Spine ramrod straight, he opened his eyes and stared me down. “What are you playin’ at?”
“It’s called flirting, sweetheart. Ever heard of it?” I simpered, and he crossed his arms over his chest like a shield.
“Well, stop flirtin’. I’m not interested in makin’ friends”—he dragged his gaze over my body cruelly—“or anything else with you.”
Placing my hands on my hips, I glared up at him. “It’s called a joke, asshole. What crawled up your ass and died? I just had some questions—”
Grant reached forward, and I flinched, thinking at first he might hit me. Rolling his eyes, he plucked a pamphlet from the table beside us. “If you have questions, why don’t you read the damn pamphlet like you were supposed to instead of askin’ me?”
As he crushed it against my chest, it crinkled and dug into my skin beneath my jumpsuit. Without another word, he ditched me to enter the almost full elevator. Crumpling the pamphlet, I trudged after him, grumbling as I glared at his ridiculously firm ass.
Grant squeezed into the first elevator, but when I moved to follow, he held up his hand. “Sorry, this one’s full.”
I raised an incredulous eyebrow as I stared at the obvious room in the lift. Smashing the button to close the elevator, he ignored my frown as the doors coasted shut.
Stamping my foot like a child, I moved to the other elevator and slid inside. It was crowded, and the others pressed in on me from all sides. While we rode in silence to the sixteenth floor, I couldn’t help but brood.
Why was he being so rude? Was it so wrong to talk to people here?
Once we were let out of the elevator, a long line of workers greeted us to guide us to where we would be staying. Individually, they led us to our independent quarters.
I didn’t catch sight of Grant as my worker, a short, plump woman with graying hair at her temples, showed me to my room.
Still frustrated about earlier, I stormed inside and let the door lock shut behind me with a click. The room was dark, something I was never comfortable with. I felt around the walls, scouting out a light switch. After an embarrassing amount of time, I impatiently gave up and searched blindly for the bed.
With a startled cry, I collapsed onto the end of the bed, nearly falling over, as my shins knocked into its side. The silky sheets were cool against my palms as I crawled across it, my fingers searching for the head of the bed. I hated the dark, the way it felt like unseen eyes were watching me. It was why I usually slept with some sort of light on.
Finding a lamp on the bedside table, I quickly switched it on. The light didn’t travel far, and I was too exhausted to check out my room; I would later when I had more energy.
Under the cast of the light, I squinted down at the pamphlet. It was rather small, considering how important it seemed to be for something that could end with serving Death for the rest of my Afterlife. The cover showed a picture of a blindfolded statue, a scale in one of her stone hands, a sword in the other.
Flipping through the pages, I tried to read, but every so often, my vision would glaze over. With a sigh, I dropped the pamphlet and rubbed at my tired eyes. Today had been the longest day of my life.
Oh, that’s right. I’m dead.
I still couldn’t believe it. One day, I was getting ready to graduate, the next, I was inadvertently trapped participating in shitty Afterlife entertainment.
As I lay there, grief swelled hot and prickly in my chest. I rubbed at the spot, trying to relieve the ache, but there was little I could do.
Tears swam over visions of my family as their faces flooded my mind. I saw my mom batting her curly hair out of her face as she sang a horrible rendition of Happy Birthday. My dad’s hazel eyes gazed proudly at me as I rode my bike by myself for the first time. Then there was Megan, my hellion of a sister, holding her fat cat in her arms.
Memories overwhelmed me to the point where I couldn’t breathe. Snatching a plush pillow from the bed, I buried my face in the cushion and screamed my anguish, frustration coupling with grief.
If what the others said was true, I had a chance to make it back to them. If I could live again, I would be better. I’d fold my laundry and help my mom cook dinner every night. Before my dad could ask, I would mow the lawn and weed the yard. If Megan wanted to play Barbie Dreamhouse, I would gladly oblige. I’d go to college, get good grades, and find a respectable job. I’d… I’d…
A shattering sob wrecked me. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d win. Who was I kidding?
For the first time since I’d died, I let my grief—grief for my family, my life—consume me. I wouldn’t see them again. But I sure as hell would try. I wasn’t under any delusion that I wasn’t at a large disadvantage to my fellow competitors. Most of them were stronger than me, older, too. They had more knowledge and experience.
But if there was even the slightest chance I might get to hold my family in my arms again, I’d fight.
As exhaustion lulled my eyes closed, I allowed the tears to slip one by one down my cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath my head as I fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 3
Always the Last One Picked for Gym Class
I woke crabby, with puffy eyes and the worst headache. Rollshutters, which must have been motion sensitive or simply creepily intuitive, clattered open the moment I sat up in bed. Shielding my eyes to the harsh light, I blinked blearily and got my first full view of my bedroom.
Apparently, the Afterlife treated their human sacrifices like kings before we were led to slaughter, because I had my own room the size of an Olympic swimming pool. My bed was vast and soft with enough blankets to build the world’s largest bedding fort. The walls were a gentle, pastel cream with golden accents, the molding matching the embroidery on my blanket.
Curiosity overshadowed my depression for several minutes as I explored my new sleeping space. I found a dresser stocked with clean clothes, an attached half-bath with a toilet and expansive sink, and a large flat screen TV which rose from inside the sturdy mahogany chest at the end of the sleeping quarters.
Three steps lower, there was a seating area centered around an in-wall fireplace. The mini fridge was stocked with drinks, both alcoholic and non, and I momentarily contemplated getting shit-faced. But being hungover would not help me, so I refrained. Overall, it was like a vacation suite in a swanky hotel. Except for the looming death match. That put a damper on things.
My room had all the amenities—some blessed soul even had the foresight to fill the bedside table drawer with lube, condoms, and edible underwear. They thought of everything. Though how they expected me to get lucky in my last few days before I died a horrible, gruesome death was beyond me.
With palms chilling on the pane of glass, I leaned against the wall made entirely of windows and looked over the grounds surrounded by the fence. In the distance, I made out the iron gate, and as I scanned the panoramic view, my interest piqued at the lush gardens and—was that a swimming pool? I swore a set of tennis courts and an outdoor pool glimmered in the distance.
This place was an ironic joke—half-resort, half-prison.
I stopped in the bathroom to relieve my full bladder, cringing at my reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot hazel eyes stood out starkly from pale cheeks. My smattering of freckles was annoyingly noticeable. And holy shit, my hair. It exploded like a cotton ball around my face, and with no shower in sight, I dunked my head under the sink faucet to tame the mayhem.
With my hair soaking my jumpsuit, I stumbled from the bathroom and searched through the dresser full of clothing in my size. No sooner had I stripped the stupid suit from my body than the door to my room opened. I yelped, covering my flaccid cock with my hands as a dead-eyed servant in the distinctive leotard entered, unannounced and uninvited.
“Dude, I’m naked!” I shrieked, but the robotic girl simply blinked before holding out a bundle of clothes.
“Your uniform for the first task, great warrior.”
She didn’t look at me, merel
y in my general direction, and though I had never been naked in front of a girl before—awkward sisterly encounters notwithstanding—I instinctively felt there was no need for shame. Whoever this girl was, she was physically here but in no way present. As my mama would say, “She was out to lunch.”
My cheeks burned regardless as I waddled toward her to take the clothing from her outstretched hands, one hand still hiding my dick. She never met my gaze, and unable to resist, I waved my free hand before her face. Not even a blink of recognition.
Shit, what the fuck was wrong with her? Had they brainwashed her? Oh God, was this what happened to those who lost the game? They were erased from existence and used as servant robots?
“Um, thanks,” I muttered as I positioned the bundle of fabric in front of my groin. “The first task is today?” How had I missed that?
“Dress and join the other contestants in the sustenance hall for nourishment,” was her reply before she bowed deeply and strode stiffly from the room.
After snagging a pair of boxer-briefs from the top drawer of the dresser, I finagled the plain black T-shirt over my head and then tugged the stretchy tan pants up my legs. What the actual fuck? Were these tights?
Yanking at the continuous wedgie riding up my ass, I left my room and made my way back to the elevator. Thankfully, a map hung on the wall next to the lift, and I searched through the floors until I found one labeled “Wellness Level.” The showers and mess hall were located on this floor, and when the elevator dinged, I climbed aboard and rode it down to level thirteen.
I barely stepped from the open door before I was ushered back in by a group of contestants, grim-faced and quiet. “Hey, what the—?”
Someone pushed me, and I fell into a wall of muscle smelling of evergreen. Fucking perfect!
“Watch it,” Grant snapped, righting me with a harsh shove, and I straightened with a childish tongue waggle in his direction.
“I’m not the one pushing people. And where are we going? The walking corpse in the leotard told me to go to the mess hall.”
Running a hand through inky hair, he grumbled unintelligibly under his breath before addressing me. “Yeah, you missed breakfast. We’re heading to the first task now.”
“Now?” My voice hitched as nerves exploded in my gut. “But I’m hungry.”
“Well, set an alarm next time.”
“There won’t be a next time for him,” a feminine voice cut in, laden with a thick Russian accent. “I know weakness when I see it.”
I rounded on the stranger, a tall, muscled woman in her thirties with dirty blonde hair and cool, calculating eyes. A stern bun sat atop her head, and she crossed her toned arms over her chest as she inspected every inch of my less-than-put-together self. The clinical once over left me chilled, and I rubbed my arms self-consciously as I feigned confidence.
“I’m not weak.”
A condescending smirk spread her lips. “Of course not, shrimp.”
She ended the conversation by facing forward, entirely dismissing me, and I ground my teeth as I scooched over a step until my shoulder rubbed Grant’s—or would have if he wasn’t a freaking mammoth. “Why didn’t anyone wake me sooner? I mean, seriously. Rude much?”
“Didn’t know you needed a babysitter, green.” Grant side-stepped to distance himself from me as much as possible given the confined elevator. I scowled at the clear snub.
“I’m just saying. Common courtesy would dictate—”
“Common courtesy was left at the D.S.D., sleepin’ beauty. Now stop talkin’. Your voice is literally givin’ me a headache.”
“Are you always this much of an asshole?”
The elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors opened as Grant cast me a withering glance. “Are you always this annoyin’?”
“Fuck you.” I shouldered through the crowd, my small size coming in handy for once.
Leotard-donned servants gestured to the hovertrain parked in the gravel drive, and I was one of the first to bound down the steps and jump into a compartment. The scary Russian lady joined me along with the elderly grandmother from yesterday and three others I had yet to meet. We didn’t speak a word to each other the entire trip, though my stomach gurgled grumpily at being denied a meal.
Sure, I was dead. But apparently, my body hadn’t gotten the memo.
The longer we drove, the harder my gut clenched until I secretly thanked the Afterlife gods I had missed breakfast. Anything I would have eaten would surely be splattered on the floor of the compartment by this point. I was sick and scared, and I sat on my hands to hide the trembling in my fingers.
All at once, we reached our destination, and the train came to an abrupt halt. I was the last of our compartment to exit, and I squinted against the gloomy sunlight filtering through dusty clouds. A harsh wind bit the tip of my nose and cheeks as I followed the crowd blindly. All around, barren trees scattered across the rugged terrain and muddy hills sloped in various heights.
Standing on shaking legs, I trailed behind the group, slipping and sliding in the wet earth. At least I had a sturdy pair of sport shoes, though they would surely be stained by the end of the day.
Luckily for my clumsy ass, no one paid me much attention as I tumbled my way down the hill, losing my footing twice and smearing the back of my legs and ass with mud.
I scrutinized the throng, spotting Grant almost immediately. He was a giant, and his crown of black locks rose above the crowd like a beacon. Still pissed at his shitty attitude, I fought the urge to approach him for a full minute before giving in. I was a glutton for punishment, it would seem.
“Exsqueeze me!” I sing-songed as I shoved through the mass of competitors. People cursed me as I accidentally smashed random toes and elbowed torsos. “Whoopsie! Sorry. Coming through. Hey, Boston!”
His shoulders slumped at the sound of my voice as he turned in resignation. I rubbed my bare arms as I studied our dim surroundings. “Fuck, this weather is going to give me blue balls.” I winked at him. “And not the fun kind.”
“There isn’t a fun kind of blue balls,” he pointed out.
Shrugging, I inspected my muddy clothes. “Well, I’d rather get them from sexual frustration than because the weather made them shrivel like frozen blueberries.”
Grant face-palmed, then pinched the bridge of his nose, reluctantly focusing on me as if talking to me was the biggest inconvenience of his life… or death. “Why are you covered in mud?”
“I may have fallen, but, you know, it doesn’t matter. I mean, no one saw, so we can keep that between us.”
Covering his mouth, he coughed his laughter into his palm. “The Games are televised, green. There are cameras everywhere! The whole Afterlife saw you.”
“Oh, well, isn’t that just fucking perfect!” I batted at the mud on my pants, and an unattractive blush crept over my cheeks. “Can’t catch a break, even when I’m dead. And, what in the name of all that’s holy are we wearing? Are these tights?”
Grant huffed in exasperation. “No, they’re work-out pants.”
I eyed the material suspiciously. “I think they’re tights.”
“Whatever. I don’t really care.”
Pinching the pants, I stretched the fabric a few inches before letting it snap back into place. “Well, I do. I thought the Death Games would give us something cool to wear. Not dress us like we’re fucking Robin Hood knock-offs.”
“Will you shut up?” someone from behind me said.
My retort evaporated when a group of hooded figures appeared in a puff of smoke before us. Yay, Death was back.
“Greetings, Afterlife!” he bellowed, arms raised, and a formless crowd cheered, the noise echoing around us. “Another Games is upon us, and I am happy to introduce you to your new competitors. Welcome, warriors!”
Another deafening roar rose from the invisible crowd, and Grant’s reminder about the cameras rang through my mind. We were on television right now. Some of the contestants hammed it up for the cameras I still couldn
’t see, waving and pumping their fists in the air. Me? I cowered into Grant’s side.
Waving his hands, Death silently asked for calm. The unseen spectators obliged. He cleared his throat and motioned one of his assistants forward. “Without further ado, we begin. Contestants, you will be divided into two teams—”
“I thought this was an individual challenge?” someone shouted, and Death smiled coldly.
“In the end, it will be, but given the sheer number of volunteers and the obstacles in this particular task, you will require aid from your fellow teammates. I advise you not to tackle the task alone.” When no one interrupted again, he continued, “I’ll now draw random names for the team leaders.”
Panic rushed through me as Death slipped his bony hand into a bag brandished by a short figure in a black robe and withdrew two pieces of paper. This was happening too fast. I didn’t want to die… again! And if only one person won these torturous challenges, I stood no chance. Grant had been right yesterday. I wasn’t cut out for this.
“Natalia Melnikov, you will be the leader of the red team.” The scary, Russian woman from the elevator stepped forward as Death unfolded the second paper. “Mateo Arce, you will lead the blue. Like it stated in your contracts, there will be no injuring or killing any players outside of the challenges. Any person found doing so will be instantly disqualified. But for the duration of the task, these rules are”—he paused—“suspended. Of course, bear in mind the necessity for teamwork.
“Mateo, you may choose first.”
The man, Mateo, ran a hand through his thick locks and a permanent wrinkle deepened between his brows. Immediately, he pointed to a bodybuilder of a man with shaggy hair.
One by one, people were chosen, Grant being third. I was one of the last few remaining. Humiliation boiled under my skin as more and more contestants were picked before me. Even the fifty-year-old grandmother was chosen as I stood pouting with arms crossed over my slim chest.
The Death Games Page 3