Authors: Stuart Keane
Kathryn undid the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing her ample cleavage. She could feel the man’s eyes burning into her. “You want to break me in half? I always heard that you guys have the biggest dicks. I hope I can take it.”
Genghis strode towards her. Kathryn could tell he was aroused, his thong didn’t have much swing left in it.
“I’m going to fuck you up, bitch, then we’ll see who’s laughing.”
Perfect.
Until Kathryn saw Boyd flanking her to the left.
She would have to time this perfectly.
Genghis lunged at Kathryn. She dodged his advances. The man’s bulk and momentum made it impossible for him to change direction. He continued, crashing hard into the wall Kathryn had leant against earlier. Kathryn stepped past him and jumped across to the pink bag. She snatched it up and swung it onto her shoulder.
Boyd was preparing to leap. He had stopped beside his friend, who was now recovering. The white man climbed up onto a desk and jumped across to the next. He was attempting to leap from desk to desk, so as to land on top of her. Kathryn saw her opportunity. She kicked the desk in front of her as hard as she could. It slid across the floor effortlessly. Caught mid-leap, Boyd’s foot stepped into nothing as the desk moved away and he came crashing down face first. His head bounced off the next desk with a snap.
His body jack-knifed and he collapsed to the ground in a heap. Genghis was still down. Kathryn saw her chance and hoped it would work. She backed out to the stairs. The double doors had a dead bolt, meaning that when they were closed you could only open them from the side she was on. She slammed the doors and heard them lock shut. Essentially the men were trapped.
Adios, fuckers.
Kathryn ran up the stairs two at a time. She hoped the rest of the building was a copy of the place where she worked. It would make things a lot easier.
***
Bravo, the man watching Kathryn’s exploits on his monitor, had no words. He knew the chick had balls. Bigger balls than some of the men he knew. How she had eluded both of those guys was beyond him. It had been fucking exciting TV, though. He really fancied his chances after this. With a gutsy heroine, he couldn’t lose.
The high from his E was kicking in. Anytime now he would be euphoric. He couldn’t wait. ‘The Game’ gave him goosebumps, but doing it high on E? That was for true men. He did a little dance right there on the floor.
Crashing against the desk, Bravo knocked his drink over. The amber liquid spilled into his keyboard. The ice hit some of the keys, its weight pressing them down. Nothing happened for a second. Then he saw icons popping up all over his screen. He tried to read them, but they were appearing too fast. He was able to read the last one, though.
Shit!
Fuck!
Nooooo!
He pulled the Blackberry from his pocket and dialled a number. Within seconds he had an answer.
“Yeah, we have a problem…No, my system malfunctioned. I didn’t order any of those…What? You can’t undo them? How can you not have that ability? Fucking undo them!
What?
Okay…So how much is that going to cost?
You’re fucking kidding me
? Yeah, thanks for nothing.”
Bravo hung up.
His plan had been well formulated. Originally he had wanted Phase One, then Two, then a pause, Phase Three, Phase Four and then Five. He had currently been on Phase Two: Seek and Destroy. That plan was no longer relevant. His whole plan had been fucked up.
“You fucking moron!” he said to himself.
No one could survive a phase alone. The chick had done it so far, but she had scraped by. Two phases down. The easier two. There was no way she could survive Phase Three. Let alone Phases Three and Four combined.
His gutsy heroine would be dead in a matter of hours.
He had lost.
He necked some bourbon from the bottle and threw it against the wall.
Game over!
TWENTY-ONE
His lips caressed hers, soft, gentle, eager. She kissed back and bit his bottom lip playfully. Then their kiss was more urgent. He ran his hands through her hair and pulled her against his body. She felt his muscles firm against her chest. His body warmth drove her crazy.
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
Kieran laid Heather down on the ground, removing her jumper, and started to kiss her stomach. He loosened her trousers and lowered them, exposing her smooth, perfect thighs. He ran his fingers along her inner thighs, stroking the soft skin and stopped before moving back down her leg. Heather moaned, aching for more. She lifted his top and ran her fingers along his pectorals and abs. His body was perfect, granite. She grabbed him and pulled him close, digging her hands into his back.
The young man caressed her breasts and kissed her on the lips. She couldn’t take any more foreplay, and hurriedly pushed his trousers down, their skin touched, jolting them in unison. It was electric. She knew he was inches from her. He was throbbing between her fingers. She looked him in the eyes and breathed hard. She guided him inside her using her fingers. They kissed as he thrust, deep and easy. There was no resistance. Heather gasped and screamed. Deep inside her, she clenched her pelvic muscles, hoping to feel every inch of him. She moaned louder now, close to orgasm. Kieran moaned in her ear as he thrust hard and they both climaxed simultaneously. She moaned loudly and they collapsed in a sweaty heap.
Minutes later Heather rolled over. She laid on Kieran’s chest. She fondled his chest hair. The moment was perfect. She closed her eyes, hoping it would last.
“Heather…
Heather?
”
Heather opened her tired eyes. Kieran was standing in front of her, shaking her shoulder.
“You awake?”
Heather sat up. Her blanket still covered her. She took a second to recollect and blushed furiously. The whole thing had been a dream. A vivid, realistic, erotic dream. She patted her chest, her thighs, feeling their warmth and slickness.
“You okay? I’m making some breakfast, just wondered if you fancied some?”
Heather looked at Kieran. Those eyes nearly melted her. For the first time, she realised she was attracted to him. She knew she couldn’t give way to such feelings. It wasn’t something she could accept because she needed to remain focused.
“Erm, yeah, some bacon and eggs please…I need a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure, take all the time you need. Remember we leave soon though, so we need to pack up.”
“Sure…”
Kieran began to walk away. Heather looked up and he stopped.
“Kieran…You didn’t share this bed with me, did you? I was so tired I think I collapsed straight away.”
Kieran smiled. He gazed into her eyes. “No I didn’t, I was a perfect gentleman. Do you not remember I gave you the bed? Your bed is off limits, you said so yourself. Now get ready, breakfast in five minutes.”
With that Kieran left the room. The door closed behind him.
Heather lifted the blanket. Nothing unusual. She felt heat between her thighs. She was horny. Which was impossible. She never felt this way. In all her years she had never been the sexual type. She enjoyed sex as much as the next person but she wasn’t obsessed with it. She didn’t even masturbate. What was happening to her? She realised that didn’t even find him that attractive anyway. So why had she suddenly felt so aroused?
Heather stood up and put on her trousers. Then remembered the dream and blushed bright red. She pulled her jumper on and put on her trainers. She took three minutes to open the door to the canteen. It was the longest three minutes of her life.
***
Delta, the man who’d been watching Heather and Kieran on his monitor, hadn’t expected that. He had just hoped that his subjects would fall in love. Everyone loves a good romance, and it seemed that Heather was falling for her suitor. You couldn’t script stuff like this.
Excellent.
Delta sat back in his chair. Unlike his competitors he was playing the long game. Not too much at once. Slowly, slowly wins the race. He smiled.
Such stupid quotes. So apt though.
The situation had arisen where tact was the best tactic of war here. One player had already failed miserably. He had gone in guns blazing, literally, and he was now out of the game, permanently.
It couldn’t happen to him. It wouldn’t.
So he was taking it slow.
He poured himself a drink and relaxed.
Everything was running smoothly.
For now. Things were about to get interesting.
TWENTY-TWO
Rupert’s leg felt dead, the blood had stopped flowing several minutes earlier. His legs were bent at the knee over the chair, a chair that was now becoming slippery and very uncomfortable.
Looking around the room, Rupert couldn’t think of what to do. Praying had ceased at the sound of the machete being sharpened. That was eight minutes ago according to the clock on his lounge wall. Time waited for no man, regardless of his plight. Rupert sighed.
His captor had laid out an arsenal of weapons on the table beside him. For half an hour he'd been methodically positioning the weapons on the table in precise order, from smallest to largest. This was a man that took pride in his work. Rupert hadn’t been focused on the entire display, but the largest weapon he’d noticed was a broadsword. It looked like something out of an Excalibur movie. The blade looked menacing, even from across the room.
The man had not spoken to Rupert for the entire process. Rupert hadn’t tried to initiate conversation. The room was devoid of any sound except that of the man working on his tools. Throughout the whole process the red leather bowling bag remained untouched. It spiked Rupert’s curiosity simply because bowling balls are not weapons - not in the standard context anyway. The guy blatantly had a fetish for blades, which made the bowling ball that more mysterious.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Rupert, resigned to his fate. It seemed the right thing to do. The near-silence was becoming unbearable.
The man turned to him. His smile had vanished. In his hand he held a corkscrew. The light shone off its blade. Such a simple household item looked like a device designed for pure evil in the guy’s hand. He spun it between his fingers.
“I haven’t mapped out my plan yet. You see, people pay me the big bucks to do what
they
want. So I have time to burn. I have to wait until I get the call. Then I can do what is instructed of me. Until then, well, it’s a fucking mystery, if you ask me.”
Rupert cringed. The fear was becoming unbearable. His head started to sag. Looking to his left, he noticed a pair of knitting needles in a basket. They'd belonged to his mother. He couldn’t remember seeing them before, but right now they glowed golden like a huge beacon of hope. Rupert knew it was his only chance.
But how could he get to them?
Rupert started to let his head sag down again. He didn’t know if his idea would work. He pretended to be dozing off. He collapsed even further down in his chair. He couldn’t see what his captor was doing.
The man walked over to Rupert and slapped him, hard, across the face. The strike took Rupert by surprise and knocked him off balance. The chair toppled with him still strapped to it. He landed on his side with a heavy thump. His arm, twisted behind him, was crushed under him. Rupert yelped in pain. He could feel his body weight shifting him down further, crushing his arm even more. Rupert tried to push himself up, but with his arms tied he was severely restricted. Suddenly he was upright again and the man steadied the chair with Rupert still on it. The scared man looked up at his adversary’s pale face, which was inches from his own. The smile returned.
“No sleeping on the job, now. It’s not nearly as much fun when you’re comatose.”
His tormentor patted Rupert on the face three times and backed away. He turned back to his weapons.
“I need water,” Rupert gasped.
The man’s shoulders visibly shrugged. For a moment, he remained still. Rupert wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far, then the knifeman walked into the kitchen, presumably succumbing to Rupert’s request. Rupert watched him go.
When he was out of sight, he shuffled his right arm and placed the solitary knitting needle into his waistband, at the back. It had been fortunate that he’d managed to grab the item, since it had been wedged in a ball of wool. The only reason he had it now was because his captor has moved him with such force that the needle had pulled free through no effort of his own. Making sure it was in firmly in place, he moved his hand back, covering the weapon. Seconds later, his captor returned with a bucket of water. He walked in Rupert’s direction.
“Water? How can I drink from—?”
The man launched the water at Rupert’s face. It rocked him like a punch to the face, splashing over his features, shoulders and legs. The shock of the cold water’s dousing shook Rupert out of his fatigue. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his briefs were soaked, his position on the chair became more tenuous because it was slippery. He couldn’t place his feet on the wooden floor without them sliding all over the place. The man laughed and threw the bucket into the corner, then turned back to the weapons.
Rupert spat water from his mouth. He breathed out heavily.
“You’re an arsehole.”
The torturer turned back to Rupert.
“You really are trying to get a rise out of me, aren’t you? Let’s get one thing perfectly clear. You won’t succeed. I've fought in wars and seen sights that would make your eyes bleed. I am talking
total annihilation
. Countries that aren’t bound by government ruling and treaties and the threat of nuclear war. Countries that are pure breeding grounds for incomprehensible evil. Ever seen a man stabbed in the eye? I have, and it’s not a nice thing to see at close quarters. I could have reached out and touched the guy’s exposed optic nerves. Ever seen a man holding his own colon? I have. Ever seen your best friend of seven years torn to shreds by a hand grenade? I think you get my point. Nonetheless, getting a rise out of me just isn’t going to happen. You can rib me all you want, you’re wasting your time.”
Rupert grimaced. He needed to get a rise out of this guy, to get him off guard.
The victim realised he might need to go deep, to try to reach somewhere reserved for late night blasphemy and sin.
“Your friend... Tell me, what was his name?”
No answer.
“C’mon, you must remember his name, what with him being your best friend and all?”
No answer.
“You failed him, you know. He's dead because you got sloppy and you weren’t prepared. Now you have to live with that.”
The dangerous man turned towards Rupert. What showed in his eyes could only be described as uncontrolled rage. No tears or remorse, just soul-sucking anger and hatred built up from years of guilt and torment. His arms bulged with muscle and sinew. He was shaking with fury, leaning against the desk, which was shaking too, pushed by his huge frame.
Rupert knew he had made a huge mistake.
Then he saw the gun. It was in the man’s right hand and rising slowly. Rupert’s vision suddenly became focused and alert. He knew he was screwed. His arms were tied, he couldn’t run anywhere. The knitting needle was useless to him now. Why had he pushed the guy’s buttons?
What was that expression
?
Poking the bear
? The gun was aimed at Rupert. It was fitted with a silencer, elongating its black barrel, the single hole in its business end near his face. Rupert closed his eyes.
Time stood still.
Then things happened all at once. The gunman fired, the bullet striking the floor at Rupert’s feet. The silenced ‘whap’ of the shot accompanied Rupert’s foot moving out of the way. The bullet hadn’t hit him. He smiled with relief until he saw the man approaching. He smashed the butt of the gun into Rupert’s face. The pain was immediate and agonizing. It coursed through Rupert’s veins, muscles and skin like fire. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He knew his nose was broken. His body was trying to ignore the pain. Seconds later, the man stepped back and punched Rupert in the face hard. The force knocked Rupert so that he bounced backwards, rocking on the chair before it tipped over and fell forward with his weight. The man punched Rupert in the face twice more, then head-butted him too. Rupert was only just on the verge of consciousness. Blood started to pour down his face. He felt his eyes starting to swell. The man grabbed him by the throat.
“You don’t fucking know a fucking thing about Billy! Don’t you dare mention his name! You cunt. Fuck you!"
With that, the man struck Rupert in the face once more and let go of his throat. Rupert was groggy and moaning in pain. Shock took over and Rupert started to lose consciousness. He tried to stay awake, but the pain was such that he had to let his body take control.
Rupert had gotten his rise.
But at what cost?
As he lapsed into unconsciousness he heard a chirping. It sounded like a phone ringing.
***
Charlie had resumed his viewing in some comfort. Comfort in knowing that he was one of the final three competitors left in the game. He was one step closer to the prize of champions.
The prize of being named an exclusive member of The Company.
To his knowledge, only three men had passed this test before. The Game had been running for nearly twenty years now, taking place every five. To be an exclusive member of The Company, as per this ritual, was really an honour. He knew the stakes were high, and that pretty much anything in his life could be at stake, but he knew it was worth it. To be one of a few select men in the world who can say, “I won,” would truly be the greatest achievement in his life.
He sipped his drink and raised a glass to his integrity, his ability and his confidence in winning. And to his everlasting ability to impress himself and the people around him. He finished his glass and poured himself a refill. He checked his screen and noticed that Bravo had made several high value purchases. His balance had racked up one point two million pounds in debt.
“Holy shit, Bravo, what the fuck did you do?”
Charlie panicked at first. Maybe Bravo had gone ‘all in’ which, in The Game rules, meant you were shit out of luck. ‘All in’ meant you gambled victory on everything in a very short space of time. The aim of The Game was to win by being the last man standing. Killing your Choice was taboo. You never overburdened them and got them killed. You teased them, tortured them and brutalised them, but, since you have control, you can stop the punishment at any moment. Going ‘all in’ meant that Bravo had sent some protection in to help his target for fear of loss. This had never happened in The Game before, such action didn’t go down well with The Sponsors, despite forming the subject of epic TV.
The whole point of The Game was to pick someone you know can win. It’s why Alpha had failed, he expected too much from his Choice and it got him killed. It was either that or he'd made an error.
And people in Charlie’s line of work didn’t make errors.
To his surprise, reading the call log, that is exactly what it was. A system error, which meant anything could be headed into Bravo’s battleground. Charlie smiled.
One more down
, he thought,
which means that I am in the final two, the final itself. The Game is mine for the taking!
Then he heard the gunshot.
Or what sounded like a gunshot. It sounded muffled, like a silencer had been involved. He checked his monitor.
And there it was.
It had come out of nowhere. Gunnar was standing over Reverend Shaw with a silenced Beretta in his hand. He recognised the handgun, since he owned three of his own. They were three feet away in a display case. The high-def screen showed the smoke still wafting out of the hot barrel. Charlie dropped his glass to the carpet, making a loud thudding sound. The amber liquid poured out and soaked into the lush fibres. Charlie pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled. Gunnar was walking back towards the table, having doled out a beating to Reverend Shaw.
The phone was answered.
“Gunnar,
what the fuck are you doing?
” Charlie yelled. “You know you can’t shoot the Choice, it’s against the rules and Game policy! You may have just cost me The Game!”
“Listen, dickhead, I don’t care how much you’re paying me. This guy just got personal, real personal and I had to shut him up. For your information, I didn’t shoot him. I fired the gun to warn him. He will be fine, if a little shocked and scared. Okay?”
“No,
not
okay. You scared the shit out of me, you should have called and run it by me first.”
“I don’t answer to anyone. Fuck you and your rules. You know what, fuck this contest as well. You want me to do your bidding? Fine. You pay me another fifty grand to deal with this grade A prick. I’m a man of my word, but I need extra convincing. Otherwise I might do something I might regret.”
Charlie paused. He wasn’t used to insubordination like this. Normally he would fire anyone who crossed him. He remembered firing someone for bringing him lukewarm coffee once. The problem was, Gunnar had him over a barrel. Feeling his inner turmoil brewing, Charlie bit his lip.
“Fine. Make it sixty grand to take it slow. I don’t want any fuckups. And wind your neck in, it’ll be worth it eventually.”
“Pleasure doing business with you. Now, what were your demands?”
Charlie smiled.