Page 28 of The Game

“I will be when I cut you in half, yes.”

Snorting, I shrug free and head toward the dressing rooms to fix my make up one final time before we perform.

“Make it quick if you’re gonna kill me,” I call over my shoulder. His booming laugh echoes in the circus ring.

“I like to draw out deaths, Alice,” he calls back, his words more chilling than walking a graveyard alone at night.

* * *

Exhausted, feet aching, I cling to the handrail as I climb the damnable steps to the tower. Teddy promised he’d be tracking my phone, that he’d be nearby ready to rescue me if need arises. He still can’t rescue me from Daniel, though.

The door is ajar, so I let myself in, finding him already seated with a glass of bourbon clutched in his talons, those pale, lifeless eyes eating my scantily clad body alive. The board is set, and for the first time, a tendril of hope flutters like a butterfly in my chest.

“Let’s hurry this along,” he says, vile grin stretching his cheeks. Seating myself, my eyes scan the board, and I reach for my piece, repeating the moves for the Sicilian Defense over and over in my mind. The soft thud of the heavy piece is the only noise in this space, and when my eyes find Daniel’s, he’s glaring at the chess board.

After a moment, he smirks.

“Someone’s been watching tutorials.”

I don’t take the bait and answer him; the less we communicate, the better. I need to focus, get through tomorrow’s performance, and then I can coast into Sunday and let out all my rage at this concert Teddy is taking me to.

Daniel makes his move, a predictable one—one I was told he would make. Interesting, how Teddy knows Daniel’s inner thoughts so well, but it’s currently benefiting me, so I don’t mind. Making my countermove, the game gets much more interesting, Daniel becoming more and more flustered and drunker with each piece I claim. Fighting back my smile as I check his king, his own lips tremble in quiet fury.

Before I can react, the chess board is flipped upside down and swiped furiously off the table, the little pieces scuttling across the floor as I tense up and press my back into the springy cushions of the old armchair. Flinching as I await the strike I know will come, I’m ill-prepared for it; his fist connects with my jaw so hard I see stars, immediately dazed as a pitiful groan escapes my lips along with a river of blood from my now-split cheek.

My vision blurs, and my heart sinks; if he’s anything like my father, this may be it. As he fists my hair, dragging me to the floor, I know his intent is far more sinister, but my head is spinning and vomit is rising. He tosses me to the dirty ground like a rag doll, pressing his knee into my spine as I cry out and claw at the floor, looking to bump blindly into anything I can use as a weapon.

My fingers come up empty, only a few chess pieces that can’t do any real damage within my reach, and the tearing off of my tight, old pair of volleyball shorts makes a loud scream build in my chest before it forces its way past my lips. Kicking and thrashing against his weight, the clang of his belt is like a gunshot in my ears. My body reacts automatically as I blubber and cry.

“Filthy little bitch. My father isn’t here to save you, now. You like this, don’t you, little whore?”

He wrestles my hands into submission, twisting them together and yanking them to my back before angling them upward in a motion that makes my joints sear and another scream escape. “Stop! Pl-please stop, please!”

“Shut up, you fucking cunt,” he roars, landing another punch to the same spot on my face. My scream is cut off as stars bloom in my vision, my hope dwindling. The hot press of his erection against my bare butt cheeks makes a sob bubble up my throat, but his strength rivals mine tenfold, and I never learned any type of self-defense; I never needed it, so long as I was with them.

My mind begins to slip into darkness, the blackness comforting; I know I am in shock and dissociating, know my body is on autopilot to simply keep me safe now.

“Best rethink what you’re about to do.”

My eyes fly open and a choked sob of relief puffs the dust clear from the floor in front of me. Daniel is off me in a flash, and I pathetically claw my way forward with one hand while I attempt to pull up my shorts with the other. Teddy’s voice is dark, and only I can decipher the hint of hideous fury that paints his tone.

“This doesn’t fucking concern you, freak,” Daniel spits. Pulling myself upright in front of Dick’s desk, I cower there and clutch my cheek as blood flows from inside my mouth and dribbles down my chin, plopping to the wood beneath my feet.

“It does when she’s my best performer and she won’t be able to tomorrow fucking night!” Teddy all but yells, twisting the blame so that he still treats me like an object instead of a friend—a friend that I want to have hold me tight against his chest right now so I can break down in the safety of his arms.

Daniel, drunk as fuck, takes too long to answer, and the shuffling of Dick’s loafers makes my stomach churn.

“Son,” he gasps, feigning shock. Peeking up, Dick’s eyes land on mine, lingering briefly before he turns his furious gaze back to Daniel. “You fuckingtwerp! Do you know who will be here tomorrow night?!” he roars.

My body jumps at the noise, my head beginning to pound furiously.

“He’s not that important—”

“He’s the head of the fucking Bratva in Moscow, you little shit, and I promised him our best girl!”

My eyes find Teddy’s, and he gives the most subtle shake of his head, even though I can see this news is just as shocking to him. I was…was going to be a gift tomorrow night? To a crime lord?

“Their families are related—”

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