Page 6 of War Games

Siren’s gaze shifts around the circle, meeting the eye of every killer in the room, and when those green eyes come to mine, electricity burns through me. This woman isn’t just someone I need to be cautious of; she’s trouble, but I’ve never been so intrigued.

Perhaps these games just got interesting after all.

Sensing my lingering stare, Siren watches me as she steps back into formation, her gaze narrowed as if trying to figure out who I am and why I haven’t looked away like everyone else. She’s trying to get a read on me, but she won’t be able to. I’m a closed book, unlike most of the assholes around me.

The kid steps forward next, and I can’t help but notice how quickly she has the undivided attention of the room. “Shadow,” she states in a tone that sends a chill down my spine, which is something that has never happened before.

The girl looks around the room as if this is some bullshit test at school that she’s far too advanced for, and I can’t help but wonder exactly how she got here. This level of confidence only comes with experience, which leaves me wondering how the fuck she ended up that way.

Did somebody do this to her? Because no innocent child willingly goes down a path like this without a shitload of trauma.

Apart from hearing everyone’s aliases, the warehouse has been silent since the moment I entered, but after hearing Shadow’s name come out of her mouth, the silence suddenly feels heavier. Eerie almost.

There’s a good two minutes before the next contender steps forward. “343,” he says, prompting a quizzical look in the eyes of everybody in the room. This dude looks like he barely passed high-school gym class, surely he’s here by mistake. Or maybe he’s a tech guy. Either way, he isn’t somebody I need to focus on.

Next up is a guy who looks like he’s lived every day of his life on a beach with a surfboard permanently attached to either himself or the roof of a hippie van. “Sharkbait,” he says before quickly stepping back again.

Fifteen down, five to go.

My gaze sails over the remaining contenders—four men and one woman—each of them hesitating, wanting to be last to put their name forward, but the clock is ticking, and there are only seven minutes remaining, and fuck knows that last name given will be mine.

Six minutes.

Five.

All eyes bounce around the room, waiting to see who will cave first. After all, a name not given during our initial meeting is an automatic dismissal from the games, and it goes without saying that an automatic dismissal is paid for with your life.

Four.

Three.

“Fuck,” the woman says with a cringe before finally stepping forward. “Eagle.”

I watch her closely as she steps back into formation, quickly determining that she won’t be a threat.

Two minutes.

One of the men begins to fidget, his gaze flicking between the rest of us and the clock, his hand pulsing at his side. It’s so discreet that I’d dare say some of the people around me wouldn’t even notice it, but I do. I notice everything.

His lips pull into a tight line before finally relenting and stepping forward, clearly wanting to be in the game to win, but he’s not dumb enough to risk it all for the simple task of giving up his name. “The Midnight Killer,” he says, his lips twisting with frustration before finally stepping back into formation.

He’s not bad and has certainly made quite a name for himself across North America. He’s a serial killer and lacks the kind of training required to win these games. He’ll put up a good fight though.

The clock keeps ticking, and at exactly one minute left, the next contender steps forward. “They call me Graves,” he grunts, but despite his cocky expression, he’s just like The Midnight Killer. They lack conviction. Graves won’t be a threat, this last one though . . . I don’t know.

It’s down to me and one other and he stares at me as though he could somehow make me break, but I won’t. I don’t ever break. It’s not written in my DNA.

Thirty seconds.

His demeanor begins to crack.

Twenty.

“Fuck.”

The asshole steps forward, and something warns me that apart from the beautiful Siren to my right, this asshole will be a heavy hitter during these games. “The Texan Reaper.”

No fucking way.

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