Page 135 of Kill Feed

“Maybe,” Yara states sweetly, tugging at her blue bow, “you should pick an easier target.”

Her sister grins. “I mean, if a contestant managed to slice you open during the introduction game…” She shrugs dramatically. “It doesn’t exactly scream top hunter, now does it?”

A few chuckles ripple through the room.

The man’s expression hardens in response. “You two done?”

“Not really,” Yara chimes.

“I’ve got more,” Yasmin adds.

Normally I’d enjoy watching the twins poke at somebody’s ego until it bled, but I just can’t find the energy.

Kieran refuses to back down. He takes another step forward, his jaw working so hard I’m surprised he hasn’t cracked a molar yet. Three hunters wearing the exact same military gear drift in behind him, more interested in the confrontation than actually getting involved.

I don’t move. Not even an inch. If he wants to posture, he can do it alone.

The tension that started to stagnate between Kieran and I break as Marcos strolls inside with a towel slung around his neck, damp hair pushed back from a shower. He takes one look at the room, one look at Kieran standing in my face, and lets out the kind of exhausted sigh.

“For fuck’s sake,” he utters. “Can we save this testosterone-fueled bullshit for the games? We’ve got contestants to hunt. Remember them?” Without waiting for a reply, he drops onto one of the sleek onyx couches and throws his boots onto the low coffee table in front of him.

Kieran snarls, whipping his gaze between Marcos and me. “Just because you two won last year—”

“And the year before that,” I correct.

“It doesn’t mean shit; you don’t just get to do whatever the fuck you want.”

One of the twins wanders over, half skipping until she meets my side. “Oh, someone’s feelings are still hurt.”

Kieran laughs once, closing the distance between them until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“You can talk all the shit you want,” he says, voice low, “but hanging around last year’s champions doesn’t change the fact that neither of you has won a single season.”

Yasmin now appears beside her sister, smiling charmingly. “Maybe not, but we entered Kill Feed only three years ago, winning as contestants.”

Yara tilts her head. “You’ve been here for more than 10 years, old man, so what’s your excuse?”

Kieran’s expression falters before folding his arms over his chest. His attempt at intimidation fails horribly, so instead, he redirects his focus back onto me.

“The boy with the dead eyes is mine.” His voice is tight with restrained anger. “He is my kill.” Kieran turns sharply, his little entourage falling in behind him, disappearing through the sliding doors. Silence settles over the room again, and I wait until the doors hiss shut before pushing away from the monitors.

The tension leaves my shoulders all at once as I cross the room and collapse onto the couch opposite Marcos, throwing both arms across the backrest with an exhausted sigh.

Marcos breaks the silence first. “So, Graves,” he starts, scratching at the stubble on his jaw, “what are you going to do about your little problem?”

I glance at him, but before I can answer, he adds, “I told you this was going to blow up in your face. You finally gonna kill him and just get it over with?”

“What about Leo?” I ask, steering the conversation.

Marcos huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “Deflecting, are we?”

“I’m not killing Adrian any more than you are killing Leo.”

“Let me remind you, Leo wanted to be here and entered just like any other player.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then I raise an eyebrow. “Hm, so he’d rather get himself killed in a livestream survival game than be with you? How sad.”

Marcos slowly leans back into the couch. “You’re an asshole.”