Page 2 of War Games

Mila scoffs, knowing it takes a shitload more than a simple compliment to make me blush. But before she gets a chance to hurl some ridiculous insult at me, she sucks in a gasp. “Holy shit. Check your email.”

“Huh? Why?” My brows furrow as I move toward my laptop. “Wait,” I say, staring directly into the little camera. “Are you in my emails again?”

“Just hurry up and check,” she says, clearing her throat and reading the subject line aloud. “Welcome to the Twenty-Third Annual War Games.”

My eyes widen as I dive the rest of the way toward my laptop, the bone-crushing bodysuit no longer able to hold me back. “Holy fucking shit! Are you serious?” I rush out, my fingers not able to move across the keys fast enough.

My heart races a million miles an hour. The idea of actually getting to participate in the games blows my mind. It’s been an ultimate dream since before I can remember. A real chance to actually prove myself, to prove I’m the best at what I do. Sure, there might be a risk or two involved, and death is highly likely, but if you’re not risking something, then is it really worth fighting for? Plus, there may or may not be a ten-million-dollar prize.

My emails finally come up on my screen, and I quickly navigate to the newest one. There are no sender details, but I didn’t expect there to be. War Games was founded by an organization that predominantly uses the dark web to run their “business,” and it’s only because of Mila and her insane hacking skills that we discovered any kind of information about them. There’s nothing special to know, just some dude living in his mother’s basement pulling strings, but it’s the people he’s able to bring into these games that excites me.

Opening the email, I quickly scan over the subject line just as Mila had.

Welcome to the Twenty-Third Annual War Games.

A chill sails down my spine. I’ve been waiting to be recognized for what I’m capable of, and being invited to participate is the greatest honor, but to actually win the games? Well, shit.I’ve been dreaming about that for years.The anticipation is too much, so I open the email and scan every last word.

Please join us for a month of pure madness.

Dawning on the town of Blue Springs, Montana, the 23rd Annual Serial Killer War Games will commence.

You, along with nineteen other elite killers at the top of their career, will descend on Blue Springs, Montana to battle it out for the ultimate prize.

Only one will remain and be awarded the most esteemed title—Winner of the 23rd Annual Serial Killer War Games.

The winner will collect ten million dollars in cash and the ultimate prize of officially being named the best in the business!

You have seventy-two hours to respond to this invitation before your place in the games is forfeited.

*Click here to review the terms and conditions of the games*

*Click here to accept or deny this invitation*

“Holy fucking shit!”

A wide grin rips across my face, and I immediately click the link to take me to the acceptance page, more than ready to dive headfirst into this.

My mouse hovers over the button to accept the invitation when my laptop remotely shuts down. “Woah, hold up, cowgirl,” Mila rushes out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m accepting the invitation.”

“Like hell you are,” she throws back at me. “Are you literally insane? I know you’ve had this big fantasy about winning the games for the past few years and have scoured your emails every day of your damn life waiting for your personalized invitation, but you can’t be serious. Were you planning to think about this before you just hit accept?”

“What’s gotten into you today? What’s there to think about? I’ve been wanting to do this since before I can remember.”

“Oh my God. Do you have any regard for your own life?” Mila scolds.

I shrug my shoulders. We both know the answer to that, and to be completely honest, it’s a sore point between us. I do what I do, not only because I enjoy it and I’m good at it, but because I have nothing to lose. Mila is my only family. I don’t have brothers or sisters, nieces or nephews, and after my father attempted to kill me and I was put into foster care, my only remaining grandparents refused to take me and left me to suffer at the hands of terrible foster parents.

I don’t exactly know what’s waiting for me on the other side, but the one thing I do know is that it’s got to be better than this.

I don’t fear death.

I mean, sure. I fear the possibility of it happening in an excruciating way, of some crazed psychopath doing his worst and sending me to the other side with horror in my heart, but I don’t fear what comes after that . . . assuming something comes after that, of course.

Mila is all about rainbows, flowers, and unicorns. She’s my complete opposite, but we level each other out.

“You really don’t want me to do this?”

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