Banging Reaper (Pounding Hearts 1)

And Chase is sweet. He may look like the kind of guy who would be rough with a girl and demand control, but he’s nice and considerate. All he has done for me is protect me and try to make me feel safe and comfortable.

Falling for Chase isn’t safe, though, I have to remind myself, but already I feel like I can’t help myself. It’s already starting. Out of the blue, just like that.

He’s like a sucker punch to the heart.

Chase pulls off the main strip, onto a windy back road. Where does he live, I wonder as the road curves around an enormous lake. Is he loaded? Does he still live with his dad? Surely only rich people can afford to live in an area as nice as this.

The area feels remote yet planned. As if every tree, every rock, and every plant was meticulously planted in a specific spot to create a specific look in order to create a specific feel. It’s so different from where I live, I’m used to dirty concrete and graffiti covered buildings. Not clean air, ornate fences, and marked walking trails.

My nerves get to me the deeper and deeper we drive. Maybe this was a mistake. My hand holding Chase’s starts to feel clammy. I pull it from his grip and wipe it against my jeans.

“You live back here?” I ask. “Or are you driving me to a remote cabin where no one will hear me scream?”

“You’ve got me.” Chase grins at me, his white teeth flashing in the dim light. “I hide all my bodies back here.”

He reaches for my hand again and I let him have it. He squeezes me and lifts my hand to his lips, kissing it. He doesn’t know it but it makes me feel a little better, a little less nervous. That is until we pull up to his house.

Tucked back into the trees, just off the lake, is a two story white washed house. I lean towards my window, squinting as the beam of the headlights passes over the front to get a better look. It’s hard to see in the dark but I can make out two stone pillars flanking the front door and his lawn is obviously well taken care of. There’s a bird bath and several small gardens.

“This is your place?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yep,” Chase answers proudly then releases my hand so he can reach up and click a button attached to his visor.

We pull up to his garages. He has not one but two garages in the back of the house. The white garage door rolls up into the ceiling, leaving an opening wide enough to fit two cars. Chase pulls into the garage and shuts the car off.

Maybe it’s the buzz wearing off or the sudden bright light but I start to feel an ache forming behind my eyes. Chase jumps out of the car and comes around, opening my door for me. I feel a little blindsided by all of this and a little embarrassed.

He must have thought my place was a real shithole.

“Are you okay?” Chase asks as I climb out of the car and look around the garage.

“Are those yours too?” I ask, pointing to the Jeep and then to the parked motorcycle.

Chase grins and puffs out his chest proudly, “Yep.”

“Wow.”

Chase grabs me by the hand and tugs me along. “Come on. I’ll give you that drink and a tour.”

The first room Chase leads me to is his kitchen, it’s just off the small hallway connected to the garage.

“This is the kitchen,” he grins and flips on the light.

It’s pretty impressive. For one, I think the kitchen is almost as big as my entire apartment. All the appliances are new, stainless steel and probably top of the line. The cabinets are dark wood and gleam as if they’ve been recently waxed. It smells nice in here too, like oranges.

Chase walks up to his behemoth of a refrigerator and pulls open the double stainless steel doors. “What do you want to drink?”

“Water,” I almost croak.

I feel so out of place here. I don’t know why, but Chase having money and apparently lots of money, is one more thing that goes to the list of things that intimidate me about him.

“You sure?” he asks. “I keep sodas and booze for my guests.”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.” As he pulls two bottles of water from the fridge I spin slowly in a circle to look around.

“Do you like to cook?” I ask. I notice at least one food processor, a set of knives, and quite a few pans hanging from the ceiling. “Or is this all for show?”

“I like to cook,” Chase says as he saunters up to me. He seems so much more relaxed now that we’re in his house. He hands me a bottle of water and grins. “I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning.”