Page 82 of Hell’s Weapon

“How this goes is up to you,” I tell him.

“No matter what I choose I’m ending up bloody right?”

“Not if you start talking.”

“What is there to say? If I tell you I know nothing, you won’t believe me,” he sneers.

“You’re right there, number Sixty-Two. There’s no way you know absolutely nothing. Everyone here is a professional in some capacity. You all know about the murders that have been taking place. You especially must have theories, with your previous line of work.”

He sniggers. “I have thoughts, yes.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You’re questioning the wrong set of people.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you want to look towards the one bragging about his killing ability every two seconds.”

I don’t have to ask to know he means Thirty-Nine, Wyatt. I don’t respond, letting the silence be the command for him to continue. I’m interested in what evidence he has, as it’s not like Thirty-Nine hasn’t been on my shortlist, even if the female I’m now seeing is tangled up with him as well.

“Well, did you know he broke into the teaching rooms? Pretty sure he’s broken into the Officers’ building as well.”

Neither of those things are news to me. Although he has the details wrong on the second one, Thirty-Nine broke out of these cells. He’s just not aware of how closely we are monitoring his little lock picking habit. Even with Tacita’s bias, she has been forthcoming with everywhere he gets into, including the other contestants’ rooms.

“That’s all you’re basing this on?” I pick a piece of skin out from under my nails.

“He’s also reinforced his own room.”

“And how would you know that?” Again, it’s not news. The guards have been checking the rooms daily when the contestants are in lectures. When we had an issue accessing Thirty-Nine’s room, I had to bring Khaos over. There’s no lock that the witch can’t open.

Sixty-Two doesn’t respond.

“My patience is running thin. Nothing you’ve said links him to the killings.” I go to step forward, ready to see if pain will loosen his tongue.

He has the sensibility to stand. His intelligence only goes so far, however, and the twat decides to try and land the first punch.

I easily dodge the strike, grabbing his forearm as it flies past my face. In a manoeuvre I can perform in my sleep, I have him up against the wall, face hitting the brick with his arm pulled tight up against his back.

“That was a mistake,” I growl, my panther sitting just below my skin.

Kicking his stance a little wider to off balance him, I reach for the pinky finger on the hand I’ve got pinned. Without remorse I bend it back, snapping the joint with a loud crack which is quickly drowned out by the scream of pain.

“Now, let’s try that again.” I bend to snarl in his ear. “Do you have any actual evidence that Thirty-Nine is the killer, other than he’s a boastful prick that likes breaking into places he shouldn’t?”

“Have you noticed how none of his team have died?” Sixty-Two pants, trying and failing to push himself away from the wall with his free hand. He tries elbowing me in the side as well but it’s a weak attempt with the angle.

“His isn’t the only team still intact. You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?” I break his ring finger next. He yells out and his knees buckle, so I’m having to hold his weight up now as well.

“Fuck you,” he spits, blood covering the wall. He must’ve bitten his cheek, or his tongue.

“Did you know, Sixty-Two, you are the first to actually name another contestant? For that I do have to commend you.” He blanches a little, as if he knows my next sentence before I can voice it. “The others haven’t snitched at all, despite the bones we’ve been breaking.”

Whilst I do want answers, I hate snitches, and it’s clear he has nothing concrete on Wyatt.

Snap. There goes another finger.

“What about that woman he keeps hanging around with?” he wheezes.