Page 59 of Cruel Games

I countered his question with another question, suddenly more curious about him than I had any business being. “Why did you bring me food and drink? You could have just taken it and gone back to your room.” I frowned, realizing he’d had the perfect opportunity to steal his freedom back, and he hadn’t taken it. “You could have killed me before I even realized you were in the same room. I was asleep. Why didn’t you?”

He simply shrugged, like that was the end of it. Like there was no explanation for what he’d done, beyond it was what heshoulddo. But our situation was far from ideal. So why the kindness? I certainly hadn’t shown him any.

There were a lot of questions on the tip of my tongue, but I fought the urge to ask them, knowing instinctively that I wouldn’t get the answers I was looking for from him. Instead, I set the pistol down on my lap and stretched my arms, hoping the action would restore the blood flow to the rest of my body and wake me up a bit.

Instead, it just made me more aware of how tired I was. How utterly exhausting torturing three grown men was.

And that was without even thinking about the energy that the three orgasms they wrung from me had consumed.

“You need to sleep,” he said pointedly, his hand reaching toward my lap.

I panicked and grabbed for the gun, missing by a mile. Instead, I shoved his hand into my fucking crotch, his fingers dangerously close to the hem of my skirt. With a squeal of shock, I turned him loose and snatched the gun up, pointing it in his direction.

“Not smooth enough, buddy,” I snapped, blood racing through my veins. “But I’ll give you an A for effort.”

He just shook his head and turned away, a blush creeping up the side of his neck, tinting the tops of his ears red as a tomato. Poor bastard wasembarrassed.Of course, I would be, too, if I failed so spectacularly at disarming a drowsy opponent.

His lips twitched as he fought a smile, leaning back into the cushions of the couch as he yet again offered me the bag of popcorn.

This time, I reached into the bag and pulled out a few kernels, munching on them to keep myself awake.

The whole time, completely, unnervingly aware that the Neon Dog sitting beside me had his eyes on me, like he was waiting for me to do something.

So soft.So fucking soft. Like sleeping on a goddamned cloud.

I snapped awake with a jolt, my whole body tense and on edge as I realized I was no longer on the couch, munching popcorn and sipping an energy drink. No, instead, I was in the middle of someone’s bed, bathed in darkness thanks to the blackout curtains hanging over the window I could just barely make out the outline of on the far wall. I had no idea what time it was or where I was, and in a panic, my hand darted out, searching for something to turn into a weapon.

And landed on my still-loaded gun, the safety conveniently on.

Confused, I checked the chamber—there was still a round loaded. The clip was still full, too.How odd.

“You’re awake,” said a voice originating from somewhere in the corner of the room. I blinked slowly, my eyes adjusting to the lack of light, and spotted what I assumed was Coyote standing against the wall, his arms crossed leisurely, a mask of indifference on his face as he observed me.

“Did you bring me in here? Is this your room?” I looked around, trying to reconcile the man with his quarters.

If this was his room, it was impossible to comprehend. The walls were a faint blue all the way around, with the one containing the window a dark blue the color of the bottom of the ocean, where barely any light reached. Hanging from hooks were various odds and ends, from a cheap roadside dreamcatcher, the feathers old and faded, to a poster of some popular band that was so obscure I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone else who liked their music. Amid all that were pictures, some obviously ten or more years old, the Polaroid film peeling back from the edges, giving away their age.

And the bed I lay in was filled with pillows, a huge, fluffy blanket, and a hand-knitted blanket that reminded me of a sunset in the summertime. But it was the book on the nightstand that really gave it away. I caught a glimpse of the cover, the gold filigree spelling out a familiar writer’s name—Shakespeare.

“This is your room,” I said slowly, confident I was right this time. “Did you bring me in here?”

Of course he brought you in here, you moron. How else do you think you got in here? Sleepwalked?

“Mmm,” he hummed, his lips pressed together as he moved closer, stalking back and forth instead of taking a straight line, reminding me of a wolf in the wilderness sizing up its prey.

“You didn’t take my gun.” I was having a hard time believing this was real. This was three times now he could have done something, taken the control back from me, and yet he’d chosen not to. It left me with more mixed feelings I didn’t like. “You didn’t kill me.”

His nod was so simple, so point-blank, to the point, I had a hard time coming up with anything else to say. It was day and night, the way I expected a man in his position to act, and the way he presented himself. There was no rhyme or reason to it. None of it made sense.

“Are the others awake?”

He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “Not yet.”

Not yet. That meant it wouldn’t be long until they were. That meant I had time to get back out there and save some face. They’d never know I hadn’t stayed up all night, guarding my new territory.

I glanced down at my disheveled clothes and grimaced. Well, fuck. I’d have to change into something new, but with no clothes here, leaving without taking the Neon Dogs with me felt dangerous. I couldn’t run the risk of them talking to someone and outing me as an imposter.

“Go wake them. I need to pay a visit to my house, and I’m taking you three with me.”

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