The Death Games

by Vannah Summers

  The movement shook him, and his eyes darted from my face to our hands then back to my face. His gaze dropped to my parted lips, and I licked them automatically, my throat desert dry. To my astonishment, the atmosphere thickened, and his pupils dilated, his espresso eyes darkening to onyx.

  Of course, the moment was over before it even began, and his muscles flexed as he prepared to pull away from me. Desperate to keep him close, I blurted the first question that came to me, hoping to distract him.

  “How’d you learn all this?” I panted, relaxing beneath him in surrender, and he hesitated.

  “My Pa taught me boxin’, and he put me in self-defense classes when I hit puberty.” His shoulders wiggled nonchalantly as he added, “I had anger issues.”

  Snickering, I squeezed his large fingers, still nestled in my tiny hands. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Unamused, he eyed our clasped hands again, and, like he was waking from a dream, he blinked and jerked away from me. My fingers stung as he ripped our hands apart. Quicker than I could blink, he was standing over me.

  “Enough lessons. I’m exhausted.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, his jaw and shoulders taut. I flinched at the irritated glare he shot my way as I rose to rest my arms on my knees. “You should shower. You’re gross.”

  Sure, I was covered in more sweat than was probably safe to lose, but I wasn’t the only sweaty one. A light sheen glistened over his face, and his tank clung tighter than before to his torso. But where the sweat made him look like the model on a fitness magazine, mine gave me the appearance of a drowned poodle. The world was so unfair!

  Like an afterthought, Grant tossed a water bottle my way, and I snatched it from the air and guzzled its contents. Once empty, I shook the plastic, sticking my tongue into the neck to collect every last drop, parched.

  “Seriously, shower and catch some sleep,” he said, interrupting the way I stared longingly into the bottle like a kaleidoscope. “Your body’s gonna need it.”

  With a grumble of agreement, I tossed the empty bottle to the side and stood. Stretching my sore muscles, I shuffled after Grant as he strode purposefully to the elevators. We rode to the Wellness Level together, and when Grant stepped out and trudged to the locker room, I was hot on his heels. His brow furrowed as I followed him inside. I cocked my head in question, but he entered one of the shower stalls without speaking.

  Apparently, we were back to him being a buttmunch. His moods swings gave me whiplash, and I complained internally as I took the second shower stall and stripped. The hot water cascaded over my shoulders, washing away salt and grime. My contented sigh was lost to the echo of water beating against tile.

  Annoyed at the silence between us, I worried my bottom lip and scrubbed shampoo into my hair. I contemplated what to say. One minute, we were friends, allies, and the next, we were competitors. I couldn’t understand it fully. Mere minutes ago, I could have sworn Grant was flirting with me, yet he’d dismissed me so casually.

  Maybe he was scared to get close. We were in a terrifying game to the death, after all, and only one person could win. That meant, one of us—if not both—would die. Perhaps he was saving himself the heartache of forging a doomed friendship? Or maybe he really did dislike me. Neither option offered much comfort.

  I should have taken a page from his book, but I’d never been known for self-control or good planning. I liked him, in more ways than one. He was hot, strong, and made a good ally. But he was also funny and sweet when he wanted to be, and there was a depth to his character that intrigued me. I wanted to be his friend, even if he didn’t return the sentiment.

  By the time I finished showering, Grant was shuffling around outside the stalls. I dried myself quickly and, feeling like a total creep, peeked through the curtain separating me from the room. I bit back a groan when I caught a flash of pale skin as he tugged a pair of boxers over his tight ass.

  Well, that answered the question of whether he was a boxer or brief man.

  Forcing myself not to molest him with my eyes as he dressed, I finished drying my body then secured my towel around my waist and stepped from the stall. He stood in a pair of dark, cotton pants. I admired the expanse of his bare, muscled back as I opened my bag of clothes.

  Our eyes met briefly, and I blushed, praying he hadn’t caught my perusal. His lips parted, prepared to speak, but they closed instantly as his gaze latched on to a fat droplet of water clinging to the end of my curls. He tracked its movement as it splashed onto my shoulder and wiggled down my torso, but the moment it met the towel at my hips, he abruptly faced the wall.

  He shoved his exercise clothes into his bag, his movements jerky as he audibly ground his teeth. I self-consciously fingered my sweaty clothes, instantly regretting my ill-prepared decisions leading me to the training room without a fresh set of pajamas. I searched for words to fill the awkward silence, but nothing of value came to me.

  Instead, I inspected the stinky gray shirt with pit stains. It was either this or riding the elevator up to my room in nothing but a towel. Maybe I was a diva, because I was willing to risk the possible embarrassment of getting caught nude over putting these nasty clothes back on my clean body.

  As if Grant read my mind, a T-shirt and a fresh pair of gray boxers flew through the air, and I barely managed to catch them before they fell to the puddled tile at my feet. He didn’t look at me, focusing instead on shoving his own sweaty clothes into his bag. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I accepted the silent offer gratefully.

  Bending at the waist, I subtly pulled Grant’s too-large underwear up my legs. Regardless of my best efforts, the towel slipped, and I rushed to cover my ass.

  I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but there was something about getting naked with a straight guy that set me on edge. We were kind of friends—at least, at the moment—and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

  When I turned to gather my smelly clothes, I caught him jerking his head away. He focused on the far wall, but there was an unmistakable flush to his cheeks. Had he peeked?

  Heat swirled in my gut—or was it hunger?—and I surveyed him from the corner of my eye as I straightened his shirt on my torso, the fabric once again swallowing me. His cheeks were definitely darker than normal, and when I tried to catch his stare, he avoided my eyes.

  “Well, I’m headin’ to bed,” he announced too loudly, as he tucked his bag under his arm.

  There was a definitive stress on the word I as opposed to a we, and my heart dropped to my toes. “Oh, okay.”

  As if he sensed my disappointment, he tilted his head and our eyes met, the emotion in his indistinguishable. Whatever it was, it generated a flurry of fluttering wings in my stomach. Unfortunately, he broke eye contact too soon, and the expression was replaced by his impenetrable mask.

  I wanted to pretend it wasn’t disappointment settling like a jagged rock in my gut, but that would’ve been a lie. Though I could be an accomplished liar to others, I had never mastered the art of lying to myself.

  “Well, thanks,” I said, the uncomfortable air between us smothering. “You know, for teaching me and for the, uh, clothes.”

  “Don’t mention it. We’re even now.”

  At his unfeeling delivery, I fidgeted with an unruly curl at my temple. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you later?”

  His lips pursed as he studied his bare feet. “Maybe. We’re still not friends.”

  And with that less than pleasant reminder, he left the bathroom like the room was on fire.

  I watched him leave, an unexpected sorrow trickling through my chest at the dismissive attitude. What had just happened? For a moment, it’d almost seemed like my one-sided flirting had turned into, well, reciprocated flirting. But then he sprinted from the room like he couldn’t stand my presence a second longer. What the hell?

  Lucky for him, I wasn’t that easy to deter. We could be friends, even if he was being a stubborn jackass about it.

  Wiping the last bit of water fro
m my forehead, I snatched up my sweat-soiled clothes. Dressed in Grant’s huge shirt and boxers, I headed to the elevator with confused, frustrated thoughts swirling around my brain.

  Chapter 7

  High School Never Ends

  Just like I hoped, I didn’t have any more nightmares that night. In fact, I slept so soundly I almost missed breakfast. But, of course, my stomach decided to be my alarm clock, and I woke to its angry grumbling.

  When I exited my room, I glanced both ways down the hall to see if anyone was around. I contemplated skipping breakfast, but my stomach refused, snapping at me with an angry gurgle at the thought. Plus, the second task was tomorrow, and I would need all my strength.

  Dragging my feet, I somehow made it to the breakfast hall and filled my tray with what I equated to eggs—they were baby blue, today—and more strange fruit. This time, I snatched a cupcake off the end of the table along with a cup of yellow liquid tasting like cough syrup. The cupcake was decorated like Hello Kitty. The odd theme distracted me enough I didn’t see the person in front of me until it was too late.

  My tray smashed into someone’s torso, and my drink, along with my Hello Kitty cupcake splattered over a gray T-shirt. I knew without looking who it was, but I still cringed as I met Schmidt’s furious glower. Shit on a stick.

  “Whoops.” I righted my cup on my tray and delicately plucked the smushed cupcake from its new home on Schmidt’s voluptuously muscular man-boob. “Hello Kitty likes you.”

  A terrifying growl rumbled in his chest as his fists trembled with rage, and a breathy squeak escaped my lips. Taking advantage of his shock, I ducked away before he could pummel me. Today was kicking off to a great start!

  Heavy stares weighed on my shoulders as I lowered myself into a vacant seat at an empty table. I wouldn’t bother anyone here. I would sit and be depressed all by my lonesome. Here, I was safe from spilling my food on anyone else.

  I’d barely taken a bite of my cotton candy eggs when a shadow encroached on the table. I lowered my fork slowly as I tipped my head to look up at Schmidt. His thick, blond brows rose in an intimidating expression. Dread coiled in my chest. Was it really too much to hope he would forget about the pink and white frosting smeared on his chest?

  “You have something to say to me, princess?” he asked, and whatever semblance of pride I possessed rose to the surface.

  If he wasn’t such a homophobic asshole, I would have apologized. But now? Fat chance, dickhead. He couldn’t kill me right now anyway.

  I didn’t answer and instead took a bite of food. Apparently, this was the wrong choice because the muscular man let out an animalistic snarl and slammed his hands on the table near my plate. My tin cup jumped from the force and almost tipped.

  Righting my cup before it could spill whatever liquid remained over the faux-wood, I refused to speak or even look his way. If ignoring him pissed him off, I’d gladly do it. Self-preservation wasn’t really my style.

  At this point, every eye in the room was on us. I fought the urge to check for allies amongst the crowd. Other than Helen and maybe Grant, I had no friends here. Hopefully, Schmidt wouldn’t choose to squash me because I couldn’t walk away from that.

  As I speared a chunk of eggs and brought it to my lips, his meaty hand smacked the fork from my grasp. The utensil clinked across the table as the clumpy eggs sprayed up into my face, a stubborn chunk catching in my curls and dangling in front of my eyes.

  “Can I help you?” I asked through clenched teeth, finally turning my attention to the asshole looming over me. I caught sight of Grant from the corner of my eye, and his fists clenched on the table as he watched the exchange with feral eyes.

  Why was he pissed? He wasn’t the one about to be beaten to a bloody pulp, all over a Hello Kitty cupcake.

  Schmidt captured my attention, tapping my cheek with his fingertips harder than necessary, and I flinched automatically. His teeth gleamed under the fluorescent lights, a predator cornering his prey. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t some meek, little field mouse. If he wanted to eat me for breakfast, I’d put up one hell of a fight.

  “You didn’t answer me, twinkle toes. I expect an apology.” He tilted his head to the side, slush-colored eyes narrowed in sinister promise. “Not much of a talker this morning? You’ve had a loud mouth on you these past few days.”

  I smiled sweetly, daintily popping a bright orange grape into my mouth. “Oh, honey, I didn’t think you were interested in my mouth. Are you here to proposition me? ’Cause then I really must decline.”

  His amusement at my expense evaporated, and the table creaked under the pressure of his weight. “I don’t bother with fairy boys.”

  “Then fuck off so I can eat. This fairy boy needs his vitamins so he can kick your lumpy ass in the next challenge the same way I did last week.” I crunched the piece of fruit between my teeth, startling at the tart taste. His chest swelled.

  Before he could retort, Natalia appeared at his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come now, Schmidt. There’s no need to pick on the mouse. He’s harmless.” Her smile was cunning as she played good cop, and I stared at her coldly as I ate another sour grape.

  “Let one mouse live, and they tend to multiply,” Schmidt muttered, and Natalia’s smirk widened.

  “His days are numbered.” Her blood-red nails dug into his shoulder. “Come, Schmidt, let the little mouse eat. He’ll need his strength for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Schmidt leered. “Eat up, faggot.”

  He smacked my tray, dumping the contents into my lap. I froze in shock at the immature action. A chair scraped the floor somewhere behind the behemoth, but I couldn’t focus on anything but his cruel grin. I didn’t see the cup in his hand until he was dumping the contents over my head, flattening my curls with the thick, milky goop.

  “And don’t forget to swallow like a good cocksucker.”

  My vision bled red at the insult, and, without thought to repercussions, I bolted to my feet and punched him square in the face, just like Grant had taught me. My hand cracked, agony ripping through my arm, and I shrieked. Hitting someone’s face hurt a hell of a lot worse than Grant’s boxing glove.

  Schmidt barely moved. The smallest amount of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he licked it away before fisting his hands in my soiled shirt and lifting me completely off the floor.

  Okay, I’d officially bitten off more than I could chew.

  “Your ass is mine, you little cunt.”

  “How about you pick on someone your own size,” a furious voice spoke. A second later, a chair smashed into Schmidt’s back, sending both of us tumbling.

  I tucked into a ball and rolled out of the way as the mammoth crashed to the floor, almost flattening me like a pancake. Quicker than I thought possible, Grant flipped Schmidt to his back, and I flinched as his fist smacked against his jaw. Once, twice.

  Natalia had backed away at the first sign of violence, and Death’s warning ran through my mind as I staggered to my feet. “Grant, stop!”

  Awakening from his shock, Schmidt snarled and jabbed Grant in the nose. Blood poured from his nostrils like an open hydrant. Unable to help, I cradled my injured hand to my chest as I yelled for them to stop.

  With a roar, Schmidt shoved Grant, propelling him my way, and I wasn’t fast enough to dodge. He crashed into my knees, and we tumbled across the messy floor. Unfortunately, I ended up on the bottom when we landed, and the air was forced from the lungs.

  “Enough!” Natalia grasped Schmidt’s biceps as he prepared to charge. “If you do too much damage, we’ll all get in trouble. Leave them.”

  I gasped like a fish out of water as Grant groaned in my ear, his knee located dangerously close to my no-no square, and I yelped when he shifted above me, his leg pressing too close for comfort. He’d squish my balls if he added too much pressure.

  “Watch the goods!” I squeaked in his ear, and he froze as I dug my nails into his hip.

  “Shit, did I…?” Raisin
g his torso, he hovered over me with eyes wide and nose dripping scarlet onto my shirt. “I didn’t render you impotent, did I?”

  “Shut up and get your fat ass off me!” I pushed at his chest only to whimper as my injured hand protested. “You’re bleeding on me. That’s disgusting.”

  He rolled his eyes and straightened to his knees as I panted for oxygen. Natalia led a deranged-looking Schmidt away like the owner of a rabid dog, and Grant cast them both an ugly scowl while flipping them his middle finger. I chuckled through the throbbing of my knuckles.

  “Boston, heel.” I snickered when he leveled his glare on me. “Good boy.”

  “I just saved your skinny ass, green. Better watch the sass.” With hands gentler than I expected, he inspected my hand. “I thought we went over this last night. You could have broken your knuckles.”

  I brushed off my wet, food-splattered clothes before flexing my sore hand. “Well, points for trying, right?”

  “No.” Whatever kindness he’d shown moments before vanished, and he glowered. “Great, now I gotta change. Next time, maybe try not to get into a fight you can’t win.”

  I grunted with indignation and crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t start anything! And I didn’t ask for your help, either.”

  “Whatever.”

  Without another word, he stalked from the room, leaving me the center of attention as the remaining contestants resumed their breakfast. My own appetite now gone, I muttered, “Show’s over.” My earlier wrath reawakened in the face of Grant’s unfair temper. Even though I was probably poking the bear, I chased after him.

  “Hey!” I jogged to catch up to his long strides, but he ignored me as he ducked into the elevator. “Hey, Boston!”

  Simpering triumphantly, I slipped my thin body between the closing doors and faced him head on. I slapped the emergency button, and Grant and I glared at each other as the lift came to a jarring halt. “What the actual fuck was that? You jump in to play hero and then throw it back in my face?”