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T his bunker is fucking small.

I can’t stand up properly because my head hits the ceiling; hence, I’m confined to the stupid chair until it’s time for us to move. I understand that it was made last minute and that I shouldn’t have expected anything grand, but a decent-sized room would have sufficed.

Arlo’s shorter than me, so his head is safe. Mine? Not so much. I’m pretty sure if we were to hit it again, it’d split open. And I’m not exaggerating. Blair’s also safe, since she’s barely tall enough to sit in a car without the kid’s seat. The two of them are sitting by the computer, the mic turned off once Arlo’s announcement went through.

The clothes and the masks for this Kortlek are fucking ridiculous. The clothes are not as bad as the masks. It’s a basic, plain black suit with a white shirt and a red tie. It doesn’t sound too bad, but who the fuck can run, hunt, and kill in a fucking suit?

Not me.

Blair also messed up the sizes when ordering mine. I’m wider and taller than Arlo, so I wear a bigger size. Lengthwise, she managed to get it right, but the shirt and blazer are threatening to snap on me if I ever so much as move a muscle the wrong way.

And don’t even get me started on the masks.

They were made and personalized by Blair herself each. They’re all pitch-black, regular masks with holes for eyes and two smaller ones where nostrils are so we’d be able to breathe. However, she had to add a twist of her own — each mask has hearts and butterflies drawn on them.

The colors are raging, neon, and enough to make me want to gouge my eyes out. It looks ridiculous. It’s like someone gave a child free rein on an art project, and boy did she take advantage of it all. Arlo, being pussy-whipped, complimented the masks as if they were the best he’d ever seen.

Arlo’s are decorated in neon blue, the butterflies and hearts looking absurd. Blair’s are in pink — obviously. Mine are in a raging shade of red, whilst the last guy’s are purple.

The guy… well… he doesn’t speak much.

While discussing the location and where to hold the game, Arlo was worried that we were biting more than we could chew. I tried shutting that insane idea down right away, but eventually, I was outnumbered and outvoted by Blair and Arlo.

They invited this awesome fella to join us.

I don’t know much about him. Hell, I don’t even want to know. All that I was told was that he used to be in prison but managed to escape. Supposedly, he killed many people, and Hudson De Santis recruited the man himself.

If Hudson says you’re good, you’re good. Hudson is still considered God amongst the colleagues in this field of work. Not many would dare to oppose him, and those who do are quick to meet death. I’ve learned long ago that Hudson shows no mercy, and he doesn’t know the meaning of a ‘second chance’, which seems fitting.

Which is why I’m not questioning this man’s abilities. He’s definitely good if he has Hudson vouching for him. However, it’s unnerving how calm he is. He’s my height, too, and aside from a few times when his eye twitched in annoyance after the top of his head connected to the ceiling, he hasn’t complained much.

Neither did I.

I hate when people speak only to complain or to speak utter bullshit. Why speak if nothing smart, educational, or informative will leave your mouth? Arlo keeps saying that words aren’t soap; you won’t run out of them, but Arlo is also like a fucking chicken, constantly clucking about nothing.

My eyes flicker all around the screens in front of me. There are six of them, each one having multiple cameras showing in real time how our little playthings are finding their time in the playground. The sound is on, too.

Some are arguing, trying to come up with the best plan to surprise us and kill us. The thing is, they don’t know how many hunters are here. For all they know, there could be fifty of us and only thirty-eight of them. One of them even suggested that, though he was quickly shot down by the rest.

Smart folks.

Some are climbing trees, holding their guns ready to fire. It’s quite cute. Did they think we wouldn’t think of that? All the branches are thin, so in about five to ten times, they will snap, and they will either break their necks or arms and legs.

I’d prefer if it were their limbs. If they die, the game gets boring.

For the first time, we have almost forty prey. Given that the chances of it happening anytime soon again are slim to none, I have every intention of taking full advantage of the situation. Tonight is the night when I can go all out without a care for the consequences.

Arlo turns to look at me with that ridiculous mask on. I snort behind mine, shaking my head. I cannot believe I actually put it on my face. But if I hadn’t, Arlo would’ve forced it on me, superglued it if necessary, just to spare Blair’s feelings.

As I said, pussy-whipped.

“Has your shoulder wound healed yet?”

My jaw clenches at the memory. Aria’s skills need improvement, but I don’t think I would’ve needed stitches had she not pushed her fingers into my wound. That night, I got a couple of stitches because she tore into the flesh much wider and deeper than the original wound.

Fucking lunatic.

“Yes,’’ I say through gritted teeth. “It’s fine.’’

Arlo nods once and doesn’t press the issue. However, I can see the lingering worry on his face before he turns his attention back to the screens in front of him. It becomes silent again, and I’m waiting for Arlo to give the signal that the prey has scattered around and that we can finally leave this fucking bunker.

The man who was stupid enough to stab me, Jackson, didn’t die. How Arlo let him live is beyond me, though I don’t question it much. He spent a week in the hospital, intensive care, and he was supposed to make a full recovery.

Supposed to — only because he fucking vanished off the face of Earth.

Arlo destroyed his face beyond recognition and broke all of his limbs. He was in a cast, on life support, trying to survive. How does a patient of that severity simply disappear from the hospital? The cameras stopped working one night for approximately fifteen minutes.

In that window frame, Jackson disappeared.

Hudson and Noelle immediately started looking into Jackson. On paper, he’s as clean as they come. But he was also participating in an underground, illegal boxing ring, which makes his clean background fall apart severely.

They asked around their circles, and apparently, two years ago, a small gang formed. We don’t know much about them yet, though Hudson is looking into it closely. From the little information we do have, we’ve come to the conclusion that the attack on me was planned.

It pissed me off that I have no idea how it involves me or why. Arlo thinks that they wanted to get through me to get to him, but I highly doubt it. Jackson’s goal was to kill me. Arlo was right there. He could’ve gone straight for him, and although Arlo would’ve killed him in a split second, it still would’ve been more useful than aiming for my throat and missing.

“What the fuck?!”

Arlo’s voice breaks my train of thought, and I rise from the chair, hissing as my head hits the ceiling again. I bend a little, making my way toward him. Arlo’s clutching the edge of the desk painfully, his knuckles turning white. The anger is radiating off him.

My eyes flicker to the screen, and within a second, my emotions mirror his.

Aria is fucking here.

She’s here. As in, she’s dressed in all black, currently slicing off a dick from one of the prey. She laughs like a maniac, her laughter ringing in my ears. She waves the severed organ in front of the man’s face, and he passes out. Or die.

I don’t know.

I don’t care.

My hand curls around the armrest of Arlo’s chair, squeezing it tightly. My teeth grit together in anger, my entire body on fire. How dare she? How dare she put herself in danger when she was explicitly told not to come here?

Who even gave her the location? We were extremely careful not to let it slip because we feared this would happen. And it happened regardless. Fucking hell. I watch as she starts stabbing him, the manic, insane look on her face. She doesn’t even feel the blood coating her face, clothes, and hair.

“Cove,’’ Arlo grits out, his voice dangerously low, “go and grab her before I kick her ass for even thinking of coming here.’’

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. Before he’s even finished the sentence, I’m climbing up the ladder, my guns tucked at the back. The fresh air hits me, and I take a deep breath. Without wasting any time or caring if any of the prey will see me, I make my way toward the spot where Aria is located.

It’s not too far from the bunker, but far enough that I quicken my step. If she leaves before I find her, it’ll be a hassle to try and locate her again. Why? Because Arlo said no phones were allowed, mine is at his place.

One of the prey peeks from behind the tree. I don’t pay much attention as I pull out my gun and fire. The bullet lands right between his eyes, his lifeless, limp body falling to the dirty ground with a thud. I make a mental note that I’ve taken one out, knowing that Arlo will want to make it a competition later on, to see who has killed more.

My footsteps come to a halt when I spot her.

Her head snaps in my direction, and I can’t move for a moment.

Aria is covered in blood, an insane look on her face, while giving me the most innocent smile I’ve ever seen. The paradox of the situation is absurd, but that is Aria. A walking contradiction, a breathing temptation.

Blood rushes down to my cock as she licks her bottom lip, her tongue now coated with the dead man’s blood. I speak, but I can barely register the words that leave my mouth. It’s all too surreal. The reason we didn’t want her here was so she’d stay innocent, as much as that’s possible given her family, job, and upbringing.

Turns out, she’s more psychotic than all of us combined.

When Aria confessed to me two years ago, I acted like it never happened. The thoughts of her never left my mind since. She’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, the last thought before I fall asleep. But I couldn’t do it.

I value Arlo too much.

Because the things I’d do to his sister are anything but nice. The thoughts of bending her over and fucking her like a wild animal, with no restraint, of using her perfect body until all she knows is how to scream my name flood my mind.

I shouldn’t.

I value Arlo too much to treat his sister like a little slut.

But when she gives me that look, filled with dangerous arousal, and bites her lip, all restraint seems to vanish. Arlo completely slips my mind, and all I can think of is fucking her senseless, filling her pussy with my cum until it overflows, then doing it again for days to no end.

My feet move toward her until I’m standing right in front of her, my cock throbbing in the confinement of my pants.

“What should I do with you, little bunny?”