hoists me into the back seat. Everything aches as I sit on the stiff faux-leather seat.
“Jax,” I wheeze. “Give it to me.”
“No.”
Of all the times for her to go overprotective on me… “I messed up. I need another one to fix it.”
She purses her lips and shakes her head, but then she beckons my palm with a flutter of her fingers. My arm’s shaking so bad I have to prop it up at the elbow, but I hold my palm screen facing her. She pulls out her screen, taps something into it, then presses it to my shaking palm. I glance at the data she’s transferred: a handsome young man’s face shows up along with all the details about his illegal life energy hits. A quick peek at his bio says he’s older than he looks.
My next target.
“There,” she says. “But if you kill yourself, don’t come haunting me from the afterlife. I warned you.”
“Can’t die yet.” I give her a weak smile. “Still need to hear how you and Melinda met.”
She shakes her head like I’m hopeless and slams the cab door shut.
The whole ride home, I’m a freaking mess, but I manage to not get sick in the cab. In fact, I make it all the way to my seventy-fifth floor apartment before I lose it.
The morning sun is still bright when I collapse into bed.
I sleep hard the entire day. When I finally rouse from the bone-weary fatigue of the payout, the glittering nighttime lights of the city wink at me. I don’t know how much life energy I gave away… but I’m still alive. And I would do it again.
Jax was right: this new gig with Melinda is perfect for me. It’s not just the mercy hit, it’s the chance to make a true difference—if I can keep the government’s debt collectors from laying a palm on a mother of three fighting her way back from cancer, then I’ve plucked one more victim out of their death queue. It’s the kind of triumph that has my soul singing as I ease out of bed, even if my body drags like a three-day-old corpse.
I avoid looking in the mirror while I change out of the scrubs and wash away some of the fatigue. I’m munching dry toast to soothe my roiling stomach when the bellman rings and says I have a package. I tell him to send it up, then forget about it, too busy feeding the ravenous hunger that’s suddenly welled up. The door tones. By the time I get there, the bellman is gone, and there’s a familiar-looking bag sitting at the threshold.
My suit.
I grab it and punch the button to close the door. I hold the suit up against the skyline. They belong together, this shadow and a corrupt city of stolen lives. My bones are hollowed out, aching to be filled again, and I know just what do to about that. I pull up my palm screen, send a message to Miral saying she’s a genius, another message to Jax asking her to line up a new payout with Melinda, then I tap through until I bring up the specs on the target: Jarrod Hughes, waning actor, life energy addict and… regular donor to Collecting for Humanity. They’re the extreme opposite of Lifetime with their constant lobbying to deregulate life energy transfers. Not just the legal ones sanctioned by the government—they want to make it easier for the illegal trades, too.
Something deep inside me purrs at the idea of collecting this one. I toss the bag aside and stagger into the bathroom to put on the suit.
Getting into a movie star’s house in LA should be harder than simply using a few slashing tech tools to disable the alarms and picking a lock on the back door the old fashioned way. Unfortunately for actors like Jarrod Hughes, when your star fades, so does your money… and the ability to pay for high-end security.
I know I’m being stupid. A coastal breeze off the West Hollywood street outside bangs the patio door shut behind me, just emphasizing how impulsive this is. I’m still hung over from the last payout, my bones are like brittle twigs waiting to snap, and I haven’t given Jax time to case the target for me. But I’m floating on that
“Jax,” I wheeze. “Give it to me.”
“No.”
Of all the times for her to go overprotective on me… “I messed up. I need another one to fix it.”
She purses her lips and shakes her head, but then she beckons my palm with a flutter of her fingers. My arm’s shaking so bad I have to prop it up at the elbow, but I hold my palm screen facing her. She pulls out her screen, taps something into it, then presses it to my shaking palm. I glance at the data she’s transferred: a handsome young man’s face shows up along with all the details about his illegal life energy hits. A quick peek at his bio says he’s older than he looks.
My next target.
“There,” she says. “But if you kill yourself, don’t come haunting me from the afterlife. I warned you.”
“Can’t die yet.” I give her a weak smile. “Still need to hear how you and Melinda met.”
She shakes her head like I’m hopeless and slams the cab door shut.
The whole ride home, I’m a freaking mess, but I manage to not get sick in the cab. In fact, I make it all the way to my seventy-fifth floor apartment before I lose it.
The morning sun is still bright when I collapse into bed.
I sleep hard the entire day. When I finally rouse from the bone-weary fatigue of the payout, the glittering nighttime lights of the city wink at me. I don’t know how much life energy I gave away… but I’m still alive. And I would do it again.
Jax was right: this new gig with Melinda is perfect for me. It’s not just the mercy hit, it’s the chance to make a true difference—if I can keep the government’s debt collectors from laying a palm on a mother of three fighting her way back from cancer, then I’ve plucked one more victim out of their death queue. It’s the kind of triumph that has my soul singing as I ease out of bed, even if my body drags like a three-day-old corpse.
I avoid looking in the mirror while I change out of the scrubs and wash away some of the fatigue. I’m munching dry toast to soothe my roiling stomach when the bellman rings and says I have a package. I tell him to send it up, then forget about it, too busy feeding the ravenous hunger that’s suddenly welled up. The door tones. By the time I get there, the bellman is gone, and there’s a familiar-looking bag sitting at the threshold.
My suit.
I grab it and punch the button to close the door. I hold the suit up against the skyline. They belong together, this shadow and a corrupt city of stolen lives. My bones are hollowed out, aching to be filled again, and I know just what do to about that. I pull up my palm screen, send a message to Miral saying she’s a genius, another message to Jax asking her to line up a new payout with Melinda, then I tap through until I bring up the specs on the target: Jarrod Hughes, waning actor, life energy addict and… regular donor to Collecting for Humanity. They’re the extreme opposite of Lifetime with their constant lobbying to deregulate life energy transfers. Not just the legal ones sanctioned by the government—they want to make it easier for the illegal trades, too.
Something deep inside me purrs at the idea of collecting this one. I toss the bag aside and stagger into the bathroom to put on the suit.
Getting into a movie star’s house in LA should be harder than simply using a few slashing tech tools to disable the alarms and picking a lock on the back door the old fashioned way. Unfortunately for actors like Jarrod Hughes, when your star fades, so does your money… and the ability to pay for high-end security.
I know I’m being stupid. A coastal breeze off the West Hollywood street outside bangs the patio door shut behind me, just emphasizing how impulsive this is. I’m still hung over from the last payout, my bones are like brittle twigs waiting to snap, and I haven’t given Jax time to case the target for me. But I’m floating on that
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