Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5) by Kory M. Shrum Page B

Duncan,” Nivedha flirts.
    I don’t speak until the elevator doors close. “Sorry I’m underdressed.”
    She smiles. “It’s nice actually. To see you a little less beautiful than usual.”
    “Chaplain had good taste in women.”
    Her face blanches and she says nothing.
    When we step off the elevator we are greeted by a miniature foyer. More marble and an ornate door serve as the centerpiece. Two large plants stand erect on either side of a door marked “8”.
    Nivedha twists a key in a lock, and I hear a television for the first time. My heart lurches. It didn’t occur to me that anyone else would be here.
    But when we cross the threshold into the living quarters and slip down a hallway past a mahogany desk and a gilded mirror, I see that the large living space complete with New York view is empty. The television is playing for no one.
    “Where’s your man?” I ask casually.
    “Oh he isn’t here,” she says, stopping between the rectangular glass coffee table and the long white sofa with rolled arms. On the coffee table rests a stone Buddha holding a remote. “He won’t be home until late. We won’t be disturbed.”
    “Good,” I say with a wicked smile. “It’s easier if we aren’t disturbed. But first things first: do you have a dress I can borrow?”
    Nivedha frowns, looking me up and down. “I don’t think I have anything in your size.”
    The urge to snap my fingers and twist her head is overwhelming. I take a deep breath. “You’re right. Who has time to talk about dresses? We should get right to business.” Because I’m going to kill you and take that damn dress off your dead body if I have to.
    “Yeah, okay.” Nivedha’s face darkens with her misery. She plops down on the couch as if all her strength has left her. Pulling a mauve throw pillow into her lap, she cradles it against her body.
    She turns her brown eyes up to meet mine and again I see the girl from long ago, curled into a ball beside me, sobbing uncontrollably. I had reached out and placed one hand on her hair. It was crusted with her blood and would remain so until we were taken one by one, scrubbed, and dressed again.
    She prayed in a language I didn’t understand, but I knew prayers when I heard them. It’s begging all the same.
    “Shhh,” I said and ran a hand down her back, my knuckles trailing over her spine. “Shhhhh.”
    My consolations were pathetic.
    “My name’s Rachel.” It was the first time I’d spoken to anyone in eighteen days. “What’s your name?”
    “Nivedha Parvarti. Or I was, but I’ve died and woken up and this is hell. Surely this is hell!”
    Boy, had she been right about that.
    Niv opens her palms. Light swirls in the center of each, growing brighter until her entire hands are eclipsed by it. Her wrists and forearms making a torch for the strange luminescence. She holds them up for me to see, gazing into my face with such despair. Then she says the exact same words she said to me so long ago.
    “Rachel, what’s happening to me?”

Chapter 14
    Jesse
    W hen you’re gone…when you’re gone…when…
    Every time I replay Nikki’s words in my head, it’s accompanied by a slew of violent urges. I want to slap the spit out of her mouth for starters. Then I want to burn her hair off. Her hair and eyebrows, and then maybe break her fingers one at a time until—I’m gone .
    The hate abates and what I’m left with is…what? Shock? I can’t wrap my head around the idea of gone . Dead. Like dead dead. What does that even mean?
    Is it because I’ve died and resurrected over a hundred times that I just can’t comprehend what dead means? Brinkley died. And now he’s gone . I can’t call him. I can’t talk to him. I can’t see his face. And when I’m gone, what? Where will I go? What the hell will I be doing with my sudden abundance of free time?
    When I die now, I’m with Gabriel. It’s like dreaming. We talk. He shows me things like ethereal landscapes. Scenarios. Before Gabriel