Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Opening the message, I quickly scan over it.
Congratulations on making it through the first twenty-four hours of War Games.
The death toll currently stands at seven.
Those who have been eliminated are -
•Blade
•Grim
•Stone
•Slasher
•Crimson Rain
•The Boston Maneater
•Graves
So I take it Siren and I were the only ones to make kills today, which also begs the question, how the fuck do these bastards already know that Graves is dead? It happened less than six minutes ago. Either way, I suppose I don’t really care.
All that matters is finding somewhere to call home, stripping out of my blood-soaked clothes, and finally taking that cold shower.
7
SIREN
Achild’s laugh breaks through the silence of the resort pool area, and I glance up just in time to watch as the kid flies down the mega slide and drops into the pool, sending a wave of water cascading over me and my laptop.
“Ahhh shit,” I mutter as the kid’s mother rushes after him while giving me an awkward apologetic wave.
“What’s wrong?” Mila says directly in my ear as I lounge by the pool in a skimpy bikini, working on my tan. Only now that there are other people using the pool, I suddenly feel a little awkward showing quite this much skin.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to wipe the water off the screen before it fucks up the laptop. “Just realizing that pools and technology don’t mix well.”
Mila scoffs. “Only just figuring that out now?”
I roll my eyes, and once I’m confident that my laptop isn’t about to shit itself, I lean back in my sun lounger and get back to work. Only, not much work is really getting done. I’ve been coming up blank all morning. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve been trying to find information on the kid, Shadow, and so far, I haven’t been able to find even a hint that she exists. She’s a ghost, and while I have no intention of making her a target, I’ve been plagued with curiosity.
What the fuck is a child doing in a competition like this? But more so, how the hell did she become a killer worthy of gaining the attention of War Games? Something must have happened to her. Don’t get me wrong, anyone in my line of business has a shitload of trauma, but it takes years to develop your skills, years to learn how to become invisible, and I doubt a child at her age would have been capable of achieving that on her own. Somebody made her the way she is, and I want to know who.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I avert my gaze from the screen and to the child playing happily in the pool. “Have you got anything?” I ask Mila.
“I’ve been tracking 343,” she tells me. “I’ve got him in a basement under an old record store, and judging by what’s on his screen right now, he’s tracking The Midnight Killer.”
My interest is piqued, but something doesn’t feel right about it. “How did 343 find him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she muses as I hear her fingers moving like lightning across her keyboard. “Oh. How disappointing. It seems like another dumbass who doesn’t know anything about keeping themselves concealed in public. He was caught on a surveillance camera in a store parking lot and 343 tracked his movements from there. The idiot practically drew a map with how often he’s getting caught with facial recognition.”
“That almost seems too easy,” I murmur. “Do you think it’s a trap? Maybe he’s trying to draw 343 out.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “Or he’s simply too cocky to assume he could get caught.”
“It’s possible. I mean, most serial killers aren’t the brightest crayons in the box. It’s the assassins you have to watch your back around.”
“Very true. But no matter which way you look at it, if 343 goes after The Midnight Killer, that puts both of them in the same place at the same time. And even if The Midnight Killer expects to find 343, neither of them will be expecting you. Two birds, one stone.”
Shit. I like the way she thinks.
“Okay. Keep tracking them,” I say, closing my laptop and getting up from the sun lounger. I grab my towel and wrap it around me before scooping up my phone and stepping into my slides. “Let me know if there’s any movement. I need to go get ready for a night out.”
I can picture Mila rolling her eyes so perfectly. “Okay, but if you don’t use that black lipstick again, I’m going to come down there and kill you myself. I think it’s your new signature look.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I think you might be right,” I tell her. “Maybe I should go get a little cat-ear headband to match my ring.”
“Don’t even think about it. You’re taking it from sexy assassin to bad Halloween costume, and if that’s the route you wanna go, then unfortunately, I’m going to have to sever ties with you. How am I supposed to be taken seriously as the go-to underground computer hacker when my partner in crime looks like she’s going to her first high school party?”