What happens when a bunch of killers are forced to live together?
BATTLE OF THE KILLERS is a reality show that follows Betinia Woods, a girl kidnapped and forced to live in an underground bunker with twelve other killers. The bunker is equipped wit...
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DYING. It felt like I was slowly fading, vision becoming flashing white and black dots. I felt myself going over the edge when I heard — we're not dying today, bitch. Nope. Get your ass into gear. Now.
Tini? There was no response, but my body gained a surge of strength, thick tubes of adrenaline skirting up my spine as I jerked my head forward.
That movement smacked my attacker into my backside, letting their hands slack around the choking device, loosening the tight metal a bit. My body reached for that tiny bit of relief, sucking in air like a baby on a nipple.
"Just die, bitch." A harsh feminine voice whispered at me while trying to tighten their grip on the chocking device, but I ended up sloshing my head forward again, tossing my attacker off balance and forward with me.
They stumbled, and I used that nanosecond of time to fling my body forward, sending my attacker flying in front of me, causing a loud crash to erupt.
"Fuck," my attacker yelled, glass shattering as the pounding on the door increased.
My esophagus slurped in air like it was the last source of nutrients in the world, lungs burning as a tight metal wire tangled around my throat and I pulled it off.
My attacker didn't even give me a chance to gasp again before charging into me, knocking me backward. The blackness consumed my vision, so I didn't see what I fell into, but I could feel — and it hurt, pain jetting through my side as the banging on the door hammered into my eardrum.
My attacker gripped my shoulder and slide their hands up to my neck, trying to latch on. But I elbowed them somewhere, causing a loud wince before my hands started jabbing at the air with the pen, hard and wild like it was my only chance of survival.
The tip landed somewhere soft, and my hand surged forward. A high-pitched girlish scream cloaked the intense atmosphere, liquid covering my hand.
Seconds later, the common room door broke off the hinges, bellowing across the room into the far wall, wood chips sprinkling the air like throwing rice at a wedding. A square box of light spilled over the carpet before my two heaving bodyguards barreled through, eyes wild.
"You — t-two suck at your j-jobs." My voice filtered out in a high-pitched, dry tone, sounding like a smoker's cough mixed with me wandering through the desert without water for years.
I fell to my knees, hands massaging my aching neck as girlish screams continued to assault my ears.
Rucker switched on the light as Sebastian came to my side, helping me stand. Demo hollered in the corner, banging her body in frustration as her hand cupped her impaled eye, the pen sticking out perfectly clean.
Just like Layla.
Rucker glowered at Demo, hands clenching. "She snuck passed us."
I couldn't comprehend what he was saying because everything in me was still trying to recover from my strangulation.
