Page 116 of Death and Do-Overs

I glared and reached for my bag to retrieve my pocket knife. It might not be the best way to take a man down, but it was enough to do some damage.

Except my bag wasn’t hanging from my shoulder.

It wasn’t on the ground here either.

It was gone, and with it, my only means to defend myself.

“Congratulations,” a deep voice bellowed from speakers on the ceiling. “After joining this competition, some of you more willingly than others, you’ve survived until the final round.”

Some of these peoplewillinglyjoined the murder competition? Risking their lives for what, some sort of twisted sport?

“Tonight, we crown a winner,” the intercom voice said.

Every remaining contestant had been gathered into an enclosed space to force us to kill each other sooner rather than later, which meant I needed to find an escape route, stat.

As the porcupine-faced man stretched and rose to his feet, hulking muscles rippled across what had been a fairly normal build. As he tripled his mass, new spines sprouted up and down his neck and through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“That’s not terrifying at all,” I said under my breath.

Another person stood. Except, as I got a better look, I realized it wasn’t a person at all, but three goblins stacked on top of each other and wearing a trench coat.

One guy’s skin turned gray. His face ballooned. His mouth stretched into a chasm of daggers. The only time I’d seen anything remotely similar was in the great white tank at the aquarium. A giant fin burst from his back. Yep, he was most definitely a shark man.

I took in every detail of the horror before me, but my body refused to respond. I was trapped in a room brimming with monsters, all whose goal was to kill me. My fear-fueled thoughts swirled in a helpless vortex. I felt my chance of survival slipping through my fingers like sand.

A loud sound filled the air, metal gears grinding together.

Huge panels opened along two of the walls—racks filled with medieval weaponry.

“Let the chaos begin!” the intercom voice proclaimed with glee.

Those who remained seated rose, but those who were already standing reached the racks first. The shark guy and the porcupine swung an ax and battle hammer at each other.

Metal clanged. Bones crunched.

Terror's grip was ironclad, squeezing my chest. I tried to take a breath, but it felt like the air had turned to fiberglass, thick and sharp bits stabbing into my lungs.

Otis was on his feet. He offered his hand. “Team up with me.”

I shot up on my own, adrenaline finally kicking in and pulsing through my veins.

“Over my dead body.”

It sounded funnier in my head than it did out loud, especially as howls of pain and the metallic scent of blood filled the air.

“Look around this room,” he said. “Do you think you have a chance at standing your own one-on-one against any of these monsters?”

No.

“I’m not just one,” I said.

There was no way I could trust Otis. The only person I could trust was me.

I backed away from the fighting, away from the man who’d murdered me once already.

I reached into my mind, into the special space I had discovered as Greta during what had previously been my greatest hour of need.

And I found the bubbles.

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