Page 1 of The Killing Game

PROLOGUE

ASHE

“You’re fucking disgusting. I bet your micro peen is so hard for this right now.”

The words leave my mouth before I have time to think of the consequences.

I watch as the killer stalks closer to me, watching me through their skull mask. Black, haunted eyes stare back at me. The ax they used to mutilate my right leg scrapes behind them, sparking across the concrete floor of the lake shed.

Shit.

Of course, my smart ass would have some sarcastic quip before I die. The killer isn’t even phased by my remark. It’d be kind of a turn on to be chased by a masked man if I wasn’t about to die.

I painstakingly crawl my way to the back door with my leg dragging behind me. Fleshy, red muscle protrudes from my calf while blood gushes from the weeping orifice. The tendrils of muscle ripped from the gash trailing behind me is like a fishing line in the water. My body taunts the killer to take hold and yank me back to my death. Each breath is ragged and calculated.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. Everything around me is drowned out by the pounding in my ears. There’s only ten feet between freedom and the most horrific death I could ever imagine. Who would’ve thought this would be how I would go out? My friends would be surprised I haven’t stopped the killer yet. All those years obsessing over true crime and horror movies, for what?

Each inch feels like miles through shards of glass. The excruciating pain radiates from my mangled limb racking my body with shivers. It makes it nearly impossible to move forward. I’m going to go into shock before I make it out of here.

“Please. It doesn’t have to be this way. I’m sorry,” I choke out. “Gods, help me.” The words don’t hold the sincerity I want them to. Rage lingers in my voice. It doesn’t even waiver. My words ring too strong in their conviction. I’m staring down my hunter with hatred and primal fear.

Maybe I could convince them to have mercy. It only takes a split second in a lapse of judgment to make a move. I could escape and get help.

Then I can hunt this motherfucker down and hang them with their own intestines while they watch me feed their severed cock to the local wild life.

ONE

1:30 P.M. - 12 HOURS AGO

No one would have ever guessed I killed someone my senior year. Blurs of green and brown pass by my passenger window as I replay the scenes of my personal horror story. Red, sticky hand prints forever painted on my soul highlighting the darkest part of me. The depravity of being stalked by the worst serial killer in our town’s history. Surviving, knowing what he does, but not being able to tell the tale. Instead, I write my own fucked up stories for a living. A twisted way to calm the monster lurking deep inside.

“Ashe, did you hear me?” Colton eyes me in the rear view mirror, waiting for an answer. His blue eyes are untrusting with my looming shenanigans this weekend. I chew on the string to my black Halloween hoodie as I stare back at the passing trees out the window. I contemplate answering him with an actual answer, but that wouldn’t be any fun.

“Yes, Daddy. I heard you the first two times. No one wanders off alone or you end up in another Graveslake horror movie. I got it,” I say as I meet his gaze in the rear view mirror.

It’s a challenge.

He could argue with me, getting even more irritated, or he can leave it alone. It’s up to him. He’s always had a little hot hotheadedness in him simmering under the surface.

Colton is the stereotypical All-American boy; six foot three, built like a brick shit house, and tanned to perfection. The average girl would fawn over him like a dog in heat. I, on the other hand, find him romantically repulsive because he lacks depth. Don’t get me wrong, I love him. He’s the biggest goober on the planet; total golden retriever energy with a hint of pit bull. However, his reserved demeanor would never mesh with my darkness. Instead, our friendship has grown tenfold since high school. He’s someone I could confine in when I needed a shoulder to lean on. With that friendship also came the pranks and bantering. I learned early on in high school how to press his buttons. Everyone in the group did. Everyone except Sam. We do it out of love, obviously.

Sam is the only one who reminds us we should be kind to each other. She doesn’t believe in insults and sarcasm as a love language. It’s boring, in my humble opinion, but I never faulted her for it. Everything is light and love with her. The resident hippie. I envy her way of looking at everything with rose-colored glasses.

I know better than to expect the best out of people. I learned from an early age that the people you should trust the most can turn out to be total monsters when the mask comes off. Behind closed doors, even the most pious man is filled with impulses that would make Ted Buddy or Ed Kemper blush. It only takes one little crack to let the demons out. Luckily, no one in my friend group knows the deal I made with the devil years ago. I play along as the quirky, alternative girl who’s too into true crime and horrmance (Yes, that’s horror with romance. I like my men morally gray and sadistic. Sue me). It’s easier than explaining my sins.

“I can be your Daddy, Ashe. All you have to do is be a good girl,” Jason pipes up from the front passenger seat. He turns around to face me, the smirk on his face matching the lust in his dark, amber eyes.

“That’s not how the phrase goes, Jason.” I roll my stony, gray eyes at him while giving him the middle finger. He laughs at me and wiggles his eyebrows, not backing down.

That’s the typical response from Jason. He looks like a clone of that alternative, shy boy you had a crush on in high school. The one with the raven-dark hair coiffed to perfection, while his clothes made him look like a metal band reject. After we graduated high school, that look was complete with a full sleeve of tattoos and stretched ears to match. Just imagine any alternative TikToker you’ve seen recently trying to thirst trap you by quoting your favorite dark romance book. That’s Jason. All that moody exterior is met with the most cocky ego possible. I can only roll my eyes so many times in a day before I get dizzy from his persistent come-ons. It’s like he thinks if he chases me long enough I’ll regain interest. He blew that chance a while ago. Not going to happen, my dude.

“You realize that old ghost story we heard growing up isn’t real, right? I rather not bring that kind of negativity into the universe for our last trip together.” Sam gives a pointed look to Colton while she curls up in her thrifted afghan. Curly, brunette hair tied up in a silk scarf flies wildly in the wind from my open window. Her green eyes are red and glazed over, likely from the joint she hit at our last rest stop. Despite all her attempts to be a ray of sunshine, she will always be my Sam who gets anxious in new situations. It doesn’t matter if she’s with friends or not; that social anxiety runs deep. The weed helps her mellow out. Even the most innocent of us have demons hiding inside.

Sam and I learned early on in our friendship that we compliment each other. My extroverted bluntness matches her introverted positivity. We literally became friends because I told her shitty ex-boyfriend to treat her right or I would do it for him. He didn’t like that very much. Though, it did get Sam’s attention. She’s not gay, but she still left him to befriend me. She found my sense of confidence intriguing. Ever since then, I help her out of her shell and she helps me reel it in. My voice of reason when the inside voices get too loud.

Sam’s words sink in slowly. Our last trip together as a group before we all go our separate ways. We’ve all been friends in one way or another since freshman year in high school. The weirdest fucking Breakfast Club you could imagine. We all contribute something to the group that compliments the others. That never kept us out of trouble, though. I’m honestly impressed any of us are still alive after the childhoods we had. Yet, we’re all becoming successful in our young adult years. We’ve spent the past three years living at home, everyone except Colton forgoing college, to pursue our passions. Each one of us determined to hustle after our dreams. It wasn’t until last year that the fruits of our labor started paying off.