Page 28 of Finders Reapers

He took out his phone and checked the screen before he spoke a sentence made up of guttural sounds and gibberish that made every hair on my body stand up.

Dva Ra Karam Boesh.

Fletcher stepped up to my side. “It’s Cyclian.” He supplied helpfully.

“The language of hell?” I wrinkled my nose and watched the door, but nothing happened.

Maddox reached for the handle and opened the door to reveal a completely different room on the other side. “Like magic.” He shot me a cocky grin.

Rome stepped forward and gripped my bicep. “I’m not letting this one get away.” He warned the others, speaking about me as if I wasn’t there. I had to admit, the confident and possessive nature of his comment combined with the slightest lilt of a Russian accent?

“She is too much trouble.” Rome continued brusquely. “And if Mr. Bub finds out she has been running all over the strip? We are fucked.”

Jamal nodded in agreement and stepped up to my other side. He reached out and gripped my shoulder. “I’m not a fan of forcing girls to do anything they don’t want to do, love, but if Mr. Bub sticks his nose into my business, I’m fucked.”

“Why do I have the feeling you guys are leading me to certain death?” I asked, joking, though my voice shook as they led me to the doorframe.

“Certain death?” Fletcher laughed.

“She’s right,” Maddox said, his quiet declaration cutting through Fletcher’s mirth like a cold bucket of ice water. “Though who’s death? We won’t find out until we go through that door.”

Asylum was beyond trashy, though it had used to be good before all of the staff literally started shaking people down for tips as if that was their job instead of actually serving drinks or checking IDs at the door.

Expansive to the point that it could have been a concert hall, with a beautiful swirling chandelier over the dancefloor—Asylum was a Latin music haven, with a signature cocktail served in a yard glass.

We stepped through one of the staff doors to the side of the bar, materializing out of nowhere.

Not a single person turned to look, and I wondered how many times demonic magic had happened around me when I was alive, and I just hadn’t noticed.

Then again, I hadn’t noticed that my father had signed my soul away, so perhaps it was fair to say that I was oblivious with a capital O.

The thumping beat and the contrasting twang of the guitar filtered through the air, and the lights flashed in colored lines over the jumping crowd.

Maddox led us forward and past the bar. I almost suggested that we get a drink, but he seemed to have a mission in mind.

Even though the four Reapers werespecimens, and we were in a nightclub, not a single person approached. Man or woman.

I nudged Jamal. “Can they see us?” I called out my question, lifting my voice over the pulsating music.

The Brit gave me a cheeky smile and a wink but didn’t answer my question.

I scanned the crowd, glanced up at the DJ, and then watched the manic bartenders as they poured shot, after shot after shot.

I couldn’t see a single clue about who was going to die—because that was why we were in the club.

To collect a soul.

A cheesy dance hit from the early two-thousands came on, and Fletcher grinned and bounced forward onto the dance floor. Bopping and weaving as if he was untouchable, the ears of his yellow hoody flopped in time to the beat—he appeared to be doing the Macarena, even though the song was an EDM track without words.

Maddox scoffed and turned to the bar, ordering himself a drink. Rome pulled out his phone, bored, and started to play candy crush. Jamal spotted a blonde woman at the edge of the bar in a low-cut dress, and like a pin-point laser, he was off to vie for her attention.

I was left utterly alone.

I lifted my arms and let them drop in exasperation. They were meant to be teaching me about death and collecting souls and stuff. Not about drinking overpriced beer and dancing to cheesy dance music on a Monday night.

Fletcher continued to do the Macarena but hopped his way over to where I stood on the edge of the bar. “Come on.” He urged. “Have a drink. Have some fun. It won’t get interesting until later.”

I quirked a brow. “By interesting, do you mean that someone is going to die?”