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“Did I?”

Vero cackles, doubling over with both hands on his knees. “She missed on purpose, dickhead. Clay you are so screwed.”

“FYI, I never miss,” I say, lowering the gun and looking Clay dead in the eye. “That was a warning shot.”

Ares makes a sound behind me, one I am nearly certain is a laugh, though it’s almost silent. I turn to look at him, and his arms are folded across his chest, head tilted just slightly. He is watching me the way he did previously, like he wants to deconstruct me from the inside out.

Clay’s smile drops and his jaw tightens as I turn the paintball gun over in my hand. Nixie comes out and runs us through the safety briefing—a two-minute head start for me, stay inside the boundary markers, no dead bodies.

“Any questions?”

“Is there anything in there I should know about?” I ask her, because I don’t want any surprise scarecrows taking me out.

“Military props, full tanker, bunkers, watchtowers,” she replies.

“What’s the tanker for?” It seems a little excessive to have a full-sized one in there.

Vero raises his hand. “I may have requested a tanker.”

With a sigh, I check my gun one more time and look at Clay, who is watching me over his bandanna with an unreadable expression. I smile at him sweetly. “Try to keep up.”

“You’ve got two minutes,” he says. “Make them count.”

The gates open and I don’t waste a single second, charging inside.

I run along the left perimeter line, using the fence as cover while my eyes adjust to the layout. The tanker is dead center, completely blocking the line of sight through the middle of the space, but it means anyone coming through the main path is visible from at least three angles. I make a mental note of that and keep moving.

Bunkers line the left side of the field, and a watchtower is situated in the far-left corner. I run toward it and climb the stairs, as from up here I can see the entire ground level. The gates swing open, and I drop down behind the tower wall before any of them clear the entrance.

Footsteps sneak below me and sound like they head off behind the nearby camo mesh hanging between two trees, which ripples subtly in their wake. I see a shadow near the bunkers that materializes into Brawley as he moves to peer inside one, but he isn’t my target, so I let him pass.

I have only one target in mind.

I cautiously exit the tower and move through the course with stealth until I’m at the back of the tanker, where I locate Clay, whose facing away from me. After checking my surroundings, I follow quietly behind him. As he sneaks toward the back of the largest bunker, I raise my gun, but he must sense me. Right as he turns, I pull the trigger, and a paintball hits him square in the chest. A giant blue patch of paint explodes right over his heart.

Clay looks down at the paint spreading across his camo shirt and then at me.

I lower the gun and smile, gloating at my win.

He pulls his bandanna down and smirks at me. Then, before I can say anything, I hear the click of three guns behind me, and I close my eyes, bracing for the hits.

“Don’t move,” Vero says, and I know he has a massive grin on his face. “Hands where I can see them.”

I raise both my hands slowly and turn to see Vero, Brawley, and Ares standing in a semi-circle behind me, all their guns raised, and the three of them are covered in varying amounts of paint—which means they have been taking shots at each other.

“You set me up,” I accuse.

Vero lowers his gun and presses it to his chest. “We lured you in. But you got Clay, and I want it noted that he owes me forty dollars now.”

Behind me, Clay reloads, and I turn back around to find him looking at me.

He raises his gun and shoots me directly in the shoulder. “Now we’re even,” he says.

Not even close, but for now, I will let him think he has won this round.

Chapter Twelve

Brawley