Page 3 of The Game

“Yes, but I know where she is.”

Those little words are all it takes.

“We’re on our way.”

I hang up, slipping my knife from under my desk and ripping open a few drawers to gather my father’s favorite handgun, one engraved with a particular saying that Tristan and I always raised our brows at. A Bible verse, perhaps his way of bringing a sense of righteousness to all the destruction he caused.

Praise be to the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.

As soon as Tristan sees me holster it, his most malicious smirk forms.

“Do we have another problem?”

I move to the doorway before I call over my shoulder.

“Yes, and this time, brother, I’ll allow your impulses to run the show.”

The most wicked grin curls his lips as a clap of thunder makes the windows shiver. For I know that when we find where Alice has been hiding, nothing will stop him or I from taking back what is ours—not even her.

CHAPTER2

Alice

The bass thumping from the speakers is an omnipresent heartbeat thudding through my empty skull. I am robotic. Walk to this room, deliver those papers. Dash around the arguing businessmen, avert my eyes and pray they don’t slap my ass. Reach the Tower, hope against all hope that the lights are out. Catch the metro back to my dorm, study until dawn, sleep for an hour, and hit my classes.

Only, I am beginning to question if school even matters at this point—if anything matters, really. Ascending the stairs at the end of my night as I always do, I am careful in these stilettos. One fall would likely result in a broken neck. Nothing here is to code, but what should I expect? This is the Underworld I was always sheltered from, the very place and people I should avoid at all costs, greedy men with tastes that would churn the stomachs of the strongest men.

Perhaps notallmen…

I shake the thoughts loose as the lights under the door flicker on. Fuck. Gathering my breath as soon as I grace the landing, my skin begins to crawl as though thousands of cockroaches skitter across my flesh. Quickly combing my fingers through my thick, tangled hair, I ready myself before I raise my shaky fist and give a few timid knocks. He answers, his voice as recognizable as my own now—one that haunts my every nightmare.

“Come in, dear.”

Resisting the urge to gag, I twist the dented knob and let the door swing open on its own. The room is dark and lifeless, gaps between the splintering wood floors, the fireplace nothing but crumbling black bricks from lack of cleaning and repair. The one window is grimy, lending to an eclipsed view of the more industrial parts of Seattle. Rain batters the glass, glinting like diamonds before disappearing into the detritus. Crossing my arms against the chill, I fight back the memories, but each day it gets a little harder.

“You dumb? Sit, bitch.”

The other voice pulls me sharply out of those drowning memories, and my eyes flash to him before they narrow.

“Now, now, son. Play nice.”

The two men are seated in high backed chairs that are likely from the Victorian era, moth eaten and dusty, their original color faded to monochromatic hues. In front of them sits a small square table, the game already set. My mouth runs dry. Moving forward simply out of self-preservation, I seat myself across from them, folding my hands in my lap and tucking my right ankle behind my left. The younger of the two snorts, beady blue eyes always watching me.

“So prim and proper. Did your whore mother teach you to sit like that?”

My eyes stay glued instead to the chess board, a game I never learned to play because I always thought it was boring. How silly of me. It’s not so boring now.

“Dear, look up, no need to be shy anymore,” his phlegmy voice says, sending nauseating tingles down my spine. How many days did I hear his droning on and on in class? When my eyes snap to his, I can barely contain my glare. “Ah, good girl.”

My teeth audibly grind against one another, and my stomach flips at his despicable praise. Something I used to crave upon the lips of—

“We need you to train the new girls,” the other cuts in. Daniel is his name. I know better than to keep pushing his buttons now.

“I’ll start tomorrow,” I say in my new trademark monotonous tone, my heart rate picking up its pace every second that I linger in their trap, within their clutches.

“Such a gem, truly.”

The older one clasps his papery hands, smoothing them together, his eyes tracing my scantily clad body, an outfit he himself chose. He dresses me up each and every night. I am his marionette puppet, and this place? This is nothing more or less than an abhorrent, evil, vile wonderland. An underground carnival filled with every depraved desire any man could ever hope to dream of. Cages bar dancing girls too young to know what consent is. Poles are twirled around by women so drugged out of their minds it’s a wonder they can stay upright. And the highest paying spectators dictate exactly what they want the main act to be every night.

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