Page 32 of The Games We Play

Mr. Bryant was an easy lift. He was alone at his vacation home in San Diego and with minimal security measures. Made for a short night and thank fuck for that.

Sierra is oddly quiet on the way back to the plane hangar, and I glance at him from out of my periphery. His leg bounces, and he gnaws on his fingers, gross given everything he did tonight, and he hasn’t washed his hands.

“What’s eating at you?” I ask. He’s normally the type of person you pray would shut up, but this behavior is off.

He huffs and runs his palms along his jeans. “Do you ever think about…you know, switching things up?”

I turn onto the highway before answering. “Like having a family or choosing a new preferred weapon?” I joke.

“These targets are escape goats for the real nasty people out there. Either accountants shuffling funds, someone arranging gun smuggling, or that one who was pretending to be royalty to gain access to the Sheikh in Dubai…” He scoffs and leans back into his seat. “I’m losing the thrill, man. I’m itching for something…more.”

I didn’t know that about any of our targets. “You need to stop asking questions. Paint them as criminal as you want and get the job done. You’re just getting in your head. Killing is killing. Money is money, and we’re on top of the food chain.”

“What if we aren’t?” he asks, barely above a whisper, and I jerk my attention over to him with an arched brow. “I got an invitation for a potential new employer. Someone who needs the best of the best to take care of high-value targets. Like above special ops and terrorist level shit.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sierra,” I hiss. “You don’t just put in a two weeks’ notice with a job like this. You’re in it for life. Leaving isn’t an option, and you know that. If they even heard you were thinking about something like this, you could end up next onmylist. Don’t be stupid, man. Tell the boss about the hearsay and let it go.”

I’ve never been one to have a friend. Every relationship I’ve formed since I took this job aside from one has been tactical. There is no room for emotions or attachments. Attachments equal leverage, and I’ll be damned if anyone finds a connection to use against me.

Sierra doesn’t respond. His eyes seem far away as if he’s actually considering his options. We part ways once the plane lands without so much as a head nod, and I sigh as the leather seat in my car forms around my body.

I pull up the camera at Puppet’s just in time for her to walk inside her house. Her body is sluggish like she’s exhausted, and I run my hand through my hair.

I debate going home or going straight to her. I’ll have to circle a couple of hours, something I’ve trained myself to do just in case I ever have someone tailing me. My dick hardens as if this is even a question of where I want to spend my night. She’s just what I need to work through the tension Sierra just brought on me.

I shift through gears until I’m in sixth and racing down the back roads, drifting around curves and taking the straightaways at dangerous speeds.

I should really recognize just how wrapped around Puppet’s fucking pussy I am. It’s dangerous but oh so fucking delicious.

Eighteen - Tess

Blood. It’s all Ican see. Smeared across my body, pooling around my feet, and splattered across the walls. I ache for the high of the night in the clown house; the knife cut into his flesh so easily. The way watching the blood beaded across my chest cleared my head and made me feel euphoric.

I slide down the bathroom wall, twirling a hunting knife in my hand. I found it in a box of Dad’s stuff in the basement. He was an avid hunter when I was younger, who went on more hunting trips than I recall.

The cold metal slides across my naked body. My nipples pebble and my breath quickens as I slide the blade closer to the sensitive skin, then down my arms and across my abdomen. Something so lethal, if in the right hands, but a beautifully crafted means of survival if used in that manner.

Ryan had so many questions after that night we had at Haunted Nights. It changed me somehow. The world is clearer. Things that I thought mattered, don’t anymore. I couldn’t tell him what reallyhappened, of course. You don’t just fess up to murder. Not even to your best friend. You’d like to think they’d help you bury the body with no questions, but let’s be real—they’d have some serious questions.

Not to mention the fact that I claimed my stalker. Branded him so everyone will know he’s mine, and he did the same to me. I brush my fingers over the X on my chest. This is how I know it’s all real. That I’m not hallucinating or dreaming. This is my proof.

I line the knife up with the healing mark and gasp as the first drop of blood beads down over my breast. A smile curls my lips and I groan as I drag the blade down the healing mark, reopening it and relishing in the pain. I slide my free hand down my tightening abdomen and run my fingers over my clit. The knife presses harder into my skin, my breath quickens. I pant through the pain as an orgasm builds in my core.

“X,” I moan and move the blade to a perpendicular diagonal line. A hand wraps around my throat and another helps guide the knife along the cut on my chest.

“I want to watch you,” he says. I look up through my eyelashes at the familiar mask. He stands from his crouched position and moves to lean on the vanity, tantalizingly unbuckling his pants and pulling his cock free.

I lick my lips as his hand moves up and down his hardening erection. The muscles in his hand and exposed forearm flex with each pass. I moan and press my fingers into my sensitive core, stroking myself, imagining it is X’s cock inside, working me to ecstasy. I drop the blade, finishing the mark and palm my breast, pinching my nipple, smearing my vibrant red blood across my body.

“Do you like what you see?” I ask.

The veins in his hands pop and his cock twitches.

“Don’t come,” he growls.

“What?” I say breathlessly, my legs tensing. I’m so close. My eyelids fall closed and my head leans back into the wall. X grabs my wrist from between my legs and slams my arm over my head. I jerk my eyes up to find his mask is a handsbreadth from me.

“That’s mine.” He cups the apex of my thighs and I bear down on his hand.

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