Page 20 of The Killing Game

He tosses me his phone while crossing to the back door. Digging through the drawer closets to the back door, Colton retrieves one of the flashlights. He opens the door, covering his head with his arm, and makes his way outside to fulfill his duties.

Jason drops his phone on the counter before he stalks off to do his due diligence. He says nothing as he leaves, not even looking in my direction as he sulks out of the kitchen. I really can’t read him right now. First, he was clearly taunting me and ready to risk it all for a joke. Next, he’s acting like he’s seeing a dead body for the first time.

Pussy.

Either he’s really good at putting on a show or he seriously didn’t know about the note in my room. I’ll torture or tease it out of him later. There’s still time to have my revenge.

“Can you plug mine in, too? Just to be safe?” Sam asks, placing her phone next to Jason’s.

Sam busies herself by opening all the cabinets to find our supplies. I collect all of our phones before making my way to the living room. I wander through the space, looking at each outlet along the walls, until I finally spot the charging station tucked neatly behind the entryway table. I take note of everyone’s battery level as I plug in each phone, until I notice a message from an unknown number on Jason’s phone.

(702) 059 - 1980

Do your job before I do it for you

I put the phone back in its spot and busy myself with the others. Not even two minutes later, the phone buzzes again atop the wooden surface. I toss a glance back at it. A new text message from the same number flashes across the screen. Being the nosy bitch I am, I pick it up to peek at the message.

You have until Monday. I’ll be watching.

My lips curl in on themselves as I purse them together. Seems like there’s trouble in model paradise. That’s one thing I’m grateful for, being an independent author. I don’t have anyone to report to besides my editor. I don’t have some big publishing house breathing down my neck when I don’t meet a deadline. Plus, I don’t have a PR team to scold me when I’m being too risque. I made my pen name off of being controversial. That’s never going to change.

Returning the phone to its designated spot on the table, I saunter back to the kitchen. I’ll let him find those messages on his own time. We have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.

Sam already has various supplies scattering the counter top upon my return. We work together as she hums her favorite song. Batteries, flashlights, candles, matches–everything we’ll need to keep the metaphorical lights on until morning. Bad weather is common in Graveslake, especially late summer. Dark, ominous clouds cover the sky with their rumbling music. Very rarely do the storms turn into something severe, but when they do, it’s serious. Better to be safe than sorry, especially since we’re allegedly being stalked by a serial killer.

A few minutes pass as we work to the tune of Ballyhoo!. I catch Sam looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I stop putting together the flashlight in my hand and look at her. The expression on her face is smugness mixed with curiosity.

I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to figure out what her problem is.

“What?” I clip out.

Sam smirks and shrugs.

“Oh, nothing, baby girl. I just thought maybe you wanted to clue me in on your big secret before I figure it out for myself.”

I roll my eyes at her and return to my flashlight that refuses to screw back together.

“There’s literally nothing to tell. Jason is being a dick.”

Sam nods next to me.

“Mhm. Sure. And you’re sure that he is being a dick, not giving you his dick?”

The flashlight clatters to the counter after I fumble it out of my hands. I curse under my breath. Slumping into the high top stool next to me, I bury my face in my hands.

Sam watches me, not saying a word, letting me process how I want to have this conversation. I rub my fingers across my temples and down the sides of my face. My mouth opens a few times, but nothing comes out. How do I tell her what happened? It wasn’t wrong, but it definitely wasn’t planned.

“I…well…um,” I stammer. Sam tilts her chin and crosses her arms.

I clear my throat, sitting up straighter.

“I’m not going to lie to you. This stays between us. Girl to girl. I’m serious!” I say, looking around to ensure the guys haven’t returned yet.

Sam nods, still silent.

“Okay,” I breathe out. “Soooo, hypothetically, maybe Jason was in my room after my shower. Maybe he cornered me. Maybeeeee he kissed me. And maybe hemademecumbetterthananyoneelse,” I blurt out.

Sam raises both eyebrows at me, eyes bug-eyed. A smile creeps across her face. She’s nodding at me.