Chapter Eleven

Tomás

I hated him.

I hated them. All of them. It took all my strength not to fight Kieran back every time he stepped in my way, sneered at me, or just looked my way. The hackles thing, yeah, that lifted the hairs at the nape of my neck. I wanted to obliterate them. I wanted it so bad I could taste it.

The day of the flag war arrived. There were five teams of five. Every class level had a five-member team that had to go against The Ark Boys. They were a team to themselves. Since we were the last to register, we were last to challenge them. Which meant we were up the last day of the event.

The Ark Boys were already at the playing field when we arrived. I had to say, watching them dressed in their black tactical gear with their head gears lifted off their face and holding the paintball gun looking as if they'd come out of an issue of an army magazine made my body vibrate with anticipation. Wren was the first to turn to look at us and his expression said it all. They hadn't bothered to read the roster, hadn't known who the Underdogs were. A small part of me got pissed that they hadn't bothered checking, but their expressions right now were priceless. If only I had a camera.

The others followed Wren's gaze.

Fox was the first one to grunt. "No way," he said, his eyes glued to Dasher beside me. He already looked like he wanted to kill someone, and the games hadn't even started.

"I'm allowed," Dasher snapped. I felt a hint of pride at how he stood up for himself. "And fuck you for thinking I can't because of my disability!"

The crowd shifted. Some said ooo and ah. It made Fox look like a big jerk, but he didn't care.

Fox started to take a step forward when Kieran held him back and whispered something to him. Then Fox dragged his hard, cold, deadly eyes to me, and I felt a ghost of pain as if he'd slit open my throat.

I turned to Dasher at the same exact time he turned to me. I was so screwed and he knew it. I shook my head making sure he didn't get any ideas to bail on me. I needed this to work now more than ever, and Dasher was the key to it all. At our other side, Charity blew Wren a kiss. Although she, too, wore tactical gear, she still found a way to show her voluminous package.

Wren smirked her way. River practically growled.

Micah simply nodded at Henry who'd gone even more pale. I felt sorry for the guy.

"Kieran," Ashton said with a leer.

"Ashton," Kieran returned.

The temperature dropped a few degrees. And I thought Kieran hated me. The level of hate in Kieran's voice surpassed whenever he said my name. I wasn't sure what to think about that bit of truth.

Coach called us in a sort of huddle. The rules of engagement were simple. We were given a paintball gun with two tubes of paint pellets each and a retractable knife. The objective—grab their flag and defend it in our area of the playing field, a hundred-yard wooded area roped out by the officials. We each wore an armband with our name and sigil on it. The Ark sigil consisted of three interlocking rings. Dasher took liberties with ours. In a fuck you to The Ark Boys, he used the three rings with a giant lightning bolt through it and it was very colorful. Coach went on to explain once we were shot or stabbed dead, the opponent would rip that band off as a prize. A pennant would be planted where the death took place, and the body could be stripped. Anything goes. We also had the right to yield if offered by the opponent. We had to respond right away though or be shot.

Charity clapped at that little tidbit. I wasn't even sure if she was acting anymore. Coach would blast a horn twice to announce the ten-minute mark, and then one long blast of the horn to announce game over. There were field referees that would be watching. "You sure you guys don't want to bail?" Coach asked.

"Hell, no," Dasher said vehemently.

We all echoed that sentiment.

We were given rights to the field first as we were the Underdog and we separated as planned.

By that point, my palms were sweaty. My senses jacked. I was as vulnerable as a deer on an open road of the I-290. Sweat dripped down my back and I suddenly had the urge to pee. I'd played paintball before with my brothers, and I'd always been the first to die because I couldn't stay still. I'd taken my meds, but still felt that jittery feeling underneath my skin.

We knew they'd come for our flag first. They'd leave the weakest link to protect theirs—Henry. We had to intercept them in the field. We weren't camping out like chicken-shits.

I'd never get used to the woods. They creeped me out. I preferred the city streets. The dark nothingness felt as if something dangerous just waited around a tree, up a tree, under the ground. I'd watched way too many horror movies in my short lifetime. It was cold in the mountains.

I followed a safe distance behind Dasher as he struggled to move over the gnarled roots and foliage littering the ground. Hell, I'd stumbled a few times and I didn't have crutches. Once he was in position, I hung back and hid myself behind a tree, under some of the natural foliage. We had a few minutes before The Ark Boys would be sent in. I settled and prayed that we wouldn't get caught.

It'd been my plan, but seeing Dasher exposed, struggling, drew out all my protective instincts. Dasher was a second year, older than me, but smaller. He should've been protected. At least that's the initial perception you got from the guy when you saw him. I knew he was stronger than what Fox gave him credit for. His disability didn't slow him down. Hell, he'd made a clubhouse over some trees and he climbed it easier than me. And yet, seeing him out in the open in the middle of a war game—fake or not—felt wrong.

I knew if I broke cover to help him he'd be pissed, so I stayed in my spot and kept line of sight on the mark. We were betting on two things. That Fox's strange overprotectiveness of Dasher would have him watching Dasher every minute, and that Fox wouldn't let any of his buddies shoot Dasher. Dasher would have to be given the option to surrender, which I didn't think he'd choose. Either way, I trained my eyes on Dasher's surroundings, sure that Fox was watching him.

Dasher stumbled, caught himself on a tree. Hell, I almost went for him. The area around him was littered with overgrowth and rocks. He could really hurt himself. He tried to climb over a root, his face red from exertion. His foot caught on something. He tried to balance on the crutch but overcorrected and he fell with a snap.

That couldn't have been his plan. He let out a sharp cry but cut it short before he could give away his position. I heard whimpers from where he was, and I was two seconds away from ruining the whole plan. Let him get mad at me, but I couldn't risk him being really hurt. Then movement caught my eye, and my body grew taut. My pulse quickened and I tried to moderate my breathing. Fox appeared. I couldn't see his face, but I could imagine him pissed off. He moved like death. His body fluid. I could see the hunter in him and that was a scary thing. At least until he got to Dasher. The tension in his body relaxed, he even sounded kinder.

"I told you, but you're so stubborn," he said.

"Fuck you," Dasher said back, voice tight. "Leave me alone."

But of course, Fox didn't listen. He crouched next to Dasher, his eyes on Dasher's legs and not his hands. Dumb move. I saw the next moment in slo-mo and it was priceless. Fox knelt beside Dasher. Dasher's shoulder tensed, his hand inched to his waistband. In a blur of movement, Dasher pulled out the knife and stabbed Fox in the neck just under the shield. Red started leaking down Fox's neck, down his shirt up until Dasher pulled out the retractable blade, stopping the red ink. It took Fox a silent moment to realize what had happened. Angry, he tore off his headgear. He didn't even try to defend himself, didn't shoot Dasher. Shock and something like hurt filled his eyes as if he'd been betrayed.

Duh. That was the point. The look on Fox's face made me question his relationship with Dasher. It made me question everything about Fox. It made me afraid. As if Dasher had been the only thing standing between Fox and chaos.

"You're dead, asshole," Dasher said. And he ripped Fox's arm band. I scanned the area making sure Fox had been alone before peeling out of my hiding spot. Fox stretched to his feet, noticed me, and snarled. His lip lifting up and all. I smiled and fist bumped Dasher. I didn't help Dasher get up. I knew to let him have his moment. But Fox tried only to be cussed out.

"I'm fine," Dasher snapped.

"And you're dead," I said to Fox. "And we get to loot the body." That felt so damn good to say. Though Fox was the wrong body I wanted to loot. I let Dasher do the honors.

Fox kept his eyes trained on Dasher as if expecting Dasher to pull out a real knife and stab him in the heart with it. Dasher handed me Fox's comm link. "Go, finish this."

I nodded. "You know what to do."

He smiled, looking cheesy and accomplished. Hell, even if we did lose now, the satisfaction of taking down Fox for Dasher was worth it.

"Bye, Bye, dead guy," I teased. The look Fox threw my way promised retribution.

I hoped Ashton and Charity had luck with their two targets—Wren and River. I had faith in Charity's ability to distract Wren long enough for Ashton to put a bullet in him, but River would be trickier, the element of surprise gone when they killed Wren. It'd depend on River's reaction time once Wren was down. Henry was our only lose end. He didn't have a weakness we knew of, so we gave him to Micah.

The final bit of the plan fell to me and Kieran.

Moving to the midline where the flags were erected, I crouched down next to a tree. After observing Kieran these last few weeks, I knew he was a control freak. He had to be near his flag. We were all given the same type of weapons, so he didn't have the advantage of sniping anyone from a distance. It meant he had to come out of hiding. It meant close contact melee. The thought made my stomach tighten in anticipation. I wondered if he'd stab me in the back, go for my throat like he aways did, or just shoot me when I wasn't looking. But no. That wouldn't be his style. He'd want me to see, to know the moment of my failure. He'd want to see my reaction when he killed me.

I hunkered down and opened the communications link to The Ark Boys. I knew everyone but Fox had to be listening. I cupped my mouth, made some funky static noise that sounded kind of cool, and said, "Houston, we have a problem." I cracked myself up. "I always wanted to say that." I expected chatter right away but got nothing for several seconds until I heard Ashton.

"Wren and River are off the board as planned," Ashton said. Giddiness in his voice. "You should've seen their faces. It was epic."

I chuckled. "Fox is in the henhouse."

Ashton laughed. "I can't believe it worked. I owe you a bottle of Grey Goose."

"Tonight," I said. "Go to phase two." The flag.

The first horn blasted. We had ten minutes left of gameplay. Kieran was the only threat left, and I had to draw him out.

"Kieran," I said into the comm link, my heart pumping fast. I was playing with fire. I knew that in my bones. This would change the dynamic of the school and I had precipitated it. But fuck it. All gods had to fall one day. "Are you listening?" I got nothing but silence. "Of course you are. You're a control freak. How does it feel that a group of nobodys took you down? No, not just nobody. Me. Because this was my idea. Thought you should know that. See, I may not be as smart as you with your fancy words and fancy clothes, but I know what makes you tick. I know what haunts your nightmares. I'm right here. Come, get me if you think you have the—" Something hard slammed into me, jolting me forward. I hadn't anticipated the force of it and lost my footing. My body was quickly introduced to gravity. I slipped on my ass, rolled down over brush and roots. Every sharp impact against my body drew a grunt out of me.

While my body continued its rapid descent, he sprinted down the slope beside me. A tree trunk abruptly stopped me. My headgear took the full impact of it. I yanked it off my head in two pieces just as Kieran jumped me.

I was a runner by nature. My fight or flight response usually had me clear across a neighborhood before I could process my options. But I fought when I had to, and I couldn't get away from this one.

Kieran had lost his headgear too, his expression an angry mask of violence. I punched his face. My knuckles screamed at the contact. His lip split and a splash of blood pooled down his chin, the only thing I could see in the shadows under the canopy of trees. The red. I did that. I hit him. Up until that moment, nothing had really felt real. Our interaction had only been threats. The violence just under the surface, not real. Blood changed things. And Kieran had finally lost his shit.

He countered with body shots. Blow after blow forced oxygen out of my lungs. He knew where to hit to make the most damage. My liver. I pinned my elbows to my side, trying to protect my body. Instead of going for my face, the blows landed on my arms. Spittle mixed with blood ran down his chin. His lips pulled tight, revealing his teeth. Then he went for my throat with both hands, squeezing the life out of me. This wasn't a game anymore. This was Kieran in berserker mode, and I was going to die. But fuck him.

Going for my throat had been a big mistake. I lifted my ass off the ground, and he launched forward, unbalanced. I used the same momentum to push him back. My legs free, I lifted one and wrapped it around his torso, dropping him on his back. A wrestling move. Hoping he wasn't a biter or would go for my nuts as he tried to recover, I slapped his legs and dropped my heavier body on him while I pinned his wrists above his head. I couldn't hit him in this position, but he couldn't hit me either. We were at a stalemate. His face so close to mine, I saw the varying shades of green in his eyes. His heavy breath on my face.

"Calm down, asshole. It's over."

He snarled like an animal. "This is not over. Get off me."

He tried to buck me off, but I had at least ten pounds on him. Thank you, grandpa, for being a big mofo. "Not until you promise not to bite."

His eyes widened, darkened, and then I felt the barrel of his gun on my thigh. No. He'd lost the gun. I had both his hands pinned over his head. So…

"Get off me," he grunted again.

Maybe I should've gotten off him. In this position we were joined from chest to feet. Our bodies pressed together. It could've been an intimate position if we weren't trying to kill each other. I'd never force myself upon someone this way. But if I released him, I knew he'd finish the job he started and kill me, so I didn't move. And to be honest, curiosity won out and I rubbed my thigh against that hard prod. His eyes widened. I moved again just to be sure. Yup. The fucker had a hard-on. And from the feel of it, he had an impressive package. The thought of that package sent heat through me. My eyes found his pulse point along his neck, and I wanted to nip him right there. Mark him. Bruise him. Suck on the tender skin. The thought rushed blood to my dick and it swelled.

Holy shit. I got harder thinking about it.

I jumped off him and caught the dick imprint behind his pants before he sat up.

What the flying fuck?

I moved back. I hadn't been shot. He hadn't been shot. I spun around and did what I did best. I ran.