Page 53 of Deadly Little Games

“Fuck no.”

He departs with a forceful slam of the door, leaving me alone with my target. Just how I like it. No distractions, just me and him.

“Time to play a game, Jeremy.”

Moving closer to him, I carefully step over his legs and settle down on the chair, which groans in protest. Tremors run through his legs as I lift the knife toward his face, carefully sliding it beneath his eye. I refrain from pushing too hard just yet, despite the blood trickling down his cheek.

He screams pitifully.

“I’m going to paint a picture on your beautiful face. One that even the famous Harry Potter can’t compete with.”

“Please, no!”

“It can all stop if you just tell me what you saw.”

“I can’t or he’ll kill me.”

“Who?”

“Please . . . no.”

I chuckle. “You’re dead either way. It’s either at my hands or his. Take your pick.”

The knife digs in further, and I start carving a star into his cheek.

“Stop,” he yells, so I pause, pulling the knife back slightly.

“Talk.”

“I saw Alec LeClair talking with your father at the ball. He was in his office. That’s all, I swear.”

“This would have been so much easier if you just talked first, but then again, we wouldn’t have got to play this little game, would we?” I rise up, taking my weight off him.

“Just let me go please?” he begs, tears rolling down his cheeks and mixing with the blood.

“Can’t do that. You’re a dead man either way, best at my hands.”

Without hesitation, I slide the knife along his throat before he can utter another word, and a rush of blood drenches my chest, creating a vivid crimson canvas. His bloodshot eyes glisten with moisture as he gargles before they slowly glaze over.

I casually toss the knife into the sink, its sharp blade clinking against the cold metal basin. His words continuously repeat in my mind. Why was Alec in my father’s office? The Daring Brotherhood shares no secrets, but my father doesn’t follow our rules.

I head into the bathroom at the back of the shed to shower, leaving the mess for one of the soldiers to clean up. Scrubbing vigorously, I clear the blood from my skin, thenlean back against the shower wall, feeling the cool tiles against my back and the hot water cascading over me.

If Alec was talking with my father behind our backs it had to be about him working with The Brotherhood. We’ve never worked with anyone other than those inside our chain of command, but Alec was different. He already patched in at an early age before he and his family were forced to leave. He’s a soldier, and it’s the only reason we allowed him to come back and work for us. No one knew apart from the founding families.

Going behind my father’s back and bringing him back in to work for us was maybe not the smartest idea, since he’s now gone. Lost. And when you get lost here, there’s no finding you.

I couldn’t find it in me to break the news to Freya, but I suspect she already has an inkling. With each passing day, the probability of her finding him diminishes. Alec, driven by desperation to earn extra cash, has now paid the price for wanting to work for us again. Gone in the wind.

I’ve learned the hard way to never let anyone get close to you because people can use that against you. Use them to manipulate you. It’s a weakness, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about Freya. She’s all I can think about. I want to protect her, hold her close, and have her beside me as the one I come home to. But, fuck, that can’t happen. I won’t allow it. She’s better off on the other side of the tracks where she’s out of sight and mind. But. That fucking word will be the death of me. There’s a selfish part of me that won’t let her get away again.

When she asked me if I remembered her, fuck, my heart—what I have left of it stopped. How could she ask me if I remember her? Of course I fucking do. Even back then, there was something about her. The way she stood up forherself and her friends in a world where men rule and women do as they are told. She knew the rules, but that didn’t stop her.

Eight years old

I watch her sitting on the forest floor, playing with Amirah. The doll Lucas found for them sits between them. Amirah picks it up and starts moving it around, unsure of what to do with it. If father knew they had that, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight to see. I don’t know why Lucas gave it to them. He found it in one of the abandoned houses and insisted on keeping it. We aren’t meant to play with toys. They are for the weak, father always says. We are meant to live in the real world—not some make-believe one.

Pain erupts against my cheek, and my father stands in front of me with an angry scowl on his face. Oh no.

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