A slight smile.
A dangerous smile.
That gentle touch at the back of my neck turned vicious, bruising. His eyes dark, cold.
“I think you knowwhat, Gemma.”
He stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans like I was dirty.
When you’re indebted to the Horsemen, you sign your life away until the contract is fulfilled. Each contract was different, tailored to the person, but one thing remained the same: you did whatever they demanded, laws and morals be damned, until your term was up. If you didn’t? Death was the least of your problems.
But five years ago I didn’t get that choice.
I didn’t sign shit. I didn’tchooseshit.
The Reaper decided he wanted me, so he took me.
Grim pulled my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his black stare. “What’s the deal, Rich Girl?”
I had every intention of pushing him off, but then that thing happened, thatGrimthing. Where I couldn’t breathe. All I saw was the gleam in his eyes, like he could see the skip in my heartbeat as if he’d thrown the stone that put it there.
“My life belongs to you…my death is yours to take.”
THREE
GEMMA
Five years ago I fell underwater and never came up. I live in a place no one can imagine exists, all the while walking side by side with them as Gemma Crowne.
I live in the Underworld.
I live on borrowed time.
In my time being enslaved to the Reaper, I’ve done many dark deeds to pay off my dark debt. I made my sister think I slept with the love of her life, so I could get his journal and give it to Grim.
At the time I didn’t know why Grim wanted it. Now I knew it was to blackmail a politician.
I’ve given them information on my grandfather, on Crowne family finances.
I’ve stolen from my friends’ houses.
I’ve done so many things, I’ve lost count. Grim asked, I delivered. My soul was already shadowed, now it was oily and tainted. The dirty truth? None of these things fazed mein the slightest. I actually…likeddoing it. It added sparks of color into my numb, gray life?—
My double doors flew open, and along with them came a flurry of people and cameras. I shrieked, pulling my covers over my head, assuming there was some kind ofseriouslapse in security at Crowne Hall, when the unmistakably soft and sonorous voice of Tansy Crowne came.
“Hereshe is!” my mother said. “You were supposed be downstairs an hour ago—” She broke off, covering her lips with her always-nude manicured hand.
“Mom?” I peeled the covers past my nose. “What the hell?”
My mother waved an outstretched hand in my direction. A murder of aestheticians descended. They pulled me out of bed, tugged at my shirt, assessed my fingernails.
I winced as someone pulled my hair.
A camera flashed in my face and I shoved everyone away. “Get off!”
“GemmaAntionette!”
Antionette.
