Page 59 of Grim

“Yes, Asher”—the way he says the name makes me blink; he practically spits it out, like it tastes rancid on his tongue—“is apparently unable to handle the large influx alone.”

“Asher?” I echo. “Friend of yours?”

“Hardly.” Kane’s lips press into a tight line, his posture somehow going even more rigid. “He’s another reaper. Smug and insufferable.”

“Wow. He sounds terrible.” I smirk. “Why don’t you like him? He steal your scythe or something?”

Kane’s jaw tightens so hard that I swear I hear it crack before he turns around and glares at me.

“Some folks just don’t get along, Mayday. Not meant to be. Asher and I are like oil and water—as in I’d love to burn him in oil and drown him in water.”

The look on Kane’s face is enough to halt this line of questioning. If he wants to tell me more, he can, but I’m not going to pry. I shake my head while eyeing his shirt, which he keeps glancing down and picking at.

“I might have one of my dad’s shirts upstairs if you want it.”

“This is a custom-tailored—”

“Shirt with a stain. Wouldn’t matter if it was Versace at this point. Better to have something that’s at least one uniform color. Now come on. Let me help,” I say, stepping closer to him and grabbing the shirt by the collar and beginning to open it at the neck. I notice briefly what looks to be scar tissue just above his collarbone before Kane swats my hands away like they are a pair of houseflies. “What is that?” I ask of his discolored and raised skin.

He ignores me and attempts a joke. “Mayday, whileI can understand your primal urges, I must insist you control yourself.”

I stare at him, mouth agape. “Excuse me?”

He looks me over before nodding. “You’re excused. Now, if you don’t mind, I have thirty-some-odd souls that need to be cleaved unwillingly from their mortal sacks to begin the journey to the OtherWorld. I believe the phrase you use isBRB,” he says, condescension oozing off each letter.

“Fine,” I huff, letting the subject go for now. “But I’m coming with you.”

He scoffs while walking out the door toward my cemetery. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely, yes.” I stomp after him as he exits the house at breakneck speed, refusing to lose this battle. “We’ve been over this, Kane. I’m not sitting around while the clock’s ticking on my final days. I want them full. And if that means tagging along while you reap a bunch of unfortunate souls, so be it.”

We stop at the first headstone, and he looks back at me, his lips pursed in irritation.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for, Rue.” His voice is low and dangerous, but I see it. The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” I whisper, my voice softer now. “I’m not wasting another second. Please, Kane.”

He closes his eyes like he’s fighting an internal war. When they snap open again, they’re darker. Sharper.

“Fine.” He exhales like he’s regretting this already. “But you stay out of the way. No talking to the souls. No touching anything. No—”

“Got it, Grim. I’ll be a good little shadow.”

His eyes narrow. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he mutters while holding his hand out for me to grab.

“What? No hugs this time?” I tease before releasing a squeak as he tugs me flush with his body. My hand hits his hard chest, and it takes me by surprise, not feeling a heartbeat.

“Hold on,” he breathes in my ear, causing goose bumps to erupt all over my body.

“I’m obviously already—”

And before I can finish the sentence, the world swirls.

I swear, transporting gets worse every damn time. I feel like I’ve been stuffed into a blender set to liquefy and then spit out into a new dimension. My stomach flips violently, threatening to stage a full-scale rebellion.

Kane’s arm is the only thing keeping me from face-planting into the pavement as we appear by a road marker with ribbons wrapped around it.

“We need to work on your landings, Grim,” I mutter, blinking away the dizziness. “Ugh, I’m going to hurl that spaghetti.”