Page 48 of War Games

She sputters a cough, the blow winding her, but before she can pull herself together, I whip around, sending my foot up in a beautiful spinning kick that meets her temple.

Her head rocks on her shoulders, and as she struggles to find her feet, she drops the blade in her hand, letting it clatter to the ground.

I take a breath, having the perfect opportunity to make my kill, but I don’t go for it, not feeling comfortable ending someone’s life while they’re already down. Instead, I wait, knowing my moment is coming. “God, I fucking hate you,” she spits, leaning heavily against the bridge. “Can’t you ever just let me have one fucking win?”

Raven takes a second to regain her balance, and I take this opportunity to switch blades, reaching for Reaper’s other one. After all, they both deserve to have their moment in the spotlight. “The fact that I haven’t ended your life despite the six times you’ve left yourself open should be more than enough of a win for you,” I tell her, taking a step toward her and watching the way her eyes follow me. “But I’m bored now. I’ve allowed you plenty chances to try and pull your shit together and make this somewhat of a fair fight, but your arrogance is getting in the way. It’s time to end this, Raven. You’ve been fun competition over the last few years, but it’s over now.”

“It’s not.”

“It was over for you the second you accepted your invitation to War Games,” I tell her. “Now hurry up and make your move. I don’t want to kill you while you’re stumbling against a wall, and I doubt after everything you’ve achieved during your career that this is how you want to go out. Now, come at me so I can give you a respectable death.”

Raven holds my stare, her eyes narrowing to slits, and just as she reaches for a new blade from the holder on her thigh, she lets out a roaring battle cry, storming toward me with everythingshe’s got. Her long, thin blade is angled right for my eye, and in the split second it takes for her to lunge toward me, it becomes obvious that she has no game plan at all. Critical thinking has gone out the window, and all that’s left is undiluted rage and desperation.

Her blade hurtles toward my face, but at the very last second, I break to the left, clutch her arm, and slam her own blade straight through her stomach. Raven cries out in agony, her eyes widening in horror as she gapes at me, understanding quickly dawning. “I . . . I’m not going to win,” she breathes.

“No,” I tell her. “You’re not.”

Her brows furrow, and when tears fill her eyes, a new determination comes over her. She knows she’s going out, and just like I offered, she wants to go out fighting.

Then in a flash, she grabs a smaller dagger from her belt, and despite the long blade still protruding from her stomach, she lunges at me again. Only I don’t have the heart to stand here and watch her suffer, so when her small dagger narrowly skims past my face, I whip out with my own blade, sending it soaring across the front of her throat.

Raven goes down, dropping to her knees as blood gushes from her open wound, splattering across the sidewalk and quickly pooling beneath her. She clutches her throat as she looks up at me. “Tell . . . tell my—”

She crumbles, falling forward onto the long, thin blade, plunging it so deep into her that its sharp tip lurches out of her back, piercing right through her spinal cord, and all I can hope is that she doesn’t suffer long.

No other words come from her, and I can only guess what she was trying to say.Tell my family that I love them. Tell my husband, wife, boyfriend, or girlfriend that I’m sorry. Tell my brother that I always thought he was a self-righteous asshole.It’s always the same. In those final moments before death, people find clarity and realize what truly matters in the world.

Letting out a sigh, I make a mental note of the people I need to visit following the games, assuming I actually make it out of here alive. After double-checking that Raven is actually gone, I pull her body to the edge of the bridge pillars and hide her in the bushes. Someone will find her eventually.

With storms due to roll in this afternoon, I don’t bother washing Raven’s blood off the sidewalk. Instead, I look through her pockets until my fingers curl around her identification.

“Thank you,” I tell her, adding it to my little collection while confidence rumbles through my chest, knowing damn well that I’m in the lead. No one else in these games has even come close.

I believe Reaper has three—Graves, Crimson Rain, and Slasher. Texan Reaper has one—Sharkbait. And this one right here brings my grand total to eight—Stone, Grim, Blade, Boston Maneater, 343, Midnight Killer, Eagle, and now Raven.

There’s no denying it, I’m on fire. Though to be fair, I still consider 343 to belong to Reaper, seeing as though he was the one to make the kill, and at some point, he’s going to return for that. But the math is still on my side, and even if Reaper were to take my life and claim possession of all these kills, I think it’s only fair that I be awarded some kind of participation trophy. After all, I’ve put a lot of effort into these games. Nobody has made quite as many kills as I have.

Content that I’ve done everything that needs to be done here, I get on my merry way, sheathing the blades back into position as I put one foot in front of the other. Then after clearing the bridge, I pull out my phone and bring up Mila’s number.

“Where was I?” I ask as she accepts the call.

“You were just about to tell me how thick his cock was.”

Well, shit. Yes, I was.

17

REAPER

My fist pulses manically, working up and down my cock as I clench my jaw, desperate for a release. This shit is getting ridiculous. Every time I watch Siren make a kill, it’s as though I lose control of my fucking dick and nothing can bring me relief except for actually sinking into her sweet little cunt.

It’s barely been twenty-four hours since I had her at the lake, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about. I’m supposed to have more control than this. I’m supposed to be better, but one taste fucking destroyed me. If I had walked into her kitchen and fucked her right there without a damn word, I would have been fine, but she just had to go and cuff me to that damn fridge and make a game out of it. And fuck, it was the best game I’ve ever played.

Siren is refreshing.

I’ve never been able to sit down with someone and discuss my work, never been able to be shamelessly myself without being judged, ridiculed, or called a fucking monster, and I suspectshe’s in the same boat. The lives we live aren’t compatible with the picket-fence lifestyle, only with Siren . . . it might be.

I wouldn’t have to hide with her, wouldn’t have to pretend to be something I’m not, and . . . fuck. Why am I even thinking about this? Come the end of the month, I’m going to have no choice but to end her life, and while I’ll do what I can to make it as quick and pain free as possible, it’ll fucking gut me, but I won’t have to suffer for long because the moment I end her life, I’ll drop to my knees in front of Shadow and have her take mine.

---