Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
MAX
Dying isn’t supposed to be funny. One minute, I’m licking the inside of my boss’s thigh; the next, I’m watching my body slump over it.
“Stop screwing around—I’ve got a board meeting,” Jessica snapped.
I wanted to tell her the joke was on both of us. Sadly, she wouldn’t be achieving her little death with me. I’d just experienced a big one of my own.
“She’s a real piece of work. I’m not sure what you saw in her.”
The voice nearly had me jumping out of my skin—or would have, if I were still inside it. I turned to see a fat, balding guy in a dirty wife-beater with an inch and a half of hairy belly hanging over soiled jeans.
I snorted. “You’re the Grim Reaper?”
“You think it’s funny?” he sneered, showing rotten teeth and exhaling foul breath. “Look at you—ass hanging out there for everybody to see. I bet your mother will be so proud.”
The smile slid off my face.
“My mother won’t care one way or another,” I said shortly. “And as for Jessica, I saw a seven-figure salary and a Jaguar. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His greasy smile spread, revealing several missing teeth. “None of my business, you’re right about that. Now then—let’s get you down to your final destination. Shall we?”
Down? Hell no.
“Wait!” Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly. “Aren’t you supposed to take me up? To heaven? And how did I die, anyway?”
I didn’t want to brag, but I was Max Robbins. Not only had I made full partner at Banks, Low & Stanthorpe Law Firm—thanks to regular visits with Jessica and her milky thighs—but I was built like a god. Shit, this body was in high demand. I was a triathlete and worked out six days a week.
Also, I knew a thing or two about how this heaven business was supposed to work. It had been shoved down my throat by my mother from the moment I slipped out of her birth canal.
The Reaper laughed—a big belly laugh that didn’t sit well with me. “Aneurysm. And yeah, I said ‘down.’”
Not only was he mocking me, but at that precise moment, Jessica realized I wasn’t just messing around. She shoved at my shoulder, muttering something about interns having more stamina—then the screaming began, making anything the Reaper said beyond that point impossible to hear.
With a salacious grin, he reached out and grabbed my shoulder. Suddenly, Jessica’s office, my dead body, and everything familiar vanished. In its place: a cavernous, dimly lit room faintly resembling my college administration building. The biggest difference was the smell.
It was like someone had left Easter eggs out in the August sun—an uninvited guest no one would want. It didn’t take a genius to know this wasn’t heaven.
Dear God. Had my mother been right all along? Was I a reprobate?
“Grim,” I began, the lawyer in me knowing my case was sinking fast—but he cut me off.
“It’s Steve,” he said, scratching his sweat-stained stomach and hiking his filthy shirt up another inch. “I’m a Grim Reaper, not the Grim Reaper. There’s more than one. We all have jobs down here.”
I stepped back. Steve looked like he needed anti-itch cream and maybe antibiotics for the little red dots with white centers speckling his skin. Ugh. Was that staph? Could dead people still catch staph?
I wanted to vomit.
He followed my gaze and yanked his shirt down. “Listen, kid. It’s your lucky day.”
Surely he was joking. I barked a laugh. “I’m dead, genius. My asshole is probably winking at the other partners at the firm, and I just landed in hell. What could possibly be lucky about that?”
Steve grinned, showing once again how his dental hygiene was no better than his physical hygiene.
“It’s the last day of the Hellbound HuBulls tryouts.
Every guy in hell’s been vying for a spot with the HHB.
Most inbound residents have to wait months, sometimes years, for this chance.
But you—lucky son of a biscuit—you show up on the last day of tryouts. See? You’re lucky.”
Had I heard him right? HuBulls?
“What the fuck is a Hellbound HuBull?”
“Language earns demerits when management hears it,” Steve warned. “Otherwise—hell’s a free-speech zone.”
“Wait. You can’t swear in hell?” For some reason, that struck me as funny, and I cackled.
“Sure, laugh it up, funny boy. Ruin your chance to live like a god in hell. What do I care?”
Steve turned to walk away as if he were done with me.
“No! Wait!” I grabbed his arm before he could abandon me completely, shuddering at the skin-to-skin contact. Steve might look like somebody’s deadbeat uncle, but he was the only familiar face in hell. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Steve huffed. “Look, kid. I know it’s your first day, and this is probably a lot. So here are the basics. Once you arrive in hell, everything fun is taken from you. Your fancy lifestyle, women, cars, clothes, alcohol, expensive shoes—even that gym you’re so fond of.”
That sounded awful. No wonder Steve was overweight and filthy. Was that my future?
I blurted, “Is that what happened to you?”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” I fumbled. “Um, never mind. What is this HuBulls thing you were talking about?”
“I’m getting there, kid. When I say the boss ladies take away everything fun, I mean everything.”
Steve looked down and zeroed in on my crotch.
What the fuck. Panic licked up my spine.
“They took my dick?” My hand shot to where my cock should have been. But it was gone. No twig and berries. No sausage and meatballs. Smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“Some of the guys started calling it the Ken-doll look, and it caught on. Think about it—sex is fun. Therefore, in hell, you can’t do it. Not even with yourself.”
My hand rubbed over the newly slick skin. Smooth as a politician’s lie.
“You Ken-dolled me?”
“Standard policy until training’s done.”
All at once, I felt overheated and nauseated. What kind of place takes your dick? The realization that I might actually be in hell slammed hard. Black spots clouded my vision, and Steve’s voice echoed as though from a tunnel. Was this my existence now? A sexless drudgery with no hope of happiness?
Someone clamped a hand on the back of my neck and forced me to sit, pushing my head between my knees. “Breathe, kid.”
Taking a deep breath of slightly sulfur-filled air, I tried to quell the rising panic. “I need my dick.”
A raw, bold statement—but true.
“Then it’s your lucky day,” Steve repeated cheerfully. “If you make the HHB—the Hellbound HuBulls—you’ll not only get to keep your junk, but it will be magically modified to be bigger and better than ever.”
“My dick was already big,” I said, not boasting—just a fact.
“Yeah,” Steve snorted. “Just as big as anyone else’s at the moment. That’s why you need to make HHB. You’ve already used your prowess to sleep your way to the top of the law firm back on Earth. Think of that as practice for the main event. This contest is a big deal down here, kid.”
I nodded, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to. But the idea of being Ken-dolled for the rest of my eternal days wasn’t appealing. Whatever this HHB business was, I needed to be part of it.
“So, let’s talk about the logistics of hell. Demonesses run the place,” Steve began.
“Demonesses? Girl demons? What about Lucifer?” I asked.
“Lucy?” He smirked. “She gets a big kick out of earthlings thinking she’s a dude.
Lucy’s the boss and always has been. She’s wicked hot, and yeah, what she says goes.
So watch yourself around her. She’s one of the judges for the contest. One lucky winner joins the HHB, gets his dick back.
If he’s lucky, he’ll spend the rest of his days plowing the demonesses of hell.
It’s one extreme or the other down here. ”
“Did you ever try out?” I asked.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I did about sixty years ago, kid. Didn’t make it past the first round. Now, depending on what you want, you’ve got a choice to make.”
He pointed to a line on the right where four or five other depressed souls stood, clearly no more thrilled about their final calling than I was.
“You can join that queue and get assigned your end-of-days living. It includes your housing, meals, and work assignment. Or you can join the line on the left and audition for the HHB. It’s up to you.”
“Where do I sign up?” I croaked. And my fate was set.