Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
What could possibly go wrong?
It’s hunt or be hunted. Literally the real-life Hunger Games for serial killers.
At the end of the games, all the gathered identifications, along with evidence tying each of them to their many crimes, are handed to the FBI. It’s a sick way of kicking you when you’re down—the price you pay for not being good enough. Personally, I think it’s the best incentive to ensure you don’t die. Not that it would really matter, considering you’d be dead. But if you’ve worked all your life to ensure you fly under the radar and conceal yourself, it’s a kick right in the vag to have all your secrets spilled the moment you’re gone.
“Alright,” I finally say, hoisting myself off the bed and wandering back into my closet. “How much time do you need to figure out who the other contenders are?” I ask, reaching up to the top of my closet and pulling my suitcase down.
“Can you give me a day? Twenty-four hours, at least?”
“I suppose,” I mutter, tossing my open suitcase onto my bed and whipping back around to my closet.
“Wait,” Mila says. “What are you . . . Are you packing?”
My full hands pause over the suitcase. “Uhhhhhh . . . no.”
Shit.
I drop the pile of clothes and turn around to find more.
“Don’t even try to lie to me,” she scolds before I hear her fingers on her keyboard, hacking back into my home security system. “Holy fucking shit, Siren. You are!”
“Damn it. Okay, fine. I am. But I swear, I’m not going to accept the invitation until after you’ve done your research. In the meantime, I don’t see the harm in packing just a little. It never hurts to be prepared.”
I can practically feel the disapproval wafting off my best friend, but the moment I grab the shelving of my closet and push back the secret door to display my hidden weapons room—otherwise known as my happy place—all thoughts of disapproval disintegrate.
I’m going to the War Games, and without a doubt, it’s going to be the best thirty days of my life.
2
REAPER
Passing the sign that reads Welcome to Blue Springs, Montana, I reach for the dial of my police scanner and tune it until I find the local Blue Springs Police Department. It’s been a long drive from the Big Apple, but it should be worth my time.
I hope.
Whoever is behind War Games has reached out to me six years running, and each year I’ve happily declined. I don’t need this shit in my life. I don’t need the title of being the War Games Champion to prove that I’m good at what I do. I know I’m the best, and that’s not my ego talking.
I don’t know what possessed me to accept this year’s invitation. This isn’t my scene. I suppose I’m getting bored and need something to light a spark under my ass, a real challenge to keep me on my toes. So when the invitation dropped into my inbox, I found myself quickly accepting.
Blue Springs is a tourist town away from the hustle and bustle of city life and the perfect location for War Games. I have to give it to the organizers; they know how to pick a great destination. Blue Springs is a small town with picturesque scenery. We’re talking impressive mountains, a magnificent lake, an expansive cave system, and that’s all before I’ve even considered what the town itself has to offer.
There’s an industrial area I’ll be sure to utilize. After all, if I’m going to make the most of this trip, I might as well have a little fun with it. Fuck knows I need a little fun in my life. There are the usual places like movie theaters, a mall, parks, and budget hotels, but as I drive through the town, these places aren’t calling to me.
I’m five minutes out from the warehouse where we’ll make the first point of contact for the games, and as I drive, I listen to the local sheriff’s department. I’m not surprised to find they’re already on top of the bullshit that’s about to come down on their peaceful town, but it also becomes comically clear that they’re not going to be an issue. They think we’re still days out from the commencement of the games.
They know we’re coming, but what little resources they have aren’t enough to even attempt to hold us back. There’s a grand total of six cops in Blue Springs, and sure, I can guarantee they’ll call in backup over the next few days when bodies begin showing up, but by the time they find any sort of evidence, the games will be long gone.
For the most part, the games have strict rules.
We’re here to play, not torment the town of Blue Springs, and while there have been slip-ups in the past, we’re not to mess with the people. They didn’t sign up for this shit, and for the most part, we’ll leave the town just as sparkly as it was when we first arrived. Minus a few slight inconveniences, of course.