Page 42 of Finders Reapers

“Maddox told me that there were billions of people that could take my place,” I replied. “He didn’t understand why I got picked.”

If Rome suspected that I had heard his conversation outside his door the previous day, he did not show it.

“Maddox is grieving,” Rome said simply, and he said nothing else as we pulled up outside of Target.

I couldn’t stop the wide smile from splitting my face in half.

“Go on.” Rome waved. “Get your things.”

“You’re not coming?” I tried not to deflate.

Rome shrugged. “I have to wait in the car park.”

I wondered briefly if the turn of phrase he used was because he was originally from Russia. Maybe Rome meant it literally, and he was banned from the Target on South Las Vegas Blvd near the MGM Grand. “I need your card,” I argued. “What if they ask for ID? That’s the whole reason I needed you to come with.”

Rome winced and glanced down at his phone. “We need to be quick.”

I reached forward and grabbed his elbow, and without another word, I steered him into the store and straight to the women’s clothing section.

It took all of ten seconds to realize that my quick trip to Target was probably going to take longer than expected. My clothing sizes had changed, and I had gone from a size 2 to a size 6at least.

I tried not to feel self-conscious, but I noticed a change in how people looked at me. When I was Valentina Rossi, people looked at me from a distance. My body had been leaner, taller, the kind of frame that leaned itself to solid strides.

With my newer curves, my walk didn’t feel purposeful. It just highlighted my hips and ass. People felt less threatened because I was shorter and had no problem approaching me.

I was halfway down the lingerie section with a handful of lace panties when a man tried to grab my ass. Rome rammed into him with a shopping cart before I had even realized what had happened.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Americans have no self-control.” He tsked.

I had nothing to say to that.

In the end, I found half a dozen pairs of jeans. (I tried one pair and then ballparked the rest), a few blouses, and a dress or two. Converse and heels. Basic makeup and skincare.

I didn’t want to take advantage, but I needed a starter kit for my new life.

Every few minutes, Rome checked his phone.

Even though shopping with Rome was like watching someone have their teeth pulled, I convinced Rome that wehadto get Starbucks to go.

“Do you have somewhere important to be?” I asked as we wheeled the cart into the parking lot and towards the Camaro.

Rome rolled his eyes. “I told you, I had to wait in the parking lot.”

Suddenly, his words filled me with dread. I lowered my chin until I was confident that only Rome could hear me. “Don’t tell me you only wanted to come to Target because someone’s going to die in the parking lot!” I hissed.

Rome gave me a look dryer than the desert, and he looked down at his phone.

“How do you even know that a soul needs to be collected?” I asked in a whisper.

Rome held out his phone. “There’s an app.”

“An app?” I replied in disbelief. “For the love of G—”

“Look,” Rome nudged me. “10.57. Right on time.” He pulled the car to a stop, and we both watched as a Prius crawled around the corner of the parking lot. A white-haired old lady was barely visible over the steering wheel. On the other side of the row, a man around thirty was unloading his shopping into the trunk of his car.

I watched it as if in slow motion.

“Tell me it’s the old lady,” I breathed in horror. My feet were rooted to the floor. From my experience at Asylum, I knew that when I tried to warn someone, my vocal cords would give up the ghost.

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