Page 90 of The Games We Play

Puppet’s screams sound possessed, and I struggle against my crushing windpipe.

“Now, where were we?” Darius asks as his men restrain Puppet. “Oh, yes. Ripping limb from limb.”

Forty-Five - Tess

Saliva pools in mymouth around the blood that isn’t mine, and even though my left arm is useless since I popped it out of the socket, a man still holds it firm at my side.

I stare at Darius’ back, willing him to spontaneously combust like I’m a witch, casting a spell with my intent. We’re outnumbered five to one, and I don’t know how we will get out of this. The veins in X’s muscles pop with the forearm locked around his throat. I refuse to die, not without taking my asshole of a father with me. I’m not ignorant enough to believe that his empire will go with him. Another person will step up and take his place. It’s a never-ending cycle, but my deathwillmean something. X’s death—I swallow hard at the realization that we aren’t getting out of here—X’s death will mean something.

His brother. Ryan. My mother. They will not die in vain.

Dad steps back, and I’m shoved closer to the stairs while the other seven men surround X. Once they form a circle, he’s released and drops to a knee, gasping and coughing as air rushes back to his lungs.

I can’t save him. But we can at least take some of these assholes with us.

Xane looks at me through the bodies. His gaze locks with mine for the first time since I was caught sneaking into the kitchen. Apprehension and defeat fill his hunter-green eyes, and I slightly dip my chin as we both seem to come to the same conclusion. His eyes fall closed, and when he opens them again, they’re not filled with the warmth or fire I know. They’re empty, cold, distant—this is the killer that decided to use me. This is the version of X who planned to ruin me and kill me to get back at my father.

This is the man who will hold nothing back and kill without a second thought. He drops his head, and his hands clench before he slowly rises.

“Watch the man you love die,” Dad states and grips my cheeks to force me to keep my eyes on X.

He doesn’t make the first move. Instead, he acts on defense. A man lunges, fist drawn back, and X dodges, landing a punch to the man’s kidneys before he spins on the toe of his shoe to deflect the punch coming for his temple and catches another man at the waist, flipping him to his back.

He doesn’t have time to react before he’s doubled over with a fist in his stomach, and I intake a sharp breath as the hits keep coming. They attack him two at a time, and he is doing his damnedest to stay on his feet, but it’s too much. With each punch and jerk of his body, a part of my heart cracks. The blood dripping down his chin matches the tears falling down my cheeks. With every physical blow, my heart gets battered and bruised. Dad makes sure I can’t turn away.

Knives are pulled, and X steals one and slams into someone’s ribs. That’s one down. Two, if you count the one I shot in the foot. Theblade disappears in the chaos as he takes more hits. The crunch of bones breaking twists my gut, and I gag on the guilt choking me.

I did this.

This whole thing was my fucking idea.

We weren’t promised forever, and the moment he hesitated when crouched in front of me in the woods, he damned himself.

I was his downfall.

I crumbled his fortified walls and cost him everything. Every close call he’s had was because of me and the decisions I’ve made. The guilt is heavy, and I slump into my captor’s arms as sobs choke out my tightening throat.

He doesn’t even try to block the hits anymore. Blood smears across the floor as he stumbles and sways unevenly, falling into the punches. His face is bloodied and nearly unrecognizable as one eye swells.

“This is what happens to those who inflict harm on our family. It’ll do you well to remember this,” Dad says like this is a life lesson.

“Fuck you,” I growl through the pressure on my cheeks. He can’t honestly think I’ll go with him or be anything for him after this.

X falls to his knees and braces himself on his hands, blood dripping from his parted lips. The men pause and look at Darius. He finally lets go of my face.

He steps toward X, whose shoulders rise and fall with heavy, raspy breaths.

Get up, I plead through the tears. I’ve already watched him bleed out and slowly die. I can’t do it again. It hurts too fucking much. He can’t be gone. He can’t. Darius doesn’t get to fucking win, not like this.

X remains on the floor, and Darius stands over him. He takes the tip of his cane and sticks it under his chin, angling it up so the light shines across his swollen, nearly unrecognizable features.

“I expected more of a fight,” Darius states, and X tries to blink through the blood.

“Sorry to have…disappointed.” It comes out gargled and between wheezing breaths.

“Any last words?”

X’s one open eye looks over at me, and I try to step forward, to run to him, to hold him—tell him I’m sorry for everything and beg the universe to take me instead, but I’m held firm, forced to know what it feels like to be utterly useless.

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