Page 23 of Sinful Obsession
“Sebastian, you’re the tallest,” I said, voice low and urgent. “You should go.”
He smirked. “And you, the shortest runt—what’s stopping you, huh?”
My stomach twisted. I turned away and bent slightly, hoping to retch, but nothing came up.
When I turned back, Cassian was watching.
Unblinking.
I yanked my focus away.
King pointed at me. “No way Charles can do it. He’s the weakest of us all. If he fails, we lose a teammate for nothing—and someone else would still have to jump. It’s a waste. We need all four of us for the months ahead.”
“Three seconds... two...” Misha’s voice boomed through the microphone.
“Guys, decide fast,” I urged, my heart pounding. “Sebastian, just do it.”
“Hell no, you do it,” Sebastian snapped, his eyes wide with fear despite his bravado.
“Time’s up,” Misha declared. “Each team’s representative takes four steps forward. Everyone else, two steps back.”
We froze.
No one moved.
Our eyes darted between each other, anger and fear locking us in place.
Misha’s voice cut again: “If a team has no representative, the entire team is eliminated.”
I swallowed hard.
Other teams were already sending their chosen forward.
And we—Den of Vipers—stood paralyzed.
“In five. Four. Three. Two...”
Panic surged.
I glanced at King, his jaw tight, then at Silas and Sebastian, their smirks gone, replaced by dread.
We hadn’t chosen. No one stepped forward.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. Maybe I’d gone insane. Or maybe it was pride. Survival. Something uglier than all three.
The others hadn’t moved. Not a twitch. But they weren’t fearless—just practiced at pretending. Their eyes held that haunted glint we all carried after four weeks in hell. Still, they assumed someone would be forced forward eventually... and that someone was me.
A sharp cramp twisted through my lower stomach. I clenched my jaw and ignored it, hiding the flicker of nausea that threatened to rise. Not now.
From behind, Silas leaned close, his breath warm and cruel at my neck.
“Go on, runt. Jump and die. We’ll win without you anyway,” he murmured.
Sebastian chuckled. “Yeah, matchstick. Save us the trouble. Burn, and we’re still in the game.”
Bastards.
Their words were knives, but I refused to flinch. The fire ring loomed, its flames a wall of death, the heat already blistering my skin from twenty feet away. My heart pounded, fear clawing at my resolve.I’m not ready to die,I thought, the flames’ roar drowning out my courage.
