Page 8 of Finders Reapers

Charon shot me a glare before dragging his eyes up and down my frame. “Smug superiority complex?” He quirked a brow. “Daddy issues.” He continued. “Possibly just a bitch.”

“Daddy issues?” I tried to take a seat in front of the desk. Unfortunately, I misjudged my solidity and passed right through the seat. I jumped up and continued to stand.

“That’s what you latched onto?” Charon barked a laugh and sat down on his chair. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m taken.”

“You look my age,” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Add a few millennia.” He clucked.

“Ew.”

Charon snickered and glanced at the door behind me just a moment before someone knocked. “Fletcher.” Charon nodded in greeting as he held his hand out towards the newcomer.

A man brushed into the room, bypassing me completely and handing Charon a manila file. ‘Fletcher’, I surmised. He caught me watching him and shot me a jaunty wink.

Taller than me, which was saying something, with floppy chestnut hair and round eyes that made him look like an innocent puppy. His clothing was even more interesting than his face—a bright Pikachu hoodie with the ears on the hood hanging limply between his shoulders. A pair of skinny pink jeans and yellow doc marten boots with Jake the Dog’s face painted on the toes.

Fletcher rocked back on his heels, letting out a playful whistle. The tune of which I didn’t recognize.

Charon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and it took a moment for me to realize that he was chastising the file, closing it with a snap and slapping the papers against his open palm.

“You can leave, Fletcher,” Charon said sternly.

Fletcher's smirk widened as he gave a bow and sauntered away. My eyes followed him as he strutted through the door and back into the office—down the central aisle and rows of desktop computers.

“Who’s that?” I licked my bottom lip.

“Fletcher.” Charon looked at me like I was dim before brandishing my file at me. “Your father is Antonio Rossi, born in OKC?”

I cleared my throat. “Uh-huh. We moved to Vegas after my mom died.”

“When was that?”

I shrugged. “I was ten.”

He glanced back down at the file. “That sounds about right.”

My eyes followed his and remained fixed on the closed manila folder in his hands. “What does it say?” I tried to lift my voice and affect the kind of joyful buoyance I expected a woman at a gender reveal to show. I wasn’t sure I was successful. “Lust? Pride? Envy?”

He gave me a shrewd look before placing the file delicately on his desk and then leaning forward on his elbows. “What does your father do for business?”

I glanced to the side. “He owns a dental supply company.” I instantly felt self-conscious when Charon’s eyes flicked down to my mouth. The appraisal was clinical, and even though he looked young, it felt like I was being studied by a being that was so far from human they might as well have been a bird.

“Would you say that he is successful?” The ginger man asked lightly.

“Look,” I rolled my eyes. “Not to sound self-centered, but I died.Idied. Not my dad. Where are you going with this?”

For the first time since I had seen Charon, he looked nervous, or maybe just uncomfortable.

“Your father sold your soul to the Devil.” Charon knitted his fingers together as he rested his elbows on the desk.

My entire world screeched to a halt like I was in a car that had hit the emergency brake. My stomach bounced around my middle, unable to settle.

The words didn’t make sense to me, so I settled for speaking the first words that came to mind.

“The Devil exists?” I replied dumbly. “Like, red skin? Pointy ears and tail? Satan? Lucifer? King of Hell?”

Charon winced with every title I threw out. “Well, it’s complicated.”