Page 94 of Wicked Games

“She’s not in here, dumbass,” Hudson said. “Why would she be?”

I whirled around, jaw clenched with fury. “You know exactly why.”

Before he could respond, our phones chimed loudly. I ignored mine, still glowering at Hudson. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and lowered his smarmy gaze to the screen. “Shit,” he muttered. “I guess this explains where she went.”

With my heart suddenly racing again, I pulled my phone out and opened the latest text from the Game Master.

Good morning, everyone! I must inform you all that Carey has been eliminated from the games. She broke the curfew yet again, and now she has paid the ultimate price. As for the rest of you, breakfastis served. Please eat quickly, because your next game starts in forty-five minutes.

My blood ran cold as I re-read the message, unable to believe my eyes. “No,” I muttered. “It’s not possible.”

“It is,” Hudson said. “Check the attachments.”

The message was accompanied by a short video and a photo. The video was surveillance footage from the hall showing Carey leaving her room and heading down to the far end of the hall. The accompanying photo was a closeup of her face, eyes closed and blood caked on one side of her forehead.

I staggered backward, reeling from the shock to my system as if it were a physical blow. Then I slumped on the side of Hudson’s bed and put my head in my hands, breaths coming in harsh, shallow wheezes.

I promised Carey I’d protect her; vowed to shield her with every fiber of my being. But I didn’t. I failed, and now the weight of that failure was pressing down on me, suffocating me with guilt and regret.

“Get up,” Hudson said in a clipped tone. “You saw what the Game Master said. New game soon.”

I should’ve known he wouldn’t give two fucks about what he’d just seen. He was probably glad Carey was out of the way.

In a numb haze, I stepped out of his room and headed to the drawing room to meet the others. Brooke and Zach looked as shocked and horrified as I felt. Even Jasmine seemed unhappy.

“I can’t believe he just took her in the middle of the night,” she said, head shaking with incredulity. “I didn’t even hear anything.”

“Me neither,” Zach said. His eyes were filled with tears, and his words came out in a choked murmur.

Brooke couldn’t speak at all. She was slumped on one of the chairs, staring into space.

“I really don’t want to play the next game,” Jasmine said, slumping down next to her. “What’s the point? We’re all going to die here anyway.”

Zach turned his watery gaze to me, presumably expecting me to jump in with one of my usual remarks about how we had to keep trying, just in case the Game Master had been honest about letting the ‘winners’ go in the end. But I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring myself to give a shit. I’d lost Carey, and now I didn’t give a shit if I lost everything else too.

Brooke finally spoke up. “Maybe Carey’s not really dead,” she murmured, twisting her hands in her lap.

Jasmine sighed. “Come on, Brooke. We all saw the photo.”

“All we saw was her face with a bit of blood on it. It doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“Why would the Game Master lie about that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of the next game?” Brooke said, sitting up straighter. “I mean, everything in this place is designed to break us, mentally as well as physically, so it wouldn’t surprise me if a fake death was in his repertoire of nasty tricks.”

Zach’s face brightened slightly. “Yeah. Maybe it’s a time-limited thing where we have to save her before it’s too late.”

“You guys are being totally delusional,” Jasmine muttered, gingerly picking up a muffin. “Carey is obviously dead.”

Hope flickered to life inside me, despite Jasmine’s pessimism. Perhaps Brooke and Zach were right. After all, we directly saw the others die. But not Carey. Unless her body was right in front of me, I didn’t have to believe she was really gone.

I clung to that fragile thread of hope until we arrived in Gaming Room 8 half an hour later. Carey wasn’t there waiting for us to rescue her. In fact, there was nothing in the room except a glass bottle and a gun.

“Welcome to Spin the Bottle, players,” the Game Master boomed from the nearest speaker. “As usual, we’ve got a bit of a twist on the usual game. In this version, the person the bottle lands on doesn’t have to kiss someone. Instead, they must pick up the revolver in the center, put it to their head, and pull the trigger. This revolver has a twenty-round capacity, but only one bullet has been loaded into it. If the person survives, it’s not necessarily their turn to spin. The turn goes to whoever was next in the circle. That way, you all get an equal number of spins until someone dies, upon which the game is over. Hudson will spin first. Have fun!”

Zach sighed heavily. “Great. Another game that comes down to pure luck.”

“See?” Jasmine said, shrugging helplessly. “The Game Master wants us all dead.”

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