Reaper: Chapters 1-3

A dark apocalyptic romance. Refer to trigger warnings in folder description. Draft 1.

Chapter 1 Zahra
An insipid gray landscape stretches around me as far as the eye can see.

The only break in the lifeless view comes where the sky kisses the earth in the distance, dove meeting steel, broken only by a muted fiery orb. A protest. The sun’s fury at being choked out by dust and smoke for months on end.

Not that it mattered.

My journey toward the coast began weeks ago, a search for safety, acceptance, maybe a life even? Somewhere I don’t have to worry about the essentials humans need to survive. I don’t want possessions, mind you. Material things don’t satisfy the almost feral need to eat or drink that sometimes overwhelms me, as it does most of the people I’ve met out here. The gray wasteland, one layer of gray atop the other.

How many synonyms exist for the shade? I don’t have a dictionary, and my mind is fuzzy with hunger and thirst, so there is no way for me to determine the answer. Not that it matters. It won’t change the ever present slathering of ash on a canvas so wide and tall the human mind finds it impossible to fathom.

Gray. Dove. Silvery. Heather. Iron. Lead. Oyster. Pearly. Slate.

I recite the words in my head. It’s a game I play sometimes, something to entertain a mind consumed by a form of roadway hypnosis. Except, this malady is strictly wasteland related. Born of weeks of lifeless, parched earth. Dry grass. Scorched trees lifting soot-covered limbs skyward begging the heavens for a drop of rain.

At least the trees bear an alternate hue—a dingy sootiness—evidence of the inferno that had ravaged most forests a few years ago. Wildfires followed the drought that began the year of my twelfth birthday, and now, at the age of twenty, I can see the devastation firsthand when my frame of reference evolved from travelers’ lore.

Reality is much worse.

“Come on, Boy.” I whistle to the shaggy mutt who claimed me days ago when we met at an abandoned convenience store.

Dog or Boy were the best names I could manage in a pinch since he answered to both, so it didn’t really matter what I called him. The shaggy brindle mutt with soft brown eyes and a penchant for roasted rabbit wormed his way into my heart the moment I met him. We make an odd pair–two lonely souls bonded through simple shared acts of compassion, searching for somewhere with only hopes and dreams to guide them. My offering was a few scratches behind his ears and a kind word. He gave me a constant supply of rabbits and silent, steadfast love as only animals can.

Now a dozen yards away, my friend pauses, head turning toward me, tilting as he studies me. His tail wags in that lazy circular way that says we’re friends. And thankfully so.

Dog’s presence adds a badly needed sense of security to my life. Whereas before my head was constantly swiveling to search for signs of danger, food, and water, now I find it easier to let my guard down, let my companion assume the watcher role for a time. It is a privilege few are afforded.

Instead of returning as expected, he trots off into the distance, his form merging into the haze as he undoubtedly searches for game.

“Dammit, Dog!” I shout in the direction he disappeared. “You could have warned me.”

It isn’t that I need the animal with me at all times. I’m more than capable of hiding if raiders or other undesirables appear on the horizon. Something about Dog’s calm presence soothes the frazzled nerves that come to life whenever I see skeletal human remains, trashed encampments, or burned out automobiles. Raiders mean only bad things. They pillage and rape and murder. Then there are those dealing in the flesh trade.

Maybe I’m too fond of the heart that beats fiercely. The thing buried in my chest that reminds me to survive somehow.

Dust stings my eyes. I knuckle it away, refusing to admit any weakness, turning back to the track leading west.

Dog appears in front of me, tail wagging frantically, hesitating. He thinks I’m upset. His soft whine clearly communicates his message. Am I forgiven?

“We’re okay.” Slapping my leg while offering encouragement has his tail wagging feverishly.

A scruffy rabbit clutched in his mouth, he ambles closer then drops the carcass at my feet.

“Good Boy!” I murmur, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “Let’s have some dinner.”

It doesn’t take long to build a fire. My survival skills have improved drastically since this trek began.

The scent of roasted rabbit teases our nostrils while it cooks on a spit over the fire. Dog watches with interest, tongue lolling out, resting by my side on the cold, hard ground. Once the rabbit is done, I rip a piece off and toss it to him.

“Here you go, Boy.” Distrusting as always with food, he retrieves the food, moving some distance away.

We eat in silence. I approach the hot meat cautiously, carefully cooling it off with a few puffs of air while Dog wolfs the sustenance down, demonstrating a survival instinct those who have experienced starvation develop. An impulse I struggle to control.

“Traitor,” I murmur with a frown. “You know I won’t take yours.”

A wary stare communicates his thoughts.

We all have demons to fight. Even Dog.

It feels good to rest my road-weary body for a bit. Camping just off the track isn’t ideal but it will do for the night. I’ve just settled on the worn sleeping bag by the fire when the faint sound of bells tinkling in time with the muffled rumble of an engine has me bolting to my feet.

Two pallid beams of light from a beat up bus illuminate the camp.

The engine wheezes and coughs as it shuts down, shattering the peace and quiet.

Dog joins me without hesitation, his barely moving tail held high, ears laid back as he surveys the bus. A growl rumbles in his chest, teeth bared in warning—it’s us against the wasteland and whatever it might throw at us. My fingers curl around the handle of the knife strapped to my belt. Better to be prepared than not. The small blade is the only weapon I have but it will have to do.

A man steps off the bus with both hands raised in the air. “I have no weapons,” he says, turning in a circle to show me none are hidden behind his back. “It’s just me, the wife, and a few of our grandchildren. Two girls, one boy. All under ten. Worst they’ll do is talk your ears off.”

“Pull your shirt up and turn in a circle. I want to see that there are no weapons.”

He chuckles at my moxy. “Can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

“Stop talking,” I growl. “Do as I say or climb back on that bus and keep driving.”

“You’re a spitfire. I’ll give you that much,” the man says. He pulls his shirt up, turning in a circle. He stops, pulling up his pants legs, and repeating the process. “Do I need to turn my pockets inside out?”

“I appreciate your due diligence, sir.” I fight back a smile. “My knife is the only one I use for skinning rabbits. I’d hate to taint it with your blood.”

The man chuckles, pulling his pockets inside out for good measure. “There now,” he offers. “I’ve done everything you ask. And I have zero desire to get stuck with your knife. Can we join you?” He bobs his head toward the fire. “That looks mighty inviting. Cold gets in my bones which makes these old joints hurt worse.”

An arched brow joins my poker face. “What kept you from building fires along the way?”

He chuckles, lowering his hands and shrugging. “Name’s Thomas. My only axe broke awhile back. That hatchet there looks more than capable.” His head tips in the direction of the item hanging from a strap on my pack. “Sorry for rambling on but you’re the first person we’ve seen in days. The missus will enjoy having another lady to talk to.”

Losing a hatchet, or even worse, the knife, would be a crippling blow to my journey.

Heat is essential since nighttime temperatures hover near freezing at night.

“Not looking for any company.” My voice is hard, laced with a warning he should take. One I hope my traveling companion will support.

Instead, Dog walks over to him, sniffing his feet and legs before giving a little yip of excitement and bounding up the bus steps. A few squeals and peals of childish laughter ring out seconds later. Dog’s friendly growls meld perfectly with the delightful melody.

My heart softens.

I’ll trust in my four-legged friend’s judge of character yet again given he’s never led me astray.

“You and your family may as well join us, Thomas.” I tip my chin at the fire, relaxing slightly. The corners of my mouth lift for the first time in months, not quite a full smile but close, when Dog races out of the bus with three children fast on his heels.

It feels good. Really good.

Maybe this is the good omen I’ve been searching for–the family appearing in a haze of dust in a rusty old bus wheezing its way along, Dog’s acceptance of them. Folklore is rich with tales of canine friends sensing untrustworthy people. Dog has never led me astray.

The decision is made—I’ll trust the family.

Something I’ve been incapable of since being orphaned when my parents died fighting the wildfires. Emotion threatens but I shove it into the deepest recesses of my mind. My focus must remain unwavering in the event Dog’s judgment is flawed.

An older woman wearing a faded blue dress dotted haphazardly with patches exits the bus leaning heavily on a cane. Just like Thomas, her face is gently lined with wrinkles, gray hair knotted in a bun atop her head. Soft blue eyes lit with warmth settle on me.

“I’m Mary,” she murmurs. “Thank you for having us. We’ve been on the bus forever it seems.”

Mary makes me feel instantly at ease, the same type of comfort one would get from a warm blanket or sitting by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate.

“The children seem to like Dog, and vice versa.” I take her offered hand and revel in the silkiness of her skin. “Sometimes I call him Dog or you might hear Boy slip out. We found each other some time ago, and he adopted me for some odd reason. We’re headed to Grimm.” Our easy camaraderie is the only reason I blurt out the destination. My voice falls to a near whisper, as if I’m asking for trade secrets. “How do you keep your hands so soft?”

Mary chuckles, leaning toward me as she shares her secret. “Just slather your hands in grease before bed and put on a pair of old mittens or gloves. Works like a charm.”

Grease? The thought is revolting. “What kind of grease?” I ask incredulously.

“Any sort of animal grease will do. Just stay away from the sort that mechanics use. Stains your nails and skin. Tough to get off unless you scrub them with sand and no one wants to rub their skin raw.” She beams at me, eyes twinkling with mischief.

I don’t have the heart to question the story or the fortitude to test it out. The thought of any kind of willingly rubbing grease on my skin makes my stomach roil. I silently return Mary’s smile, grateful when her husband interrupts our conversation. .

Thomas appears with a trio of battered folding chairs in hand which he sets up around the fire. “Join us, dear,” he offers. “I’ll gather more firewood before nightfall but for now let’s rest.”

“I’m Zahra.” The name feels strange on my lips. A lifetime of having been called ugly names by an endless string of foster parents more intent on making money than caring for their wards has done its damage.

It took a couple years after leaving the system for me to work up the courage to leave Big City, as it was named after the Last War ended. The war the government launched against its people, at least those without important names or power, manipulating weather in an attempt to purge the world of those they deemed unfit. But just like cock roaches, we survived against all odds, some burrowing deep into cave systems or old mines while others fled as far from the capital as they could.

Big City became the capital’s name. The corrupt cesspool where the government and rich people rule supreme. With no regard for the poor. The hungry. Definitely not the orphaned or abused.

The very reasons why I left in search of Grimm.

Mary and Thomas don’t seem to notice my moment of distraction, or if they did, they elected to pretend otherwise. They sat leaning forward, gnarled hands outstretched toward the fire, basking in the companionable quiet. Our peaceful silence was broken occasionally by giggling children, or Dog playfully growling, and sometimes all of them racing in circles around us.

“Where are you headed?” I ask, silently chiding myself for not returning the natural curiosity one stranger has for others.

Both of them look my way, smiling, cheeks rosy from the warmth. “Somewhere safe,” Mary murmurs, falling silent as her eyes glisten in the dancing light from the flames.

“We heard there’s a ship on the coast,” Thomas continues. He reaches out for Mary’s hand, gnarled fingers intertwining, giving it a faint squeeze. “One that will take you to safety. Back there, where we came from, things aren’t good. Robbers and murderers and rapers. All sorts of nasty ones ruling over the peaceful ones who just want to make a way in this world.”

The children stop running, encircling the flames, their chests heaving as they suck in lungfuls of air, no doubt drawn by the lowering of our voices. Human nature at its best. Ears perk up when secrets are revealed in near silence. Dog sits by them, head tilting quizzically as he whines in an effort to bribe them into more playtime.

“Big City.” Thomas hasn’t revealed where they were, but the name slips out in a harsh growl. A latrine of the humankind I never want to see again.

My jaw tightens as I grind my teeth together to keep myself from saying more. It’s easy to launch into a diatribe given what I experienced and witnessed there.

“How did you know?” Mary whispers, eyes wide, a solitary tear slipping free.

“I once lived there.” A tip of my head toward the dark track leading west emphasizes the next revelation. “We’re safer in the wasteland than in a pit of vipers.”

“Well said,” Thomas agrees with a sigh. Mary silently adds her support to the statement with a faint bob of her head. “Will you join us, Zahra? The children seem to have formed fast friendships with your Dog. Would be a pity to separate them.”

A sharp pain in the center of my chest reminds me that my heart isn’t frozen solid. I press the heel of one hand against it. One day the ache of loneliness will fade.

“I know about Grimm but I’ve heard nothing about a ship out west. Are you certain it’s safe?”

My concern for the family’s safety is real. The dregs of humanity filtered from Big City into the wasteland when rumors of enclaves of survivors filtered through the walls surrounding the cesspool. It is dangerous here, but not nearly as much as it is there, within the city’s walls.

Mary and Thomas shrug in unison.

“What choice do we have?” Mary murmurs, staring at the fire.

“Give Grimm a try. At least you’ll know one person.” My voice is tinged with hope. Thomas, Mary, and their grandchildren are good people. People worth keeping around.

“Our minds are made up,” Thomas huffs, his chin lifted, shoulders pulled back. “You’re welcome to ride with us to Grimm tomorrow. It’s the least we can do to repay your kindness. The fire has eased the ache in my old joints.”

“You’re the first person we’ve had the pleasure of conversing with,” Mary adds. “I love my family but we all crave creature comforts we didn’t know we’d miss until the Last War ripped them from us.”

“You’re welcome. It’s nice…doing normal, everyday things I’ve taken for granted.” My companions nod silently in assent.

We fall silent for a time, enjoying the silence which is broken only by the occasional melodic chime of chattering children and Dog’s yips of joy.


Chapter 2 Zahra

Nothing more is revealed about the family’s destination that night or the next morning.

Time slips away as Thomas guides the wheezing bus west through the gray wasteland past abandoned structures and automobiles. Some of the vehicles have been recently burned, probably by raiders. The thought of the violent scavengers makes me queasy so I turn to the children and Dog in the rear of the bus. We play Go Fish, a welcome distraction, until the gates of Grimm appear.

The bus comes to a stop yards from the bridge leading to the gates, its engine sputtering and wheezing.

Reluctance to leave the family builds uncomfortably in my chest, an ache no doubt inspired by the genuineness of the love each of them shows for the others. I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to soak up an endless stream of love from people who genuinely cared about me. My nose burns at the thought.

Each step I take toward the exit drags my mood down into the impending depths of loneliness.

I turn on the last step so I can peer at Dog and the children sitting together. “Come on, boy. Time to go.” The added claps in my leg have zero impact on Dog’s unmoving stance. He lies down, face resting on his paws.

My friend wants to stay. I can’t blame him—the welcoming, warm atmosphere in addition to Thomas and Mary’s accepting nature are rare. It beckons for me. But I can’t venture further into the wastes without knowing for certain what waits for me there.

Regretfully, I step out of the bus, vision blurring as I face the bus a final time.

“We wish you well, Zahra,” Thomas says with a broad grin. He sits behind the wheel of the bus with the relaxed posture of an experienced driver.

I’ll miss them.

A final wave closes the door of possibility the family offers for now.

It pops open a sliver when I walk through Grimm’s open gates, just enough for hope to unfurl in my chest. Yeah. This might become the home I’ve dreamed of having. Maybe I can create a family of my own, even find love and acceptance.

The cover of one of my father’s journals stowed in the pack digs into my back, a reminder of everything I’ve lost but also reminders of the dreams my parents had for me. Dad began writing in the blank pages after he met Mom, recording romantic details of their burgeoning relationship, marriage and my birth. Later volumes catalog his thoughts on the government’s research into weather manipulation.

The weapon Dad swore started—and ended—the Last War.

Maybe it's time to crack it open and digest the treasure trove he created for me, learn what I can about the life my parents built together.

Who knows, I could glean invaluable wisdom on how to build a life here for myself.


***

Grimm is a bustling town filled with vibrant life and a brilliant aura of optimism.

Fruit trees grow at evenly spaced intervals on sidewalks that have been repaired or replaced altogether. Most of the buildings show signs of fresh paint while a few others, from what I can see, are undergoing construction. There are no signs of debris anywhere. I haven’t yet had to dance around to avoid vermin running from here to there.

How can this be real?

I start to cross the street when a car whizzes toward me, horn blaring. My body freezes in place. Mouth open, eyes wide, I find it impossible to break free of the trance until a hand closes around my arm and I find myself yanked backward into a rock hard wall of muscle to safety.

“You should watch where you’re going,” a baritone voice laced with whiskey and danger and sin rumbles from my savior’s chest. He releases me.

I take a step back when he releases my arm, and stare into eyes the color of midnight on a starless night. He’s well over six feet tall, his entire body is packed with muscles that stretches the fabric of a black T-shirt over his broad chest. Tattoo covered arms are equally massive. Faded jeans cling to muscular thighs leading down to heavy leather boots.

And then my eyes move upward to his face where every angle is precise, hard, carved from stone by a master stone mason’s hand. Dark eyebrows accentuate those magnificent eyes. His hair is shorn close in a style that adds to his masculinity, dark scruff shadows his jaw and chin. I want to reach out, touch it, let it rasp across my skin.

At least, I do, until the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk, his nostrils flaring as if a distasteful scent wafted in with the light breeze now stirring the air.

My gut clenches, eyes stinging, as he brushes past me, heading across the street toward a business bearing a pink neon sign. Cora’s Place. An intriguing name. The muffled sound of rock and roll music filters outside. I have no desire to go inside, but I’m thirsty and hungry, desperate for leads on jobs and a place to live. Intuition tells me solitary encampments aren’t allowed inside the town.

I walk across the street, this time looking both ways before the trek begins to make sure the coast is clear.

The stranger’s slight hurt worse than I care to admit, but it’s better that I know now how this person feels about me. I can walk away from him if our paths ever cross again. Everything about him whispered danger—even if he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

But beautiful doesn’t lay a solid foundation for trust or the future I desperately need to build here.

The delectable scent of food and rock music draws me into Cora’s Place.

The interior is crowded with people. Some sit at the bar drinking, others sit at tables arranged close to a stage where a band plays. The same rock music that tempted me to come here. It also leads to a random encounter with Cora, a sassy platinum blonde with a penchant for bold flower-print dresses, red lipstick, and high heels.

Once I’m seated at a small table, a server appears with a menu. Her pen is poised over the order pad, a genuine smile tilting the corners of her red lips skyward. “What can I get you to drink?” she asks.

“Would it be strange if I ask for water?” The query comes after an impressive list of drinks on the menu overwhelms me at first glance.

“Not at all. My name’s Cora, by the way. Welcome to my humble establishment.” She glides toward the bar on high heels as if she’s been walking in them since birth.

Cora is beautiful, graceful, elegant even. Everything I’m not.

She reappears with a tall glass covered in condensation, filled with water. And ice. My head spins at the thought of all the mechanics involved in making ice.

“Here you go,” she chirps.

“You have ice?”

“Yep,” she grins before explaining. “The guy who brought Grimm to life is some type of genius, a mechanical-something-or-other. Don’t ask about the minutiae as I have no clue how Reaper’s brain works. We have ice, water, and a lot of other goods Reaper trades for supplies the town doesn’t have access to.”

“You have ice and water?” The words slip out in an incredulous squeak.

“Yep,” Cora confirms. “You can thank Reaper.”

“Who is Reaper?”

My server huffs, a hand landing on one hip as her free hand indicates an elevated section of seating guarded by a burly guy who looks nearly as wide as the bus Thomas was driving. To my amazement, the stranger I crossed paths with earlier sits on a red sofa with his arms slung around not one, but two stunning women. A few men wearing black suits sit with the trio.

“The big guy sitting between the prostitutes masquerading as emissaries. The suits are from another town trying to negotiate a trade deal for purified water. Reaper is playing hard ball so the prostitutes came with them this time.” Cora huffs, “Disgusting.”

I have no time to analyze the situation as a lanky man wearing a white apron appears beside Cora. “Yo, Cora, your night shift server called. Said she’s getting hitched and is quitting. What do you want me to do?”

The band finishes up their rendition of an unfamiliar song before launching into Life in the Fast Lane by the Eagles. My dad’s favorite band. He would love Grimm.

Cora’s heated conversation with Apron Guy continues. I peruse the menu, frowning at the prices listed by each item. I need a job, and soon, if I’m to survive. I have some money saved, but not nearly enough by the look of things.

Apron Guy ambles away, in no apparent hurry to return to his assigned duties.

Cora’s attention returns to me. “Any idea what you’d like to eat?”

Tension builds at the base of my neck. I rub the knotted muscles there and sigh. “What’s the cheapest thing you have?”

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “You’re new here, aren’t you? We have a special for all newcomers. Free burger and fries with all the water you can drink. How does that sound?”

“I have some money, just not a lot,” I admit with a grimace. “What I really need is a job and a place to live. Food I can figure out later.”

“Nonsense. You’re in luck because I need a server. Employees eat free at my fine establishment. I know the owner of the apartment building across the street which is reasonably priced plus I think we can work out a deal for you. It’s basic but functional,” Cora declares, grinning as she writes something on the order pad. “You need a job, a home, and definitely need to put on a few pounds so you’ll have the energy required to handle our clientele. So what do you say, chickie doodle?”

“You own the apartment building?” I ask.

“No, but I know the asshole who does, and he owes me a favor.”

Cora has powerful powers of persuasion. How can I say no to her pitch?

Three simple reasons come to mind.

Reason 1: The clothes and hiking boots I’m wearing have seen better days.

Reason 2: My hair is a tangled, frizzy mess.

Reason 3: And I have nowhere safe to store my pack which contains everything I own along with the money I’ve managed to save—most of which came from the piggy bank mom and dad started filling with money the day I was born.

Maybe reason three should become number one.

“I can’t do it.” My refusal is born from the feeling of not being good enough.

Cora tows me into her office, shuts and locks the door. Arms crossed on her chest, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘Why the hell not?’, she waits patiently for an explanation.

It requires Herculean effort for me to stammer through the reasons. Cora listens intently, her face and eyes softening as I reveal my soul without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry for not considering your situation,” Cora murmurs. She enfolds me in a comforting hug that ends abruptly when I pull away. “I’ve got an extra pair of shoes and an outfit you can borrow plus there’s a private bathroom right there. I can do some basic makeup and a simple hairstyle. After you shower and eat, that is.”

I can’t cry. Tears won’t solve the first steps needed to begin anew—and Cora’s offer is too sweet to walk away from.

So I bargain with her for the best terms. “No stiletto heels. Not a lot of makeup. And I get to train as a bartender after I get the hang of things as a server. It’s more my style.”

Apron Guy knocks on the door before Cora can continue. He hands it to me before beating a hasty retreat.

“Sit. Eat first.” Cora commands.

The burger is divine. Perfectly seasoned, grilled to perfection, topped with lettuce and tomato. I haven’t eaten anything this good since my parents passed away.

“Why are you helping me? You barely know me.” My question comes after I swallow the first bite of food.

“I’m just lifting up my friend as she spreads her wings to fly.”

The outfit Cora hands me after I’ve showered makes my mouth fall open. A black A-line skirt that stops a few inches short of my knees combined with a form-fitting red tank top with a neckline that reveals more of my cleavage than I feel comfortable with.

“Nope, not happening,” I tell Cora as she forces me to sit at her desk for makeup and the high pony tail she promised.

“It’s happening, Zahra. Just smile like a prom queen and you’ll be fine.”

A light coat of mascara and pink lip gloss are more makeup than I’ve ever worn, but at least it’s something I feel comfortable with. I step into the sensible heels (meaning three inch heels versus five), totter unsteadily toward the full length mirror on the bathroom door on legs that feel as unstable as a newborn colt’s upon his first attempt at standing.

Who is this girl?

The stranger staring back at me is surprisingly pretty, with huge hazel eyes accentuated by dark lashes and full lips glistening like morning dew. Hair the color of dark chocolate accented with golden highlights from the sun flows down the back of my head, a few wispy curls falling free at my temples.

“You. Are. Stunning.” Cora’s whispered adulation is exactly what I need to hear. “Now let’s go take care of the VIP section before I have a revolt on my hands.”

“You can do this,” Cora reassures me.

She pushes me out of her office before guiding me behind the bar where I’m introduced to the handsome bartender, another ridiculously beautiful server, and Apron Guy who turns out to be the cook.

Are people in Grimm born looking this way or have all the beautiful people congregated here to remind me of my plain features? I shake the thought off knowing if it continues my confidence will surpass the subterranean level. Not that it would take much. My parents were the only people who fully supported me in any way they could, yet another reason to add to the growing list that reawakens the beast named Grief who lingers in the deepest recesses of my heart.

“Everyone, this is Zahra, our new server,” Cora grins. “Be kind because we can’t afford to be short handed come Friday night.”

“Welcome aboard. I’m Travis,” Apron Guy shouts out the window separating the kitchen from the bar. He spins the stainless steel ticket wheel like a roulette wheel, plucking a slip of paper from it and slides it underneath a plate of food he plops onto the tiny shelf. “You’re gonna love this place,” he vows.

I jump when Travis taps the bell twice as he yells loud enough to wake the dead, “Order up!”

Cora pats my shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll ghost you for a while in the event you have questions.” She shoves her pen and the order pad into my hands, tipping her head toward the “The VIP section is all yours.”

She accompanies me to the indicated section where I freeze like a frightened doe.

Reaper takes me in from head to toe, his face devoid of emotion, but a shadow shifts through his eyes–something I can’t identify, but it creates an electric tension in the air between us.

“Hello,” Cora says in greeting. “Zahra is our new server. She’ll be taking care of you tonight. I’ll be shadowing her for support.” She elbows me as if expecting me to say something magical.

“Can I get you started out with a drink?” I offer, pen poised over the pad just as the music slows and the lead singer croons Seale’s Kiss From a Rose.

But my focus remains locked on Reaper. And from the intensity of his gaze, it appears his attention is locked on me.

Silence stretches interminably between us. Eyes ping pong between Reaper and me, confusion evident on their faces.

How can I shatter a moment that feels like a tsunami crashing toward us?


Chapter 3 Reaper

“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.