These Deadly Games

by Diana Urban

Genres: Young Adult; YA Mysteries & Thrillers

Synopsis

Let's play a game.

You have 24 hours to win. If you break my rules, she dies. If you call the police, she dies. If you tell your parents or anyone else, she dies.

Are you ready?

When Crystal Donavan gets a message on a mysterious app with a video of her little sister gagged and bound, she agrees to play the kidnapper's game. At first, they make her complete bizarre tasks: steal a test and stuff it in a locker, bake brownies, make a prank call.

But then Crystal realizes each task is meant to hurt--and kill--her friends, one by one. But if she refuses to play, the kidnapper will kill her sister. Is someone trying to take her team out of the running for a gaming tournament? Or have they uncovered a secret from their past, and wants them to pay for what they did...

As Crystal makes the impossible choices between her friends and her sister, she must uncover the truth and find a way to outplay the kidnapper... before it's too late.

Author of All Your Twisted Secrets, Diana Urban's explosive sophomore novel, These Deadly Games, will keep you riveted until the final twist is revealed.

Release date: February 1, 2022

Publisher: Wednesday Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

CHAPTER 1

I was going to kill Zoey.

Heat simmered in my belly as I crept up behind her. She was oblivious to my presence, gazing over the stone balcony toward the forest. Rotting tree stumps littered the field below, but nobody lurked in the shadows.

Now was my chance to take her out.

My fingertips tingled as I slinked closer, the desire for vengeance flooding my veins. How should I do it? I could shove her over the balcony’s edge, but that wouldn’t guarantee a kill. We weren’t high enough from the ground, so it would depend on how she landed. I could shoot her, but my trembling fingers couldn’t guarantee my aim. And I needed her to die.

I sounded like some homicidal maniac, didn’t I?

Well, trust me—she didn’t deserve my mercy. Not after what she did.

A dagger should do it. Sinking a blade into her back would be the most gratifying way to take her down, anyway. God knew she’d stabbed me in the back enough times that killing her now wouldn’t even the score.

I unsheathed my blade and closed the distance between us, steps stealthy and silent. Zoey was still except for her long blond tresses fluttering in the breeze as she stared into the distance. Focused. Unwavering. What the hell was she waiting for? It didn’t matter—I inched closer, raised the dagger, and plunged it into her back.

“Dammit, Crystal!” Zoey shouted from the squishy recliner. She threw off her pink gamer headset that matched her blond hair’s pink ombre tips as the alert ShardsOfGlass eliminated DaggerQueen29 with a dagger popped up on-screen. My cat, Whiskers, leaped from the nook between her socked feet and zoomed upstairs. Poor fuzzball—it was bad enough my esports team had invaded her turf in our basement den at the crack of dawn.

I rubbed my lips together, trying to suppress a grin and failing miserably. I couldn’t decide which was more satisfying: the fact that I was the last player standing in this round, scoring fifty extra MortalBucks on top of ten for killing Zoey, or that it was one last chance for her to earn them before the statewide MortalDusk tourney on Sunday.

I couldn’t believe it was only two days away. Two days until we’d know who’d win the tourney’s solo and team prizes, each $250,000. Two days until we’d know who’d advance to the annual 

MortalDusk Crown in New York City next month along with the other states’ winners. I could see it now: standing onstage at the tourney with my friends in our costumes, accepting the prize in front of a cheering crowd and all those cameras—not to mention the all-expenses-paid trip to New York for the crown and the sponsorships that’d roll in. Sponsorships I’d kill for.

And did I mention the crown’s solo and team prizes were $3 million? That’s right. Three. Freaking. Million. Dollars. Can you imagine having that kind of cash at sixteen years old? You’d be set. I mean, sure, I personally had no shot at winning the solo competition, and if we won the team prize, it’d be split five ways. Still, though! I was no math whiz, but even I knew that amount would change my life.

We had a legit shot at winning the team tourney, too, and not just statistically speaking, since Vermont had the fewest competitors. We’d monopolized our state leaderboard for months.

Problem was, only five of us could play on a team at the tourney … and all six of us wanted in. So we’d decided to compete for it: the first five to earn twenty thousand MortalBucks would claim a spot.

And I refused to be the rotten egg.

“Welp, Crystal’s not messing around,” said Dylan, our newest recruit. We sat cross-legged on the couch, his knee an inch from mine—not that I’d noticed or anything. Was he complimenting my badassery, or implying I was a traitor? He met my gaze over his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and lifted the corner of his mouth, revealing a dimple in his cheek. God, why was he so hot—I mean, so hard to read?

“Well, we are down to the wire—” 

“Guys, get down here!” Zoey screeched. The rest of our team was upstairs; Dylan had been the only one to stick around to watch after getting killed in this round. “Next round’s starting—”

“Shhh,” I said. “My family’s still asleep.”

Zoey’s sharp features twisted into a scowl, our main form of communication these days. Ugh, I hated competing like this. But winning the tourney would be the difference between my family living in this house and, well, not. My parents’ divorce last year had been quick—too quick—and Mom had been struggling to pay our mortgage ever since. It was my fault Dad took off so fast, so I had to win that prize money. I couldn’t let Zoey keep me from competing. We’d do fine without her blade combat skills, anyway.

My bestie, Akira, was first down the stairs, her heart-shaped face so flushed you could’ve fried an egg on it. “What happened?” I asked, but she wordlessly curled up on my other side, stuck her headset over her chin-length, shiny, jet-black hair, and perched her laptop on her hip. In MortalDusk, she was our top architect, a harbinger of death to anyone who got lost in her structures. But right now, she looked like she wanted to erect a fort around herself and hide until the end of time.

Her boyfriend, Randall, came downstairs next, chuckling as he raked back his shaggy light-brown hair that looked sun-kissed at the ends—a blatant lie, like his tan complexion, as he hardly ever got a lick of sun.

“It’s not funny,” Akira snapped.

“Oh, it’s plenty funny,” said Randall, tossing her a granola bar, though his own cheeks were a bit rosy.

I flicked Akira’s arm. “Kiki, what happened?”

But she just flicked my arm back as Matty hustled downstairs last, Diet Coke in hand, honey-brown eyes glimmering with amusement under his backward blue baseball cap. “Your mom caught them necking in the pantry,” he told me.

Randall shoved him playfully. “Yeah, whatever, man.” Somehow Akira got even redder, even the tip of her nose.

“Oh, God.” I laughed. “Did she try giving you ‘the talk’ or something?” Wouldn’t put it past her.

“Nah, she was cool,” said Randall.

“Unlike Akira’s face.” Matty flopped into his seat at Dad’s old L-shaped desk.

Akira covered her flaming cheeks, but said with a smirk, “You’re one to talk.” Matty always blushed easily.

He guffawed as he hunched over his laptop to reload the game. He was built like a basketball player—tall, broad-shouldered, and lean—though the only sports he’d ever play were pixelated. His sparkling brown eyes, round cheeks, and oversize brown sweatshirt gave him teddy bear vibes, a stark contrast to his vicious mage avatar, best at conjuring sparks and fireballs.

“What happens if none of you hit twenty K?” Randall changed the subject as he took his seat next to Matty. He was our top archer, whose aim made everyone seem like inept storm troopers. It was no surprise he’d already hit twenty K, as had Dylan, those bastards.

“I love you guys, but we are not rock-paper-scissoring this shit,” Matty groaned. None of us wanted to leave this up to chance.

“We’ll get there,” I said. That’s why we were meeting so early on a Friday morning before school. We needed every spare minute to rack up MortalBucks. We only counted earnings at meetings; Randall couldn’t exactly play while ringing up customers at Food Xpress.

“We could call it now,” Zoey piped up.

Of course she’d suggest that—she had only slightly more MortalBucks than Akira, who was in last place. But she was lucky she still had a shot at playing in the tourney at all. If I hadn’t kept my mouth shut—if everyone knew what she’d been doing the past few months—she’d be thrown off the team in a millisecond. She was good at pretending she hadn’t done anything wrong.

To be fair, we all were. Except Dylan. He was free from the memories that plagued the rest of us. The memories that made me wake up screaming in the middle of the night five years later.

“Can we not?” Akira bristled, jarring me back to reality.

I glared at Zoey. “That would be fair … how, exactly?”

She scowled again. “I’m just saying—”

Matty grabbed a pencil from the desk and chucked it at Zoey, missing by about a mile. “Can you stop saying? Rules are rules.” I grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes at Zoey, though pink spots colored his cheeks.

Zoey was still sulking as our dragons dropped us off on a fresh map. She always joked she had resting bitch face—though Akira and I referred to it more as ax-murderer face—but now she looked pointedly miserable, her full pink lips set in a pout, a line furrowed between her angled taupe eyebrows.

After a few minutes, Dylan nudged my elbow. “I’ve got a stockpile of health potions.”

“No, thanks,” I said, emptying a treasure chest. “Just found plenty.”

“No, thanks,” I said, emptying a treasure chest. “Just found plenty.”

He smirked. “I wasn’t offering.”

I snorted in response and met his gaze for a moment, catching the glint in his eye. He thought he was so freaking clever. Or cute. And maybe both of those things were true. But really, if it weren’t for Dylan, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

Over the summer, rumors swirled in the MortalDusk Discord about the annual championship. The tourneys in March would be statewide instead of regional, they said. Teams of six would compete instead of five, they said. More prizes than ever. A bigger New York City crown than ever. But we’d need another teammate to qualify. So we held tryouts the first week of junior year and recruited Dylan, the new boy in school. By the time MortalDusk announced the rules—statewide tourneys, but with teams of five—we couldn’t exactly kick him out. Besides, he did boost our odds. He was a fierce enchanter, nimbly crafting potions and spells to eliminate our foes, with solid aim, speedy reflexes, a sharp jaw, defined cheekbones, tousled chestnut hair, and these steel-gray eyes—

Oh, crap. He started pounding on his keys, clearly in a firefight with Randall, who was also annihilating his space bar.

“We got company,” said Randall.

“Dude,” said Matty, “please don’t tell me it’s Fishman.”

“It’s Fishman.” Dammit. Jeremy Fischer, alias Fishman, had dominated the top spot on the Vermont leaderboard for years—at least, until recently.

“Gah. Why’s he playing this early?” Matty was especially determined to beat cocky streamers like Fishman who already had about a zillion followers and made plenty of cash.

“When is he not playing?” said Akira, tucking back a loose strand of black hair.

Ever since Fishman realized a group of bona fide competition lived one town over, he’d made it his personal mission to seek and destroy us. His audience thought it was a riot. He’d be at the tourney on Sunday, but fortunately, his teammates were a master class in mediocrity. Still, he’d give us major trouble in the solo competition.

Zoey glanced at her phone. “I knew I saw an alert that he went live.”

“Thanks for the warning, boo,” said Randall. He ran our team’s YouTube and Twitch channels, though today Akira convinced him not to livestream while groggy as hell, pointing to his hair sticking up every which way.

I hurtled into the woods. “Where are you guys?”

Randall scratched at the hint of stubble on his square jaw. “Just north of Blackpool Lake.”

“On my way.”

“You don’t have to,” said Matty. I knew he wanted me to focus on landing more kills, to secure my spot on the team. But it’d be easier to kill Fishman together.

“If we don’t take him out pronto, he’ll hunt each of us down.” Across the forest, I found Akira’s elf sorceress building a wooden fortress on Blackpool Lake’s shoreline. I preferred peasant garb for my avatar—lots of players mistook me for a newb, but I was a lethal assassin who’d shock them with my stealth prowess and deadly aim.

Matty was already on the roof, powering up his staff. “You got him, bro?”

“His shield’s way up,” said Randall. As I slinked from shrubbery to shrubbery, fire arrows flew between Randall’s knight and Fishman’s fisherman. But Fishman had the high ground and lunged at Randall.

Fishman854 has eliminated Ran_With_It with a flame rod.

“Gah!” Randall tugged back his unruly hair. “I hate when he pulls that medieval Jedi shit. Where’d you go, man?” he asked Dylan.

“I had to brew more shield potions,” said Dylan.

Zoey also seemed to be keeping her distance, probably hoping we’d take care of this.

Matty sniped one of Fishman’s buddies with a bolt of lightning. “Nailed it.” But Fishman deflected his next blast and danced as Matty powered up again, taunting him. “Son of a butthole.”

I snuck behind Fishman. “I got him.”

“No way. He’s mine,” said Matty. He used to be such a Fishman fanboy. Then everything changed. Suddenly, Matty’s thick brows shot up. “He has a hellfire launcher!”

“Run!” said Akira. They leaped from the fortress as Fishman set it ablaze, narrowly escaping into the woods.

Matty cursed. “Crys, you got this.”

Heck yes, I did.

I whipped out my shock staff and stalked Fishman, avoiding grazing the trees to remain undetected. My stomach did mini-somersaults—knowing his massive audience was watching was almost like

getting stage fright. When I got close enough, I lined up my shot, fingers tingling with anticipation—

The basement door burst open with a crash. Startled, I missed my shot, my lightning bolt barely grazing Fishman. Mom thundered downstairs as she tied her disheveled curls into a messy bun. “Crystal, have you seen my keys?”

“Ugh, Mom—”

“I can’t find them anywhere!”

Fishman spun and blasted me into oblivion. “Dammit.” I wiped a hand down my face. “They’re not in your purse?” Akira had gone rigid, cheeks flushing again, still clearly embarrassed from earlier.

“No, obviously not.” She mocked my voice, and we stuck our tongues out at each other, as per our ever-so-normal mother-daughter relationship. But stress lines deepened on her forehead.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I was just called in for an emergency surgery. Two of the nurses are down with some stomach bug, so I’ve got a double shift now, and I have to drop off Caelyn at school first.”

“Can’t she take the bus—ah, crap,” I said, remembering. “Frost Valley.” It was the first Friday of March, so my little sister had to be dropped off two hours early today; her eighth-grade class was taking an overnight field trip to a mountain lodge for a full day of sledding, zip-lining, and cheesy team-building exercises.

“Yup,” said Mom. “Everything always happens at once.”

“Murphy’s law,” Randall chimed in.

“No, it’s synchronous,” said Zoey.

“Literally no one cares,” said Randall, deadpan. Zoey glowered, but Akira chuckled and seemed to relax a bit. Randall’s chest puffed slightly—he loved making her laugh. The others were busy casting ice spears at Fishman, who’d finally stopped gyrating over my dead avatar, gloating for his audience.

Mom sighed. “Either way, it’s craptastic.”

Lately, Mom struggled to squeeze much of anything between all the extra shifts she took to cover the bills. Still, the late-night screaming matches she used to have with my drunk of a father were even more craptastic. I’d gotten good at distracting Caelyn from those. When they started a few years ago, she’d slip into my room and crawl into my bed, and I’d helplessly clutch her skinny, trembling body close as we listened to them hollering. But then I started sticking huge headphones on her head and playing Mario Kart until it was over.

Video games were reliable like that. They can distract you from the pain. They can make the tears stop.

Now, Mom’s pretty face seemed more haggard by the day, with purple half-moons like shiners under her eyes. Sometimes I thought she looked more stressed than before Dad left. My fault my fault my fault. My chest tightened.

“I’ll drive Caelyn to school,” I volunteered.

A collective grimace stretched across my friends’ faces. We were running out of time to earn MortalBucks.

But Mom sighed gratefully. “Oh, thank you. But I still have to find my keys…” She started back upstairs, then paused. “Oh, and Caelyn forgot her inhaler in her locker. It’s her last one, as usual. Make

sure she runs in and grabs it before getting on the bus, okay?”

“Got it.”

As she raced upstairs, I shut my laptop and smoothed down my mussed auburn curls. Those MortalBucks would have to wait. “I’m sorry, guys. We’ve still got tonight and all day tomorrow—”

“We can hold the fort until you get back,” said Zoey, her amber eyes calculating. I’d be gone for half an hour. How perfect for her.

“You know what? I want Starbucks, anyway,” said Akira, seeing the anxiety on my face. Starbucks was right next to school. “Then we can meet up at the computer lab and play till first period.”

“I’m down for S-bucks,” said Randall.

“But the internet’s faster here—” Dylan started. Distracted, his avatar collapsed. “Welp, so much for that.” He shut his laptop.

“Sorry…” I said again, digging my phone from the couch cushions between us. My knuckles grazed Dylan’s jeans, but he stood before he could see me blush.

“Yeah, what gives, Crystal?” Matty screwed up his face exaggeratedly. “Way to be a good daughter.”

“Ugh, good daughters are the worst,” said Randall.

“Disgusting, honestly,” said Matty. His and Randall’s eyes twinkled mischievously, as they always did when the two were bantering. If we were streaming, our audience would be eating this up.

“Your face is disgusting,” I shot back.

Matty grinned. “Nailed it.” He stretched his arms overhead, nearly touching the ceiling. “Alright, I’ll drop you guys off at Starbucks, then I gotta shower.” I knew that was just his excuse to avoid Starbucks. A few months ago, I ordered a soy Frappuccino, and they gave me an almond milk Frappuccino instead. Then Matty took a sip, and, well, it wasn’t a good day. There were lots of needles involved. I couldn’t blame him for being traumatized. Even trace amounts of peanuts or tree nuts caused an allergic reaction, and he was sick to death of it.

“Gross.” Randall cringed. “Were you not going to shower today?”

“What?” Matty sniffed his pits. “I don’t smell, do I?”

“You always smell,” said Randall.

“Like roses,” said Matty.

“Dead roses,” Dylan joined in. Randall guffawed and offered his fist for a bump. Dylan had been quick to pick up on our particular brand of humor, though I could always tell when the others were joking. I was never sure with him.

By the time we trooped upstairs, Mom was gone—she must’ve found her keys—and my sister, Caelyn, was leaning against the coat closet, fidgeting with her handcrafted lightning bolt charm necklace that matched the one hanging from my neck.

“Hey, li’l twerp,” I teased, still in banter mode, fumbling my boots on. “Aren’t you a troublemaker?”

She remained silent, refusing to look at my friends as they streamed out the front door, even when Akira gave her arm a friendly poke. Caelyn’s messily braided auburn curls created a frizzy halo around her face in the dawn light, and her thick purple glasses magnified her huge hazel eyes, identical to mine 

except for the fact that all she could see were blurred blobs. She’d begged Mom for contacts, but Mom said she had to wait until she was sixteen. Though it wasn’t like contacts would be any cheaper when she turned sixteen.

“Let’s go.” Not bothering to zip my coat, I dashed down the front walkway to my car, a decade-old Prius Dad left me as a parting gift—well, more of a bribe, actually—before moving to Las Vegas. Caelyn and I hadn’t heard from him since, which honestly suited us fine.

As Akira and Randall climbed into Matty’s car, Zoey bolted to her house next door. “What the hell’s she trying to pull?” I muttered, realizing we’d forgotten to tally our MortalBucks totals. Would she skip Starbucks to sneak in an extra round?

Dylan chuckled, waiting by his Jeep since Matty’s car blocked him in, hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue-and-white-plaid jacket.

“What’s so funny?” I called over.

“You are. Paranoid much?”

I made a face. Easy for him to say—he’d already secured his spot at the tourney. But he was probably right. Maybe Zoey was checking in with her super-strict parents. They only let her come over so often because they thought our esports team was a study group.

As I grabbed Caelyn’s duffel and chucked it into the back seat, she muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?” I slammed the door.

“I’m trouble … and you were busy…”

“Oh, I was kidding. It’s not your fault.

s make it snappy, though, okay?” I hurled myself into the driver’s seat and clucked my tongue, waiting until Caelyn was buckled in before backing down the driveway.

Since the roads were empty, I surged past the speed limit, desperate to make good time. I had to get more kills—more than Zoey, at least. But I quickly hit a red light. Dammit. There were only so many traffic laws I was willing to break.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Caelyn. Her nose was pink, a telltale sign she was holding back tears. Shouldn’t she be brimming with excitement? Did she really think I was mad at her?

“I’m not mad,” I said.

“I know,” she mumbled. But she kept moping.

My heart sank. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her a twerp. I was only joking. Sure, sometimes Caelyn annoyed the heck out of me. But I loved her to death. She had this way of brightening a room with her boundless energy, always showing off some funky new fashion creation, always a willing opponent when I wanted to play a game. When Dad made her go quiet and small, I hated him for stifling her spark. It blazed again once he left, thank God. But now she was acting all weird.

“Hey.” I flicked her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Her cheeks flushed to match her nose. “Nothing.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

She merely snorted. 

 

The light turned green, and I hit the gas, giving us both whiplash. Oops. “Sorry. Aren’t you excited about Frost Valley?”

“I don’t want to go on this stupid trip.”

My jaw dropped. “Um, excuse me? A sleepover a hundred miles away from any parentals is basically a thirteen-year-old’s dream come true.” She only shrugged, so I went on, “There’ll be sledding! And zip-lining!”

Caelyn cringed. “I’m afraid of heights.”

“Since when?” She’d dragged me onto every roller coaster at Six Flags last summer. I still had flashbacks of my feet suspended over blue skies, and that terrible drop in my stomach after cresting each peak. I’d sucked it up to make her happy. But now her eyes were brimming with tears. Something was bothering her … and it wasn’t the prospect of dangling from ropes.

“What’s really going on?” I whipped around a curve, imagining Zoey smugly cracking her knuckles after landing a kill.

Caelyn shook her head. “I don’t want to get into it.”

“Aw, c’mon, Cae. You can tell me anything.”

She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Tessa and her friends are gonna pull some prank on me. I know it.”

Ah. Tessa was the ringleader of a group of catty girls in Caelyn’s grade. Caelyn had been so excited to turn thirteen and create an Instagram account—she dreamed of being an influencer with her chic

handcrafted creations—but Tessa quickly ruined it for her, commenting with mockery and insults on each photo.

Yet another spark stifler. The world was full of them.

“Did you overhear her planning something?” I asked.

“No…”

“Well, then, you’re probably being paranoid.” Just like I was with Zoey. “Don’t worry about Tessa. Just stick with Deja and Suki.” They’d been a steadfast trio since kindergarten.

“They’re going next weekend.”

“Oh, shoot.” Since Frost Valley was only so big, they split the eighth grade into three groups to go on consecutive weekends. “Did you ask to switch groups?”

Caelyn nodded. “Yeah. But they wouldn’t let me. Then they’d have to let anyone who wanted to switch, switch.”

I floored the gas to make a yellow light. We were only a couple of blocks from Caelyn’s school now. “Well, if Tessa tries anything, laugh it off.”

Caelyn screwed up her face. “What?”

“I’m serious. Think of it like a game. The more she upsets you, the more points she gets—”

“Oh, please.”

“No, really! And the more points she gets, the meaner she’ll get. But if she sees you don’t give a shit, she won’t get any points, and she’ll get bored and move on to someone else.”

“It’s not a game.” Her voice trembled as she wiped away a tear. “She’s always picking on me.”

“Yeah, well, she can probably read you like a book. Whenever you get upset, you turn bright red or start crying right away. That’s, like, the mother lode of points.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Cae. If she does anything to you, just laugh and walk away.”

“I can’t.” Caelyn raised her voice.

I stopped at a stop sign across the street from her school. “Well, why not?”

“Because I can’t just laugh it off. Not everything is a game. She’s so mean, and all her friends egg her on. Maybe you’re a good actress. Maybe you can pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. But I can’t.”

Her barb sucked the wind from my lungs, and I froze, gawking at her. Did she know? How could she know about that? She was only eight years old when it happened, and I never told her the truth—I never told a soul.

“We’re going to have to move soon,” she went on, “you know it. I heard what Mom told you. One more missed payment, and the bank will take the house, and we’ll have to move in with Grandma Rose. And all you can think about is your stupid video game.”

I let out a deep exhale, my heart pummeling my rib cage. She didn’t know. But since when did she resent MortalDusk? Video games were my refuge from the guilt that would otherwise slither through my mind like a serpent eager to feed. I thought games were a distraction for Caelyn, too. But maybe I’d buried my head in the sand so deep I didn’t realize how they affected her. ...