I Hauled the Dead to Buy My Freedom Chapter 1

Five years cut off. Five years of hauling bodies.

Finally, I had the down payment for my own place.

I was waiting for my final paycheck when I ran straight into my brother, Cole.

He was there picking out a plot for his adopted sister's dead dog.

Our eyes locked. In the kind of unspoken truce we'd mastered years ago, we both looked away instantly.

It wasn't until my boss handed me the ten-thousand-dollar cash envelope that Cole let out a low, scornful chuckle.

“Well, Skylar,” he sneered, looking me up and down. “Five years gone, and you’re actually doing okay for yourself.”

I glanced at the black card clutched in his hand.

“It’s fine,” I countered, my voice flat. “Still not as comfortable as Willow Reed’s dog.”

A million-dollar burial plot, and he hadn’t even blinked. Meanwhile, the total price for my small condo was just thirty thousand.

My brother’s voice tightened, a familiar, awkward attempt at dominance.

“I know you were never meant for a rough life. Apologize now, and I’ll let you come home.”

I shook my head, carefully tucking the cash deep into my jeans pocket.

I’d already contacted the agent.

Any minute now, I would have a home that was truly mine.

* * *

I left the mortuary and headed to meet my real estate agent, Sarah Lane. On the way, I stopped and bought a small celebratory cake.

Sarah was genuinely kind. I’d dragged her to see countless properties over the years, only to back out at the last minute for one reason or another. Now that it was finally settled, the cake felt like the right way to share the relief and joy.

I hadn't walked far from the bakery before a hand clamped down on my wrist from behind.

I gasped, startled.

The cake slipped from my grasp, hitting the sidewalk and shattering into a messy pile of frosting and crumbs.

Furious, I spun around—and crashed, eyes wide open, into Cole’s dark, rigid gaze.

I froze for a second. His tone was a whip-crack of cold steel.

“You don’t have anything you need to explain to me?”

Frustration instantly boiled up. I yanked my arm free.

“Explain what?”

He pursed his lips and scanned me from head to toe.

“You are a Jensen. How can you work in a mortuary? You might not find it disgusting, but I’m worried you’ll bring bad luck to Mom and me.”

I dropped to a crouch to inspect the ruined cake.

“Then stay away from me if you’re so worried about bad luck,” I shot back. “I’m earning an honest living. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He grabbed my wrist again, forcefully pulling me upright.

“Skylar, why do you insist on talking to me like this? You’re the one who walked away five years ago. You still can’t get over it?”

My patience was gone. I tore my hand away.

“You’re the one who can’t get over it!”

“Cole Jensen, we cut off all ties. Can you just leave me alone?”

His face went completely dark.

“Mom is sick. She talks about you constantly. How can you be so heartless? Do you have any conscience?”

Now I was the heartless one.

Five years ago, Willow had deliberately sicced her dog, Apollo, on my cat, Milo, killing him. I’d only hit the dog once in my grief, and Cole had slapped me.

“Apollo is just a dog,” he’d roared then. “He doesn’t know any better. How can you be so cruel?”

I’d been hysterical, sobbing, turning to my mother for comfort.

Instead, she’d drenched me with a bucket of cold water.

“That stray cat you brought back from the country has scratched up all the furniture. It’s dead, so it’s dead. What are you crying for?”

Those two sentences were the final, crushing blow. That’s when I’d decided to leave and sever all ties.

Cole’s face was still set in a scowl. “It was such a small thing. Does it really merit this reaction?”

Small thing?

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see them fall.

Milo’s death was just the ignition. The final straw that broke me.

From the moment I was brought back to that house—the house I was supposed to have been born in—Willow had been a constant source of torment. And my own mother and brother had never once stood by me.

Willow claimed I stole her money. They searched my room, frisked me. Even when they found nothing, they never made her apologize.

Because I had lived in the country for twenty years, my hands were often chapped and raw, and my face easily flushed red in the cold. Willow took photos of me and posted them in the class group, leading the ridicule.

I was twenty and deeply self-conscious. Hiding my swollen, cracked hands behind my back, I finally lost it and kicked her in the chest.

That was the only time I’d ever physically fought back. The result? That night, Mom made me kneel in the snow and write “I’m sorry” one hundred times.

My affection for them had been a candle burning brightly when I first returned home. Over three years, it had slowly, painfully guttered out.

Milo’s death gave me the resolve I needed to leave. I dropped out of the elite prep school and entered the workforce. As I walked out the door, Cole’s face was thunderous, his voice cold with threat:

“Think carefully. You are nothing without this family. One word from me, and you won’t even be able to find a job.”

I didn’t say a word. I just took the two worn suitcases I’d brought from the country.

After that, the long, brutal search for work began.

True to his word, Cole had me blacklisted. No matter what job I landed, I was fired within two months. The reasons were always vague, always different.

But it only took a year for me to figure out a loophole.

Mortuary transport: Five hundred dollars per body.

It was grim, taboo work, but I was good at it. In four years, after all my expenses, I had saved up enough cash. I was satisfied.

Cole stood before me, his expression the same furious, controlling mask he wore the day I left. Looking at him, a wave of cold revulsion rose from the pit of my stomach.

“The heartless ones are the people you choose to protect. From now on, let’s pretend we’re strangers.”

I bent down, finally collected the pieces of the broken cake, and walked away.

His cold, cutting voice floated after me.

“No matter what, you are not working that job anymore. Willow is a member of the Bellevue Animal Protection League. Look at you, Skylar. A disgrace.”