Three Breaths: The Game of Life Series, #3

By Belle Brooks

...The fight continues. This game is not for the faint-hearted.

 

"The Wolf has played me for a fool."

 

I've no clue who is hunting me, but he demands I complete his tests. I fear if I can't figure out his identity, he'll kill me just like he said.

His eyes were blue the last time I looked into them, but now when he glares at me they're green. Is the Wolf playing dress up? Or are there two monsters who have stolen me?

 

"Did you think I'd make this easy for you, Red? Are you ready to play again?" – The Wolf

 

I want out of this nightmare, and the only way to do that is to win.

 

I need to win.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belle Brooks
• Release date: Feb 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648126355

Belle Brooks

Born in Australia, Belle Brooks has always had a passion for books and creative writing. She loves exploring the different ways stories can be told through the use of text and in-depth characters. Since she was a child her strong talent and interest in creative writing was evident, explaining that her favourite class in school was English. Despite her love for all things books, she decided the world of advertising and marketing was where she could put her talents to use in the business realm, well that is until now. Belle enjoys creative writing and creating fictional stories that leave a valued message inside the pages.

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Table of Contents

A NOTE TO THE READER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Four Hearts

Published 2018

ISBN – 9780648126355

Three Breaths

©2018 by Belle Brooks

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with Obie Books Q.L.D.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Obie Books

Po Box 2302

Yeppoon Qld 4701

AUSTRALIA

Cover design by Tracey (Soxie) Weston.

Editing by Lauren Clarke

Formatting by Jaye Cox @ Formatting the affordable way

For Robin Yatsko, Tammy Coffey, and Amber Luttke

Thank you for being you. You three mean the world to me.

Love ya faces, Belle

A NOTE TO THE READER

The Game of Life Novella Series is comprised of five parts. To enjoy this highly suspenseful psychological thriller, it’s advised that you read each book in the correct order as shown below.

Book One – One Fear

Book Two –Two Footsteps

Book Three – Three Breaths

Book Four – Four Hearts

Book Five – Five Fights

These books have been written using UK English and contain euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday Australian vernacular.

Reid

The downlight above Maloney’s head creates the illusion of a halo as he stares at the television. He seems relaxed with his arms outstretched on top of the lounge, and his knees spread wide apart from each other. His sneakers start where his blue jeans cut off, and they appear almost brand new when I come to focus on them in the light—stark white, no scuff marks, no tattered laces. I don’t know why this seems off-putting to me, but it does.

It’s a gentle clearing of his throat that causes me to shoot my eyes upwards. Maloney rotates his head in my direction, from that of the television, and subtly nods before he again turns away. I can’t help wondering how Maloney managed to get the job of being my babysitter because that’s how this situation seems—like I’m a toddler under constant supervision. All day, and so far, all night, someone’s watched my every move. I didn’t abduct my wife, and I’ve never wished harm upon her, not even in my angriest moments. I want Morgan to come home more than anybody. I also want to know where my money is, and why this is happening to our family, and to my wife.

Maloney hasn’t said much over the last couple of hours. In fact, he’s the quietest he’s been since he walked into my home and took up temporary residence here. Is fatigue getting the better of him as it is me? My eyes burn, and the headache beating across my eyebrows makes me squeeze my eyes tight together every few minutes to reduce the strain. I should sleep, but I’m too scared, because what if the phone rings and I don’t wake to answer it? Will this game-playing son-of-a-bitch kill Morgan like he promised he would if I’m not at his beck and call?

Reid, are you okay? Maloney says softly.

Huh? I need to get out of my head and away from my thoughts.

Are you okay? he says, this time slow and drawn out.

No, I sigh. "Where’s Morgan? Is there any new information?

We don’t know anything yet. He tips his head to the side. We’re doing everything we can. Maloney’s go-to phrase. I’m sure I’ve heard him speak these same words numerous times today.

It’s been over twenty-four hours. I’m worried as fuck, and tired as shit. I bet Morgan is … I don’t finish speaking because my thoughts flash between differing scenarios.

Morgan’s skirt is hiked above her hips. Her knees spread wide. Her knickers rest by her ankles. There’s blood streaks down her inner thighs, and when I see the deep purple hand print bruised into her skin I leap to the dirty mattress littering the concrete flooring and use my body as a blanket to cover her exposure.

No, no, no, I hiss.

There’s a miniature train circling a track beside the Ferris wheel. Its horn blows each time it rolls by a fat plastic controller standing at its side. The amusement park is absent of children’s laughter, flickering lights and show tunes, until the Ferris Wheel begins to rotate unexpectedly. I tip my chin upwards in search of the children who are now screaming. I smother my mouth with my palms when Morgan’s body comes into view. She’s tied to the metal structure by her wrists. Dangling so high above the ground.

Morgan. I blink excessively, trying to halt these visions. I don’t want to see Morgan that way. I curl my head into my forearms, muttering, Leave her alone.

I envision a lake. It’s big, with dirty brown water and tree branches hanging over its banks, and there’s Morgan, face down, floating in the lake, all the life she had perished.

Help. It’s a weak deliverance of the word from my lips.

A room, no grander than the area I’m sitting in, is dark. There’s a spotlight focused onto a four-poster bed, and as I search for my wife, it’s as if the air in my lungs leaves as hers did. She’s posed, naked, with her throat slit from ear to ear, and there’s so much blood splattered high up the walls that the urge to vomit overcomes me. Morgan's blue in colouration, and cold when I come to brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers.

Reid. My name sounds as if it’s being spoken from a distance. I don’t answer.

A dirt road stretches for miles and I’m frantic as I rush down it. I stop when I see a beaten body laid out in the centre. I gasp. The black skirt and heels Morgan last walked out of the house in … It’s her. It’s Morgan. I dry-heave at the sight of her trodden body and the view of her skull caved inwards. Red, so much red, creates patterns through the dirt surrounding Morgan, and I jump back in horror when it reaches the tip of my shoe.

Fuck, I growl.

What’s happening, Reid? Reid, can you hear me?

I want to vomit. I’m shaking. I can’t breathe. Make it stop. I bolt upright to my feet with my eyes wide and my breath jagged.

Look at me. His hands grip tightly around my biceps. I think you’re having a panic attack. Just look into my eyes.

I can’t because all I see is Morgan. Dead.

Her head is hanging limply between her legs one moment, and then she’s running through uncontrollable flames the next.

A flash of her hanging from a noose slung high from a tree, so high I’d never reach her to remove it, takes over, and I can’t seem to make these flickers of film my mind is creating stop.

Come on, mate. Stay with me. Maloney pauses. Lynette, he yells.

Morgan, I cry out, as I brace my body by crossing my arms over my chest.

Fog is filling an alleyway. I’m hesitant, but the need to enter is overpowering. The alleyway suddenly becomes clear, as if someone parts the thick, smoky veil, and there, discarded amongst bags of trash, is my wife’s lifeless body.

I cover my mouth. Fuck. I drool, wiping at my lips. I hold my breath and then let out a gut-wrenching groan.

Breathe, Reid. Come on now, just breathe.

It’s Maloney; I can see his caring eyes searching mine.

He’s hurting her. He’s torturing her, raping her. I pant and then moan out my agony as I fold at my mid-section.

You don’t know that. You don’t know these things have happened to Morgan or that they will. Come on. Maloney’s hand presses against my shoulder as I struggle to draw air into my lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth, he instructs calmly.

I do. Three drawn breaths lessens some of the panic that’s hit me like a bus collecting an unobservant pedestrian.

I’ve got you, he says. He grips my hands and then