Page 329 of Hateful Games

I put in all my strength and my body weight but it’s futile. Letting go, I race toward the stairs as fast as I can.

“No!” I scream, my hair being wrenched back.

I land on my back with a thud.

My father staring down at me murderously. Behind him, I see Uncle lying on the floor, howling in pain and slapping at his burning arms. My momentary distraction causes Dad to bend and fist my hair, pulling me toward the smoky room.

“I should’ve killed you a long time ago, you worthless bitch,” he barks. “You’re no better than your whore mother, spreading your legs for those D’Cruz men.”

“You won’t get away with this,” I yell, fighting with all my might. Leaning up, I bite down on his arm. He lets go with a hiss. The fire is spreading fast, reaching the railing in the hall now.

I dash once more.

He’s faster and his body lands on top of mine.

Flipping me on my back, his fist swings at my face. The force of the punch almost knocking me out while a light dances behind my vision. I block his next few punches with my arms, a coppery tang filling my mouth as I cough to the side.

Suddenly, a stabbing and blistering heat licks up my leg.

With horror, my eyes zero in on the fire reaching at the top of the landing. With a shove and a kick, I push Dad off and crawl toward the stairs. His cry of pain rings when my ankle connects with his jaw as he tries to haul me back.

Using the banister as leverage, I rise to my feet while smoke and mist surround the ceiling. Just as I take the first step, a push twists my ankle and gravity pulls me under.

I fall down the flight of stairs.

My scream disappears into the night, mingling with the blaze as darkness captures me into its clutches.

It’s over.

Chapter Eighty-five

Nova

My head pounds as if someone is repeatedly hitting it with a hammer.

Rosalie’s wounded and heartbroken face is the last thing I remember before I picked up another bottle and drank as if it’s holy water. Kept at it until I passed out.

When the pounding doesn’t stop, I realize it’s my phone ringing repeatedly.

Who the fuck is calling?

My neck is sore when I raise my head and the view of my disastrous living room takes shape. I blink and rub the blurriness from my eyes, my throat parched and tasting like vomit. It’s worth it, though.

The voices in my head had quieted for those hours.

A dull calmness.

No thoughts.

No pain.

A dark and pitiless void.

Nathan’s name flashes on the screen and with a groan, I pick it up. “What?”

“Where the fuck are you?”

The room spins when I sit upright on the couch at his angry voice. “Just tell me why you called, Nathan. I said I want to be left alo—”

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