Page 31 of The Games We Play

X broke a dam inside of me, and I want retribution for being treated like something to be played with. The knife sinks into Jackson’s stretched neck, and I rip the blade back—blood splatters across my face and uniform. Someone grabs my arm, and I swing around, slashing blindly and connecting with flesh. My vision turns black. I’m animalistic, crawling atop the table and reaching my next victim. They’re pigs—all of them. And I’m taking them to slaughter.

“Puppet,” a low, calming voice says. I pause and listen for it. For him. He’ll be so proud of me. Nobody touches what is his. “Puppet, look at me.”

I blink until I’m able to see through the red that I’ve bathed myself in.

Jackson is staring at me, frozen in place. There isn’t any blood on my skin, and all four guys and Tori watch me, still bent over the table. I glance at the knife and my hand.

I didn’t punch him. I didn’t kill them. But fuck do I want to.

“Did you like that, sexy?” Jackson whispers, his hand now rubbing the spot he slapped. My knuckles whiten around the hilt.

“Tessa!” Cookie shouts, and his hand falls away. I stand, keeping the knife firmly in my palm while pulling the dirty dishes to the edge of the table. I don’t break eye contact with Jackson. He doesn’t know it, but he just signed his death sentence, and I’m his personal grim reaper.

“I’ll be seeing you around.” He slaps a large wad of cash onto the table and casually struts out of the restaurant. Tori flips her hair in my face and scoffs.

Yes, you fucking will.But when you realize it’sme, it’ll be too late.

Anticipation hums under my skin like when your palm itches and you can’t get relief, no matter how hard you try. I grab the cash and dirty dishes and return them to the kitchen. A crazed smile stretches across my cheeks as I go through the mundane shift of helping the rest of my customers. All the while, I’m plotting in my mind how it will feel to have the life wane from Jackson Henry’s eyes when my knife sinks into his chest. Will I make it slow and painful, or quick, creating a beautiful canvas with his blood splatter?

Maybe I could sell it as abstract? I giggle, and my customer arches their brow.

“Something funny about requesting Gluten-Free?”

“No, not at all. I’ll get that for you right away.” If only he knew the madness circling behind his waitress’s mind.

I’m going to be an artist.

Seventeen - X

The insidious, muffled pleasreverberating off the metal walls are really grating on my nerves. I want to slit the guy’s throat and be done with this, but Sierra likes to play with the targets. He gives them false hope that if they fess up their sins, we will offer them absolution.

I crack my knuckles as I stand against the wall and refrain from sighing in boredom as Sierra drags the knife along Mr. Bryant’s chest.

What he did, I don’t care.

He’s numbers in my bank account. They all are. But Sierra has this curiosity about wanting to know who they are and what we are killing them for. What kind of sadistic bastard wants to humanize the target? Logically, I know they have families or something of the sort. They all have some kind of sob story about why they should get to live. One bastard used his dying mother as if that would get us to turn a blind eye.

Sierra just laughed and said he never had a mother and took joy in killing him slower than usual.

Maybe that’s why he does it? The kill isn’t enough on its own. He needs an emotional tether for the target to latch onto and slowly take away.

I check my security footage and click through every camera at Puppet’s house. Empty aside from Roxy sleeping on the couch like she always does when waiting for her girl to get home from work. These jobs are getting harder to take when there is so much distance between us. As crazy as it sounds, I miss her voice, her touch, her very essence coating my cock and hand.

I berate myself for letting my emotions slip. This won’t last. I know that. It’s all part of a plan.

I hastily lock my phone and shove it back in my pocket, my cock already stirring at the mere memories of her in the clown house. That was weeks ago, and it still feels like it was just last night when her knife cut through my skin.

“I think there was a diner about fifteen miles back. My treat?” Sierra offers as he wipes his knife along the leg of a very dead Mr. Bryant. I push off the wall and let my shoulders relax slightly.

“You know the rules, and I want to get back,” I state. The rules are simple, really. Don’t tell anyone what we do. Don’t loiter once the job is done, and no outside contact period.

“Come on. We don’t even know who this sadistic man who hired us is. Besides, we’re the best they have. Do you really think they’re going to terminate us for eating a decent meal after securinganothertarget without drawing attention to ourselves?”

I’m shaking my head before he can finish his thought. I’m not spending more time away from her than I have to, and I’m certainly not risking what I have going on here for a greasy cheeseburger and some fries.

“There’s something going down within the agency, and you know it. We can’t afford any screw-ups. More of our targets are being snatched out from underneath us.”

Sierra groans as we climb into the SUV left for us and sends a quick text with our location. A cleanup crew will be here in minutes to ensure there isn’t any trace left of us or who died here tonight.

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