Page 4 of Almost Ravaged

Tytus brushes his lips against my ear, and after a barely there inhale, he whispers, “Run.”

Chapter two

Sawyer

The squeal that escapes me is shrill and airy. It’s girlish in a way that would be embarrassing if I weren’t surrounded by a swarm of preteen boys who are screaming at an equally high pitch.

Atty breezes past the group toward the ramp that leads to his favorite perch.

The rapid thumping of my heart is overly dramatic for the setting, but the game isn’t what has my blood racing. I pop up on my toes and scan the arena, searching for my brother’s best friend through the artificial fog.

Tytus isn’t behind me, but I didn’t see him pass, either. He told me to run. He made sure I knew his username…The Hunter. That must mean something, right?

I roll my lips together, a mixture of nerves and anticipation swirling low in my belly.

My uncomfortable vest vibrates against my chest.

Shit.

On my right, a gangly blond boy snickers.

I hit him with a deadpan stare. “You better watch it, Youremom.”

When his eyes widen, I silently congratulate myself. I guessed that was his username, though the odds were clearly in my favor.

Finally pulled from my stupor, I scurry deeper into the arena, turning corners and trying my best to stay out of the line of fire.

My chest heaves and my breaths come quickly by the time I flatten my spine against the carpet-coated wall at the back of the space. The scratchy sensation lights up my senses, and the chemical carpet smell adds to the pungent odor permeating the air—sweat, excitement, adrenaline, fun.

“Rogue!”

My heart rate ratchets up a notch and excitement shoots through me at the sound of Tytus’s voice. My gut instinct is to follow it, to run toward him, since we usually play on the same team.

But if his cryptic comment is any indicator, that’snotthe game we’re playing today.

I’ve never been more eager to break the rules.

“Oh Ro-gue.”

My breath catches in my chest.

He’s louder. Getting closer.

A hiccup catches me by surprise. I lift my hand to my mouth to stifle the sound and inch along the scratchy wall. I round a corner and hustle toward the next barricade.

Just as I skid to a stop behind it, a burst of movement on my left startles me. But when it’s quickly followed by a yelp that sounds way more like a little kid than it does an almost eighteen-year-old, I heave out a sigh.

Heart still pounding in my ears, I dart for the next barrier and crouch low behind it. I’d be embarrassed about how intense my reaction to being chased is if I wasn’t so eager to keep playing.

As I catch my breath, puffs of fog swirl around me from the artificial smoke machine across the way. Though it’s inconvenient for scanning my surroundings, it also means I’m better hidden in this spot.

Two kids stop mere feet away. They double over, their hands resting on their knobby knees as they gulp air. They’re in range, directly across from me. But if I shoot, they’ll retaliate.

I’m not even a little tempted to take the easy shot. I’m singularly focused on finding—or, more accurately, being found by—someone else.

Someone I’ve crushed on for years, but who always seemedout of reach.

Tytus has been an extension of our family for almost a decade. There’s a tingling of wrongness in wanting him, but there’s no denying my truth. I’ve long suspected my feelings for Ty weren’t unrequited; he just never allowed himself to act on them.