Page 41 of Finders Reapers

He swore in Russian. “Do people always do what you want, or is this a learned skill?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Instead, I clapped and gave him the first genuine smile since I had woken up to my new life. “Thank you,” I whispered, stressing the words.

Rome gave me a long look before he looked down at his phone. “You have five minutes.”

I raised both brows. “Normally, I would be pissed at that and tell you that all this perfection—” I waved a hand down my body, “Takes time, but I don’t have the supplies. And I need those supplies.”

“Is that your roundabout way of saying that you’re good to go,” Rome asked dryly, flicking his tousled dark locks from his eyes.

I looked down. “No. I’m wearing a robe.”

“Maybe you should take those five minutes to get changed then.” He suggested.

I bobbed my head and raced to my room, finding a plain white T-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants at the bottom of a drawer—no doubt sleepwear amongst the suits.

Rome was palming his keys and heading to the door, just as my five minutes were up. I gave him a bright grin which he ignored, and we walked down to the covered parking lot nearest the Bellagio.

We passed dozens of cars until we reached a mustard yellow Camaro at the end with newish plates. “Sick car,” I nodded. “But I thought you drove a red mustang.”

Rome paused as he opened the door. “I left that one at HQ.” He said plainly, giving me a look as if I was slow.

“Oh.” My lips rounded. I couldn’t help but feel that every word out of my mouth annoyed him somehow.

The Camaro was reasonably clean, with black leather seats. His phone paired as soon as the engine started, and electronic dance music began to zig and zag from the sound system. I frowned as I tried to recognize the music.

“The Prodigy.” Rome supplied, not looking at me as he pulled out of the parking space. “Firestarter.”

I didn’t want to admit that I had never heard of them, so I stayed silent and tapped my fingers against my thighs.

“Big in Russia in the ’90s.” He glanced at me as if daring me to ask. “They came to Moscow once.”

“Did you see them?” I asked.

Rome’s lip curled. “Not everyone came home from that concert. Too many people. Crushing.Crushing. Russia is not like the US. Ambulance do not come so quick back then.”

I snorted. “Ambulances don’t come too quick here either. Though you pay over a grand for the ride.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Your father was wealthy. When would you have to worry about cost?”

“Healthcare should be accessible to everyone.” I squirmed in my seat and avoided his gaze. “I bet you see lots of ambulances, being a Reaper and all.”

Rome rolled his head to the side, making an ‘eh’ face as he gestured with his hand.

“How does all this work, by the way?” I asked. “We can touch things. The people at the party could see me and talk to me, but when we went to the club, it was like we didn’t exist.”

Rome clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You ask so many questions. Why must you know how things work? You do not need to know the nature of the thing. You just have to do your job.”

I said nothing.

Rome, obviously bothered by the silence, began to speak. “Humans can only see us when it is expected for us to be seen, or if we want to be seen. If you go to the bar and order a drink, you will be seen. If you are at risk of being caught in the crossfire, you will not be seen.” Rome shrugged.

“Have you ever tested that theory?” I wondered.

Rome laughed. “Have I ever screamed for a doctor when someone dying? Or stood in the desert and prayed that someone would find the child that had been thrown from the car, as their parents lie on the road?”

“These situations are oddly specific,” I brushed my hair behind my ear, avoiding his eyes. The conversation was heavy, and my chest felt like someone pressed on it.

“Sometimes, you might wish you are a soul again.” He told me. “Without feelings. Without memories. It is not a great achievement to be a Reaper. It is not a job that people want.”

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