7. SIREN
7
SIREN
A child’s laugh breaks through the silence of the resort pool area, and I glance up just in time to watch as the kid flies down the mega slide and drops into the pool, sending a wave of water cascading over me and my laptop.
“Ahhh shit,” I mutter as the kid’s mother rushes after him while giving me an awkward apologetic wave.
“What’s wrong?” Mila says directly in my ear as I lounge by the pool in a skimpy bikini, working on my tan. Only now that there are other people using the pool, I suddenly feel a little awkward showing quite this much skin.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to wipe the water off the screen before it fucks up the laptop. “Just realizing that pools and technology don’t mix well.”
Mila scoffs. “Only just figuring that out now?”
I roll my eyes, and once I’m confident that my laptop isn’t about to shit itself, I lean back in my sun lounger and get back to work. Only, not much work is really getting done. I’ve been coming up blank all morning. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve been trying to find information on the kid, Shadow, and so far, I haven’t been able to find even a hint that she exists. She’s a ghost, and while I have no intention of making her a target, I’ve been plagued with curiosity.
What the fuck is a child doing in a competition like this? But more so, how the hell did she become a killer worthy of gaining the attention of War Games? Something must have happened to her. Don’t get me wrong, anyone in my line of business has a shitload of trauma, but it takes years to develop your skills, years to learn how to become invisible, and I doubt a child at her age would have been capable of achieving that on her own. Somebody made her the way she is, and I want to know who.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I avert my gaze from the screen and to the child playing happily in the pool. “Have you got anything?” I ask Mila.
“I’ve been tracking 343,” she tells me. “I’ve got him in a basement under an old record store, and judging by what’s on his screen right now, he’s tracking The Midnight Killer.”
My interest is piqued, but something doesn’t feel right about it. “How did 343 find him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she muses as I hear her fingers moving like lightning across her keyboard. “Oh. How disappointing. It seems like another dumbass who doesn’t know anything about keeping themselves concealed in public. He was caught on a surveillance camera in a store parking lot and 343 tracked his movements from there. The idiot practically drew a map with how often he’s getting caught with facial recognition.”
“That almost seems too easy,” I murmur. “Do you think it’s a trap? Maybe he’s trying to draw 343 out.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “Or he’s simply too cocky to assume he could get caught.”
“It’s possible. I mean, most serial killers aren’t the brightest crayons in the box. It’s the assassins you have to watch your back around.”
“Very true. But no matter which way you look at it, if 343 goes after The Midnight Killer, that puts both of them in the same place at the same time. And even if The Midnight Killer expects to find 343, neither of them will be expecting you. Two birds, one stone.”
Shit. I like the way she thinks.
“Okay. Keep tracking them,” I say, closing my laptop and getting up from the sun lounger. I grab my towel and wrap it around me before scooping up my phone and stepping into my slides. “Let me know if there’s any movement. I need to go get ready for a night out.”
I can picture Mila rolling her eyes so perfectly. “Okay, but if you don’t use that black lipstick again, I’m going to come down there and kill you myself. I think it’s your new signature look.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I think you might be right,” I tell her. “Maybe I should go get a little cat-ear headband to match my ring.”
“Don’t even think about it. You’re taking it from sexy assassin to bad Halloween costume, and if that’s the route you wanna go, then unfortunately, I’m going to have to sever ties with you. How am I supposed to be taken seriously as the go-to underground computer hacker when my partner in crime looks like she’s going to her first high school party?”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “No cat ears. Message received.”
“Good. Now leave me alone. I wanna figure out The Midnight Killer’s plan before 343 does so you can get there before both of them and have the best vantage point.”
Mila doesn’t bother with a goodbye, just ends the call and leaves me to walk peacefully back to my little villa, and as I do, I glance over my security system, making sure no one has come for me in the few hours I’ve been gone. Though my motion sensors would have alerted me if they had.
It’s day five of the competition, and since the night I took out The Boston Maneater, no one else has been eliminated, apart from Graves, of course. But I still haven’t been able to figure out who took him out. Either way, it’s one less contender I have to worry about.
There are thirteen of us left in the game, but after tonight, we’ll be down to eleven. Whether 343 and The Midnight Killer take themselves out, or if I have to do it myself. All I know is that I won’t be leaving without two more ID cards.
Reaching my villa, I do a quick sweep of the area, making sure I’m well and truly alone, despite already having confirmation from my security system. I’ve been lucky here. No one has found me yet, and on top of that, while I’m not eliminating losers from the competition, I get to spend my time relaxing by the pool and working on my tan.
With the coast clear, I make my way back inside my villa and get ready for a night filled with fun. I’m sure it’ll still be hours before I have to leave, but I prefer to always be ready, even if it means having to spend the next few hours with weapons strapped to my chest.
I beeline straight for my room before diving through the array of clothes I brought with me, and I can’t help but reach for the same black jeans and combat boots I wore the other night. What can I say? I like to be comfortable, but more than that, I like how these jeans fit my ass, and any girl knows that when something works, you don’t make changes. Why fix something that isn’t broken, right?
As for my top, this is where things get difficult. I must have brought every single top I own, and yes, every last piece of clothing inside my bag is black. But when you’re supposed to be sticking to the shadows and keeping out of sight, black clothing is a necessity. I go simple with a racerback tank, and the moment I’m fully dressed, I turn my attention to my hair and makeup, going for my signature look with my hair up in a high pony and the long strands plaited down to my ass. Then, just for Mila’s sake, I paint my lips black before focusing on my eyes.
After forty-five minutes, I’m completely ready, and I spend the next few hours checking over my weapons before getting back to trying to find anything I can on the ghost otherwise known as Shadow.
I’m not surprised when I come up blank, but just before I can get frustrated at myself, a call comes through from Mila, and I quickly accept it.
“What have you got for me?” I say, already closing my laptop and grabbing everything I need.
“You were right. The Midnight Killer left a trail online to lure out 343, and it’s working like a charm. He’s going to lead him into the old burned-down gym on Tucker Boulevard. There’s a new gym on the right. You’ll pass that one up, and the old one will be on the left-hand side. You can’t miss it.”
“Got it.”
“He always strikes at midnight, hence his ridiculous name, so be ready for that,” she tells me. “But also, if everyone knew my tactics during a game like this, I’d be looking to change things up, so keep that in mind too. He’ll be doing whatever he can to look for an edge. Same for 343, but at least they’re looking for each other and not you. Let them do the dirty work and then swoop in and steal your prize at the end.”
“You scare me sometimes, you know that right?”
Mila scoffs. “Says the best contract killer in the country.”
“Second best,” I remind her, glancing out the window before making my move to my car.
“As far as I’m concerned, Reaper is still a figment of everyone’s imagination. Just because you saw him a few times, doesn’t make it real. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. I refuse to believe he actually exists.”
“Ahhhh, gotta love a delusional best friend.”
“Shut up,” she laughs. “Just get your ass moving, otherwise, they’ll beat you there.”
“Already leaving,” I say just as the engine kicks over.
“Alright. Let me know how it goes.”
I arrive at the gym within fifteen minutes and park in a side alley next to the neighboring complex. Mila wasn’t lying when she said the old gym had burned down. The place is practically a shell. Well, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration. Four charred walls still stand, and that’s all that counts.
Breaking into the old gym consists of nothing more than stepping over yellow police tape that looks as though it’s been here for years. The new gym across the road has been there long enough for the signage to start fading, so I can only assume the old gym burned down years ago and the city either didn’t have the funds to level it, or they simply didn’t care to.
I’m not so obvious as to stride right through the charred remains of what once was the front door, so I find a missing section of wall to make my grand entrance. Though, considering there isn’t another soul in sight, there’s really nothing grand about it.
I make my way inside and scope out the gym. It’s not the best location for a kill, but I can definitely see why The Midnight Killer wanted to lure 343 here. It’s dark with no surveillance, and the building, despite not having much to it anymore, still boasts the metal framework. It’s got potential, and to be completely honest, I can’t figure out why the owner has left it abandoned all these years. There’s so much that could be done with it. It just needs a little love first.
It’s clear that teens have often used the space as their weekend hang out area. What little walls still remain are covered in graffiti while a space has been cleared in the center that’s now filled with mismatched deck chairs and loungers. Not to mention the empty beer bottles and a broken bong discarded on the ground.
I’m hidden well within the old gym when I hear the familiar sound of someone’s feet crunching through the charred remains. My gaze follows the sound, expecting to see The Midnight Killer, arriving early to set his trap, only when a scrawny tech guy cuts through the gym, my brows arch. Perhaps he knew he was being lured into a trap after all.
The Midnight Killer is a big guy. It’s clear he spends a lot of his time in places just like this, though I’m expecting the gyms he frequents aren’t exactly in this condition. 343 on the other hand, is his polar opposite. He’s scrawny and looks as though he’s never ventured further than his mother’s basement. I can only assume that guys like 343 spent their whole childhood running away from men like The Midnight Killer, and I hope that if 343 is able to make the kill, it gives him at least a little joy. Though that joy won’t last long since I have to take him out afterward.
It’s roughly fifteen minutes until midnight, and I can assume that The Midnight Killer will be arriving soon, and with what little time he has, 343 begins setting up the area, clearly unaware of his audience.
He begins moving weights around the room, putting them in easily accessible places as he tries to anticipate how this is going to go. He’ll have one shot to take out The Midnight Killer before he overpowers him, so whatever he does, he’s got to make it count.
He hangs ropes over the exposed metal beams and positions the stray deck chairs and loungers in ways that make any line of escape difficult. 343 clearly knows what he’s doing. He’s obviously very smart, which is how I assume he’s been able to get this far without getting caught. It’s probably also safe to assume his usual victims are men just like The Midnight Killer—men who have lived solely for the purpose of making guys like 343 miserable.
Once 343 has the gym exactly how he wants it, he fixes a few portable surveillance cameras on top of old machinery, and I hold my breath as he positions one far too close for comfort. But he’s clearly not as smart as he thinks he is as he turns the camera away from me and walks over to one of the benches. He sits down, makes sure all the cameras are working and connected to his phone, and then walks straight back out of the gym.
Fucking idiot.
I take the few minutes alone to pull out my phone and give Mila a quick update.
Siren – 343 put up cameras in the gym. Can you get in?
Mila – Give me two minutes.
I wait for what feels like an eternity before I feel my phone softly vibrating in my back pocket. My finger brushes over the small earpiece in my right ear, and a second later, Mila’s voice comes through the line. “I’m in,” she tells me. “You good?”
“Mmhmm.”
She knows I can’t respond. After all, she’s got my exact location at all times. She knows I’m right in the middle of the gym, doing what I can not to get sprung, so she doesn’t push me for any more of a response than that.
“343 is in the back. I assume he’s in what used to be a storage room. It’s too small to be a bathroom.”
I nod, despite Mila not being able to see me. “And The Midnight Killer?” I murmur, keeping my voice as low as possible.
“343 set up a few cameras outside. A black charger is pulling into the parking lot of the new gym. Could be him.”
“What’s he look like?”
She pauses, waiting as the guy finishes parking his car before finally getting out. “Big guy. Looks like he’s on roids. Dressed in all black. Could be your guy,” she says. “Hold up. We have a winner. He’s crossing the road.”
A grin pulls at the corners of my lips, excitement pulsing through my veins.
“Fuck me,” Mila scoffs. “He’s not even trying to be discreet about it. I think this guy’s ego is too big for his own head. There’s something about the way he walks. He’s too confident.”
“Yeah, well he’s about to walk straight into a trap.”
“Oop. He’s got a gun. Watch your back,” she tells me just as I hear 343 creeping back toward the main floor of the charred gym. “He’s almost there. Walking through the main entrance in three . . . two . . . one.”
A figure appears right at the door, striding into the gym as though he hasn’t got a care in the world. A twisted grin rests on his lips, and as I take my phone from my back pocket and spare a quick glance at the time, I’m not surprised to find it’s exactly midnight.
It’s almost poetic. Actually, I change my mind. It’s more lame than poetic. It’s predictable, and in this line of business, predictability is what gets you killed.
The Midnight Killer strides around the old gym, taking it all in as though he hadn’t bothered to scope it out before making this the location of his hit. Big mistake if you ask me. He’s done nothing more than a simple Google search, and because of that, he’ll lose his life tonight.
He searches the gym for another minute before lowering himself into one of the mismatched deck chairs, facing the main entrance. Mistake number two. As a general rule, no one is stupid enough to walk straight through the front door—except this guy of course. He should be watching his back, not the door.
“Is this guy for real?” Mila scoffs in my ear, the judgment thick in her slight Russian accent.
343 appears from the back, slowly creeping closer, only as he gets the perfect visual of The Midnight Killer, he pauses to assess, taking in his position in relation to every last possible exit. Whatever conclusion he comes to, he seems to be happy to finally make his move, silently creeping toward him.
He reaches for the rope dangling from the metal beam in the exposed ceiling, clutching it tightly in his palm before fixing his stare on The Midnight Killer. He stops directly behind him, tying a noose in the rope, and as the opposite end of the rope shifts with the movement, The Midnight Killer’s head whips around. Only it’s too late.
The noose is hooked over his head, and before he gets a chance to move one of those beefy muscles, 343 shoves one of the heavy weights he’d so carefully placed around the charred gym, and like lightning, the noose tightens around his neck and sends him flying to the ceiling, his neck snapping almost instantly.
“What in the ever-loving fuck just happened?” Mila murmurs, just as confused as I am.
I watch in amazement. I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting to happen, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. Then, as 343 sets his sights on the dangling limp man hanging from the ceiling, I lean out from my hiding spot, trying to figure out how the hell he got up there. It takes me a moment to work it out in the dark, but it looks like he made a pulley system out of the rope, the weights, and the metal beam.
I have to give it to him. It was genius, and now The Midnight Killer is completely at his mercy. I suppose that’s what happens when kids actually pay attention at school instead of spending their days trying to get laid.
343 sits back in the deck chair that The Midnight Killer so violently flew from and simply waits, his work for the night done and dusted.
It was impressive. I’ve got to give credit where credit is due. I wouldn’t have thought of it.
The Midnight Killer is gone in seconds, and once his body goes completely still, 343 finally pulls himself from the deck chair and begins climbing up the gym equipment. He reaches toward the body, digging through the guy’s pocket, probably searching for his identification, and I figure, what better time to announce myself than now?
“Alright, Mila,” I murmur, keeping my voice as low as possible. “If you don’t want to see your hero go down, then I suggest it’s time to look away.”
“Go get him, girl.” The line goes quiet, but it doesn’t go dead, and I don’t doubt that Mila is chilling in the background, always watching my back.
Stepping out from where I’ve been hidden for almost forty-five minutes, I step toward 343, my gaze cast up toward the ceiling as I watch him struggle to balance while fishing through The Midnight Killer’s wallet.
I clap my hands together, giving him a round of applause. “Wow, that was quite the show,” I say, only my presence in the charred gym surprises him a little too much and the idiot loses his balance. He falls back with a loud cry, and I watch in horror as he crashes to the ground, the center of his spine slamming down on a discarded dumbbell and sending a sickening crack through the gym.
His body shifts, somehow releasing the opposite end of the rope that was keeping The Midnight Killer suspended in the air. As The Midnight Killer’s body slams back to the ground, the rope catches in the back of my hair, knotting itself and sending me flying right up to the ceiling.
“Holy fucking—woah! FUCK!” I cry out, suddenly dangling from my hair as I clutch onto my scalp, hoping like fuck this isn’t how I die. Not like this. I’m better than this.
A second of silence passes as I try to assess the situation.
The Midnight Killer is dead. 343 is paralyzed on the ground. And I am hanging from my hair.
How the fuck did we get here?
“Siren?” Mila asks in my ear. “Please tell me I’m not seeing you hanging by your hair when you’re supposed to be making a quick kill and getting your ass out of there?”
Well, shit. That’s embarrassing. “I’ll be fine, Mills. Just give me a minute to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to get out of this.”
“Okay. Don’t do anything stupid,” she says. “Oh wait. You already did!”
“Bye, Mills.”
“Don’t die on me, moron,” she says, and with that, the call goes dead, leaving me in peace to get myself out of this mess.
My gaze shifts over 343, not quite stupid enough to ask for help, but as he stares up at me in shock, I can’t help but smile. “So . . . that’s not how I imagined any of that going down.”
“Who—Who the fuck are you?” 343 grunts in pain.
“Your worst fucking nightmare,” I say in a stupid tone. I’ve always wanted to say that, but the right opportunity has never popped up. I laugh to myself, and seeing that he’s clearly not amused, I roll my eyes and give a straight answer. “I’m Siren. Do you really not recognize me from the initial circle meeting?”
“It’s dark in here. Give me a break.”
“No can do,” I say, feeling my hair pulling my scalp. Having no other choice, I hold on to my braid and pull myself up just an inch, trying to relieve the ache. “Listen, there’s no simple way to free myself, is there?”
“Nope. You’re just about as fucked as I am.”
I scoff. Nobody is as fucked as he is right now. I’ll figure a way out of this—one that doesn’t include scalping myself—and when I do, I’ll happily walk away without anybody ever having known what the hell went down here tonight. There’s no denying it. This is the most humiliating moment of my career so far. What’s even more frustrating is that there are at least six knives on me right now, and I can’t reach for a single one of them without scalping myself.
Fuck me in the ass and call me Frank. How is this my life right now?
“So, this guy was your first kill for the games?” I ask, wanting to make small talk despite already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, and it would have been flawless if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“I mean, technically you made the kill. It’s not like you can’t claim it just because I happened to be here to watch the whole thing.”
He rolls his eyes. “I suppose. What about you? Made any kills?”
“The Boston Maneater,” I confirm. “He already had three others under his belt, so I guess I can claim them as well. And not to be rude or anything, but I will also have to kill you once I get my ass down from here, so I suppose I can also claim you and The Midnight Killer.”
“Fuck. If I could move my arms right now, I’d put a bullet right between your eyes.”
“I know,” I say with a heavy sigh, disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen. I need to be better than this. I shouldn’t be making mistakes at this point in my career.
“You really took out The Boston Maneater?” he questions with a chuckle. “I was hoping to get to him first. He’s had it out for me ever since I planted the evidence that he was a cannibal.”
“No shit,” I laugh, noticing how the color is starting to drain from his skin. “That was you? The guy certainly had a complex about that.”
“Yeah, I know. It was great.”
“Listen,” I say, glancing up at the beam above my head and wondering if I’ll be able to somehow swing myself high enough to hook my legs around it and take the pressure off my scalp. “I don’t think you’re going to make it out of here tonight.”
343 nods. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”
I give him a tight smile, feeling bad for the guy. I enjoy killing people, sure. But 343 falling and breaking his spine was nothing more than an accident. He’s slowly dying on the ground, and I can’t even put him out of his misery. It’s not a great way to go. If everything had gone smoothly, I would have made it quick. But this? I don’t know. It pulls at the heartstrings.
Needing to focus on me and not the dying man on the ground, I clutch tighter onto my hair and try to climb up it, but it becomes ridiculously clear that I need to start logging more hours in the gym. I’m already starting to work up a sweat.
I try again, getting just an inch closer to the beam, trying to swing my legs up over my head to reach the beam but I’m simply too far away. My arms are starting to get sore, and it won’t be long until the last of my strength diminishes.
My hair is strong, and with it plaited, I doubt it will break, but an accidental scalping is a real issue I don’t exactly want to experience.
As I dangle from the ceiling, I realize that 343 was right. I am just as fucked as he is.