Defiance
R.S. Broadhead
Copyright © 2016 by R.S. Broadhead
Cover design by Covers By Combs
Editing by EAL Editing Services
Interior formatting by Classic Interior Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
Also by R.S. Broadhead
One
How do I take someone’s life? It was a gift many took for granted—delicate and fragile.
Life was so precious, and to be the one to end it was an unbearable concept. I gripped the sides of the porcelain bowl that reeked of urine. At that moment, I couldn’t care less. This cold, white waste disposal was my sanctuary. In some weird sense, it was the only thing that understood what I felt and wanted to help by giving me something to lean on in my time of need. Heaving until I ached, I grimaced, bile leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
“You a’ight, mate?” Cornelius asked from behind. From the shakiness of his voice, I could tell he was at least trying to suppress his laughter. Cornelius Reaper had been my best friend since we were created.
I used the back sleeve of my shirt to wipe my mouth. Ashamed, I didn’t want to turn and face him. I was made for this. It was my job to take these people.
“Does it get easier?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the floor.
“I’d like to tell you it does, but it doesn’t. You’re a baby, mate. You’ve only been watching the cells up until this job. It’s understandable it’s having this effect on you.”
My shoulders slumped forward as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve been watching the family we’re reaping today.”
“Well, good. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing.” He gave a small nod as if commending me on a job well done.
“That’s not what I meant. Like I’ve really been watching them. I think I might be a little attached…” I said, my confession trailed off. Saying the words out loud made me feel even worse and scared, like the walls of this grimy bathroom were bugged.
Cornelius gasped. “You shouldn’t be doing that. You know that leaves room for you to get emotionally attached to the branded. If you get caught they’ll lock your ass up faster than a werewolf can hump a leg.”
“I wanted to learn about who Fate picked. Why them?” I said, finally looking into his silver eyes.
“Cadeus, you’re a Reaper. You’re not supposed to care who she picks. You just go in and do your job. That’s been my view on things since day one.” He snatched a balled up piece of tissue from the floor and tossed it aimlessly toward me, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re on a fast track to being a Demoral. Anything we do in these other stages could mess that up. I mean…shit, Cade! A Demoral is at the top…we would be Grim’s enforcers. All other Reapers will have to answer to us.”
Grim Reaper. He had many names that rolled off the tongue and were whispered in fear—Death, Thanatos, Saturn, Cronus, and countless others. I knew him by one. Boss.
Cornelius paused and kneeled in front of me. “It’s me and you, mate, we can make it through this together.”
It was easy for him to say. Cornelius always adapted to stuff a lot easier than me. That’s why he’d already been bumped up to Taker.
“You ready to reap this family?” He brushed his shoulder length brown hair back.
Even though I wasn’t, I nodded. After doing my job of a Stalker, it didn’t seem fair that I had to shadow Cornelius to do his as a Taker, but Grim had passed the command down to me, and I couldn’t reject it.
We stood at the same time. I only came to Cornelius’s nose. A lot of other Reapers were intimidated by him. At six foot ten, and thick with muscles, he towered over most of them. Mostly, he was just cocky and all bark. Training to be Grim’s law enforcements required hours of practice. Each time we’d sparred he ended up on the ground.
Only a few of us were created at a time. We were the special ones Grim took more care developing. But we couldn’t go straight into our intended profession.
Grim wanted us to work our way up in order to learn every detail about reaping.
Our first stage was a Grudger. They were called that because they did all the grunt work around Nekroun Earth. Most of the time, their days were spent watching the cells that held anything that violated the law of Grim. This job was filled with humiliation. Each day, prisoners heckled and spit on the Grudgers. Retaliation was greatly frowned upon by Grim and Demorals, so much so that it could land a Grudger in a cell if they were lucky, or dead if they weren’t. It was the Grudger’s responsibility to inform the Demorals if there were any disturbances, so they could handle any problems.
The second stage was a Stalker—my current position. Once a human was branded, a Stalker watched their every move. The battle over the soul officially stopped the moment of branding. The Angel and Demon were no longer allowed to manipulate situations in an attempt to pull the human to them. The Stalker made sure this rule was enforced. All the while, they learned the human’s routines and could tell a Taker when would be the best time to execute the kill.
The next stage, the one Cornelius was currently in, was a Taker. Once Shelar Fate, or Fate, branded a human for death, it was their job to execute the kill the way she wanted. No matter how ordinary or gruesome it was, we did it.
The fourth stage was a Transporter. Once the human met their demise, the Transporter took the soul where it needed to go. A human’s actions in life determined if the Transporter met its Angel or Demon, since every human was assigned one upon birth to battle over the soul.
The last stage was a Demoral. They were the right hand of Grim. He consulted with Demorals at times of decision in Nekroun Earth, our world, the one where the soulless lived. They made sure laws were carried out amongst all other Reapers and creatures without souls. If someone were to be put to death, a Demoral handled it. No one got past a Demoral.
Grim created each Reaper, his army. Deceased, soulless, human bodies were taken, molded so that the organs didn’t deteriorate, and then rebuilt to adapt to our life. Whatever body Grim decided on, that was the age we looked forever. We were programmed not to show emotional attributes toward humans. However, some jobs required countless hours with a branded person, and there was a possibility of corrupting this forced trait, though it had never happened.
After the bodies were ready, Grim placed them in the ground, marking each forehead with a drop of his blood, before covering them in dirt. His decision alone, determined what each Reaper’s job would be, and he commanded the ground to carry out this order, to finish the process. All Reapers were immortal, but we were required to sleep, eat, and drink for survival.
However like any other being, we could die, although it was harder to kill us.
Demorals were different than other Reapers because they were marked with a tattoo filled with Grim’s blood. This tattoo allowed them to travel through portals, their bodies could withstand more impact than others, and they were faster and stronger. Not to mention, highl
y skilled in fighting and weaponry. But all of that didn’t matter. Here I was, a sorry excuse for a Reaper sitting on a dirty bathroom floor trying to get my act together.
“Just give me a minute. I’ll be out in a second,” I finally told him.
A corner of his mouth turned up, and he gave me a nod before heading out the door.
I turned to the sink and splashed some cool water over my face. It was sticky with perspiration. My deep-set purple eyes flickered up to the mirror and stared at my reflection. The crappy fluorescent lights only made my complexion look more haunting. My light brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and I needed to shave. I had a full-blown beard that made my face itch like hell. Instinctively, I reached up and gave it a vigorous scratch before turning the water off and heading out the door.
Cornelius thumbed through a nudie magazine by the entrance without paying a bit of attention to the people around him. We were in a little back woods gas station outside of Memphis. Everything about this place screamed of the south, from the town residents’ boots clicking against the floor to the cowboy hats resting on their heads. “Check out the tits on her,” he said as I approached. He held up the picture of a redhead with huge breasts that fell halfway to her stomach. I shook my head and laughed, thankful we were invisible to everyone in the store.
“Looks like someone you’d try to get in the bed, if she wasn’t human.”
He studied the picture again and shrugged. “Yeah, probably. A human would be too breakable for me to even consider. Those tits on a Succubus…” His body shimmied involuntarily at his arousal. “I’d be grabbing all up on them…tell her to slap me in the face a few times.” He glanced down at his timepiece, which calculated the time in our world, Earth, and the countdown to the human’s death. “We need to get moving. It’s almost time.” He slammed the magazine down and turned, walking through an overset man. The man stilled, looking around him, before picking up a pack of beef jerky.
My stomach churned again, but I ignored it. “How do they go?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent as I followed him to the front of the store, carefully dodging the people around us. I hoped for a clean, fast way.
“Break-in. Stab wounds after being tortured,” he said with no remorse.
Fuck me.
He drew the Reaper symbol in the air with his finger and opened a black portal. We stepped through it, and on the other side we stood in front of the house I had been watching over the past several weeks. It looked like any other house on the block. White paint chipped off the wood walls, a shutter flapped in the breeze, barely hanging on, and toys littered the yard. I smelled apples. It was Wednesday. Every Wednesday she helped her two daughters make apple tarts—her oldest girl’s favorite food. My insides ached at the smell, and I remembered how they laughed while preparing the treat.
“Let’s get up there, that way we can see when our murderer goes by,” Cornelius said, motioning toward the top of the house.
He used the window ledge to easily pull himself up on the roof. There was nothing I could do but follow. I sat with my legs dangling off the side and stared out at the street. Thirty minutes until he was supposed to walk by. Thirty minutes until he would go into this house and shake this little community to its core. A shrill laugh erupted from inside, and I knew it came from the little one. She was beautiful. Stop it! I can’t think of them like this! They were human. This was supposed to happen. A Reaper set to become a Demoral had never failed going through the stages. They all craved the position of power working so closely with Grim. Somehow, in all Grim’s perfect creations, there was a flaw. Me. I had no desire to reap anyone. That was the reason it took me so long to progress to the Stalker stage. A huge part of me knew I wasn’t ready, but when Grim commanded that I be moved up, there was no way I could argue. It was my job. What other choice did I have?
“Why would Fate pick such a horrible way for these people?” I asked. I craved reasoning. Anything so I wouldn’t feel as bad for them. This alone confused me. Why was I so intrigued by this family? I shouldn’t feel anything for them.
Cornelius looked up to the sky and squinted at the sun. “Because she’s a bitch. She’s always been that way. Besides, why does it matter if this family is dying? I mean, their Angel won. They’re going to a better place than here,” he said, attempting to make what we were doing sound as if it were a favor to the family.
I still couldn’t help the anger building toward Fate.
Upon my creation, Fate had always been the same. At one time, older Reapers claimed she was more tenderhearted, almost motherly, but as the years swept by, so did that warmth. It was replaced by a cruel, vindictive nature. Of course, on the outside, she represented nothing but pose and grace to those of Nekroun Earth, never letting them see her dark side, but Reapers talked. Many speculated the only reason she stayed so close to Grim was to corrupt him and take over. Nevertheless, Grim hadn’t seen what the rumors alleged. She remained his consort.
“I can’t see what Grim sees in her.”
“She’s probably the only one who can put up with his shit. The two of them have been working together for centuries.” We sat in silence while the minutes ticked by. Cornelius spotted him before me. He was dirty, talking to himself as he stumbled down the road. “You gonna do it?”
I knew I needed to, but I couldn’t. There was no way I could mutter the tantalizing spell into this man’s ear to butcher this family. I was attached. I had spent too much time watching them, learning their life, and wondering what it would be like to be one of them.
When I didn’t answer, he let out an exasperated sigh, and rolled his eyes. “Cade, you need to quit being so scared.”
I sat, frozen in my spot. Cornelius was trying to keep me from making the same mistakes I’d made when I was a Grudger, a slow, stagnant, piece of shit, never amounting to what I was supposed to. Showing Grim I was capable of performing the tasks of a Taker would be a good move, but no matter how much reasoning I threw at myself, my body wouldn’t cooperate.
He jumped down and ran over to the guy, who stopped still as a statue when Cornelius reached him. He dropped the bottle, refocusing his attention on the house. The two of them walked to the front door, and I heard it bang against the wall as he threw it open. Seconds later, screams erupted that sent chills throughout my body. I lay back on the roof, staring at the blue sky, and put my hands across my forehead. The screams grew worse as something crashed into the wall. I shoved my fingers deep into my ears, humming as loud as I could. When that didn’t work, I paced. Jogged, even. Stomping my feet against the roof much louder than necessary to drown the gut-wrenching noise. I tried everything to block them out. All I could do was see their faces. See the first day I had watched the Holloway girls.
“You’re doing it wrong, Izzy. Here, look, let me show you,” Sophia had said. Her dark hair draped around her shoulders as she leaned down to her younger sister. Both were tanned from playing outside. Their faces looked identical, with squishy cheeks and full, rosy lips. The youngest had blond curls that were pulled into a messy ponytail that had fallen half loose. They were weaving flowers together to make some type of headband.
“I’m just not as good as you, Sophia,” Izzy had said in a voice so soft I could barely make out her words.
“Sure you are. You just have to learn. I’ve had a few years to practice, but you’ll get it. Mom is gonna love this. It’ll make her feel better after having a bad day yesterday at work.”
“I wish those people weren’t so mean to her there.”
“I don’t think they’re mean to her. They just don’t appreciate her the way we do,” Sophia had replied, as if trying to reassure her younger sister.
“Well, she’s the best, so they need to start, or I’m gonna go give them a piece of my mind,” the three-year-old said. Her brows inched together as she aggressively slapped at the grass, making a few leaves bounce up.
“Easy there, tiger. For their sake, I hope they do straighten up. They wouldn’t
know what to do if you went down there.” Sophia had laughed.
Another scream interrupted my memory. It was a tiny scream—Isabelle’s. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shot to the edge and scrambled off the ledge, missing the window seal and ending up face down on the grass. Pain shot throughout my body like someone had stuck a hot piece of metal to my skin. My acid ripped jeans stuck to my leg as a spot of dark blood soaked just under my knee. I ignored the discomfort and stood. Limping slightly, I crossed the yard to the porch.
I hope I’m not too late. Why did I wait so long? I’m not supposed to interfere! It’s not my job. This isn’t the kind of thing I’m supposed to do.
Blood smeared across the scratched living room floor made my mouth go dry. A broken nail embedded in the wood caught my attention. Someone had fought from being dragged through here. It led into the kitchen, lit by a glowing light, which splashed copper tones around the room. Shadows cast on the walls made me increase my pace to a run. I had no idea what I was going to do. This was destined to happen, Fate had marked them, and once that happened, they had to die. Didn’t they? So what was I doing?
I rounded the corner and nearly slipped in a puddle that had inched out from under the mother. She lay on her back, eyes wide open, with a large butcher knife lodged into her midsection. Cuts and bruises marked her delicate features. Her high cheekbones, ivory skin, and blond curls that matched Izzy’s were as beautiful in death as they were in life.
“Awe, glad to see you finally grew a sack and decided to join me for the show,” Cornelius said.
Show? He had no idea the show I was about to give him. A small whimper from the pantry made me turn to the right. It also brought the sick asshole committing this murder back around the corner. The knife he had in his hand was bloody. Did he already use it on the girls or did he use that one on the mother too?
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