Death's Hitman

Chapter Nine

Hope watched him a little shyly as he prepared himself something to eat in the kitchen. He'd showered after his workout and was walking round in just his shorts. While he showered she had made the bed and packed her bag so that she was ready to go when he said; she didn't touch any of his stuff though. Catching her gaze he smirked when she turned red and ducked her head. He'd expected her to be a little shy today after what they'd done the night before but he had no regrets. Sitting down opposite her with his food and a black coffee he tucked in, glancing up at her every now and again. When he was done, she got up to remove his plate but he stopped her.

"Youre not my slave, Hope. You don't need to wait on me," he said, covering her hand with his. She nodded, biting her lip and watching as he set to clearing up after himself. He poured more coffee, passing her across a mug and sitting down again. "You called me Bret last night."

She almost dropped her mug, putting it down hastily and grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spilt hot liquid. Observing her from behind his mug he saw her hands were shaking again and her eyes flickered towards him briefly when she rinsed the cloth out.

"Sorry sir," she said as she returned to her seat.

"No need to be sorry. Just curious as to why you call me that when everybody calls me Hitman. You said it was my name before. Do you see other people's lives?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral. Shaking her head she took a sip of her coffee before putting the mug down with a bit of a bang.

"No sir. I only see my own life, nobody else's."  But she looked away as she said it and he leaned across the table, grabbing her wrist, squeezing it.

"Do you see my life?" he asked and her eyes flickered.

"N...no sir," she stammered but he sensed she was lying. He applied a little pressure to her wrist and she winced. "Not exactly your life, sir. But I... I think I know you... knew you. I can't explain it."

"Try," he said, a little tightly. Hope raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

"I dream a lot. I always have, even when I was alive. But since we met at Papa Charles' place the dreams have been more vivid. I'm sorry sir, I lied when I said I didn't know I'd said that name in my sleep. It's why Jim left me for Leah; he thought I was cheating on him because I said Bret in my sleep. Guess he got his own back sleeping with Leah.  And it's why John would get so angry and walk out all the time. But I don't know who he is."

"Reckon that's a lie too," he said, tightening his grip on her wrist enough to make her gasp. "You said last night that I am Bret."

She tried to remove her wrist from his hand but he glared at her and squeezed so tightly that she cried out and tears pricked her eyes.

"I'm sorry sir," she managed to say and he withdrew his hand abruptly, watching as she pulled her wrist to her, rubbing it. Already vivid bruises were springing up in the shape of his fingers. He scowled at them, feeling a sharp prick of guilt which was unlike him. Getting up her took their mugs to the sink, washing them and banging them down on the draining board so hard it was a wonder they didn't smash.

"Fucking Reaper," he muttered. "Fucking bastard is trying to mess with my head. Always thought it was a bit too easy getting you out of the Fire Pit, even for me."

"Why do you say that?" she asked and he rounded on her furiously. Getting up quickly she backed away as he approached her, but he grabbed her hair, pulling it back until she looked up at him, her hands moving to cover his desperately.

"You were working for Kane and he seemed eager to keep you in one piece, even stopped that dumb piece of shit Demon when he was flogging you. You working for Reaper too? Some sort of family business trying to mess with my head? Is that what this is? Some sort of fucked up mind game?"