Page 11 of Rat Race

I slid my mask down over my face, stretching out my legs as the Runners around me began to damn near vibrate with excitement, forming groups and making allies they’d quickly turn on if given the chance.

Now listen, I wasn’t no PKer—player killer. I wanted a good, clean game.

Even if I did have half a mind to hunt Elijah down for daring to enter the arena during my year.

Still, I wasn’t looking to make best buddies down here. Teams were statistically more likely to make it to the final, but they also came with a whole slew of risks.

More trouble than it was worth, I’d say.

Naw, if I had it my way, I’d be in and out. Lonely as a fuckin’ tumbleweed.

But, given we were smooshed together like sardines, I couldn’t help but overhear their plans.

“My dad has a contact,” a player with a glowing burnt sienna mask whispered behind me. “He said just keep going to the right. It’s like a big circle.”

Another with a teal mask laughed—a thin, nasally noise that pricked at my ears uncomfortably.

“I think he’s just trying to get you killed, bro.”

“He’s not! I’m telling you it’s a reliable?—”

“Surehe is,” a feminine voice jeered. “Just like when your dad’sfriendtold you to ‘invest’ your money into anup-and-coming clinically trialed MDMA facilitythat just so happened to be his bank account?”

Sienna spluttered. “Calla, that was a whole fucking different thing—I mean it, this is legit.”

A scoff from Teal. “As if, listen, Marco, I’d follow your half-baked advice?—”

“See!” Marco—Burnt Sienna, I guessed—said in triumph.

“If,” interrupted Teal, “And that’s a big if, we hadn’t won the heat lottery.”

“Heat lottery?” asked Calla. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Idiots,” scoffed Teal. “Don’t you see those tattoos? I’d recognize those cowboy classics anywhere. That’s Camilla Weston. I’d bet my fucking life on it.”

You may have to, I thought, glad that my face was hidden behind a glowing red mask. I really didn’t need or want an entourage.

“Fine,” snapped Marco, obviously put out. “I say we follow cowgirl, then. If you think she knows what she’s doing…”

I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips.

I do.Didn’t give up my entire childhood to prepare for my debut at the Games for nothing.

The pressure not to let my family down was enormous. If I were being honest, I’d admit that the possibility of coming close to last was weighing on me like three-hundred-pound Uncle Kenney on that goddamn Shetland pony of his. Damn near broke the old girl’s back a time or two.

But that can’t happen, I reminded myself firmly, flexing my fingers.I won’t let it.

Especially not when they’d sent in a fucking backup. When I won this game, I reckoned Pa and I were due for one hell of a shouting match.

Ultimately, how I felt about this circus wasn’t important. My worries, nerves? Those needed to be locked up tight.

A legacy four generations in the making rode on this. My failure, destroyin’ the last chance we had at a final jewel in the horseshoe that was my family’s incredible legacy in the arena? Yeah, the only way I’d let that happen was if I were comin’ home in a casket. It didn’t matter what rode on this. Didn’t matter if I was about to make the family look bad.

A little part of me, the same part that’d cried when Hope went off to her Games, wanted to win forme.

Make yourself an idol in the eyes of the people, for the glory and greatness of God is the center of all celebration. Nothing before the will of your God.

I adjusted the hat on my head, rubbing a hand up my bare tattoos.

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