The Reaper's Ruin

CHAPTER FOUR

There were two things that Reapers just didn't do.

One: never leave without coffee. You never know how busy the day is going to get, because people needed help dying literally every second of the day. Shame on them, right?

Two: Help.

The only time it was acceptable to help was when it pertained to their job, which was strictly taking lives and handing them over to the afterlife. They didn't help people find their lost dogs, they didn't help people get their cats down from trees. They didn't help people find their missing children.

They only helped them move on.

That was it.

So when she asked that question, he snorted. He couldn't help himself. He snorted so hard his nose ached from it. She had to be joking. Ryker gave her a look, laughing even harder. She just had to be jok—oh. She wasn't. And going by how red her face was getting, she didn't appreciate being laughed at either.

He still had to chuckle, though. How naïve was she, that she was asking a stranger for help?

"Yeah, you know what—screw it. I'll figure this out on my own. Later, asshole." Then, in the same perfect fashion as last time, she flipped him the bird and turned on her heel if a huff. He watched her go, still trying to hold back a laugh, and watched as she dug around in her pocket.

Her hands shook as she drew out the phone.

Ryker watched her go, jaw ticking.

It wasn't often that he felt regret. Shit, all he did was orchestrate death. What happened after wasn't his business. He never had to worry about making people feel bad as long as he stayed away from funerals—which he gladly did.

So this...was a first.

He sighed, then jogged over to her.

"Hey," he said. When she ignored him, he said it louder. "Hey."

"Can you just back off?" she asked, refusing to look at him. She focused on her phone, and he could literally see her fingers shaking as she scrolled through her contacts.

"Mmm...nah." He casually reached over and swiped the phone out of her hand. "If you give me a call tomorrow, I might be able to help you. With what, I don't know. But...whatever. Just call tomorrow. I'm still busy tonight, so I won't be much help." He created a new contact and made a profile for himself with his number.

"You," she said, giving him a deadpan look. "You're going to help me?"

"Yeah, probably. I don't know. It's whatever." He looked at the wrist that didn't have a watched. "Well, look at the time. Gotta go, bye!"

As he stormed away, ignoring anything else she said, he wanted to punch himself. Since when did he offer to help people?

Never.

He never offered.

And the woman hated him so much he probably wasn't ever going to get that call. He laughed at himself—yeah, like he cared about getting a call from some stranger with a death wish. He totally cared.

Totally.

Ryker felt a buzz in his jeans, and immediately reached into his pocket.

The name on the phone was a familiar one.

So, it wasn't the woman.

He swiped to read the text, then sighed.

Emergency meeting. Willis Hotel, same conference room as last time. Starts in 10.