Page 63 of Finders Reapers

The day before, Rome had been sitting around a table filled with breakfast foods, and from what I had seen, room service from any of the restaurants in the Bellagio was the norm for the guys.

The table was empty. Everyone must have decided to sleep in.

I felt a pang, a restlessness. I wanted to be back in my own kitchen, rolling ravioli or dousing rice in enough soy sauce to turn the grain black.

There was no personality in the suite. There were no personal items, just landscape paintings on the walls and a bowl of wax limes on the bar.

The pool table was artfully arranged, so the balls sat in a triangle.

The floor was pristine. Not a scuff or a speck of dust.

No doubt, the maids had already been around to clean the living spaces and restock the bar.

Someone cleared their throat, and I whirled on my heel, my heart going a mile a minute.

Maddox.

Maddox made me uneasy. He had since the moment we met. Maybe it was because he looked like he could snap my neck in eleven different ways before I could even say,‘bing bong.’Or perhaps it was because he had been an ass during one of the only times we had spoken.

Some mysteries were destined to be unanswered.

I lifted my hand and waved before clearing my throat. “No breakfast today?” I noted, glancing around the room.

Maddox’s gaze sharpened.

I inhaled deeply, searching for patience from a God I had yet to meet. “Did Fletcher have a chance to talk to you?”

Maddox blinked.

My teeth mashed together. “For fucks sake!” I flung my hands in the air and turned on my heel to march away.

Maddox shrugged. “Fletcher told me that you needed to talk to me.”

My lips pulled into a straight line. “He thinks that if I can remember the party, I’ll remember what demon killed me.”

I waited for Maddox to pull up and offer help, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at me for a moment before strolling right past me toward the door.

Maddox’s hand rested on the door handle when he turned to me. “Do you want to get breakfast?” He asked. The words pulled from between gritted teeth with a set of pliers.

I glanced at the bar—very aware that the only thing in the mini-fridge were candy bars and olives.

“Sure,” I shrugged, attempting to keep my voice light.

Maddox jerked his chin to the side, gesturing for me to follow.

As soon as we stepped out of the lobby, the rushing sound of the fountains and the cooing tourists greeted us. Maddox squinting at the sky as if the sun had personally offended him, both hands loosely by his side, but his size made him look intimidating, even when he affected a casual stance.

Even though it wasn’t yet ten am, tourists were out on the strip. The designer stores and abundance of Toyota Priuses on the road were sights I had grown used to in the past few days.

The Paris sat too close to the Bellagio to be ignored. The Eiffel tower standing sentry over the Bellagio pond.

“You don’t like the fountain?” Maddox asked lightly as he stepped to my side.

“I didn’t realize I was staring,” I admitted, pushing my red hair behind my ears.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He didn’t look at me.

I lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve lived in Las Vegas my whole life,” I explained. “The strip is tacky. It's loud. It’s flashy, and it hurts my eyes. It’s good for a weekend, butevery day?”

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