Page 1 of Wanna Play A Game?
Chapter 1
Sawyer
There’s an itch on my goddamn arm, and I can’t get it to go away. I flip my knife out and drag the canted blade down my forearm, leaving a white stripe of flaked skin.
“Sawyer,” Miles groans. “Keep your DNA off the pews.”
I lazily move my gaze to him. He’s standing with his tattooed arms crossed, watching Ryder torture the lawyer on the altar. The lawyer groans, the sound hollow in the empty church.
I flip the knife up and catch it between my fingers. “I’m not cutting, you blind asshole.”
The lawyer whimpers. He’s tied on his back, and Ryder leans over him, whispering something. He runs his gloved hands over the funnels he has drilled into the man’s body. He’s been pouring acid into them for the past few hours, ‘rotting him from the inside out’ or whatever.
I groan and stand up, walking between the pews.
“Want some help, Ryder? Ah shit, you got some blood on your suit.” I lean over the lawyer and point at a spot on Ryder’s pressed suit.
As he looks down, I flick him on the nose.
Ryder’s normally blank face flickers with emotion for a second, and then it’s gone. He clenches his jaw. “Stop interrupting.”
I roll my eyes. Ryder goes back to his chanting – he’s saying something religious. Once you’ve heard it for the 50th time, it gets old. Ryder’s mark doesn’t look like he’ll last much longer. Thank god. Ryder does the same thing every time it’s his turn and never lets us help for the fun parts.
“I’ll wait in the car.” I brush past Miles with a wink. “And watch your tone with me, pup.”
Our truck is the only one in the lot. The grass is withered in the cracked asphalt and crunches as I step on it. Ryder’s choice of location was in the middle of nowhere in an old asylum-turned-church.
It’s two in the morning, and no one is out. I light up a cigarette and breathe in the smell of smoke and sunbaked grass. Fucking hell, these things are disgusting. But the lawyer had them on him, and I couldn’t let them go to waste.
I cough around the smoke and lean against the truck. I hate the stillness here. It makes the voices in my head louder. I drag another draw of smoke in and hold it until my lungs burn.
When the boys finally join me, they smell of gasoline.
“You use the potato chips?” I snuff out my last cigarette and chuck the butt into the truck.
“No,” Ryder says and gets in the back seat. Miles joins me in the front and slams the door.
“Jesus,” I groan. “You know that kindling burns without a trace.”
The church begins to glow in the dark night.
Ryder shrugs his jacket off, “I know how to burn a building down, cocksucker.”
I swerve out of the lot, flooring it. “Okay, someone doesn’t care aboutart, ‘cocksucker.’ And if you’re hinting for me to suck your dick, you know that’s more Miles’ thing.” I floor the gas, and we fly down the wrong side of the road.
“Sawyer,” Miles grips his door handle, the tattoos on his forearm flexing. He’s covered in tattoos, mostly from his military days. It’s hot. I like knowing I have a badass kneeling at my feet.
I grin. No one is on the road, and for the first time tonight, I feel a flicker of life. Even helping Ryder didn’t help – the lawyer’s sniveling fear did little for me. I need fresh, angry, vengeful fire.
“Sawyer.” Ryder gives me a warning look and pulls off his tie. He’s always put together on the outside. He brushes his cuffs off. As usual, he still looks crisp and handsome with his medium-length hair styled back. It’s annoying.
I just step on the gas and crank up the Bluetooth radio.
“You’re stiff.” I reach over and rub Miles’ thigh with my right hand and brush over his crotch. “And not in a good way.”
“Fuck off.” He smacks my hand away.
I bring it right back and grip his groin hard. I feel him harden beneath my hand. “Good boy,” I mock.
