These Deadly Games(32)

“Hang on,” I whispered to Brady. We’d just snuck back into Zoey’s house, quiet as mice. The lights were still off except those in the kitchen. Upstairs, Zoey’s parents’ bedroom door was closed, and all was silent and still.

I gave Brady a mischievous grin and raised a finger to my lips. He nodded conspiratorially. As we crept downstairs, everyone was laughing over something, oblivious to our return. I took my phone from my pocket and readied the flashlight, heart pattering with giddiness. At the bottom of the stairs, I flicked the light switch, plunging the den into darkness.

Akira gasped.

“What the—” Matty started.

Creeping closer, I held the phone under my chin and turned on the flashlight, setting my face aglow, and made a raspy growling noise. Zoey squealed, but the shriek that came out of Akira would’ve been loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood if the basement wasn’t soundproofed.

Matty and Randall hooted as she burrowed into her sleeping bag.

Zoey stood and lunged at the light switch. For a sec, I was afraid she’d be mad, but she was laughing. “Kiki, it’s just Crystal.”

Akira peeked out, eyes darting toward the creepy door in the back corner. “I thought … I thought…” She fully reemerged, pursed her lips, and chucked an Olaf stuffed animal at me. “Fool!” Then she succumbed to a fit of giggles with the rest of us.

Brady stood to the side, chuckling awkwardly. Nobody acknowledged his reappearance. Hopefully, we could just forget what happened earlier and have fun.

“You guys,” I whispered excitedly. “Everyone’s asleep upstairs. Let’s go play Manhunt.”

Zoey’s smile collapsed. “No. I told you, my parents’ll kill me if we sneak out.”

“We were just outside.” I pointed between me and Brady. “And they had no idea.”

“You were gone for, like, five minutes, though.”

“C’mon, Zoey,” said Randall. “Don’t be such a chicken.”

Matty squawked.

“What about Sanctuary?” said Brady.

“We’ll play it after,” said Akira.

Zoey stretched her sleeves over her fists, looking torn.

“C’mon, Zoey.” I shook her arm. “Your parents won’t murder you on your birthday. Nobody’s going to die. It’ll be so much fun.”

After a moment, her eyes sparkled with rebellion. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As everyone scrambled into their coats, Brady moaned, “Ugh, I forgot my jacket at home.”

“Oh, farts.” Matty dug an oversize red sweatshirt from his duffel and tossed it over. “Here.”

Brady pulled it on—it had a Minecraft creeper design and came nearly to his knees, and he had to bunch up the sleeves to free his hands.

Zoey disappeared into the storage room. Akira grimaced, like some ghosts might hack Zoey to bits, but she quickly reemerged wearing a pink pom-pom hat and matching gloves, wielding flashlights. “We only have four.”

As Matty and Randall wrestled over one, I said, “I’ll use the one on my phone,” passing a flashlight to Akira. She and Brady didn’t have smartphones yet.

I led everyone upstairs and held the side door open as my friends slipped out into the crisp night air. Akira and Randall laughed giddily as they dashed up the hill toward the swing set behind the house, and Zoey followed, shushing them. I quietly shut the door and started to run, not wanting to be left behind, and stumbled over the step down from the stoop.

My arms shot out, and I gasped, bracing for impact.

Someone grasped the back of my jacket and yanked me back. Once I regained my footing, I saw it was Matty. He’d been waiting for me. “That was almost a fiasco,” he said.

I laughed and straightened my jacket. “Totally. Thanks.”

“Maybe try not to be such a klutz.” A coy smile blossomed across his lips.

I tried to shove him, but he angled out of reach. “Maybe try not to be such a futz.”

“Maybe try not to be such a butt!”

Giggling, I chased him across the backyard toward the others.

The night was ours.





CHAPTER 13


There were two men in this world I fully didn’t trust—well, not including politicians and stuff. Men I knew personally. And one of them was in my kitchen.

Chief Sanchez hunched over the counter, sniffing the tray of brownies I’d brought upstairs after a pair of paramedics whisked Matty away. They’d detected a faint heartbeat. Gave him a large dose of epinephrine. But he remained unresponsive, and they wouldn’t let any of us in the ambulance with him. Akira went into eternal optimist mode, trying to convince us all he’d be fine. But how could she possibly know that? God knew what was really happening.

Now we gathered in my kitchen, Sanchez dominating the space, tall and broad-shouldered, with side-swept ebony hair flecked with gray, and a dark, scruffy goatee. A gun protruded from his holster, black as night. Did it bother him to carry death on his waist? Did it weigh him down? My eyes kept fluttering to it, just like they had that time at Food Xpress last year.

Sanchez had gotten in line behind me as Mom unloaded groceries from our cart onto the belt at Randall’s register, clutching a wrapped sandwich and a Coke bottle, scrolling through his phone. I’d reflexively glanced at his gun, feeling a stab of unease.