Page 41 of Fake Game

“Fuck.” My voice is raspy as it escapes me.

I kneel on the floor, resting my ass on the backs of my heels, and rub my eyes. Dry mascara sticks to my palm, and I let out a groan.

Right. Jackson carried me to bed, and I totally conked out.

My skin is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and my makeup probably has me looking like the girl fromThe Ring.

The bedroom door bursts open, and I blink up at two haggard yet alert men—both of whom are shirtless. Jackson holds a baseball bat, while Aleks brandishes a switchblade. Their eyes bounce around the room before settling on me.

Jackson is the first one to breach the doorway, dropping to his knees before me. “What happened?” His free hand twitches, torn between reaching out to me or fisting at his side.

“I fell out of bed.”

“You were screaming like a banshee.” Aleks cocks his brow as he flicks his blade closed.

“You know, switchblades are illegal in California.” My throat burns through the words.

Fuck.

I must’ve yelled through my nightmare.

Fuuuuuck.

“Don’t deflect.” Jackson reaches out and grips my chin between this thumb and forefinger, turning my head toward him.

This time, when my throat goes dry, it’s not because of the apparent rock metal solo screaming session I had. My focus wavers as I am forced to look into the inky depths of his eyes.

“I’m not deflecting.”

“Oh?” He releases my chin and runs a finger up my arm. “Then why do you have the chills?”

“Because you’re touching me, you weirdo.”

With what little energy I have, I shrug out of his grip and begin to crawl my way to his bathroom. My hazy mind has one clear mission: deny everything.

He lets out a loud sigh. “I’ll deal with this; you head back to bed.”

“You sure?” I can hear Aleks flicking his switchblade back and forth.

“Yeah, no need for two babysitters.”

“Rude,” I mutter.

It’s only once I cross the threshold of the door and my knees hit the tiles that I force myself to stand, using the counter to support my weight. My eyes squeeze tight as I turn on the lights. When I open them, I catch Jackson’s reflection in the mirror as he leans in the doorway.

“Want to tell me the truth?”

“Iwantto take a shower.”

“Okay.”

I grit my teeth together and let out a groan before summoning all my strength to shove the bathroom door closed. With him comfortably out of sight, I let out a sigh.

It takes longer than necessary for me to remove my stale contacts and my oxidized makeup. I barely remember to tug on a shower cap before throwing myself under the hot spray of the shower.

My ass sinks to the floor. It’s not comfortable; the grooves in the tiles leave imprints on my bare ass. But I don’t care. I let the hot water cascade around me as I stare blankly at the glass.

I thought the nightmares had stopped since coming here.

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