Page 35 of Cruel Games

His eyes, now filled with the shame Jackal had made me feel, turned away. For a moment, I wanted to force him to look at me, to see the desire in his eyes, even though I hated him.

It was quite heady to realize that your enemies, even on their deathbed, wanted you.

“You know, some say that near-death experiences can heighten arousal.” I let my fingers trace the pattern of his zipper, then curl around the curve of his hardening cock, trailing down his leg agonizingly slow. “Is that why you’re hard as a rock while you’re being tortured?” My gaze slipped over my shoulder to Jackal, who was staring daggers at me now. “I thought men would turn soft just looking at me, Jackal? What’s your buddy’s problem, then?”

“Leave him alone, you sick bitch,” he snarled, shaking in the chains again. “You got a problem, take it out on me. Or better yet, let me loose and fight me one-on-one.”

As if.

“Dream on, dog,” I laughed, leaving Dingo wanting as I turned my attention back on Coyote, who’d gone silent. “I think I’ll play with this one, too. He’s so quiet. Does he even talk?”

I knew he talked. I’d listened to him recite Shakespeare every night for a week. Hell, I’d fallen asleep with his voice in my ear. But though hecouldtalk, he chose not to.

Why?

Another question I’d likely never have the answer to.

“Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I began, watching him for any signs of recognition. I was pleased when his head snapped back up, a look of shock in those gorgeous green orbs. “That I shall say ‘good night’ til it be morrow.”

Jackal shook again off to the side. “The fuck kind of shit is that? Are you reciting poetry to us now?” He worked up a fake laugh, wailing miserably. “Oh no, I can’t take it; please, end the torture. Or go back to stabbing us. That was, at least, more humane.”

I watched words form on Coyote’s lips, just to die as those lips parted, a sigh escaping them.

“Nothing to say, Coyote?”

He pursed his lips tightly together and turned away from me, grunting his desire for this interaction to end.

I decided to try a new tactic.

“Coyote . . . where does a man like you get a name like that?” I frowned as he refused to respond, but I didn’t let that deter me. “Surely someone gave it to you. It matches the rest of you dogs. So who picked the names?”

FOURTEEN

JACKAL

The seconds tickedby as she taunted Coyote beside me, the discomfort growing in my extremities as I tried desperately to restore the feeling to my toes. I had to figure out a way out of this, and fast—before she figured out killing us quick was the smartest option, and just ended it all.

Then we could fucking killherand wander home, all in a day’s work.

Or maybe post up at a bar and drink the pain away.

Bitch swung a bat like she was trying out for the major leagues.

My eyes watered as I wriggled again, wishing the chains would just fall off me, save me some of this fucking work. I still had no idea who this bitch was outside of ‘the girl from the club’, and I didn’t really care to know, anymore.

The realization that she was turned on by the torture, though, was an interesting development.

Maybe I could use that to unsettle her long enough for one of us to get loose.

Yeah, and maybe pigs would fly.

“Who picked the names?” she asked him, setting herself on his lap again as his discomfort grew. She’d gone from throwing some fancy-ass Shakespeare at him to asking him to tell her all our secrets.

Too bad she didn’t know that Coyote didn’t talk much—and especially not to strangers.

“We named ourselves,” he muttered, his eyes on the floor. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, and the psycho bitch’s gaze followed the movement, giving herself away. Whether it was us, or the torture, she got off on this.

Her hands settled on his shoulders, and he froze like a deer in the headlights of a semi on the highway, still not daring to look up at her.

---