Page 69 of The Games We Play

“Enough,” Dad warns his guard. “It’s time.” He jerks his head at the stage, and Scott gives X one last glare before escorting me and my father to the back of the stage.

“Tonight is the night, Pumpkin. Then I’ll be the most powerful man in the world,” he says as the crowd cheers after someone announces him. He walks across the stage and sits on the far side, leading me behind him.

Another man with a royal blue mask stands behind a podium in the middle of the stage with a gavel, holding his hand out and signaling the first woman to step forward.

My gaze searches the first row for that familiar mask. I scan all the different ones until I find the only person staring back at me. Warmth floods my body, knowing he’s here, so I keep my expressionneutral. To Dad, it’ll look like I’m just staring out, unable to bear the sight of what is about to happen.

The lights are blinding as the first collared woman takes her place in center stage. The auctioneer introduces her as Clare, daughter of Mr. Gaza, and the bidding war starts. As I stand there, the noise fades into the background. My legs and feet go numb in the heels, and I must fight the urge to fidget.

Dad is on a throne here above the masses, and it sickens me to know this is my legacy. This is what my family is known for. Is this why Mom begged to die? Did she know the truth?

With each woman that passes, X’s gaze doesn’t waiver. I keep waiting for it to be my turn to stride across the stage, for my knight in black armor to whisk me away, but it doesn’t happen. The women here are all introduced as daughters, nieces, or granddaughters of someone. Then I realize what Lincoln meant earlier when he said Dad never brought a specimen to this event. These men bring their flesh and blood to be auctioned. Their status makes them so valuable. And I’m the daughter of their fucking ring leader.

The last woman exits the stage, and the announcer turns to let Dad take the spotlight.

“I want to thank you all—”

“Wait!” a man shouts from the audience, and I risk looking away from X long enough to find the disgruntled man standing and pointing at me.

Lincoln.

“What about her? The auction isn’t over. Would Darius bring his daughter, then back out when we show interest?”

He’s challenging Dad, and based on this tick in Dad’s jaw, it doesn’t bode well for him.

Another man stands, and my gaze flicks over to Douglas. More men stand. Different ones I performed for tonight. They nod in agreement with Douglas, and Dad looks over at me.

I can’t take the weight of his stare, and I search for X, only his chair is empty.

My head swivels up and down the row, but he isn’t there. He’s…gone.

A hand grabs my bicep, and Dad pulls me along. “Looking for someone?” he asks, and my eyes widen as I gaze up at his cool stature. The crowd cheers, and I realize he’s pulled me to the center of the stage.

Like a pit at a concert, men abandon their seats and rush to the edge.

My palms sweat, and Dad steps away, his hands clasped across his front.

“Right, well, let’s start the bid at…” the auctioneer starts, and I turn to him; he’s staring at Dad.

“Five hundred thousand,” Dad says, and the bidding war starts.

All of this is because his blood runs through my veins. And X is gone. Did Dad do something? Did he figure out what he was? I search the crowd behind the bidding monsters and Dad’s guards, lurking in the shadows with their arms crossed. They aren’t looking at their boss. They’re looking for something or someone else.

With each increase in value, my heart rate speeds up.

X told me to trust him. He talked like he had the upper hand. But what if he was wrong? What if Dad expected this and had a plan in place all along?

He’s been caught. He has to be. That’s the only reason he wasn’t exactly where he said he would be. The room spins, and I’m gasping for air. This can’t be happening.

I can’t—the gavel slams down, and I spot the bidder holding up his number.

It’s Lincoln—the man who plans to carve himself into me just like X did.

My vision tunnels, and the surrounding sounds grow muffled until I can’t hear anything but the beating of my heart.

The crowd disperses. Dad moves to my side and raises his hands, smiling as he speaks, but I can’t focus on the words.

Hot tears well in my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, begging them not to fall down my cheeks. I can’t appear weak. Weakness will get me killed.

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