Page 47 of Slay Ride

Her gaze meets mine, but she quickly looks away. Now I wish I’d forced her to give me an answer in the hallway. The anticipation is killing me, and she isn’t giving me any hints.

The three women take a seat on the opposite end of the semicircle, meaning I’ll be facing Cat for this little circle jerk. We’re both on the very ends. Kindra sits between the women. As she engages the taller woman in conversation, I wait for Cat to look at me. When she doesn’t, a flare of rage fires off in my gut.

She really isn’t thinking about me. This bitch.

The doors open behind us, and the rest of the merry crew saunters in amidst a flurry of loud conversation. Ezra, Jim, and Maverick walk together at the rear, each of them holding a large bowl in their arms. Once they’ve placed the bowls on a nearby table, they join everyone else and take a seat.

Kindra clears her throat and addresses the group. “I just want to thank everyone who chose to join us for this inaugural venture into winter retreat territory. I planned to make this speech last night at the party, but someone fucked that up for everyone.”

She levels me with a pointed stare, and I smile and wave. Her death-dagger glare might work on Ezra, but it’s powerless against me.

Undeterred by my arrogance, she continues. “It seems that Mother Nature also wanted to fuck with us. We had originally planned to host the Winter Olympics outside, but a sudden storm forced us below ground.”

“But we still get to kill someone, right?” a male voice says from the center of the group.

Kindra takes a deep breath, probably to stop herself from calling the guy a fucking moron, as is her way. “That’s the entire point of the retreat, and we haven’t lost sight of that. As for the masquerade New Year’s Eve party, that will be held on the last night.”

I groan internally. The last thing I want to do is cram myself into a tux and attend what is essentially a winter formal. Missing that stupid party was the singular consolation prize for gettinglost in Alaska and discovering a latent attraction to the bane of my existence.

Though, I guess I have to stop calling her that, now that I’ve had her asshole in my mouth. I mean, you don’t exactly do that for someone you hate.

“Since we had to bring the games indoors, we also had to do a bit of last-minute brainstorming,” Ezra says from his chair. “If the games are rubbish, I take sole responsibility.”

“I’ll share the blame,” the unfamiliar woman beside Kindra says. “I’m Eve, by the way, for those of you who haven’t met me yet.” She gives a small wave, then pulls her braids over one shoulder.

She’s a stunning creature, but something tells me I’m not her type. The small scissor tattoo hiding behind her ear probably doesn’t represent being president of the quilting club.

“For our first game, you’ll be competing in pairs,” Kindra says. “We’ll each draw a number from a bowl, and the two matching numbers will go head-to-head.”

Ezra must have forgotten his cue, because he leaps out of his seat like a man possessed when Kindra glares at him. He runs for one of the bowls on the table, then weaves through the chairs, letting everyone pull a number from inside. He and Kindra pull last.

The room becomes a vacuum of mutters and mumbles as everyone tries to figure out who they’re up against. As luck would have it, I’m up against Cat. I hear her telling Eve her number.

Before last night, I would have seen this as an opportunity to kill-block her once again. Now I see this as a major problem. If I lose to her, I’ll look like a fucking chump, but if I beat her—and that’s almost a guarantee—she’ll get pissed off, and there goes any chance that she’ll wind up in my room after this.

I lean closer to Grim. “Any chance you’d want to swap numbers?” I say.

“No swapping!” Kindra shouts.

Flopping back in my seat, I try not to pout. Either I kill-block Cat and shoot myself in the foot or I lose to Cat and shoot myself in the ego.

“It wouldn’t be the retreat Olympics without another twist.” Kindra grabs a second bowl and begins pulling large paper bags from inside. “Now you’ll choose your weapon, then figure out a way to kill your victim first to win!”

As if on cue, part of a wall slides away and two lackeys wheel in a couple of Cattle in wheelchairs.

“Who’s up first?” Ezra says with a clap of his hands.

I feel like I’m on the set of some fucked-up game show. This is when the crowd would cheer and the theme music would blast through the television screen as someone races to the killing field.

Ice Pick and Eve raise their hands, and Kindra motions for them to choose a bag.

“But no cheating,” Kindra adds. “You can’t lift the bag until you choose it, and once you touch it, it’s yours.”

Eve chooses a bag quickly, then opens it. From the brown paper, she produces one of those elves that parents destroy the house with.

What shit luck.

Ice Pick goes next, and luck isn’t on his side, either. While Eve tries to murder her victim with a toy, Ice Pick gets to do it with a roll of gift-wrapping tape.

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