I also didn’t expect that it meant me.
Apparently, neither did the Reapers.
When my death sends me to purgatory instead of heaven and my soul isn’t the one the Reaper was expecting, the only option available to me is to accept the position of a Reaper.
While being alive has its obvious advantage. It also turns out that being dead has benefits too.
Three companions that are mine to bond with: alpha Reed, Vicente the rogue, and sweet Archer.
While I may not be the exact fit the Reaper was expecting, apparently there is a position they are so desperate to fill that I get three hot as sin guys—demons—to call my own.
Call me crazy, but death just became as tempting as my demons.
One
The biggest problem with Halloween was the lack of decent costumes for someone that wasn’t a size zero.
What the fuck was that about?
The average American wasn’t a small, so why did stores carry a zillion costumes for the slim, and the second you got a curve, you were relegated to witches and ghosts—and not sexy witches and ghosts, either?
If this were California where every other person was an actor, then maybe I’d get it, but this was Florida: home of the all-you-can-eat buffets and a fast food restaurant on every corner.
And the thing these costume creators also didn’t consider?
That women had curves.
I was a size fourteen and finding a sexy costume had been hard enough until I had to factor in my boobs getting in the outfit. I really felt for the women who were a little bigger. Why was it so hard to acknowledge that women of all shapes and sizes wanted to feel sexy?
But this girl had not only inherited her mamá’s curves, but her abuela’s ingenuity.
I’d spent one day searching the stores in Miami for Halloween costumes, and then turned to the online stores during my lunch break.
At the age of thirty-two, it was entirely possible that most people would say I was too old to get excited about Halloween parties, but it was my second favorite holiday after Miami’s carnival—and yes, that was a legitimate holiday in my calendar.
I had the world’s most boring job.
Eight to five, Monday through Friday, working for the IRS. And not even one of the exciting jobs.
Bilingual File Supervisor.
But it paid the bills and funded my fun-seeking.
And tonight’s fun-seeking was a secret costume party at Miami City Cemetery. Secret in that the only people that didn’t know about it were the police. Apparently, even the dead had an open invitation.
The theme for tonight was the movies.
I was going as Elle Woods in her iconic Playboy bunny outfit from Legally Blonde—my favorite movie. The stores might not have wanted me to wear an outfit like this, but I was rocking the little pink corset with all my curves.
Maybe it wasn’t the most Halloween-themed movie inspiration I could have gone for, but I didn’t give a crap. There was nothing on that invitation stating that it had to be.
With my music on loud, moving around my one-bed apartment in just a towel, I started getting ready. Everything had been planned precisely ensuring I was ready to drive to my friend’s house so we could arrive at the party fashionably late.
First, I pinned back my damp hair. It was cut short, resting just below my chin, so it was easy to slick back and get the hairnet on. And then came the wig with long blonde curls.
Next was makeup. Pink wasn’t normally what I’d choose to wear on my lips. My golden skin suited darker colors better, but tonight, I was fully embracing Elle.
Hot pink pantyhose, I had to be careful not to tear with the long and pointed acrylic nails I had on. The pale pink corset with the newly attached fluffy tail and matching high heels which nearly had me hitting six feet, and to finish off my look, of course, were bunny ears.
Finally, my personal touch to the costume: a garter belt phone holder with an additional pocket for my lipstick.
Hell yes, I rocked this outfit.
Elle Woods would have been proud.
Looking like the queen that I felt, I locked up my apartment and went down to my parking spot.
One of the many things I loved about Miami was the heat. Even in fall, it was warm. Which meant this girl didn’t need a jacket. Outside, the night sky was clear. There wasn’t a full moon—apparently, they were super rare on Halloween—and thanks to the city lights, I could barely see stars.
But it was a perfect night for a party in a cemetery.
Tonight, I was driving. Sort of.
My best friend Claudia lived within walking distance of the cemetery, and even better, her apartment came with two parking spaces. I was going to drive over, park, get crazy drunk, and then stumble back to her apartment—or a lucky vampire’s apartment.
Or maybe even Superman’s. This bunny had been surviving with her rabbit for far too long. I wasn’t going to discriminate between fictional movie characters tonight.
That was the plan … until I saw the flat tire.
Irritating was an understatement.
Even if I was prepared to break a nail, which was highly likely with my talons, my car didn’t have a spare tire. Instead, I had a premium service with the garage to come out and fix my breakdowns and flat tires.
A premium service which, after forty minutes on hold with a static-ridden knockoff of a Rolling Stones song, I was put through to some unsympathetic guy who couldn’t get a truck out to me until the morning because I was ‘at home and not at risk.’
Not at risk?
I was at risk of not getting to one of the hottest parties of the year. And let’s be honest, this year had sucked sweaty balls.
“Fuck you,” I muttered as I hung up. Instead of putting the phone away, I called Claudia.
“Neva Guerrero, if I look out my window, you’d better be there because you’re late.” Claudia had a high-pitched voice that raised in octaves the more she drank. Judging from her tone, she’d been pre-gaming.
“I have a flat,” I told her, feeling as deflated as my tire. “And it’s staying like that until tomorrow. Can you come and get me?”
“I can’t drive. You said you’d drive, and I’ve been getting ready with a whole lot of rum.”
Called it.
“Then I’m going to have to get a taxi,” I told her.
“On Halloween?” Claudia snorted. “Good luck with that. It would be quicker walking.”
“Just go to the party. There’s no sense in us both being late. I’ll call you when I get there.”
If I wasn’t wearing cute and expensive shoes, I would have kicked my flat tire. Instead, I hung up and started calling various taxi companies. Even Uber had a four hour wait.
The guy turning up to fix my tire was likely to turn up before one of those did.
Which left the bus.
Okay, I was a little bit of a snob when it came to public transportation. I was a girl who liked the privacy of my air-conditioned car. Especially when I was dressed like I was.
But my love of fun won out.
There was a bus stop just down from my apartment, and the number nine would take me almost all the way.
The situation sucked, but I was going to hold my head high the whole way there. Including the walk over to the bus stop.
Unfortunately, there was someone else waiting for the bus. Dressed as a grim reaper, with a large scythe; their face hidden by the black hood of their costume, they barely moved. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could hear them muttering under the hood, I could easily have mistaken them for a statue, or a spooky Halloween decoration.
I stood to one side. Yes, there was a chance they were going to the same party as me, but that guy was creepy as fuck.
The digital display on the top of the bus shelter told me I had ten minutes to wait with this guy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t worth heading back to my apartment. Besides, the bus stop was right in front of a gas station.
A 7-Eleven… I c
ould wait in there for a couple of minutes.
As I stepped away from the bus stop and started to walk over the lot, the reaper moved, watching me from under the shadows of his hood.
Going into 7-Eleven was a good move.
A bell jingled jauntily as I pushed the door open and walked in. Almost instantly I was greeted by a wall of air conditioning. It sent a shiver down my spine as my body quickly readjusted to the temperature change.
The cashier’s gaze locked with mine, giving me the strangest look—apparently, I was the only one who had gone in wearing a costume tonight…
Ignoring him, I moved down an aisle to find some gum. There was no harm in being prepared for when I achieved my goal later.
The doorbell jingled once more, and I looked to find the reaper guy had followed me in.
His face was still hidden beneath the hood.
My heart picked up its pace. This was too weird to be a coincidence, and I no longer had the desire to get on the bus, especially if the creeper reaper was going to follow me on that too.
Or maybe I could just be direct and scare him off. Better to be wrong and embarrassed than right and dead…
“Are you following me?” I asked in a loud voice, hoping to draw the attention of the cashier.
From under the hood, I saw dark eyes go wide, but instead of listening to his response, my attention was caught by a flash from the front of the store.
Light reflecting off the metal of a gun.
“Look out!” I grabbed the reaper’s sleeve and shoved him to the side as the gunfire crack echoed loudly around the store.
Two
I’d tried both CrossFit and Insanity, and while both had caused me immeasurable pain in muscles that I didn’t even know I had, neither compared to how much I hurt.
“Pollas en vinagre.” I groaned. Opening my eyes, grateful that I could, even though my head was pounding, I stared up at the sky.
Why was I lying on the ground?
Why was I outside?
Groaning, I sat upright. Across the street from 7-Eleven.
Rubbing at the back of my head, though the action wasn’t really doing much thanks to my wig still in place, I stared at the building in confusion.
Why was I across the street from the gas station?
I closed my eyes and tried to work through my muddled thoughts.
There had been a guy—dressed as a reaper—and he’d given me the heebie-jeebies, so I’d gone into the gas station. He’d followed me and … “I was shot?”
My eyes flew open, and I looked down at myself. I was still wearing the Elle Woods homage outfit, and there was no blood anywhere.
No, I hadn’t been shot.
“And she’s back with us.”
The cicadas were performing their orchestral symphony in surround sound, accompanied by a steady stream of passing traffic, but the low voice beside me made me screech.
Clutching at my heart, I stared up at the tall, thin man. His golden hair was slicked back off his forehead, giving me a clear view of his face. There were a couple of lines around his blue eyes, but I wouldn’t have thought him much older than forty.
He wore a pair of dark pants—I couldn’t tell if they were black or blue—paired with a pale blue tartan vest. Underneath was a crisp white shirt. Although the night was warm, he not only had his top button fastened, but he was wearing a tie in the same pattern as his vest.
There was no doubt that the guy was as yummy as a churro, but he was leaning against a streetlight, watching me.
Me … a woman who had been lying unconscious and potentially injured, in the middle of the street.
“I’m okay, thanks.” I got to my feet. “Don’t worry about me.”
He frowned, looking up at the sky as though thinking hard, and then looked back at me. “I don’t recall asking, love.”
He had an accent. English.
“That’s the point I was making.”
Strangely, even though he was definitely irritating, there was a sense of calmness about him. Even though I probably should have been at least a little nervous, I wasn’t.
I leaned over and brushed myself off. As my hands swept over the hot pink fabric covering my legs, I couldn’t stop my frown. My pantyhose were intact. Not a run in sight.
When I got back home, I was going to fish the packaging out of the trash and make sure I only bought this brand going forward because damn.
Sucking in a deep breath, I straightened. “I guess I should call an ambulance or something?” Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I needed to. My body still ached, but otherwise, I felt fine. I was standing in my four-inch heels, which also were miraculously unscuffed.
It just seemed like calling an ambulance and getting checked out was the natural thing to do. No, priorities … The police were who I needed to call.
“It’s a bit late for that.”
Barely paying attention to the guy behind me, I was focused on my phone.
Or the lack thereof.
Both my phone and my lipstick were missing from my fancy garter belt. “Fuck bunnies.”
“Fuck … bunnies?”
Thirty seconds late, my brain registered what he had said. Only it didn’t make sense. I turned and stared at him. “What did you say?”
“What you said.” He shrugged. “What on earth is a fuck bunny?” He stared back at me, and then, slowly, his eyes grew wide. Tilting his head, he looked me up and down. “Never mind.”
If my brain wasn’t still trying to process what he’d said—before he had repeated me—I would have had a few choice words to say to him.
“It’s a bit late for that. What does that mean?”
“It means calling an ambulance would be of no use as you are DOA.”
Maybe I did need to call an ambulance. I’d never had a concussion before, but I was beginning to suspect I had hit my head pretty hard at some point. “DOA? Doesn’t that mean dead on arrival?”
The man nodded.
Except I wasn’t dead.
And I was now dealing with crazy when there were other things I needed to deal with.
I wasn’t sure if I’d hallucinated being shot at, and I sure as hell had no clue how I’d ended up out here, but if something had happened in that store, I needed to go and check that everyone was alright.
“Okay, well, nice meeting you.” Spinning on my heel, I hurried across the road.
Halfway there, I glanced over my shoulder.
The man had stepped off the curb and was following after me with slow but deliberate strides. “Are you really going back in there?” he called after me.
Sirens in the distance started to get louder. If they were coming here, then something had happened. I couldn’t see the cashier—or anyone. “I have no idea why I’m out here, but someone might be hurt in there.”
I reached for the door handle, and my hand went straight through it.
“Tu puta madre en bicicleta…” I muttered, staring at my hand.
“Hmmm. I always underappreciate the Spanish language.” The blond man was back beside me.
“What did you do to me?” I demanded as I tried to back away from him.
Okay, something wasn’t right here, including my reaction to whatever it was.
And why on earth did this guy still feel so calming?
Think, Neva.
Logical explanation …
Concussion? Maybe I’d fallen and hit my head on a shelf? I rubbed at my head, but despite the throbbing inside, I couldn’t find a tender spot.
Maybe I had fallen, hit my head on a shelf, and knocked myself out? Which meant this was a dream…?
The blond man who had been following me folded his arms. “This is really what they chose?” he muttered under his breath, distain in his voice.
“Who are you?” I asked, keeping some distance between us.
“What.”
“Is that like some weird Doctor?”
The man rolled his eyes. “What. What is what you should be a
sking. What am I?”
“A psychopath? A lunatic? A murderer?”
For the first time, I saw the hint of a smile as the man’s mouth turned up ever so slightly in the corners. “Interesting assumption considering you don’t know me, love. I’m not a psychopath nor a lunatic, thank you very much. As for a murderer, they’re already dead when I meet them.”
Beside me, I clenched my hands into fists. Even under his shirt, I could see that this guy had muscles, and I might be a curvy woman, but I was probably no match for him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to punch him if I needed to. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m a reaper, and you’re dead.”
Slowly, my head cocked to the side as I looked at his handsome face. “That was you under the hood?”
“Have you seen this outfit, love? I am not hiding this under a fecking robe. Although …” he held up a hand. “I will admit that I thought I was here to collect the reaper-wannabe because that seemed like a joke.” He looked me up and down. “I got the fuck bunny instead.”
I tilted my head, peering up at him. “That wasn’t you?”
“Nope, that was a coincidence.”
There was something in his words that made absolute sense.
At the same time, it was the craziest thing I’d heard, and there was still a logical explanation as to what was going on here. I just hadn’t found it yet.
A police car squealed into the parking lot. I ran over as the door opened. “Excuse me, I need your help.”
As the cop ignored me—or rather, didn’t seem to see me—the blond man let out a loud, harassed sigh. “You’re dead. That’s why I’m here.”
“Fuck you.”
He folded his arms and cocked his hip as he tapped his foot. “Fine. I’ll wait.”
In the deepest part of my mind, there was a little voice pointing out that I was in denial, but I wasn’t ready to listen to it.
I was thirty-two years old, for fuck’s sake. That was too young to die. I had plans.
Tonight, just tonight, I was supposed to be at an epic Halloween party.
A house. I was saving to buy a house, and my grand plan had that happening in the next three years. I couldn’t do that if I were dead.
Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection Page 59
