by Elena Monroe
My dad stood in front of everyone in similar attire and a musket across his body, with my mom just as equally disguised, as he spoke: “The players are being released as I speak. You will have twenty-four hours to hunt your player and kill them. Once you have done so, use the walkies to call it in. Someone from security will come and fetch the body. Stay on the grounds. The fence along the perimeter is obvious and turned on. One touch, and you’ll be toast.”
My mother just had to chime in: “Happy hunting!”
Another gunshot, one for the elites, signaling the killing sounded off, and I stood planted as they scampered off. I had been killing things, people, for a long time, and it didn’t matter how fast you ran. It was all about stalking your prey, thinking like your prey, and being smarter. Fuck, you didn’t even have to know how to kill someone; that was the easiest part. Finding them was hard.
The four of us stayed behind, watching them scatter on the lawn like ravenous fiends looking for their next hit.
Khaos was dragging a smoke from his lips. “You ready for this?”
I knew what he was saying without him saying it. Once you have been forced together this long you start to know the ones you are forced with almost as well as yourself.
Almost.
Everyone has secrets—the kind of secrets that create devilish habits, monsters under your bed, and that beg to be hidden for eternity, just so you can keep up the idea of being normal.
None of us were normal.
Lifting up the back of my pullover Champion hoodie, I flashed him my Glock tucked into the band of my sweats. He smirked, knowing I wasn’t about to use it. Khaos was the only one who knew my plan when it came to the hunt. Bowen and Vic were out of the loop. Bowen was normally too drunk or too high to retain how something was secret, and Vic was the poster boy for the “Best Cult Member”.
Khaos was the most like me—one foot in and the other out.
Vic pulled his long tresses into a bun at the back of his head and walked over to the table of weapons, picking up a knife.
My eyes rolled, knowing his intentions. He liked to make everything personal, just like firing Abigail and pushing her onto me—forcing me under his watchful eye.
Bowen downed a nip of Jack Daniels and tossed the plastic bottle behind him just before he stepped up to the table to choose a weapon. He shrugged, not deciding. Bowen was the most fucked up of all of us. He used his bare hands and didn’t care about looking death in the eyes. Last year, he choked his player so hard it crushed her windpipe, and he didn’t stop there. He drove his fists into her features so many times any way to recognize her was gone.
He was a constant drunk mess, trying to bury all the shit down far enough to pretend to ignore it.
Bowen Astor was the only one out of us with his wife chosen already—a promised man. Unlucky, for whoever she was, to have to unpack his baggage or be forced to trip over the suitcase in the middle of the room.
Khaos, the adrenaline junkie he is, chose a grenade. Yes, a fucking grenade. The possibility of offing himself was always on the table.
Pulling my own personal gun out of the band of my pants, I had to make it at least look like I came prepared. I was plenty prepared… to let my player flee and make it look convincing.
“Ready?” Like the natural born thoroughbred Vic was, he looked us over.
Pushing past him, I was really testing the hate in our love/hate relationship.
“I’ll see you guys in a few hours.” I tossed the words behind me like a bad memory.
“Few hours? Losing your touch, Reaper.” Bowen refused to call me Jason or Grimm; he preferred Reaper.
Stalking into the woods that kissed the manicured lawn, I knew Teresa wasn’t stupid. She was going to head for the fence and a way out. That’s exactly where I would find her.
Everything was quieter than normal. The sky was turning into the kind of transitional colors that would fade into black.
I needed to confirm with Abigail she actually did what I needed her to. I normally would have done that hours ago, but the questioning never came up, like my mind and body already trusted her.
Without my consent.
Looking behind me, I tried to see between the trees to spot the other guys or other members. The coast was clear as I pulled my phone out and pressed her name, watching it dial her.
It kept ringing, and I started to panic with only an hour until the plane was supposed to be here.
“Hello?” Pulling my phone away from my ear, ready to hang up, I heard her voice come through. “Grimm?”
“Is the plane set?”
With a heavy exhale, she answered, “Yes, it’s ready. Next time you might wanna give me your contacts. Wait, why are you whispering?”
Stepping on breaking sticks with each movement, I gave up being quiet. “Thought you had them. You worked for Vic.”
“He is surprisingly private. I handled Clave business, nothing else.”
I went silent, semi-lost in her voice and semi-listening for footsteps that weren’t mine. I had a player to find and free before anyone came looking for me.
“Grimm?”
“Yeah, I’m here. How did you get the plane?” I didn’t actually need to know, but I was grasping at fucking fake straws just to keep her on the phone again. Something about her voice and the almond eyes with bushy eyebrows coming to fruition in my mind was keeping me calm better than Xanax.
“It’ll be in the clearing at nine, Grimm. I have to go. I have a date.”
The word date rang in my ears as the silence from her end caused me to be mute. She had a date? A boyfriend? Both? I didn’t expect to want to know anything about her but her name and number so I could have her do shit I didn’t want to. Something about hearing she had a date grinded some kind of gears inside me that were rusted over.
Without another word, I pressed to end the call abruptly.
I heard dead leaves crunch, and I hadn’t moved. Looking around carefully in the slate of the night sky rolling in heavily, I knew she was hiding, close by. I could hear her breathing hoarsely and strained, even though she was trying not to. I wasn’t even sure it was my player when I tucked the gun back into the back of my pants. I didn’t want to scare anyone more than I was probably going to have to.
I crept around the thick tree, quietly—the way I was good at, being a silent, for-hire killer.
Getting a good look at her, I confirmed she was, in fact, my player. Her dirty blonde hair, puffy vest, and Lululemon outfit screamed SoulCycle class.
Her entire Facebook revolved around cycling and conspiracy theories. She ran a blog on the side dedicated to how fucked the world was, and I couldn’t disagree.
The world was fucked, and the ones doing the fucking weren’t even a normal kind of cult. We worshipped God instead of hailing the devil. How fucked up is that?
Slipping beside her, I watched her peer around the opposite side, while she shook and tears soaked her skin.
“I’m not gonna hurt you…” My voice made her jump, and I was surprised.
“What do you want from me?”
I had to bite down a laugh at her question. It was always the same questions: Who are you? What do you want? Are you going to kill me?
“I’m not gonna kill you. Calm down.” Clamping down my hands on her shoulders, I held her still from running away.
The tears that she stopped shedding built up in clumps and all decided to release at that moment. “Why? What is this place? Who are you?”
See? Always the same questions.
“I’m a monster. You should be scared. I’m tired of killing people who hate us just because you hate us. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”
She thrashed against my grip and cried even harder. At least she wasn’t talking anymore; that made this easier. Her open palm landed against my cheek with so much force that it gave me the illusion I tasted blood. Her nails caught my cheekbone digging scratches into my unmarked skin there.
“Stop!” Pull
ing out the Ziplock bag with one hand I held it between us. “This is a passport and enough money to get you settled for a while, and there is a plane coming to get you.”
Her tears puddled, but didn’t spill from her lower lashes. “You aren’t going to kill me?”
For someone digesting conspiracy theories all day, every day, she wasn’t really catching up like I had expected. Pushing her forward, still in my grip, I guided her to the opening in the field beyond the tree line where the helipad was located.
“No, you don’t deserve it. Hold on, though. I need to make it look like you died. I can’t have anyone asking questions.” I stopped her from walking, while she still shook in my hands, looking confused. Handing her the gun, I let go of her arm and said, “I need you to shoot me in the shoulder or arm.”
“What?! No! You said you were letting me go...” Her voice shook erratically in the air as I closed her fingers around the neck of the gun.
“It’ll look like a struggle. It’ll explain shit. I’ve been shot before, I can take it Teresa.”
Looking at the contents of the Ziplock bag that I had pushed into her hands, she saw her new name but the same face she was used to. “Sarah? I don’t understand. I was leaving the smoothie bar, and I woke up here.”
My hands cupped her face. “I’m sorry, okay? These people are the ones that made me a monster, and I need you to listen to me before this gets out of my control. We don’t have much time before my brothers are done with their players.”
“I’ve never shot a gun. I don’t know what—”
I held the gun’s neck to my shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “You don’t have a choice, Sarah. Do you wanna survive?”
Closing her eyes she pumped the trigger, and without any warning, the bullet snapped though my bicep muscle. It took my breath away, and the beating of my heart that was pretty steady ran wild. I had saved her and managed to punish myself all in one try.
“Come on…” My jaw locked, and I managed to pull her along with my good side. It was bleeding down the inside of my hoodie leaving trails of heat.
“Oh, my God! I shot you. Are you okay?”
I almost felt bad at her twisting to paw at me and check my wound. I had been shot back at school. It was part of our training when we were learning to be monsters.
The tattoos covered up the scar I had, barely. If you looked closely enough, you could see it, and with a light touch, you could feel the scarred skin.
They wanted us to feel pain, without considering that just being who we were was painful enough. Everyone else concealed their tears, while I stilled and took the pain for what it was: simply piled right on top of the rest that I already felt.
I didn’t let them break me; I just let them have all the pieces I broke myself and didn’t care if they put me back together wrong.
“I’m fine. Come on. You’ve got your passport?”
She nodded her head as the tears still stained her makeup free face, and I watched the private jet land with so much propeller wind I felt my lungs avoid taking any air in.
“You saved my life.”
“I’ve killed hundreds. Don’t thank me. Just go.”
I watched her disappear up the stairs, and the stewardess saluted me silently as she closed the door. Now it was the hard part. Convincing everyone she was dead and hoping no one was out this far.
Only once did we have someone make it to the road past the fence. That didn’t end well for anyone. We aren’t very forgiving people.
With my good side, the side not shot and painful to move, I ripped my hoodie at the neck and kneeled down to rub dirt against my neck. It needed to look like a struggle and not that I gave in, in true LA fashion.
Holding my arm I made the trek back to the estate. It was probably a few miles. It made for an interesting game of cat and mouse for everyone—the players and elite pricks hunting them.
As I neared the house, the servants along the weapons table stayed put. My mouth had bullied them into not doing shit until asked or told.
“Some fucking medical assistance would be nice,” I gritted off in their direction.
I heard a bomb go off and flinched before looking over my shoulder to see Khaos running from the thick woods, coughing.
“Dumbass,” I muttered to myself, mainly.
“Sir, I need you to remove your top…?” Gustov’s voice was gentle, and he came off as fragile. He had been with us for as long as I could remember. His post was normally at my parent’s house in Malibu, but all the events here meant he was wherever they were.
“Just get me the medical box. I’ll do it myself.”
Khaos jogged over and was yelling, probably because his ears were ringing, “Dude, what the fuck happened?!”
“Accident. She got my gun.”
He stared at me silently, but I knew what he was trying to convey: Saving the world from yourself is getting more dangerous.
He wasn’t wrong.
I was willing to do whatever it took to keep the innocent from our grasp.
I glared at him, making sure he stayed quiet as I took the medical kit under my arm and went inside before more people could ask me what was wrong.
Up the stairs, I saw everyone still in their military grade gear, throwing back celebratory champagne. That wasn’t a crowd I wanted to parade through. No chance.
A quick change of course, I headed for my car in the garage. Vic was leaning against my car, waiting for me, like some parental figure catching their kid out past curfew.
“Do you fucking mind? Get off my car.”
“Where’s the body this time, Grimm?”
I looked down, pushing past him, throwing the medical kit on the seat and yanking my hoodie off. “Threw it over the cliff, like always.”
He didn’t move from leaning against my car. “If I sent someone down there, would I find any bodies, Grimm?”
Pushing my door open more, I threw my hoodie, torn up and bloody, on the floor of the passenger side.
“Go check for yourself. Go throw yourself off it. Go do exactly what they tell you, altar boy. That’s what you’re good at, right? Being a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
Slipping inside my car, I slammed the door and left the window up. The bullet was still lodged in my muscle, and getting it out by myself wasn’t going to be easy. Punching my fist into the medical kit, I felt my head tense with the desperation for tears.
My whole body wanted to break, and I wanted to let it.
Pushing the start button on my car, I babied my right arm, keeping it in my lap. I was leaving this fucking place before I was actually allowed.
LA was only a few hours from here. If I drove the speed I normally did, I would be there by midnight.
GRIMM
I didn’t realize I was tearing up until the winding, terrible, pitch-black road got even harder to see.
My GPS taunted me with my arrival time in big bold font: 12:13. I was almost breaking the city barrier when I debated who to call for help with this kind of problem.
The girls I normally rotated felt abused enough without me bringing them to death’s edge or the assholes who probably force them to do worse things.
Abigail was my assistant, and it was the perfect way to ruin her date.
Ruining anything of hers brought a small smile to my face.
Telling Siri to call Abigail wasn’t as smooth as I thought. She even had trouble hearing me correctly. I never called girls, and even my Siri knew it.
It rang through my car speakers. I waited for her to pick up, and then I heard her cut off her own laughter before saying, “Hello? Grimm?”
“I need you to be at my place in forty minutes. Non-negotiable.”
“I’m in the hills… finding an Uber this late is hell.”
She was in the hills with her date. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl to go home on the first date, so this must be a boyfriend.
“I didn’t ask how you planned to get there. I need a doctor, or you to help me. F
igure it out.”
Pressing the end button on the steering wheel, I slammed my hand against it. As much as I went against the Clave, it didn’t warrant me any allies or friends. I was more alone than I was when I blindly gave into their demands.
The rest of the way home, it became apparent I was alone. I didn’t even have anyone to call to fish a bullet out of my arm.
After grabbing the medical box and pushing it under my good arm, I made my way to my front door, past the iron gate that I had to punch my code into to even get past.
My life, my mission, myself… all on lockdown.
I was still shirtless when I dropped the box on my kitchen island and looked at my arm with critical eyes.
There was no mistaking that it was a gunshot wound.
Small, pretty clean considering, a puncture wound with blood still leaking from my arm. Some torn skin around the edges and a bullet still in there somewhere.
I fished the tweezers out of the box and a Xanax out of the cabinet, which was meant to have dishes but instead it had pill bottles, I popped one before I went digging.
My phone buzzed against the countertop in a harsh way.
ABIGAIL: You changed your gate code.
ME: 666
ABIGAIL: Creative.
I sighed a big exhale of relief knowing I wasn’t going to be doing this myself. I normally don’t drink while taking Xanax, but this seemed like a good excuse. Finding the whiskey was like I was looking through someone else’s cabinets, considering I didn’t know what held what. All I used was the fridge and coffee maker.
Abigail’s heels were hard to miss against my hardwood floors as I poured her a glass too.
She was going to need this whiskey more than me.
She stopped short, seeing me shirtless and sipping alcohol as I took her in. She was wearing black heels and a tight black one shoulder dress with a Gucci bag across her body. Compared to her chunky sweaters, I could see her tight body, still full of curves, on display.
My dick jumped awake when my eyes trailed up her legs in a way I wasn’t hiding so well.
“Why are you shirtless?” Her face made a quizzical expression, but her voice sounded seduced, past tense.