Page 1 of Survival Game

SURVIVAL GAME

Chapter One

Some sounds a man never forgets. It could be his newborn child drawing their first breath, or the whispered exhale of a lover as they climax. It could be the first bars of a song at his wedding or a round of applause at his first big casino win.

Some sounds needed to be forgotten. The slap of a fist hitting flesh; the wheeze of breath as ribs shatter; the ringing in the ears from being hit over and over again.

Kyle Tripper wished he could forget the sounds of his past. Hearing them when sleeping was bad enough. He didn’t need to be reminded when he was awake.

He sat in the cinema next to Steve, his blind date, hearing him munch through copious amounts of popcorn. On screen, a senseless and violent film played. The bile in Kyle’s mouth soured the taste of the sweet Pepsi he’d just sipped.

He held his phone in his lap, trying to make sure its light didn’t disturb people behind him as he texted.

This sucks, boss. My date is an arsehole. Making me watch Fistfight instead of Hackaway. FML.

He’d been looking forward to seeing the acclaimed drama about a group of misspent youths taking part in a corporate project to test corporate security.

Ryan Bishop, his friend and employer, was quick to text back.

Hey, Violet, make an excuse and get out of there. Didn’t you have to wash your hair?:)

Kyle smirked at the nickname—courtesy of his purple hair and violet contacts—then winced as a man on screen screamed loudly in pain. The plot of Fistfight was nothing more than a badly directed effort at giving brawny men the excuse to beat each other senseless. He wasn’t a fan. His hands shook a little when he texted his reply.

Yeah, I’m going to bail once we get out of here. He can forget dinner.

In return, Ryan provided a gif of a man running screaming down the street, together with a thumbs-up emoji and the words: He gives you any trouble, call me. I’ll send Mango along to sort him out. An angry emoji ended the text.

Kyle was sure Ryan’s partner would love to sort someone out. Everyone was wary of Mango Munroe and his fierce stare, and even more protective instincts.

Pushing the phone back into his jacket pocket, Kyle heaved a sigh. The one saving grace was that the film was almost over.

Ten minutes later, they were standing in the chilly early March evening air, huffing clouds of steam from cool lips.

“Wasn’t that a great film?” Steve enthused as he huddled into his parka. “I love man-on-man fight action and car chases.”

Kyle grimaced. “Not my thing,” he muttered, shaken and morose from all the gratuitous on-screen violence. “I mean, come on. There’s not much to a film like that, is there? Just some guys with their shirts off beating up on other guys.” His dark mood deepened. He needed a drink, something to forget the sordid memories the film had stirred.

Steve shoved his arm playfully. “Come on, gorgeous. You mean all that testosterone and chest hair doesn’t turn you on just a little bit? Leave you with a need to maybe get up close and personal with someone?”

Steve edged closer, his intent clear.

Kyle didn’t want to be there on the street with a man who thought violence was a turn-on. He’d been down that road before. He wanted to go home to his flat a few blocks down from Club Delish—the nightclub where he worked—make hot chocolate, and crawl under a duvet, alone. The contacts in his eyes hurt, making them gritty and sore.

He shook his head, moving out of Steve’s orbit. “I’m not feeling too well, actually. I think I’m going to skip your dinner offer and go home.”

Steve stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “Honestly? You’re going to leave me here with a boner and expect me to take care of it myself? Especially after paying for the film?”

The first trickling of unease danced across Kyle’s spine like sly spider legs. He moved further away from Steve, regarding him warily.

“If I’d known the payment for being treated to a movie was taking care of your boner, I’d rather not have gone,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realise there was a quid pro quo for being company tonight.”

My blind date just got fucking worse. Never again.

“Well, that’s how the dating world normally works, Kyle.” Steve moved closer, anger threading through his tone. Kyle’s vision swam as his personal space was encroached. Panic fluttered in his chest, making his heart skip beats.

“Don’t crowd me, Steve,” Kyle warned. “Can’t we just say we didn’t agree on the film choice and leave it at that? I don’t want to go home on a bad note.”

Steve gripped his arm, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “Maybe just a kiss then?” he wheedled, as Kyle’s heart thudded madly. “Or a quick blowjob? I bet those beautiful lips of yours know just how to make a man happy. Your lips and my cock—that’s a match.” Steve leaned in, and instinctively Kyle raised his arm and pushed back on Steve’s hard chest.