Page 61 of The Games We Play

He pouts his lip in a taunting manner. “Poor, Tess. She’s gotten in over her head, and now she wants to abandon her dear father when he needs her most.”

Fear like I’ve never known races through my veins, but simmering underneath is a wild tornado of rage. I’ve killed people. I’ve made powerful men weep. This is no different. The man gripping my arm is nothing more than another hunt; when the time is right, he’s mine.

What has X gotten me involved in?

Dad drags me up the stairs and into my bedroom.

“He’ll kill you!” I scream, knowing X will be out for blood. I hope he makes all of them die a slow and painful death. “He’ll come for me.”

“Good. That’s what I’m planning on. You’re going to stay in here. You’ll have guards so that nothing will happen to my biggest accomplishment. I should have brought you into the business long ago. Apparently, you have certaingiftsthat’ll help me get what I want.”

He tosses me onto my bed and turns to leave. “Roxy!”

Victor shoves his way in, taking Dad’s place. “I’ll take good care of your dog. Just to ensure you don’t try anything stupid.”

Victor closes the door while still inside the room. It’s too small. There’s no escape, and even if I could—Roxy. Dad has her, and I can’t risk him hurting her.

This is X’s fault. Dad’s only here because of whoeverheis. But why do I have this overwhelming sense to protect him?

Exactly how fucked up am I? Do I even recognize myself anymore?

I keep my back to Victor as he sits in my desk chair. He moved to block my door. Laying on my side, I stare out my window and pretend thatX shows up and kills everyone in this house. Freeing me repeatedly and whisking me away like my own demonic black knight under the cover of shadows.

My imagination gets the best of me about who X is and what my dad wants with him. Better yet, who the fuck is my dad? I feel like Coraline, seeing an alternate version of my life.

Headlights shine across my window, and I jolt up, ignoring Victor’s grunts and frantically unlatching my window. I suck in a lung full of air, ready to scream for X the moment I get the door open, but Victor yanks me back by my waist and hauls me across my room.

Arching my hands behind my back, my thumbs find his eyes, and I plunge them hard as they squelch under my nails. Victor roars, and his arms release me. I vault over my bed and yank the window up. The man below startles and looks up. His clothes are singed and covered in black, and a cynical grin spreads across his face.

It’s not X.

And my gut screams at me to stay away from whoever that is at all costs.

I’m shoved forward from behind, and my head cracks against the window frame, and I stumble. Black spots speckle my vision as I’m lifted off the ground and thrown onto my bed.

“You fucking bitch!” Victor’s hand slams across my cheek, and I easily succumb to the darkness completely.

***

There’s not a partof my body that doesn’t hurt. Every time I take a stand, Dad has one of his men knock me back down, each time worse than the last. Visions of my mom appear during the hits: her bruised body and tangled blonde hair with dark circles around her eyes.

I blink and realize I’m looking at my reflection in my mirror, holding clean clothes in my hands, with water dripping onto the floor. My guard never leaves. Not even for my shower. I’ve been stripped of my pride, dignity, and my fight. I’ve lost count of how many days it’s been, never knowing if I’ve been unconscious for hours or minutes.

The guard currently sitting in the chair picking his nails with a knife doesn’t have a name, not that I know of, anyway. Tattoos dance up his neck, moving with his muscles when he gets agitated. Like right now, while I’m staring at him blankly. I know I should get dressed. I should care that there is a tree-sized man getting an eyeful, but I’m so far past that. I’m numb again, past the point of pain.

“Dinner is served,” a new voice sings, and Tattoos moves his chair from the door. I walk to my bed and set my clothes down.

“Such a pretty pet,” a low voice draws, and Tattoos grunts. “I’ll take it from here. It’s my turn.”

The way he saysmy turnhas the hair on my nape rising. So far, no guards have tried to touch me. I’m brought food for each meal, complete with a cup of medication, and the cycle repeats itself. I know Dad is keeping me drugged. Logically, that is why I feel like I do and why I can’t stay awake.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t fight it. I’m too weak. My body complies with their orders.

My door closes, and I slide my arms into my shirt and lift it over my head.

“Ah-ah,” the man tsks, and my shirt is jerked off my arms and tossed to the ground. I cover my breasts and stare at him. I should say something. Anything. Scream. But what’s the point? The bruises prove that nobody here cares what happens to me. I heard two guards whispering outside my door during shift change. Their only orders from Darius are to keep me alive.

The bar for the father-of-the-year-award is in fucking hell with him.

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