Chapter 27
twenty-seven
-Brynn-
Both of the men standing in front of me smirk like idiots, like that could ever intimidate me. Well, it does a little, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I drag my sword on the floor again, taunting them to come at me.
And they do. Both of them come charging. And I start running straight at them.
The one with the axe raises it at me, ready to strike.
But he’s massive, and his movements are a lot slower than mine.
Using the momentum I gained by running, I leap up and hook around the Viking's neck, spin midair, and kick Baldy in the chest before landing on the Viking's back and slicing my blade across his neck.
Baldy goes flying a few feet back as the massive body collapses beneath me.
He’s gasping, struggling to stay conscious, fighting for every breath as his mouth fills with his own blood.
Baldy stares at me in disbelief, like it never even crossed his mind that I had it in me to fight, let alone bring down someone the size of an angry skyscraper.
I don’t give him time to consider his next move. I probably just killed the man he thought would be his greatest opponent in the end.
He just shuffles from one foot to the other, flashing his knife, making it shine under the flickering light, while my bracelet buzzes again with the money I just earned.
He advances toward me, and I retreat. It’s only a tactic, but it’s working.
I let him take the Viking’s axe. He’s considering that two weapons are better than one. Sure, that makes sense if you know how to use them. In reality, if you don’t have the necessary balance for it, two weapons just get in the way.
I slash at him, but he fends it off with his axe, almost knocking the sword from my hands. Still, my plan’s working, and he swings at me. But as he’s focused on keeping an eye on my sword, I jump right, brace a foot against the bed, then plunge my sword into his back before he even gets to turn.
Sometimes, speed and technique beat brute strength.
I can’t deny that seeing him drop to the ground boosts my ego. My lungs throb with my frenetic heartbeat, while I do my best to calm myself down. I can’t afford to burn through my energy like this.
The bracelet lights up with another 500K and a total of one point five million.
I check the hallway again, making sure it’s clear, then go up the staircase to level one.
The same scene as on the ground floor lies ahead of me. Bodies scattered on the floor, blood everywhere, a few lights flickering like I’m trapped in some damn horror movie.
So this is what the real version of a horror house feels like on Halloween.
There’s no one in the hallway here either, but I can’t hear any screams coming from the rooms and side corridors that lead to the main one.
I try to decide if I should check the rooms or not. Ares might be the one doing the killing, but then again, there could be more players, and I’m not in the mood for one more ambush.
Another man in white steps out of one of the rooms in the hallway. He looks my way, but there’s no gesture.
Whatever happened in that room, I don’t want to be next. I need to hide before someone else steps out.
I slip into a side corridor and find myself in a smoking area. It’s like a small terrace, nothing but a few tables and chairs.
I’ve got nowhere to hide. I was never brought in here while I was in the sanatorium. Mostly because this spot was staff-only.
I glance over the ledge, considering whether to hang off it, and wait on the outside, see if anyone comes for me. The man in white is still out there, and I know how his gaze gave it away. Whoever was in that room will follow his lead.
I glance around and notice a small plastic sun shield right above the terrace door. Praying that the structure will hold me, I climb up, trying to keep my balance and not fall as I wait to see if someone’s behind me.
I wait for more than a few minutes, and just when I’m considering it could be safe, the door creaks open. A red shadow passes beneath the sun shield, and I see it taking a few steps away from the door. It’s a man. One of the five.
I jump on his back, slamming him to the ground. My sword hand bumps against the floor at impact. A jolt of pain almost makes me drop the hilt, but I manage to keep it. Still, this gives the man beneath me time to react, and the squeaky voice cuts through the air. “I give up. I give up!”
Instantly, my bracelet flashes: number four.
The speakers echo with the same number. The number stitched on his shirt.
“Fucking coward,” I mutter, climbing off him.
What kind of man signs up to kill, then hides behind protection?
“You’re just a buffoon playing pretend like you’re a warrior,” I say, taking a step back as he scrambles on the ground to face me. The rules never said anything about the cursing.
And I didn’t touch him, since he declared himself to be out.
His face is familiar, though, like I’ve seen him before.
I try to connect the dots, but I don’t think it was at Ares’s club.
He’s in his late forties, blue eyes, gray-streaked hair, trimmed too neatly for him to belong in the same league with the rest of the contenders.
And certainly not built well enough for it.
Though I don’t stick around and try to play a memory game. The guy’s out, so he won’t come after me. But that doesn’t mean no one else will.
I move, trying to get back to the main hall and catch a glimpse of Ares.
The coast looks clear, and the whole floor is drowned in eerie silence. If there’s someone out there, then they’re stalking.
Ares wouldn’t be stalking. He’s too brave. Too determined for that. He feeds on the fear of his enemies. He wants them to know he’s coming for them.
So, I take the emergency stairs to the second floor, and from the loud noise coming from above, there’s a fucking war going on here. But before I reach the top, I catch sight of someone hiding in the dark. I prepare my sword, and as I come closer, the black outline of a uniform takes shape.
I’m ready to strike just when the rest of the uniform steps out of the shadows.
A woman. I noticed her earlier in the main room, yet didn’t pay any real attention to her.
She’s slimmer than me, not the athletic type, but from the tattoos on her right arm, I can tell she’s done time.
You only get tattoos like that in prison.
They look sloppier than ones performed by a tattoo artist, like they’ve been poked in by hand instead of a professional gun.
And then there’s the ‘FTF’ ink that gives her out, meaning Fuck The Feds.
If I ever do time, I’m getting a Pop-Tarts tattoo. I don’t give a fuck about the feds. Pop-Tarts are basically currency there, and they’re my favorite. Also, pretty much the only thing I eat because I don’t cook.
I’m expecting her to try and make a move. Instead, she signals me to stay quiet, like she’s much more afraid of what’s behind the door than what I could do to her.
She doesn’t look like a threat. Not yet. I play along, but still keep my eyes on her.
“There are too many of them,” she whispers, while bones crack and weapons clash behind that door. Then she gestures to it, where a plank is wedged through the rectangular handle, blocking it from opening.
I nod that I understand and wait with her for the noise to die down.
I don’t need friends here, but I don’t need more enemies either.
We don’t say anything, just stare at the door and glance at each other from time to time as we wait.
And while my gaze holds anticipation, hers looks terrified.
It takes a long time until the sounds die out and the last of the whimpers fade.
I signal her that I’ll open the door, but she shakes her head as a no, like she’s afraid to go any farther.
“Then open it and close it right after I’m through. It’s only a matter of time before they come up from downstairs. And we’re out of planks.” I try to shake some sense into her and make her see this could easily turn out to be the worst hiding spot imaginable.
She nods. “I’m coming with you,” she says, with a drop of hope in her eyes. “I’m Gina.”
I don’t bother telling her my name, and I also want to tell her no because I think she’ll only slow me down. But she’s too scared. Too desperate.
“Okay. But once I find what I’m looking for, you’re on your own.”
She gives me a confused look, but doesn’t say anything, just removes the plank that’s blocking the door and lets me lead the way. The rooms and corridors are packed with dead bodies in purple clothes, and maybe five or six in black ones.
I can still hear voices and the sounds of fighting in the adjacent corridors, but I decide not to follow them for now, since I am starting to hear noises on the floors below again. Ares could be anywhere.
There are twenty-seven of us left, which tells me most of the people who died here were part of the staff.
Can’t say I’m sorry. If anything, I feel a little peace every time I pass a corpse and recognize someone who hurt me.
It melts a storm that’s been brewing inside of me for years.
I’ve been postponing coming after these people for too long.
And if I’d known their deaths would bring me peace so fast, I’d have burned the fucking place down long ago.
Suddenly, I hear the distant sound of metal moving against metal. It’s not someone fighting, more like metal plates shifting, followed by a scraping sound.
Armor.
Ares.
I don’t hesitate. I follow the sound into the other side of the corridor. Two people dressed in white spot us, watching our every move without saying a single word. They look more entertained than the last ones, probably because they’ve just been in the middle of the action.
I wish I could kill them both, but that would be suicide.
I’ve almost reached the end of the corridor, the scraping sound sounds like it’s moving up the other staircase. He’s ahead of me, and I suspect he’ll reach the next floor within seconds.