Emma's Reaper: Soul Reapers #4

by J. D. Lowrance

  I looked around the backstage area of the whatever-the-hell-music awards Caged In was dragged to this month. But at the moment I was not complaining. A line of coke rushed its way up my nose, numbing inch-by-mother-fucking-inch until POW it caught my frontal lobe on fire sending sparks of adrenaline-like energy coursing through my blood lightning fast. Damn that’s good shit! I pinched the top of my nose to make sure it was still there as I lit a cigarette to combat the nasal drip that was already draining down my throat like it did with every hit. Instant relief as the smoke dried it up and I could finally take the first deep breath since setting foot backstage. I had come to hate the chaos of my life.

  Fuck it!

  Time to put my game face on. I only had three or four more awards to go before Caged In was slated to play, and I needed something to even out the energy I just put in. I looked left and then right. And there she was staring right at me waiting to catch my eye. Some up and coming actress who thought fucking me would land her in some trashy rag and more face time with the American people. Or maybe I would just end up as a this-one-night kind of story she told her hometown friends or pimp when her fake . . . everything dried up.

  I checked my watch. “Plenty of time,” I reminded myself as I readied my internal countdown to reel one in.

  I winked. She giggled, acting all shy-like. I approached.

  1 . . .

  “Hey there pretty girl. What’s your name?” She giggled her name.

  2 . . .

  “Well that’s a pretty name. Do you know my name?”

  Giggle, giggle. “Yes.”

  3 . . .

  “Do you think you could help me with something?” When she bit into her over-the-top-botoxed bottom lip and slowly nodded yes I knew I had her.

  4 . . .

  I took the hand she offered me and led her through the chaos of backstage until I found a bathroom.

  5 . . .

  Once inside her shy act disappeared behind ravenous kisses and bucking hips.

  6 . . .

  She climbed up me like King Kong on the Empire State Building as I grabbed her ass rooting her against my cock as I slid the fingers of one hand along the crack of her ass, and then slipped them inside of her.

  Christ almighty! It was like the grand fucking canyon in there. Two fingers barely even stretched this girl. I was contemplating adding a third when she jumped off of me and turned around.

  7 . . .

  Like a mare in heat, she kept pushing her ass against me as I worked my zipper down. I did not bother dropping trail as one hand pulled my dick out and the other brought the condom to my teeth. RIP!

  8 . . .

  Miss Giggle wasted no time lifting her dress up and over her too-skinny ass as she was now twerking on my pants and hands as I sheathed myself.

  9 . . .

  And as I rounded third, I moved her panties to the side as I aligned myself just right, and slid home.

  10 . . . Mother. Fucking. Ten.

  I took it all in as I continued to pound into her. The swing of her fake tits as each thrust got harder and harder. The arch of her back as I started to hit her spot just right. The cry of my name on her lips as she started to come undone. I ran my hands up her back, along her spine until I grabbed onto her shoulders, ramming my cock as deep as it would go, grunting as I exploded.

  As the endorphins slowly settled down in my body I looked up and quickly away from what I saw in that tiny bathroom’s mirror. Such a fucking loser! My mind screamed as I palmed my eyes. The mare turned filly once again stood up causing my now limp dick to easily slide out.

  “So um . . . do you like want to go to an after party or something together?” I could have sworn she was taken right out of a valley girl movie and placed directly in this bathroom.

  “Like sure.” My sarcasm was not lost on her.

  “Whatever,” she exclaimed as she finished pushing down her dress. She violently shoved the door open, stomping out to show how undignified I was being. What-the-fuck-ever.

  I laughed as I turned back to the sink, avoiding the mirror. With my dick still blowing in the breeze, I pulled out my vial and sprinkled some coke on the mirrored ledge. I patted my pockets searching for something . . . anything that would help get it into my body faster.

  “Here, use this.” That voice! I would know it anywhere. I turned so fast, needing to know if it was really her or just the drugs or my imagination or whatever wanted to fuck with my head that day.

  “Charlie,” I breathed, seeing her in the flesh. She looked stunning. Dark hair pulled in a high pony tail showed off her slender neck. Her emerald eyes popped from make-up that looked so natural on her smooth skin. Her dress left one shoulder bare as it flowed across the body, ending extremely high on one leg and knee length on the other, showing off her long, toned legs. Killer black heels and a spiky, black belt made her look like she was born to stand by my side on stage and in my life.

  “Here,” she pressed as I looked down at what was in her hand. My breath caught and my heart froze as she opened her hand to reveal a rolled up bill in her palm. “It’s what you need isn’t it?”

  “No.” My voice was barely above a whisper. It’s you! My heart pounded in my chest as I looked into crystal clear, green as grass eyes. I was speechless, yet there was so much I wanted to say. I was motionless, yet all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms.

  “And for Christ sake, tuck yourself in and pull yourself together. Caged In is due on next.” I was locked in my spot, shocked at seeing Charlie, my Charlie, again in person for the first time in ten years.

  “Fuck it.” Her laughter held no humor as she shook her head and threw the rolled up bill at me and walked away. Each step taking the only person I ever loved away . . . from . . . me . . . again. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest and follow her like a lost puppy who finally found its home.

  Someone yelled for Caged In spurring me into action. I ran after her, tucking myself in to congratulatory shouts at my disheveled state. I stalked her through the crowd until she turned into a hallway. Turning the corner, I saw the door that I knew if she escaped through would put another ten years between us. I doubled my speed until I was able to snake an arm around her waist, stopping her from going any further.

  “Charlie,” I murmured. She was so close I could see the goosebumps rise in reaction to my whispered word across her skin. My breath caught in my throat as I felt a shiver run through her body giving away her reaction to my nearness.

  “Don’t go,” I pleaded as I pulled her flush against me. A deep breath told me she still wore Happy by Clinique, the exact scent I bought for her sixteenth birthday, the day before I left her. The year everything got so messed up. “Or take me with you,” I countered, wanting to be anywhere that she was.

  “Cage,” Charlie whimpered. I did not know whether she wanted me to let her go or to keep her with me.

  “Cage.” The echo of my name came from behind us in the deep tenor of my band mate. “Stop molesting that poor girl and get your arse over here.”

  “Fuck off Linc,” I growled.

  “Hey ass whip, its Locke.” His voice got closer as he stepped up next to us. The Irish accent should have given it away, but I was too focused on the trembling woman in my arms. I loosened the steel band around her waist allowing her to turn towards our interruption.

  “Holy shit sham . . . it’s her. It’s your feek. I can’t fucking believe it. It’s actually her. You’re Charlotte Moore.” Locke was practically jumping up and down. “I mean, the picture in your wallet, the one in your guff, every magazine you have . . .” In his excitement, his Gaelic got away from him like it always did. Charlie’s shocked expression gave way to wariness as she looked between Lachlan and me.

  Caged In was called once again to the stage. “You are going to lash with us later?” Locke asked Charlie. She shrugged her shoulders, clearly not understanding his mashed up English. “You know . . . drink,” he said, catching his slip. A faint
smile graced her beautiful face as she looked down and then back up at me. My heart soared at the thought she would be with me tonight. A game plan was already forming in my mind on how everything would finally be different. I would be different.

  “There you guys are,” Linc, Locke’s cousin and another one of my bandmates, exclaimed. “Come on. The execs are pissed. They had to go to an unscheduled commercial break.” He motioned for us to follow him. “Oh yeah. I found this for you Cage.” Time stood still as everyone watched him place the vial from the bathroom in my shaking hands. Withdrawal was fast and unfriendly when it came to coke.

  Shame washed over me. An explanation, an excuse, a lie was on the tip of my tongue when Charlie placed a hand on my arm, silencing my thoughts. I watched her lean into me before closing my eyes as the softest kiss was placed on my cheek. Her lips may have touched my cheek, but they branded my soul. It soared as my eyes opened, and then fell flat, shattering as I watched Charlie turn without a word and walk away from me for the second time that night.

  Charlie

  Cage looked exactly how he said he would . . . famous. He never mentioned the strung out, too skinny part, but damn if that did not add to the mystery that was now Cage Matthews. This just made every woman want to help him, fix him, hell . . . be by his side for the five minutes of fame you got from it.

  His dirty blonde hair was haphazardly sticky up all over the place as if it was on accident, but I know some stylist probably spent an hour getting it to look that way. At six feet tall, Cage was always a looker with a voice that could tempt a nun to sin, but now add the bad-boy rock star to the mix and he was potent. His dream of being in a band and making it big not only came true, but at a rate that was unprecedented.

  My pieced-together heart became to splinter seeing him right now with his penis hanging out of his pants, laying out a line of coke in a dirty bathroom backstage of some music award show. I had just announced Single of the Year and was coming backstage when I saw Cage shamelessly excuse whatever piece of ass he had just finished.

  Now I felt his navy-blue eyes, glazed over and blood shot, as they burned a hole in my back as I ran from him, needing to put as much space between us as possible. Our memories together came rushing back to me filling the space as quickly as I moved through it. I could not breathe. The air was too thick, the area too small for us to be under the same roof. I quickly turned down a hallway, spotting the door to my freedom from dealing with everything Cage when I felt an arm around my waist stopping my flight.

  “Charlie.” He made my name sound like a prayer on his lips. He was so close I could feel his warm breath across my neck. My body portrayed me, showing my reaction to him as goosebumps rose to meet his words.

  “Don’t go,” he begged, pulling me harder against his too lean frame. “Or take me with you,” he continued. The world melted away with the need I heard in his voice. It spoke to a part of me that I thought was dead.

  “Cage,” was all I said as thoughts, memories, feelings swirled in me.

  “Cage.” His name repeated by a deep voice behind us. “Stop molesting that poor girl and get your arse over here.”

  “Fuck off Linc,” demanded Cage.

  “Hey ass whip, its Locke.” Cage loosened his hold on me and I turned to see who had joined our little reunion. It was none other than Lachlan O’Malley, bassist for Caged In. I would recognize him anywhere as the ladies loved him almost as much as they loved Cage. Locke was the funny man of the group with his bright stock of red hair and Irish accent. We shared the same eye color, but his was more of a dark green and mine was the color of grass. Although he was the same height as Cage, he was much thicker in the shoulders. Locke was built where Cage was lean.

  “Holy shit sham . . . it’s her. It’s your feek. I can’t fucking believe it. It’s actually her. You’re Charlotte Moore.” The man was so giddy, I actually smiled as I watched him jump up and down. “I mean, the picture in your wallet, the one in your guff, every magazine you have . . .”

  Pictures? What pictures? What was this crazy Irishman saying? Between his excitement and broken English I could not make out half of what he was trying to say.

  Caged In’s name got called again. “You are going to lash with us later?” Locke looked directly at me, so I guess he meant me. I shrugged my shoulders, my brain still too fuzzy to follow what he was asking me. “You know . . . drink,” he clarified.

  Could I? Could I go and have a drink with this crazy Irishman and his gorgeous bandmate who also happened to be my childhood best friend and first and only love? The thought both scared and thrilled me at the same time. My lips quirked up at the thought of spending time with Cage as I snuck a glance his way.

  “There you guys are.” Relief evident in the voice of the newcomer. I got a better look to see Linc, the other guitarist in the band. “Come on. The execs are pissed. They had to go to an unscheduled commercial break.” He waved them to come on. “Oh yeah. I found this for you Cage.” I held my breath as Linc placed a small container of white powder in Cage’s shaky hands. I did not want to stick around to find out if the shakiness was from shame, rage or withdrawal, so I reached out savoring the warmth I felt when I touched his arm. Leaning over ever-so-slightly I pressed my lips to his cheek silencing whatever line Cage was about to feed me. Not waiting to give my heart the opportunity to object, I turned and walked out the door, not allowing myself to look back even once.

  CHAPTER ONE FROM MY RANGER WEEKEND

  Flint

  One Republic’s “Counting Stars” blared from the bar’s speakers as Jerry handed me a beer. I think his name is Jerry. He spotted Romeo and I the minute we walked into the bar. A shot of cheap whiskey and now a beer later he was regaling us with stories of his glory days in the Marines. Oorah!

  Romeo loved this kind of attention. Hell, who I was kidding, he loved any attention whenever we had a weekend away from the base. Things were pretty intense right now as we just finished training for the six-month op we leave for on Monday. Location was on a need to know basis and my grunt ass did not need to know. Whatever. This was our last weekend of freedom and fun for six-fucking-months. Watch out ladies here we come!

  I knew we would see mad-action this weekend. There was never a time when the women could resist whatever came out of Romeo’s mouth. I thought he was annoying as hell with his so-called charm, but it always got me laid so who was I to mess with a good thing. Hell, my size alone intimated most women so I hung back and let Romeo reel them in. I was built like a bull with all those years on the family farm. Attention followed me wherever I went; both good and bad. The good kind from the willing ladies and the bad from the jackasses who were always sizing me up and thought they could take me. My four years in the Army, and now two with the Rangers, have taught me to control my temper and my reaction to those meatheads, but sometimes they just got under my skin. Well tonight would be no different. Romeo was already in full charm-mode practicing his tricks on poor Jerry, while a table full of jarheads were eyeing me up. It would just be a matter of time before trouble with a capital T rained down on this bar.

  Romeo turned to scan the bar before his eyes landed on the brunette at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, Romeo was a looker and a ladies man through and through. Jonathan Michael Miller, aka Romeo and always my partner-in-crime. Tonight, he dressed to impress sporting a tight, short-sleeve t-shirt with a damn green-haired Oompa-Loompa on the front that said “Big Things Come in Small Packages.” Besides our identical buzz cuts, we could not be more different. Romeo was as wide as he was tall and he swore up and down that he did not have a Napoleon complex. Yeah right! What he lacked in his five-foot-five frame he made up for in heart and toughness. I, on the other hand, was a tall motherfucker at six-foot-three. A jacked, good-ol’ boy from no-where South Dakota where there are more cows and fields than people.

  Romeo joined the Army at 18 to stay out of trouble and I joined at the same age to get into some. My whole life was filled with quiet and solitude as I work
ed on the family farm, but here with people like Romeo I was a part of something bigger than feed schedules and tractor pulls. I needed the freedom that came from being uprooted at a moment’s notice and sent to only God-knows-where. Now six years later I was a Ranger for that specific purpose and nothing was going to change that.

  I loved this part. I hummed along singing the words in my head. “But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard, Said no more counting dollars. We'll be counting stars, yeah we'll be counting stars.”

  “His name is Jerry, right?” Romeo asked, interrupting my sing-along. Shit. Jerry was already back at the bar. I needed to pay attention when people gave us shit.

  “I think so,” I responded, eyeing Jerry as he barely made it onto the stool.

  “Dakota, did you see that brunette at the bar?” Romeo nodded towards the point of the L-shaped bar. “Hot, ain’t she?”

  “More your speed than mine,” I laughed as I gulped down my beer. Yeah, he had a fetish - women.

  “More cushion for the pushing baby,” he yelled to no one in particular as he finished off his beer, slamming the bottle on the table. The table of jarheads next to us turned around eyeing us up once again. Oh God. It was going to be one of those nights. I guess I owed it to Romeo since last month he had to practically carry me home after I made an ass of myself getting both of us kicked out of that shitty dance club where there were more cougars than a fucking mountain range.

  “Whatever you say Romeo,” I said as I looked around the bar. The band was setting up, testing their mics and amps. All dudes except for the lead singer who looked to be in her early twenties. She was cute with a good body but the big, frizzy hair did nothing for me.

  “Need another?” he asked as he stood from the table. I nodded as I lifted my bottle downing the last of my beer. “Be right back,” he said as he sauntered up to the bar right next to the curvy brunette. He whispered something in her ear that caused her to blush and playfully slap his arm. He must have acted hurt because she started to rub the fake injury. I saw him jerk his head in my direction as four beers were placed in front him. She did a quick look around the bar before she leaned into him to say something. With a shrug of his shoulders, Romeo grabbed the beers and headed back to the table. He caught my eye and wiggled his eyebrows. What a d-bag.