Page 26 of Heartless Game

When we reached the house, he hauled me up the five steps to the porch, withdrawing a key from his pocket and unlocking the front door. I managed to pull in one more breath of fresh air before he was slamming the door behind me and locking it. Finally, he released me, only to play with his phone, and with an ominous beep, a robotic voice spoke.

“House locked down. Alarm on.”

That was it.

I was all alone, with the dark, dangerous, hockey-playing mafia prince.

And there was nowhere else to run.

The house was beautiful. With muted grey walls, original beams and wainscotting everywhere, and big picture windows looking out on the forest, it was everything I ever could have wanted in a home. Too bad I didn’t want to be here.

“Where are we?” I sassed.

“My house,” he said simply, watching me.

His house.

“I thought you live in the hockey annex?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s easier to be alone. Andthisis one of those times.”

Although his quiet admission brought out an understanding in me, I shoved it away. What was more important was I was in Isaac’shome.A home where he probably stored secrets that I could use as evidence. Curious, I followed him through the living room into a big, sparkling, modern kitchen, with Shaker cabinets and a big black farmhouse sink. It was exactly how I’d design a house, if and when I would be able to afford my own. My mom and I had spent years living in temporary rentals and even motels. Did Isaac even get how lucky he was?

“Must be nice,” I muttered, then jumped when Isaac asked:

“What must be nice?”

“Being rich as fuck,” I said, tossing my hair.

I expected him to grin, to preen, to rub in my face everything he had that I didn’t. What I did not expect was the way his jaw went tight and his eyes flashed.

“You might be surprised,” he said. “When all that wealth comes with strings attached, it feels more like a trap than a golden ticket.”

“I’m playing the world’s smallest violin for you,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes, pulling out a bar stool and pointing to it. “Sit.”

“I think I’ll—” I started.

“Tovah. Sit.”

I glared at him.

He picked me up by the waist, depositing me on a bar stool, then braced his arms on both sides of me on the island countertop. My chest burned with anger and helplessness.

“Let’s try this again,” he said slowly. “I don’t think you understood the rules the first time. One: You don’t go anywhere without me or one of my teammates accompanying you. Two: All of your internet time is monitored. Schoolwork only. I’m not risking you notifying your editor or sneakily publishing something onThe Daily Queen’s site. Three: Whatever I tell you to do, you do. Whatever I tell you to wear, you wear.”

The burning in my chest grew. I crossed my arms over my chest. Shaking his head and tsking at me like I was an unruly child, he lifted one of his arms from the countertop, grabbing my left wrist and pulling my left arm away from my chest, then my right one.

“Leave them,” he warned.

“Fuck you,” I said slowly.

He paused, staring me down. The words were unnecessary, because the implication was clear:Oh, you’re gonna.

He continued. “Little snoop, hear me loud and clear: If you don’t follow my orders to the letter, if you break a single one of my rules, I will have absolutely zero qualms calling my father and telling him I have Tovah Lewis in my grasp. How long do you think you’ll survive?”

Not long. But that wasn’t the only issue. Isaac didn’t seem to realize that my mother was alive. I didn’t want to follow his bullshit “rules,” but it wasn’t just my life on the line—it was hers.

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