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

in here and try to convince me that one of my oldest and closest friends is secretly plotting to cut my head off.
    Ally steps closer to me and takes my hand. She lowers her voice. “Jess, you told me once that Gabriel wants you to kill Rachel, right? These angels—whoever or whatever they are—they seem pretty determined that only one of you will survive. Coupled with the fact that Rachel lost her mind once already—”
    “You can’t hold that against her.” I swallow, trying to check my anger. I don’t want to lash out at Ally, especially not in front of Nikki. But I also don’t want to listen to either of them questioning Rachel’s loyalty. She wouldn’t betray me. She wouldn’t . “If anyone is a murderer it’s me. As far as I know, Rachel has never killed anyone. What about me? How much blood is on my hands?”
    Ally’s eyes fall to the floor. She gives my hands a gentle squeeze and then she lets go.
    Probably because what I’m saying is absolutely true. More people have died at my hands than Rachel’s. I killed Eddie, my stepfather. Granted, that bastard deserved it. I killed three of Jeremiah’s men in a firebomb. Okay, that was accidental but still my fault, and the alley firebomb brings my total to twelve people.
    Thirteen if we count Eve’s little girl who got killed by Caldwell’s goons because I escaped. Fourteen if we count the boy who raised his gun at me in the old abandoned house the night Brinkley died. He was about to blow my brains out but Gabriel whipped out my firebomb power and saved the day. And Brinkley…
    My heart feels like someone is squeezing it.
    A flash of Rachel, naked and bloody in the living room, floods my memory. She stood there, looking like a creature who’d crawled out of hell, clutching a knife. Bloody fingerprints smeared across her dark cheek, drying like the circle crusted into the carpet at her feet. That was when she charged me. Brinkley came to the rescue that time.
    No.
    That was different. I understand why Rachel lost it so long ago. The whole angel power thing, it’s overwhelming and we didn’t know what the hell it was. She can’t be blamed for that.
    “I’m the monster, not her,” I insist. “I even got you killed.”
    Ally wraps her arms around me and Nikki’s gaze slides away. She looks suddenly very interested in the recently abused houseplant.
    She looks me in the eyes. “You’re not a monster.”
    Gabriel appears in the corner of the room, surveying us. I look at him, but say nothing. Both Nikki and Ally follow my gaze, but if they want to ask the question I never get tired of hearing— are you seeing him now? —at least they don’t.
    Is she betraying me? I ask him without saying it aloud.
    He doesn’t answer.
    Is she going to show up and stab me in the back? She couldn’t manage it the first time.
    “She isn’t as strong as you.” He doesn’t have to speak directly into my mind since no one can hear him.
    “She’s strong,” I hiss.
    “Which is why you should consider her a threat,” Nikki says. Ally says nothing because unlike Nikki, she noticed that I’m yelling at the corner like a big weirdo and not actually talking to anyone in the room.
    “Rachel wouldn’t hurt me.” And I really believe this to be true. Not Rachel. Not my sassy mentor who was so good to me those first years after I learned what I was. She taught me all about my condition, about death-replacing, but more importantly, about how to stomach a shitty past.
    Something fucked up happened to you , she’s said one night. We were sitting in the floor of our apartment, crossed legged and shoveling takeout into our mouths.
    I’d shrugged. Fucked up things happen to everyone.
    She’d arched an eyebrow at that and had given a little nod of her head. “True enough, but you’re still carrying it around.”
    “No I’m not.”
    She looked me up and down. “Oh, it’s written all over you. It’s like you’ve got this suitcase, blood seeping from its seams, and