The following morning, per usual, I wake up with a start. I have given up on trying to keep the nightmares away. Instead, I chose to accept them, live with them and in many cases, embrace them.

I have issues.

One of them, actually, is standing idly in the corner of my bedroom, staring at me with eyes dark as onyx. He has traded his usual hooded cloak for a long-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans, which makes him look almost normal. It takes me a moment to process this. I sit up, still clutching my comforter with my good arm. I frown, then I lay back down. I must still be sleeping.

"Seriously? A guy you barely know is standing in your bedroom and you're just going to go back to sleep?" I hear him scoff.

I shoot back up and come face to face with him again. Nope. Definitely not sleeping.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?"

"It's 10:00 AM and you're still sleeping. I dunno, maybe I came to see if you've died in your sleep or something," I do not like how sarcastic he sounds as he says this. It is far too early for me to be dealing with his bullshit right now.

"Well aren't you all bright eyed and bushy tailed," I snap, "Plus, wouldn't you like, know if I was dead?" I am a little fuzzy on the mechanics, but is he not supposed to collect souls or something?

"Not if one of my clones got to you first, but that's beside the point. We have a job to do," he crosses his arms in front of him, making his biceps bulge a little.

Not just a little, says the little voice in my head, but I shake it off. I need to keep my thoughts in check from now on.

"First of all, I never agreed to do this today. Second of all, I only work alone."

"That wasn't in the contract," he counters smugly.

I rake my brain to try to remember if it is or if it is not. Shit, I think he might be right.

"Fine," I groan, "The sooner we do this, the sooner I can be done with you."

When I make no move to get out of bed, Death clears his throat.

"I'll be waiting downstairs," he leaves, finally allowing me to breath. I check my pulse to confirm my suspicions. Whenever Death is around, my body is on high alert.

When my heart has finally started beating to a normal rhythm, I stand up and walk to my bathroom.

Walking down to the kitchen to get myself a cup of coffee, I see that he is already leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, looking down at something on the ground with a deep scowl.

I peer down to see that Maleficent is currently rubbing her entire side on his legs, walking around him in slow circles. If I strain my ear a little, I am pretty sure I can hear her purr.

"You're warped," I shoot in her direction. She looks up and hisses loudly at me before stomping off in the other room.

Death looks at me with a curious look on his face. I ignore him and walk to the pantry to retrieve the coffee grounds.

"I've never seen anyone with a pet badger before," he states.

"Maleficent isn't a badger. She's a skunk," I reply nonchalantly. I grab the coffee maker and plug it in the wall.

"He definitely is a badger."

"I mean, she does have weird markings for a skunk, so I get that you could be mislead into thinking she is something else," I grab the coffee pot and turn to fill it water, but stop dead in my tracks. I eye the kitchen sink where Death is currently standing right beside it. Before I can stop them, memories come flooding my mind. Memories of water filling my lungs, memories of being unable to escape.

The pot slips from my fingers. I brace myself for the crash that is about to come, but Death, having moved at lightning speed, grabs it before it can meet the floor. He hands it back to me, and I watch as his stormy eyes scan my face for something.

"I'll wait in the other room," he mutters and walks out.

I watch his back with clenched teeth. Just this one job. Then I can get Janice back and never see him again.

I need to bury this trauma deep down, like I have done with each and every other one before. Do not forgive, but forget.

I get to work making the coffee quickly, robotically. When I have poured myself a large cup, I join Death in the living room. He is sitting down casually on one of the couches with his feet propped up on the ottoman. When I walk in, his eyes snaps up to mine.

"So, where do we get started then?"I take a sip, welcoming the hot liquid scorching my throat.

"Do you have a vehicle?"

"Yeah, but I usually prefer to just walk."

"This place is too far to walk to," he stands up and my treacherous eyes roam over his form.

There is a problem here. This guy tried to murder me, he tortured me and here I am ogling him. It seems as though the more time I spend in his company, the more attracted to him I become. It is fucking painful.

"The car's in the garage," I grab the keys from the trinket bowl Sophie gave me for my birthday and throw them at him. He catches them easily. "I haven't used the old thing in forever, we'll have to make sure there's gas in it."

"Alright."

"I'll get my stuff ready," Without another look at him, I drop off my cup into the sink and walk downstairs, where I keep most of my weapons.

Since I have no idea what kind of kill this is going to be, I decide to prepare for every situation. Better safe than chopped up.

I fill my leather bag with some one-handed weapons of choice; a few pistols, a revolver, a knife, a battle-axe, although I rarely use it, a stake, a few grenades and a baton for good measure. I debate bringing the RPG anyway, but think better of it. It makes too much noise.

I hear shuffling upstairs until Death starts walking down. He has to angle his head sideways in order to fit under the low basement ceiling. His eyes grow big when he takes in all the weapon-decorated walls.

"I'm somewhat of a collector," I offer when he does not say anything.

"I can see that."

I lift my bag with a huff. Weapons are not light. "Let's go," I grunt.

When I walk by him, he takes it from me as though it weighs nothing. Instead of resisting like I should have, I let him take it. I am working with one arm here, no need to be cheeky.

"What exactly do you think we're going to kill, Goliath?" he asks when he sees the amount of weaponry I stashed in there.

"You weren't exactly forthcoming with the details, so I brought everything." I shrug. He just shakes his head and we start going up.

When we enter the garage, Death puts my weapons in the trunk of my matte black Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4. Ok, so maybe one of the reasons I prefer to walk everywhere is because my car attracts too much attention.

"So," Death starts, closing the lid of the trunk, "when I turned it on to check on the gas, why did it call me Master Wayne?" he asks curiously.

My cheeks flame as I mentally face palm. I completely forgot about that.

"It's a long story," I smile tightly.

"Oh yeah? Wanna know what I think?" I don't, but he continues anyway, "I think you killed a man named Wayne and stole his car."

I burst out laughing. This is rich. As if I could kill Bruce Wayne. No, I am just a huge Batman fan.

"I've seen how much you charge people. You may make a lot of money, but not nearly enough to afford this."

"Sounds to me like you're jealous." He does not need to know how filthy rich I am, or how I became it.

"Hmmm," he says pensively, "I'll drive."

"Knew it," I murmur, getting in the passenger's side.

I buckle up and take a deep breath as he gets seated beside me. Focusing on anything besides the fact that we are in very close quarters, I keep my gaze fixed on the road in front of us. Who knows what he might do? He might just decide to drive us off a bridge, or worse. I can not trust him. I may be working with him now, but I have to make sure not to let my guard down.

I become aware that I am aggressively ringing my hands against my thighs when I see him looking at them from the side. I try to think of something to say to lighten the mood.

"So," I clear my throat, "I should probably mention that my turnaround time may be a little slower this time, seeing as I only have one functional arm."

He looks at me sideways again, "I can do the heavy lifting. Your arm won't be a problem in this case."

"Ok, well what is this case? You still haven't given me much to work with."

"It's a woman. She was set to die months ago, but no matter how many times I've tried, I can't mark her soul for death."

"What do you mean when you say 'mark her soul for death?'"

"When an individual is set to die, I mark their soul. This starts the chain of events that leads to their death."

"Interesting. So do you have any idea why you can't mark this one?"

"I have no clue. There are some people I can't mark. Like creatures who don't have a soul, such as ancient vampires, for example. In her case though, as far as I know, she's just human."

I try to wrap my head around all of this. Death's eyes are currently fixed on the road, his lips set in a tight line. I get the feeling he does not like to talk about these things.

"And why do you think I can help with that?" I ask, "If you can't mark her, then I can't kill her, right? Isn't all of this tied together?"

He swerves the car left, getting onto the highway and increasing the speed quickly. The car purrs as it shifts into the fifth gear and we are propelled at full speed.

"Because you're the only person who's ever killed someone who I hadn't marked," he announces, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight I could see his knuckles turning white.

"What?" I blurt.

"In fact, a number of your... targets, had not been marked."

"How is that even possible? Most of them had souls if I'm not mistaken," I frown. Am I that good at killing that I defy the laws of the universe? My face turns into a scowl.

"Beats me," he mutters, seemingly lost in thought.

Well, at least that explained why he cane to me to ask that I stop killing. I was obviously going against his plans and he did not like it. I steal another glance at him and notice how sharp his jaw looks at this angle. It could cut glass. I want to run my fingers along it just to see.

What?

I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? This guy is a psychopath whom I am pretty sure scarred me for life and I am drooling over him. I wish I could smack myself, but he would probably find me weirder than he already does. Wait, what should I care if he finds me weird?

I need to get this job done and fast.

"You know, this is kind of ironic," I start, "How barely a week ago, you asked me to stop killing, but here you are now. I am your only hope at fulfilling your duty." I finish smugly.

I am only aware that we have reached our destination when he stops the car abruptly. If it had not been for my seatbelt, I surely would have hit my head on the dash board.

"Don't mistake this for permission to keep killing, this is your last time," his head is turned towards me, only about a foot separating us as he stares daggers at me, "I may not be able to kill you, but there are many things I could do to you that would make you wish I did," his tone is pure ice and I feel a shiver run up my spine. A flash of that night comes to mind and I recoil away from him.

His eyes seem to soften a bit and I can almost make out a sliver of regret in them. I decide to fire something back at him. I won't cower away. Death needs to be turned down a notch.

"Speaking of which, why can't you kill me? Is it because you can't mark me either? Seems to me like someone can't do his job, Reaper." I reply sassily.

The air around us turns cold and his jaw clenches. If it was even possible, his pupils become a shade a darker, but instead of saying anything, his nostrils flare. I decide it is time to put some distance between us, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out. I look up to see a shabby looking establishment with a neon sign on it. It says "Jabtastic Fight Club for Women".