Page 1 of Wicked Games

PROLOGUE

Felix

I’ve often wonderedhow many worst days of my life I’m going to have to live through. Every time I’m sure that day has happened, the universe says “Hold my beer,” and tears another piece of my soul—and my sanity—away.

It’s been ten days since I got the news that forever altered my life. Ten days since my world was shattered, and that day was nothing compared to today.

That’s when I learned my father, stepmother, half-sister, and half-brother were killed in a car accident. Today I’m standing in a cemetery, staring at four coffins and saying goodbye to the family I never got a chance to be part of.

I’m so numb I barely hear the cleric as he drones on, reciting the cut-and-paste words that are supposed to offer comfort. They only serve to fuel the deep pit of despair that’s been growing inside me for as long as I can remember.

Numbness is my only defense, the only way to get up each morning and pretend like I’m not half a step from losing mymind and letting go of the iron-clad control I’ve spent my entire life perfecting.

Shutting down my emotions and never letting anyone see what’s truly in my heart and mind is the only way I’ll survive in a world I never asked to be part of.

Soft sobs and loud sniffles punctuate the air as the priest calls people forward to lay roses on the caskets in a final act of farewell.

I grip the four snow-white roses in my hand so tight my knuckles crack and the thorns dig painfully into my skin. I squeeze harder, needing more of that pain. I need to feel something to remind me I’m still alive, even if I spend my days wishing I wasn’t.

Something wet drips across the fingers of my clenched fist, and the metallic scent of blood tickles my nose. Instead of loosening my grip, I squeeze harder, grinding the thorns into my torn skin, and welcome the pain as a line forms in front of the caskets.

I watch as person after person places a rose on each of the coffins. I don’t join the line. I’ve already said my goodbyes, and putting flowers on the caskets of my family isn’t going to magically give me closure or make the emptiness go away.

The priest pauses and looks at me, his expression unsure, and motions to the caskets.

I don’t move. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, feel their judgment and their disdain as the priest continues with his prepared speech about how my family is together in the afterlife and looking down on us. About how today isn’t a day for sorrow or sadness, but one to celebrate their lives instead of mourning their deaths.

I set my features in a blank mask and tune him out again. It’s easy for him to talk about celebrating life when it’s not his family that’s about to be put into the ground.

The ceremony concludes with a few final words, and the priest tosses clumps of dirt over the bed of roses covering each casket.

The crowd starts murmuring, the soft din of voices unnatural in the quiet cemetery. I know they’re looking at me and judging me for not crying or mourning the way they think I should. I know they’re thinking terrible things about me for not showing them my pain or making a scene like some of my stepmother’s family did.

I fix my gaze on a point in the distance as people drift away from the gravesite. I can feel their eyes on me again, but I just grip the flowers and relish the stings of pain that shoot up my arm and each drop of blood that drips from my fist.

No one here matters. They can judge me all they want, think whatever they want. I don’t give a flying fuck about any of them, and I can’t wait until I never have to see any of their faces ever again.

Finally, after what feels like forever, I’m alone at the gravesite.

The cemetery doesn’t lower caskets into the ground while people are watching, and instead they wait until after the service is over. I vaguely remember the funeral director saying it’s because they’ve had a few incidents where people have flung themselves into graves. But my memories aren’t always reliable when I’m in survival mode, so who knows if that’s the real reason or if my brain just decided it was.

There’s a celebration of life happening at my stepmother’s parent’s house, but I won’t be going. I know I’m not welcome.

With more effort than should be necessary, I uncurl my fist, my fingers aching and my palm and fingers burning from the many puncture wounds dotting my hand.

The roses fall to the ground and land in a small pile, the stems smeared with blood.

Turning on my heel, I head in the opposite direction of everyone else and walk away from the family I never truly fit into and back toward the world that will never accept me.

1

KILLIAN

Throwingthe door to my room open, I stalk inside. My cousins and best friends, Jace and Jax, follow me, their footsteps heavy against the gleaming wood floors.

“Babe,” my girlfriend, Natalie, says in her familiar whine as she slips through the open door before one of the twins can close it.

Heaving a sigh, I throw myself onto the ornamental settee in the center of the room. Jace and Jax sit on the couch, the only piece of furniture in here that’s actually comfortable outside of my bed, as Natalie scurries into the room in a blur of designer clothes and enough expensive perfume to make a pack-a-day smoker choke. Her ridiculously high heels click against the floor as she comes to a stop in front of me, her hands on her hips and her lip out in a pout.

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