“I’ve been thinking of our game for months now. I wanted one I’ve never played before.”
Charles lifted his foot and knelt beside him. As Jac tried to push himself away, Charles grabbed him by the wrist and wrenched his arm closer. Slowly, he unraveled the gauze. Jac felt something cold and wet swab over the inside of his elbow. It smelled sterile.
“No,” Jac moaned, panic making his voice crack. He tried to kick his legs at Charles, but he missed.
Pop.Something opened. And even if it was too dark to see, Jac knew what it was. Though Charles was still preparing, Jac could already feel the needle against his skin, like an itch, like a nightmare. The liquid inside would be clear and familiar. It wouldn’t be enough for an overdose—on the contrary, it would be just enough to take all the pain away. Just enough so that Charles could continue toplaywith him. To draw out the game as long as he liked.
“Don’t,” Jac whispered hoarsely. He’d prepared himself for everything...except that.
“Have we already reached the part where you beg?”
Charles traced his finger down Jac’s neck, and Jac choked as he burned. Every breath was fire.
“It would feel better. You know it would. All of the pain will stop.”
Then Jacdidfeel the needle against his arm, teasing circles over his skin.
“Killing can grow boring after a while,” Charles said. “I forget the faces half the time. So I like to experiment. I like to make sure I learn something. And I always knew what I would ask you, once we reached this point.” The needle pressed into Jac’s skin. The pinch was almost unnoticeable compared to the rest of it, but that tiny prick made Jac’s chest heave. “Would you plead for me to keep hurting you? Or would you beg me for this?”
Jac didn’t recall the last time he’d cried, though he could feel tears streaking down his face now. He didn’t remember anything outside of this room—nothing except a promise...a promise he’d made to Sophia that he’d be okay.
Jac mustered all the breath he could. “Keep hitting me, Charlie.”
The red light behind him grew brighter. The door swung open, and a long shadow stretched across the floor. Their game was no longer private.
The lights switched on, and though Jac couldn’t see who’d entered, he could see Charles. He could see the Raptured redness of his eyes now, the oozing lashes on his chest, the syringe he pressed into Jac’s arm. But something about the brightness, theseeing, made him less afraid.
Charles claimed he forgot the faces of those he killed, but with the darkness lifted, he wouldn’t forget Jac’s. He would remember this moment, the one he’d been waiting for. And he would remember that Jac had said no.
“Sophia,” Charles purred, licking his lips. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
Jac should’ve felt relieved, but he didn’t have any illusions about being saved. If anything, Sophia had only damned them both.
“Back away from him,” she commanded. Jac made out the shape of a gun in her shadow.
“My sister tried a gun, too,” Charles said. “Are you lucky enough to hit me? She wasn’t.”
“I was lucky enough to find this room.” There was theclickof a safety pulling off. “If you give him that, I’ll kill you.”
Jac felt the needle sliding out of his arm, and he choked out a sob of relief.
“Give him that? He asked me not to.” The syringe clattered on the wooden floor. “I admit, I hadn’t expected that.”
“Stand up,” Sophia snapped.
“You won’t hit me. All those lucky charms, all this bad luck I’ve been accruing on him... You still won’t have enough to kill me.” Charles stood up and walked closer to her. “But we could play. How many bullets do you have? How many chances? If you were sure, if you were lucky enough, I could turn out the lights, and you could try to shoot me through the heart.”
Jac struggled to catch his breath, and he rolled himself over so that he could see them. Charles walked toward Sophia, in a direct line toward her gun. Her hand trembled as she aimed it. Her eyes flickered to Jac’s, and it was painfully obvious that she was afraid. She hadn’t walked into Luckluster prepared to die, like he had, but she’d come for him all the same.
She fired. The bullet shattered the mirror across the room. The sound of it stung Jac’s ears, pounded around his skull. He cringed and pulled himself to his knees. He’d never felt so weak. He knew it was temporary, knew he would recover until Charles touched him again, but he couldn’t heal fast enough. He needed to stand. He needed to help.
“You could keep firing,” Charles told her. “Keep pressing your luck until you run out of it altogether. You know what might happen then. You know the two of you can’t beat me.”
She fired again. The bullet buried itself in the plaster where the mirror had once been.
Jac cursed and stood, even if it ached to do so. Their game wasn’t over yet.
“Or you could take one step back, and let me close that door,” Charles cooed. “Then he and I can finish what we were doing.”
