Reaper by Edward Kendrick Read Free Book Online

considered his charges. Tired because he’d gotten home much later than he usually did, thanks to showing Brian the building that they both hoped would become the new Off-the-Street shelter. Normally, he would get home, eat then sleep for six hours before beginning his rounds of the streets. Tonight, he’d gotten four hours and was feeling it.
    The reason he was being so quiet at the moment had to do with the muffled sobs he’d heard seconds earlier when passing the alley. He knew it could be a kid having a nightmare as they slept in a doorway or under a loading dock. But it also could mean the kid was in trouble.
    “Hold still, faggot,” a male said.
    His words were followed by a muffled titter from what Reaper presumed was a second person.
    Reaper rounded a tall dumpster to find two men, one in his late teens, the other a few years older. The older, bulkier one had a blond-haired kid shoved face first against the dirty brick wall of the alley. The victim was struggling, but to no avail, as the guy holding him there pulled down the ‘kid’s’ ragged jeans.
    “You know you want this,” the guy said. “All you faggots do.”
    “Please…” the boy whimpered.
    “See, told you he did,” the assailant said to his companion.
    “Having a party, punks?” Reaper asked menacingly.
    The assailant glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Yeah, and you ain’t invited.”
    “I beg to differ.” Reaper stepped in, wrapping his arm around the guy’s throat in a choke hold to pull him away from his victim.
    Suddenly, unexpectedly, the teen who had been watching plunged a knife into Reaper’s shoulder, shouting, “Let him go, you fucker. He’s only doing what the fag wanted him to.”
    Ignoring the searing pain, Reaper tightened his hold on the punk’s throat. “Back off, you snot-nosed brat, or you friend here will end up… Well, dead.” Reaper turned sharply as he said that, avoiding getting stabbed a second time. Instead, the blade the teen was using jabbed into the larger guy’s side. With his free hand, Reaper managed to grab the teen’s wrist before he could pull out of reach. Reaper twisted hard, and the teen let out a cry of pain, dropping the knife.
    “Where’s a damned cop when you need one,” Reaper muttered as he loosened his hold on the potential rapist. He didn’t let him go, however. He just didn’t want him dying.
    Well, I’d like him dead, but that’s not what I do.
    “You…” Reaper glared as the teen, who was holding his injured wrist against his chest. “Down on the ground, on your stomach—now.”
    “Fuck you!”
    Reaper smiled grimly. “Do it, or your friend here gets hurt worse than he is already.” Reaper tightened his hold again at the same time that he reached around to grab his prisoner’s balls, squeezing hard.
    “He ain’t no friend,” the teen said. He turned and sprinted toward the end of the alley. Seconds later, he vanished from sight.
    Still holding his prisoner, Reaper finally looked at the kid who has been the target of the assault. The boy had sunk down to the pavement, his back against the wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
    “Are you…? Never mind, that would have been a stupid question,” Reaper said gruffly. “As for you…” He returned his attention to the attacker, forcing him down to his knees. “I’m debating between beating you to a pulp and calling the cops. Got any druthers on which I do?”
    “Fuck you!”
    “Are those the only two words you and your friend know?”
    “Fuck—” The punk’s words were cut off when Reaper punched him hard in the mouth.
    “You’re bleeding,” the blond boy said, looking up at Reaper.
    “Flesh wound,” Reaper replied, although now that it had been pointed out to him, he had the feeling it was a bit worse than that. Gritting his teeth, he punched the punk again, knocking him flat on his back and out cold.
    The boy stood slowly, pulling up his jeans. “Thank you,” he whispered.