The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 1: Black Leather

It always amazed Charlotte Evans that something as deadly as the ocean could look calm and still on the horizon when the waves were roiling and tumultuous up close. Maybe that's what freaked her roommate out about the ocean: the water didn't look dangerous until it was too late. And she supposed she couldn't blame him for that—but she loved the beach and couldn't imagine how anyone could tire of it.

"Oh come on, Leroy!" she called over to where he lay on his towel twenty yards away, "Facing your fears is supposed to be good for you."

She looked down at her feet in the surf, the cold salt water washing over her as it sucked bits of the soggy sand from between her toes. How could anybody be scared of something that felt this relaxing?

"In that case, you go ahead and take a math final naked. Then maybe we can talk about me getting in that water," he replied, his deep, sultry voice making him sound a lot less anxious than she knew he was.

Despite literally living on the beach, this was the first time she'd been able to get Leroy down onto the sand in the four years she'd lived with him—and even then, he'd refused to put so much as a toe into the water. In fact, the only reason she'd been able to get him to come down from the beach house at all was because he seemed to have missed her in the two weeks she had spent doing nothing but studying for her upcoming finals.

She got out of the water and walked over to where he was lounging on his towel, tanning his golden skin in a tiny black bathing suit that showed off all of his tattoos—dozens and dozens of small and medium tattoos peppering his arms and chest alone. None of the guys from the small hometown she'd fled four years earlier would have dared to wear that tiny Speedo. Especially not lanky guys without six pack abs. But somehow Leroy managed to rock that bathing suit in a way that drew jealous glances from guys far more muscled than him. Truth be told, he had an obscene amount of confidence for a guy with a tramp stamp of a wrinkled and unamused Queen Victoria.

His soft black hair fell down into his face as he rolled onto his stomach. He grabbed his comic book and started flipping through it with a disinterested expression as Charlotte laid down next to him. She rummaged through her beach bag for the sunscreen and started reapplying to her legs, arms, and stomach.

"What's your deal with the ocean anyway?"

"It's not just the ocean—any large body of water freaks me out."

"Our living room looks out over the Pacific!"

"Eesh, don't remind me."

Charlotte shook her head at his reaction, trying to scheme a way to get him to stick at least his toes in the water as she pulled out the textbook for her World War II senior seminar class.

"If you hate the water so much, why in the world would you buy beachfront property?"

He shrugged, drawing attention to the large raven tattoo on his shoulder. "What can I say? Money to burn, I guess." He pulled his sunglasses back down and slumped onto his towel, looking for all the world like a rock star on vacation.

Over the last few years, she had told Leroy everything about her—including her real name. It had taken a lot of bravery on her part to tell him about her past. But he hadn't been all that forthcoming about his own life in return.

It's not like the man was a complete enigma or anything—she knew some stuff about him. She knew the lines of his tattoos better than the backs of her own hands. She knew the exact kind of menthol cigarette he smoked. She knew what kind of music he liked and more importantly, she knew what he hated. She knew his favorite movie was Some Like It Hot, but that if anybody asked, he'd say it was Fight Club.