Page 87 of Twisted Little Game

By a knife? A bullet? Or starvation, when I tie him to a radiator like he did to that man so long ago?

And don’t you dare show him these texts right now. If you do, you’ll see how quickly Roman Petrov can die.

My chest goes icy.

“Roman! Tate!” I hear from behind us. When I turn I see Oliver’s smiling face, walking towards us with Niko by his side.

Oliver pulls out a shiny bronze flask from one of his pockets, then reaches into the other side and brings out another silver one, and three tiny plastic bottles of different sample-size liquors.

“Stocked with a whole little minibar in your jeans,” I tell him. “I respect it.”

I put my phone away.

Everything inside me is screaming to show the messages to Roman.

I have to.

But how can I? They said I’ll see how quickly Roman can die if I tell him about the texts… which is probably just an empty threat.

Probably.

But I’m not fucking sure.

Roman will be able to handle himself if anything does go down. Nothing could hurt him. Right?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I just need…

Time.

I feel a pressure at the back of my eyes, worry sliding through me like a constrictor. If I’m harming Roman just by being in his life, I’ll never forgive myself.

I have to tell him. But will he instantly go down, from some goddamn sniper shot or stab in the back, if I do? How serious is that threat?

Oliver’s giving me a wide smile, but for once I’m not able to return it. I try to act normal, looking at the alcohol Oliver’s showing us.

“I have green apple and raspberry,” Oliver says, shaking the two flasks.

I reach for the one on the left. “Give me green apple.”

A moment later, I’m already tossing the flask back, waterfalling a bunch of the flavored vodka into my mouth.

It’s not very good. Cheap, and too sweet. But as I drink, I already feel my body start to flood with warmth.

Bad decisions are sometimes the best ones to make.

When the world is too fucking much.

When my mind is swirling out of goddamn control.

Just make the fucking fear go away, and remember that the texts are trying to scare me. They likely hold no power.

Oliver and I share some more. I try a sip of one of the other samples, too, and I see Roman glancing over at Niko, giving him a look.

“They’re both about to be plastered in three minutes,” Niko tells Roman, talking about me and Ollie as if we aren’t right here.

“Yes. And we haven’t even started walking around the fair yet,” Roman says. “Niko, are you ready to rub Ollie’s back if he pukes up green apple later tonight?”

Niko grins. “Not going to let him get to that point. You going to bring Tate water and Advil and tell him everything will be alright?”