Page 84 of Finders Reapers

The bedding was clean, and the room was relatively tidy, so I didn’t complain. Instead, I laid back and stared at the ceiling with my fingers knotted together on my stomach.

I was alone for an hour, with my racing thoughts, before both Fletcher and Jamal popped up at the end of my bed like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

I sat up. “Did Maddox or Rome call?”

Jamal and Fletcher shook their head in unison.

“That’s creepy,” I said.

“Maddox and Rome wanted to clock some hours on the app, so they could free us up to spend the day with you.” Fletcher grinned before hopping the rail at the end of the bed and sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter.

“We were going to go to the bar.” Jamal rubbed his hand down his face. “Everyone is feeling a bit stir crazy.”

I quirked a brow. “Everyone?” my gaze shifted from Fletcher to Jamal. “Or just you two.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes. “No one gets left behind. You’ve got to come with.”

“You both drink too much, and you’re going to ruin your livers,” I said as I punched my way out of the comforter and shoved Fletcher to the side so that I could swing my legs off the bed. I walked over to the collection of bags that had been laid on the floor—brought up from the living room—and bent over to rummage through to find an outfit.

Fletcher cleared his throat, and I unfurled to standing, holding a dress to my chest. I narrowed my eyes at his grin. “Don’t stare at my ass,” I chided as I turned back around and grabbed my makeup bag.

“We don’t have livers,” Jamal informed me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Though I don't think I have ever taken inventory of my major organs.”

“You probably do,” I quirked a brow. “I saw how much Maddox was bleeding.”

Jamal shrugged.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I crossed the room to the joining bathroom. I kept the door open as I placed my makeup bag on the counter and began to get ready.

“There’s a bar in town, about a five-minute drive. We can uBer if no one wants to drive.” Jamal informed me. “The Red Dog—they have good beer on draft, which is dreadfully hard to find this side of the pond.”

“Limey.” Fletcher coughed into his hand.

“I’ve never heard of The Red Dog. How far is it from the Strip?” I asked as I pulled my hair away from my face and began to apply primer.

Jamal and Fletcher exchanged a glance.

“About 110 miles,” Fletcher said.

My eyes rounded. “Where the hell are we?”

“Needles,” Fletcher replied simply.

“Needles?” I repeated.

“Needles… California.” Fletcher clarified, his gaze impassive as if he was gauging my emotions.

I turned back to the mirror and began to apply my makeup. The familiarity of the process helped get me back on solid ground—my thoughts were jumbled and all over the place. I was thrown mainly by how far we had been able to travel via the doorway.

Something occurred to me, and I turned back to the guys. “I thought you guys were in charge of Vegas, most importantly, the Strip. Isn’t it going to be hard to Reap from here?”

“I wouldn’t say our Grim is in charge of anything.” Jamal bit back a smile. “And, we can always use a doorway, love. If it’s for work, that is.”

I supposed that was true. I didn’t admit that, though. “So, this is your home? When you aren’t drinking your weight in minibar booze at the Bellagio, I mean.”

Fletcher reclined on the bed and made himself comfortable. “No one that lives in Vegas actually likes the Strip for more than just a minute.”

I shrugged. “Or a weekend.”

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