The Games We Play

31. Thirty - X

Thirty - X

I push myself up higher against the back of the couch and risk a glance at the window. A bullet cuts through the glass and whizzes by my head, forcing me to drop back down.

I smirk and wet my bottom lip. This is not how I saw tonight going. I crawl from the couch to the kitchen and stay ducked under the island.

Another shot, another miss.

Sliding open the drawers, I search until I find a cloth and breathe through the pain as I shove it between my shirt and the bleeding wound. At least this way, I won’t leave a trail for them to follow.

Bracing on my feet in a crouched position, I rush to the door, diving through the opening and pressing my back to the wall outside in the hallway.

I only get seconds before the sound of the elevator dinging and voices have me rushing to the stairwell. I gently click the door closed when I hear voices echoing below me.

Can’t I catch a break ?

Leaning over the banister, I lock eyes with a man in a suit doing the same as he gazes up at me. I’ve been in this line of work long enough to recognize another killer. In a flash, he whips out his pistol, and the shot rings up the stairs, ricocheting off metal. I jump back, open the door, and rush back down the hallway. Half walking, half jogging, I risk a glance behind me when I reach Scott’s room door once again.

When I face back toward the elevator, he steps around the corner, inspecting his fingernails and grinning like he’s the fox who just broke into the henhouse.

“There he is,” he sings like I’m the next contestant on his twisted show. The door to the stairs opens, and I pivot with my back to the wall as I stare at the gun aimed at me and then back at Scott. “I knew you couldn’t resist, man. Like dangling candy in front of a baby. You want me dead? You want it enough to make mistakes.” He bounces on his toes and cackles with excitement.

“I just bested Lance! The unstoppable hitman!” he shouts, and I wince at the volume, shifting my gaze to the hall of doors. Scott follows my gaze and smirks. “There’s nobody here but you, me, and trigger-happy over there.” He points at the man opposite him, and I force myself to appear relaxed, not the utterly unhinged monster wanting to break free.

Scott walks closer, and I reach for my holstered gun at my back. “Ah-ah. I wouldn’t do that. Not before we have a chance to chat.”

A barrel presses into my temple. Mr. Trigger-Happy must have advanced along with Scott. I clench my jaw and slowly drop my hand back to my side.

“Good,” Scott nods, steps past me, and into the suite filled with bullet holes .

“How do I know I won’t get sniped as soon as I walk in that door?” I ask over my shoulder, refusing to give Mr. Trigger-Happy my entire back.

“Come on, Lance. That wouldn’t be very sportsman-like, would it?”

The cold steel nudges against my skull, and I clench my fists and prepare myself for death as I cross the threshold. Mr. Trigger-Happy follows and closes the door. Scott stands in front of the windows and traces his finger from one bullet hole to the next.

“It’s riveting, isn’t it?” he mutters. “Death is so close to us every day,” he spins on his heel and waves a hand at me. “Some closer than others. But everyone down there,” he jerks his head at the city. “They don’t even realize that with one order from me, they would be dead. One slip at the sidewalk or an encouraging shove, and they would be flattened by a bus. One step into a dark alley, throat slit, and left for dead. Poof.”

“What are we doing here, Scott? You going to kill me? Get it over with and save us from this pointless rambling.”

Slipping my right hand in my pocket, my fingers trace the familiar metal.

Scott waves a dismissive hand, and Mr. Trigger-Happy grunts as he walks out of the room.

“I am going to kill you,” he states like he’s ordering pizza.

This is the man I’ve worked beside for the past year. I know how he works, how he thinks, what his signatures are. First, he’ll toy with me, try to get inside my head. He’ll want to get personal. Threaten those closest to me and wait until I crack before killing me.

At least that’s what I’ll let him believe.

“But first, how do you know Darius? He’s very interested in every detail about you, and honestly, I can’t figure out what’s so special. ”

I shrug. “Perhaps it’s my good looks?”

Scott laughs and shakes his hand while pointing his finger at me. “There’s that cocky, untouchable attitude that Lima is known for. God, I’ve missed you!”

“Wish I could say the feeling was mutual,” I wince when pain shoots through my shoulder.

Scott narrows his gaze on me. “Ah, he hit you. Not a total loss, then.”

Blood trickles down my bicep, and I press my arm to my side to keep it from dripping down my fingers to the floor. I don’t need to give him more fuel to add to this dumpster fire.

Scott saunters closer, his chest nearly brushing my shoulder as he dances around me. “Kill or be killed. That’s our motto, isn’t it?”

The hand in my pocket tightens its grip. “Yeah, also…” Quickly, I pull the knife from my pocket and lodge it between Scott’s ribs. “Never let your target get too close.” His hand clasps my shoulder, his thumb digging into the bullet wound, and I rip away from his grip. Slipping my pistol from its holster, I keep it trained on him as I backstep toward the door.

“You’re breaking the first rule, man,” Scott rasps through pain. “No witnesses.”

Standing taller now, I stare down at him, half-bent over. “You’re not a witness. You’re a messenger. Tell Darius I’m coming for him, and he shouldn’t send incompetent children to do his grunt work.”

“He knows about her,” Scott says with a sinister laugh, straightening as much as he can with the knife at his side.

My body goes rigid, and all thoughts of pain dissipate. I raise my gun higher and aim between his eyes .

“What are you talking about?” I need to get downstairs and to Puppet’s cameras. They couldn’t know. I’ve doubled—no tripled by tracks—and kept her as separated from my work persona as possible.

“Tick Tock, Lance.” Scott’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

I lunge forward and whip the butt of my pistol across his temple, knocking him out. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I pat Scott down for his pistol and any other weapons.

Pocketing the two extra knives and strapping the ankle holster on my leg, I pull the blood-soaked rag from my shoulder and rip my jacket off. After emptying my pockets, I set the plan into motion.

“Eh, you alright in there?” Mr. Trigger-Happy shouts as he pounds on the door. I rush to the bathroom and angle my back to the mirror.

There’s an exit wound. Good. I don’t have to worry about digging out a bullet later. Bracing my hands on the counter, I watch as my reflection goes from the hunted to the disassociated killer I’m known for.

My blue eyes appear darker as the promise of bloodshed is coming. A sinister smile curls my lips, and I push off the cold granite, check each pistol that it’s loaded, and keep one in each of my hands.

“What the… Fuck!” Mr. Trigger-Happy shouts, and the handle jiggles. Glass shatters, and I step back into the bathroom, hiding from the sniper still in position.

The keypad chimes, signaling the door is unlocked, and I ready myself for a fight. From here, I see Mr. Trigger-Happy rush inside, gun raised as he stops next to Scott. He pivots on his feet as he checks the entire room.

Show time . I step out, firing two shots, one to his chest and one to his head, then run like hell as the bullets pepper the wall behind me .

I stumble into the hallway and weigh my options. Blood soaks the left side of my shirt. I’ll be less likely to run into anyone on the stairs. The dinging of the elevator decides for me, and I take the stairs two at a time.

I take the extra time to exit through the parking garage versus walking through the lobby and lock the door once inside my car.

Lifting my phone, I dial the number and stare up at the tenth floor. I press the call button, and Scott’s suite explodes into a fury of orange and smoke. Debris pelts the ground and pings against the roof of my car.

“Nobody is better than me, asshole.”

I leave the scene and groan as my shoulder reminds me I just got fucking shot. I haven’t been shot in years. I never let things get that close.

It’s her.

She’s made me reckless and reacting based on emotions.

Puppet .

I grab my phone and quickly click to the feed of her house. I scroll through the cameras until I find her bed empty. The tightness in my chest aches, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

Suddenly, her camera feed goes black, and I roll the car to a stop to fix the issue. Something moves from the view, and the camera angle is wrong. The height has changed, and when a person steps in front of the camera with a gun, I see red.

“Hello, Lance.” the man says.

Darius . I try to flip through the other cameras, desperate to get eyes on Puppet. But they’re all black, with the word disconnected blinking across the screens. He got to her. Scott wasn’t bluffing, and if I know anything about Darius, neither is he .

“I think it’s time we meet. Saturday at seven-thirty, meet me at 753 Fallon Dr. Dress nice. I’ll make sure my daughter is in attendance. Can’t have you prematurely ending our party.”

The screen goes black with the same image as the others, and I stare out my windshield into the night.

When my phone rings again, I answer with a hollowness in my voice.

“What have you done?” November snaps.

“Saturday. Seven Thirty. You’ll have what you want,” I respond in a deadened tone.

“Based on what intel?”

I sigh and shake my head in disbelief. “Because I’m meeting Darius at the auction. And I just killed Scott Parkins along with however many other of Darius goons were waiting for me. The sniper across the street got away.”

Silence stretches between us for what feels like hours. Every second Puppet is in the hands of that monster feels like a year etched into my being.

He’s ruthless, vindictive, and has no empathy for anyone or anything.

“Status,” November orders.

“GS to the left shoulder. Exit wound out the back.”

“Get back here now, and we’ll plan a team. This ends now. Understood?”

My chest cracks, a foreign feeling I’ve not felt before. “My family?” I ask.

“We’ll post guards at the house. Time to do what you do best, Lima. Kill or be killed.” She disconnects with her words echoing around the empty car.

Kill or be killed .