Chapter Twenty Seven, Sanity
Danika walked toward the whiteboard with an odd calm energy, like she hadn’t just killed a small militia outside that had been helping her. The blood on her face had dried a little as she smiled at us, eyes bright.
She picked up a marker and clapped her hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s play.” She pointed to the hats atop the podiums she’d ordered us to stand behind. “Put ‘em on. I want to see you have fun with this.”
Both of us hesitated. Then she reached for her switch, and Atlas glanced at me. “Wear it.” He said.
With a pout, I slid the damn party hat onto my head; the string twinging my chin. It was for an adult, but not quite big enough, and the edge of the thick paper dug into my skin.
I didn’t feel ready for a game. I felt like a fucking idiot. But I also had agreed to be obedient, so I forced a grin and adjusted the hat. “I love the color. But next time I would prefer gold. It goes well with my complexion.”
She nodded at me. “Noted, Reaper. I’ll get you gold next time.” She turned to the banner, pointing at it.
“Slaughterhouse is simple,” she said. “I ask a question. You have ten seconds to answer. If I don’t like the answer, or if it’s wrong?
” She tapped the remote in her hand. The collars around our necks gave a little warning click.
“You get zapped. But if you get it right, you get a point. The first prize is given out when you reach ten points. The final prize goes to the first to reach fifteen.”
Atlas didn’t react because he was used to her psychoticness and being electrocuted for fun. I did because I may have had an abusive childhood, but nowhere near that extreme.
I still had some of my sanity intact.
She grinned and held her finger above the timer. “First question. Giovanni.”
I tensed.
“How many bones did Atlas have broken on purpose before the age of ten?” She smashed the button, starting the countdown.
My eyes flicked to him, then back to her. “The fuck kind of—”
“Time’s ticking,” she sang.
My jaw tensed. “I don’t know. Five?”
“Wrong,” she said, and made a stupid little buzzer noise as she slammed her thumb down on her switch button.
The zap hit, and my jaw locked. My back straightened with the effort of staying upright. My hand gripped the edge of the podium, holding on until the shock passed.
“Try harder,” she said.
She spun to Atlas and clicked the timer again. “What’s the capital of Burkina Faso? Ten seconds on the clock.”
He said nothing. Just stared at her.
Ten seconds later, she zapped him. His brow twitched and his hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t react otherwise. I watched him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. So much so that I had a thought I didn’t like.
How many times had he gotten that same treatment growing up that now he barely reacted at all?
“Ouagadougou,” she said. “Minus one point for being uncultured.” She scribbled a little tally under his name on the whiteboard. “Next one. Giovanni. How many people do you think Atlas has killed?”
I swallowed. “No idea.”
“Give me a rough number.”
“Two hundred.” I hissed.
“Bzt. Wrong.”
Another zap. I slammed my palm onto the podium. “You didn’t say it had to be exact.”
“I know. I just like the noise and the way your face looks when you get zapped.” She clicked the timer again. “Atlas. What’s the square root of sixty-nine?”
He shrugged, even though we both knew he knew the answer. “Eight point something.”
Her eyes rolled, brow twitched like she knew he wasn’t playing properly. “Gross. Still, not bad. Half a point.”
She kept going like that. Every question she gave me was about Atlas—how many bones he’d had broken on purpose, what age he first killed someone, what type of blade he preferred. Every question she gave him was pointless. Capitals, trivia, celebrity marriages, world records.
We racked up points slowly. I hit ten first.
“Prize time,” she said.
She moved to the stack of boxes she’d placed earlier and picked one out. It was small, black, and sealed with duct tape. She placed it in front of me. “Open it.”
I peeled back the tape, working the edge until the layers gave way. The box opened with a soft pull. Inside was a hand—clean cut at the wrist, the skin pale, the fingers slack. A ring clung to one of them.
I looked down at it, recognizing it. Not just the ring, but the small scar under the thumb, the way the pinkie finger was missing a tip.
I stared at it harder, swallowing the sudden lump of emotion in my throat.
“When I was doing recon,” Danika said, “I ran into one of your cousins. Little shit slapped my ass in a club. So I took his hand. Then his head. Thought you’d like one part of him back.” She hummed. “Think his name was Milo or something. No idea.”
I didn’t answer. She wanted a reaction, but I didn’t have one ready.
Not for this. That cousin had been missing for three months.
I hadn’t been close to him—he’d always been the kind who picked fights he couldn’t finish, made backhanded comments about everyone, and laughed like he expected the world to owe him something.
He was shitty, sure. But was he torture-and-die level shitty?
I didn’t think so. And now I’d never know for sure.
Now I knew why he had been missing.
Danika twirled her pen in her fingers before she chucked it down. “Atlas, you’re up. What plants are native to California? And I’d take all your seconds to think of your reply. Because poor pretty boy over there is gonna get zapped if you can’t answer.”
She grinned.
Then Atlas did the same as he got her question right.
“Lucky guess.” She muttered as she marked the board. “Ooh, it’s prize time.”
He had ten points now too. So she went to the side table and picked out another box from the pile. This one was smaller than the rest. Square-shaped and taped at the seams. She brought it over, set it down on his podium, and tapped the top twice with her palm before pulling her hand back.
“You don’t get to open it yet.”
He looked at her. “Why?”
She stomped back to the whiteboard, grabbing her pen again as she said, “Because I said so, bitch.”
She reset the timer. The beep started the next round. Over and over and over again. Random question after random question. Each one designed to make Atlas uncomfortable, and me confused.
He wasn’t reacting to her. So what was she waiting for? What was she hoping to achieve here?
Her phone rang before she could speak again. She reached into her pocket, checked the screen, and then answered. “Hold that thought, lover boys.”
She didn’t leave the room, just stood there listening. Her face didn’t change. After a few seconds, she ended the call and slid the phone away.
“Time to hit pause on this little game. I’ve got something to deal with.
” She nodded toward the stairs. “There’s a room up there.
Go wait. Make yourselves comfortable while I sort my shit out.
Then we can continue the final round of Slaughterhouse and see which one of you gets to paint these walls with your blood. ”
Atlas moved first, eagerly heading out of the lounge and the crazy bitch’s vicinity. I followed him up the stairs, checking back once to see that she was following me.
Having her at my back made me all sorts of uncomfortable. But seeing as I didn’t have it in me to shove a woman down a flight of stairs, or get stabbed in the throat by my shock collar, I played nice.
At the top, she paused in front of one of the six thick wooden doors, pulling a key from her pocket.
“In here,” she said, pushing the door open.
The room was small and barebones. A queen-sized bed with sterile white sheets sat against one wall, and a single window, heavily curtained, faced the other.
An attached bathroom was visible through a cracked door, the beige tiles inside dull and uninviting.
Once more, there wasn’t a sign of life in this house.
I doubted anyone had slept in here before, let alone anything more fun.
“You’ve got maybe two hours to get a little nap in and clean up whilst I deal with business,” Danika said, her tone flat.
“Don’t make me regret being lenient. And don’t worry about getting your collars wet.
I made sure the pet store gave me the waterproof ones.
I’d hate to zap my doggies when I didn’t mean to. ”
She shot us a pointed look before stepping back, the door clicking shut behind her. The sound of the lock sliding into place made my stomach drop.
For a moment, Atlas and I stood in silence, surveying the room.
“I’ll check the window,” he said.
Nodding, I crouched by the bed, running my hands along the floorboards, testing for any give. Nothing. I shifted to the built-in closet next, sliding the door open to reveal a single folded blanket and a few empty hangers.
“Anything?” he asked without looking up.
“Not unless we’re planning to smother her with a blanket,” I replied, shoving the closet door shut with more force than necessary. “Though it looks flammable, so that’s one thing.” I thought of the items hidden on me from the gas station.
He grunted, his fingers still working at the edges of the window frame. “Bathroom?”
I headed into the tiny space, grimacing at the faint mildew smell. Inside a tiny cupboard, a first aid kit yielded a pair of scissors, which I pocketed without hesitation. The only other items were towels and soap, and extra toilet paper. Nothing of interest or use.
When I came back, Atlas had moved to the bed, lifting the mattress to check underneath.
“Nothing,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration.
“Figures,” I said. “She’s too smart to leave us anything useful. You wouldn’t.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment. Then he jerked his head toward the bathroom.
“Shower,” he said. “Come on. I feel gross after those drugs.”
I frowned. “You seriously think now’s the time to freshen up? Or are you desperate to look at me naked, and distract yourself from our incoming deaths with a blowjob?”