Page 23 of The Game

“Don’t be sorry,” I growl. She flinches away at my intensity, so I soften myself as best I can, wagging her phone. “It’s sweet of you to care so much, Aria, but you need to stay away. Something…something bad is going around, alright?”

The image of Ellie’s broken body pulses in my mind’s eye; broken jaw, fractured ribs, so much blood loss she needed transfusions, not to mention possible corrective surgery because of what those sick fucks did to her innocence. She’ll forever bear their marks, their initials and the counts of how many times each one fucked her.

I’m not entirely sure how Nick is keeping it together at the moment.

Her small nod pulls me back to the present, and I frown as I hand back her phone.

“Let me give you a ride home,da?”

Her cheeks redden, but she nods. I know, from Alice, that her father is a piece of shit who takes his anger out on Aria in subtle but demeaning ways, giving his older daughters everything they could ever wish for while ensuring she is left with little means. No car, refurbished phone, hole-riddled clothes, scraps for food.

He blames her for her mother’s murder.

It’s just another mystery I cannot give attention to at the moment. So I gently grab her arm and pull her from the shrubbery, eyes wide, mind on high alert. This campus is dark and wooded; it’s no wonder there’re so many cases of assault and theft.

The further we walk from Alice’s dorm, the more my heart sinks in an angry way, and I refuse to turn around and look one last time. I’m sure I’ll be back tomorrow, anyways.

It’s really too bad I don’t; the light in her dorm flickers to life, a beacon alone in a stormy sea as I drive home and plot all the ways I will punish our littlebabochkawhen she’s safe once more in our arms.

CHAPTER13

Alice

The slap of skin on skin is like a crack of lightning, and the sting follows soon after across the back of my hand.

“Ouch!” I hiss indignantly, ripping my hand away from the pain. Teddy’s eyes don’t stray from the chess board as he leans over it, elbows on knees, hands now clasped under his narrow chin. Those teal irises flick up to mine, and that sinister fucking smirk grows.

“If you do that, I’ll check you.”

“You don’t have to slap me,” I grumble, tilting forward on my ass to relieve the tension in my crossed legs. He sits on the couch while I sit on the floor, the coffee table between us. I’ve spent nearly every free hour this week at Teddy’s, and have to admit that I can now call him a friend. We’ve not only been practicing my poor chess skills, but also new performances at the circus each night. After receiving word that this weekend and next will be insanely packed and important, Dick wanted to make sure we were in tip-top shape. At least his worry has kept Daniel off my back; he wants me pristine for whatever nasty clientele he has patronizing the venue this Saturday.

Teddy smirks, the faded and chipped black polish on his nails glinting in the rare October sun. Each day, my birthday draws a little closer, and with it, my sorrow grows into something massive, something consuming. I do my best not to think too hard on all I’ve lost, and instead focus on the positives; he’s been covering for me so often, I’ve been able to skip classes and work with no repercussions.

His teaching skills are a little unorthodox, though.

“I do have to slap you. Positive reinforcement.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Don’t use psych tactics against me, asshole.”

His shit-eating-grin blossoms wickedly.

“Glad to know you understand the difference between positive and negative.”

Rolling my eyes, I finger the grooved top of a knight. At least, I think it’s a knight. I can’t remember anything when it comes to this damn game. It’s so boring.

“Positive is simply adding something, not giving a treat. It can be adding a punishment. Negative would be taking something away, even pain,” I mutter, feeling like I need to defend my honor since he’s been marking me present in all the classes I am missing and boosting my quiz grades so I don’t fall too far behind.

“If you can remember all that shit, then you can remember the move I literally just taught you,” he teases. His ink-covered arms are stark and pale against the wan light, his band tee nothing more than a tank top. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize he’s literally brilliant—good at everything. It’s annoying.

“I don’t understand how you code and hack, throw knives and swallow fire and do magic tricks, and also…what?”

His full lips quirk up.

“Play guitar. Sing. Make panties flood when I walk by,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. I can’t help but laugh. I want to refute him, but he’s not wrong; every woman on the street watches as he passes, even the women dripping in Chanel bags and Gucci belts. There’s something enigmatic and alluring about him. He’s dangerous in a way that is different from Jameson and Tristan; less brutish, more cunning, more sinister, haunting.

“You’re Loki,” I decide aloud. Reaching for his soda, he takes a swig and raises his brows briefly before putting it down and smiling coyly.

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