Page 61 of Hell on Wheels

“You should be,” Patriot responded as all the Reapers made an appearance at the same time. Five skeletal visages popped into view. The minimal tissue over the bones was fucking macabre. The kind of shit you saw in horror movies, only this was real life.

“Fuck me,” Torin cursed.

“Don’t piss your pants, man,” Wraith laughed.

“What the fuck are you guys?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Rael asked with annoyance.

“Reapers,” Grim answered. “The real grim reapers.”

“Holy shit,” Torin exclaimed. “Okay. Wow. Fuck.”

“So don’t make me want to reap your soul,” Rael grumbled.

“Yeah. Shit. Fine.” Torin backed away. “You ready, Flint?”

“It’s Maddog,” I corrected.

“The new president of the Royal Bastards in Las Vegas,” Patriot added.

“So give him your respect.”

That last sentence came from Wraith.

“Christ. You’re all fucking touchy.”

I slid my gun back into the holster and pulled out my phone. “Give me a minute to call Lark.”

“Let her know we’re checking this shit out together.”

I frowned. “The point isn’t to worry her, asshole.”

Torin chuckled. “Good point.”

I called Lark’s number, surprised when it rang about ten times before going to voicemail. That seemed odd. I figured she would have been waiting for me to check in since she was anxious about Molly.

“She’s not picking up.”

I sent off a couple of texts.

“Try her again. Maybe she had a few beers to relax,” Torin suggested.

I had the weirdest feeling in my gut. Hitting redial, I listened to the phone ringing again. On the seventh ring, someone answered.

It wasn’t Lark.

Spook’s anxious voice filtered through the line. “Maddog?”

“Hey, Spook. Where’s Lark?”

“I don’t know. I heard the phone ringing and thought it was odd, so I picked it up and saw your name.”

“She’s not with you?”

“No, man. Haven’t seen her for about two hours now.”

Shit. That feeling in my gut deepened.