Never Fear the Reaper: The Bargaining: A Never Fear the Reaper Series, #2

By Ashley Pagano

They say, when one door closes another one . . . lets out a whole, hell fire of demons. However this is just another day in the lives of Chase and Ryder.

For Ryder, death was only the beginning. But doing it over and over again can become a little redundant. The paranormal is the only thing she’s ever known, so adding a little romance to it, completely and totally throws her off.

For Chase he's focused on getting a hold of his powers while falling deeper in love with Ryder. As if finding true love isn't hard enough, hell has its way of trying to put their romance on hold. Then add in the handsome and composed, which is something that Chase is not, Deputy who joins their rag tag team.

Things instantly get a little bit chaotic and heated. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Sep 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945910395

Book preview

Never Fear the Reaper 2:

The Bargaining

Ashley Pagano

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Never Fear the Reaper2: The Bargaining

Copyright © 2017 Ashley Pagano

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-945910-39-5

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Rie Langdon

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

To Eric

Fearless romantic turned loving husband,

dream-catcher, hand-holder, tea-bringer, stress-soother,

my partner in crime, the world’s greatest father,

bravely helping me through this world as well as

all my imaginary ones.

CHAPTER 1: ONLY PHYSICALLY, I FEEL NO PAIN

Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...

The repetitive, digital reminder—that I’m still alive and kicking—slowly pulls me out of my brief sleep. I blink away the grogginess of the ten-minute nap that I’ve managed to squeeze in, between blood pressure and monitor checks.

With tired eyes, I glance up at the nurse, who aggressively wraps the thick, nylon blood pressure strap around my bicep. It tightens around my arm with uniform pulses. Next, I watch as she slides her cold stethoscope against my skin. I can feel the hairs on my arm stand up as the cool metal brushes against them. Honestly, what does she think has changed from the last time she checked, less than an hour ago? I feel completely fine; the morphine has made sure of that. However, the bulky cast that encompasses my entire foot is the only reminder that these last few weeks have actually happened. Its white plaster armor climbs all the way up my leg and past my kneecap, making it impossible to bend or move it at all.

It’s been three long days since a demon gnawed, almost completely, through my ankle. Since then, I’ve been rushed to the hospital and undergone emergency surgery to reconstruct the bones, arteries, and tissue inside my ankle. Thankfully, I’m told the surgery was a success and I should, after months of physical therapy, have 75-80% percent mobility back in my foot. I’m not entirely sure what that means but the number appears high enough to put me at ease. Although the thought of never being able to walk, skate, or fight the same way again sneaks unpleasantly into my head from time to time. It instantly forms a lump, so big in my throat, that I find myself unable to swallow.

The nurse finishes up her quick exam by adding two unknown bags of fluid to my multiple IVs. I swear, I have more IVs and cords coming out of me then I can count, none of which I know what they are, but they must be doing something, because I’m still alive and I still feel no pain. In fact, I don’t feel much of anything.

Seconds after the smug nurse prances out of my room without saying a word to me, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Its obnoxious vibrations send it teetering back and forth against the fake wood surface. Lit up across its screen is the same name I’ve seen over fifty times since I’ve been lying here: RYDER. She has sent me countless texts, called numerous times, and left multiple voice messages, none of which I’ve picked up or responded to. There’s a certain resentment I have toward her at the moment. I’ve nearly died, I’m in pretty bad condition now, and I may never walk the same again; still, she’s yet to show her face. Saying Are you okay, how are you feeling, please forgive me for not coming, and I’m sorry I can’t be there do not have the same effect as comforting me in person. I know she fears hospitals because there’s so much death present and that the Grim Reaper is probably lurking around every corner, but if the roles were reversed, I’d face my fears for her. Realizing that the same level of dedication in our relationship isn’t reciprocated makes me even more upset.

I twist my mouth as I fight off the urge to pick up the call, yet again, just to hear her voice. There’s no denying that I miss her, but in my current vulnerable state, I feel like I must make a point. Finally, the screen goes black, the number of missed calls increases by one, and my hospital room falls silent. However, it does not stay that way for long.

Chase! A familiar voice startles me. Shit, I know exactly who it is without even looking up. Oh my God, Chase, are you all right?!?! I was so worried about you!

I glance up in her direction. Rushing through the doorway with fuming strides is my disheveled mother.

What the hell did you do? Her voice quickly changes its pitch from concern to disapproval as she approaches my bedside. But before I can answer, she continues to scold. What is this? What happened? The nurse told me you were in some kind of fight. That you were attacked by an animal or something?

Mom, I’m fine. I respond with extreme exhaustion in my voice. But of course my answer is not up to her satisfaction.

"Fine? You sure as hell don’t look fine! I had no idea where you were or what happened to you after you didn’t come home for the past three days! Three whole days, Chase! She follows her interrogation by snatching my cell phone off the nightstand, turning it on, and waving it around. This doesn’t look broken, now does it? You do know what these things are used for, right? I had to find out what happened to you from the police! The police, Chase!"

I’m sorry, Mom. My voice is shaky. God, the woman makes me feel so guilty, when I should just be happy to see her. You’d think she’d be thankful that I’m okay.

Jesus, Chase, look at your leg! She finally scans over my injury and then cradles her face in her hands.

I know she’s looking for an extensive explanation but I’m reluctant to give her one. My whole childhood of hearing voices, seeing figures that no one else could, and her looking at me like I was completely insane fight their way back into my head and in my imagination, stitch my mouth shut. I want to tell her, I have to tell her, but I fear that same look will haunt me all over again.

I can see tears trailing down her cheeks as she begins to unravel in front of me. Chase, why won’t you talk to me? You’ve been so distant lately and then you end up here. What has happened to us? What are you not telling me?

Oh great, as if I couldn’t feel any worse. I’ve just been a little preoccupied lately, Mom.

She looks at me perplexed, unblinkingly staring me down.

And then it just spews out, as if I’m digitally hard-wired to succumb to any of her motherly requests. I was with Ryder. I was helping her.

Ryder? Isn’t that that ghost-hunter girl?

Her reaction is so loud that it causes the snotty nurse to poke her head back into my room. Everything all right in here?

I shoot the nurse a guilty look. Yes, we’re okay. My mother is just a bit distraught.

What the hell were you doing with Ryder? My mother leans in discreetly, and whispers aggressively. However, her whisper is just as loud as her normal speaking voice.

Like I said, I was helping her disband a batch of other ghosts, poltergeists, and demons. We’ve actually helped a bunch of people, including the police.

Why do you want to get mixed up in all that, Chase? Look how dangerous it is! Look how it hurt you and Sherry! She wails hysterically.

Mom, it’s what I’m good at. I happen to have abilities similar to Ryder’s so—

She cuts me off before I can piece together the rest of my explanation. Chase, come on! She rolls her eyes dramatically, giving me a small taste of that you’re crazy expression from the past.

"No, Mom! All my life, I’ve ignored the fact that I could see or hear things that you and Sherry couldn’t, including the poltergeist that was haunting her. I’ve pushed any and all suspicions to the back of my head, or convinced myself that it was just my mind playing tricks on me. All the while it was real. Now I’ve finally met someone who can do the same, and I found something where I can exercise my abilities. I’m just angry all this didn’t happen sooner!" I fold my arms across my crinkled hospital gown, pressing down on the entanglement of tubes beneath it. My defensive reaction was meant to put her in her place and I secretly pray it has served its purpose. I follow it up by coldly staring her down.

Holy shit, Chase, why can’t you see this is not the right career path for you? What really happened to you, because we both know you weren’t attacked by a damn animal? And tell me you aren’t dating that girl, please tell me that much! My mother’s looming stare cuts right through me, judging every inch of me, and truly belittling me as a man.

Mom, please do not patronize me! I’m twenty-seven years old and fully capable of making important decisions about my life. I’m just now realizing my true potential. Not to mention, even though I’m sitting in a hospital bed, I’ve never been so happy in my entire life.

Those shocking words surprise even me as they slide out. It’s true: for the first time ever, my life has meaning. I’m actually a part of something epic, and I finally feel like I belong in this makeshift profession. Also, I do believe I’m in love. I’ve never been in love before but the fact that I haven’t seen or talked to Ryder in three days is physically painful: more unbearable than my actual injury. Every minute that I sit in silence, in my hospital room, is a personal battle against my own fingers, fighting them not to text her back or dial her number. That aching torture has to be love.

"Chase, I will not tolerate this. Not in my house. You can’t possibly pursue a career that can harm you and you certainly cannot run off with that type of girl!" She shakes her head belligerently, so much so that it rocks her whole body.

That type of girl? Of course I ignore everything else she’s said and only focus on the Ryder part. I don’t understand this. Why do I always have an undying need to defend Ryder? Or perhaps it’s a typical child’s disposition to challenge anything that their parents specifically disapprove of. Mom, Ryder is perfect. She’s way too good for me, that’s for sure. And more importantly, she’s teaching me about my gifts and about a whole other world, parallel to our own! What is wrong with me? Now I’m vomiting top-secret words everywhere. If Ryder were here, she’d kill me for revealing all of this.

"Chase, you almost died and now you’re handicapped because of that world and because of that girl! Your life is worth more than that! Why don’t you see that?" My mom’s voice cracks with emotion. I can tell she’s getting more upset because she isn’t getting through to me. To be honest, we’ve never disagreed before. We’ve had our differences but we’ve always managed to come to some kind of compromise, and relatively quickly. But not this time.

Mom, you saw what she can do. She protects me and I protect her. I have a weapon, as well, and it’s highly effective. Jesus, now I’m telling her about my dagger. At this point, I’ll say just about anything to make her more comfortable with the situation.

Protect you! Just how did she protect you? It looks to me like she did a shitty job! My mom repeatedly points to my foot.

You were not there, Mom! I’m lucky this is all that happened to me! I’m lucky to be alive. If she hadn’t protected me as much as she did, then I would be dead. She almost died, herself, trying to keep me from getting injured any further. When I hear the justification, I feel guiltier about not returning her calls or texts. She did sacrifice herself for me. Maybe she has put more effort into our relationship than I’m giving her credit for.

I