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I’d opened my mouth to argue when I heard a light knock on the door. Boris pushed off the window and strode over to open it. A giant of a man walked in, taller even than Boris , which was saying something. He wore faded jeans, a dark shirt, and a black leather vest covered with patches, just like Boris ’s, including his name and a little red diamond with a 1% symbol on it. All the Reapers had them, and my old friend Kimber had told me it meant they were outlaws—that I had no trouble believing. This new guy had shoulder-length, darkish hair and a face so perfectly handsome he could’ve been a movie star. Under one arm he held a stack of broken-down cardboard boxes, tied together with what looked like baling wire. In the other he held an aluminum baseball bat and a roll of duct tape. I
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