Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Hallucinations, vomiting, delirium, and death…
It would be an interesting way to go.
I wonder if his intellectual mind would try to figure out what type of poison it was as death came chasing him.
Pushing the car past the speed limit, I shift into the next gear, wanting to scream my throat raw at having to leave my wife and son so soon.
Do they not know the physical pain I feel leaving her after I touched those fucking lips against my own? Do they not understand the feeling of a woman finally yielding to their will? To have broken through her defensive wall and finally found the fire that hides behind those eyes?
The memory of her taste burns itself across my lips.
I can feel her crushed against me still, the weight of her heavy breasts pushed up against my chest. The feeling of Abel against me as I held them close. The brief bliss only further increases my annoyance at this stupid fucking interruption.
Which family comes first now, mine or my brotherhood?
Both are for life.
Once in, never out.
But which takes precedence?
Do I have an unhealthy fixation on my wife and child?
I hardly think so.
Who wouldn’t crave the sinfully perfect angel that stalks through my thoughts and dreams?
Who wouldn’t want to dive into the curves and delicate flesh of her body?
Who wouldn’t revere a woman whose devotion to her child is as fearsome as it is inspiring?
And to speak of Abel, his little eyes hold so much intelligence. His smile so trusting of his father. The way he touched my tattoos, not in weird fascination but in wonder, brought joy to me.
Me, of all things, having joy.
I don’t deserve joy. I don’t deserve the happiness his little smile brings.
I’m not like the other men in our brotherhood.
I don’t have a redemption arc in my soul somewhere.
They send Jude when they want a message to be as exact as it is brutal.
I’m sent when Lucifer wants things done that even the others would not agree with.
I have no guilt over my past, nor will I feel it in the future.
The deranged Reaper, as it is whispered among my brothers, always makes his presence known.
Each of us have a moniker of some type, each of us a story to tell.
Mine has always been to stay in the shadows, to do the deeds that even now can’t be acknowledged by the family, much less talked about.
Refocusing my brain on driving, I shake the cobwebs.
There’s nowhere to go but forward with all of this.
Forward with exerting my will among this world. Too long has the Reaper hidden in the shadows, waiting for each number to be called.
From death to sex, my brain instantly wants to switch back to the outline of Eden’s nipples poking through that flimsy dress.
Fuck, the memory of her body drives my blood straight to my cock.
Looking into my rearview mirror, I see strange lines at the corners of my eyes.
Is it a smile that causes those? It must be.
I’ve always been told I look younger than my actual age because of the lack of those very lines. I’ve also figured that’s why I could do my job so well. Besides my tattoos, I don’t have any distinguishing marks.
Which I rarely show, unless I trust someone or if they’re about to die.
I like showing them then because one should always see angels or demons before their death.
I’ve killed both kinds.
Looking beyond myself in the mirror, I note a concern. There’s a silver BMW with blacked out windows directly behind me.
It’s on my ass like I fucked the driver’s sister.
Perhaps they’re wanting to get around me?
The hairs on the back of my neck tell me different, though.
Pushing down on the accelerator, I move into the passing lane then whip my car over in front of some SUV.
When the silver car pulls directly in behind me and noses its front bumper close to my back bumper, I slam on my brakes.
The back of my car takes the brunt of the rear end, just like my neck would have if I wasn’t prepared for it to happen.
Slamming on my gas pedal, I pull away from the BMW and cut off some fucker in the fast lane.
My phone starts ringing.
Pushing the connect button on the dashboard touchscreen, I ask with a smile plastered on my face, “Yes?”
Simon’s voice comes through the speakers. “I just detected a collision in your car.”
“Ah yes,” I say, and my voice comes out in a slight stutter when I get slammed again. “Now is really… not… the time to be chastising my driving habits or reminding me of our insurance premiums.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Simon snaps at me.
“One minute,” I say and look around. “How far to the most loosely populated area? I need—”
A hail of gunfire cracks across the back of my Audi.