Page 111 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The paintball field sat on the edge of a forest, tall pines surrounding a renovated warehouse with signs advertising birthday parties and corporate team-building.

After signing waivers that essentially said the company wasn't responsible if we died in fake combat, we changed into padded coveralls that smelled faintly of detergent and gathered in the staging area.

The employee clapped for attention.

“Alright, folks. Sunday afternoons we run hourly matches. Free-for-all. No teams. If a paintball breaks anywhere on your body or gear, you’re out. Everyone gets a unique color so we know who tagged who.”

Around us, college students, families, and a few overly competitive couples checked their gear while the rest of the safety briefing faded into the background.

My paintballs were orange. Jackson's were green.

Jason glanced around. “I swear to God if some twelve-year-old named Connor takes me out…”

“You’re probably the easiest target here,” Lia said.

“Emotionally unnecessary.”

The employee kept talking about boundaries, surrender rules at close range, and not physically tackling anyone no matter how “immersive” the experience became.

Beside me Jackson adjusted the strap on his mask before looking down at me.

“Stay with me.”

“Pass.”

His eyebrows lowered behind the visor. “Harper.”

“I’m not hiding behind you.”

“It’s not hiding if I’m trying to keep you from getting shot.”

“It’s paintball.”

“That stuff hurts.”

My cat stretched lazily. Protective wolf.

“You’re adorable,” I informed him.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He grumbled, caught me by the front of my vest, pulled me in, and kissed me hard through the gap beneath my mask. When he pulled back, his gaze flicked over my shoulder toward the other players.

“Just making sure everyone knows you’re mine,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think they got the message. Maybe you should piss on me to be sure.”

Jackson smirked. “Don’t give my wolf ideas.”

Jason gagged loudly. “Jesus Christ. Start shooting each other already.”

Jackson ignored him, still holding me close. “Stick close enough that I can get to you if something happens.”

Unfortunately for him I already knew I was leaving him behind the second the game started.

The field was massive, part forest, part mock town, with plywood walls, stacked barrels, wrecked cars, wooden towers, and narrow dirt paths winding through the trees. Around twenty players spread across the starting zones. Some looked serious. Others looked like they were expecting birthday-party fun and were about to be disappointed.