We were each a different breed of devil, creating our own versions of hell.
Ky tended to indulge in a merciless type of reverse psychology. No one could get inside someone’s head like he could.
I’d seen more than a few people lose their minds because of him and it was a beautiful thing to witness.
Charon was all about creating chaos. He was so good at it he made it seem like a form of art. A real fucking Van Gogh you could say.
Maverick had a penchant for absolute madness. It was his drug of choice, a habit he hadn’t been able to kick since the sixth grade.
As for me? I was the wildcard of the group. Sometimes I impressed myself with what I could make happen.
I returned my attention to the various flat screens we had mounted on the wall. Each one showed a different part of Devil’s Playground.
Goetia didn’t have shit on this place.
This was a whole different realm of depravity. Nothing was off limits. For every person that arrived, two more had already died. Only a small percentage made it out alive and even then, the game was never truly over.
I watched Lana and the guy she’d been buddied up with make their way towards the high school. Dion was his name. He didn’t remember me either. If he did, he’d have all the answers to the questions he kept asking.
Puppet slowed down and tapped his arm, directing his attention to a street sign. I was trying to understand why she keep fucking touching him. The first time had been too many times already. This was the third.
I leaned back, strumming my fingers on the arm of my chair.
“You okay over there?” Charon asked, a knowing grin following behind the dumbass rhetorical question.
“Of course, he isn’t,” Maverick replied before I could. “Dion’s looked at his girl’s ass at least four times. Not that I blame him.”
“What was that?”
“I said the poor guy is desperate to find his girlfriend.”
“Uh huh. That’s what I thought I heard.”
Contemplating my next move. I glanced over at the stand we’d set up against the right wall. Maverick stepped closer to one of the screens, watching where Melantha was displayed, his dark eyes slightly narrowing.
“Are you sure you want to use her for this one?” I asked.
“She’s already tied up.”
“You know she could die, right?” Charon pointed out the obvious.
“Isn’t that the point? What about you, Raze? Are you sure you want to go through with all this?” Maverick questioned, calling me by the shortened version of my alias.
“What would make me unsure?”
“You know she could die?”
“The puppet dances as long the puppeteer pulls her strings,” Kyrous cut in.
Maverick turned towards him and pointed. “Don’t do that. It makes you sound like your crazy ass baby sister.”
“What can I say? It runs in the family. We have an eloquent way of speaking.”
“Right, well anyways. We can’t deviate anymore off course. We’ll have to play this out and see who lives and dies,” Maverick continued.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
Charon glanced away from the monitors, sparing me a skeptical look. “Aren’t you worried her new friend might swoop in and steal her dark heart away by rescuing her from danger?” Charon asked.
Now it was my turn to scoff.
Puppet was mine dead or alive. That was a promise drafted in blood and sealed with an oath from the world we were chained to.
This went even deeper than that, though. Every demon wants their pound of flesh, and Liliana Serpine just so happened to be exactly what I needed. She was everything I wanted. I’d staked my claim on her years ago.
“The only thing Lana needs saving from is herself.”
“And you.”
“Nothing can save her from me.”
He grinned and shook his head.
I stood from my chair and went over to the side table, examining the masks we’d received as graduation gifts years ago. These were more than a simple disguise--they were our identities of sorts. When we slipped these on it was for two reasons only—to play and to kill. Lifting mine as Maverick came to retrieve his, I knew this time would be no different.
CHAPTER SIX
Dion saw her before I did.
He grabbed hold of my arm and pointed to the building on the other side of the road.
“Look! You see that?”
I searched the windows trying to spot whatever it was he had. Some were completely dark while a few others had lights on, but nothing abnormal stood out.
“See what?”
“Someone just ran by. Sixth story up, six windows from the left.”
“What type of someone?”
My answer came in the form of a woman running up to the very window he’d mentioned.
When she spotted us, she began banging her fist against it. This and the way she kept glancing over her shoulder gave away that someone was pursuing her. She clawed at the glass, frantically searching for a way to open the window, leaving bloodied tracks on the otherwise pristine pane.