Page 15 of War Games

I simply smile, and as I step toward him, his eyes widen in fear.

“It seems you’ve gotten yourself into a little bit of a pickle,” I tell him, crouching beside him and looking over the mess he’s made as blood spouts from his broken nose. I reach forward, wrapping my hand around the hilt of the knife that’s currently plunged six inches into his chest. “Here’s the situation,” I explain. “This blade is currently keeping you from bleeding out, it’s also keeping your right lung from collapsing, but unfortunately for you, I don’t really care very much. I’m going to pull it out, and you’re going to slowly die right here on the ground. It’s probably going to be very painful.”

“But . . . No,” he breathes. “I don’t want to die. I—”

“Shhhhhhh,” I say, gripping the hilt tighter and tearing it free from his chest.

The Boston Maneater cries out in agony, and just as I expected, he quickly begins to bleed out, and from the sound of his gurgling, I can only assume his right lung is also beginning to fill with blood. “Now,” I say, meeting his graying stare. “I’m assuming your ID is in your pocket?”

He doesn’t respond, but at this point, I don’t really expect him to. Instead, I just offer a sugary sweet smile, and as he grows sweaty and tries to cough up the blood in his collapsed lung, I fish his wallet out of his pocket, spilling out the rest of his weapons in the process.

I sit down next to him, giving myself enough space so that I don’t get any of his blood on my outfit, and rifle through his wallet, grinning as I find not only his ID, but those of the three kills he claimed last night.

Stone. Grim. And Blade.

I officially possess four IDs, and at this stage of the competition, I’m currently in the lead.

The Boston Maneater slowly begins to die beside me, and I let out a breath, having hoped it would happen just a little bit quicker. I can’t leave until I know he’s well and trulygone because if he survives and makes it to the end without me knowing, both of us would be eliminated because of a technicality.

“So,” I say, twiddling my thumbs. “I won’t lie, the whole cannibalism thing is really gross. I don’t know what you were thinking when you signed up for these games. Surely you knew you would be a target based on principle.”

The guy groans, his face turning an odd shade of gray. “I’m not”—cough—“a cannibal.”

“No one else is here,” I say. “You can just admit it. So you have the taste for human thighs. Personally, I’m a fan of chicken breast, but I can get down with a good thigh.”

“Not . . . a cannibal,” he grits through his teeth, the blood beginning to seep closer to me on the concrete. “You know how this goes. That story . . . was planted by some tech asshole.” He stops to cough and blood spurts from his lungs. “Once you get a name, it sticks. I’ve never been able to escape it.”

“No shit, huh? You really don’t like to slurp on human sausages?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

All I can do is laugh as I lean back onto my palms and inch my legs to the right to avoid the growing puddle of blood. “Look, this is taking a really long time. Would you mind hurrying along the process? All I’ve eaten today is a breakfast burrito on the way here, and I could really go for a good steak and veg. Actually, scrap the veg. I want fries.”

He sputters, starting to drown in his own blood, and as I go to get to my feet, I realize the limb licker and I aren’t the only ones here. A figure stands at the opening of the warehouse, his tall, imposing body taking up the majority of the doorway as he simply watches me.

In the dark, I can’t make out a single feature of his face. He’s nothing but an imposing shadow, waiting for me to fuck up. Myheart races with pure fear, which is how I know that this man is Reaper.

He stares back at me, those lethal eyes capable of the most wicked crimes.

This is it, just like last night. It’s just me and him. The ball is in his court, and I’m backed into a corner. I can try to run, but there’s nowhere I can go that he won’t find me. It’s best to surrender right here and now, save myself the agony of trying to run.

I catch my breath and hold it, incapable of anything else but staring right back.

The whole world fades around me. I haven’t even got a clue if the man at my feet is dead or alive, and I suddenly couldn’t give a flying shit. All that matters is Reaper. Only he doesn’t do a damn thing. He just stares at me.

This is a test. A warning.

Something tells me he’s not here for The Boston Maneater. He’s here for me. He’s trying to prove just how easily he can get to me, just how quickly he can find me. And damn it, the message is received loud and clear.

I’m out of my element. Out of my league.

My heart races like never before. If I’m going to try and survive this, I need to figure out a game plan. I need to get my head screwed on straight, and I need to find my zen. I don’t stand a chance while I’m panicking. He’ll end me with nothing more than a flick of his fingers, and I’ll go down like a sack of shit because I’m too busy fretting.

I need a clear mind.

I need a fucking plan, and right now, all I’ve got are the weapons strapped to my body.

My hand slowly reaches for the blade sheathed in my corset and just as my fingers curl around the custom-madehilt, preparing to defend myself when his brutal attack comes, everything stops.

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