Page 76 of The Games We Play

“X,” Puppet jostles me, and I mumble something. Warmth spreads through my body, and her hand squeezes mine. She seems so far away, just out of reach, but I’m so fucking exhausted. I spent a year hunting the man who killed my brother, only for him to take my nephew from me tonight.

He won. I lost. But he won’t ever have his daughter again. She’ll be free and hidden away. Safe.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she whispers. “Please, you’re the only thing that matters now and—” her voice cracks and I want to open my eyes. I want to tell her I’m not worth it. I never was. “I think—no, I know—I’m in love with you.”

Love is for fairy tales, and I’m no prince.But you have my heart,and you have since you carved your initials on my chest.I’m yours forever.

Thirty-Eight - Tess

Mr. Collins doesn’t move.He remains unconscious in the bed. I see so much of Ryan in his features as he’s sleeping. They have the same strong jawline, the small wrinkle between their brows. Mr. Collin’s is deeper, more pronounced, but as he sleeps, it’s nearly invisible. I take his hand in mine, running my fingers across the skin. These hands are the ones that fucked me in the dark, the ones that carried me to my room and held me up as he pinned me against the wall.

Was any of it real?

I shake my head, dispelling my doubts.

No, I felt it—he felt it. There is no way this could all be fake. I run my fingers across the X on my chest. It’s real; what I feel is real, and when he wakes up, he’ll still want me. Right?

Standing, I call for Roxy to follow me, and she whines, dropping her head to her paws, and refuses to come. She lies beside Mr. Collins; I lean down and pet her head. Then, I gently close the door and sigh, fighting the urge to break down on the floor. Mr. Collins passed out shortly afterhe gave me his vague directions. I had to pull over and put the address for the abandoned farmhouse into the GPS to get us here. His pulse was so weak by the time we arrived I thought for sure I was too late.

I walk into the kitchen and nearly collapse onto one of the stools. The sweatpants and shirt from Mr. Collin's bag are two sizes too big, but I’ll take anything over the red dress.

“You need sleep,” Mallard, the Doc, as Mr. Collins referred to him, says as he pours me a warm cup of something that smells herbal. “This will help.”

“He’s sleeping enough for the both of us,” I say, wrapping my hands around the teacup.

“He’ll wake up. He lost a lot of blood, but I’ve seen men pull through worse for less.”

The warm liquid feels nice as it coats my throat. “For less?”

“Revenge. Spite. Too stubborn to die,” Mallard shrugs.

“And what does he have to wake up for? His son is dead. My…father…killed him—he shot him right there in front of us like it was nothing.” My hands shake with the memory, and tears burn my eyes. I sling the teacup across the room, and it shatters on the far wall. Mallard sighs and walks over to grab the broom from the closet.

“No. Don’t. I’ll get it,” I mumble and slide off the stool, stealing the broom before he can grab it.

“Your father shot Ryan, yes. But he wasn’t Xane’s son.” I pause at the name. It’s the one he gave Dad at the auction. But Scott said his name was Lima. What did X say when I called him Lima?

“Tonight was the first time I gave anyone my name. You were the first person I ever told.”

“Wait, Mr. Collins was Ryan’s Dad. I grew up with him. I was at every birthday, just like he was. Are you saying Ryan was adopted?” Not that it would make a difference.

Mallard pours me another cup of tea and arches his brow before handing it to me. “Until last year, you knew Lance Collins. The man in the bed down the hall is his twin brother, Xane Collins.”

“Twin?” I ask, more to myself. He looks just like the man I’ve known my whole life—well, minus the muscle. But anyone can go to the gym and get ripped if they want. A year ago, is when Mr. Collins took the new job and was traveling all the time. It was when he and Ryan grew apart—holy shit. “But Dad said he killed him when he showed up at the house. Did he kill Ryan’s dad? Why? They were friends.”

Mallard lifts his shoulders with a deep breath. “I don’t know it all, only what parts Xane has told me and the hushed whispers I’ve heard. Supposedly, they grew up together. Their fathers ran in the same circles, which after, two nights ago, you know what that looked like. Your dad inherited the family business when your grandfather passed away three years ago. Your aunt was passed over for the inheritance, and this caused a war nobody saw coming.”

“Wait. I have an aunt?” I stare at his caring eyes, and he gives me a patient look.

“She’s as bad as Darius, I’m afraid. She created her own organization of sorts. A selective group of hitmen who could take on any task for the right price. They gave her power and protection merely by doing work under her hand.”

My body screams with my realization. “The woman that shot, X—Mr. Collins—Xane,” I stammer. “She called him Lance—she’s—”

“Your aunt. And she wants what her brother has. The control over countries and nations by having their most powerful leaders in his pocket.” He pauses and readjusts in his seat. “At a young age, Xane stopped coming to visit Lance. He was always very vague about what he did and where he’d been. Xane was his dad’s best-kept secret, and only a select few people knew he existed or even that Lance had a brother. Two years ago, November ordered a hit on Darius. It was easy for Xane to get close to Darius if he pretended to be Lance. Like you said, they were friends.”

“So, what happened?” I question.

“Xane thought he was dead. He disappeared. Nobody found any trace of Darius until Lance was killed. November had…proofthat it was on Darius’ orders.”

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