Page 112 of Finders Reapers

I rocked on my heel before clearing my throat and stomping my way into the reception.

Sasha kept hold of Rome’s leather jacket as he tried to jerk out of her grip.

“Let’s go home,” I told Rome, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.

“We are busy.” Sasha’s nostrils flared.

Rome blinked, his eyes slowly taking from Sasha to meet mine. He said nothing.

“I need you to open the doorway,” I pleaded, not caring that I sounded a little bit pathetic. “I can’t get the hang of those Cyclian words.”

A moment passed, and Rome looked over my face, searching for something. Eventually, he nodded his head and stepped back out of Sasha’s grip—slicing his hand across her fingers to encourage her to let go.

I gave Rome a small smile and held out my hand.

I didn’t think he would take it, but Rome surprised me.

It was dark when we stepped through the doorway into the stillness of the house in California.

It wasn’t until we reached the safety of the house and its familiarity that Rome dropped like a sack of potatoes, letting go of my hand and landing on all fours. His head hung, and the dark tendrils of his hair obscured his face, and his entire body was wracked with shaking tremors.

I put my hand on his back, and I expected Rome to flinch away, but he didn’t. It was as if I wasn’t even there.

I thought back on Sasha’s words. The way she demanded Rome’s mouth, and the threats as well.

I wondered how many times Rome had been forced to do something for Sasha. Things he didn’t want to do. Things that left a scar.

Once I ascertained that my touch was not adding to his distressed state, I bent down and eased Rome to his feet by wrapping my arm around his waist.

His dark eyes were blank, his face bathed in shadow, and the only light cast a dim glow that made his long eyelashes look like spider legs.

I maneuvered us both to the kitchen and set him on one of the stools as I began searching the cupboard for liquor. I found a bottle of mint schnapps. It wasn’t the best, but at that moment, I didn’t think Rome cared.

Before stepping back, I grabbed a glass and set that and the bottle in front of Rome. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. He continued to stare blankly, and I knew he wasn’t going to speak first.

“Charon said some interesting things today,” I stated, hoping to draw him into a conversation.

Rome’s hand twitched before he wrapped it around the glass. He said nothing.

“He told me about his siblings. The goddess of death or something,” I continued, relaying our little impromptu meeting and my thoughts behind it. “I think he wants Mr. Bub kicked from his position at Quietus but can’t find a way to do that. I don’t know how I’m part of that, though.”

Rome seemed neither interested nor disinterested, but he had poured himself a glass of clear mint liquor by the time I had finished speaking. His shaking had decreased, but he hadn’t said a word.

He placed the glass down on the counter after draining it in a single swig. “You can ask,” Rome grunted. He did not meet my eyes. “Ask about what you saw. Your rambling gives you away.”

I gave him a look. “My rambling was giving you a mission report that might affect whatever it is your team and Mr. Bub has going on.”

Rome waved a hand dismissively. “You ramble when you’re nervous. When you used to play horror games, you talk talk talk.”

I narrowed my eyes before easing my expression. Before I could say a word, Rome held up a finger and waggled it.

“Do not feel sorry for me.” He told me sternly as if he could read my mind. “I did not do anything I did not want to do.”

“You’re shaking,” I whispered.

Rome sniffed and poured himself another glass. He shrugged and lifted it to his lips. “Sasha and I have arrangement.” He said brusquely.

“What?” I bit back harshly. “She keeps a tally of your wrongdoings, and if you insult her, she threatens to tell the CEO? Isn’t there a HR dept you can speak to?”

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