The Death Games Page 7
“Uh, thanks, green,” he said over his shoulder as I left the shooting alley, and a grin spread over my lips as sent him one last look.
“You’re welcome, Boston.”
Chapter 6
Tension and Training
I checked the clock and groaned as the red numbers glared at me, informing me it was half past one in the morning. Rubbing my face with my palms as if I could erase the lingering images behind my lids, I sat up and tried to blink away my nightmare.
Ever since the first task five days ago, my dreams had grown increasingly violent. All I could see were slithering tentacles wrapping around my arms as I tried to escape the dream. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, that I’d survived the task, the nightmares took their toll.
Tonight was no different.
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, I slipped out of bed and left my room. The halls were quiet, and the lights dimmed, shrouding the corridors in murky shadow. I padded down the hall in an attempt to settle my rattled brain. Before I knew it, I stood before the elevator.
I was unprepared for the next task, the challenge looming over me like a heavy presence. If I wanted any chance of surviving, I needed to train. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do since sleeping was out of the question. And the empty training room was a welcomed promise; I didn’t care for the others being around.
Each time I tried to train, I’d find other contestants watching me, tracking me with their calculating eyes. Even now, a shiver raced down my spine as I recalled when Schmidt had snatched a knife from the rows of weapons and casually chucked the lethal things at a human cutout. He’d smiled at me as he did so, and I had little doubt he was picturing the cutout as me.
Maybe some exercise was just what I needed to distract myself. No one would be there this late, so I could make a fool of myself in solitude.
Taking the elevator to the gym floor, I rubbed my hands together as I roamed the rows of exercise equipment lining the room in neat columns. They stood unused, and my shoulders sagged in relief. No one was here.
A harsh grunt had me backtracking on the assumption as a repetitive swack echoed through the deserted room. Following the noise, I weaved through the torture devices—I mean, exercise machines—until I spotted a familiar head of inky waves.
Horror washed over me at Grant’s unexpected presence, but my initial urge to run glitched as my gaze landed on his naked chest. Sweat glistened under the fluorescent lights, and he bit his lip in concentration as he struck at the heavy punching bag in quick, expert jabs. His eyes were alert and focused, and two earbuds nestled in his ears. Where he’d found some, I had no idea.
In his oblivious state, he didn’t notice me, and I took a moment to ogle his sculpted body. He had a physique I could never achieve, even if I lived inside a gym. With long, muscled arms and a chest toned to perfection, he was heart-stopping. I could do nothing but swallow the sudden flood of drool and banish the desire his sweaty self easily ignited.
As my lecherous stare reached his face once again, I froze as dark eyes met mine. Damn! Caught red-handed. With cheeks hot, I lifted my hand in an awkward, “I totally didn’t just check you out” wave. He didn’t reciprocate.
He ignored me and continued his routine, though the muscles of his arms and back noticeably stiffened at my presence. I stood and watched him like a dumbass for another half-minute before I shook myself from the spell of his tight ass and sexy biceps. I seriously had to get over this jock fetish!
I eyed Grant’s earbuds with envy as I contemplated which device of doom I would use first. Against my better judgment, I approached the growly male. He obviously wasn’t happy to see me, but I wanted to listen to music, too. Apparently, he knew where to find the earphones, and I would risk his wrath for that knowledge.
Cautiously, I stretched out my hand and tapped his sweaty shoulder. Unfortunately for me, I must have scared him because he didn’t react kindly. He swung around, barely missing my face with his gloved hand, and I flinched away with a girlish squeal as he instantly staggered back a step.
“Shit! What the fuck?”
Blinking at him, I cleared my throat and straightened my thin shirt. “Um, hi.”
He tugged one earbud from his ear as he glared at my interruption. “Are you stupid or somethin’? I could have hit you! Wait, I didn’t clip you, did I?”
I scanned the room to distract myself from his annoyingly sexy aggravation. “No, you managed not to maim me. Five stars.”
Scowling at my sass, he rested his gloved hands on his hips. “I didn’t know you were right behind me.”
With a snort, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Obviously. Because if that’s how you greet people, I doubt you had a lot of friends.”
“You’re one to talk. With your attitude, you probably didn’t have many either.” He searched the empty room around us. “What are you doin’ here anyway?”
Smoothing down my frizzy curls, I dodged his gaze. “Oh, you know. Just thought I’d get a little exercise in.”
A dark brow arched. “You decided that” —he checked the clock on the wall— “one in the mornin’ was an ideal time to workout?”
Chuckling, I waved my hand between the two of us. “Pot meet kettle.”
He snorted and rubbed the shine from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Yeah, I guess so. What did you want anyway?”
I pointed to his earbuds. “Where did you get those?”
“They were in the top drawer of my nightstand.” Grant lifted and dropped his shoulders in a simple shrug.
“Damn it.” I guess I would do without them then. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say more, I pointed behind me. “Well, I’ll just be over here, you know, getting my exercise on.”
Mentally, I facepalmed. Are you shitting me? That’s the best you could come up with?
Emotions warred on his face as he watched me turn to leave. At the last second, he stopped me with his glove on my shoulder. “Wait.”
My head tilted to the side as I cocked a curious eyebrow. “What?”
Grant’s lips pursed. “Do you know how to box?”
His question floored me, and it was all I could do to stand and gape at him. “Does it look like I know how to box?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed you knew how to shoot, yet you could.”
I fought a smug grin. “True…”
He sighed and nodded his chin at the mat. “I could teach you? If you want, that is.”
His offer was tempting, but I couldn’t help my suspicion. “Why?”
“I don’t want to feel like I owe you anythin’. Let me teach you some boxin’, and we can call it even for you teachin’ me how to shoot.”
Studying him for signs of deceit, I tapped my foot. “Okay.”
Grant’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah. You’re offering to help me with something that could save my life. I’m not stupid.”
He chuckled. “Could have fooled me.” Instead of giving me time to respond, he nodded toward a treadmill. “Let’s start with a quick warm up and then we’ll switch to boxing.”
My mouth pinched in distaste. “Um, yeah, no thanks. I’m not a big runner.”
Lightly shoving my shoulder, he urged me toward the machine. “If you don’t warm up first, you’ll hurt yourself.” With another push, he added, “So stop your whinin’.”
I grumbled as I climbed onto the treadmill, deciding to keep the speed at a leisurely stroll.
Grant had other ideas.
“What are you? A grandma?” He jabbed the Increase button several times, upping the speed, and I grasped the handles of the machine to keep myself from falling on my ass.
“Fuck.” My legs sped to match the pace of the treadmill, my tennis shoes slapping heavily on the belt. I reached to decrease the speed, but Grant swatted my hand away.
“No, Lea. This isn’t the time to slack off. You slack off, you die. It’s as simple as that.”
With an eye roll, he lowered the speed until it was somewhat bearable. Once I was stable on the treadmill, he hopped on to a second machine and jogged briskly beside me, barking criticism every few minutes when I failed to meet his standards.
Our torture routine lasted for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. By the time Grant powered down our treadmills, I was dripping with sweat and my legs had forgotten how to stand. I collapsed to the floor with a pitiful groan.
In contrast, he’d barely broken a sweat and still managed to look like a sport’s model. How was that fair?
He stared at me in my current spot on the gym floor like he regretted his offer to train me. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” Grant pointed to the punching bag. “Okay, green. Do you feel warmed up? Ready to box?”
Grimacing, I stood with my jelly legs. “I feel something, but I wouldn’t call it warm.”
Air whistled from his nose as he exhaled in exasperation, and he placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me to the boxing area. He pointed to a pair of pink gloves hanging from a rack. “Put those on.”
I waited for him to say, “Just kiddin’,” but when he continued to stare at me expectantly, my lips puckered like I’d licked a lemon.
“Why are they pink?” I demanded, lifting the bubble gum colored gloves. “I don’t automatically like pink just because I’m gay.”
He snatched one of my hands. “Don’t get your titties in a twist. I know that.” Positioning our hands palm-to-palm, he sent me a pointed look. “But they’re the only ones that will fit your tiny hands.”
Swallowing, I stared at our hands. Warmth radiated from his palm, his hand large enough to swallow mine. Seeing our hands together like this had a foreign satisfaction purring to life in my chest.
When he didn’t disconnect us, I peeked at him and nibbled the inside of my cheek. Something indistinguishable flashed in his eyes as he studied me behind a guarded mask, and I wished I could read his mind. Why was he helping me? More importantly, why hadn’t he pulled away?
The strange moment passed, and Grant ripped his hand from mine. Clearing his throat, he pointed once again to the gloves. “Just put on the damn gloves.”
Mumbling backtalk under my breath, I obeyed.
After slipping on one of his gloves, Grant returned to my side and helped my pathetic self wrap my hands. I’d never boxed before, and the gloves—which should have been straight forward—were more complicated than anticipated. “Have you never thrown a punch before, green?”
“Um, not really, no.” I’d never actually been in a fight. Sure, there were the typical douches who bullied me at school, but we’d never resorted to throwing punches.
Shaking his head, he released my hand and staggered to his feet. “Well, maybe that’s somethin’ you should learn while you’re here. Without knowin’ how to punch correctly, you might break your hand.”
Once I was properly armed with the heavy pom-poms, he rumbled a wordless sound of satisfaction before hurriedly squeezing his second hand into his glove and nodding toward the wall of mirrors behind me.
“Okay, to start, I’m going to show you some basic moves.” He positioned his forearms until they formed a pyramid in front of his face. “Never leave your face open for a hit. Keep both hands like this, and when you punch”—his right hand jabbed forward—“you use your other hand to protect your face. Got it?”
Following his lead with a smirk, I mimicked his position. Together, we faced our reflections, and the sight of my small body next to his massive one made me giggle.
With an exaggerated growl, I spread my legs shoulder-width apart and playfully punched at the air. “Fear me and my pink mittens!”
Grant choked out a startled laugh, and I cackled. There was no way anyone would be frightened of me like this.
Patting my head with his glove, he smirked. “Maybe teaching you is a wasted effort.”
I smacked his glove with a snarl. “We haven’t even started yet!”
“Then let’s get to it, yeah?” He demonstrated the jab again and waited for me to copy.
Deciding it was time to be serious, I followed his instructions the best I could manage. I did fairly well, all things considered. He showed me the correct way to position my hands, my feet.
“Put your bodyweight into it.” He stood across from me while he held out a hand to absorb the shock from my punches.
As my wiry muscles coiled, I prepped to step forward and punch his right glove when my tennis shoes slipped on the mat, and I tripped. Tumbling forward with an unmanly screech, I crashed into Grant’s chest. My glove caught on the collar of his tight tank top, and I practically yanked the material halfway down his sternum. He caught me with a grunt, and my cheeks sweltered from more than exercise-induced heat as my nose brushed his moist collarbone.
Gloved hands steadied me as he hooked one arm around my narrow waist. A breath shuddered from my lips, mere centimeters from his skin, and I swore goose bumps pebbled across his chest as he peered down at me with concerned eyes.
“You o-okay?” The slightest warble hiccupped his question, and I swallowed thickly with an embarrassed nod.
Extracting myself from his arms, I awkwardly patted his firm chest while avoiding eye contact. “Whoopsie-daisy. Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” I straightened his now stretched neckline with the curve of my hot pink glove before forcing my hands away. “Sorry about that.”
He shrugged, his accent thickening as he dismissed my apology. “Forget about it.”
Chortling, I mocked him. “Forget ahbout it.”
“Pay attention!” he snapped as he fixed my stance, and I smothered my laughter in my shoulder.
After several sinister threats, I focused back on the lesson as he showed me the correct way to throw a right hook. I tried to pay attention. I really did. But with Grant, everything was a distraction. He’d show me a block, and I’d drink in the sight of his bulging biceps. He’d illustrate a combo jab, and I’d ogle his ridiculously cut physique.
An hour passed by the time we peeled the gloves from our hands, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust as my soaked fingers slipped from the gloves with a wet squelch. “Blech! That’s disgusting.”
“It’s just a little sweat. Stop being such a pretty boy. There’s nothin’ wrong with gettin’ your hands dirty.”
Feeling naughty, I dropped the gloves to the floor and brushed against Grant’s back as he unwrapped his hands. “I don’t mind getting sweaty and dirty,” I purred, and he stiffened as I dragged a finger over his slick shoulder, “as long as it’s for the right reasons.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched me like a hawk, his eyebrow cocked. “Let me guess, exercise ain’t a good enough reason?”
I stopped in front of him, a wicked smirk on my lips. “If the exercise is of the naked variety, then I’ll make an exception.”
Over-the-top flirting had never been my strong suit, but I was dead. What did I have to lose? Plus, Grant was cute when he got flustered. Except he didn’t blush and push me away like I expected. He did the exact opposite, and I inhaled sharply as he closed the distance between us and bent at the waist to bring our faces within inches of touching.
His voice was a deep rumble, vibrating through my body until my bones rattled. “If you want me teachin’ you choke holds while naked, you’ll have to ask nicely.”
There was no stopping the images from swarming my brain, and my blood bubbled as the reel played through my mind. Grappling on the floor with a naked Grant was definitely a more tempting activity than running on a treadmill, and my cock hardened to half-mast in my gym shorts.
Squeaking, I stepped back and turned away under the guise of fetching my forgotten pink gloves, and he chuckled. His smug grin infuriated me. I scowled as he waltzed toward the wrestling mat in the center of the room, whistling quietly. Arrogant prick!
With his back turne
d, I rushed to hide my semi, finagling my cock to better mask my interest in the annoying male. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed my obvious reaction to his words.
“Come on.” Grant waved at me from the mat. “I wanna show you some self-defense moves before we call it a night.”
Sleep sounded amazing, much better than self-defense lessons, but I dragged my feet across the room with a loathing pout. “Can’t we be done?”
“No.”
I flipped him off but didn’t voice my discontent. The sooner I learned his stupid self-defense, the sooner I could sleep. After this workout, I knew I’d sleep like a rock.
He taught me several basic moves, and we acted out different scenarios so my muscles could commit the reactions to memory. It was slow going, and both our tempers flared on more than one occasion. Neither of us were patient, especially when tired, and we bickered more often than he actually played teacher.
But eventually, my body grew accustomed to the movements. Of course, there were only three moves that I could execute correctly, but it gave me a fighting chance. After blocking a punch and returning with a jab of my elbow to Grant’s chin, I whooped in delight, clapping my hands.
“I did it! Did you see?” I spun in a circle, doing a victory jig, and Grant rolled his eyes.
“I blocked your hit.” He swiped at his sweaty brow as I ignored the attempt to discourage me.
“Yeah, but I blocked you first. And retaliated. I’m a kickass ninja, bitch!” Overly excited, I mimicked the Crane pose from Karate Kid and kicked at him. “Heeyah!”
Catching my foot, he twisted my leg and spun our bodies, and my world turned topsy-turvy. I yelped as I smashed into the mat, and oxygen whooshed from my lungs when he landed on top of me.
“Kickass ninja, huh?”
He smiled fully, white teeth gleaming against his olive complexion, and if I hadn’t already lost my breath, I would have then. Not only was he crouched over me with most of his weight pinning me to the floor, but he was incredibly beautiful when he smiled like this. The boyishness of his features returned, and I gasped for air as my fingers twined with his above my head.