Page 72 of Bleeding Hearts
“Tonight’s game is commonly known as Russian roulette. The rules are simple. Just pull the trigger with the gun aimed at your head and then pass it on. There will be three rounds. Whoever is left at the end will be the winner and free to leave.”
My eyes go to Alice. She watches me with her own terrified gaze. We know we might not make it out of here alive. Everything we fought so hard for, everything we did to survive, it could end here in a stupid game, and it’s all my fault.
Leaning in, I press my forehead to hers, uncaring who is watching. “I’m scared,” she whispers.
“I know, baby, me too. Just focus on me, okay?” I murmur.
She nods, her eyes locked on mine as the wrangler steps up to her side. “You first,” he commands. “Pick up the gun and pull the trigger.”
Swallowing hard, Alice leans back and grabs the gun with a shaking hand. She never looks away from me as she lifts it and hesitates.
“Aim at your head,” the wrangler demands. “Five seconds.”
Her eyes close for a moment as she presses the cold barrel to her forehead. “I love you,” she tells me softly as her fingertip presses against the trigger.
My heart stops for a moment as the trigger clicks, but nothing happens, and she slumps, placing the gun back into the box with shaking hands as the wrangler steps up to my side. Alice straightens, fear in her gaze.
Smiling despite my terror, I reach for the weapon, not looking away from her as I press it against my temple. Fear makes my hand shake, and I worry this will be it—a bitter ending to my sad life—but if it is, then at least I got to have her, and that’s enough for me.
I pull the trigger.
It clicks, and I carefully replace the gun. The wrangler moves on, and Alice leans into my arms. Rubbing her back, I kiss her head as I watch the guy next to me pull the trigger. He’s sobbing, and when nothing happens, he presses his face to the table and cries harder.
My eyes sweep around the room, seeing everyone is either feeling shock, overconfidence, or just plain terror.
Teresa is next, and we all know there is a bullet in that chamber somewhere. She takes the gun and looks at Poppy. Both of them say everything with their eyes before she pulls the trigger. Nothing happens, and Poppy picks up the gun, terror etched on her features.
I know why. It has to be in that one, right? But when she pulls the trigger, she’s safe, and they collapse together just like Alice and I did. The guy after them looks at the gun and then us. “It’s me, right? Fuck this. Fuck this!” He slams his hands into the table, and Alice sobs into my side.
All of us know he has the bullet.
He wipes at his tears as he looks up at the ceiling.
“It might not be,” Poppy whispers. “It might all be a trick to make sure we’re willing to do it.”
He looks at her and purses his lips, and for a moment, I think he’s going to run, but then he grabs the gun and presses it against his head. “Fuck this game, and fuck all of you.”
His finger presses against the trigger, and I see the recoil of the gun before I hear it. The loud popping sound makes us all jump and gape as his head explodes, and he falls slowly to the side, out of his chair.
For a moment, everything is silent, my ears still ringing as the gun falls to the floor, and then screams fill the air. Chairs are shoved back as people try to escape. Dragging Alice back, I wrap my arms around her and block her view.
It wasn’t fake.
It was very fucking real.
He’s dead.
He’s fucking dead.
I watch in shock as the wrangler picks up the gun and puts it in the box, and then he turns, heads to the front of the room, and puts it down before grabbing another box and waiting in the line.
“Return to your seats,” the mechanical voice calls. “The round isn’t over.”
“Let us go! Let us out!”
“You’re sick! He’s dead! Let us go!”
People rush to the windows and doors, and even the wranglers. It’s total carnage, and we stand in the midst of it all.
