Page 7 of War Games

A grin threatens to pull at the corners of my lips. I’ve more than heard of this guy. When he first came on the scene, he claimed to be me. However as his work was sloppy and unoriginal, they quickly realized he was a different guy and ended up with the name The Texan Reaper. At first, I was flattered that I had an admirer, but now I’m just pissed. Ride someone else’s coattails.

I keep my eye on The Texan Reaper, counting down the clock in my head, letting it ten more seconds pass by.

Eight. Six. Four.

Two.

I step forward, holding his gaze, and finally say the name I know everybody in this room is dying to figure out.

My voice commands the undivided attention and respect of those lesser killers around me because, right now, they’re not just meeting another contender, they’re meeting their worst fucking nightmare.

“Reaper.”

3

SIREN

Ahh fuck.

I was expecting a lot to come from this bullshit midnight meeting, but standing in an abandoned warehouse with none other than the original Reaper was not it. Judging by the audible gasps that sail through the warehouse, I’m not alone.

Reaper is . . . undefinable.

He’s a ghost. A legend. Someone I had convinced myself doesn’t actually exist. Yet, here he is, in the flesh, standing less than twenty feet away. I can barely believe it, and honestly, this changes things. Since the moment I received the invitation to these games, I haven’t felt a shred of fear. Until right now.

Reaper isn’t just some contract killer like the majority of men and women in this warehouse. He’s beyond that. He’s the one they call when a ghost needs to be eliminated, or when warlords who have been off the grid for thirty years need to be extinguished. He’s better than the best, and if I had known he would be participating in this month-long trial, I would have run the other way and never looked back.

I’m fucked. Beyond fucked. Hell, the second Reaper accepted his invitation, we were all considered dead. Everything that happens now until the end of the games is considered nothing but pure entertainment—a way for Reaper to let off a little steam and try out a few new techniques, maybe brush up on some of his skills.

I wasn’t expecting him, but what I also wasn’t expecting was to be so unbelievably attracted to him. He’s gorgeous in the most lethal kind of way. Tall, at least six foot four with dark unruly hair and even darker eyes that seem to suck the souls out of the people in the room simply by staring at them. It’s dark in the warehouse, but despite that, I can clearly make out the warmth in his olive complexion, an indicator that he spends a lot of time out in the hot sun, and the way his muscles bulge under his black shirt, tells me that he more than just cares for his body.

He seems like a soldier in the way he holds himself, like he’s had some kind of formal training, but nothing on what little I know about this man would possibly suggest that, and it leaves me curious. But not as curious as the tattoos winding up his arms and peeking above the neckline of his shirt leave me.

The fear in the eyes of the other contestants matches the horror and regret in mine, but there’s not a second to dwell on it before the big countdown clock in the middle reaches zero. A loud buzzer sounds through the abandoned warehouse, the noise bouncing off the walls and creating an eerie echo that rumbles through my chest. Then, before Reaper receives another millisecond to memorize my face, I take off like lightning.

The men and women in the warehouse scatter like cockroaches, some sprinting to the front of the building while others head for the back. A handful of contenders slink deeper into the building, hiding out in old office spaces, but me? I go up. I always go up.

Diving deeper into the building, I find an emergency exit door and peek through the old plexiglass window to find a stairwell hidden behind.

Bingo. There’s nothing I like more than a good, solid rooftop with an even better vantage point.

The door is old, and I have to jimmy the old lock out of place before yanking it open. Then, to keep my ass out of hot water, I slam it closed behind me and do what I can to jam it. As I work on the back of the door, my gaze shifts up to the plexiglass window, checking the cockroaches’ locations. By now, the majority of them are out of sight, except one.

Reaper.

He hasn’t moved an inch from the center of the warehouse as he watches the chaos disperse around him, and despite the warehouse being filled with serial killers and assassins, there’s only one true predator here tonight.

What’s the point of running? We might as well line up like toy soldiers and let Reaper take us out one by one. Get it over and done with instead of allowing him thirty days to play with us. But where’s the fun in that? A man like Reaper would only accept an invite to War Games if he was bored.

I get back to jamming the door when a chill sails down my spine, and as I glance back up, I find Reaper’s lethal stare locked on me. He doesn’t move, not even the slightest twitch of a muscle and it’s the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. Nobody has the ability to be that still. He’s like a statue in the night.

A lump forms in my throat, and I hastily try to swallow it down, hating just how uneasy he makes me. But more than that, why do I have this overwhelming need to drop to my knees and beg him not to kill me in the form of a BJ?

I wonder how a man like Reaper comes. He strikes me as the silent, brooding type. I can imagine it so clearly. The only hint he’s about to come undone is the slightest narrowing of histerrifying eyes. You wouldn’t want to accidentally lose your flow and edge him. You might end up with your throat slit. But then, what if he’s not like that at all? What if he’s the type to wrap his hand around a woman’s hair and force himself deeper into her throat while whispering what a good little slut she is?

Fuck. Now I’m wet.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve always been attracted to the reddest flags. It’s literally the first few seconds of War Games, and I’m daydreaming about Reaper’s dirty talk instead of focusing on getting the fuck out of here. But shit. To make a man like Reaper come apart inside my mouth would be the highlight of my life.

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