Page 88 of Heartless Game

Unfortunately, nothing he’d said so far was usable. I wasn’t recording this because I’d implicate myself, too. But although he was giving me helpful information, I needed to ramp up the game and play harder and dirtier to get the confession I wanted.

Climbing off the chair, I walked toward Isaac, standing over the bed and trailing a hand down between my breasts, over my round stomach, between my hips, touching my mound, my slit, and finally circling my clit. I slowly slid a finger inside myself, and my touch didn’t do what his eyes on me did. I clenched around my finger, but it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’this.

Still, I popped my finger into my mouth and licked it like a lollipop.

“Fuck, Tovah,” Isaac said, his voice strained with desire.

“I’ll let you taste next, if you tell me if you’ve ever seen your father murder anyone. Or maybe your sister, Liza? She’s always seemed pretty violent.”

“What do you mean, always seemed violent? How would you know?”

Shit.I’d almost given myself away.

“It was obvious from all the tabloid coverage,” I said, switching back to the important topic. “Have you ever seen your father kill anyone?”

“Yes, fuck, damn it!” Isaac was sweating, his chest heaving, as he tracked my fingers circling my clit. “He made me watch when he killed one of our enemies. I was seven. The sound of the gun going off—I’ll never get it out of my head. Half his head was gone, and there was blood everywhere.” His throat worked, and I glanced down to see if he’d lost his erection, but the Vice was hard at work and so was Isaac. “Do you know what it’s like, seeing a dead man when you’re that young?”

I did, in fact. Sometimes at night, in the dark, I could still see my stepfather’s lifeless eyes as he lay crumpled over the kitchen table.

“My father looked me in the eye and said, ‘One of these days, Isaac, you’ll be the one holding the gun.’” Isaac looked disgusted. “I think about that all the time, you know. How no matter what I do, no matter how good at hockey I am or how kind and helpful of a guy I try to be, I’ll never be able to escape my fate. He’s right. One day, I’ll be holding the gun, and seventeen more men will go missing because of me.”

I froze, shocked. Isaac had given me what I needed. Maybe not all of it, but admitting his father was a murderer was close. But I couldn’t focus on that. Not when Isaac sounded so broken, so hopeless. This time I didn’t bother to fight the sympathy I felt for him. It was futile, anyway; there was no way the sympathy wouldn’t win out.

“I’ve tried so hard to keep the darkness at bay,” he told me. “I’ve done every fucking thing to be the complete opposite of my father. And I was succeeding—until I met you.”

I paused with the circles on my clit, looking at him. He was stretched out on the bed, chest heaving, cock hard and leaking cum all over his sweatpants, his hips twisted. But his eyes were on me and there was a rage in there I didn’t fully understand.

Until he explained.

“You showed up that day in the student center, your hair this bright, puke colored green…”

“Thanks,” I snorted.

He shook his head, “With those big brown eyes and those huge tits and hips and ass, looking more delectable than any dessert I’d ever eaten. And you were laughing at something some other guy was saying, so hard coffee came out of your nose. And this overwhelming urge came over me.”

“What urge?” I asked, even though I knew better. I needed to know.

“The urge to stomp over there, beat the shit out of him, and carry you away to somewhere quiet and private and secret where no one could ever take you from me. I was shocked at myself—I’d only ever kicked someone’s ass on the ice, and even then, I was considered the team’s pacifist.” He snorted. “And yet here I was, seriously considering violence and kidnapping and god knew what else. I told myself I had to stay away from you, but you were everywhere: games, classes, all over campus, your byline on the newspaper every goddamned day, and then you even showed up for the hockey party the night Jack met Aviva. And you were writing articles mocking the team, andme. It was like you knew what you’d done to me, and you were fuckingbaitingme.”

“Is that why you hated me?” I asked, staring at him, eyes wide in shock. I’d never known. He’d hated me because?—

“I wanted you that badly,” he admitted. “More than I’d ever wanted anyone or anything else, even hockey. And Ihatedyou for it. You bring out this monster in me, and I’ve fought him so long. But I’m done fighting him. Done fighting it. I may be a monster, Tovah Lewis, but I’myourmonster. And the monster has a message for you.”

I was so caught up by his words, his story, I wasn’t paying attention. Wasn’t ready. Not when he lifted his hands, only to pull them down—hard.

The chains holding his cuffs to the headboard snapped like they were nothing more than a silly pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs.

He slowly rose off the bed, towering above me, his whole body tense and powerful and terrifying in its beauty.

“Run.”

34

Tovah

Iran like wolves were chasing me. Like if Isaac caught me, I’d die.

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