Page 7 of The Game

“You two look well,” he says, a note of sarcasm in his voice. Narrowing my eyes, Jameson shifts slightly, preventing me from mouthing off. “Go ahead, cousin. Ask why I am here.”

His eyes lock onto mine, and beyond the color, there is nothing but an emptiness that is chilling. There is no soul in his body, no warmth or joy or any other emotion other than a thirst for destruction.

Unable to resist, a cocky smirk grows.

“Why?”

His eyes flash, but before he can lunge forward and snap my neck, Nick slaps a hand to his chest. The intensity of this moment festers, Nick’s dogs sniffing the humid air, the creak and groan of ships in the sound altogether chilling. I glance at Jameson, and his eyes tell me the same; something is wrong here.

“I have four warehouses. Choose one alone and search it thoroughly. If you find anything, call me.”

“And what exactly are we looking for?” Jameson questions. Nick’s electric blue eyes blaze from under his hood, effectively hiding his scars.

“We’re looking for a reason to finally wipe the Baptiste’s off the map,” Maks says coolly. My eyes narrow.

“If you’re going to play these fucking games—”

I am cut off as Nick steps forward, looming above me, only the shade of his eyes, the tip of his nose, and his lips visible.

“If you want to know anything, you’re going to do this. I have reason to believe they’ve been using my warehouses as their personal underground shipping yard.”

“Guns, drugs?” Jameson presses. Not that we care. But when Maks’ grin grows, showing off his pearly, dangerous teeth, a chill races down my spine.

“Try your cousin, Violet.”

My face slackens as he pulls his phone from his pocket, not even bothering to glance down as he swipes it open and her terrified screams pierce the night. In the bluish glow from the phone, Maks’ face takes on an entirely new look, and my body shifts, stepping back out of pure instinct. If ever I needed to conjure up what a demon looks like, I would choose Maks every fucking time.

The clawing sounds of his sister’s pained screams echo in my ears as he shoves his phone back into his pocket and turns to stalk off. Nick drops his head with a shake before he sniffs and straightens his shoulders again.

We’ve known for a while that Violet was with them, but it was her own doing; she’d been dating a man named Ben last I heard, one of the Rusalka’s, a family that runs with the Baptiste’s. Whatever they’ve done to her or are doing to her…

Alice’s face suddenly blinds my mind’s eye. The urge to find her is more pressing than ever, for what if she is enduring something similar? What if these sick fucks have her?

Before Nick can give any more direction, I rip my Glock from its holster and stalk after Maks.

As much as I want that little slut to pay for what she’s put us through, I will be dead and fucking buried before another man takes what is ours. The only hands that belong around her throat are mine. Wherever she is, her demons are hunting for her, and when we find her, no prayer will save her from the retribution that has been conjuring in our souls.

CHAPTER4

Alice

Saturdays are arguably the worst. Daniel lurks around every corner, and my fucking grandfather doesn’t have to be at his day job, so the merry pair are in and around this deplorable circus like flies buzzing around shit. The familiar tendrils of depression creep ever closer, begging me to allow its claws to sink deep into my skin and drag me down into a slumber that will last an eternity. The only thing that prevents me from succumbing to the darkness is my fury.

My life, just blossoming into what I’d chosen it to be for once, was cruelly ripped from me, and I’d rather watch Richard-Dick-Bird die of cancer or cirrhosis first.

Seated before my decadent mirror in the dressing room, I dust some blush over my sallow cheeks. I’ve been training with Meg for the last few weeks on the silks and trapeze; the circus masters want more women suspended nude above the patrons of this sick place. From what I’ve slowly gathered, everyone is here via blackmail or to pay off insurmountable debts. I refuse to give thought to the two reasons I am here, for I will crumble and be punished if my make up is smudged before going out.

Young girls rush past in the mirror behind me, like a constant flickering of an old film reel. Meg is perched next to me, giving herself starry eyes. The more the men enjoy our performances, the higher the chance they’ll pay for a private dance, or for a night with one of us. Daniel being the spoiled asshole he is ensures I do not touch another man aside from him. Having his cock in my throat is one thing, and he’s threatened me with more if I do anything to lose them money.

“How did training go?” Meg asks, voice bored as she swipes on some mascara and purses her lips. She’s in her mid-twenties, naturally beautiful, and here because her ex left her with no money and a shit ton of debt. Mr. Bird (hereafter known asDick) was her math teacher as well.

My stomach churns at her question. The latest batch included a few girls from high school, ones whom the state funded. The youngest is sixteen, now a dancer in a gilded cage where grubby hands reach for her constantly. Some instinct within me is urged to protect her, to use my knowledge of what this life is like to warn her to get out if she can. There has to be other options for some of these girls. There is no hope for me.

Shrugging, I cap my lipstick.

“Fine.”

“God, you’re boring,” she huffs, reaching for my blush. I let her. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

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