Page 48 of Death is My Ride or Die

Two men slunk out from the club, and Duncan’s silver eyes slid directly to mine. Death revved the engine again, and I got the message. Get on or get left behind.

Buckling my helmet, I straddled the bike behind Death, and he tore into the street. Rain pelted down, but that slowed neither the beast beneath us nor the beast that I held tight in my arms as we sped through the miserable city.

XV

The rain showed no sign of stopping as Death pulled up onto the sidewalk. I got off the bike, soaked, freezing, wretched, and overwhelmed, but that didn’t stop me from noticing where we’d stopped.

Billionaire’s Row.

We were on Billionaire’s Row.

Aka the most expensive real estate in New York City.

Death stood up to take off his helmet, and his motorcycle completely dissolved into black smoke like some epic magic act. The shadowy substance absorbed into his jacket. His helmet vanished too as he yanked up his hood.

“Now wait a second,” I said as Death stalked toward me. “You’re telling me we were riding ashadowthat whole—”

Death clamped his giant hand down on my shoulder. I only managed to suck in the tiniest breath before the world went black around us. We emerged elsewhere, and I collapsed against a black door.

“You . . . could at least . . . warn me,” I gasped.

Death grunted a word under his breath and punched a passcode into a lock right beside my head. I moved to the side as he opened the door. The dark void of a room opened like the mouth of a monster, and cold tingles raced up and down my legs.

Death’s apartment.

I could only imagine what was inside. Swinging blades as you walked in, mortal souls screaming in the walls, a bed with spikes for a mattress, freezers filled with the heads of his enemies, and a blazing fireplace that led into Hell.

“Stop daydreaming and get in,” Death growled. “I don’t have all day.”

Grumpy bastard. I entered the dark space, and the lights slowly came on by themselves.

“Holy moneybags,” I blurted.

A gorgeous open-concept penthouse unveiled itself. Death’s place was, of course, dominated by black. Black marble flooring, massive black leather couches in front of a flat-screen television, and a black marble fireplace. No Hell entrance, as far as I could tell, though.

Every aspect of his space gave off an intense, overtly masculine energy. Dim lights hung like daggers over a medieval-looking dining table. A high ceiling with a skylight captured the gray sky above. Another floor was visible past a glass railing, accessed by spiraling modern staircases beside the foyer.

“Wow,” I said in awe. “This place could house a whole army.”

“Welcome home, King D,”announced a seductive woman’s voice. A touchscreen to my left blinked as she spoke, and I realized it was some sort of high-tech computer the penthouse was hooked into.

I rolled my eyes. “King D.”

“Damn right.” Death tossed the keys to his motorcycle into a black and gray checkered dish by the door. I shadowed him into a magnificent kitchen. If there was a magazine for villain kitchens, this one would make the cover page. Was that . . . a battle axe hanging over the stove? He yanked open one of the two industrial-sized fridges, pulled out a carton of chocolate milk, and chugged down at least half of it. Dude was a sugar maniac.

“You’ll be staying here with me,” Death said, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand as he put away the milk and closed the fridge door. “Indefinitely.”

Living in a penthouse.

With Death.

Indefinitely.

I took in the stunning apartment again. Didn’t seem all that bad, all of a sudden.

“There are four floors.” Death yanked a little on the waistband of my leggings to get me to face him, and I jolted in surprise. “We’re on the main floor. There are two kitchens, but you will only use this one. Two living rooms, and a media room.”

“Why can’t I use the other kitchen? Keeping the frozen heads of your enemies in the freezer?”

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