same ashtray gray as the snow on the ground. It meets somewhere in the middle and creates the illusion the horizon rolls on forever. The sprawling hotel in front of it is only a few shades lighter.
Angelo lights up a cigarette. “You’ve watched The Shining, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
Fucking Gabe. I was feeling equal parts generous, preoccupied, and out-of-luck when I handed him the right to choose the set-up for this month’s Sinners Anonymous game. This was way back when I was as oblivious as Angelo, believing our brother was crawling the walls with the mundane task of eliminating Dante’s men with slashed tires and laced cigarettes, not torturing them with makeshift weapons in a cave.
We drove for hours, way past Devil’s Cove, up to where Canada’s terrain and cold weather seep out from its border.
“He only killed a cat,” Angelo grunts.
Begrudgingly, I’m thinking the same thing. Why the fuck am I standing half a mile from British Colombia, in front of an abandoned hotel, for a cat killer?
“You know I’m not one to dampen the spirit of the game, and I’m always hassling you to be a little more creative, but in this instance a drive-by shooting would have sufficed.” My mind flicks to Penny, back on the yacht, warming my bed. “I’ve got better shit to do,” I mutter.
Behind us, three shots ring out in quick succession. Angelo and I whip around in unison, guns cocked. We let them go slack when our idiot brother emerges from the fog, firing an AK-47 at the sky.
“Good afternoon.” He squints up at the falling snow. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
I stare at him. “It’s a miracle you’ve never been to prison.”
“Mm,” Angelo agrees. “Not even a short stint.”
Gabe ignores us and nods behind him. Two of his men come into view, dragging a large metal trunk across the snow. They pop it open to reveal an array of modified metal implements. Most pieces I recognize from rifling through the iron chest in his cave; some I don’t.
By the sharp intake of breath, Angelo hasn’t seen any of them before.
“What the fuck is that?” He crunches over the snow and peers into the box. “Is that… Fuck, does that have a motor attached?”
Gabe straightens up and regards us both with his signature indifference. “Listen carefully, because I can’t be fucked to repeat myself.” Angelo ducks as Gabe swings the AK-47 up, pointing it at the hotel behind us.
“Black Springs Resort and Spa. Been up for sale for the last twenty-five years, and now it’s the latest addition to the Visconti property empire.”
“You bought that thing?” Angelo asks quietly, temple ticking. “With money?”
“No, with magic beans,” Gabe deadpans. “I’ve bolted all the doors and windows shut.” He stoops into his trunk and pulls out an electric drill. “There’s only one way in, and unfortunately for our sinner, no way out.”
I turn one-eighty, glaring up at the hotel with fresh eyes. Through the sheets of snow, I hadn’t even noticed the iron grates covering the windows and doors. “He’s already in there?”
“Been in there for three days, brother. No light, no water, no stimulation.” Gabe rubs his hands together. “He’s going to be desperate to get out.”
“Christ,” Angelo mutters, popping his knuckles.
“Choose a number.”
My head snaps back to Gabe. “What?”
“A number. Between one and twenty.”
“One,” Angelo drawls. He glances at me. “Can never go wrong with one.”
Gabe’s lackey dives into the trunk, checking the small label on the bottom of each weapon. He hands Angelo a fishing spear.
“No,” Angelo says sharply.
“Didn’t ask,” Gabe grunts back. His eyes meet mine. “Number.”
I scrape my teeth over my lip, thinking. Clearly, the number I choose will dictate the weapon I’m armed with. It’s all down to luck. A reckless wind snakes down my collar, and the ugly green socks tighten on my ankles.
Fuck it; let’s see if they work.
“Thirteen.”
Angelo mutters something about me being an idiot. Gabe cuts me a knowing look. “Thought you might say that,” he murmurs, handing me my favorite weapon of all.
“Easy,” I purr, slapping the hammer against my palm, adrenaline nipping at my edges. “Give us the rules.”
Pressing the AK-47 into his lackey’s chest, he tightens his grip on the drill and steps between us.
“You don’t need the rules, brother, it’s just hide and seek.” He nods to the decaying building. “There’s two-hundred-and-fifty-one rooms in there. He’s hiding in one, and whoever seeks him out first, wins.”
“What do we win?”
Gabe glances at me. “A beer from the Rusty Anchor.”
I let out a dry breath. “How very motivating.”
Angelo stares at his fishing spear in disgust. “You’re going to make us leave our guns out here, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Hand them over.”
Unease slithers through my veins as I press my Glock into his lackey’s palm. Hunting in the dark with nothing but a hammer feels very primal. Very Gabe. Usually, I’d be delighted he’s taking the game so seriously. This, plus the set-up he created in the cherry field for last month’s game, is an excellent change from the usual concrete dungeons he picks. But with my current…problems, it seems as though a lot could go wrong.
Gabe sweeps an eye over us and nods in approval. “Let’s begin.”
We close in on the hotel in silence. Gritty snowfall compacts underfoot as the wind whistles a haunting tune in my ears.
The closer we get, the eerier the hotel becomes. Fuck, it really is something out of a horror film. The mist devours the tops of the fake turrets, and the graying paint has cracked into a thousand spider veins. The thought of clambering around its pitch-black rooms in a fucked-up game of cat and mouse pokes at the sadist in me.
Gabe grinds to a halt in front of the iron-clad door. “Wanna see something cool?” Before we can reply, he snaps off the walkie-talkie from his waistband and clears his throat. Brings it to his mouth and taunts, “Ready or not, here we come.”
I hear his voice everywhere but beside me. It seeps out of the mansion, loud yet muffled, and gets swept away by the wind.
Angelo runs a palm over his smirk, shaking his head. “You rigged up speakers? That’s fucking terrifying.”
Gabe gives me a knowing look, touched with dry humor. “I like the acoustics.”
The sizzle of a cigarette; the screams of a long-lost cousin. I shudder at the memory and turn back to the hotel.
Gabe’s drill works through the lock. Angelo mutters something about using a fucking key, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. Suddenly, something very unfunny is squeezing the nape of my neck, and the last time I had this feeling, I found myself staring down the barrel of a gun just a few moments later.
My grip tightens on the hammer. “Is he unarmed?”
The way Angelo sneers at me, you’d think I’d just confessed to pissing the bed. “Are you?” he snaps back, eyes darting down to the hammer.
With a groan, the door heaves open, revealing the void behind it. Gabe slams it shut behind us, and then the games begin.
The darkness is blinding.
“Come on, cat-killer,” Angelo murmurs to my left. The sound of his easy swagger tapers off into a connecting room.
A hand grips my shoulder. “Do me a solid, brother. If you find him, maim—don’t kill. Griffin could do with some company.”
I squint into the abyss, shaking out of Gabe’s clutches. Griffin’s still alive? Fuck me, he must be in ruins.
He skulks out of reach, and now I’m alone. Devoid of sight, my ears prickle with awareness.
Floorboards groan. Footsteps echo. The tease of a drill whirs above my head. With every room I enter, each blacker than the last, the unease tightens another notch around my neck.
To my right, something rustles. A shadow shifts within a shadow, and without thinking twice, I swing for it. Metal glints and the claw sinks into rotting plaster board.
After wrenching it out, my grip loosens on the hammer handle, and I drop my head to the wall.
Fuck. I’m losing my damn mind.
I don’t realize I said that aloud until a reply comes from the shadows.
Gruff. Familiar. So close.
“I can’t say I ever thought of you as sane in the first place, cugino.”
Dante has always worn the most awful aftershave. It’s the last thing that assaults my senses before sharpness sears my skin.
