The Death Games Page 9

  “Why couldn’t you just keep your big mouth shut for two seconds? Huh?” He swiped at the blood trickling from his nose. “It’s not that hard to just swallow your pride and let them make fools of themselves.”

  “Oh, so you would have just sat there and took it, too? Just kept your cool while some Neanderthal dumped food and drink over your head, calling you faggot and cunt? That’s just normal everyday stuff for you, is it?” I pushed into his space, disregarding the immense size difference between us. Shockingly, he stepped back until his back met the wall. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fan of being called a cocksucker, even if it is true. So, stop lying to me and yourself, because if he’d said those words to you, you’d have done the same thing.”

  His jaw clenched, and his snort of annoyance aggravated his nosebleed until it was dripping over his lips and off his chin. My irritation ebbed, and without thinking, I slipped my shirt off and held it up to his face. At first, he jerked away, but I smacked his arm and scowled until he surrendered.

  Carefully bringing the fabric to his nose, I soaked up the blood as guilt replaced the anger. He’d defended me, even though he didn’t even like me, and whether I wanted to admit it or not, he had saved me from a concussion or worse. Sure, he was being a dick, but he’d done me a favor. And now he was hurt.

  “Is it broken?” I asked, my voice the softest it had been since I’d chased him into the elevator. When he shook his head, I pinched his nostrils to stem the flow. He winced, and I grimaced in apology. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry he beat your face in.”

  “I got in some good hits,” he said with an almost offended air, and I coughed out a laugh.

  “Still think he won. He’s built like a Mack Truck.” Silence descended in the elevator as my hand retreated, only to return when his nostrils continued to stream blood. “Ugh, gross.”

  Grant chuckled, a husky sound that glided over my skin like a warm breeze. “You squeamish or somethin’?”

  “No,” I denied too quickly, and he cocked a dark brow. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  We shared laughter as I did my best to staunch the river of red pouring from his nose. My mom always joked about me being a nurse so I could take care of her when she was old and senile, but we all knew there was no way I could manage it. The one and only time I donated blood, I passed out like a pussy. Blood and I were not friends.

  The silence thickened while I focused on dabbing at the blood. To distract myself from the nausea swirling in my stomach, I peeked at him from under my lashes. “Why’d you do it? Last time I checked, we aren’t friends.”

  His expression darkened, and he broke eye contact, taking the shirt from my hands. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  I waited for him to continue, to offer an explanation, but he didn’t. He glared at the floor, my T-shirt pressed to his nose, and I sighed in defeat. “Well, for what it’s worth, thanks.”

  Deciding I had held us up in the elevator long enough, I pressed the emergency button to start our ascent to our floor. My shirt was now soaked with his blood, and I decided he could keep it. It was only reasonable since I still had two of his shirts tucked away with the rest of my belongings.

  As the elevator jolted into movement, I continued, “You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I appreciate it.”

  My gratefulness upset him, and the toe of his shoe scuffed the floor of the elevator as he shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t do it for you. So, forget about it.”

  “Forget ahbout it,” I teased, and the shadows in his eyes lightened as his lips quirked beneath my shirt.

  He chuckled. “You’re fuckin’ annoyin’. You know that, right?”

  “Some call it a gift. Some call it a curse.” I waved my hand superfluously. “But I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy.”

  “You, an optimist?” He bumped my elbow with his. “That would explain why you signed up for this without readin’ the fine print.”

  I snorted with an exaggerated eye roll. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  The elevator dinged, ending our strange heart-to-heart, and we both straightened in preparation for the doors to open. We’d had a small respite, an escape, but the moment those doors parted, we were back where we started, in the middle of a game to the death. We weren’t friends, couldn’t be friends. And my heart sank to my toes in disappointment.

  “Thanks, Lea.” Grant offered me my shirt back, and I shook my head as I eyed the bloody fabric with a grimace.

  “Keep it. A shirt for a shirt.”

  “Technically, you have two of my shirts.”

  I flipped him the bird and scoffed. “Potato, potahto.”

  With humor crinkling the corners of his eyes, he tightened his fist in the soiled material and stepped toward the opening doors. We exited the elevator and turned opposite directions. Probably a good thing.

  “Hey, Lea.” He tugged on my undershirt as I moved to leave him and our odd exchange behind. I paused, glancing over my shoulder as he shifted from foot to foot. “Get cleaned up and meet me on the main level. I wanna show you somethin’.”

  My stomach trembled as warmth crackled through my veins, and I released a shaky breath. “Yeah, okay. See you there.”

  Pleased, he nodded and lumbered down the hall as I headed in the opposite direction to my room. I shouldn’t be this excited about spending time with him, but my heart skipped traitorously in my chest. He was my competitor, my enemy. Yet, the winged insects in my gut disagreed.

  Hopefully, I could get them under control before they made me do something incredibly stupid.

  Unfortunately, stupidity was my natural state of being. Fuck my death.

  Chapter 8

  Painful History

  After showering and dressing, I stopped by the medical center on level eleven to have them take a look at my hand. Luckily, it wasn’t broken, and I scrutinized my wrapped knuckles as the elevator carried me down to the ground floor where I assumed Grant waited for me. Why he asked me to come and what he wanted to show me were two questions I didn’t want to speculate on too closely.

  Was it a joke? Or, worse, a trap? He spoke adamantly about our lack of friendship, yet at times, he acted as if we were friends or, at least, allies. It was possible he was trying to trick me, but was he cunning enough to lure me into a false sense of security before turning on me?

  My gut said no, and while I had a slew of terrible life choices lined behind me, I had to trust it. What else could I trust if I couldn’t even trust myself?

  As I vacated the elevator, I stuffed my hands into my pockets to hide the nervous shaking and headed to the front doors where Grant leaned against the wall. He watched my approach with acute eyes, and my stomach flip-flopped as I came to a stop before him.

  “I’m here,” I said lamely, clearing my throat as I brushed a curl from my eyes. “What did you want to show me?”

  Instead of answering, he nodded toward the doors and shrugged off the wall. “Come on.”

  And just like that, I trailed after him. Damn my insatiable curiosity!

  The sky was overcast, but the rays of sunlight fought through the break in the clouds at even intervals. It was neither cold nor hot, simply comfortable, and I basked in the moments we walked through the sunshine. Was that even the real sun? It hurt my head too much to consider any other option.

  “Your hand broken?” Grant pointed to the wrapping on my knuckles.

  I shook my head. “Nah, they just put some super-healing salve on the split knuckles and told me whoever taught me how to punch sucks and that I should probably stop punching people.”

  His lips tipped, and I chuckled, smug at cracking his cranky demeanor. “Or maybe it’s not that they suck at teachin’, but you suck at listenin’. Either way, it’s good advice. Not punchin’ people, I mean.”

  Pursing my lips, I blew a raspberry. “Says the boxer-slash-self-defense prodigy.”

  “Never said I was a prodigy, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  �
��Yeah, like you need an ego boost.”

  Gravel skittered across the ground as Grant rounded on me, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  With a condescending sigh, I popped my hip and crossed my arms. “You’re tall, broad, fit, and attractive. And worse, you know it. I know your kind, and though I may be tempted to stroke other parts of you, your ego won’t be one of them.”

  Struck stupid, he gaped. I patted his arm comfortingly before stepping around him and continuing our trek to nowhere. Gravel turned to grass underfoot, and I had almost reached the patch of forest between the west side of the building and the fence when Grant chased me down.

  “You think I’m conceited?”

  The genuine concern in his voice made me falter, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His brows drew down in a frown, his lips dipping sadly. If I knew any better, I would say he looked hurt, not just offended.

  “If it makes you feel any better, you have reason to be. You’re ridiculously hot in the whole, Italian bad-boy-mafia way.”

  My answer confused him more. “Um, thanks? And I’m not in the mafia.”

  “But you’re Italian? I thought the mafia was made up of a bunch of Italian dudes.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s racist. Non-Italians are in the mafia, too. You do know that, right?”

  “Which is something someone in the mafia would say to cover their trail.” I waggled my eyebrows as his jaw clenched in exasperation.

  “I’m not in the mafia.”

  “Well, how can I trust that? I mean, if you told me the truth, you’d have to kill me, right?”

  Taking the lead, Grant plunged into the cluster of trees, and his sudden laughter bounced off the branches. “I have a feeling you’ve seen one too many crappy mafia movies. But just because I’m from Boston and have an obnoxious Italian family, doesn’t mean we’re in the mafia.” He shot a playful grin over his shoulder. “Okay, maybe I have a scary uncle who could be, but it’s never been confirmed.”

  It was my turn to laugh, and Grant’s responding smile filled my stomach with butterflies. No! Go away, bugs! Stupid, fluttery—

  “But, regardless of mafia ties, I’m not a misunderstood, bad boy.”

  I cocked a sly eyebrow. “Didn’t you own a motorcycle?” His instant irritation and guilt made me squeal in triumph. “See? Misunderstood bad boy.”

  “Is there even a point to arguin’ with you?”

  Victorious, I shook my head and marched ahead of him. “Nope! You’ll always lose because I’m—”

  I tripped on a root and face-planted on the forest floor with a girlish yelp. Grant chortled as he helped me to my feet, and I shoved him away as I nursed my scraped palms and bruised ego.

  “Better watch where you’re goin’, green.” He traversed over the unearthed roots without falling, and I glared as he sent me a smug, impish grin over his shoulder. “You comin’?”

  If only…

  “Yes,” I snapped and followed him into the trees.

  We walked another five minutes in semi-comfortable silence before the shadows of the woods lightened. A break in the tree line appeared up ahead, and I quickened my pace.

  “I found this place yesterday.” Grant held a branch out of my way so it wouldn’t scratch my face. “It’s why I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  Hesitating at the edge of the small clearing, I eyed him warily. “You’re taking me somewhere that will give me nightmares?”

  Hands tucked into his pants, he surveyed the ground littered with leaves and pine needles. “No, not like that. It’s the best reason not to sleep. I just… I figured maybe you needed to see it, too.”

  “That’s not ominous at all,” I grumbled under my breath as I stepped into the clearing. The sun filtered through the clouds, brightening the small, oval meadow, and I slunk toward the center where a perfectly circular pond shimmered in the light.

  Lily pads blossomed on the surface, and bullfrogs croaked, yet the surface of the water was placid and crystal clear. Not even the slight breeze teasing my skin upset the serene water.

  “What is this place?”

  Energy buzzed around us, tickling my skin and raising the hairs on my arms, and I swallowed thickly as Grant stepped up beside me. There was a power to this place, a reverence that worked through my blood until emotion stung my eyes. For the briefest of moments, I swore I could smell my mother’s floral perfume and hear my sister’s childlike giggle.

  “Grant, what is this?”

  “What do you hear?” he asked in lieu of an answer. I shot him grim stare. His features softened to that boyish look I found so captivating, and his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. “I hear my sister’s voice.”

  “You have a sister?” I asked, and he nodded. “What’s her name?”

  “May. She’s fifteen, now.” His dark eyes glazed for a moment before he shut down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I was on my way to her birthday party, and I was runnin’ late. It’s why I was drivin’ too fast and didn’t see the semi.”

  Unsure how to comfort him, I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “My sister’s eleven. Her name’s Megan.”

  “Is she as cheeky as you?”

  I snickered into my shoulder. “Worse.”

  “I can’t imagine.” His playful grin eased the insult, and I laughed dryly. “She the youngest?”

  “Yeah, it’s just the two of us.”

  “May’s the baby, too. Ollie is between us, and I got an older brother, Eric. But May, she’s the youngest and the only girl.” I inhaled through my teeth, and Grant nodded. “And yes, we spoiled her rotten.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  Grant’s chuckle died quickly, his expression falling. “You reminded me of her.”

  I startled, grimacing in offense. “I reminded you of your sister? Seriously?”

  As if the true meaning of his words only now sunk in, he backtracked. “No, that’s not what I meant! I, uh, I mean, back in the cafeteria.”

  “What?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Grant shook his head and blew a breath between pursed lips. “I’m not sayin’ you’re a girl or somethin’. I only meant… My sister was bullied at school. They called her names and stole her food and shit. She’s five years younger than me, so I wasn’t always there to look out for her, you know? Just hit a nerve, I guess, when Schmidt was bein’ an asshole. Suddenly, I saw May bein’ called a whore for kissin’ some jock behind the bleachers, and I couldn’t just do nothin’.”

  “That’s fucked up, but kids are cruel.” I tugged on a curl by my ear as I banished the unpleasant memories of my own time in school. “Actually, I think it’s more accurate to say people are cruel. Kids, adults, friends, strangers… mankind is merciless.”

  “Yeah, I suppose we are.”

  The silence of the meadow trembled with intensity, and I refocused on the circle of water before us. “Not that I don’t like swapping family trauma or anything, but I don’t think that’s why you brought me here.”

  With a smirk, he shook his head. “Not exactly.” He pointed to the pond. “Go look.”

  “You’re not gonna drown me, are you?”

  He huffed in aggravation. “No, but I am startin’ to regret bringin’ you here.”

  I held my hand in surrender and inched toward the glittering water. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll look in the damn water. Jesus.”

  Folding myself onto my knees, I braced my weight with my hands on the edge of the pool and leaned over. My reflection stared out at me, crisp as a mirror before the water rippled. The image warped, and then I was no longer looking at myself. No, I was looking at Megan.

  She sat on our back porch, that stupid murderous cat curled in her lap, and she was crying. Then, I noticed the black dress. Oh God.

  I scrambled back from the pool, a stray tear trickling down my cheek. Megan, crying on our porch, dressed in black for a funeral. My funeral. They buried me today. Because I was dead.

  “What the
fuck?” I stumbled to my feet, spinning on Grant behind me. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Why did you bring me here?”

  My voice broke, choking on a sob, and Grant’s eyes widened, his hands raised placatingly. “Whoa, calm down. I—”

  “Calm down? I just caught a glimpse of my funeral, you sick bastard!” I stalked toward him, shoving his shoulder. “Was that your plan? Bring me here to psyche me out before the task tomorrow? Throw me off my game?”

  “What? No! That’s—”

  “You know what? Fuck you! I already knew I didn’t stand a chance in these games, and I’ve been nothing but rude to people. So, I guess I should’ve expected this, right? I mean,”—I waved at the air between us—“it’s not like we’re friends, right?”

  Grant reached for me, but I smacked his hand away. “Lea—”

  “No, don’t. We already figured it out, didn’t we? People are cruel.” I laughed mirthlessly, sparing him a loathsome glare. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different, especially from you.”

  Without awaiting a response, I fled the meadow, ducking and weaving through trees and bushes. Grant crashed through the foliage behind me, but my small size was finally good for something. I slipped through the small spaces between tree trunks and scurried under fallen logs. I beat him back to the skyscraper.

  I didn’t look back. I ignored him calling my name as I sprinted across the courtyard and burst through the front doors. Luck was on my side, and three blank-faced servants were boarding an open elevator in the same moment I skidded around the corner.

  Gasping for air, I jumped inside the elevator and sighed in relief when the doors closed. I exited on my floor and high-tailed it to my bedroom. Smeared in dirt with tears tracking down my face, I threw myself onto my bed and cried like a baby.

  So what if Grant was nothing but a backstabbing bitch? I was used to it. Yet it stung, digging into my chest and burning like a hot poker. As Megan’s mournful face swam in my vision, I sobbed into my pillow and cursed that wretched calico.

  Chapter 9

  No Rest for the Weary