Page 71 of Bleeding Hearts
“I have a bad feeling,” Alice murmurs as we wander down the silent road. Even the streetlights are off, the perfect manicured lawns barren until we step through the wrought-iron gates. Lights line the walkway, leading right up to open front doors.
My eyes catch on two figures huddled in the dark to the side. I think their names are Teresa and Poppy. I watch their stolenmoment. Everyone always says they are best friends, but the look they are sharing says they are anything but.
“It isn’t too late to go back,” I say, pleading with Alice.
Ignoring me, she walks forward, and I sigh. My girl is stubborn, but I wish she would listen to me. I can’t stop her, I can’t take her choices from her, so I take her hand before we step into the lit foyer of the mansion together.
Paintings adorn the walls that are probably worth more than I could ever earn in five lifetimes. There’s a huge wooden staircase covered with a godawful red and gold carpet, and before that, standing on a marble floor, is a matching dark wood table with a card on it.
As I step closer, I see the Risk logo, and my gut clenches. In the middle is a drawing of a gun.
Turning to Alice, I grab her shoulders. “Get out of here now.”
“Lally—”
We both freeze as that mocking, distorted voice comes from somewhere deeper in the house.
“The last contestants have arrived. We will now prepare the game.” There’s a loud clunk, and we spin as metal shutters come down over the doorway, blocking our exit. My eyes widen in horror as I hurry to the room on the right in time to see the windows close too.
“There must be another way out for you,” I say, panicked.
“Lals.” She grabs my hand, her demeanor surprisingly calm. “It’s too late.”
“All players must proceed to the parlor. Failure to step into the game room will result in consequences,” the voice announces.
“We need to go,” she whispers. Despite her bravado, she looks scared, and I hate it. I hate every single fucking part of it.
I let her lead me down the lit corridor, following it to whatever awaits us.
Glancing down when Alice isn’t looking, I rearrange my shirt before focusing on my steps, and when we reach a huge room at the end, we freeze. It’s more like a ballroom with multiple tables spread out. Chairs are pushed out, as if waiting for their occupants, and others are against the paneled red walls. Rain splashes against the huge windows as a storm rolls in.
I search for what we will face, but I find nothing, and Alice drags me farther inside the room. Everyone is quiet tonight, as if they are sensing it’s different, and that’s when I realize there is no audience.
All the other people who came to watch the other rounds aren’t here tonight. It’s just players, and everyone looks nervous about what that means.
Bars slam into place on the parlor door, locking us inside, and I swallow hard as I turn to see the whole room.
“Players, welcome to your next game,” the voice says as masked wranglers step through another door and line up at the front of the room. They each hold a box in their hands.
“Tonight, we have no audience. This game is just for us and you. Players, you will face the ultimate risk—death. Your bravery will be tested. Other games have been held in the dark, obscuring your actions and fears, but tonight, you will face them in bright light. Everything will be exposed. Please take a seat and await further instructions.”
I hesitate before leading Alice to a table near the door just in case. When she sits, I force myself into another seat. My back is to the door so I can see the entire room.
Teresa and Poppy sit with us, as well as four others.
Alice’s hand covers my thigh under the table, so I curl mine around it and offer her a strained smile, trying my best to calm her nerves, but it isn’t easy when my own are making my heart pound in my chest like a caged animal. My skin is hot, and I can barely sit still as I wait.
Once the last person takes a seat, several masked men break off and head to a table with the box, and then in unison, they slide their boxes across the tables to the middle and step back. There’s a click, and they pop open.
I already know what’s going to be inside ours, but when the lid falls back and reveals a silver and black revolver, I close my eyes for a moment. There are gasps around the room, and someone pushes to their feet, and we all turn to look at them.
“Fuck this!” he shouts. “I’m out.”
The wrangler at his table pushes him into his chair, and the voice comes again.
“Tonight will be different than other nights. By stepping into the parlor, you signed away your rights to quit. The only way out of this game is to win or lose. If you try to leave, you will be punished.”
The implication is there—they will kill you.
