The Dying Game: A GRIPPING THRILLER WITH A SHOCKING TWIST (Breaking Control Book 1)

by JD Heath

  I found my way into a waiting room. A family lay sleeping on a series of chairs and a cell phone was plunged into a socket across the room, its screen glowing softly. I took it and crept back out without waking them.

  Unlocking the phone wasn’t hard. Most people are too lazy to put a serious code or pattern into their screen locks. A simple zig-zag pattern is the most used one and it was the one that opened the phone.

  Once I had what I needed and the phone’s history wiped clean I went back to the waiting room. The family still slept. I studied them carefully. A woman who was probably the mother to the two young boys who were snoring heavily while waiting to hear the fate of someone. A father maybe?

  I dropped the phone below a chair where it could be spotted. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t steal from people who don’t deserve to be stolen from.

  Nobody paid me much attention. Hospitals are filled with people ghosting through hallways at all hours of the day and night. I spotted food trays and when the nurse took one inside a room I helped myself to one off the silver cart then ducked into a bathroom, closed and locked the door, and had breakfast.

  I carried the tray back out, hiding it below my blouse and replaced it in the cart where the empty trays were stacked neatly. The sleep, thin and broken as it was, and the food helped.

  I wanted to go see Morgan but that was too dangerous. I had to get out of the hospital and somewhere that I could get the USBs I held open. I needed a lot of things.

  Walking the streets of that dusty town was unnerving. I knew Control was right there, somewhere. They had to have found out that their playground had been breached. They’d be sending teams to clean it out. Hopefully Morgan’s boss and his crew could get there first.

  But I never counted on the good guys wining, not when Control’s in the mix.

  I stayed, day after day. I made it in and out of the hospital by changing clothes a lot, keeping my head down and my face hidden by everything from surgical masks and caps to baseball hats. I slept in the coma ward, in a drawer in the morgue, and I managed to use computers at nurse’s stations.

  I have money, and because I know that running means not always being able to take the time to gather things up and take them with you I also have a whole lot of backup plans. Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies are my best friend right now and that was how I got food, clothes, and a laptop to deal with the rest of the things that I needed to deal with. I paid cash that I withdrew from a BC friendly machine to get time at an internet pay as you go stop. I didn’t want to leave any traces behind and I didn’t. I’m sure of it.

  The news was filled with images of the Fortress’ terrors. The dead bodies, the moldering skeletons. Norton and the Reaper killing. The dead man that they convicted as the Reaper.

  They think me dead. How sweet.

  That should have reassured me but it didn’t. Because I know that no matter what Control knows everything. They know a man showed up at that hospital and in a truck that bore a vaguely military look. They know Norton didn’t make it out but they had to wonder if the files did.

  And if they did, they could only be with Morgan.

  Parnham may or may not have told someone that he got a call from a woman. If he did Control knows there’s another witness, another person who may have Norton’s files.

  If they don’t know about me then Morgan would be their sole target.

  I woke up this morning with a feeling that something was really wrong. I know that feeling. It’s saved my life more times than I can count. I trust that feeling. I never question it.

  I was right. I was watching when the cop showed up. The cop I hadn’t seen before, the one who was wearing a uniform that didn’t fit quite right. I knew Morgan was in trouble and I also knew that if they killed him they’d find the little present I’d just delivered so I went in.

  And here we are.

  Morgan asks, softly, “”Everyone the Reaper killed was connected to Control?”

  The Reaper. He says that like me and the Reaper are two separate entities. We’re not. We’re one and the same. “Yes.”

  “Why’d you stop when Tayne was arrested?”

  “I ran out of leads. I needed to find a way to use what I had and I needed to let the heat down die. Don’t tell me it was wrong to let him take the blame. The guy deserved to be locked away.”

  “I won’t argue that.” He stretches his long and bare legs out, distracting me. I can see the shape of his body below that gown and that sight is wreaking havoc on me. I turn into a retail store lot and then slide the car behind the store. Morgan asks, “What are we doing?”

  “Getting you something to put on. You can’t go into a store like that and I can’t leave you alone right now.”

  He watches as I get out and then check the dumpsters. I find a pair of jeans with a missing button and a few other items that will work. I gather as much as I can and get back into the car. Morgan looks at the clothes and then at me, his lip curling a little.

  I say, with a little irritation, “It’s a clothing store. It’s not like they’re gross. You just have to wear them until I can get you in and out of a store, okay?”

  He grins and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds. He says, sheepishly, “After everything we’ve been through you wouldn’t think I could be squeamish.”

  He undoes his seat belt, gets the pants to the floorboards, and lifts his hips to slide into them. For a single second his entire lower body is bare and I can see his member, the long girth of it and the blue veins that wrap it standing out in bas-relief; a road map to lust and need.

  Every single cell reacts to that sight. He struggles into a shirt. The tight wrappings around his ribs makes me tense. He’s still weak, still not healed from the things that happened in the Fortress.

  I’m going to get him killed. I’m probably going to get the both of us killed.

  He asks, “What now?”

  “We have to get to Vegas.” I get the car into gear. “We have to get underground for a while. I know you want to go after them right now but I need to really study those USB files. I’ve managed to get the encryption broken and the names but there’s more to it than that.” I dig into a pocket of the jeans I’m wearing and take out the coin. I press it into his outstretched palm.

  He lifts it and asks, “What is it?”

  “It’s the ID code for the accounts Norton had. The names on the files are just part of it. Most of them are probably fake. The accounts is how we follow the money. The names that aren’t encoded are probably the lower-level members of Control, and we need to go right to the top.”

  The sin spangles off the coin. Morgan’s fingers close over it. “I think if we can get the lower-level ones to talk we can get them to open up about the higher-ups.”

  “You’re thinking like a cop. This isn’t a simple drug bust or even a murder investigation.” I guide us onto a highway and accelerate to seventy-five. “You don’t really grasp it yet. I mean you do, on the top of your head. But it’s not computing down deep, where it matters.”

  If he’s offended it doesn’t show. “Then help me to get it.”

  I take a long breath. “Control’s about power. And thrills. They’re a bunch of rich people looking for a thrill, for something that they can’t buy. A lot of them have secrets they’d rather hide with like-minded individuals. Rape, murder, pedophilia, anything that can get them that high. That’s their bag. But there’s more. Drugs, guns, money. Every dirty pie has their dirty fingers in it somewhere. They make the laws and the rules. They rule governments. They’re rich and they’re above the law, for the most part. We can’t get them to talk. They’ll die first.”

  “You’re speaking form experience.”

  It’s not a question. I nod because it’s true. I am. Even Leticia had proven mute on the subjects I quizzed her about. “They’re afraid to die, sure, but they’re more afraid of the other members. They’d rather die at the hands of whoever comes after them than by the hands of the people they k
now. Likely with good reason.”

  Morgan shudders a little. “Yeah, I’m sure none of them wanted to be the next player in the Fortress.”

  Or see their own children in the Marketplace. Or any of the other places Control inhabits.

  I want to focus on the now but memories haunt me. Katy and me, sitting with our backs to the wall of our cell, a plain gray box with bars on the front. Steel everywhere. Katy saying, “When they take us tonight, run. You can do it. I know you can.”

  Me clinging to her, weeping hard. No way was I running without her. We both knew that night was our last. We knew it was our only chance. And I knew, even though I didn’t want to, that Katy was buying my life with her own that night, that that was what she had planned.

  I didn’t want to go without her. I never would’ve been able to run if she hadn’t attacked the guards pushing us down the hallway toward the room where the beautiful men and women in their fancy gowns and evening clothes waited for us and the others, if she hadn’t stolen a knife from the table the week before and hadn’t given it to me to protect myself.

  Oh why hadn’t she kept it? Why had I run, that knife bloody and wet, away from her instead of to her to help her get free?

  “Gina?”

  My fingers lift to my face. The wetness is there, my tears are tracking down my face. I mutter, thickly, “Sorry.”

  I am sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t save Katy. That I allowed her to save me by giving me that knife and time to run. It was the only chance I’d ever have. I knew it and she knew it and I did, I ran so hard and so fast and right through that door and out into a night so cold it took my breath. I ran naked into the world like a newborn, my lungs aching with a scream and blood covering me.

  But when I was born, the first time, Katy was right there with me, my twin. Two of us entering the world together. On the night of my second birth I was a single birth, a single child.

  Control killed who I used to be but I…I killed Katy.

  Leticia’s terrified face fills my mind’s eye. She wouldn’t give me a goddamned thing, even when she knew she was about to die. I pressed that knife to her flesh again and asked her the one question I had to ask, a question I’d asked over and over again since the day she stepped into our lives. “Why?”

  Her eyes, wet with tears that came, not from remorse or grief but from physical pain, met mine squarely. She rasped out, “Because you were disposable. No relatives. Nobody to give a shit what happened to you. You were easy to make vanish. Nobody cared. Nobody even gave you and your sister a single thought.”

  “You’re wrong,” I’d said as I let the blade part flesh and go deep into her body, but not deep enough to kill her. “I care, and I want Katy. I think about her every single day.”

  I do. I think of her day and usually a few times a day. I miss her so much that it’s a physical ache. I want my sister to be free of Control’s grip, finally. Is that so much to ask? Is it really?

  Morgan’s fingers land on my thigh, squeezing gently. “It’s okay.”

  It’s not. Nothing’s been okay for a very long time now. I gather my thoughts. “We have to stop at the top. The others, the lower-ranking ones? They’ll panic. They will.” They would. They count on that protection from the ones above them.

  Morgan says, “So we follow the money to the highest ranking member of Control we can find. Then what?”

  Kill them. Kill them all. I know he doesn’t want to hear that. We’re going to have differing agendas. His is justice. He’ll want prison cells and high-profile arrests.

  Me?

  I want blood and vengeance.

  Oh he’s with me and I know, really I do know, that he thinks he can talk me into something less than killing. He thinks he can make me see justice as a prison cell and sentencing.

  He’s wrong.

  They sowed murder and pain and now they’re going to reap the rewards of what they did, and not just to me and Katy but to every single person who’s ever died at their hands.

  The Reaper’s is coming, and I’m bringing Hell with me.

  CHAPTER 20: MORGAN:

  Vegas.

  The lights of the Strip shine down into the car and I squint at them through eyes that are gritty with fatigue. I’ve lost track of time. We’ve been driving for what seems like forever. We stopped for gas and bathroom breaks, to switch seats, and kept driving, using a drive-thru for food and the seats for beds.

  I hurt all over. Every muscle aches and I’m so tired that just keeping my head up and my eyes open is proving difficult.

  Gina’s not in any better shape. She tells me to take the car to McCarran, where we stash it in a long-term lot and then wipe it clean with the help of some stuff she bought the last time we stopped for gas. We hop into a taxi and sag against the doors of the backseat, neither of us speaking. Gina’s shaking with exhaustion and I wonder, I do, just how much more she can take.

  We get out of the taxi and onto the Strip. Lights assail my eyes. There’s crowds of people, most of them drunk, wobbling and weaving and strolling down the sidewalks. The casinos blare them come-ons. The people standing around holding decks of cards that give discounts for everything from meals and shows to escorts wave those cards at us. Gina and I steer around people and through the mass of bodies.

  Blood flows into my muscles, bringing oxygen with it. My limbs tingle and little pinpricks streak through my nerves. It’s both good and painful. All I can do is follow her and so I do. We board the Bolt and the bus lurches away from the curb then cruises down the Strip. We get off in front of the Bellagio where she hails yet another taxi.

  We’re staggering through the city’s traffic, still not speaking. I need to call Parnham, and soon. I’ve known that since we fled the hospital but I haven’t. For one thing Gina made the phone she sent to my room vanish and for another, not being in sight or contact is our strongest defense right now.

  The cab drops us in Fremont. I’m shocked awake by the hedonistic display of lights and half-naked people, by the noise of the bands and the street performers and the crowds. The machines in the casinos zing and sing and the scent of food, sweat, spilled alcohol and vomit all mingle as we stagger down the long and wide road.

  I want to ask where we’re going but it takes all my breath to just keep up. Gina leads me to a midrise building and through its lobby to an elevator. We soar upward and I sag against the walls of the car. I’m so tired my mind is dull and frozen. My skin’s itching form the exercise and the blood flowing through me.

  We step onto a floor and go to a door. She uses a keypad to open it and smiles at me. “Irony, right?”

  I just nod. I’m in on the joke, but I’m too exhausted to really care. She closes and locks the door then faces me. “I need a shower.”

  I glance down at myself. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Come on.”

  I follow her again. The bathroom’s small, dusty, and slightly forlorn. It’s obvious that nobody’s been here in a long time. Gina cranks up the shower. The pipes rattle a bit then steam starts to fill the room. She turns to me with a question in her eyes and I know there’s only way to answer it.

  I pull her into me. My hands stroke down her hair and then her face. My fingers land in her jaw and tilt her face up to mine.

  Her mouth is soft, and it yields below mine. Our bodies press closer together. Her fingers go to buttons, to sleeves and hems. Mine do too. We keep on kissing. Our tongues meet and dance, our bodies grinding together in a silent and urgent thing that blossoms into passion long before we’re both nude and stepping into the heated spray coming from the showerhead.

  Her skin is silk, it’s supple and so warm. The steam envelops us and I want her now but this is foreplay, this is the sloughing off the nightmare. It’s waking up. So I content myself with touching her, with letting my hands glide over curves and angles. With lathering her hair and her skin and letting the fragrance of her skin and the soap and the shampoo tease at my senses while my dick hardens and hardens again, eager for
her, desperate to be inside of her body.

  In the bedroom I lead her to the bed. The mattress sags under our weight. Her mouth’s on mine again but I tear my lips away so I can find her neck, her breasts. Her nipples harden in my mouth and she gasps as my hands move lower to delve between her spread thighs.

  Wetness coats my fingertips as I stroke along her lower lips. She wriggles and groans, her back arching. Her heels dig into the mattress. My cock’s throbbing and I want to be inside of her so much but first I want her to come, to be as ready for this as I am.

  My head goes lower. My tongue finds her clit and strokes it while my fingers go deep inside her soaked and tight sheath. Her inner walls close and loosen around my fingers and her honey-sweet, slightly salty juices coat my tongue, spurring me onward.

  Her fingers tug at my hair, yank my face closer. The smell of her arousal meets my nose and my body stiffens again. I keep massaging her clit with my tongue, keep thrusting my fingers inside her while more heated oils spill from her core and roll down my chin and fingers.

  She’s on the edge and I can’t wait either. I move upward. Her legs wrap around me, her heels bump against my ass cheeks. The head of my prick meets her slippery entry and then I’m inside her, moving slowly to try to make this last.

  Her tightness cradles me and releases me. Our lips meet again, our teeth clashing for a second. Her breath fills my mouth. Her fingers curl against my chest and then move to my back. The sting of her nails against my flesh draws a hard gasp from me.

  Her cries are smothered by the kiss. My body works harder and faster. We move together in a rhythm she sets. Her breath’s a hard gasp now and I can hear my heartbeat thundering along in my ears. Everything’s gone but this moment, but the two of us and this moment that washes away the blood and pain and misery that was the Fortress. In her body I find both solace and pleasure.