Dying for a Living (A Jesse Sullivan Novel) Read Online Free Page B

times a day, but dreaming about the clever things I’d say to Brinkley at the moment of regaining my freedom was not the same as having him threaten me with unemployment. “It’s not like it’s raining zombies or anything.”
    “Don’t use that word!” His anger was back, unfurling just as fast as mine.
    “Fine. Necronites are like 2 in 100 people. You’ve managed to convince less than half of us saps to be death-replacement agents. Act like you can just call up an old friend to do my job. Puh -lease.”
    Silence filled the room, amplified by the whirl of the air conditioner seeping through the overhead vents. I’m not so good with silence so I just kept talking.
    “And if I was so replaceable, I wouldn’t work twice as much as the other agents.”
    His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I mean that I have to do twice as many replacement jobs as Cindy. And Cooper weasels his way out of a replacement every five minutes.”
    “I’m not their boss. I’m your boss.”
    Too late to turn back now. “The point is I work harder and I get yelled at more. That’s the definition of unfair.”
    Brinkley’s face went from white to red. “You don’t know how good you’ve got it.”
    “Clearly,” I huffed. Wasn’t I complaining enough?
    “Cooper is on a military contract,” Brinkley said. “He goes where they want, when they want. He doesn’t get a say about where he eats or sleeps. You and Cindy are both hired on as personal consultants. You should appreciate that.”
    I clucked, indignant. “Why?”
    “Cindy and Cooper have clocked five times as many hours as you in community service—in interviews, hospitals, police stations,” he continued, waving his hand. “They do that to protect you. All of you. A Necronite’s rights are void upon death in Utah and Alabama. They amended their state constitutions saying that once you die the first time, you don’t deserve rights anymore. You are no longer a person. What if they do that here in Tennessee? The bill is already drafted. And I can’t even trust you to behave in a five minute interview.”
    “Because you think I’m a social cripple. I don’t know why,” I said. I pointed at the feedback card on top. “This person gave me a three.”
    “Out of ten.”
    “Isn’t one the best?” I asked.
    “Ten is best,” he said. “And ten years is what you promised me.”
    The temperature shifted. An imaginary cube of ice slid down my spine and Brinkley’s eyes grew dangerously steady. When he went real still, real quiet like this, it freaked me out. If he were a cat, his tail would be flicking, signaling that he was about to pounce.
    When I didn’t answer, he moved closer. His large body blocked the light from the hallway, making the room darker and smaller. I was trapped.
    He placed his hands on his hips making himself look even bigger. His voice dropped. “After what I did for you, Sullivan, you owe me.”
    I looked up into his black eyes. “Do you enjoy blackmailing your slaves?”
    “Slavery is a life sentence,” he replied. “Which is what you’d be serving in the Illinois State Penitentiary if it wasn’t for me.”
    He was right of course.
    The suffocating smell of smoke and the sounds of sirens in the distance came back clear and sharp. Wooden rafters crashed down around me as the flesh of a man, charred and black, roasted in front of my very eyes. My very first death had been a barn fire—and not an accident.
    I only remember vague bits and pieces of my life before that death—I didn’t even remember Ally though she told me we’ve been friends since childhood. What few early memories I had were not of birthday parties or the prom.
    What I remembered was killing a man.
    I pushed against the memory until I was dizzy, grabbing the edge of the table without realizing it.
    Brinkley knew he’d won. “And don’t talk to me about your emotional suffering. What if I added a year to your contract for every ounce of grief you