The Death Games Read online

  It took one mistake for him to die; it would take two to kill him twice.

  Kansas native, Lea Anderson, never thought he would die at eighteen in his cap and gown, mere hours before his high school graduation. He definitely didn’t imagine he would meet his end at the paws of his arch nemesis, his sister’s evil calico. It’s too bad he doesn’t have nine lives to spare…

  After his sorry ass lands in the Afterlife, the real trouble starts. But even in death, things don’t go exactly as expected.

  With limited allies and an ever-increasing number of enemies, he finds himself stuck in the Afterlife’s most dangerous entertainment, The Death Games. But could this blunder become his biggest break?

  Unlikely friends and unexpected attraction, gruesome contests and a chance at a second shot at life, they all await within The Games. Can he survive death long enough to live again? Or is he fated to an eternity enslaved? Because if he doesn’t win, the loss might be worse than death itself.

  A single winner, a second chance—one thing’s for certain: Lea is not in Kansas anymore.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Vannah Summers and Nikole Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2019 Glowing Moon Designs

  Copy Editing by Becky Edits

  Contents

  Copyright

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  About Vannah

  About Nikole

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  From Vannah…

  To my beautiful soul mate across the seas, Sadie, also known as Nikole Knight: you are absolutely incredible. Thank you for inviting me along with you on this journey and for pushing me every step of the way. I’m so grateful to call you a friend, and I hope we get to write together again.

  For my hubby, thank you for being patient with me, even when I spaced out thinking about book stuff and forgot you were talking to me. You are so sweet, and even though you get more jelly than a PB&J about all the times I laugh, smile, and squeal about Nikole, don’t forget how much I love you. You’re the best.

  Thank you to Becky for taking on this project. Editing is a monster, and I’m so grateful to have your help.

  Also, thank you, Lia Davis, for the stunning cover! I couldn’t be happier and absolutely love it.

  And Mister Nikole Knight, you are one lucky son of a gun. What an outstanding and talented wife you have. I truly appreciate all the time you’ve given us to write out this story. Thank you for allowing me to be selfish and to steal some of her precious time away from you, even though I’m sure you wanted her all to yourself. I’m sorry, though only a little bit, but I plan to steal some more of her time in the future. Sharing is caring!

  From Nikole…

  First off, I would be remiss if I didn’t gush over my amazing co-author and friend, Vannah Summers. Thank you for the late-night writing sessions and for putting up with my stubborn bulldozing tendencies. It’s been a blast, and I’m looking forward to our next writing endeavor.

  Thank you, husband, for sharing me these past months. I appreciate every evening you entertained yourself so I could hide in my writing nook, every night you went to bed alone because I needed to finish up the next chapter. I love you.

  Becky, we’re so grateful for the work you’ve put into editing this book. Thank you for everything! And Lia, the cover is beautiful and badass. It’s everything we hoped it would be. Thank you!

  And last but not least, to Mister Vannah Summers. Thank you for sharing your wife with me. She’s the absolute best, and I’m grateful for the time you sacrificed so we could go on this adventure together.

  About Vannah

  Vannah has three children—her daughter, husband, and unborn baby—and lives surrounded by mountains. Growing up, she loved reading and writing and even wrote a book at the age of thirteen. Someday, she’ll find where she saved it. Thirteen-year-olds aren’t terribly reliable people.

  Currently, she’s a multicultural cosmetologist with an unquenchable love of all things Harry Potter. She likes to travel the world, experience various cultures, and despite what her hubby believes, she’s an introvert with a talent for acting like an extrovert. In her free time, she enjoys making up fictional characters and chasing her toddler around the house for a hug.

  Follow her

  Facebook Profile

  Facebook Group

  Facebook Page

  Instagram

  Amazon

  Website

  Email

  Works by Vannah Summers

  Living With Sight Series:

  Flirting With Fate

  Seducing the Stars (Coming Winter 2019)

  Ballad of a Broken Soul Series:

  Lonely Lullaby

  Co-writes—Maggie Lee:

  Valentine Between the Sheets Anthology—Vero’s Lace

  (Currently under re-write)

  Co-writes—Nikole Knight:

  The Death Games

  About Nikole

  Nikole Knight is a born and bred Hoosier living in a top-secret location in Europe. She’s the lone female in the house, unless you count the dog, and she writes love in all its forms, unshackled and freed.

  When she isn’t racing after a half-naked toddler or arguing with a child’s logic, Nikole can be found in her writing nook, typing away as her fingers turn to nubs.

  Follow her

  Facebook

  Amazon

  Instagram

  Email

  Works by Nikole Knight

  Far From Ruined Series:

  Every Broken Thing

  Every Hidden Truth (Coming Soon)

  Co-writes—Vannah Summers:

  The Death Games

  Chapter 1

  The Time Curiosity Did Not Kill the Cat

  Death was not what I expected. No singing choir of angels greeted me, and so far, torture at the hands of red-horned devils was lacking. It contained no streets of gold or lakes of fire. No, death was rather mundane and tedious, given the fact I had spent almost an hour waiting in line for my death registration packet. To be honest, death looked a lot like the DMV—so, in other words, Hell.

  The recently deceased stood in queues while others sat around the room filling out forms. The hum of voices drowned out the few individuals sobbing into their hands. I didn’t feel like crying, though; I was still numb.

  Televisions were scattered throughout the room, portraying an overly happy woman repeating the same too-giddy welcome message. “Here at the D.S.D., we pride ourselves in our prompt and efficient sorting system. We make the process of your death registration as quick and easy as possible, so you can move
on painlessly to experience all the Afterlife has to offer.”

  D.S.D.—Department of Soul Distribution, U.S.A. Branch. The sign caught my attention when I first arrived on a bus with the other recently deceased Kansans. Buses from different states parked along the sidewalk, vomiting souls in droves. All dead, just like me.

  I hadn’t died doing anything heroic, like saving a fellow student from a bullet or rescuing a baby from a burning building. No, I’d died falling down the stairs after tripping over my sister’s cursed calico, Bill. Rather fitting since we were arch nemeses, but I couldn’t believe I lost to a fucking cat!

  I had been yelling at Megan—her dawdling was going to make me late for my own high school graduation—and my foot landed on a fluffy tail. Bill had yowled, scaring the shit out of me. In an effort to escape the nasty vermin, I’d stumbled. My feet had tangled in my too-long graduation gown, and gravity tipped.

  And then I fell.

  Fucking Bill! I voted to drown him the moment Megan brought him home from the fields, abandoned and flea-ridden, but she’d begged and cried. And what Megan wanted, Megan usually received. So was the inconvenience of younger, cuter sisters. In the end, the wicked creature stayed, and our rivalry was born.

  How ironic that Bill was the last living thing I saw as I tumbled down the stairs, my neck cracking against the edge of a step at the perfect angle to sever my spinal cord from my brain stem. For a split second, I met his yellow eyes, his tail twitching high as he licked his paw with a smug purr. I never knew a cat could look so fucking pleased with himself.

  Many things raced through my mind in that moment: guilt, remorse, fear. I was guilty for crushing yet another cell phone—I had a habit of breaking phones. I regretted shouting at Megan and complaining when Mom forgot to start my laundry the previous night, making it so I didn’t have any clean underwear. And Dad, had I told him I loved him recently? I couldn’t recall.

  I was scared; I wasn’t ready. But I died anyway, crumpled at the bottom of the stairwell as Bill cocked his stupid head to the side and watched. Death by evil cat. How pathetic.

  “First time dyin’?” A heavy, Boston accent jarred me from my memories, and I almost dropped my mile-high welcome packet.

  Across the aisle, dressed in the same formless, tan jumpsuit I wore, sat a guy around my age. Judging by the peppering of facial hair on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders, he was older than me, probably in college. His build was that of a man, but the humored grin on his face was boyish.

  “Huh?” I mumbled stupidly, and his smirk widened.

  “I said, ‘is this your first time dyin’?’, but judgin’ from the green ‘round your gills, I’d say the answer is ‘yes’.”

  My mouth puckered at the slight. “Well, excuse moi for not celebrating. I was supposed to graduate today.”

  Dark brows rose, disappearing into waves of inky hair, and the guy held his hands in humored surrender. “Graduatin’? From what, junior high?”

  “High school, you asshole!” I barked, earning several glares from those around me. Sure, I was on the smaller side for an eighteen-year-old, too youthful in appearance to be taken seriously, but he didn’t have to rub my face in it. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, green,” he said as he settled into his chair and returned his attention to the clipboard in his hand. “But you better get workin’ on your paperwork. It’s a lot to get through.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I jostled the thousand-pound stack of papers in my grip. I had to fill all this out? What kind of Hell was this?

  I batted a particularly stubborn curl out of my face with a growl. The Afterlife was not kind to curly hair, and I could practically feel it frizzing into a puff around my head. There were times I appreciated the tight mass of curls, like when it came to seducing hot guys, but more often than not, it was more of a curse than a blessing.

  Peeking at the stranger again, I pouted at the three-page form attached to his clipboard. “Why don’t you have this much paperwork?”

  The entertained gleam in his dark eyes brightened. “I stood in the express lane.”

  He brandished the clipboard like a prize, and I rose gracelessly to my feet and stomped across the aisle. Standing at the height of my 5’6” frame, I took advantage of his sitting position to loom over his taller body.

  “What express lane? Or are you just saying that to piss me off?” I scowled, hands on my hips.

  Running his gaze from head to toe, he chuckled. The husky sound combined with his brooding stare sparked goose bumps along my flesh, but I ignored the reaction. He was rude and cocky, and his accent annoyed me. I wasn’t going to fall for his bad boy charms.

  “Trust me, green, you don’t want these papers.”

  Stamping my foot, I snarled, “My name is Lea, not ‘green.’ And if there’s an option that doesn’t include my hand cramping from non-enjoyable activities”—I jerked my hand in the common, yet inappropriate gesture for a hand job—“I want to hear about it.”

  “That was kinda queer.” His awkward chuckle faded as I leaned into him until we were uncomfortably close.

  “Oh, honey, I’m more than kinda.” Using his distraction at my proximity, I snatched a small, brightly colored pamphlet from his hand and danced out of reach. “But if you’re looking for someone to suck ahn ya’ cahnnoli,” I mimicked his accent terribly, “you can kiss my gay ass.”

  “Hey, give that back!” He jumped to his feet, proving my theory on his size, and I smiled sweetly as I plopped back into my chair and crossed my legs with an over-the-top feminine flair.

  “No.”

  “You don’t want this track, trust me, bro.” He gestured toward the pamphlet in my hand. “No offense, but you’re not cut out for it.”

  “Yes, I’m short, skinny, and prefer dick over vagina, but you’d be surprised at what I’m cut out for! Brah.”

  I ignored his hulking body as I studied the pamphlet, and the room faded away. Big letters scrawled across the front. “Win your second chance at life. Sign up today!”

  Boston continued talking, abandoning his clipboard as he fought for my attention, but there was no distracting me. A second chance at life? Was that possible? Because, so far, being dead sucked donkey balls!

  I skimmed over the pamphlet, unable to retain any information aside from “second chance,” “complete the tasks,” and “return to life.” Fuck me, finally some luck! Maybe Boston was my guardian angel, after all.

  “Thanks for the advice,” I interrupted as I stood, coming face-to-pectorals with his muscled body, “but I gotta go. There’s been a mix up, and I’m gonna fix it.”

  “Wait, green!”

  I shimmied out of his hold, his grasp on my left biceps sending a shiver through my blood. “See ya later, Boston.”

  “Fine.” He slumped into his chair in defeat as his face darkened with annoyance. “It’s your funeral.”

  “With this”֫—I waved the pamphlet like a pom-pom—“I won’t need a funeral, honey.”

  Bypassing the long line of waiting souls, I slapped the pamphlet onto the counter, capturing the haggard D.S.D. worker’s attention. “I need the sign-up form for this.”

  “You need to wait—”

  “I could do that, but all I need is one itty-bitty form. Now”—I checked her nametag—“Delores, would you really make me wait in this long-ass line for one, teeny-tiny paper? I died today. I’m in a very delicate state.”

  Unimpressed, she glanced down at the pamphlet and then back at me. “You want that form?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you read the terms and conditions?”

  Seriously? Who reads the terms and conditions?

  “Of course, and I understand. Just let me sign.” I grinned sweetly, dismissing the grumbles of the waiting queue as she gave me another disbelieving once-over.

  Bored and annoyed, she handed me the three-paper form. “If you insist.”

  “Thank you, Delo
res. You’re a peach!” I blew her a kiss as I waltzed back to my seat, form in hand.

  Penless, I changed course and landed my ass in the chair beside Boston. He ignored my presence, teeth grinding as he focused on his clipboard. Without missing a beat, I stole his pen right out of his hand and flipped to the last page of my document where a small orange tab marked the “sign here” portion. Unsure how time worked down here, I copied the date on Boston’s form before scribbling my signature on the line.

  As I returned to the first page, I printed my name neatly at the top before offering Boston his pen back. “Thanks, Boston.”

  “You know, you gotta fill that all in, right?” His lips thinned as he snatched his pen back.

  “This is the Afterlife. They probably have all my info, and this is just some cruel way of torturing us.” I brushed my mane of curly, cinnamon hair out of my face, attempting to tame the bushy mess, but it bounced back to tickle my cheeks stubbornly. “Plus, I’m not planning on sticking around long enough for them to register me as a permanent resident.”

  Boston stared at me like I was insane before shaking his head. “You really should have read the fine print, green.”

  “It’s Lea.”

  “Whatever.”

  We sat in stony silence, Boston doing his best to ignore me as his pen scratched across the surface of his form. To entertain myself, I people-watched. An elderly woman sat a few seats down from me, a puffy, Persian cat curled in her lap. Amber eyes blinked lazily as the cat enjoyed the woman’s pets, and when its gaze met mine, I grimaced.

  Baring my teeth, I hissed, and its responding growl vibrated through the air between us as I glared.