A Dangerous Game Read online

  The door I came through is the only feasible option. Have to hope this man’s not in the usual good shape.

  I glance at the radio on the desk again.

  Grab it and go!

  I lunge forward. My fingers close around the fancy radio, and I drag it back toward me, whirling around and—

  “I don’t think so.” The Enhanced man moves quickly. He’s by the door in a blink of an eye and shuts it with a click.

  I see its key code lock light up. Shit. I don’t know the number.

  He grins at me.

  You’re caught, Keelie. Eleven-year-old you would never have been caught.

  My chest tightens. No, not caught. Not yet. Beads of sweat form across the back of my neck. I look around quickly. There’s nothing I can use as a ligature here. The radio clicks in my hand. I drop it quickly and stamp on it. It makes a crackling sound.

  The man steps closer. I try to see fury on his face, but I can’t. He still looks curious.

  “I know exactly how to help you.” He smiles.

  I lob the set of keys from my pocket at his face, then pull out my gun. It feels good in my hand, and I hold it steadily between us.

  “Step over there,” I tell the man. “Keep away from the other door.” My voice is as steady as my hand.

  The Enhanced man puts his hands up slowly. Then he shakes his head. “Violence is wrong.” His voice sounds strange. He’s hesitating. “You—you need saving. The evil needs to be—”

  “Stay back!” I yell, clicking the gun’s safety off. I jerk my head to the side. “Get over there, and I won’t hurt you!”

  But everything inside me is rearing up, and it wants to hurt him. To hurt him now. To fire the gun, even if it means alerting more Enhanced. Because it will hurt him. He’ll feel the pain.

  But, when I was younger, I didn’t kill with a gun.

  A gun feels like cheating. To me, a gun isn’t for killing; it’s to scare them.

  The Enhanced doesn’t move. He keeps smiling. “I can help you.”

  “Get over there!” My gun doesn’t shake because I know the moment a gun shakes, your opponent knows you’re not confident. And I need to be.

  Calm and confident. That’s what my father always said.

  “Get other there,” I repeat, and make my voice stronger, my words harsher. “Get over there, or I’ll shoot you. I’m not bluffing.”

  The man’s expression doesn’t change. But what was I expecting? Fear? They can’t feel fear. They’re abominations. They don’t feel anything—not anything real. Just what they’ve programmed themselves to feel and—

  He lunges for me.

  I jerk my body back, but my foot catches something. I curse as I’m thrown off balance, and something slams into my back. I turn, but the man is on me suddenly, hands crushing into me as he—

  I yell out as he snatches the gun and twists it so my sweaty fingers slip from it. I turn and try to grab him, but he leaps away—too fast, too strong. Of course he would be. I curse.

  “Swearing isn’t ladylike,” the Enhanced says as he chucks my Luger out of the open window. I stare after it, heart pounding. “Swearing is a sign of the evil controlling you. Let me save you.” His lips curl into a smile.

  “I’ll show you something else that isn’t ladylike.” I punch him hard, aiming under his jaw. My knuckles catch him, but only as he turns, and most of the energy is rebuffed through my arm.

  My eyes jerk to the bolted doorway—I’m nearer it now.

  The man scrabbles back toward me, but I’m ready. I kick him hard, and I turn, throw my weight backward and duck under his arm as he strikes out. I grab the potted plant from the desk and propel it at him. It hits him in the stomach, and he falters. The ceramic pot shatters when it hits the floor. I’m disappointed it misses his feet, but it produces shards. If I can get one, I’m confident I can kill him with it alone. He’d scream, but I could muffle the sounds, prevent other Enhanced from coming here and finding me and Elf.

  I turn fast, head pounding, see the coffee table, and jump over it. I land like a cat on the other side and feel the way adrenaline rewards me. I shove the table at him, upturning it, sending things everywhere, and then lunge for the ceramic fragments.

  The Enhanced must realize my plan, because he moves at the same moment, shoving a chair to his right where it crashes into the small, wooden cupboard. He reaches the broken mess first—superhuman speed—and grabs me, yanks me back into the center of the room, away from the dagger-like pieces.

  His hand stays around my arm, and I stare at it, aghast.

  You really have been caught.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I can’t be caught—can’t be converted!

  I throw my weight backward, try to throw him off balance, yet he remains strong. Too strong. And I’m still human—properly human. I can use that to my advantage. But how? Need to think.

  With his free hand, the Enhanced man plucks my glasses from my face.

  His lips twist into a smile as he sees my eyes: his confirmation.

  “First time you’ve seen one of us?” I ask, grinning.

  “No.”

  “Then you should know that we work in packs. Much like you do.” I stand taller. “Now, you’re going to let me go, else I’ll bring a whole army of Untamed in here. All with their guns and violent thoughts and murderous intentions. Shall I scream?”

  I have no intention of doing so, but he pauses—and is that worry on his face?

  “They’re just out there.” I jerk my head to the window. “Why don’t you look? You’ll want to see how many there are before I bring them here, yes? You don’t like the element of surprise, do you?”

  He turns his head.

  I punch him and twist around, my whole body thumping with energy. I kick out at him. My foot connects with his shin; the man grunts, but doesn’t let me go—he pulls me closer, snarling in a somewhat comical way that makes my lips twitch. Even their snarls are fake. I’m a good fighter—I know I am; I’m the best in Rahn’s group—but the Enhanced are upgrading their augmenters, getting stronger and stronger. And this man shouldn’t be this good—not with violence, because that’s what it is. Fighting me like this is violent.

  I bring my left foot down as hard as I can, straight onto his foot. At the same time, I throw my weight forward—into him. He stumbles, and I twist, feint a punch with my free arm. He reacts as I want and the momentum throws us both to the left. We crash onto the desk at the side of the room, me beneath him, sending the desk across the floor a few feet, papers flying up. A laptop falls to the floor. The desk’s wooden edge digs into the back of my knees as I swing my legs back and forth, kicking him as he leans over me.

  The images in his eyes reflect, try to distract me. I look away, breathing hard. He still hasn’t produced any augmenters for me yet. That’s good. I turn my head, see a biro still on the desk. Can I stab him with that?

  But, before I can think, his hand slams over my mouth. I bite his fingers as hard as I can. He withdraws his hand immediately. I try to move, but he’s still got me there, he’s too strong.

  “You ba—” I yell, but the air whooshes out of my lungs, cutting me off.

  The man falters, but only a bit. I try to twist around, to see—

  I remember the Swiss army knife in my pocket, and why the hell haven’t I used it yet? I wriggle, trying to get enough room to move my arm, to get it, but I can’t. His weight’s too heavy, and he’s too strong.

  And then an augmenter flashes above me: a small vial of blue liquid, an addictive substance that only allows its user to feel good emotions. Artificial emotions that clog up a person. The augmenters steal humanity, steal souls.

  “It’ll be over soon, wild one,” the Enhanced whispers. And his voice is dark. Dark and dangerous, but there’s something else mixed in there too. Something… Something I can’t place, and there’s no time to think. No time to remember.

  The augmenter is right there.

  “No!” I try to bite
his fingers again, but he moves them deftly out of the way. I wriggle, trying again to move—to get the knife from my pocket—but he leans onto me more, crushing me.

  The look on his face hasn’t changed. He still looks happy—and a little curious. He’s saving me. That’s what he thinks. That’s what they all think.

  He flicks the cap off, and I hear it bounce as it lands on the desk behind my head.

  So close.

  Inches away. The vial is inches away. And he’s closer, leaning over me, his body pressing against mine as he holds me down and moves the augmenter closer…closer…closer….

  I ram my forehead into his.

  Pain breaks out before my eyes, and he falls away from the desk, pulls me with him. In the second before I crash on top of him on the floor, I see the pain in his expression—pain he shouldn’t be able to feel. Or is pain not an emotion, a physical state that they can still feel? Before I can work it out, I land on him, sprawling out onto the paper-strewn floor, and my head whacks down toward him again. I try to stop myself, and—

  Our mouths press against each other. Hard. My lips are parted. His aren’t.

  He tenses.

  I freeze.

  Get out.

  I use him as a board to push myself up, but his hand shackles my wrist. Hot fingers, like rope.

  “No,” he says, and there’s no pain in his voice—the headbutt didn’t hurt him much? What kind of augmenters has he taken? “You…you need saving.”

  “Like hell!” I shove him back into the floor, but he’s strong and we’re struggling now—an even match? Or has he got the upper hand? And he’s going to get another augmenter out for me—any second now.

  You can’t become one of them!

  And I can’t. They’re wiping us out, converting us Untamed, making us all ‘happy’ and ‘perfect’—even ‘correcting’ our bodies and abilities—destroying what it means to be human: to have flaws, to live. Because when they choose what they feel—or when the others choose for them—they’re not living. They don’t feel the rush of adrenaline at an unexpected turn of events…like a surprising kiss.

  They kidnap our people and forcibly convert us because they think they’re enlightened, that they know better. They really think they’re ‘saving’ humanity, making mankind better, destroying negative emotions. That’s why we’re a threat: we can display violence, we can hurt them. Sure, our numbers aren’t great, and we can only reconvert them if they’ve been Enhanced for less than a week—and even then, people aren’t the same.

  We can’t impact Enhanced society that greatly. But we’re their reminder that their world isn’t truly perfect yet. We exist. That’s why they’re after us. I’m sure they get a kick out of forcing augmenters down our throats, showing their dominance, that they’re the ‘greater’ humans.

  If I become Enhanced, it’ll be my choice. Not because some man thinks he knows what’s best for me. A man who can’t even see that he’s exchanged his soul for his lifetime of happiness and security.

  I try to yank my body away from him, need to get up and get out. But his grip is too tight, and he keeps me where I am—on top of him. I manage to elbow him, but it’s not that effective, barely makes him grunt. I go to punch him, but he blocks it somehow. My breathing ratchets up a notch. His fingers dig painfully into my shoulder. And I know I need to do something now.

  Then my eyes widen.

  When our mouths touched, he froze. I had the advantage then.

  I lean into him, grab his head with both my hands, and kiss him hard, ignoring the internal screaming within me. His lips are soft—surprisingly soft—but they’re firm too, and—

  His grip on me slackens beautifully, and I use the opportunity to push his head back a little, give myself more room. I need to get away, and I’m painfully aware of how on top of him—and kissing him—I am. Every part of me wants to stop kissing him, but I can feel the difference. He’s not fighting me, not when I’m kissing him.

  Keep kissing him.

  I do, and I try not to think about who I’m kissing. Except, of course, I do. Kissing the enemy. My pulse surges. Oh, if the others could see this! A strange kind of excitement fizzles through me, and I try to push it down. Need to think—need to keep kissing him, keep him distracted. And I need to get away from him. Can I run to the bolted door from here? Would I have enough time to open it? Is he distracted enough? How much of this is he going to feel if he’s not taken Lust or Passion or whatever sexy augmenters they have?

  He makes a noise deep in his throat, sounds like he’s enjoying it. He must feel some of it. Or maybe it’s making him feel happy—they all take Happiness in their daily concoctions, don’t they?

  I kiss him harder, imagining he’s Nico. Except this man kisses me back in a way that Nico never has. This man isn’t restrained. He’s not worried. He puts everything into it.

  And he’s an Enhanced.

  His hand moves from restraining me to holding me, gently—just like that. I turn my head slightly, moving to kiss his throat, my eyes searching the carpet for anything that might help when I move to get away. I don’t know how quickly he’ll recover. I kiss the soft skin at the base of his neck, wonder if I can bite through an artery or something important there.

  Then I see it.

  The knife. His knife. The Swiss army knife. Must’ve fallen out of my pocket. But that’s perfect.

  His breathing is heavy as I move my right arm slowly. I kiss his mouth again, his tongue pressing against mine, and fight the waves of shock in me as I feel his body respond.

  Time seems to stand still as I move my hand inch by inch, still kissing him. My fingers click as I wrap them around the Swiss army knife.

  He moans.

  Now.

  I pull the knife toward me and manage to flick the blade out using one hand. Then I stab him in the shoulder in one swift motion.

  What the hell? His shoulder! You should’ve gone for the abdominal aorta!

  His eyes spring open as his body jerks. “You—”

  I yank my knife out of him and catapult away, through the office and—

  “Keelie!” the Enhanced man yells.

  Part of me falters. He knows my name?

  Stab him again! Kill him!

  But I ignore the voice in my head. I know when it’s time to abandon the plan, when it’s time to retreat. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have, but even though Rahn’s a pain, I’m more sensible now. And I’ve got to think of the others.

  Is it sensible though, leaving him alive? Why are you leaving him alive?

  I push the voice away.

  The small wooden cupboard is against the wall, near the bolted door—pushed over here in the fight—and I leap on top of it and slide the door’s bolt back before the momentum of my jump sends me to the floor. I grab the door handle, turn it, push the door, and…it doesn’t move. Doesn’t move at all.

  I freeze. Look up. The bolt’s definitely clear.

  “It gets stuck,” the Enhanced man whispers.

  I turn my head in a flash. He’s sitting up, but he’s not coming after me. He’s slumped by the desk, blood pouring out of his shoulder. And his eyes—they’re mirrors; of course they’re mirrors, but there’s something else too. Recognition?

  No. That’s stupid.

  He doesn’t know me. He can’t know me. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.

  But he knows my name.

  “You have to push it harder,” the man says. He brings a hand up to his shoulder, and he’s trying to stop the bleeding, but he’s doing it all wrong and not pressing firmly enough. He’s not even looking at the wound; his face is tilted toward me. “The door… Push it harder… It gets stuck.”

  My shoulders tighten. Like I couldn’t work that out myself.

  “Your glasses,” he croaks, and he raises his good arm, points.

  My eyes snap to them. They’re on the floor, next to him. If I go to them, he’ll grab me. It’s a trap.

  “Your eyes are beau
tiful, but you can’t go back out there without the glasses on,” he says.

  And he’s looking at me, and I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. It’s too…familiar.

  “I’ll take that chance,” I say, waving the knife.

  “Okay,” the Enhanced man whispers. “Run now.”

  Sweat pours down my back, down my forehead, down my arms. I grab the door handle, twist it, and throw my weight at the door. All my weight. The door flies open, and I trip over the threshold, land on my knees.

  But I’m up in an instant, looking over my shoulder. The Enhanced hasn’t moved. He hasn’t pounced on me. He hasn’t even tried. He just watches me; he’s letting me get away.

  Why?

  But I know I can’t think about that now.

  I run.

  “We need to go!” I hiss at Elf as I reach him, my voice a little too loud than it should be. He’s still in the same place, and I pull him away.

  My heart pounds. We need to meet Nico, Yani, and Rahn at the meeting place, and then get back to Nbutai. I look back toward the office, expecting the man to come out—or for other Enhanced Ones to appear in the forecourt—but no one does.

  “What?” Elf says, his voice low. “Where are your glasses? What the hell’s happened to you?”

  I try to wipe the still-wet blade of the knife on my jacket as I slow to a brisk walk, keeping a lookout all around. I want to run as fast as I can, but I know that would be a dead giveaway. “There was a bloody Enhanced One in there!”

  Through his heavily tinted glasses, I see Elf’s eyes widen, and suddenly it’s so obvious that these glasses aren’t enough—we need ones like Rahn’s, even if they do block most of the sun out.

  “Did you kill him? Where’s your gun?”

  Shit. The gun.

  I look back. It’s there—on the ground, just outside the window. How didn’t Elf see it being thrown out? How didn’t that alert him something was wrong? What the hell was he doing?

  And now my gun’s lying there.