Part 8


If you’re new to this serial, you can find part 1 right HERE


Wolf

Wolf looked at the sleeping woman beside him and curled his hands into fists before relaxing again. She looked so young as she slept, and he wanted to reach out and touch all the scars he could see on her skin. Instead, he reached up and scratched his own scars on his cheek.

“Are you perving on me again?” The words were mumbled against the pillow before Reaper opened one eye. “Why am I in a bed?” she asked, but she didn’t move or look worried. For some odd reason, that pleased Wolf.

“I wasn’t perving on you. I’m making sure you don’t do something stupid. And you’re in my bed because you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Your bed?” she asked, and this time, she did push up. She looked around his room, and Wolf tried to see it from a stranger’s perspective. He liked things to be comfy. His bed was big, soft, and had more pillows than usually needed by one person. The walls were painted a deep brown, and the shelves to one side were filled with books. A small fridge stood tucked between the wall and the closet, and a door on the other side led to the bathroom. On the wall beside the door to the hall hang his TV. It was simple, but it was his.

“Yeah, my bed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not leaving mine or Phantom’s side for the next week.”

“Because Death said so?”

“Yeah, because Death said so.” They sat in silence for a bit before Wolf spoke again. “Wanna tell me where you know him from?”

“Not really, no.” Reaper got out of bed and stretched. Wolf couldn’t help but look at her body move. He knew he shouldn’t. Nothing good would come from tangling with a woman who held Death’s interest. When she pulled off her t-shirt, all thoughts about bad ideas fled, and all he could think about was pinning her under him while running his tongue all over that tattoo. Maybe what he really needed was to go out and find someone to fuck. Woman or man, he wasn’t that picky, though the men were always done in secret. He didn’t need the shit that would follow if any of his brothers found out he swung both ways. Reaper, unbuttoning her pants, yanked him out of his own head, and he watched as she pulled them off, his eyes roaming down her body. Her legs were well-shaped, and the thought of those legs wrapped around him as he pushed into her warm cunt made the tiny hairs on his arm stand up. She turned and grabbed one of her bags, and Wolf’s gaze snapped to the long red scars crossing her left thigh. They were evenly spaced and looked deliberately made. At first, he thought she might have done them herself. He’d been with more than one woman that used cutting to cope with a shitty life, but he shook off the idea. They were too long and looked to have been too deep for cutting.

“What happened to you?” His voice came out more growly than usual.

Reaper turned slowly around, holding a pair of jeans in one hand and a t-shirt in the other. With her facing him, Wolf could see more scars covering her legs, all done in the same deliberate way.

“What happened to your face?” she threw back and started to pull on the jeans.

Wolf only hesitated for a second. “I got caught on a rivaling club’s turf, and they decided they wanted to make an example of me.” It was a nice way of saying he’d been roaring drunk and gotten into a bar fight with a man from another club. The rest of the man’s brothers hadn’t taken kindly to Wolf breaking the man’s knee.

She studied him for a few seconds, and Wolf let her. He usually didn’t like to be scrutinized, and most people didn’t because they didn’t like to see the uneven scars made by a bottle that pulled his skin. But he wanted an answer and had a feeling that this was the best way to get them.

“Did you get revenge?”

He was somewhat surprised by her question. She pulled on the t-shirt and sat down on the single chair standing against the wall, and started to put on socks. They had little skulls on them.

“Yeah, I got revenge.” He didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to know that he caught the guy who had used the bottle on him. She didn’t need to know that he had cut out the guy’s tongue and taken one of his eyes.

She looked up at him and studied him for a few seconds before pulling her shoes closer and putting them on. She didn’t look up when she spoke. “A biker gang got their hands on me when I was sixteen. They held me for almost a year and a half before I managed to escape. Their leader didn’t much appreciate my personality.”

Wolf swallowed his growl and forced his voice not to shake with anger. He wasn’t a nice guy. The Sons of War were ruthless, didn’t play well with others, didn’t follow the law, and weren’t afraid to get blood on their hands. But the idea of someone keeping Reaper locked up for a year had his blood boiling.

“Did you get revenge?” It was a silly question. She had been seventeen when she escaped. Of course, she hadn’t gotten revenge on a biker gang.

She looked up at him, a cold smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I got revenge.”


Published by Tea Spangsberg

Tea is an Author who claims to be a Viking, but in reality she would suck at it as she get terribly seasick.

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