seat in a solitary chair to my left while Derek plopped down beside me, draping his arm over my shoulders. The smug bastard knew how I felt about clingy women and public displays of affection yet he put his arm there anyway.

“Did Simon give us anything good?” Derek practically purred in my ear, a grin the size of the Wasteland splitting his face.

He laughed at the elbow I thrust hard into his ribs before yanking away from his arm. I grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on his knee. “Touch me again and I’ll break your nose. Again.”

“Children, let’s behave,” Rafael tutted, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Rafael is the peacekeeper of our trio. The man could maintain his cool through situations that would have others crapping their pants. But if he lost his cool, the devil himself couldn’t hold back the hell he would unleash on the deserving party. I had seen him take out half a dozen men with nothing more than an umbrella. Yes. An umbrella.

“Simon is playing hard to get, as usual. He thinks the prostitutes he brings will be enough to sweeten the pot. There’s still no trade agreement. And won’t be until he puts the automotive parts on the table. Did our teams garner any worthy intel?” My focus shifts to Rafael, head of the teams who scour the wasteland or infiltrate towns in order to gain information we can use to our advantage.

“The ocean road team brought back news of another raider attack on a busload of civilians. They should be arriving in the morning with the wreckage.” Rafael’s report is brief. Succinct. Devoid of emotion.

“Sounds bad.” Derek shifts into gear after the broken nose threat. He may be a good looking bastard, but his face is marked with scars from our fights when his irresponsible behavior threatened the peace in our crew. Peace that is the glue holding us together. “Did anyone survive?”

“No word on that yet.”

Our exchange begins when Zahra arrives with another bucket of ice and three glasses for our group. She pauses, eyes darting from me to Derek then to Rafael and back again.

“What color was the bus?” Her voice is thick with emotion.

“Turn around and walk away,” Rafael hisses. “This is a private conversation.”

Zahra’s eyes glisten. She shakes her head slowly, hands trembling. “Please. J-Just tell me. I need to know…Thomas and Mary…”

I grasp her hand, pulling her to sit between Derek and me on the sofa, before she collapses. She places the tray on the table, her fingers smoothing the skirt over her thighs. Her throat works convulsively. Salty droplets cling desperately to her lashes. Real emotion like this was a rarity in this world. So rare, in fact, that I couldn’t remember the last time someone demonstrated that they truly cared.

Zahra cares about the people she mentioned are important. Parents? Grandparents? Family means everything to people in the wastes since most of them have lost a good portion of relatives.

“Tell her.” My command is met with Rafael’s derisive snort.

He shakes his head. “A pretty one strolls into town and you’re pussy whipped in less than a day.”

He doesn’t approve of the woman sitting beside me, which isn’t surprising given his hostility to women in the past. It’s no excuse for bad manners or disobeying my order. His reaction is normal. Mine is not. I can’t remember the last time I cared about someone’s emotions or their concern for another. It was a strange reaction, one I needed to lock down before it got out of control. But for now I had to address Rafael’s dissent.

“Tell. Her. Now. I won’t say it again.” Derek’s eyes race from me to Rafael and back again. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken out the popcorn.

But knowing Rafael as well as I do, he will report the information regardless of how he feels about Zahra. Hell, not just her. He hates every woman equally. One day I’ll get to the bottom of it, but I suspect betrayal similar to my experience is the root cause.

“I didn’t mean to cause problems.” Zahra moves to stand up.

I stop her with a lifted hand. Like a frightened deer, she freezes, unable to control the trembling in her hands.

“Faded yellow. It was one of the shorter buses, the kind school districts auction after the odometer rolls past a certain mileage,” Rafael explains. “There were scorched human remains inside. The crew will have the bus here in the morning if you’d care to inspect it.”

Zahra loses it. She buries her face in her hands, shoulders quaking with gut wrenching sobs. The sort of emotion people find impossible to hold back. Usually born of grief or a significant loss.

My gut twists at the evidence of her pain.

Something inside me wants to comfort her—but I can’t, knowing it’s an intimate moment someone other than me would be more suited for. And knowing what happened the last time I opened my heart to a woman puts the brakes on things.

Unease creeps up my spine like a spider moving toward its prey.

Where the hell is Cora?

Rafael has the good graces to look uncomfortable, muttering an apology for being rude before he bolts to his feet and races away. Derek follows, silently mouthing, “Sorry, man, but I'm out.”

So much for brotherhood.

Cora appears, hands planted on her hips, mouth compressed in a severe thin line. “What have you done to her?”

“Why don’t you ask her what happened before jumping to conclusions?”

Cora moves to the sofa where she kneels in front of Zahra, murmuring something to which the bane of my existence replies. At least she has almost stopped with the theatrics.

I grimace at the automatic judgment spawned from baggage of the past. It isn’t fair, to me, to Zahra or anyone who crosses my path. I’m a broken beast with a penchant for cruelty.

It’s best if I steer clear of Zahra. All of it is too much. Too much emotion. Too much attraction. I can’t, won’t go there again.

“Th-Thank y-you,” she murmurs in a voice etched with pain, thickened by tears.

“It’s ok, Z. I hate that you’re hurting. I’ll go with you in the morning, just so we can confirm if it’s the people you know.”

It’s time to get the hell out of here before the black hole where my heart once lay opens.

Nothing good can come of it.

Not for me.

And definitely not for the woman I’ve just met who has squirmed her way under my skin without even trying.