Page 133 of Kill Feed

Heat creeps up at the back of my neck, filling my chest with rage and annoyance. “You totaled my bike with that ugly truck of yours,” is what I want to say. Or even, “My favorite jacket’s fucked because of you,” but I don’t. The words sit in a cage at the back of my throat, unable to leave me.

One of the fucker’s lifts her bat to take a swing at me but stops midway through as a clean blade gets pressed against her throat from behind.

“You better put that bat down, Misha,” Dante seethes through his teeth. “He’s fucking mine.”

The woman drops the bat as the others take a few steps back, clearly shaken by the presence of him.

“Back off,” Kieran spits, challenging him. “I had to get seventeen stitches because of him. So I’m going to bash his head in seventeen times!” The crowd erupts in laughter yet keeps their distance. Dante steps closer, blade still in hand.

“If you touch him,” Dante says, his voice low and malevolent, “I’ll skin you, gift-wrap your bones, and leave them on your mother’s doorstep for fucking Christmas. You hear me?”

Kieran visibly swallows, but despite obvious intimidation, he strikes back one last time, “Teacher’s pet.” He signals to the rest of his group, and they disappear into the shadows.

I’m still on the forest floor like a fucking idiot. “So, it’s always been a game, huh?” I utter, even to my own surprise.

“Shut your pretty little mouth and start running,” he replies, rolling his shoulder once, working his jaw, yet that infuriating grin never leaves him. “You have ten minutes to get to home base.”

My head snaps down immediately, eyes locking onto my watch. Shit, he’s right, and without another thought, I scramble to my feet and start running. I can’t tell if Dante’s behind me—the ringing in my ears smothering everything.

When I finally reach the gate, I’m met with floodlights and a body that seems to be split in two. A chainsaw, perhaps? I don’t stop to check, just jump over his intestines spilling out and practically fall into the safe zone.

And with 3 minutes to spare, I throw my hands against a wall, sucking in breaths as if I’ve just emerged from water.

“Oh my fucking God!” A voice chimes from somewhere inside the building. “Adrian, you’re alive!” Amani jumps at me, squeezing my already worn muscles. When she releases me, I shove a hand into my pocket and pull her flag out.

“Damn, you’re still breathing?” Leo states matter-of-factly, arms crossed over his chest as he approaches me with Lucas at his side. How is it that I’m the only one out of the four of us that looks like I’m actually a participant in this game?

“Dude, are you OK?” Lucas adds.

Amani places her hand on mine, shaking her head before lifting her wrist, displaying that she already has a flag. I frown and peer over to Lucas and Leo, who have their flags tied to their wrists as well.

“Leo gave me this,” Amani adds, eyes still scanning my figure before cleaning dirt and leaves off.

“I pulled mine from a dead guy near the entrance,” Lucas says with a smile on his face. A. Fucking. Smile.

Am I missing something?

“I outran the hunter with the wolf skull mask,” Leo adds, stepping closer, clearing his throat.

“And the two of you?” I ask, turning my attention back to fucking Jakel and Hide over here. This must be some sick joke. I’m half leaning against a wall, at a loss for breath and words, looking like I rolled down a fucking hill.

“Fuck that,” Lucas starts, “We ran straight back to home base. Figured we’d try again once we reunited back with the two of you.”

Does he realize this isn’t some video game where we have infinite lives and can magically just spawn back? They must be harboring all the god-damn luck cause I sure as hell aren’t.

Pins and needles prick at my scalp as I start to flex my hands. Irritating digs between the ridges of my ribs, settling deep with a burning sensation.

Not only did I let Dante make a fool of me—more times than I dare to count— but these two are having the fucking time of their lives. Jesus Christ, if I could break out of this building and scale the fence, I’d gladly leave them all behind.

I’m about to open my mouth when a siren sounds, engulfing the room in its signature pink and purple hues. The heavy doors start to roll down and, once closed, rapid sounds of gunshots echo outside. And glancing around the room, it seems like more than half made it.

Unfortunately, Mason isn’t among them. He stands casually in the center of the room, relaxed as always, yet two of his usual groupies are missing.

He doesn’t seem to notice me. That is until my watch buzzes, sending a chime through the air, announcing that my earlier sponsor retracted the 15k.

The message reads;

“What a disappointing performance. I expected more from you.”