“You found him?” I gasped, instantly jumping to what I hoped this was going to be about.
Jacob's frown was brief. He hid it quickly. “Unfortunately, no. I came by because Kite and I were discussing something fun for us to all do together.”
My brain ran with erotic images. I shook myself sharply, but the visions lingered. “What kind of something?”
Lifting his fingers, Jacob emulated the shape of a gun. It had my heart stuttering. Picturing him holding a weapon would never go down smoothly. “How does paintball sound?”
“Paintball?” I repeated him, making sure I'd heard him right. They both smiled, waiting expectantly for me to... what? Clap and cheer? “I've never done it before. Will it help me get better at aiming a real gun?”
Kite scoffed, his hand coming down to trace my shoulder. It felt wonderful. “Of course it will. Also, it's super fun. You'll love it.”
“I'm imagining you two shooting me over and over,” I mumbled. “That's how it works, right? Tiny, hard balls of paint slamming into me by guys who have way more practice with a moving target?”
“Practice, that's the word to focus on,” Jacob said.
“Also fun,” Kite added. He was stroking down my arm idly. “It'll be good to get outside and run around.”
I couldn't resist their charm. Sighing dramatically, I let my smile take over. “I'm all for it. Sitting here is getting old, anyway.”
If these hitmen said paintball could up my abilities, then I would listen. It wasn't about fun. It was about progress.
Purpose.
Though, I still worried that the two of them were about to destroy me in the game ahead. I'd never played paintball, and my gun experience was pretty small. Kite and Jacob were skilled killers. But with all their claims about fun...
How bad could this really be?
****
They drove us to a forested area not far from the shed Kite had taken me too.
This wasn't a professional range. This was me and them, alone in the woods. It had all the ingredients for a horror movie.
If they planned to kill me, now would be a good time for it.
It was disconcerting, the idea of them taking me out here just to end my life. I didn't believe they would kill me before finishing the job I'd given them, but that wasn't why I was upset.
I was nervous because I didn't want to die anymore.
Not ever. And not from them.
This was that dumb, wiggly thing they had grown in me. The desire for life, for a future—it was new and it was terrifying.
The car slowed to a halt on a path. “Here we are,” Jacob said, cutting the engine. We all climbed free, my sneakers crunching on dead leaves. March was coming, but it didn't feel like it.
Peeking around, I saw nothing but trees and brush. A barren land, all to ourselves.
“Here, come put this on.” Kite waved me over to the open trunk. Inside, I saw all the shiny gear and guns. The balls of paint looked like candy in their plastic cases.
Kite lifted a pair of goggles, helping me fit them on my head. When they were settled, he grinned and tapped me over the left eye. “The paintball guns are called 'markers.' Treat it like a real gun. Remember everything I taught you?”
“Definitely,” I said, holding out my hands. Lethal or not, I loved the idea of having some kind of weapon.
The 'marker' as he'd called it was big, but that was due to the tank of paint balls on top. Twisting it around, I tested the weight. My finger stayed away from the trigger; I really had committed everything Kite had shown me to memory.
“How bad is this going to hurt?” I asked.
Unzipping his jacket, Jacob set it in the trunk. The new one he slid into looked both smaller and more heavy duty. It was a mossy green color. “It will sting,” he said. “The goggles will keep your eyes intact. Otherwise, these won't do anything too terrible.”
Hands came down on my shoulders. “Do not,” Kite said, suddenly very serious, “Shoot me in the balls. Understand?”
That did it, I started giggling. Covering my mouth, I felt a flush of warmth over their teasing smiles. Maybe this really was going to be fun.
Hoisting the gun, I grinned. “Okay, tell me how this works.”
They took their time, explaining how to work the gun, and that each of us would get our own color of paint.
“If you get hit,” Jacob said, pushing lightly against my collar bone to mimic a flying ball. “We get one point. If you hit either of us, you get five points. We'll play to ten, that means you just have to hit us each once, or one of us twice.”
I swallowed the lump that had grown in my throat. Jacob hadn't removed his finger, I could feel its pressure through the jacket they had given me. “What are the points for?”
“To decide who wins.” His nail curved, dragging down my chest. Never too far, just enough to make my heart throb.
“But what does the winner get?” I asked warily.
Kite swayed into my vision, his handsome face sharp in its slyness. “Whatever they want.”