Memories of the Reaper

Chapter Eleven

Derek Grey was infuriated.

Kendra had saved his life. She had carried him to Elysium. After going out of her way to ensure his survival, she and Reynold had fed him to the wolves. It didn't make any sense.

The interrogation just made his situation more confusing.

The crimson gloved reaper was standing menacingly over Derek, his arms and legs bound to a wooden chair. "Who are you?" the crimson gloved reaper asked Derek derisively. He looked like Ares—if the god of war was an eighteen-year-old with a crew cut and a gnarly scar that spanned from his right eye to his upper lip. There was a threatening fierceness written in his stature, as his golden skin was rip corded with powerful muscles and prominent veins. It would have been useless to fight him, but the fledgling refused to roll over and accept his fate.

"You know damn well who I am," Derek told him.

"But do you know who you are?" the crimson reaper spat.

"Your mom knows who I am."

A fist rocked the side of Derek's face and his chair squeaked from the force of the impact. Derek winced as his mouth filled with blood; he had bitten his tongue when his head jarred to the right, and he could feel it swell in his mouth. He clenched his hands together and growled. His right cheek was swollen. There was no way to avoid the reaper's fist—he would either have to cooperate or eat another punch.

It was a good thing he was really hungry.

"I want to hear you say it. Who are you?" the crimson reaper asked again.

Derek smiled, blood outlining his teeth.

"Answer me when I speak to you!" The reaper reared back a fist and punched Derek in the stomach. He felt the air leave his body and he gasped like a fish as the chair rocked backwards once again.

The reaper leaned in close enough for Derek to smell his breath: meat and red wine. "Who are you," he breathed. It was no longer a question. Now, it was a command—one Derek wasn't willing to follow. He spat blood directly in the crimson reaper's face in retaliation and was a mist of red droplets covered his face. The reaper blinked in surprise, shocked.

"I'm Derek Grey, bitch." Derek told him with a smile. "Who are you?"

"You... bastard! I'm going to wipe that smile right off of your face!" the reaper snarled. Derek felt another blow to his head as the reaper pounded his face with a left hook as his eyesight blurred again.

Derek unsuccessfully tried to cock an eyebrow. "Is that all you've got, dumbass?"

The reaper growled. "I'm gonna ask you one more time, and this time you'd better answer me... Who are you?"

"I just told you, dumbass. Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Derek asked him as he wheezed. "Dee. Eee. Are—"

The crimson reaper rocked him with one more punch to the face before speaking. "You're going to regret this." He brushed his hands across Derek's clothes to remove the blood.

"The only thing I regret is not killing you when I had the chance," Derek told him and bared his blood-stained teeth menacingly, but the ferocity was distorted by his bloodied face and his swollen eye.

"Trust me, you never had the chance." He stared Derek in the eyes as he picked up his gauntlets and put them on, flexing his fingers. "Too bad I'll have to break you. Just sit tight until I return. I'll only be a couple of minutes." The reaper flashed a smarmy smile in his direction before slamming the door shut, leaving him in isolation.

"A couple minutes, huh?" Derek asked. "I won't be here when you get back."

Derek felt the ropes that bound his wrists. He glanced as far left as he could and then looked to the right—there was nothing to help him on either side. Derek strained his neck down and saw that there was nothing useful on the earthen floor, either. There was nothing inside the room that he could use as leverage. "Well shit," he muttered. Derek popped his neck slightly and groaned in pleasure at the relief it gave him. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed, curling and uncurling his fingers, rotating his ankles, and wiggling his toes for blood circulation.