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)
The fear in the eyes of the other contestants matches the horror and regret in mine, but there’s not a second to dwell on it before the big countdown clock in the middle reaches zero. A loud buzzer sounds through the abandoned warehouse, the noise bouncing off the walls and creating an eerie echo that rumbles through my chest. Then, before Reaper receives another millisecond to memorize my face, I take off like lightning.
The men and women in the warehouse scatter like cockroaches, some sprinting to the front of the building while others head for the back. A handful of contenders slink deeper into the building, hiding out in old office spaces, but me? I go up. I always go up.
Diving deeper into the building, I find an emergency exit door and peek through the old plexiglass window to find a stairwell hidden behind.
Bingo. There’s nothing I like more than a good, solid rooftop with an even better vantage point.
The door is old, and I have to jimmy the old lock out of place before yanking it open. Then, to keep my ass out of hot water, I slam it closed behind me and do what I can to jam it. As I work on the back of the door, my gaze shifts up to the plexiglass window, checking the cockroaches’ locations. By now, the majority of them are out of sight, except one.
Reaper.
He hasn’t moved an inch from the center of the warehouse as he watches the chaos disperse around him, and despite the warehouse being filled with serial killers and assassins, there’s only one true predator here tonight.
What’s the point of running? We might as well line up like toy soldiers and let Reaper take us out one by one. Get it over and done with instead of allowing him thirty days to play with us. But where’s the fun in that? A man like Reaper would only accept an invite to War Games if he was bored.
I get back to jamming the door when a chill sails down my spine, and as I glance back up, I find Reaper’s lethal stare locked on me. He doesn’t move, not even the slightest twitch of a muscle and it’s the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. Nobody has the ability to be that still. He’s like a statue in the night.
A lump forms in my throat, and I hastily try to swallow it down, hating just how uneasy he makes me. But more than that, why do I have this overwhelming need to drop to my knees and beg him not to kill me in the form of a BJ?
I wonder how a man like Reaper comes. He strikes me as the silent, brooding type. I can imagine it so clearly. The only hint he’s about to come undone is the slightest narrowing of his terrifying eyes. You wouldn’t want to accidentally lose your flow and edge him. You might end up with your throat slit. But then, what if he’s not like that at all? What if he’s the type to wrap his hand around a woman’s hair and force himself deeper into her throat while whispering what a good little slut she is?
Fuck. Now I’m wet.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve always been attracted to the reddest flags. It’s literally the first few seconds of War Games, and I’m daydreaming about Reaper’s dirty talk instead of focusing on getting the fuck out of here. But shit. To make a man like Reaper come apart inside my mouth would be the highlight of my life.
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 space the roof has to offer, not daring to turn my back on the door as I duck down behind an old air conditioning vent.