Turns out if you can manage to break the stone, then you break the claim of the Grim Reaper. One of the new Escorts figured it out. It got him Recalled. It got me into this predicament.
“I want more than my usual cut,” I said. Punishment or not, if I pulled this off I wanted what I earned. “Ten million.”
“That’s a lot of money,” G.R. replied, leaning back in his chair as he appraised me. “You’re in no position to be making demands.”
I shrugged. “You’re convinced I’ll fail anyway. Who cares how much I ask for?”
Again, he rested chin atop his fingers. “Fine. Ten million.”
I resisted the urge to smile.
“You get six months. Get into her life. Get into her bank accounts. Make sure when she is dead, it’s all yours. And if you succeed…” He paused and looked at me. “Then I’ll overlook your betrayal.”
My betrayal? He acted like I was the one who broke his claim, who bested him. All I did was keep my mouth shut. If I had known I was going to be punished like this, then I would’ve made it worth it.
“Fine. I’ll take the job.” Like I really had a choice.
G.R. clapped his hands like a kid on Christmas morning. “Wonderful.”
Yeah, great. Not only was I given the most impossible Target ever, but I was also being sentenced to this icy, dark prison that was Alaska.
I gripped the file and headed for the door. I was ready to go.
“Oh, Charming,” G.R. called behind me.
I turned.
“You remember the rules. You fail, you get Recalled. You get caught or put in jail, I won’t come get you. I’ll let you rot in a cell until your body dies or you get out, and then I’ll come get you… to Recall you. Basically, if you do anything but complete the job, life as you know it is over.”
I left the room, closing the massive double wooden doors behind me. I took a moment to lean against them, sagging under the weight of this new assignment. I allowed myself maybe thirty seconds of wallowing before pushing away from the door and straightening.
He thought he had me. He thought he had a way—a reason—to finally get the best of me.
He was wrong.
Game on.
Chapter Two
“Hate - to feel hostility or animosity toward.”
Frankie
Sugar. I needed more of it if I was going to make it through this day. The chocolate croissant and caramel latte I had this morning wasn’t near enough to combat the massive lines, the noise, and disgruntled people that filled the DMV. Whatever in hell made me think that working at the Department of Motor Vehicles, here in Alaska, was a good idea?
Maybe it was the good pay. Maybe it was because I got weekends off.
Or maybe it was because I had a moment of temporary insanity that unfortunately coincided with me saying, “I accept,” when I got offered this job.
Besides the fact that the lines were permanently out the door, the computer systems were temperamental at best, and my boss was a complete broom rider, my stash of chocolate and Sour Patch Kids was empty.
That meant someone was going to die today.
I glanced back up at the ninety-year-old woman whose head barely cleared the insanely high counters we stood behind and tried to hold on to my patience. “Mrs. Eldridge,” I said extremely loudly. “Like I told you last week, you have to go and get new glasses before I can renew your driver’s license.”
“I have new glasses,” she insisted.
Lord, save me now.
