Page 55 of Finders Reapers

“Reaper HQ.” He explained as his gaze drifted to the middle distance in thought before he shuddered as if remembering something horrible. “If Mr. Bub or Charon orders you to do something, you’ll do it. They hold our souls in their hands. It’s a compulsion. If one of the executives asks a Reaper to jump, the answer is always ‘how high.’”

“What about the Devil?” I wondered. “Didn’t he hold the souls at one point? My father made a literal soul pactwiththe devil.”

“The Devil was banished a while ago. It's all very hush-hush and need to know.” He admitted, brushing his hand against the grain of his hair. “I’ve never heard of a contracted soul becoming a Reaper before. My soul was never signed away while I was alive. I died, and then I woke up at HQ with an orientation package and someone telling me that I’d get a fat paycheque and a promotion ladder to angel if I collected souls.”

“Angel?” My eyes widened.

Jamal chuckled and shook his head. “They didn’t tell you about that?”

I had a sinking feeling that my contract was very different from Jamal’s and the others'. Instead of lingering, I changed the subject.

“I’m your girlfriend, am I?” I wiggled my eyebrows.

Jamal reached down and pinched my waist, making me jump. “Come on, love. Let’s go to the hot tub. It’s only a matter of time before my phone goes off, and we have to go and collect a soul.”

I was quiet. I couldn’t help it after what Jamal had told me about Quietus—and the casual mention of Mr. Bub, who cast an ominous shadow.

Mr. Bub had approached me and had literally told me to spy on the guys.

I hadn’t agreed or disagreed at the time, but my personal consensus was that I would make up some lies or just pass on some superficial bullshit that didn’t mean much of anything.

I had no idea about the hierarchy or power structure of HQ. If Mr. Bub was as powerful as Charon or Oriax, I had a feeling that he really could force me to tell on my new Grim if he was so inclined.

Power had always been an abstract, imaginary construct to me. It had never been a force, like gravity.

When I had stood in front of Charon, Oriax, and Mr. Bub, I had felt pressure in my skull and unease I couldn’t explain. Maybe that was it. Perhaps that was what power was. A barometer for magic.

Reapers, demons, and angels were new territory for me.

I craned my neck to the sky and closed my eyes as the bubbles of the hot tub lashed at my skin. The hot water caused a flush to stretch over my cheeks and collar.

Jamal hadn’t pressed about my silence, and he hadn’t asked if I was okay—I wasn’t, and I didn’t think that I would be for a long time. Not until I had settled down in my new life.

Living out of a hotel-casino on the Vegas Strip might have seemed like the height of privilege, but hotels were transient by nature.

Summerlin was less than half an hour away from the strip by car, barring traffic. I was no stranger to coming to the bars and clubs in Paradise when a friend dragged me—but coming for a weekend, or an event, was different than living it.

I was already bored of the suite. I wanted to go grocery shopping. I wanted to make Nonna’s penne arrabbiata pasta from scratch and eat myself into a garlic bread coma.

Just as my thoughts turned to food, my stomach rumbled loudly. My eyes flicked open slowly, and I sat up, searching for Jamal.

Our gaze connected, and it felt like a jolt through my body. I pushed the idea down immediately and internally chided myself for it. Cody and I had been a thing until three days ago, and although he hadn’t been loyal, I had.

But damn, if Jamal’s doe eyes and wicked smile didn’t do things to me. Jamal was a good-looking man, I could admit that, and coupled with whatever magic was connecting us, I needed all my willpower if I was going to survive being in such close quarters with the guys.

Jamal’s eyes softened. “You hungry, love?”

A slow smile crawled across my face. “Starving.”

“There are a few restaurants here. We could do steak or Italian.”

“Italian,” I rolled my eyes. “Obviously.”

He studied me, his gaze drinking in my face and my body with a sweeping look made me feel like a beautiful bird in a zoo enclosure. “You used to be Italian, right?”

“I’m still Italian,Dio Santo!,” I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring how the action pushed my breasts together. “It goes down to my soul.”

He laughed, and I smiled when I realized I had made a joke.