HELLBOUND HUBULLS
S. CINDERS
CHAPTER ONE
MAX
Dying isn’t supposed to be funny. One minute, I’m licking the inside of my boss’s thigh; the next, I’m watching my body slump over it.
“Stop screwing around—I’ve got a board meeting,” Jessica snapped.
I wanted to tell her the joke was on both of us. Sadly, she wouldn’t be achieving herlittle deathwith me. I’d just experienced a big one of my own.
“She’s a real piece of work. I’m not sure what you saw in her.”
The voice nearly had me jumping out of my skin—or would have, if I were still inside it. I turned to see a fat, balding guy in a dirty wife-beater with an inch and a half of hairy belly hanging over soiled jeans.
I snorted. “You’re the Grim Reaper?”
“You think it’s funny?” he sneered, showing rotten teeth and exhaling foul breath. “Look at you—ass hanging out there for everybody to see. I bet your mother will be so proud.”
The smile slid off my face.
“My mother won’t care one way or another,” I said shortly. “And as for Jessica, I saw a seven-figure salary and a Jaguar. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His greasy smile spread, revealing several missing teeth. “None of my business, you’re right about that. Now then—let’s get you down to your final destination. Shall we?”
Down? Hell no.
“Wait!” Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly. “Aren’t you supposed to take meup? To heaven? And how did I die, anyway?”
I didn’t want to brag, but I was Max Robbins. Not only had I made full partner at Banks, Low & Stanthorpe Law Firm—thanks to regular visits with Jessica and her milky thighs—but I was built like a god. Shit, this body was in high demand. I was a triathlete and worked out six days a week.
Also, I knew a thing or two about how this heaven business was supposed to work. It had been shoved down my throat by my mother from the moment I slipped out of her birth canal.
The Reaper laughed—a big belly laugh that didn’t sit well with me. “Aneurysm. And yeah, I said ‘down.’”
Not only was he mocking me, but at that precise moment, Jessica realized I wasn’t just messing around. She shoved at my shoulder, muttering something about interns having more stamina—then the screaming began, making anything the Reaper said beyond that point impossible to hear.
With a salacious grin, he reached out and grabbed my shoulder. Suddenly, Jessica’s office, my dead body, and everything familiar vanished. In its place: a cavernous, dimly lit room faintly resembling my college administration building. The biggest difference was the smell.
It was like someone had left Easter eggs out in the August sun—an uninvited guest no one would want. It didn’t take a genius to know this wasn’t heaven.
Dear God. Had my mother been right all along? Was I a reprobate?
“Grim,” I began, the lawyer in me knowing my case was sinking fast—but he cut me off.
“It’s Steve,” he said, scratching his sweat-stained stomach and hiking his filthy shirt up another inch. “I’maGrim Reaper, nottheGrim Reaper. There’s more than one. We all have jobs down here.”
I stepped back. Steve looked like he needed anti-itch cream and maybe antibiotics for the little red dots with white centers speckling his skin. Ugh. Was that staph? Could dead people still catch staph?
I wanted to vomit.
He followed my gaze and yanked his shirt down. “Listen, kid. It’s your lucky day.”
Surely he was joking. I barked a laugh. “I’m dead, genius. My asshole is probably winking at the other partners at the firm, and I just landed in hell. What could possibly be lucky about that?”
Steve grinned, showing once again how his dental hygiene was no better than his physical hygiene. “It’s the last day of the Hellbound HuBulls tryouts. Every guy in hell’s been vying for a spot with the HHB. Most inbound residents have to wait months, sometimes years, for this chance. But you—lucky son of a biscuit—you show up on the last day of tryouts. See? You’re lucky.”
