Page 8 of War Games

Screw winning the games. That’s never going to happen now. It’s time to adapt and give myself a more achievable goal. Who knows, perhaps Reaper might give me a merciful ending if I can give him something in return. That’s my only hope at this point, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t still try to enjoy these next thirty days. If I even have thirty days left.

I came here to shed blood, and until Reaper decides it’s time for me to meet my end, that’s exactly what I intend to do. After all, I’m just a girl with a simple dream.

Doing what I can to ignore Reaper’s penetrating stare, I finish jamming the lock of the old metal door. Then after quickly meeting his haunting stare through the window one last time, I turn on my heel and sprint up the stairs, confident that if he wanted to kill me tonight, he’d have somehow already done it.

I take the stairs two at a time, pushing myself as fast as I can go before reaching the top and breaking through the next door that leads out to the roof. The wind howls the moment I open the external door, blowing my long dark hair back behind me in a woosh of cold air. I don’t let it faze me as I make a break for the edge of the building, concealing myself in the best vantage spacethe roof has to offer, not daring to turn my back on the door as I duck down behind an old air conditioning vent.

I keep my eyes open, watching the scene unfold in front of the warehouse while making sure no one is able to get the drop on me up here. I’m close enough to the neighboring property that if anyone decides to look for me, I can jump to the next roof or race down the fire escape. I arrived here an hour before anyone else and cased the property before checking the surrounding ones. I know every possible escape route, and from here, there are at least three ways out that would keep me concealed in the shadows.

The sound of a motorcycle roars through the night before taking off down the deserted street, and all I can do is shake my head. Only a fool would come to War Games with a vehicle that could give away his location in milliseconds. There are a few other cars in the backstreets, each of them a little more discreet, and as they race out of here, I cast my attention on the chaos below.

There are at least ten people. Some are hiding in the shadows, waiting for their chance to secure the first identifications of the games, while others don’t have the patience to wait them out.

Without streetlights, it’s dark out, but I have just enough moonlight to make out the faces of the men and women below. Grim and Blade are the two that steal my attention first. Neither of them came off as a threat to me during our initial meeting, and judging by the way they both couldn’t stand still, I’m not surprised to see them being the first to jump into the madness. Patience is a virtue, and letting your ego get the best of you isn’t going to work in your favor.

Blade is a scrawny guy, and I’m not surprised when he pulls a long blade from a holster inside his jacket. After all, most of us were appointed our aliases for a reason, and this right here is clearly Blade’s MO. On the other hand, Grim is simply a brute.He’s big and angry like the dumb jocks in high school who were always rejected by the girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if this dude was taking steroids. No amount of gym time could naturally get anybody this big.

Fear flashes in Blade’s eyes, and he lunges toward Grim, making contact with the big bastard’s forearm, but the adrenaline hits Grim like a shot of tequila, and he continues toward Blade, not even realizing how detrimental that decision is.

Grim captures Blade’s hand in his overly big one and squeezes. The familiar sound of crushing bone fills the silent street, quickly followed by an agonized scream.

Grim yanks Blade into him, spinning him in the process so that Blade’s scrawny back is pressed against his beefy chest. He brings up Blade’s hand until the tip of his own knife rests against the base of his throat.

“No. No. No. No,” Blade roars, his eyes wide with terror, but before he can get another protest out, Grim plunges the sharp knife right through his delicate skin until the tip of the blade protrudes from the back of his neck, instantly severing his spine.

Grim releases Blade, and his body falls lifelessly to the ground, the knife clattering on the cold concrete beside him. Grim smirks down at his kill before finally sparing a glance at the deep cut running up the length of his forearm. He looks at it for just a moment before starting to sway on his feet, which is when another player enters the chat.

Stone.

He’s been watching from the shadows just like a few other contenders, but with Grim losing blood so quickly, he couldn’t resist claiming the kill, which would give him possession of Blade’s death as well.

Stone rushes in behind Grim before he even knows he’s there and grips the front of his chin. Stone violently twists, and with a sickening crack, Grim’s lifeless body falls beside Blade’s.

It’s almost poetic. I’ve always believed that karma is a bitch, and this right here is more than proof of that.

Stone hastily glances around, making sure the coast is clear, and while I admire his balls to jump in and claim the kill, he’s foolish for believing there’s no one else around. Right now, he’s a sitting duck, and he doesn’t have a single clue.

Deciding he’s in the clear, he dives into Grim’s pocket, fumbling as he pulls out his wallet to search for his ID. Then, finding what he’s looking for, he begins searching for Blade’s, only a noise across the wide entrance of the warehouse has both mine and Stone’s gazes glancing that way.

A hollow groan ripples through the night, and I search the darkness before watching with a keen eye as the guy who I think called himself Graves gets the shit beat out of him by Crimson Rain, a petite woman with deep burgundy hair. She goes in on him over and over, pointed brass knuckles secured around her fingers and stabbing into his skin with every devastating blow. Only these punches aren’t just about winning the game, it’s personal, and I can’t help but wonder what the connection is there.

Graves groans, his skin quickly being torn to shreds, all while Stone discreetly tries to slink back into the shadows. Only his foolishness knows no bounds, and when he keeps backing up, he puts himself right into The Boston Maneater’s arms. All I can do is shake my head.

I suppose this particular cannibal is getting a good meal tonight.

In a flash, a blade catches against the moonlight, and I watch without surprise as it slices across the front of Stone’s throat. The move instantly takes him out of the competitionand decorates the concrete in a wave of splattering blood. The Boston Maneater has secured the first three kills of the game. It was a bold move, but a good one, and I don’t doubt that I would have done the same in his situation.

The splattering of Stone’s blood distracts Crimson Rain from her brutal attack for a fraction of a second, but it’s all Graves needs to gain the upper hand, despite the way blood drenches his clothes. He shoves into her, knocking her off balance, and sends her sprawling to the ground with a loud thud.

The anger in his eyes is off-putting, something I’ve rarely witnessed, but among killers like this, it’s not unusual. Once they get the taste for blood, there’s no telling what they might do.

Crimson Rain scrambles to her feet to retreat, but he stalks her like a starved man, not allowing her to gain any traction. She has no choice but to fight. She kicks at his legs, trying to trip him up as she frantically searches for something to use as a weapon. I won’t lie, it’s certainly entertaining and gives me a good idea of who these people really are. These two, in particular, there’s something here. Maybe this isn’t their first run-in, and judging by the way she was laying into him with those pointed brass knuckles, I can only assume he broke her heart in one hell of a spectacular way.

As he continues stalking her, another figure jumps out from the side alley next to the old warehouse. I recognize him immediately. Slasher. The name has stuck with me for years after the asshole wandered his sorry ass onto my turf and started causing the type of chaos that was drawing too much attention. I was left with no other choice but to send a stern warning, and it truly is miraculous that he somehow recovered enough to gain full use of both of his kneecaps. I can’t lie, I was surprised to see him standing around that circle in the warehouse, but not as surprised as he was to see me. That kill would have been sweet,but something tells me I’m not going to get the honor. I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Slasher sprints toward Graves, a dagger clutched tightly in one hand, but as another body begins carelessly slinking through the center of the mayhem, all I can do is gawk.

Fucking Reaper.

---