Page 109 of Inferno

“You’ve perfected it?” I smirk.

“Fuck off.” His Dublin accent shines through, and I lose it, bursting out into laughter.

“Ah, there he is.”

“Fuck, that feels better. My accent is better than Conan’s. Have you heard that shit?” He rubs at his neck and leans over to grab his whiskey.

“And that, Reggie, is exactly why Conan is under instructions to not open his damn mouth.” I smirk.

As hard as Conan tried, that Irish accent wouldn’t leave him.

“Why can’t we be Irish anyway? No one has a clue it’s us,” Reggie asks.

To start with, it was to conceal us, protect us in a way. We’re the new empire.

“Well, now, purely for my own fucking entertainment, Reg. Now, tell me more about my contestants.” I tap my rings against my glass and sit forward.

“My personal favorite is Contestant Three. She’s sassy, in a different way.”

My ears perk up at the clink of my whiskey glass as I take a large gulp.

“Different?”

“She’s intelligent. Asking the right questions. Assessing everything and the calmest of the six. She even fucking laughed that we’re in a chocolate factory.”

I wonder if it’s the one that caught my attention initially.

Miss no hard limits.

“Fearless? Or stupid?”

He shrugs.

“I can’t get a read on her. Absolutely stunning, though,” he gushes, and my fists clench.

“Ah. The best kind of submissive. The ones who crave it. Naturally fierce, but demand to have control ripped from them in the bedroom.”

My cock throbs.

“I think she has a good chance. Physically, she’s perfect.”

I chuckle.

“Well, you and Rowan keep up the good work. Maybe you’ll host your own games one year.”

“That’s the dream.”

The worn leather of my chair creaks softly as I recline, with my hands clasped loosely in my lap.

“I don’t know what a dream is anymore,” I say, accidentally out loud.

“You don’t dream?”

I shake my head, a sigh escaping my lips.

“Nope. Nightmares.”

The same woman’s face every time. The bloodied knife. My father’s body. Everything merges into a hell loop every damn night.

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