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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.
