Page 5 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Hitman

Dean

It’s so messed up for me to enjoy hunting Annie like this, but I can’t help it. Every animal instinct in me purrs with satisfaction, and I twist and weave through the haze-filled maze like I know the warehouse by heart. After one lap, I already do.

Yes.I was built for this.

The laser gun is light in my hands—so much lighter than any real firearm I’ve ever held. It’s made of cheap, scratched plastic, and it makes a dumbpew, pew, pewsound every time I squeeze the trigger. Thank god.

I’m grateful it’s so unrealistic. It’s nothing like my work; nothing like the memories that cloud my head at night and make it difficult to sleep.

“Annie,” I call, teasing her from the darkness. She spins around from where she’s ducked inside a doorway, scanning the shadows with narrowed eyes. Every time her gaze sweeps past me, my pulse spikes.

Fuck, I need her eyes on me. Need the warmth of her body pressed against mine; need to lick the base of her throat andtaste her salty sweat. My inner caveman demands it, roars at me to claim the prize I’ve been hunting, but I hang back in the gloom and flex my grip on the laser gun.

I’ll shoot her eventually and give my position away.

For now, though, it’s way more satisfying to watch her, drinking in every detail.

Annie’s cheeks are flushed from excitement, and her clothes are rumpled. She hasn’t stopped grinning since we arrived. There are faint scuff marks on the knees of her dark pants from where she’s been crouching down and crawling, trying to hide from me.

She can never hide. I’ll always find her.

Find her, and taunt her, and jump out and make her shriek, then pull her laughing face to mine—

No.

Plastic creaks as I squeeze my laser gun, the sound swallowed up by thumping music. Can’t follow that thought to its natural end. Can’t torture myself with daydreams.

Girls like Annie Lowell aren’t meant for guys like me. Hell, this whole night is meant for someone else.

My perfect twin brother.

“Wyatt,” Annie starts to call, then a group of students charge past, whooping and laughing. A couple wear sports jerseys, the rest are in out of season Halloween costumes. They all look tipsy already, their shoulders slamming into the flimsy walls as they run, and Annie has to back up to get out of their path.

I growl, stepping out of the shadows.

With a few pumps of my trigger, all the chest packs on the students flash red to show they’ve been hit. Half of them don’t even notice, crashing through the maze like stampeding animals, while the others glance down, confused. When they spot me glaring at them, their eyes widen and they hustle away faster, shoving at their friends’ shoulders.

Yeah, they’d better run. Those assholes nearly squashed my girl.

A soft snort makes me look down. Annie’s standing right beside me, her gun pointed at my chest pack. The bullseye is right over my heart.

“If I miss this,” she declares, “I am the worst shot in laser tag history.”

I plant my feet and hold still for her. “Agreed.”

Annie pulls the trigger:pew, pew, pew.

My chest pack lights up red, flashing to show I’ve been hit. Annie whoops, dropping her gun to throw both arms around my neck, and then she’s clutched against my chest as we spin around, both laughing, faces close. The maze whips past us in a hazy whirl.

“Let’s get out of here,” Annie says when I finally set her down, her cheeks pink. As she bends down to scoop up her gun, suddenly she won’t meet my eye. “I wanna go out on a high note.”

“Sure.” It’s not like anything else can happen here that will beat Annie Lowell leaping into my arms. I’m on cloud fucking nine right now. “Where next?”

* * *

This car smells like one of those dangly pine freshener things, with the stale scent of fast food underneath. Worn leather creaks each time I move, which is every few minutes when we’re thrown around a bend without warning.

It’s warm in here, even with the windows open, the breeze ruffling the bag over my head. The radio is on, seeping classic rock.

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