Page 5 of Wanna Play A Game?

I thank the gods I kept my bottle opener on my keys and open it right in my car. My phone dings. I ignore it and put the bottle to my lips. The second the alcohol hits my tongue, I relax. This is what I needed. I’ll start my sobriety again tomorrow. I just…I can’t tonight.

I’m through half the bottle before I glance at my phone. It’s been blowing up, and I see it’s Ben.

Ben: “So you don’t care if I kill myself, huh? Some girlfriend you are.”

My cheeks heat. You know what? I don’t have to take this. I swallow. I can’t be like this. I can’t let him beat the shit out of me like my mom’s boyfriends used to do to her. That is, the few times a year that I even saw my mother. She never called the cops. She never did anything.

I take another swallow. You know what? I’m not going to be like that. I pull out my phone, hovering above the keypad. It’s not that hard. Just three numbers. Something tells me not to, but the alcohol warming me says it’s fine.

I dial.

“911, where’s your emergency?” The woman on the other end sounds bored.

Her wording throws me off for a second. “I—it happened a while ago.”

There’s a pause. “Where are you, ma’am?”

I glance around and tell her the name of the gas station. “But it happened at my apartment.”

“What happened?” Now she sounds annoyed and bored. I swallow. This is not going right.

“My boyfriend and I got into a fight.”

“Is he still there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ma’am,” the woman on the other line lets out a sigh. “Where is your apartment so I can transfer you to the right person?”

I’m feeling less okay by the minute. “You know what, I’ll just call when I get home.”

I press the end call button and throw the phone into the backseat. My body wants to shake again, but the alcohol soothes me. Tonight doesn’t feel real. It feels like I’m watching myself act from the other side of a window.

I’m still too close, though. I want it to feel like nothing. Nothing but warm and fuzzy and okay. And I’ll drink until it feels that way.

The silver truck pulls out of the lot, startling me. I forgot it was even there. I watch as the taillights disappear, blurry red lights swimming into the darkness.

Chapter 3

Sawyer

Ryder kicked me out of the driver’s seat, and now I have nothing to do. I keep thinking about the mousey girl in the gas station. The way her messy, curly blond hair begged me to grab it and force her to her knees. To give her a real reason for the fear I saw in her eyes.

I sigh and adjust myself. I had forced the boys to sit awhile longer, waiting to see if she’d run. She never did. She was like a bunny – sitting frozen in place, hoping the predator had forgotten her.

Ryder didn’t let us stay longer than 10 minutes. He picked up a warrant for one of our bodies a while back, and we’ve had to lay low since. Ironically, it wasn’t even him who killed the man – it was Miles. But somehow, they pinned it on Ryder.

When we make it back to the motel, I leap out of the car, and I’m immediately hit with the smell of tar and shit. This motel is a piece of shit. A far cry from what we can afford, but we want to stay off the radar, and we usually fuck viciously and crash right after a hunt.

Miles scans us into the room while Ryder grabs some things from the truck. I follow Miles in, smacking his ass.

A door slams, and there’s a shout.

“Police!”

I stiffen. Miles beats me to the door and flings it open. Red and blue lights flood the room.

“Police! Show me your hands!”