Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Our girl may be able to threaten Ven’s babymaker, but she’s still not vicious enough to survive the hell that awaits her. It’s our duty to protect her.
“So…” I lift a brow and meet my brother’s wicked stare. “We’re entering The Games?”
“Fucking right we are.”
Let the games begin…
Day of the annual V GAMES…
Entering with the first wave of participants was the best option to go undetected, but almost instantly, we lose sight of Alyona when she’s sent in through a different entrance.
The Games are designed this way to prevent a mass massacre from happening at the starting line. Of course, the sadistic bastards behind the scenes watching can’t have that. There’s no thrill in it. Instead, the chaos is drip-fed throughout the entire night through numerous entry points to ensure maximum entertainment.
Nothing better than the hunt and horrifying, drawn out torture.
“We told her to find a place to hide, and stay there as long as possible.” Rodion grouses, jerking his head toward the first set of hallways arranged like a maze. “What the hell is she doing?”
“She’s probably running scared which means it’s imperative we get to her. And fast. She has no idea we’re coming here to get her.” I remind him.
We’re both dressed for the harrowing occasion in black long-sleeve tops and matching slacks to conceal any identifiable marks. The generic latex face masks, complete with scraggly brown hair to keep our faces hidden, and conceal our neck tattoos are essential for us to remain undetected. Our Games crashing outfit ensemble is nothing we would ever wear—because being well-dressed is a part of our identities—which makes it perfect for our mission here.
Slip in. Grab the girl. Slip back out.
That’s our mission.
A massive brute pops out of fucking nowhere, both meaty fists gripping the gnarliest of knives. I don’t even need to intervene, though, because Rodion has already flicked his wrist, launching a shuriken into the side of the burly man’s thick neck. The fool tries to look down at the shiny star that’s gashed through the fat vein in his neck, but the blood spurting out of him tells him all he needs to know. He blinks several times and then collapses to the ground with a guttural sound of defeat.
Too easy. Pathetic.
Screams and shouts fill the arena, but we continue our pursuit without hesitation, swiftly eliminating any threats as we search for our prize. Hours go by as we navigate through this wicked place with stealth and precision. Finally, Rodion grabs my arm and slams me against a wall making me grunt.
“We’ll wait here,” he instructs, voice muffled behind the mask. “The door she was sent through will lead her along this path at some point, and that’s the room with the exit hidden inside.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Was the rough handling necessary?” I ask, my dick twitching in my slacks.
“You don’t usually complain.”
“Who’s complaining?”
“Shhh, listen.” He taps his mask where his ears sit beneath. “Do you hear that?”
My heart pounds every time I hear a woman scream. All my instincts urge me to keep moving, to find her and save her. But we could end up going in circles, never catching each other’s scent. So, I wait, and eventually a tug pulls me out of the shadows where I’ve been hiding. I step out of a doorway when I hear a familiar voice.
It’s hers.
She’s about ten feet in front of me, gripping a bloodied machete, and pride swells in my chest. That’s our girl.
“Out of my way, Jesus Freak,” she spits, and I can’t help but smile behind the mask. She must think it makes me look like Jesus. You never know with her. The strangest shit comes out of her mouth.
I ignore her taunt and take a step in her direction, but she darts toward a door, disappearing inside before I can reach her. The door slams shut.
Dammit.
Sounds of a struggle pulse against the walls, her screams sending my heart rate skyrocketing. I slam my fist against the door, then my shoulder. It won’t budge.
“Brother!” I bellow. “Stop messing around. I need you.”
Rodion dodges an axe that a random female contestant attempts to cleave him in half with and swipes her feet from under her.
“Give me that,” he snaps, snatching the axe from her grip before she can recover. As she scrambles to her feet, a look of shock on her face, she quickly retreats, taking off in the opposite direction.
Without missing a beat, Rodion jogs to where I’m still pounding on the damn door with all my strength. The wood creaks under the assault but holds strong until he begins chopping at the fucking thing like it’s firewood. His strikes are powerful and precise, sending splinters flying. By the time we break through, Alyona is tied to a table, and the freak who put her there throws a knife our way.