Page 84 of Sinner

“Because I’ve designed games. I know what to expect.”

I nodded. “Yes, and you’re very talented. Elizabeth mentioned several of your ideas she’d like to place into version two.”

The news seemed to please her, but the only way I knew was by the flash of delight in her eyes. I wanted her to smile because when she did, the entire room was lit up. I took another sip of my drink, noticing she was shivering even under the thick throw.

“I keep reminding myself they’re just games,” she said in a way of trying to convince herself.

“Isn’t the entire world one big game? When you walk into a sales meeting or a boardroom, you’re trying to outwit your opponent, calculating his or her moves prior to them acting. That’s how you beat the computer and the AI-generated being you seem to abhor.”

She laughed halfheartedly. “I guess I never look at the art of doing business that way. I suppose you’re right. But I don’t necessarily hate the AI addition. I just wonder how intuitive the thing will be.”

“As intuitive as you allow,” I admitted. “Some players will have a clear advantage just like in life. Once a lead is taken, the hungriest survive.”

The way she looked me in the eyes was an act of defiance, but more than that, she was already calculating her next move within the confines of the darkest game of all.

Escaping my control. While I was eager to see her manifest into the darkest side of herself, I also had no intention of allowing her to win. That just wasn’t acceptable.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m always cold when I’m nervous.” She dragged just the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip.

“You have no reason to be nervous around me. Contrary to everything you believe, I only have your best interest at heart.”

“Are you certain about that? Do you have any idea what my father would do if he knew the two of us had been intimate?” She shuddered visibly, but I could easily tell she was forcing a reaction. Her mind was torn, the betrayal of her body haunting her.

“I suspect Michael would be understandably angry. However, this is your life. Not your father’s.”

“True, but you know my father well enough to know he enjoys acting as if he’s the only savior in the world. What really happened between the two of you? Is this all about Shanna?”

“It’s a subject I don’t like to talk about. We had our differences over the years. They began to escalate. When I dared date his daughter behind his back, things began to unravel. You can use your imagination from there.”

“You know what’s funny? Or maybe I should say tragic? He was so angry with you and still is. But I can tell he misses you. He never really talked about the two of you when you were younger. I have a feeling he didn’t want me to know because you two were hellions.” Her snort was the cutest thing in the world.

Her comment made me laugh once again. It felt good to do so. I rarely did. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d say we were a twelve.”

“I knew my father had some wickedness inside of him. He told me once my mother tamed him, although it took several years. I wonder if that was really true.”

Michael had been a good guy, too good to spend time with a bastard like me. “Your mother had a powerful influence on him.But as with all levels of darkness, the shadows never leave. They only remain dormant.”

“How profound and I’m certain you’re right. No one is eternally good.”

“That’s my belief.” It was interesting she was doing her best to justify not only what had occurred between us, but the manner in which she both played and hungered for the games.

“I wish I’d known my mom. I heard she was an amazing woman.”

She leaned forward as if she knew very little about her own mother. I guess she wouldn’t given how young she’d been when her mom died. Maybe that had been the true beginning of the end to my relationship with Michael.

After all, he’d blamed me for her death just like he had with his daughter, Shanna. I was an asshole, but going three for three would gut him.

“You knew her.”

“I did,” I admitted. There was no reason to lie.

“Was she anything like me?”

The question was a reminder of just how much older I was. Granted, I was much younger than Michael. I couldn’t remember exactly when, but I’d met Michael the first time when I was seventeen, scraping by on the streets while hustling for money and food. He was at least twenty-five, maybe older. It was funny how certain details just never mattered.

He’d grown up privileged. I was nothing but a throwaway. Yet our connection had been tight from the beginning. He’d alreadybeen married at that point with a four-year-old daughter. Even thought he’d been heavily involved in a family life, I’d managed to monopolize much of his time.

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