Page 81 of Falcon's Prey

Once again, I tried to get away, but he stopped me. His finger came to my chin.

“That first picture in Abu Dhabi—I knew that wasn’t you. You don’t think I recognized your body after spending months with you?”

His voice was docile, a complete paradox to what was brewing behind his eyes. So intense and deadly, and I knew he was telling the truth.

He started to walk us with a hand at my waist, leading us through the mass of people.

Pam was nowhere to be seen, and it was probably a good thing since I was still pissed she’d used my family’s last name. Some things were sacred and better left untouched. My last name was one of them.

“Ember, I knew it was never you, and I also knew that if I tied their hands, they would have to let you out sooner or later. So I sent a threat to headquarters with hopes they would let you out. The fact that you reached out, princess…that was just a bonus.”

My chest rose and fell rapidly at his confession, and the rest of the people ceased to exist. It was just me and his words. Out of everyone in the world, he was the only one who knew I was missing. I squashed whatever hope started to grow inside of me.

“To make me pay, right?” I gritted out.

I never forgot the words he said to me or the look of pure rage he gave me as he got pulled out of the maze. There was no hope hidden in his words. If anything, they were a warning that now more than ever, I should be cautious.

“Amongst other things,” he mocked.

* * *

While we waitedfor the games to begin, we mingled amongst the partygoers. Pam? Who the fuck knew where that bitch was? Ren stuck to my side like Velcro. Or maybe it was the other way around, since he had me tucked to his side. People looked, some waved, and I wondered what was going through their minds right now. They drank, got laid, went home, and did it all over again. No real purpose. That had been me too, and maybe that was why I wasn’t a pawn. I had no real worth besides the one I was born with.

“I want to get a feel of the players,” Ren said. “Let’s walk around.”

He started to lead me away, which made me roll my eyes. I didn’t know why he bothered to ask me in the first place.

“How do you know who’s playing?” I gave him a skeptical look.

Ren looked down at me, and something soft passed over his features. He was always serious or angry; sometimes, he was yelling at me, so I was used to his harshness. With this look, he looked more attainable, not so out of reach. He looked normal, and not like he might one day end up killing me.

Ren didn’t say anything, but he moved my body so I was right in front of him, my back to his front. His hand came to my belly, holding me in place while his chin dropped to my shoulder. I didn’t dare look at him. My heart was pounding in my chest, and it had nothing to do with the state of my sobriety. Rough and calloused touches, I was used to—I’d lived with them—but softness was something foreign. I could count on my fingers the number of times I’d been touched with affection. Half of those touches were calculation dipped in softness.

I was only human, and I was starved for affection. I lapped at any I got. It didn’t matter where it came from because I couldn’t help it—that sick need to feel loved. As thoughts started to make their way inside my head, Ren interrupted them by speaking.

“You can tell who comes to a party like this to play, who comes to score, and who comes to get laid.”

He gently moved my head to the side, where there was a group of guys sitting down, white powder all over the table, with girls hanging off their arms.

“They provide the drugs, and the chicks provide their bodies.”

He then turned me to look at the end of the bar where some people were drinking, their eyes lazily scanning their surroundings.

“They came for the game. Drinking because it’s a party, but nothing too strong to keep a level head.”

Then he moved my face to the makeshift dance floor.

“Most of them are here for something to do. Another party to make them forget about their pathetic lives.”

I didn’t know if the last part was a dig at me or not. “Why do you want to watch them?”

“You learn a lot about a person by observing them. I’m good at calling people’s bluffs, but a little reckoning won’t hurt.”

I turned my head to look at him. He was right there, so close that all I had to do was lean into him and I could kiss him. Except I couldn’t, not really. Every kiss we’d shared was taken or given in anger or a haze of lust. Lips bruising and smashing, seeking dominance, not affection.

“You’re really good at it, aren’t you?” I found myself asking.

“Good at what, princess?”

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