by Megan Derr
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Details
Dedication
A Game Most Dangerous
About the Author
A GAME MOST
DANGEROUS
MEGAN DERR
Rain is on spring break with his friends and bored out of his mind—when he's not pining after his best friend Whitney, anyway. Then a storm knocks him overboard and he winds up trapped on an island with an ominous reputation…
BOOK DETAILS
A Game Most Dangerous
By Megan Derr
Published by Megan Derr
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha M. Derr
Cover designed by Megan Derr
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition August 2015
Copyright © 2015 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
For Samantha,
It was her idea, I just stole it
A GAME MOST
DANGEROUS
Rain was bored. The tropics were boring. Why did everyone want to go to tropical islands for vacation?
He stifled a sigh as he watched his friends haggle over mugs and t-shirts and other shit they'd forget existed after being home for a week. Finishing his lychee bubble tea, he wandered over to the edge of the tourist trap flea market and looked out at the water.
Someone clapped him on the back, then slid their arm down to hook loosely around his waist. The smell of coconut and peppermint wafted over Rain, and he turned to smile half-heartedly at Whitney, who grinned back. The one good thing about boring tropical islands was that Whitney looked good in the sunshine. It brought out his freckles and put some color in his pasty skin. "Stop pouting, Rain. I promise we'll do something interesting soon. You didn't have to come, you know. My sister and her lot were going up into the mountains; you could have gone with them."
And miss the chance to share a hotel room with Whitney and further torture himself pining and wishing and never actually finding the nerve to say something? Why would he choose a nice, relaxing vacation over being bored and stressed at the same time?
Because freckles and swimsuits.
He sighed and dropped his own arm over Whitney's shoulders. "Why would I go with your sister when I have the perfect opportunity to drown you?"
"Haha," Whitney said lightly. "Still bitter I whooped your ass at volleyball last night?"
Rain scoffed, but before he could reply, someone shouted for them.
Whitney practically started bouncing with excitement. "Come on! Boat's ready."
"What boat?" That sounded interesting, at least. Water was always a good thing, even if he preferred a nice, chilly mountain lake to nasty-tasting saltwater.
He trailed after Whitney onto the overblown yacht Jefferson had probably been responsible for renting—or maybe even owned, who knew with Jefferson's ridiculous family—then headed toward the front where the wind and the sea spray were greatest.
Whitney's soft chuckle came from behind him a while later, and Rain turned to see him leaning against the railing, beautiful and kissable and god he wanted to try, but he'd rather be stuck on an island the rest of his life than get told thanks, but no by the most important person in his life. "Look at you, like a kid on Christmas. Sometimes I think you're a dog, not—"
"Check it out!" Brandon interjected, rushing up into their space, smelling like tequila and cheap perfume. Rain wrinkled his nose but smiled as Brandon shoved at both of them, forcing them to turn around. "It's the island, dudes!"
"What island?" Rain asked. He stared at the island in question, but it looked exactly like all the others they'd been on or near the past week. Well, it had more jungle to it—hard to see anything but the jungle, in fact. "Doesn't look terribly special to me."
Brandon snorted and gave him a shove. "Yeah, we all know you only have eyes for one special."
"Yeah, Rain and his precious comic book collection," Whitney said, staring at the island while Rain glared death at a smirking Brandon.
"Tell me about the stupid island before I pitch you overboard," Rain said.
Lighting up as they came back to his topic du jour, Brandon shoved his glasses up his nose and said, "It's called Ship-Trap Island because it's got a long history of fucking over ships, but like a hundred years ago, this crazy dude lived there, his name was General Zaroff—"
"I don't think 'General' is a name—"
"Shut up," Brandon replied cheerfully, jabbing Rain in the stomach. "Anyway, smartass, Zaroff used to kidnap the sailors that washed up on shore and hunt them."
"Hunt them? I don't think it's called hunting when it's people killing other people," Rain replied. "That aside, is it really hunting if you're just chasing them around what amounts to a cage?"
Brandon shrugged. "Don't think it mattered to him, dude. They found like two hundred mounted human heads in some secret room of his house on the island, and like the remains of hunting dogs and more people all over the island. It's been closed off ever since, though rumor has it someone bought it recently and is gonna turn it into a private resort or something."
"That sounds like a poor business decision," Whitney said. "I'm pretty sure nobody wants to vacation on the island of a serial killer who hunted people like my dad hunts deer and shit." He lifted his eyes to the sky even as he finished the sentence. "Who am I kidding? People would pay a mint for that. I can see the Hunt or Be Hunted vacation packages now."
Rain grimaced. "People are weird."
Whitney cast him a look, a tiny, private little smile curving his mouth.
Brandon just laughed and clapped them both on the shoulders again. "Anyway, I thought that might give Mr. I'm So Bored here something to occupy himself for ten minutes. Come on, we're gonna do shots." He wandered off, calling out to Tommy and Jefferson, who hailed back with bottles of tequila and rum.
Rain and Whitney shared a look, then Rain went back to staring at the island. "Do you really think someone bought it?"
"People will sell anything for the right amount of money," Whitney said with a shrug. "Come on, where there's alcohol, there's hopefully food."
"Not with our lot," Rain said with a grin and fell into step beside him as they went to join the fray.
Three hours and several shenanigans later, the yacht finally pulled away from the island they'd stopped on to do some swimming and headed home. Rain frowned at the dark clouds coming rapidly toward them. "Pretty sure we're fucked."
"There's no pretty sure with you, bro, not where weather is concerned," Jefferson said. "If you say we're screwed, we're screwed."
"I'd get inside and hope whoever is driving this thing knows what they're doing," Rain replied. "That storm is coming fast and it's going to hit hard."
"Save the booze!" howled Regis and promptly started grabbing up the bottles with the others before leading the troops into the bowels of the boat.
The storm was on them moments later, booming and shaking and beautiful. Rain itched with the need to feel the cold rain on his skin. Abandoning the others, lightly touching Whitney's shoulder to let him know he was going out, he slipped out of the cabin and up the soaked steps, out onto the slick deck.
Water came down in pounding sheets. Rain slipped off his t-shirt and dropped it to the deck, braced his legs, and held his arms out, laughing in delight as the storm pelted him. Thunder vibrated in his chest, and every now and then lighting flashed, driving back the da
rkness with bursts of near-blinding light.
"Look out!" Someone bellowed, right before the ship slammed hard into something and sent Rain tumbling.
He slammed against the side of the boat, grabbed the edge to haul himself up—only to be jarred by a second hit and sent toppling over the edge into the dark, raging sea.
Cold struck him first, reminding him briefly of home, and that was enough to drive sense and logic back into his head. He looked around, was able to find the surface, and swam quickly for it. But the boat was nowhere to be seen.
Rain almost laughed, but the situation was just a little too irritating to be amusing. He looked around, tried to get his bearings and saw the faintest bit of light far off in the distance, winking in and out like it was periodically blocked by something.
He swam toward it, ignoring when his limbs began to ache with the effort of swimming through churning sea. Oh, if only he could do this the easy way, but easy was also dangerous, and he'd gotten himself in enough trouble, thanks.
Finally he struck sand, and half-waded, half-toppled up to a beach. The last thing he heard was a high-pitched whistling sort of noise, and then his body decided enough was enough and put him out.
He woke up to movement and dragged his eyes open to see that he was being carried by some dude the size of a mountain with a beard big enough to double as a small bear. He smelled like cigars and sweat and dirty laundry. Rain sneezed. "What—" His voice came out croaked, and he gave up.
The man said nothing. Rain briefly considered getting free, but his limbs still felt like noodles, and he was so hungry he could eat an entire heard of buffalo. Man, a buffalo burger sounded like the best idea ever. With a small mountain of fries and dubious amounts of beer.
Rain fell asleep again, dreaming of beer and fries and Whitney gazing at him adoringly the whole time.
When he woke up the second time, it was to find himself sprawled out on a sofa that smelled like dust, dirt, and cigars.
"Oh, good, you're awake," said a cheerful voice.
Rain pressed the heel of his hand to his aching head and looked around, finally found the speaker in the corner: a tall, spindly, but fit-looking dude with skin the color of milk and a beard that was mostly silver. His equally silver hair was mostly covered by a ratty, dark green baseball cap. He wore an army green t-shirt and brown pants that also had a vaguely military look to them, and boots that were caked in dirt. "Thanks for the save, dude."
The man gave the kind of nod that reminded Rain of his pompous uncle, like he knew how gracious and considerate he was being every time he so much as passed the salt across the table. "Of course, of course. Glad to see you're alright. Vanya looked you over, but one worries all the same."
"Vanya? Was that the big dude who was carrying me?"
"Yes," the man said. "Who are you, young man?"
Rain stood, something about the dude's black eyes and a hint of the smell of blood making him twitchy. "My name is Sanger Rainsford. I'm a college student, on spring break with my friends. We were out on a yacht, got caught in a storm, and I was knocked overboard."
"Well, maybe that will teach you not to be so foolish," the man said. His accent was weird, definitely American but like he spent a lot of time around British or Australian English and was picking up bits. Probably watched too much BBC, to judge by the look of Ye Old Library Slash Study they were in, like something out of a cheesy movie where the duke or whatever fretted that the snarky chick would never love him back. "My name is Edward Zaroff, but most folks just call me General. Welcome to Ship-Trap Island."
Zaroff? How did he know that… uh-oh. Please let that be the craziest of coincidences to happen ever. "Thanks again for the save, uh, General. I don't suppose you have a phone so I can call my friends and tell them I'm okay?"
"I'm afraid not," Zaroff replied. "One of the reasons I'm fond of this island is that it's completely isolated minus the occasional passing ship. The waters are still too dangerous for boats to head out, unfortunately, so we cannot take you to the main island quite yet. I also fear there will be another storm soon, so I'm afraid you'll be stuck here for a day or so until we can safely travel."
Damn it. Rain's parents would know he was fine, but poor Whitney and the guys would be worried sick. Maybe he could just sneak down to the water in a bit and swim back.
"I'm sure you're quite famished after your ordeal. Would you like to join me for dinner?"
Rain nodded. "Yeah, food would be great." Maybe that was why he could smell blood, though that didn't really sit right. Whatever, he'd figure it out. And it would be something stupid and harmless and he'd laugh at himself for being a paranoid idiot.
He followed Zaroff out of the weird library and through a house that proved the library was only a warmup on strangeness. "What is this, some old, possibly haunted mansion? It looks like a movie set, dude."
Zaroff chuckled. "It's quite an old home, yes. I'm in the process of having it repaired and updated, but I'm afraid right now it's little more than a relic. It belonged to my great grandfather but was claimed by the government, and I've only now gotten it back in the family possession."
"Oh, cool," Rain said, a frisson of alarm shooting up his spine. "Glad you got it back." Stupid Brandon and his stupid serial killer stories. "Whatcha planning to do with it, now it's in the family again?"
Zaroff opened a door and then paused. "I come from a long line of hunters, and my great grandfather was the greatest hunter in the world. I plan to continue his legacy by turning this island into the greatest private hunting resort in the world. Only the truest hunters will be permitted." His proud, congenial smile turned a little too toothy for Rain's liking. "Of course, excellent hunters must be met by excellent prey. Come, dinner awaits."
Dinner was starting to feel a lot like a last meal, but Rain followed him into what proved to be an ostentatious dining room where three men sat conversing quietly, all of them dressed like Zaroff in pseudo-military gear. Hunting gear was probably the more accurate term. Ugh, Rain hoped this wasn't all going where he thought because that was going to be supremely annoying.
The men glanced at him, something hungry and eager in their faces for a moment, then looked away and resumed their conversation. Rain was all for being ignored, especially as he was a bit busy being distracted by all the heads mounted on the wall. Most were animals, but a few were human. Damn it, this was going to be exactly what he'd thought.
Zaroff sat at the head of the table and motioned to the empty seat to his immediate right. "Have a seat, dear boy. I've shipped in some of the finest cooks in the world. They're as elite as my fellow huntsmen here. Only the best for the best."
'Best' wasn't the word Rain would have used, but he said nothing, just obediently went to the seat Zaroff indicated and settled in. The food did smell amazing as it came out of the kitchen on the arms of men in smart-looking blue uniforms that looked as old school as the house. God, Zaroff was like some B movie horror flick come to life. Except actually creepy alongside the lameness.
Rain thanked the man who set a plate in front of him—and his fingers faltered for the barest minute when he saw the slender but thick and heavy bracelet on the man's wrist. The kind that someone else only wore when forced, the kind that he'd bet only Zaroff could remove and would go boom if tampered with. Not the kind of thing used by most people, so how had Zaroff come by them?
The servant slipped away and fell into line with the others. Rain eyed them briefly in passing, but that was all he needed to confirm they all wore the bracelets. Zaroff had turned them into slaves. Rain's discomfort turned into anger, but his mother's voice soothed from the back of his mind. You are strong, smart, and capable. Control your temper. Do not let it control you. Be the flamethrower not the wildfire, sweetie.
"This is the best burger I've ever had, dude," he said, and it was, but he also didn't want to know what kind of meat it was made from. He wouldn't put it past Zaroff to be serving him human, though the taste was too familiar to be human.
Rain made himself eat every bite and tried to think happy thoughts of sprawling on his bed with Whitney and eating ice cream after highly improbable amounts of sex.
As the food was cleared away and the other men left, leaving him and Zaroff alone, Rain gave serious consideration to drastic action. He'd nearly decided to do so when Ivan appeared, huge and hairy and with eyes full of sadness—but also hope as they skittered over Rain for the barest moment.
There was a boom bracelet on his wrist, too—as well as a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist, just above the bracelet. A tattoo of a bear with a crescent moon behind it. That sealed the matter. He'd have to stay. Rain didn't glance at Ivan, as much as he wanted to, instead fiddling with the truly awesome coffee a servant had brought.
When Ivan and Zaroff had finished their silent, hand-spoken conversation about the supplies Ivan should fetch, Zaroff said, "I assume by now you have put two and two together and deduced your fate? I thought you should be thrown back, but Vanya assures me you are a more interesting bit of game than you appear." His face fell briefly as he added, "Not quite the kind of game I keep hoping for, the kind I've heard whispers about." He brightened slightly. "Nevertheless I am promised you'll be suitably entertaining."
"I've never lost at hide and go seek, it's true," Rain replied. "My family is very good at hiding and escaping and sneaking around. Something of a tradition." Rain smiled and shrugged. "We don't like people taking our stuff, and we have a lot of stuff that people want to take. Like, you know, our ability to breathe and all that."
Zaroff laughed. "Well, if you want to keep breathing, I suggest you make good sport. You'll be given a knife and enough food to last three days." He laughed again, something mean in it this time. "Not that any of them last three days. Vanya has an eye for excellent game, but the only one to nearly succeed was a robust woman who lasted precisely forty-nine and a half hours. Had to use the hunting dogs to get her."
