by Luna Quinn
According to Archer, Locke was the youngest of the three. Which didn’t mean he was a kid. It only meant he wasn’t ancient like Archer or Sasha. He didn’t know how long Reapers lived, but he knew Archer and Sasha were a few centuries old. Probably older than Razor and his brothers.
“You love it and you know it, buddy. Isn’t soul collecting, like, life fulfilling or some shit?” Razor scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “Or was it orgasmic? I can’t remember which one Archer used the other day to describe the experience.”
Because of how often they crossed paths, he considered the Reapers friends. Well, then there was Sasha, and their fucked up song and dance.
Thinking of her brought the memory of her kiss, of the way her smart mouth had tasted, and his cock was instantly half-hard.
Locke’s laugh pulled Razor back from the direction his thoughts had been taking.
“Something like that, I guess. Though, Archer isn’t having the right kind of sex if that’s the case, because it certainly doesn’t compare to the real thing.”
Razor snorted. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
Locke lost his amusement. “Oh gods, no, don’t do that. Then he’ll probably find a way to prove he has ‘incredibly hot’ sex. Probably by conning me into watching him fuck.”
Razor chuckled. “That is very likely.”
“Let me get to work now, will you?”
“By all means.” He gestured gallantly towards the body.
Pushing off the wall, Locke shook his head and strode over to the body. “I was just uptown collecting from Edge. The soul was just floating there, like a firefly. What was left of the body was all ribbons of flesh and…stuff. Your brother is a scary man. ”
“Yes, he is,” he replied proudly. But the info Locke had just dropped worried him a bit. Edge wasn’t the type to leave such a mess. He was a clean-kill type of guy. It was the Guild’s preferred method. Unless, of course, he needed to send a message. It’d been a while since the last time Edge had done so, though. “We wouldn’t have Shadow Realm if we weren’t willing to spill blood,” he added, feeling the need to defend Edge.
Locke crouched next to the body, his fingertip touching the center of the Demon’s chest. “Your rule is a fair one. I wasn’t implying otherwise,” he said, pausing a second later. He stayed there for a moment, then shifted his finger and placed it right over where the Semuro’s heart would be.
After another few seconds, Locke cursed and shot to his feet. He turned to him, frowning. “What did he do?”
“Who? Are we still talking about Edge?” He was confused. Reapers never asked questions about the dead, much less what crime they’d committed. Not like it helped; dead was dead.
“No, this Demon.” Locke’s eyes flicked back and forth between Razor and the body. “What was his crime?”
“He went on a killing spree, decimating the entire cast of Bambi, plus other Disney critters.”
The other man cursed again and then began pacing. “How much do you know about Reapers?”
“Not a whole lot. When it comes to information about yourselves, you fuckers are as tight with it as a virgin ass.”
Locke didn’t even laugh at the joke, which meant whatever Razor was missing was important.
“Reapers don’t have normal souls. When we die, our souls go into this sort of limbo where we wait to be reborn. It’s a cycle. When we come back, we’re always Reapers. And always…us.” He motioned to his body. “Like this. No clean slate for us. But we do have a choice. We can keep coming back as Reapers, or we can try to earn a place in the Realm of Eternity, or the Pit, if that’s your thing. If we choose Eternity, we are then given three souls to save, called Salvae. Plainly put, the Reaper has to ensure the Salvae souls go to Eternity in order to earn their own place in that realm.”
Well, that was news to him. It was still confusing, but it was more than he’d ever gotten before. And the fact that the other man was discussing this with him could only mean bad news. “What if a Reaper chooses the Pit?”
“I don’t really know the specifics.”
“You don’t really know the specifics?” he repeated, eyeing the other man, but didn’t press him on that. “So, why are you telling me this?”
When the Reaper still didn’t speak, only stared at nothing and turned an unbecoming shade of puke, he had to ask, “Why do you look green, Locke?”
As if his words had broken something in the Reaper, Locke’s face crumpled. “You just killed one of Sasha’s Salvae.”
Well, of course I did, Razor thought with a frustrated growl. Why would he catch a break now that things with her had seemed to be improving? The Universe must really hate him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He did not want to ruin the little progress they had already made. But most importantly, he couldn’t afford to. He didn’t want this partnership with Sasha to fail. It would be another point against him.
Panic rose in his gut, and an idea surged.
“Dude, you have to help me hide the body,” he urged Locke.
The look the Reaper threw at him was full of horror and disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You know she’ll know one way or another, right?”
“Yes, yes, but it’ll give me time to think of a good explanation so she doesn’t gut me on the spot.” Razor rushed over to the body, picked up the legs, and motioned for Locke to do the same on the opposite side by making a gesture with his hands. “Dammit, hurry your blond ass up.”
Locke stepped back with his hands raised up in the air. “No, no, Raz. You’re on your own with this one. You can kick my ass if you want, but I won’t hide this from Sasha.”
“Godsdamn you and your integrity, you bastard.” He put as much venom as he could into the words, even though he didn’t really mean them.
Sighing in resignation, he let the legs drop carelessly to the ground. Although he hated knowing that this situation would probably kill any chance he’d had left at making any partnership with her work, he couldn’t blame Locke for his loyalty.
In fact, he actually really liked it. As much as the coming confrontation with Sasha promised to be painful, knowing the other Reapers had her back made Razor respect them even more. And since he wasn’t one to run from his problems, he would face her like the brave man he was.
Running a hand over his buzzed hair, he pulled out a smoke. He lit it, took a long drag, then cupped his balls with his free hand.
“Fuck it, I’m ready. Call her.”
Chapter Nine
Sasha’s heart matched the beat of the heavy dubstep music thumping in her apartment as her bare foot kicked out and met flesh.
“You still kick like a child!” Sael shouted over the music.
She growled at her best friend. “Fuck you, too.”
Why she thought getting hand-to-hand combat lessens from Sael was a good idea, she didn’t know. She was itching to get a gun back in her hand and just shoot her friend.
Okay, so that wasn’t very fair to Sael. When she had approached her last year and said she wanted to work on her hand-to-hand fighting, Sael had warned her that it wasn’t going to be fun. And she wasn’t exactly a novice fighter. But her training had specialized in guns. She could shoot enemies between the eyes while blindfolded, but in a close fight, she lacked proper technique.
Sure, she’d learned enough scrapping from the seemingly daily street fights in the neighborhood, but that wasn’t enough to face opponents who had real, expert training.
And Sasha hated having such a visible weakness.
Getting back into a fighting stance, she attempted to brush away the wild black curls that were plastered to her forehead and neck. She used her shoulder to wipe the sweat out of her eye, then nodded to Sael.
They came together again in a blur of punches, jabs, kicks, and dodges. Sael wasn’t going easy on her, and even with as much practice as she’d gotten recently, Sasha was still just barely holding her own.
The first few months had been like any basic training. Rep
etitive, boring, and a focus on learning what to do. Then Sael had pulled the floor out from under her, and since then, their training was all legitimate fighting and defense. Her friend’s theory was that you learned the most when you got your ass kicked.
Sasha had laughed at first. Then she’d gotten her ass kicked. After that, she’d been furious, and her fighting had been even worse. But she finally understood what the other woman had meant. After the anger, there had been a certain clarity; if she focused and pushed herself hard enough, her face wouldn’t eat dirt again.
That didn’t mean that Sasha spent these training sessions smiling and happy, though. No, Sael was very used to the death threats that came out of her mouth.
“Give me my gun,” she ground out between jabs. She had to shout to be heard over the cranked music.
“Shut up and hit me harder,” her friend yelled back, sweeping her leg and sending Sasha straight on her ass. “C’mon, I’ve got to go on patrol soon. Just need one more win and then you can be done.”
“Fuck you,” Sasha replied, without any heat. They always went a predetermined amount of rounds—Sael never told her how many it was on any given day—and only called their lessons complete when Sasha delivered a mock-killing blow in the last round. Since she never knew quite how many rounds were left, she usually got completely frustrated. “I’m so going to shoot you in the ass. You know why?” Sasha panted as she blocked the hits and managed to get upright again.
“Because you’re jealous that mine is bigger than yours?” the Demoness responded smoothly while attacking her ruthlessly.
“Not by that much,” she said, landing a few blows. “No, because you’re a pain in my ass.”
The other woman only laughed.
But no matter how pissed off she got, she knew every second of this training was worth it.
Most Reapers chose to live with protection of one form or another, even if that meant staying in the best house money could buy. Locke lived near the Night House in a decked-out suite. It was convenient and safe. Archer lived all the way on the other side of Shadow Realm, in Sector Seven. It wasn’t the city, but it was very secluded suburbia over there, and he was safe in his own way. He had his privacy and convenience and his explosives.
She lived in the middle of the slums. It was even more convenient for her side job and a hundred times more dangerous for her.
While clothed, she passed for average. She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t special. She was just another person surviving another day. She sometimes wore dark sunglasses to hide her blue-green eyes. Paired with her brown skin, some Others liked to latch onto that oddity and think she was a fun little toy to play with.
She really enjoyed kicking their asses.
Most of the fashion in Shadow Realm was dictated by the weather, and hinged mostly on two things: showing off as much skin as possible in new and creative ways, and protecting as much of you as possible. She shied away from the typical clothes everyone else wore and kept her wardrobe mostly simple. Her staple was a comfortable pair of jeans and a nice, big hoodie. The less people guessed how fit and toned her body was, the more they’d underestimate her. Being underestimated was key to the way she lived. The only article of clothing she ever cared about were her motorcycle boots. Laced up, snug to the tops of her calves, they provided support and durability when she was running down the broken pavement and roads. She relied on them, depended on them, and they never let her down.
With one last kick-punch combo that sent Sael onto her ass, she stood up triumphantly. When her friend nodded with a grin, she knew they were done for the day. Panting heavily, Sasha unwrapped the tape from her bleeding knuckles, ignoring the pain coursing throughout her muscles. Pain was good. Pain meant progress, and strength.
Rolling her shoulders, she turned the music off, already mentally going through her mistakes and how to fix them for next time.
“Good job,” Sael said, standing up and brushing herself off. “You’re getting good.”
“I still hate you.” She walked right over and gave her best friend a brief, but tight, hug. She was just as sweaty, bloody, and tired as Sasha was.
Sael blew her a kiss. “You love me. So, how’s that investigation going? Razor still giving you trouble?”
Her mind helpfully supplied the image of Razor’s naked, tattooed chest, the hotness of their kiss… Snatching a small towel, she dried her face and neck, trying to wipe away those memories. “It’s going. Razor and I have a truce, for now. While we work together, everything is about the case. Nothing else.”
When she tossed the towel, she noticed Sael’s look of extreme doubt. “Uh huh. Are you sure it’s nothing else?”
Sasha exhaled in exasperation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I mean it. We even had a conversation like two adults. Sort of. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to find those souls, and he’s going to help me. I can’t stand knowing someone is snatching them right from under Xavier’s nose and no one is catching the son of a bitch.” Subject successfully changed from Razor to the case.
“Of course you’re going to find them.” The Demoness stretched, her ruby skin glittering with the movement. Glancing at the clock, she sighed. “My shift is starting. I need to get back. I’ll talk to you soon.”
After collecting all of her things, her friend left with a wave.
Now alone, Sasha went straight to her shower, the warm water washing the blood and sweat away. She let the heavy drum of the water spray over her sore muscles for only a minute before soaping up. The soap and shampoo she used were only lightly scented. She wasn’t a flowery type of girl. She also didn’t use much product, but her hair couldn’t do without her favorite coconut and lemongrass hair oil.
Five minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and dried off, checking her phone. Three missed calls and two texts from Locke.
Her stomach clenched in a sudden alarm. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad.
Heart beating hard now, she tapped on his name, smearing watery blood on the screen as she called him.
The first ring didn’t even complete before Locke picked up. “Sasha, where are you?” He sounded serious. She ignored her body’s need for rest and immediately went on alert.
“Home. Why?”
“You’re going to want to come down. Probably now.” His voice shook as he rattled off a street name, and the map within her head pinpointed the direction even as she was throwing clean clothes on.
“On my way.” Her answer was terse and abrupt before she ended the call. Something was definitely going on. Once her boots were laced, she ran out the door. She could have transported there directly, but her body needed to wake back up, so she raced through back alleys since it wasn’t far.
First, she saw Lock and then—fuck—Razor standing over a body. Razor, who had one hand over his crotch while the other held a smoke. And fuck her, but her body reacted to that sight. She hated it, but she managed to ignore it, not even pausing to wonder why the hell he was here.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
She prowled to the body in the middle of the alley, looking from Razor to Locke. Razor looked like a guilty little boy who’d gotten caught stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar, and Locke’s face was the shade of a pea.
Double fuck.
“Is this about the missing souls?” As she said the last word, they both paled further. Locke shook his head.
Opening her mouth to ask again why she’d been dragged out over this, she suddenly paused, her eyes drifting down to the Demon’s body. The soul floating above the body made goose bumps rise up and down her arms, the energy a strange one. It was just a normal Semuro Demon, except…
Salvae.
The word ghosted through her mind, unspoken but there. She felt the weight of the word, the truth of it. This Demon had been one of her precious, rare Salvae.
But it was impossible. For her first two Salvae, she had gotten a very distinct
sensation, like a Call, that her Salvae was near death. Each time, she had been transported to the Salvae, and then she’d done what she had to, what the process called for, and saved it from death. She’d then pulled the soul out herself and escorted it to Heaven, as she’d been instructed by Xavier in order for the process to work. A dead Salvae was useless, as its soul was only half of what she needed.
Had she missed the alert for her final Salvae…her final hope?
Kremortium bullets winked up at her mockingly. Bullets that a certain Hellhound liked to use in a certain rifle.
Her heartbeat accelerated. Oh, their “truce” was so fucking demolished.
Snarling angrily, she spun on her heel. Both of her fists grabbed a chunk of Razor’s shirt, and she used his surprise to push his larger frame back into the wall as hard as she could.
“You motherfucker.” She didn’t even care when the edge of her long-gone Russian accent framed the words, anger and hatred churning in her belly.
Chapter Ten
If Razor hadn’t been busy holding his nuts in one hand and his cigarette in his mouth with the other, he might have actually demanded she take a step back. Though, he’d much rather lean down and kiss that cussing mouth of hers. And that barely there accent. He’d only heard it a handful of times, but hearing it now told him just how upset she was. Maybe he should kiss her.
Not the time, you idiot.
She was shoving at him and he was allowing it, because if he wanted, he knew he could easily break her hold on him, twist her around, and have her eating grime off the walls before she could take her next breath. But he wouldn’t do that. He was a sick fuck like that, and he was enjoying her right where she was. On him. In his personal space. Even if she was spewing profanities all over him.